The following words are from an internationally recognized professor, one of many who requested I put pen to paper and share my unusual life story. Yesterday I did nothing other than read, read your gripping, fascinating account of how you discovered your own psychic abilities and how you coped with those people who both rejected and (warmly) accepted you. In fact, I went to bed far too late because I could not stop until I had finished reading the very last page. If you ran away from school so much, how did you acquire this first-rate narrative ability? Your capacity for storytelling is quite extraordinary. Instance after instance is good, in a most compelling manner, even (or especially?) when it concerns animals, such as the story of your relationship with the dog, Tiger, and his sad death by bait poisoning. The ways in which you increasingly, throughout your life, have been able to open up to a spirit dimension is both comforting and enviable to someone such as me who at times tried but failed. I am pleased to learn that others, too, are hoping you will make the grippingly told story of your exceptional talent and physical/spiritual experiences available to a large readership. Perhaps my last conversation with my father might best explain my life and my qualification for writing this autobiography. Perhaps gift might be more appropriate. You have an amazing gift, my girl, said he with kindness. After I spent the entire four days of Easter talking to long-since-dead family and friends who were outlined on a wall behind my shoulders, he talked and talked about his past and life. I could not have known anything of make sure you use it wisely. Mother interrupted here and, with scathing tongue, said, Just make sure none of our friends know what you do. They might think we are peculiar too! My dad, nearly ninety-five and not having long to live, turned with sadness etched across his wise old face and said softly, I should have left her in the gutter where I found her!
The book began as a quick journal to share her humble beginnings and great adventures with her grandchildren. However, as writing often does, it morphed into something else. It evolved into a personal evaluation of how she has spent her first eighty-two years--the choices she made and her satisfaction with those choices.
The following words are from an internationally recognised Professor... one of many who requested I 'put pen to paper and share my unusual life story.' "Yesterday I did nothing other than read... read your gripping, fascinating account of how you discovered your own psychic abilities and how you coped with those people who both rejected and (warmly) accepted you. In fact, I went to bed far too late, because I could not stop until I had finished reading the very last page. If you ran away from school so much, how did you acquire this first-rate narrative ability? Your capacity of story telling is quite extraordinary. Instance after instance is told in a most compelling manner, even (or especially?) when it concerns animals, such as the story of your relationship with the dog Tiger and his sad death by bait poisoning. The ways in which you increasingly, throughout your life, have been able to open up to a Spirit dimension is both comforting and enviable to someone such as me who at times tried but failed. I am very pleased to learn that others, too, are hoping that you will make the grippingly told story of your exceptional talent and physical/spiritual experiences available to a large readership." My last conversation with my Father might best explain my life and my qualification for writing the autobiography. Perhaps 'Gift' might be more appropriate. "You have an amazing gift my Girl," said he with kindness, having spent the entire four days of Easter talking to family and friends, long since dead, outlined on a wall behind my shoulders! Talked and talked about 'his past' and a life I could not have known anything of. "Make sure you use it wisely." Mother interrupted here and, with scathing tongue, said: "Just make sure none of 'our friends' know what you do! They might think we are peculiar too!" My Dad, nearly ninety five and not long to live, turned with sadness etched across his wise old face and said softly: "I should have left her in the gutter where I found her!
Within these pages may you find a soothing space to replenish, restore, and grow. Pause here awhile and discover the nurturing essence of your own personal mysteries
Thank you for visiting our website. Would you like to provide feedback on how we could improve your experience?
This site does not use any third party cookies with one exception — it uses cookies from Google to deliver its services and to analyze traffic.Learn More.