As an empathic psychic medium who comes from a long line of empathic psychic mediums, I am often invited to participate in investigations at a variety of reportedly haunted locations. These are wonderful opportunities to go into some amazing homes, businesses, and heritage sites where I get to delve into the histories and mysteries of people, events, and places. I get to explore from a perspective that is not accessible to everyone and touch the energies of the past while listening intently to the whispered stories and heart-felt emotions contained in the walls and floorboards of these mystical places. I go to these investigations "blind" with no advance information to influence my thoughts, and I openly say, “I got nuttin” if I am unable to sync with the vibrations of a place.
One hot, sticky summer I was invited to participate in an investigation at an unknown location with a well-known psychic. I have to admit – I was a bit of a fan-girl. I could not wait to meet this person, to work with them, to be on their radar. I was honored to be included in this by-invitation-only event. I felt like a little kid about to embark on their first trip to Disneyland and Micky Mouse knew I would be there.
But then, three nights before the investigation, I had a dream.
I stand on the threshold of a grand, dilapidated mansion, its walls adorned with peeling wallpaper, the echoes of bygone parties lingering in the air. A grand curving staircase spirals upward before me, an ornate yet weary piece of history that whispers of a thousand stories. The anticipation fills me wonder as I venture into the mystic unknown with a renowned psychic.
The dream weaves its tapestry, and I can sense the energies of the past, touching the vibrations of this place. My heart races with excitement as I prepare to ascend the first stair, eager to explore the mysteries held within. But then the celebrity psychic I had yearned to work alongside was at my ahead of me on the staircase. The dream takes a sharp turn.
In this surreal realm, I find myself at odds with the very person I had idolized. Their approach clashes with my principles, a discordant note in the symphony of the paranormal. Where I had been taught to respect these ethereal realms, to listen, and learn, this person was demanding answers, commanding and provoking energies to respond to their will. The sense of sense disrespect in their actions, and the disregard for the essence of the environment we tread upon hit me hard. It's as if they've barged into a sacred space, making demands instead of humbly seeking communion.
A heavy disillusionment clouds my dream. I feel betrayed, invalidated, as if the foundations of my beliefs have crumbled beneath me. I turn to our trusted Lead Investigator, the compass of our paranormal pursuits, to voice my concerns. Yet, my grievances find little solace, my turmoil remains unaddressed. Frustration bubbles within me, and in my dream, I find myself shouting, screaming, and stomping my feet—a storm of emotions in response to a perceived injustice.
With a jolt, I wake up, tears trickling down my cheeks. The weight of my dream bears down on me. I understand what I must do, but the knowledge doesn't ease the devastation in my heart. I reach for the phone and dial the number of our Lead Investigator, the one person who might comprehend my decision.
As I explain my choice to withdraw from the investigation, I feel a mixture of relief and sorrow. This was an opportunity I had eagerly anticipated, and yet, I cannot ignore the wisdom imparted by my dream, the inner guidance that urges me to stay true to my beliefs.
The Lead Investigator, though taken aback, recognizes the sincerity of my convictions. It's a bittersweet parting, but I know in my heart that I've chosen the right path.
On the night of the investigation, I sit alone in my sacred space, reflecting on my decision. Doubts creep in, and I second-guess my interpretation of the dream. Perhaps I had overreacted, given in to fear, and missed out on an invaluable experience.
But then, the next day, the phone rings not once, but thrice. Voices on the other end recount the shocking events of the investigation. The renowned psychic, it seems, had conducted thorough research beforehand and presented information that was later revealed to be a fabrication, a cruel deception. They had feigned contact with spirits, invoking falsehoods that never existed.
My heart sinks at the revelation, but I also sense a peculiar relief. My teammates express their gratitude that I wasn't present to witness the fall from grace of someone I had long admired. It's a mixture of emotions—a hero fallen from the pedestal, a disappointment, and yet, an affirmation of my inner voice.
I am reminded that dreams have their own language, a wisdom that transcends waking reality. In the end, my dream had guided me on the right path, shielding me from a disillusionment I might have otherwise endured. And though I carry the weight of my unfulfilled desire to ascend that grand curving staircase, I hold my head high, knowing I followed the truth that resided within.
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