My Life As a Medium Read online

  My Life As a Medium

  Betty Shine

  I dedicate this book to spiritual mediums around the world. Long may they continue to spread the word and demonstrate their very special talent.

  I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

  And the nursling of the Sky;

  I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

  I change, but I cannot die,

  For after the rain when with never a stain

  The pavilion of Heaven is bare,

  And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams

  Build up the blue dome of air,

  I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

  And out of the caverns of rain,

  Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb

  I arise and unbuild it again.

  PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 1792-1822

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Praise

  By the same author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Author’s Note

  Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the people who have allowed me to tell their stories.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Valerie sat in the chair opposite me in my healing room, and sobbed. I had known this would happen when the communication with her father came to an end.

  She had been receiving healing from me, and as she was preparing to leave I had seen a man standing in a corner of the room. He told me that he was Valerie’s father. When I asked her to sit down and explained to her what was happening, she was shocked, as she had no idea at the time that I was also a medium. Apparently, the idea of survival after death had never interested her; she had been too brutalized by this life to care about the next.

  ‘Would you like to hear what your father has to say?’ I asked gently.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘First I will describe him to you,’ I said. ‘He is about five foot six inches tall, of stocky build, has black hair, bushy eyebrows, a fine nose and full lips. But his eyes are his main attraction – they are twinkling and full of humour.’

  Valerie nodded. Unable to speak, she had followed the direction of my gaze and was staring into the corner of the room.

  ‘He tells me that his name is Nathan. Is that correct?’ I enquired.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘That was his name.’

  ‘He is showing me a gold watch on a chain. It has a cover on the face with an intricate design and the initial ‘N’, and was passed on to him by his father. They both shared the same name. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’ I could hardly hear her reply, and asked her to speak up. She shook herself as though relieving her body of a heavy burden.

  Nathan was speaking again. ‘Will you tell my daughter that I love her, and that I am pleased the rest of the family were able to escape. Death, when it came, was a merciful release, not just for me but for all of my friends who were incarcerated in that dreadful building. The shedding of the physical body was a revelation. Looking down, it seemed that a bundle of old rags was lying there, no use to anyone, whilst my real self soared into the sky. At first there was a brilliant light, then total darkness and finally a dark tunnel. Spinning through this tunnel I saw a pin-point of light, and then I suddenly shot out into Paradise. At least that was what I thought it was. My darling, you have so much to learn, and I have appeared today to tell you that you must believe in survival. Haven’t I proved it to you? When you truly believe, your life will begin. Love will enter your life and you will be shown what a privilege it is to be able to give of yourself without expectancy of reward.’

  There was a pause, and Nathan murmured, as though he were speaking to another presence. Still staring at the corner of the room, Valerie asked, ‘What is happening?’ 1 had to tell her that I didn’t know. It must have been two minutes before Nathan spoke again.

  ‘I have your mother here but she can’t show herself yet, she doesn’t know how. She hasn’t been here very long.’ Nathan continued, ‘She wants me to tell you that we both love you very much and you are to stop crying every night because you live alone. You must believe that you are not alone – there are so many people here who give you love and comfort. You only have to believe that and the loneliness will disappear. Your aunt, Greta, wants to send her love also. I have to go now, my darling. You must believe that life is everlasting. If you do not believe that, then life will not be worth living.’

  Valerie looked at me, still crying. ‘Everything you have told me is true. I’m terribly lonely, I have no friends.’

  ‘Have you ever thought about having a pet for company?’ I suggested. ‘There are so many unwanted animals around. And it would be a way of giving. When you are a giver rather than a taker you will find that your generosity will return to you tenfold.’ Then, changing the subject, I asked her if she had recognized my description of the watch. ‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘I suppose some Nazi has passed it on to his son.’

  ‘Valerie,’ I said, ‘it is only a watch. What you have received today is worth a thousand watches. I’m sorry I have to ask, but did your father die in a concentration camp?’ It was quite apparent, having seen her father, that they were Jewish.

  Tears were still running down her cheeks as she answered. ‘Yes. My mother and I escaped with my cousin, but my father was picked up at work before he had a chance to hide.’ She gave me an odd look and said, ‘If I’d known you were a medium, I wouldn’t have come for healing. I’ve always been afraid of this sort of thing.’

  ‘Are you still afraid?’ I asked.

  ‘No! But I am shocked. However, this experience has been so beautiful I shall never be afraid again. I could actually smell my father’s tobacco when he was speaking to you. Could you smell it?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but then I’m used to the aromas manifested by spirit people.’

  We talked for some time, and when she was ready to leave she kissed me and said, ‘I’m going home to think very carefully about my father’s words.’

  It was at this point that Nathan materialized. The wonder and joy on Valerie’s face was a sight to behold. She walked toward him, arms outstretched, but as she did so, he faded. She looked at me, ‘Where has he gone?’ she asked.

  I assured her that he was still there even though we were unable to see him, and that he must love her very much to make such a supreme effort to show himself. Valerie hugged me. ‘I will never forget this as long as I live,’ she said.

  When Valerie had left I walked back into the healing room. It was so charged with energy that I felt as though I was walking on air. I sat down and thought about the first message I had ever received – a simple message from a mother to her daughter. Then, as I recalled the emotionally charged sitting I had just experienced, I realized just how far I had come in being able to handle the sheer power that had exuded from Valerie’s father as he gave his message to his daughter.

  At
this point I would like to go back to the beginning of my mediumship and share the magic of my journey with you. It was not an easy journey by any means.

  I had never been particularly interested in other people’s lives, so one of my first questions was, ‘Why me?’ It was a question I was to ask myself many times over the following years. As the messages I received always made sense to somebody, I was never afraid that I was going mad. I simply was not interested, and so tried to block out the voices. Because of my lifelong interest in health, it was the healing aspect that fascinated me most – so the spirits used every opportunity to pass on messages whilst I was healing. It was almost as though they were saying, ‘If you listen to us and pass on our messages we’ll help you with the healing.’ Oh yes, make no mistake! They were prepared to bribe me.

  If I had been in a giving frame of mind it would have been easier for both sides. But I wasn’t. My children had left home and, for the first time since marrying at the age of twenty, I had time to enjoy myself. Life begins at forty-five, I thought. And it did, but not in the way I had envisaged.

  My main reason for trying to block out the voices was the emotional strain it put upon me. Healing was stimulating, exciting, and I had studied alternative healing for most of my adult life. I felt that I could use that knowledge in conjunction with the energies to produce good results.

  Mediumship, however, was a mystery. Although my grandmother had been a medium and we all looked upon her as someone very special, it had never dawned on me that I would inherit her gifts, so I had paid very little attention to her interests. I was only ten when I was evacuated, during the Second World War, and saw very little of her from that time. The war separated many families in this way. The simple fact was that I loved being a healer but hated being a medium. Fortunately for me and for many others this changed, and this book is about my training as a medium by spirit entities.

  They spent an enormous amount of time and energy dealing with my eccentricities – and I had many. Ignoring my pleas to be left alone and my threat to give up healing they continued to try to pacify me and to encourage ‘survival evidence’. For this I am now truly grateful. But it was quite a different story at the beginning.

  Although I had been guided by a spirit voice from the age of two, I was still shocked when, during my forty-fifth year, my friend’s late mother spoke to me and asked me to pass on a message to her daughter, who happened to be with me at the time. When I had finished relaying the message my friend looked at me and said, ‘I didn’t know you were a medium.’ My response was, ‘Neither did I!’

  In my first book, Mind to Mind, I described my visit to a famous medium and how, during the session, he had told me that I would be a great healer and that my name would become known around the world. He also explained that I was mediumistic and that I would be using this gift for clairvoyant diagnosis, amongst other things. That was twenty-two years ago, and everything he forecast has come true.

  Much has been written, by myself and others, of my healing abilities, but I have never mentioned the inner conflict that I suffered as I tried to come to terms with the fact that people who were supposed to be dead were actually trying to communicate with me. And that overnight the energy floodgates had opened.

  And if that was not enough, spirit forms began to build up around me. One day, whilst my daughter Janet and I were having tea in the kitchen, I happened to glance through the open door leading into a large hall. A huge funnel of blue energy had formed in the centre of the hall, and as I stared a man appeared inside the structure. He had long white hair and wore a white robe. A quick glance at Janet told me that she was wondering why I was ignoring her and staring through the door. I explained, in a whisper, what was going on and asked her to turn around. Her reaction was to tell me to close the door as she would rather not see it. I didn’t, of course, as I was completely fascinated by the phenomenon. Then the entity looked straight at me with a kindly but concerned expression. My first thought was, ‘If he is worried, how does he think I feel!’ The vision slowly disappeared and as it did so I experienced a feeling of emptiness and desperately wanted it to return. It was a sensation that was to become part of my everyday life. At the time I was upset by Janet’s refusal to share my experience. I was to find out much later that she had her own unique path to follow.

  While I was relaxing that same evening, the faces of different nationalities manifested on the blank walls of my living room. The images vibrated as they continually changed. I remember looking at them in fascinated disbelief, wondering what on earth was going on. This continued for about one hour.

  Retiring to bed did not help either. When I looked up at the ceiling I could see an eye, about the size of a dinner plate. This phenomenon was something I had experienced from the beginning. It was a kindly eye, and it gave me a tremendous feeling of peace. Unfortunately, I lost a lot of sleep looking at it. It was only months later, whilst looking in the mirror, that I realized it was identical to my own; this was my mind’s eye – my third eye. From that moment I was able to ignore it and my sleeping hours were restored. Three years later the eye stopped appearing, and I missed it.

  Something new seemed to be happening to me every day, and there were times when I just had to get out of the house. I would drive to the nearest park and, depending on the weather, either go for a walk or sit in the car. It was on one of these occasions that I pondered over the different spirit messages I had received for myself. How was I to know whether the voices were true or whether I was listening to my own higher mind? It worried me, and I had no idea how this was going to be resolved.

  The following day, whilst carrying out that most mundane of household jobs, washing-up, I had my answer. A voice repeated over and over again the christian names and surnames of both family and friends, many of whom had been dead for some time. The repetition was extraordinary. I wrote them down. It was very similar to the way I had been taught parrot-fashion at school when learning my times table. When the voice eventually stopped I looked down at the names on the paper. Some I remembered, others I did not. As I had a day’s healing ahead of me, I had to put them out of my mind at that point.

  That evening the voice returned, repeating the same names three times. Toward the end many new names were mentioned. The process continued in this vein for the next two months. During that time I checked with relatives and friends, and all of the names that were unknown to me were verified. As time passed I was also given the second christian names of many of these people. Once more I had to check, and once more they were confirmed. The voice itself had no name and I was never to find out who it had been. But one thing was sure, it was the most persistent of all the communicators. If that person had ever lived on this planet he would surely have made an excellent politician!

  Although the results I was having with healing were excellent, I found the survival evidence intrusive. Somehow it did not seem to belong in the healing room, although the messages were well received. But I was unhappy about it. There were so many lessons to be learnt as far as healing techniques were concerned and I needed the time to study them.

  I remember sitting alone one evening, praying for the voices to stop. I had heard a child’s voice that day asking to speak to her mother, and the shock had reduced me to tears. This is how it happened.

  I was healing a young woman who had been suffering with acute irritable bowel syndrome for the past two years. This was her second visit. She told me she liked being with me as I didn’t ask her questions. It was so peaceful. Suddenly I heard a little girl’s voice saying, ‘I want to speak to my Mummy.’ I looked at my patient. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep. I touched her hand and she opened her eyes. ‘There’s a little girl here who wants to speak to her Mummy. Have you lost a child?’ I asked gently.

  She whispered ‘Yes,’ and then incredulously, ‘Can you hear her?’

  The child spoke again. ‘Tell Mummy that the nice lady said that I could talk to her as she is so unhappy.’
I passed the message on. With myself as the mediator the conversation continued as follows:

  Mother: ‘I love you and never stop thinking about you.’

  Child: ‘I know, Mummy, because sometimes I can see you.’

  Mother: ‘Where are you, darling?’

  Child: ‘Well, I’m not sure, but it has lovely birds and we stroke them.’

  Mother: ‘Who is we, darling?’

  Child: ‘My friends. I have to go now, Mummy.’ A woman’s voice took over.

  ‘Hello, Jill, it’s May. I thought you would like to hear from Gemma. We’ve been worried about you.’

  Jill’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t believe it! May was my aunt. She died about ten years ago.’

  May then continued, ‘I look after the children, and Gemma has been with me since she arrived. She is a very happy, lively little girl and much loved. Now I must go.’

  Jill was crying and questioning at the same time. I sat and held her hand.

  ‘Why did your little girl call May “the lady” and not auntie?’ I asked.

  Jill wiped her eyes. ‘Gemma was only two when my aunt died. She didn’t know her.’ She frowned then, and said, ‘It is strange. Gemma died exactly two years ago today.’

  I smiled. ‘Obviously it was a treat they had planned for you.’ ‘I had no idea you were a medium,’ Jill remarked suddenly. I smiled and said nothing. Jill left.

  If I had been truthful I could have told her that I didn’t want to be a medium. That I had found the whole session a terrible strain. I re-learnt a valuable lesson that day. The truth is sometimes a cross we have to bear alone so that we can ease the suffering of others.

  After Jill had left I sat alone, going over and over the conversation she had had with her daughter. The little girl’s voice was in my head and I couldn’t get rid of it. The sadness overwhelmed me. I prayed that the voices would stop. Two weeks later Jill asked for a healing session. Although I gave her an appointment, I dreaded seeing her again. When she arrived I could not believe she was the same young woman. The pallor had gone and her previously dull eyes were shining.