My Life Across the Table (4 page)

Every Psychic is eventually led to the tools that help them channel their work. A tool they are “psychically” comfortable working with.

I have discovered over the years that the tool chest of a Psychic can hold many different things, and can be almost anything. They are what we focus on, to decipher what we are seeing and feeling. Some readers utilize tarot cards, others use crystals, and some stare into a crystal ball.

My tool of choice is “Psychometry.” The literal definition of “Psychometry” is: “divination of facts concerning an object or its owner through contact with, or proximity to the object,” or my personal definition, “vibrations carried through an object.”

In my case it can be a piece of jewelry, keys, a photograph, a business card, a person’s voice, or simply the vibration carried within a name.

The group of other readers kept urging me to read professionally, to read for clients, but I wasn’t comfortable doing that until I understood. It took two-and-ahalf years before I felt that I understood my purpose and agreed to see my first client at the age of fourteen.

That was many years and many, many thousands of readings ago, and I am forever grateful that God heard the prayer of a shy eight year old little girl, and unplanned my life.

I know that the “perception” of what I do, still makes some people uncomfortable, and scares others, but that has certainly never been my intention.

I do not force my work on anyone, nor do I try to convince anyone that I am psychic. Nor do I ever just walk up to people and start making predictions, and last but not least, by the time I was about fourteen, I no longer felt the need to simply blurt things out.

I have a very powerful and peaceful relationship with God. I have not an ounce of conflict within me when it comes to my work, and I am very clear that this is without question, the work that God planned for my life.

If the day ever comes that God no longer wants me to give readings, and wants me to become a house painter, I promise you, I will be at Home Depot buying brushes the next morning.

I had happily been giving readings professionally for more than fifteen years, when suddenly, in 1981 and through a very odd set of circumstances, I found myself owning, and running a bakery.

My husband, at the time, was a very talented architect and builder, and in the spring of 1981 he had taken on a project to design and build a boutique bakery in Beverly Hills. He asked me to help and divided up the project, with him designing almost everything from the look and functionality of the space, to the signs. I was given the task of outfitting the kitchen, so I set about ordering custom made ovens, sinks, mixers and every piece of top

“The Banana Bread Box” was a beautiful little store with black and white tile checkered floors, happy yellow walls, bright green chairs with black tables, and an eyecatching sign depicting huge fiberglass bananas falling from heaven. We were close to completing construction at the end of August 1981, and with all the permits finally in place, custom built ovens and cabinets installed, the stainless steel kitchen was getting the finishing touches.

We set up a lunch meeting and were excited to turn over the keys, knowing how happy and thrilled they would be with their beautiful bakery. Well, happy was not exactly their response, nor was thrilled. To this day I will never understand the reasoning behind their actions on that fateful afternoon.

They had never stopped by or been around during construction, and never came by to see the progress of our work. All of a sudden over lunch, and without any explanation whatsoever, they told us they didn’t want the bakery. Out of nowhere and without warning, they had changed their mind, ate lunch and simply walked away. We were dumbstruck, and because he had never been fully paid for all of his work, or the equipment, when they walked out the door, we were left owning the bakery.

My husband was definitely not going to run a bakery, and had so many other projects going on that I was the one suddenly thrust into running this business. Now, what was I going to do with a bakery? My mother’s wisdom quickly sprang to mind. Over the years I had watched this amazing woman, turn many a bitter situation into something very sweet. Her lifelong endeavors had earned not only my deepest respect and admiration, but also an affectionate title. I had crowned her “The Queen of Lemonade.”

To this day I can hear her words, “Sweetheart, when God gives you lemons, you make lemonade. You can make it as sweet or as bitter as you like.”

Well, on this particular day, I had been presented with an entire lemon grove.
Not one to ever shy away from a challenge, I decided to dive in and make this work. I was a good cook, and a fine baker, so how difficult could this be? The grand open

I spent the next couple of weeks in the kitchen, experimenting with all sorts of recipes, and teaching myself to adapt them for larger quantities. I suddenly found myself knee deep in flour and sugar, for this unexpected chapter in my life.

We had named the business “The Banana Bread Box,” so I knew I had to come up with a banana bread recipe that was exceptional, and different. Since I love chocolate, I came up with an amazing chocolate chip banana bread recipe that was pretty delicious, if I do say so myself. I quickly added different varieties of ginger bread, zucchini bread, carrot cake, and a few other tasty snacks to the menu. With recipes in hand, I ordered all the supplies and quite literally became the “Psychic Baker” overnight.

Thank God, we were immediately welcomed into the neighborhood. With a steady flow of customers eagerly enjoying my freshly baked cakes, the surprising dose of lemonade served up a few weeks earlier, had become much sweeter indeed. The recent turn of events in my life didn’t afford me the luxury of investing a lot of time thinking about why all of this had happened. I instinctively just kept sweetening the lemonade.

The decision on that fateful day had caused quick action, and dramatic changes, now affecting every part of my life. My daily work schedule of many years had been turned upside down as I went from waking up at eight or nine in the morning to see my first client of the day, to waking up at one or two in the morning to get to the bakery.

Every busy day while sifting and measuring, I thought about giving readings. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but was determined to continue my life’s work, no matter what was going on in my life.

I just had to figure out where, in the bakery, I could make my clients comfortable, and give readings under these conditions. I stepped back and looked at the layout.

The kitchen, service counter, tables and chairs, were all downstairs, not allowing privacy for my clients. Upstairs was a large storage room filled with packing and shipping supplies, next to this was the office for the bakery. I rearranged the furniture in the office and brought in an extra chair. Placing it across from my desk, I had found my place. It was small, but the energy was peaceful, and I knew I could make it work.
Now, if my clients would come to see me in a small office, upstairs in a bakery. That was the big question.

Thank God they did, and no one ever complained. I was pleasantly surprised, when many of them expressed their sincere enjoyment at this set up. They liked it when they got fresh baked cake and coffee, along with their reading, and I could keep an eye on the bakery at the same time.

I have been very blessed in my life, because I truly love my work, and my clients. They have come to see me regardless of where in the world I have lived and worked, and the bakery was no exception.

Over the years I have developed strong and enduring relationships with many people that initially came to me as clients. During my reign as the Psychic Baker, they made appointments often, continued referring their friends, and on occasion would come by just to have cake and coffee with me.

One of those lifelong friendships was with a lovely, soft- spoken gentleman with beautiful silver hair. His name was Allen Stone, but I always just called him “Al.” We not only became friends that socialized often, but he became my tax man. He would come to me for readings, both personally and professionally, a couple of times a year and I went to him every year at tax time.

We cherished and trusted each other as friends, and as professionals. Two or three times a year he would call for an appointment, because he liked to give the gift of a reading to his friends. He would always drive them over for their appointment, giving us a chance to see each other more often, and have a good chat over coffee.

One day he called, wanting an appointment for a friend of his named Steve. We set a time for the next afternoon, and I told him to bring Steve to the bakery. He could have a snack while I was upstairs in my office giving the reading.

Arriving at the designated time, Al introduced us, and they took seats at a table near the counter. I served coffee, brought out a plate of sliced cakes, and came from behind the counter to join them.

Steve was a nice looking young man, tall and slim, in his mid to late twenties. He had neatly cropped blonde streaked hair, and beautiful blue eyes. We talked goodnaturedly for a while, easy banter between good friends, with Steve joining in when he could. They nibbled on cake, I sipped my coffee, and it was easy conversation.

During a momentary lull, Steve reached over touching my arm, and quietly asked, “Excuse me, but may I use your restroom?”

“No problem, let me show you where it is,” I got up, walking him through the kitchen, pointing to the bathroom door.

When I took my seat again at the table, Al said, “What time do you want me to pick him up, or should I just wait down here?”

My immediate change in mood didn’t escape Al, as I took a deep breath, enveloping his hand in both of mine. I leaned forward, looking directly into his eyes, and in an urgent whisper said, “Al, you’re not going anywhere. I want you to really hear me. Under no circumstances are you to get into a car, with Steve behind the wheel.”

For me to give him a warning of this kind was very serious, highly unusual, and he knew that I meant every word. I am not an alarmist by any stretch of the imagination, and never have been. There are enough serious things in life to be concerned about, and I have always been quite clear about what they are.

There are very few things in a reading, as serious as predicting a person’s death. If it is “not their time,” and can be prevented in any way, I am definitely not shy about sharing that information.

He squeezed my hand nervously, thinking out loud, “I don’t know how I’m going to do that, Karen. We’re having dinner with friends this weekend, and Steve is picking me up.”

I squeezed back harder, more urgently this time, “Take your own car, Al. Meet him there. Please, don’t get in a car that he is driving! Now, do you understand?”

I hoped he realized that I was trying to save his life, because it definitely “wasn’t his time” but it was Steve’s, and there was nothing I could say, or do to change Steve’s fate. That was strictly in God’s Hands.

Al questioned me again “What if I can’t do that?” I couldn’t believe that he was going to make me say the words out loud. I was so upset that he wasn’t taking this seriously, “Oh my God! Well Al, if you insist on going with him, then I guess I’ll just send flowers. Is that clear enough?”
I was relentless, pleading with him, “Please, Al, under no circumstances can you get into a car that he is driving! Please! Do you hear me?”
My frustration was front and center, “Do you get it now? I don’t care what you tell him. Tell him you have to stay home and wash your dog!”
Still bewildered, Al muttered, “I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”
Leaving me with no other choice, I spelled it out for him, “I’m begging you, Al. I’m sorry, but Steve won’t be here Monday morning!”
He didn’t have time to respond. Steve came out of the kitchen, sat down, smiled at both of us and got to the point I was dreading, “So, Karen, do you want to do my reading now?”
I looked at him, choosing my words with great care, “You know Steve, you don’t really need a reading right now. It feels like you need to go home, and straighten out some of the issues in your life. If you still feel the same way about your life in one week from today, come back and I’ll read for you then. Is that okay?”
He didn’t seem terribly surprised, “You know Al, she’s probably right. I don’t really need a reading right now, but I do need to clear up some stuff. Next week would probably be better anyway, and then I’ll get a reading.”
I could barely look at him. I was afraid I would burst into tears, and he just wouldn’t understand. I knew that this lovely young man was not going to be alive on Monday morning, and there was nothing I could do to change that fact. I knew it as certainly as I was breathing.
I also knew that when God has a plan for someone, interfering is absolutely
not
an option.
We finished our coffee, and talked for a few more minutes. Warmly, Steve put out his hand, “It was really nice meeting you, Karen. I look forward to seeing you again next week.”
Steve turned toward the door, “Al, I’ll go get the car.”
Looking at me, but responding to Steve, Al didn’t move. “I’ll just meet you out there.”
Steve was barely out the door when my dog-with-abone urgency returned. I knew this was my last chance.
Pleadingly, I grabbed Al’s hand, still seeing the confusion in his eyes, “Promise me you won’t get into a car with him driving. Please, Al, promise me.”
Staring out the door as if transfixed, he couldn’t bring himself to look at me, “I promise, Karen, but I just don’t understand.”
Pulling his hand away without so much as a glance, Al slipped out of the bakery for one last drive with Steve.
All I could do now was hope that Al had heard me, and pray.
I was in the bakery Monday morning at 10 a.m. when the phone rang.
I heard Al’s distinctly soft voice on the line, “Karen?”
I took a deep breath, “Are you okay?”
He could hardly form the words, “I’m fine Karen, but this is just unbelievable, Steve is dead.”
I was sad for his loss, but deeply grateful. Though clearly upset, at least he was still alive. Cautiously, I probed further, “Can you tell me what happened, or would you rather not talk about it?”
Softly, Al continued, “No, I haven’t even been to bed yet, but I need to tell you.”
The grief was evident in his voice, “We just went to meet some friends last night for dinner, like we’ve done a hundred times. You know the place, Karen, O’BRIEN’s on Ventura Boulevard. We had such a great time. A few drinks some laughs; it all seemed so normal.”
His disbelief enveloped every word, “I couldn’t stop looking at him, Karen, I mean all through dinner, I just kept looking at him. He seemed so happy, and I know I keep saying this, but everything seemed so normal. We went out to the parking lot, joking around saying our good-byes. His car was right behind me. It’s so weird. He was just there, waving at me! I mean we were waving to each other as I pulled across Ventura Boulevard, I made a left, stopped at the light and…and Steve pulled out and made a right.”
His voice rose as the anguished words poured out, “I was still stopped at the light when I heard it! I swear, Karen, it couldn’t have been ten seconds! I couldn’t believe it! He hit seven parked cars!! Seven!!” and wrapped his car around a telephone poll! He was dead before I even got to him.”
I felt terrible for my dear friend, “I am so sorry, Sweetheart. He seemed like a lovely guy, and I know you were good friends.”
Loss brings out many emotions in people, especially when the loss is someone we care deeply for.
With Steve’s sudden death only a few hours earlier, it triggered an avalanche of misplaced anger, and blame in Al, “Obviously not that close! I mean now I know! I know that you saved my life, but how could I not have known he was an alcoholic?! I should have known that, Karen! I can’t believe that no one knew! Why didn’t I know that?”
Spent from the pain, his words softened, now searching for an answer, “Couldn’t you have told him, Karen? Couldn’t you have changed it?”
Unfortunately, I intimately knew this grief. I have lost so many people that I have loved in my life, but I know with certainty, and beyond a shadow of a doubt, they are always with me, and I am never alone.
This was a deeply painful and all too familiar emotion in my life. Though I had told him that Steve was leaving, I could not tell Steve. I needed to help him understand why, and help him see Steve’s life, and death, through my eyes.
Helping someone find peace over the loss of a loved one is never easy, “Al, you know that you are very precious to me, and I know that your intention was for Steve to have a reading, but please try to understand. God’s purpose of you being brought to me on that particular day was not for Steve. It was for you.”
Again, I hoped that he could hear me, “I was given that information to protect you, and Al, I’m deeply sorry that I couldn’t save Steve. I’m not God, remember? I just work here.”
I could feel the pain washing over him, “I wish there was a nice way to say this to you, but Steve was an alcoholic, and had been an alcoholic for many years. He could have changed his life at any time, yet he chose not to. By the time you brought him to see me, Steve didn’t have a future. And as hard as this is to hear that was his destiny, not yours .”
He sobbed openly now, as I continued softly, “Telling him what I saw would not have changed a thing. Please, try to understand. This was God’s plan for Steve, not mine. He was going to die last night regardless of what anybody said to him, or did. You just weren’t supposed to go with him.”
Without question, I knew the purpose of them coming to the bakery, and it wasn’t to give Steve a reading. The purpose was to give Al the choice to save his own life. Over the remaining twenty-four years of our friendship, he reminded me of the events of that fateful day. Until the day my beloved friend died, he repeatedly told people, “I may not always hear the advice most people give me, but I am grateful I listened to Karen that day. She saved my life.”
I always said he listened from a different place, and that “different place” was his heart.
I can recall that urgent warning, delivered long ago in the bakery. I can see Steve’s face, and hear Al’s pain, as though it happened yesterday. That day changed our friendship, and my life in many ways.
We certainly became closer after Steve’s death, and as strange as this may sound, I delivered two other life saving warnings for Al that I didn’t have to convince him about, he heard me the first time. He told me repeatedly over the years that I was his Guardian Angel.
The wonder of that day, and the impact of Steve’s unalterable destiny, never left either of us. Those experiences with Al continued to reinforce, what I have always believed about ones destiny or fate. Of the many life lessons I have learned over the years, there is one that stands out above the rest. I had an epiphany one day, and suddenly I understood why the everyday things that all of us experience in life, both emotionally and physically, appear to be only one of two ways. They are either relatively easy, or impossibly difficult.
If you look back over the issues throughout your life, and I mean the ones that you thought mattered, you will see that there really never was any gray area, with any of them. They either came together, or resolved themselves pretty easily, or there appeared to be one painful obstacle after another put in your way, stopping it and you. When I experienced that moment of clarity, it changed every day of my life. I call it my “twenty to forty percent formula for living.”
I believe that twenty to forty percent of our lives are fated, no matter what we think, or do. They are absolute. No matter what attempts we make to avoid, or change the outcome. If something is absolute in our life, it will occur no matter what.
The other sixty to eighty percent is Free will. Like ordering a hamburger, we can have it our way, and pretty easily, any way we choose.
Free will is about having choices. If a client asks me about something that is not fated, I tell them to go ahead, don’t take that job, or buy that house, or go out with that person again. They aren’t going to miss what is destined in their life. Free will choices do not change the destiny of a person’s life.
Steve had no choices left. There was no future for me to see, because he didn’t have one. If he hadn’t died in a car accident on Sunday night, something else would have occurred, to take his life before Monday morning.
I couldn’t change what God had written for Steve, but it saddened me deeply to know that even though Steve had a wide circle of friends that loved him, not one of them knew he was an alcoholic, spiraling out of control.
There are certain elements of the work that I describe as, “a slap and a kiss.” This is when the information I have to share is very painful or difficult, but something positive and enlightening can be born from the pain. Seeing Steve’s unpreventable death was one of those. I could tell Al not to get in a car with him, but I could not save Steve. Nor could I stop Al. All I could do was tell him, but I couldn’t control what he chose to do with the information.
There have been several clients during the years, where the imminent death of someone close to them, has appeared with great clarity in the reading. Though I have certainly wished that there was something I could do to change what I have seen that is not what this work is.
When people come into this life, and are taken early, I know that they were born, on what I call, a “short clock.” No matter their age, their life wasn’t about them. Their life was about all of the people that loved them, the people whose lives they touched.
When I counsel people in grief, and they speak of the depths of their loss, the first question I ask them is, “What did you learn from this relationship?”
I have learned from my own losses that we cry selfish tears. We are not crying for them, because they are truly free. We miss them because of the way they made us feel, about our life, and ourselves.
The less attached we can become to our grief, their impact and true purpose in our life becomes clear. Focusing not on the way they died, but more importantly on the way they lived.
When you can truly and honestly embrace that, you clear the way for them to let you know that their spirit is still with you, they just can’t get through the grief.
What you learn from having known them can become a lifetime gift of teaching, and sharing. Keeping the memories, and the blessings they brought into your world alive.
I have learned that destiny is absolute, and one of the few things in life that is absolutely, one hundred percent non-negotiable.