Finders Keepers

I’m fascinated by water dowsers. We never hear much about them, but I have a fine old book about “Henry Gross and His Dowsing Rod” finding water all over in Maine. The book was widely disputed by scientists, as is the case in all unexplained phenomena that is successful, Especially phenomena that’s labeled “extra-sensory.”

I’m almost on the verge of disclosing my own form of “dowsing” but superstition is holding me back. If I talk about it, will my psi disappear? It’s entirely possible, isn’t it?

So the title, “Finders Keepers’ will have to say it all. For now.

(art by Missenscene)


For the past several years, I’ve been trying to see if there’s a real/valid/authentic connection between thinking about some thing and then, seeing it appear or happen.

For example, suppose a vision of a hummingbird casually floats across my mind and within a few minutes, a hummingbird appears outside my window (not a common sight, mind you).

I’ve heard reports of friends and colleagues listening to the radio while driving and reminiscing about an old song, when, next thing, the very thought-about song comes on.

The reaction of the thinker seems always one of surprise, but easily dismissed as coincidence. But is it?

Is this a phenomenon of clairvoyance?  or of materialization? it seems to be an instance of cause & effect, but what’s the  cause and what’s the link? Or, as Dan Rather famously asked, “what’s the frequency, Kenneth?”

You might know or postulate, but I’m still pondering. Such thought-appearance moments have happened to me randomly, but often.

If you have a hypothesis, you are welcome to post here and share your “moments.”


(art by missenscene)

The Escape Artist

I wanted to be an artist. Always. Color draws me in and art talks to me in a language I understand. As a toddler, I loved to color. When I was growing up, there were only 12 or so colors in the crayon box, but enough.  Because we were poor, I only had one coloring book – it was a circus coloring book, with clowns and tents and elephants.

I liked to color outside the lines. This greatly offended my mother, who was strict about following rules. She insisted I color within the lines of the clown’s costume and the ball bouncing atop the seal’s nose. But I defied her. Although I was young, I resisted the arbitrary-ness of who ever drew the lines.  I must have known, deep within my heart and soul, no real artist ever obeys a rule or a line.

But, as fate would have it, I was a much better writer than an artist. Words seemed to flow out of me like water out of a dam. Drawing was always painstaking and difficult and cartoonish. I became a published cartoonist, but that didn’t satisfy my yearning to create art. Eventually, I took the easy path and began writing.

I always read voraciously. There is, in fact, no better survival tool than reading – whether your prison is your mind or a jail cell. And so much reading, helping me survive a difficult childhood, also informed my writing skills. I didn’t want to write. It just happened. Another voice dictated the words and I dutifully put them down.

Whether it’s art on the wall or the written word in a book, creative people are blessed to be able to escape into a place where there are no rules – where we are as free as we’ll ever be

I’ve learned that many people with psychics skills are also artists – creative people, painting, crafting, writing, making music. This makes sense to me. The creative zone is essentially the same as the ESP zone.   Metaphysics

art by the great dubuffet

Testing. 1 2 3

Testing for psychic validity is an oxymoron. Skeptico aside, in my opinion, the only valid way to test a psychic (clairvoyance, telepathy, pk) is to experience a psi “moment” in person, where it always seems like an accident or a coincidence. But, at least, there are witnesses.

Tell a psychic you’re going to test her, and right away the conscious part of her mind goes into “test mode.”  Grab your pencils and your papers, kids, your ACT scores will determine if you get into Harvard.  Like that. I know that’s how it is for me when it comes to psychic skill tests.

There have been some reputable and not-so reputable “psychics” who have put themselves “to the test” on television, and, especially reality TV shows. This is like fast food for the questioners – Psychic/Medium on demand. I watched some of these programs closely and I can see some cold-readings, but I’m also aware most of the original episode was cut. Out went the missed readings & in went the Hits, making it seem like the TV psychic is 100%.  Not to disparage the one who calls himself a psychic. Likely, he is – to some extent. But not to the zenith TV would lead you to believe.

Back to testing. I’ve been tested several times in science-led experiments, The in-person test was easier. I was in a dark room, with no sensory input, except a bell that would ring randomly. My results were reported as excellent.

The online tests were harder. I had to shut down the part of my mind that wanted perfection and go into a kind of trance (as in no sensory input), hard to accomplish sitting at a computer on a desk full of doodads and notes and Oregano and Peppermint Oil bottles with scents to help keep me open. While I did not perform as well as I wished on most of these tests, I learned something. Thinking about “being psychic” is a prescription for failure. Every time. Thinking is the direct opposite of Being. And where, I did score well online, it was because I led my mind to think about anything but the test – to concentrate on gazing at my desk doodads or re-savoring my favorite carrot cake recipe or recalling the Sly & The Family Stone Concert I attended back in the 1970s. That worked for me, usually.

Most people who know I have some metaphysical/psi skills know because I showed them. I told them. I predicted them. I opened jammed doors, turned on burned-out lights, put my hand on a Bukowski poetry book I was seeking in a sea of old books at a tag sale. Like that. Not to brag. never ever brag. Just how it works some times. And some times not.

That’s one reason I began blogging again. I wanted to document the metaphysical events I could remember while I still can remember them.

This is surely a test.

I came here to learn.







Before we moved to Denver – in fact, before I married L, I was a political reporter in Los Angeles. I covered local government meetings, but also did some investigative reporting on social issues in L.A.. There were about a dozen of us reporters covering the City and County. Out of that dozen, two of us were women. Oh, those were the days when the stereotypical reporter wore a green eyeshade and smoked cigars. M and I stood out in this crowd, and it was something I was used to from Journalism School and also my first job.Women reporters were the exception;not the rule.

But the focus of this post is the “scoop” and how I seemed to beat my male colleagues to  news stories before they filtered down as press releases to the press room. Often I reported a story (inconsequential as it might be) before my colleagues had a chance to read a release and type it up (those were the days of Remington, Underwood and Smith-Corona). Apple was still a gleam in the two Steves’ eyes.

In media terms, the first reported story is known as a “scoop” and my male colleagues and even M wondered how often I seemed to scoop them.

Back then, I put my skills down to “luck” or “a hunch”, but now I see it was prescience or clairvoyance that led me to figure out news about to break. Not always, though, The skill was not fool-proof and I would have been a fool to think it was. But I scored enough “scoops” to put me ahead of the press pack and to earn me notoriety as a very good “woman reporter”. This was no small feat at a time when female reporters were mainly thought of as fluffy feature writers about food and fashion.

For my efforts, on an investigative three-part series on unfair treatment in the jails, I received an award, with a plaque and a photo, from a County Supervisor and a letter of commendation from a federal commission.

I think back about this now, and the incredible rush I felt when I learned my bylined story made an impact on an injustice and caused a change.

.Posting now as another example of how the Sixth Sense can help right a wrong -protect – – enlighten even when you’re unaware it’s working.





And, then, the Unexplainable

I suppose if you are wrapped up in metaphysics (different than being enraptured), you must be able to accept the unexplainable.

Whether it’s a sight, a sound, a feeling – even a touch or an aroma, when we enter the realm of metaphysics, we give up the certainty of knowing what we know and become open to not knowing. If we feel “touched”by a hand brushing our shoulder (and there’s no one there); if we hear the radio play a song we just thought of – if we see something or someone and the sight defies description, than I believe we are entering a new level of knowing and Other awareness.

This is not to say we can’t know what we’ve been taught. But I believe we must be open to knowing more than we know – or thought we knew. And, the unexplained exists to expand our knowledge of a life outside the one we’re “living.”

it’s not in any one book, these explanations of metaphysical experiences. It’s not necessary to drug yourself to expand your knowledge or to talk yourself into experiencing a transformation. It’s only important to be a witness to what you come upon (or comes upon you) and to take that experience inside, believing it possible, even if it seems not.

In the late 1970s, my husband and I were living in a suburb of Denver. This was nearly a decade after my mind-bending hepatitis illness, and I don’t recall experiencing or witnessing any transforming events like that one. My life was routinely mundane, or so it seemed, and nothing dramatic. Earlier, a friend had introduced me to the I Ching, and I sometimes consulted it for answers, but I don’t think the responses were unexplainable (although almost always accurate).

In Denver, we lived in a fairly new third-floor apartment on a wind-swept plain, and the time of year (Autumn, I believe) was particularly windy. I was gazing out the window, watching a pile of tumbleweeds gather (like friends in a group), clustering to the point, you couldn’t tell where one began and another ended. There was a giant, growing one-story clump of them. I found this fascinating, for some reason, and I called L over to see the massive tumbleweed heap. As we watched the wind propel even more tumbleweeds onto the pile, we noticed a woman in a dark cloak walking towards the stack.

“Hey, look, at that woman,” one of us said, and we stood, at the window, transfixed, as she neared the tumbleweed structure and then disappeared inside of it. Although we continued watching for some time (who counted?) we didn’t see her rumbling around inside the giant weed or even see her exit. It was as if the tumbleweeds swallowed her whole,  I could only imagine how suffocating it was inside there ; she must have felt some pain from the prickles.

Even now, as I write this, I realize how unbelievable this sounds. Where did the cloaked-woman come from? Where did she go? What drew her to the tumbleweeds? Why did the weeds assemble in such a way they created a tower? Almost like a tumbleweed monument?

It grew dark finally, and there was no flashlights outside, searching for her, or an ability to even see the tumbleweed tower in the dark night. It was too unsettling for me and L to to venture outside and investigate. To this day, I wonder what we would have found.

But, of course, the next day, the tumbleweeds had blown apart, and there were just random small piles of them, here and there – and by the end of the day, they were all gone.

Over the years, I’ve investigated the “symbolism” of tumbleweeds, but nothing strikes me as particularly significant about them.  I bought a small movie poster for William S. Hart’s western movie, “Tumbleweeds.” It’s in my office, reminding me of the unexplainable experience. And I’ve researched tumbleweed outbreaks that have closed down whole towns. Still, no explanations about where the weeds come from and where they decide to go.

It wasn’t until many years later, about eight years ago, I had another unexplainable Tumbleweed experience, this one in California. I made light of it, at the outset, but this time, it was personal and it was significant.

I came here to learn.


One of the most compelling moments in my metaphysical journey was the hallucination I had when my fever reached 105 degrees. I was in my early 20s, suffering from hepatitis-induced mononucleosis. My skin, my fingernails, my eyes were the color of lemons, and I faded in and out of consciousness due to a high fever that finally broke.Before it did, I visualized my funeral as a Medieval religious figure. I not only saw my body in a casket,I heard the choir and I smelled the incense.

That visualization sealed my realization of reincarnation. I am not religious, and certainly not Catholic, but what I saw and experienced (heard and smelled) were too vivid to be dismissed as a dream.

So, this early 20s vision set a path for me to explore a reality beyond this one.

And so I did. I came here to learn.



Self Defence

I’ve recently come to the conclusion the metaphysical gift of extra senses may be a form of self-defence. As in, clairvoyance, psychokinesis and telepathy can build a wall around you – an invisible fence against any thing or any body that would do you harm.

I needed this gift early on, as a wee child, and it came to me, uninvited like a white dove landing on my head (I must have seen this painting somewhere. Picasso?)

I knew I didn’t belong in the family in which I found myself , with an obsessive-compulsive mother and a passive, submissive father who was absent even when he was present.

I developed the ability to make myself ill. Enrolled in a Sunday school, where my classmates belittled and ignored me, I managed to have a fever of 100 degrees or more every Sunday morning, until the parents realized Sunday School was making me sick. Miraculously, after a day in bed, with nasty bouillon and plenty of tap water, I recovered in order to go to public school on Monday.  I was about six then, and first grade was a relief away from the immaculate house, with its gleaming windows and spot-less everything else. And a mother who said Strictly – “do not touch.”

I still have the ability to regulate my body. I can lower my blood pressure dramatically at the doctor’s office in order to avoid statins or further checking up on my wanton heart. I recovered from a stroke in what I consider warp speed, although at the time, it felt like I was slogging through a swamp full of jello. I healed my gums also – avoiding costly dental work….I’ve employed the healing shift on others, but that seems more random than when I work on my self. I would never call myself a healer. I just try to “help” ease pain or headaches or body aches, I’ve seen moving energies work (like, the spotless family home, I do not touch) work on family and friends, but I’d never bet on it. If I had to describe it, I’d say I just shift the energies away from pain and back to pain-free balance.

Well, if you’ve read this far, I’d like to suggest that you can also use your mind to regulate your body – temperature – pain – anxiety (that’s the hardest, though). After all, mind-body-spirit are said to be ONE, so why wouldn’t mind-to-body communication work? When it does, it is a great defence – a defender, protector and enabler for YOU and also, if need or wanna be, to help others.

That’s the way I see it. I came here to learn.











Why Moi?

b-logWhy anybody else? In Metaphysics we learn there is not just one chance, one solution, one answer, one anything. So, maybe, Metaphysical Toi (that’s you) or or Metaphysical Trois (that’s three of us or you – triplets or clones). Or, might as well be the person typing this, aka Metaphysical Moi.

I came here for answers, obviously.

And maybe you did, too.

I’ve got a library of what I call metaphysical books I can share with you. But really, honey, there ain’t book gonna tell you what you want to know. You can read the books and get a glimpse into something, mebbe, but metaphysically speaking – all life (even an upside-down life) is living.

So here’s a blg to get you thinking about something other than your self (or selves if you’re a trois).

More later, as I readjust to the rigors of writing.