Throughout our lives, our senses are really important—they ignite something in our souls. I recently found myself contemplating a different sort of smell than coffee and donuts, one I recalled from my childhood. What smell was it? Horse manure.
I had a memory of being about eight years old. Where I grew up was in the countryside, but in a residential area, not on a farm. It wasn’t like “the country” of a hundred years ago, but still pretty rustic compared to what this area looks like now. I remember there was a farmhouse nearby, and in this memory I was walking with a bunch of little kids to investigate the barn. And I remember the smell of manure. Believe it or not, as I remember this, to me it was more than just the smell of manure with a bunch of little kids going “Ew—horse shit!” I remember the smell relating to a time, maybe in the 1700s or 1800s, when probably the scent of manure permeated everything because that’s what we used in our lives—animals, horses—for every kind of work and conveyance. And I remember, as a child, that smell ignited memories in my soul that had to do with other times, outside of being in the 1960s and walking around with some friends. It made me think about how different scents hold memories for us—walking into a house and thinking, Oh, this smells like my grandmother’s house, or smelling a fragrance on someone that you associate with someone you loved and having it release wonderful warm memories. Sometimes we are addicted to a certain scent, and we smell it in passing and just want more of it because it reminds us of something pleasant. I’m sure there’s an adverse side to that too, that certain scents can repel us because of old memories we relate to them. But I can tell you that, for me, the scent of manure stirs up feelings and sense memories that have to do with past lives, knowing I lived in times when there was no running water or bath facilities. I don’t have a negative reaction to that scent. I actually find myself wanting to prolong it, to stay and continue to smell it, because somewhere in this are some very warm loving memories.
Last night I was watching Outlander on TV and I was thinking, at my age, I can’t believe all the changes that have taken place in the short amount of time I’ve lived on earth. How many things have changed, just in the little town I live in? There’s been so much growth, so many new people. And so much change around the world, too, of course. It’s been going on since the beginning of time. It’s so amazing how far we’ve come. The one thing that hasn’t changed is that people are still looking for the “answer” to life and death. People still want to know, “What’s it like to die?” “Where do we go when we die?” “What’s it like on the other side?” “Will I come back here again?” “And who will I be if I do?” These same questions have been asked for thousands of years and are still being asked today.
I am now in my sixties, and I ponder the experiences in my life, my actions, things I said and did, and what I have learned. I think about what I could do better, and what I’d like to be able to do over. I sometimes think about words I’d like to take back. I am well aware of my own past lives and past behavior, and often I’ll add a line to my nighttime prayers: “Please forgive my past sins and poor choices—and the sins and poor choices of my past lives.”
Chapter 3
A Catholic, a Muslim, and a Jew Walk into a Bar
In spite of the fact that this world seems to be broken up into many different pieces, that is, lots of different beliefs and religions, there is just one God for all people, so we all need to share. I believe God is for us all—good, bad, or indifferent. Everyone here is on their own path, dealing with karma from other lifetimes, dealing with lessons in this lifetime. They may be digging themselves out of a deep spiritual hole or falling into one. They may be dealing with issues we have no knowledge or understanding of. Even though we’re human and often can’t help ourselves, it’s not for us to judge.
The best I can tell is that religion is basically a tool for our spiritual growth. Within each religion, we learn lessons according to the sacred texts belonging to that religion, and the funny thing is that there is a great deal of overlap among them. I would say that, in those various texts, there is some stuff that doesn’t seem like it belongs there, because maybe it contradicts the overall message of love and acceptance, but we probably need to chalk that up to “human error.” After all, God did not actually write the Bible, for example, men did. And they may have gotten a few things wrong, just like when I listen for a message from a client’s dead loved one—I’m certainly doing my best and my heart’s in the right place, but I’m not 100 percent perfect. I do a pretty good job, but I can sometimes misunderstand what I’m being told, and so, even though I’ll tell my client what I believe I’m getting, it could be a little off. We are human!
But besides the lessons that are directly in the texts we study under our various religions, religion is also a tool for growth in another way because of the very differences between them. The fact that they do diverge on some points gives us a huge opportunity to learn to love in spite of our differences. I have family members of different ethnicities and faiths, and I meet wonderful folks everywhere I go of many different religions, and I have found that the common thread among them all is trusting in God and treating all others as you would like to be treated yourself—really simple Golden Rule stuff. We are all looking for the same things: love, compassion, forgiveness, and hope. And each of us can choose how we reach out to and interact with others who we think are not like ourselves.
I remember being around ten years old, playing with another girl my age who was Jewish. I did not really understand what that meant. I only had been told by someone that people of her religion did not believe that Jesus was their savior. But my parents accepted all differences, so I did too. Unknowingly, as I went into her home, I could feel the goodness in the energy in the home.
(I want to say, as an aside here, that I don’t think this type of experience is something that only a psychic medium could have. Nearly all of us have had similar experiences in our friends’ homes. Think back to when you were a kid, visiting with a playmate. When you went into the house, if the father or mother was mean, you felt it, right? You could feel it in the very air if there was abuse going on in that home. We all have this “sensitivity” to these emotional vibrations. On the other hand, if kindness prevailed, we would know that, too. When we’re young, we have fewer filters, so our sensitivity is at an all-time high. We develop filters—or protective layers—as we get older, thinking, perhaps subconsciously, that they’ll keep us safe.)
Religion has always been a touchy subject. I always imagine God shaking his beautiful head at us all. I myself have dealt with religious differences among family members.
When my brother Harold died, I’d been married for seven years. Three of my in-laws came to the wake. I will only say that they walked in like Joan Collins from the show Dynasty. Yes, they showed up, but I felt no empathy from them. Two days after Harold’s burial was Palm Sunday. A command performance was expected at my mother-in-law’s home for dinner. I was deeply upset and heartbroken and not wanting to go, but I felt the pressure and did not want to rock the boat. Disoriented, as anyone would be who had lost someone so dear to them just a short time before, I walked into a celebration of Jesus. But there was none of his compassion there. We had buried Harold just days before, but no one mentioned my brother’s name. At all. No one asked me how I was, no one gave me an understanding hug, no one made a point to show me any kindness or love. I sat across from John’s grandmother and one of his sisters-in-law, both of whom were laughing and whispering, giving me dirty looks. It’s hard to believe anyone could be this cold—I was horrified. I could not imagine treating anyone in this manner, let alone on Holy Sunday. I’ve watched many times some folks go to church on Sunday, get their forehead streaked with ashes on Ash Wednesday, set out a big Christmas dinner, and so much more, but then treat their fellow human beings with utter disregard.
On the other hand, my mother, in spite of terrible treatment she had received from nuns in a Cathol
ic orphanage, never held onto anger or hate. Knowing what she went through, I said, “I hate those nuns! How could God allow that?”
But she would say, “It wasn’t God, it was frustrated women. God didn’t make them do that—it was a choice they made. God is good.”
We are all born with a moral compass, but our life experiences can twist our understanding of right and wrong and how to treat others. Frequently, those who were abused become abusers themselves. My mother was one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. Whatever she went through, she was always able to hold onto a higher vision of herself, not as someone who wanted to get even, but someone who just practiced love.
My family was a mix of Catholic and Protestant. Both my parents told my siblings and me that we could make the decision of what religion we wanted to follow for ourselves, and they would respect it, enjoy it, and love it.
I had a client come to see me, a nice man who was Jewish and married to a Catholic woman. The couple had three children and raised them in his wife’s religion. But his mother was furious with him and made it known in every way possible. Besides persistent disparaging comments, she also refused to take part in any sort of religious celebration—Christmas versus Hanukkah was an especially sore spot. The fact that he didn’t bring his kids up Jewish caused a great deal of grief between mother and son, and, when she passed, he was miserable. He felt so guilty. None of this he told me. But as I sat with this gentleman, I heard his mother immediately. She opened with, “Tell my son that God is real. It’s all the same; God is for everyone. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” As I related to him what his mother was saying, he sat staring at me before he revealed the backstory on his mother’s comments. He was so happy, and I could literally feel the love and joy filling my office. Then his mother said, “Send my love to June,” his wife. “Say I am sorry.” Many more details were given to validate his mother’s presence in the room, and he left with a greater sense of peace than he had known in a long while.
We separate ourselves from others because of fear. And most of our fear stems from a lack of understanding. When I started hearing about terrorist attacks, especially after 9/11, I built up a tremendous fear of Muslims. I was not proud of myself, but this is the truth. But I am a huge Dunkin’ Donuts fan, and there’s one in Boonton that I go to all the time. I noticed that first there was one young Muslim girl working there, then a second one appeared. Then, soon after, it seemed like most of the counter staff and the manager appeared to be Muslim. All the young women had their hair covered and no makeup. As I’ve said, the truth is, this made me feel nervous. But I try not to live my life in fear, I try to be respectful of everyone, and these people certainly had done nothing to me. So here I come…the big blonde hair, bright red lipstick, all my blingy jewelry. And I’m true to my personality, very chatty and upbeat.
After a while, the girls began to recognize me and to tease me about my coffee order. I take my coffee super light, with ten or twelve pumps of half-and-half. And then a little later, they began to compliment me, making little comments like “Oh, I love your lipstick,” “Your hair looks so nice,” “I really love your necklace.” They really seemed to love all the fun, feminine touches I enjoy wearing so much. Our connection really made me think about religious expression. If I can wear a cross or a Star of David (both of which I do), then why shouldn’t they wear something that indicates their religious beliefs? Everyone should be entitled. It did make me feel good that we could have fun together, exchanging little jokes, and I really started to like all of them.
Then, one day, there was a new girl working there, and, when I came up to the counter, she asked me for my order. Before I could say anything, one of the regulars jumped in. “She likes it super light. Like her!” I thought that was funny and cute. I said, “That’s right! Super light, like me!”
I say this all the time: I could not do the work I do without the help of God and those who are in His light. Any time I am doing a reading or a show, I first have to pray for His protection, and I tell any negative spirits that are not in the light that they are simply not welcome. So I feel perfectly comfortable saying that I could not do this work without God’s permission and blessing. There are still those who don’t understand, or even fear, the psychic, and very frequently—and sadly—it’s religion that gets in the way. Sometimes people let their religion stand between them and something that could give them comfort or make them happy.
One example of this was the mother-in-law of a good friend’s son, who is a born-again Christian. It’s part of her religion to try to get everyone to convert to it, even though they might be very happy with the religion they already have. Frankly, it drives everybody crazy. When her husband died, she missed him very much, but refused to believe that he might be able to communicate with her. She just refused. Anything my friend suggested she try, she shot it down. But still my friend, from time to time, would encourage her to keep her eyes open, and tell her that she might get a message from her husband.
One day, this woman was walking on the beach near her home and saw a heart drawn in the sand that said, “I love you, Matt.” Matt was her husband’s name! The heart was above the waterline, so no waves had washed it, but also there were no footprints around it. She told this story to my friend, her daughter’s mother-in-law, but the moment my friend suggested that it was her deceased husband sending her a message, she got very angry and said absolutely not, that would be the work of the Devil!
I just don’t see how people can believe this. In my world, God is much stronger!
In another story that comes to mind, I had a guy come to the house who was going to fix a dented rim on our car. He actually made house calls, and he was very nice, smiling and friendly. My office has a separate entrance, so that people coming for a reading don’t have to go through the house, and, when he saw the sign, he said, “Oh, ‘Concetta Bertoldi,’ what do you do? Are you a decorator?” Once I told him what I did, his whole demeanor changed. He all but crossed himself, giving me a pretty horrible look. His look seemed to say, Yeah lady, I’ll fix your tire. But you just keep your distance from me. We were still the same two people who had just met and exchanged pleasantries with big smiles on our faces. But, just that fast, everything was different. I have a very hard time understanding the judgments some people make, but try to bear in mind that when we come back here to the earth plane we all are arriving at various points in our spiritual progress, and we also may have been, in a way, indoctrinated, in our upbringing or through our experiences, to have particular beliefs. I myself, as I’ve just described, have struggled not to form preconceived notions about people, so I try to keep this in mind. It ain’t easy for any of us here on the earth plane!
I try to live my life in the light of God at all times, and it’s natural for me to feel that energy all around me. But there are some places that really are special and seem to magnify the feeling. For example, several years ago, I went on a girls’ trip to Italy with my friends Mushy and Debbie (I’ll say more about this trip in a later chapter). One day, toward the end of our trip, Mushy was doing some tidying up, getting ready for our return, and Debbie and I went to see an old church. I cannot now recall the name of the church; it was just a beautiful old Catholic cathedral. Debbie and I had visited other churches on other trips, but we’d never sat through an entire mass in a foreign country before, and this one was all in Latin. Knowing some Italian, we were able to pick out a word here or there, but, for the most part, the sound of the words just rolled over us. Even not understanding what was being said, it was one of the most beautiful services I’ve ever heard. The energy, the love on people’s faces. We were in a place where we could feel the Holy Spirit truly lived. When we got up to say, “God be with you,” everyone greeted us. It was just very moving. I mention this to say that, even though this was a Catholic service, it could have as easily been a Jewish service or a Muslim service. It was really the energy of God and the sense that all of us were
one.
Chapter 4
I Know What You Did Last Summer
There’s one question I’ve heard so frequently in my career. It’s been asked in all different ways. I started bringing it up at my shows as an icebreaker—if someone in the audience didn’t beat me to it—and it always makes the house both laugh and cringe. It even became the title of my first book: Do Dead People Watch You Shower? I’m not sure why everybody wants to know this. I guess it can feel pretty creepy to think that, no matter where you go, your deceased grandparents, parents, great aunts and uncles, et cetera, are watching you. But here’s the answer to that question: They sure do! There is literally, my friend, nowhere to hide. Wherever you go, there they are!
If knowing this freaks you out, I hope it’ll make you feel better when I tell you that they are only watching over you with your best interests in mind. If they happen to see you in the shower, it’s not in the sense of a Peeping Tom. They don’t care; they are not in human form. They remember their human lives, but they don’t relate to it in the same way anymore. As spirit, they judge nothing. They want only your happiness.
And, once they are on the other side, they could not care less about settling any scores. They understand the reason behind anything that happened to them here. They understand if someone hurt them unintentionally, and they forgive if someone hurt them intentionally for any human reason. They understand it was an error, a poor choice, and that the other person will have to find a way to correct their own behavior.
Every week, for the last decade or so, someone has come in to my office worried that a dead loved one on the other side is still mad at them about something they said or did when their loved one was alive. I see it so often, I almost printed up T-shirts: “They’re Over It. But Are You?” Nobody over there is mad, and it saddens me to see so much pain and suffering here, when all the spirits tell me that love is the emotion that makes it to the other side. Even the most heartbreaking vendettas can be wiped away after someone gets to the other side.
I Kissed a Ghost (and I Liked It) Page 4
