On Not Talking to the Dead – A Guest Blog by DK

Hi everyone:
To enhance your opportunity to speak to your loved ones who have passed over, I recommend that each night when you go to bed, you tell your loved one that you will be in a class on the 7th of Feb. and you will try to connect with them energetically in that class.  So, please come forward at that time, if you can.
Also, your class is closed because it is full.

A few months ago, while overseas on sabbatical, I sign up at the local community college to take a class entitled:  The Art of Mediumship.  In making this choice, I’m guided by thoughts that I should take this opportunity while away to go out of my comfort zone.  I also sign up for Qui Gong, Collage and Mixed Media and decide to be more sociable.

In selecting The Art of Mediumship, I feel I’m being open and accepting of some challenging ideas. I am quite proud of myself.  My partner’s mother (who once worked for a spiritualist newspaper) worries.  “Be careful”, she says.  “They can get you”.   I reassure her. “Don’t worry, I won’t be body-snatched”.  I’m a little disappointed she thinks I’m so vulnerable. Other friends are simply mystified; although one does say she talks to enough dead people daily and doesn’t need any more.  I am determined not to be put off by scepticism and paranoia.  And anyway the one-off session only costs $15.00.

As the evening of class approaches, I receive the email that opens this blog.  I’m not taking the class so I can talk to dead loved ones, but to learn something about the Art of Mediumship.   I want to be open to new arts.  But this email suggests the class is about talking to the dead.


I realise there is no one dead I want to talk to (I rarely want to talk to those alive).  I think about my father, who died nearly 50 years ago.

I turn to my partner and say – “what should I ask him”? She says, “Ask if he’s happy”. I realise this may not work out.

I rack my brain for dead loved ones I might wish to summon before bed.  I can’t come up with anyone.

I become more and more uncertain about attending.  But then, I say to myself, “Don’t be a chicken”.   Then I chastise myself for chastising myself.  I carry on agonising right up to an hour before class.

In the end, I stay home and watch Nurse Jackie (feeling bad I’ve taken up a place when the class is full).

Later, I drop out of Qui Gong because my neck hurts. I attend one class of Collage and Mixed Media. My attempts to be sociable leave me exhausted.  I disappoint myself.

But I also spend my sabbatical reading about Buddhist thought where there is no self to be disappointed (in).  Thus, there is no ‘me’ to have, or leave, a comfort zone.

And in fact, my sabbatical turns out quite well – I get to see both Oprah and Lily Tomlin. I also buy plenty of anti-aging products so that if I ever do decide to speak to the dead they’ll be able to recognise me.




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