CONSIDER the electromagnetic spectrum. Across its entire bandwidth, wavelengths range from very short cosmic rays to very long radio waves. The only portion we can perceive with our eyes and brains, visible light, ranges from 380-780 nanometers (1nm = 1 billionth of a meter) or 0.0035% of the spectrum, not much at all.
We know there’s more because we can heat food using microwaves, and we’ve got radios to interpret radio waves. We can’t perceive these parts directly, but we know the spectrum is there, and no one who’s been sunburned denies the idea of UV waves.
Weird science
Now think of the brain and its perceptual power. We all know the five senses (the very name of this very publication!), but we also know there’s more. Here’s where it gets woo-wooey.
We all have extrasensory perception, a ‘sixth sense.’ Although ESP is rejected by some, it’s measurable and has been studied for centuries. Some people simply have more mental-perceptual bandwidth than the average person.
I reject both the hardcore skepticism of someone like the late James Randi and the unquestioning true believers; most of us fall somewhere between. In my view the most reasonable is the open-minded skeptic.
We know that clairvoyance, the ability to obtain information about a person or an event somewhere else, is real. The ‘feeling of being looked at,’ also known as scopaesthesia or the psychic-staring effect, has also been quantified. Precognitive dreams have predicted some future events with great accuracy. While ESP isn’t scientifically recognized, science understands that humans have 22 to 33 distinct senses, including balance and time perception. One of the extended-mental-bandwidth things I’ve found to be real is mediumship, the ability to communicate with the dead.
Yeah, okay, here’s where it gets extra-woo-woo. Places like Sedona, Cassadaga in Florida, known as the Psychic Capital of the World, and Lily Dale in New York are gathering spots for psychics of all flavors. On a visit you can get an aura photo, a tarot reading and anything between, including a reading from a medium. Most people encounter psychics, mediums and others at ‘psychic fairs’ that come to most communities from time to time.
My wife had mediumship skills, and we used to have fun with it. I’d test her to see if she was accurate, and yes, she was legit. I’d lost a number of friends to AIDS in the ‘80s and, since she and I met in the early ‘90s, she didn’t know of any of my friends who’d died before, which made them perfect test subjects. So I’d periodically ask her about them, knowing she had no preknowledge, and she’d return some pretty darn accurate results. It made me a believer.
At the fair
We used to have two psychic fairs in Prescott each year, but they ceased with the pandemic and there hadn’t been one here in about six years. But in March one came to the Grace Sparkes Activity Center. It was called the Magical Market.
Psychic fairs are unregulated, and, since psychic functioning isn’t scientifically recognized or considered a real thing, often a reading from a psychic is little more than having a nice chat with an unlicensed therapist. They can be a lot of fun, and most participants are decent, honest people, but they can be loaded with fakes, phonies, charlatans and scammers, with a few among them who are the real deal. It’s a buyer-beware deal, though, and you’ll often see signs that read “for entertainment purposes only.” Seriously, don’t ever make a major decision based only on information from a psychic. It’s up to you to use your intuition, your sixth sense, to figure out who’s for real and who’s not.
Having seen mediumship up close and witnessed its accuracy, after my wife died I decided that I’d eventually seek out a medium, one of those people with extra bandwidth, to see whether they might be able to facilitate communication with her. I wouldn’t do this online, because I have a fairly large digital footprint and that would give a fake medium the opportunity to check into me. I would be very careful, do it in person and be cautious about how I word my questions to give as little information as possible. I want only psychic information, not generalizations or a clever person picking up on unintentional leading questions. I figured I’d have to go to Sedona, but when I learned about the Magical Market, I put it on my calendar.
There was already a crowd when I showed up shortly after the doors opened. There were all the usual crystal sellers and jewelers, the mandala painters, tarot readers, a solo guitarist — everything I’d expected, colorful, friendly and a good vibe.
I walked the room till I saw one woman sitting alone. She had no products, no cards, nothing but an empty table. Mediums don’t need stuff, so I figured she’s the one. I stood there checking her out till she asked, “Do you have a question?”
“Yes, are you a medium?”
“Yes I am.”
“Well then, you’re who I’m seeking. How long have you been doing it?”
“About twenty years.”
“Okay. What would you say your accuracy rate is?”
“Oh, it depends. Sometimes I’m really on the line, but there are other times I can’t get anything.” She answered. This was a good reply; a phony would have said how great they were.
“All right then, how much for how long?”
“Thirty bucks for as long as it takes.” Cool, I thought. Usually they put a time limit on it. I sat down, put thirty bucks on the table and said, “Let’s go.”
We sat across from each other, she held my hands, closed her eyes, and I said, “I’ve got a few questions, but first and most important, please tell me anything you can about the person close to me who’s recently passed.” I was careful not to say who, what relationship, or which gender. I wanted her to do her thing and provide psychic information only.
She struggled. She said a few things that were clearly off, and after about ten minutes she gave up. A phony would not have done that.
“I’ve got nothing, I’m not on the line, I can’t help you,” she said, pushing the money back across the table, “I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” I said, and pushed the money back. “You’re here, I’m here, why don’t you try to tell me anything about anyone I knew who’s passed?”
“I’ll give it a go.” she said. Then, without much hesitation, she said, “I see a short, stocky man who says he knows you, is that anybody?”
“Yup” was all I said.
“He’s been gone a while, years.”
“Yup.”
“He took his own life.”
“Yes.” Now she was getting somewhere, she was on the line.
“He used a gun.”
“Yes.”
“This is your father?”
“You are correct!”
“He says he’s sorry for treating you badly, he didn’t understand you.”
“Also correct.” Now I was thinking she’s definitely legit, providing information she couldn’t have inferred. She’s on the line.
“He’s stepping aside and I get a woman, blonde.”
“Yes and no,” I replied. My wife had black hair, but it was dyed blonde at one point, briefly.
She struggled some more and finally said, “She’s not been gone long, has she?”
“No. It’s been seven months to the day.”
She continued, “Yeah, that’s a problem. It usually takes six months to a year for them to find their voice on the other side. They’re spirits, disembodied, you know?”
I did know. My wife and other mediums had said the same thing, though some say it isn’t an issue for them.
She went on. “Your father sort of jumped in line in front of her, as if he was determined to communicate.” This was also correct, he’d done that many times when I’d be testing my wife’s mediumship skills. There’s no way she could have known, so she was definitely a legitimate medium. She struggled some more and didn’t have much to add.
I told her, “I heard they’re going to do another of these in six months. If you’re here, I should probably come back then.”
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll have a better chance for a more detailed reading after some time passes. But she has one message for you.”
“What’s that?”
“She said, ‘The hearts are for small acts of kindness.’ Does that mean anything?”
“Did she say, ‘hearts’ plural, or the word ‘heart,’ singular?” “Heart” would have made it a rather generic statement, without much meaning, but “hearts” was weird.
“Definitely, ‘hearts’ plural, as in many hearts.”
“Hmm,” was all I could muster. “I dunno, I’ll have to think about that.”
A project to complete
That ended the session. I’d hoped for more, but what I got was enough. As I left I told her, “I’ll see you in six months.”
That night, lying in bed, I was looking at some of my wife’s artworks on what had been her dresser (she made jewelry and small, shiny, sparkly decorative objects she sold on Etsy). I fell asleep wondering about the cryptic “hearts” statement.
Since her death I’ve been gradually cleaning out her workspace/office, and walked in the next morning. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before, but there were a few pieces she’d begun but hadn’t finished as she got sicker and weaker. I thought I’d finish them as a tribute. I went to the closet where she kept her supplies.
There were a couple of those plastic boxes with all the little drawers, like what you’d get at the hardware store for small items like nails, nuts, bolts and screws. I began opening drawers and found beads, bails, chains, wires, crystals, semiprecious stones and other stuff. In the bottom drawers, double the width of the top drawers, I found stones about the size of a nickel, all polished into the shape of — hearts! There are the hearts! There must have been a hundred of them! The “hearts” message now made sense: she wanted me to give them away!
I grabbed a handful of the little hearts, took them to my bedroom and put them next to my car keys. I knew exactly what to do. From then on, whenever I left the house I would grab some hearts, put them in my pocket, and wherever I went I’d simply leave one randomly for someone to find. That would be the “small acts of kindness” she’d said they were for! When I went to the grocery store, I’d leave a few on random shelves. I’d leave them on random tables or chairs in bars and coffee shops. I’d leave one on the restaurant tip-tray. They cost nothing, it was effortless to do. I figured when someone found one they’d think, “Oh someone’s lost something,” or, “Look at this thing I found.” Maybe they’d ascribe some cosmic significance to their find.
One day I went to lunch at a café where you pay at the register. After the server brought the check I left a nice tip and put a heart on the tray. I went to the register, paid, and was just about out the door when I heard, “Well thank you, sir!” It was my server, holding up her wrist with a big smile. On it was a charm bracelet, and she was attaching the little heart to it! “You’re very welcome,” I said as I left the building. I’d made someone happy, and it made me feel happy too.
If the Magical Market returns, I’ll go back to see whether that medium is there. If she is, I hope to get a more detailed reading and find out whether I’d done as I was supposed to do with those hearts, and hopefully more.
If you find a little stone heart someplace, it’s for you. They’re little hearts of happiness, my random act of kindness.
