Sometimes, I can’t believe the words that come out of my mouth. And, actually, they’re not even my words! It happens on occasion when I connect with a spirit that has come for one of my clients – I can deal with a few naughty phrases that might slip out in the privacy of a one-on-one reading. “Did your father curse a lot?” I’ll then ask, and get a nodding head in reply. But when off-colour remarks pop out at a public message service, or when I’m serving at a Spiritualist church – yikes! A few blue words, and I’m red in the face. It just goes to show: When we transition to spirit, it’s not all harps and angels.

It’s one of those drizzly autumn afternoons, cool and damp, the kind of day that makes me want to curl up in bed and take a nap. If I was a bear, I’d probably think about hibernating. Sprinkles of rain trace wavy lines down the window in my office, and I can’t stop thinking about the couple I saw last week, and the feeling of heaviness they carried in their souls. That heaviness, I later learned, was a grief that was so intense, it threatened to drown the love they had for each other, and their surviving child.