A Personal Update

I looked up at the calendar and realized that it is already March and I have yet to put a blog post up this year. For those who have been privy, it’s been a personally strange and surreal time for me. My father is up and down in his status in Hospice care and visiting him at the nursing home has become even more of a priority. My visits over the last three years have gone from once a week to twice a week, to almost every day. I have even opened a Facebook fan page for him, and sometimes he interacts, but oftentimes I am posting for him and reading your posts to him. It's called The Jerryatric News because his name is Jerry and he's 90! If you would like to join his page for updates or to send him cheer, please join: https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Jerryatric-News/152257188147162

At present time, we are in the midst of “pick a day that’s good and run with it” because “you never know.” We are three months into “you never know” and we still don’t know very much and I didn’t even know what year it was until yesterday. I am literally forced to go with the flow, and am directing the current by finally opening the Center on Tuesday, March 14, for the first time this year.

I look forward to catching up with everyone, and there are exciting products and services coming your way. I have a book coming out soon, video classes, crystal products and jewelry and a new, affordable way to purchase my energy art. Meanwhile, please know that I am very grateful for all the healing thoughts, prayers and positive vibes you have been sending our way. I thank you for Embracing The Universe with us.

I'm forever reading...Bubbles!

This is a photo of me and Grandma Anna, 1955.
My introduction into reading by way of color and energy happened quite innocently. I was three years old, and we were living across the street from my very psychic grandmother. I remember the day very clearly. My mother had taken me across the street for my grandmother to watch me while my mom went to work in her job as a telephone operator (back when we had live people answering the calls!)

Mom held my hand tightly as we crossed the street. We ran up the steps of Grandma Anna’s small house and through the open screen door, which Mom closed behind us.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, kneeling to address me. “Be a good girl for Grandma.”

I walked down the foyer to her parlor and sat down on the sofa, the plastic seat cover sticking to my legs as my dress rode up behind me. I sat like this for about five minutes before Grandma came out from behind the curtained off room that was her bedroom. We did not often communicate verbally because she could not speak much English, but I always got her message somehow.

However, today something was different. As she sat next to me talking in her native Italian, tiny purple and blue bubbles came streaming from her mouth. I wanted to ask her to share the bubble blower, but I did not see one.

As she continued to speak, the colors changed again to white, green and yellow. I became very aware of Grandma’s mood just from the shifting colors.

Distracted and mesmerized by these bubbles, I watched them form opaque circles before disappearing into the air. They were coming from Grandma Anna’s mouth in slow and steady clusters. I began to feel emotional. The red made me angry and the green had me wanting to tell Grandma to take better care, while the purple suggested that she was wise beyond my limited three-year-old understanding.

“Eh! Snap over it!” she yelled in her fractured English, her fingers clipping in the air to get my attention.

I moved my eyes up to hers. “Huh?”

She looked confused. “Snap out of it,” she corrected.

I did as I was told, but was still seeing the colorful bubbles.

“Grandma, can I have the bubble maker, too?”

Her eyes widened, and she smiled.

It was at that unfortunate moment, that her next “friend” came to visit. All the people who came to her for advice were never referred to as clients or customers, but as friends.

“Come stai, Mr. Marx,” she greeted in Italian, patting my hand and standing so she could lead the way back behind the curtain. She turned and smiled, her hand on the folds of the curtain, ready to close them. “Is good.”

A Rose By Any Other Name Is Still A Message From Mom

I have had a lot of things to consider in my personal family life in the past few months, which caused me some undue stress. My father had some serious health issues and was in and out of the hospital. For age 88, he went through a lot of pain and shuffling around, before he was finally settled and happy in a nursing home. Whenever family issues come up, I often sit back and meditate on thoughts of my mother and I ask her for signs that she is with me. She crossed over almost ten years ago, yet if feels like only yesterday.

My mother’s favorite flower was the gardenia, but she had a secret passion for growing roses. She had several rose bush varieties in an array of colors that ranged from red to vibrant pink, all growing along the fence on one side of family home. Each season, Mom would cut a few for me when they were in full bloom. I can remember her cutting the pointy thorns, before tenderly wrapping a wet paper towel around the stems. In remembrance of her, I keep flowers in the small Lenox vase she gave me.

I don’t generally buy roses, but I do try to have the mixture of red and pink in the arrangements of flowers that fill the vases at my Metaphysical Center. An offering of flowers is considered a “thank you” to the angels, guides and loved ones who watch over us.

Right after Mother’s Day, we put new flowers in the vases. In the Lenox vase was an arrangement of 5 pink carnations and one red carnation. Though I know the flowers are there, I rarely look at them specifically because I am usually busy in readings or focused on what I might be writing. Sue, my business partner and personal assistant, came into my office to ask a question and pointed to the vase.

“OMG! That’s weird!” She pointed and we both looked in the direction of the vase.


The pink carnations around the vase were deliberately broken in the very same place on each stem. The red carnation was standing proudly in the middle, unbroken! I approached it to investigate and took a photo. Then “something” (someone) told me to look up the meaning of carnations. Here is what I discovered:

Carnation (General) - fascination, woman's love –which I can understand because my mother shared a passion with me in my work, and we were very close.

Pink Carnation - I'll never forget you, always on my mind.
This would also be true of both of us, even though she has been gone so long.

At first the broken stems alarmed me, and I quickly scanned the web site for the meaning of the only one left standing. I “knew” the message was from Mom, and it was somehow in that red flower. There had to be a reason for it being the only survivor.

Then I saw it. Red Carnation - my heart aches for you.
In that single moment of recognition, her message was received. She was telling me that no matter where she was, she was aware of what I was going through. It gave me pause, and I sat back into my chair and allowed her love to embrace me.
Thank you, Mom, for always being there. I love you.

New Facebook Sites for me!

Hello, again!

I have just finished creating two more sites via Facebook. I want to connect with all of you!

My fan link is: Linda' Fan Site

I am so excited to have an even broader way to create a connection to extend my reach.

Feel free to create discussion and ask question on the fan site, as I will be visiting there often and hope to get us into some really great topics of discussion. Let's learn and cultivate spirit together!

God bless, Linda

"Projecting" The Future As A Child - Zoning

That's Mom and me on the right. :) Dressed like twins in outfits she made! The year was 1955-57. Eisenhower was President of the United States, Hoola Hoops were the craze, Kerouac’s book, On The Road was on the best sellers list, Perry Como was singing us through what Edward R. Murrow was reporting, and I was seeing my first “indoor movie’ (so-to-speak) a colorful array of celluloid magic only for my three year old child’s third eye to see.

“Linda, snap out of it. What are you staring at?” I can hear my mother’s voice so clearly, as she asked me to explain something I could only see, not interpret.

I remember running into the house with Mom following close behind, and into the living room where my father had set up a projector screen for us to view his never-ending filming of his first child (me), and now that my mother was expecting number two, he kept the screen set up.
I pointed to it.

My mother shook her head. “There is nothing but a blank screen, honey.”

I nodded. “I know, but I have one too. It's in my eyes. I get to see movies in my eyes all the time.”

My mother thought about this for a moment; probably trying to figure out a way to ask me in my child’s language what I meant. Fortunately, I was around grown-ups for the first 4 years of my life, so baby talk was not big on the list, and I was treated more maturely.

“Tell Mommy what you see on the screen,” she asked, as she bent down in front of me and took my hands into hers.

I explained that I didn’t see things all the time, but when I did I would get what I called “the woo-woos”which were tiny butterflies in my stomach. Only problem was, and today still is, that I can’t always define what they mean. Are they good? Bad? Were they predictions? Premonitions? Or nothing at all?

I told her that the images are on a screen like my father’s, but it is behind my eyes and in the middle of my eyebrows. I try to explain that the "jector" in my head only shows me things when someone has something happening to them. And then I shrugged and gave her a smile, so proud that I had this "jector" all to myself.

So, I’ll tell you what I told Mom over the years, as I began to understand more : I see slow moving scenes that begin in as shaded visions of black and white and transform into colors as the moving image gains detail. The colors emit from the person’s aura like the colors of a rainbow. The rainbow eventually streams out of their mouths like bubbles!. To the child Linda, that was the fun part of having a knowing: the bubbles!

Once the colors in the movie are defined for me, (like on a TV screen), the action ends and the movie is over. This all happens in about 60 Seconds, but I usually come away with a very detailed account of something the person in the movie might need to know. Today they call that Clairvoyance, but when you're a toddler, you can get pretty distracted by these little vignettes and I tended to be stuck in this "daydream" so long that my mother referred to it as "Zoning."

Every time I hear Cher say the words "Snap out of it!" in Moonstruck, I think fondly of my Mom, remembering her snapping her fingers in front of my face to bring me back to the present.

PS: Eventually, we both realized that snapping me out of it that way was not helpful to me as a psychic. I need to have that zoning out moment in order to receive information.

MY TAROT CARD CEREMONY

Did you ever wonder what happens to a Tarot deck when it becomes so worn from use that it needs to be replaced? Personal decks don’t get much use, but when you are in the business of using them, as I am, you let your client’s energy into the cards in order to read them. Though I know a great deal about the meaning of Tarot, I read by color and energy, and interpret what each card means according to my psychic ability.

Not everyone who gives readings does so professionally. There are many of you out there who are not aware of the precautions you should take when using cards (any cards) to interpret for someone else. The more people touch your cards, the more of their energy and the energy of the other side, is left on them, and that can cause a lot of negativity to infiltrate your world.

I had two Tarot decks that I had not disposed of, and I was beginning to feel really uncomfortable to still have them around. So, the other night I performed a ceremony. Some people bury their old decks, but I feel that only keeps the energy still lingering on yours or someone else’s property. Besides, as 4th generation psychic medium, I had often heard stories of various ways to get rid of a deck of cards. The following is a little big of my ancestors, Sue’s assistance and me.

There is a Chiminea in the backyard. While Sue fired it up with wood, I said a prayer over the decks separately and we tossed the cards into the fire. There was fresh purple sage in the garden, and that was added to our little bonfire to cleanse each deck as we sent them to disappear into the universe.

Once the ceremony was over, we immediately felt a lighter energy in our immediate surroundings. I recommend doing this with your own deck, and purchase a new one to bond with soon after.