Talented Psychic or Just Unskilled Empath?

When I get into a taxi, my handler Chikako is always most careful. “Which seat do you want next to me in the back? Is it okay to sit by the door?”

Her request seemed bizarre the first few taxi rides.

Her request seemed bizarre because you have never been anywhere cleaner than a Tokyo taxi. Not a crumb of stale food. No trash. White doilies all over that back seat. The cab driver is usually wearing white gloves, for crying out loud. The only place lovelier than behind the driver’s seat would be that pristine place by the opposite window, a fabulous place to be a back seat driver if only one knew the roads.

Chikako-san’s request seemed bizarre until I asked what on earth she meant. Then Chikako has explained it to me. When she transports teachers for VOICE, the seminar company sponsoring me here, many of the professional psychics can’t bear to sit across from the driver. Unless they’re positioned directly in back, they’ll pick up too many low-level vibrations floating around in the taxi.

This reminds me of a rather shocking statement in a book by one of America’s most famous psychics. In passing, “Phoebe” mentions that she never drives on highways any more because she is just too aware of angels and spirits to be able to concentrate on the road.

Well, I’m glad hasn’t crashed up her car. Maybe she ought to consider hiring an immaculate Japanese taxi?

Seriously, picking up impressions IS a problem for many people. They’re oh-so-impressionable. Although inconvenient, this trouble with everyday living is interpreted by them as a thrilling proof of how talented and special they are.

Given my work with Empath Empowerment, I have a different reaction, however. To me, having trouble with stray taxi vibes isn’t proof of talent so much as evidence of imbalance. A person can be plenty special without being so deeply into spirit life that she can’t drive between the lines on a highway (or color between the lines in a coloring book, if she wanted to do that instead). 

NEUROTIC DISTORTION OF THE CREATIVE PROCESS

This is the title of a book I remember from college. Okay, I may be remembering the title incorrectly, but I sure do remember the message of the book. A psychologist took up the myth of the suffering artist. What he/she concluded had a powerful effect on shaping my career. 

You don’t need to live like Ernest Hemingway or Dylan Thomas. Being a creative artist does not require that you get yourself drunk, or surly, or otherwise miserable. Being creative simply means being creative.

Once I knew a man, Paul, who spent a night in jail along with Dylan Tomas. They had been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. For Paul, this was a highlight of his life. Maybe it beat being locked up with a smelly wino from the neighborhood streets, but where’s the true triumph? 

In my latest workshop for empaths, “Lucy” told this story:

Before I knew that I was an empath, I had so much trouble being with people at all. I’d take on their feelings, their aches and pains. Now that I have begun to become a skilled empath, this has stopped. Welcome to life without constantly throwing up.

If you know people who suffer in taxis or supermarkets or schools, people who are so sensitive to the psychic, emotional, or physical environment that they can hardly function, buy them a copy of Empowered by Empathy. Or send them to me for a personal session, because I would love to make a difference.

If you’re talented, be talented. Not overwhelmed.

Eliza Doolittle at the Japanese Ball

Songs from “My Fair Lady” are running through my head this morning because last night I was really treated like royalty. It followed busy days of doing sessions with my incredibly talented, kind interpreters Kyoko-san and Makiko-san. Before us came a parade of clients, these included:

  • I loved hearing the cello-deep voice of a pianist and composer, not my friend Jeffrey Chappell but a Japanese man whose inner child flames out through his eyes with a similar outrageousness. CONTINUE READING

Getting Ready to Mix It up with Mixi

Tonight is going to be a first for me. I’ll be giving what we call a Guest Event (public talk) for people who have subscribed to the Rose Method special interest group in the big social networking website called Mixi. The group was started by one of my very loved students, Nagiko Sunadori-san. When planning for this current trip, VOICE staff and I decided to devote an evening especially to people who have been posting away at this site.

It will be a small group, more like 30 than 70 (which is the number we’ll have in the room for a Guest Event tomorrow night). Surely there will be aura readings, empathic merges, and a lot of laughter.

I don’t know what it will be like exactly, but I’m sure I will like it. Surprises are such a regular, predictable part of my life in Japan.

Last night I went for a stroll in this neighborhood. I’ve stayed in this neighborhood, Hiroo, five of my previous trips here, and I’ve always found time to pound the pavement. Well, last night I turned onto a street where I hadn’t gone before and what opened up? About five more miles of this place called Hiroo.

It’s incredibly elegant, reminiscent of Madison Avenue on the Upper East Side of New York or, in Washington, Dupont Circle. Gorgeous architecture, tony shops, fragrant restaurants, people strolling the most put-together outfits.

 Then picture the streets, quiet, even serene. (At least if you don’t speak the language well enough to tell when are quietly arguing.)

Certainly every street is squeaky clean.

If I could bring back one characteristic to America, that would be it. Last week I went to Harajuku, a place that’s a favorite among teenagers. One huge department store, Le Foret, didn’t seem to include a single adult over 30 except for indulgent mothers with daughters… and me. Ten floors of teen fashion and the dewy faces of emerging adults who “already know everything.”

Teens swarming the streets of Takeshita Dori, teens dressed to the nines. Yet nobody is screaming. Nobody’s throwing trash on the floor or rolling eyes at the occasional grownup. Just the great energy of young people, full of promise and hope and adventure.

 I’m ready for my adventure tonight. Definitely. Bring on Mixi!

From Japan, Tales of Delight, Rain, and Silliness

What was it like, teaching my first two-day workshop in Japan about reading faces? For me, it began by having an adventure with the toilet.

Here’s the back story. Literacy has been a big blessing throughout my life. Actually, reading is the ONLY skill in my life where I have been precocious, somehow figuring it out by the age of three. (By contrast, I was more than a year old before I could sit up on my own. And it wasn’t until age 14 when, thanks to a fascinating aha! experience in the New York subways, I finally realized that I could move my eyes in my head without moving my entire head.) CONTINUE READING

God and Me, a GUEST POST by Jeffrey Chappell

As part of our ongoing theme of connecting with God, I’m so honored to present this Guest Post by my friend Jeffrey.

Aura readings of this man, or empathic merges, are highly recommended.

Here’s his photo. Here’s a link to his website. And now here’s an essay by the man who played the chimes for my audiobook, also played the chimes when Mitch and I got married. Actually Jeffrey IS a chime in my life!

You asked how my perception of God has changed.

First, I believed in God. Then I wasn’t satisfied. I didn’t want to believe in God, I wanted to know God. Knowledge is better than belief. CONTINUE READING

Narcissists

On a previous thread, Ryan raised a very interesting question:

Mainstream thinking claims that certain types of people such as narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths cannot be “cured”.

I am curious what you think about such people who are typically considered beyond help and how much you have worked with such people and what kind of results were obtained. CONTINUE READING

Strange Beauty Products

Being in Japan makes a woman feel beautiful. Everywhere you go, you see gorgeous men and women. In the neighborhood where I’m staying, embassies are nearby so people on the street dress especially well.

Come to think of it, everywhere in Japan I have visited, both during this trip and my six previous ones (all sponsored by VOICE) I have seen wonderful fashion choices, elegant creativity, huge sartorial finesse.  

In such surroundings, one begins to feel a contagious elegance. It’s like being in Paris, only the people are my size.

Yet, in all candor, I must report on two close encounters with pretty dubious beauty products.

THE MAGICAL CREAM

Normally, I’m like a kid in the Tokyo subways. With all the colorful advertisements, all I can do is read the pictures. Saturday night, however, Chikako-san was with me. She’s impossibly elegant, tall and slender; probably she’d be as photogenic as Greta Garbo if only movie makers caught on to her. But to me Chikako is just a a typically helpful member of the VOICE staff. Okay, she is also funny, smart and — very important, silly. So we always have fun together.

It also helps that she speaks English fluently. As we rode in style, I noticed a prominent ad for a beauty cream at the end of the subway car. She translated. This cream, said the ad copy, removes all asymmetries from your face.

Yes, you just put on a little dab here, a little dot there, and that’s all there’s to it.

Examples were given, like having your nose a little too much toward the left side or having one lip be fuller than the other. Put on that simple cream and watch your face sort itself out.

“Do you think it works?” Chikako asked me.

I just roared. Of course, I roared with laughter, being a face reader. A face reader who has spent close to 10 years of her life studying how faces change over time, then collecting photos for Wrinkles Are God’s Makeup: How You Can Find Meaning in Your Evolving Face. (This link takes you to my home page, where you can click on the brown book cover to read more.)

If I were writing from home, I’d add photos, like the ones about how Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall changed in 15 years. Here I don’t have them handy, nor do I have hours to play with computer since a day’s full set of sessions is starting pretty soon. But probably you can find loads of asymmetries easily just by looking in the mirror. Cover up one side of your face at a time, using a blank sheet of paper. Compare left and right.

Some of those asymmetries involve bones! Others are based on the placement of eyeballs. Your nostrils may be shaped differently, too. So that’s some beauty cream, being advertised, right? Still, it pales compared to the wonders of my toothpaste.

TOOTHPASTE OF TEMPTATION

Dollar stores are very popular in Tokyo and Osaka. Of course, technically, they are called “100 yen shoppes.” Or sometimes you’llfind a real bargain hot spot with a name like “99 yen” or even “98 yen.”

Every time I return to Japan, more of these stores can be found. And they’re not like American dollar stores, mostly odd lots of cheap toys, dishware, and tools. These are more like convenience stores, selling everything from orange juice to sandwiches to sewing kits and you-name-its.

At my aura reading workshop on Saturday, during lunch break, I went to a 99-yen shoppe that I remembered from last time. They sell marvellous baked sweet potatoes. I browsed in wonderment at all the products crammed into the store and bought some items I needed. 

That included a new tube of toothpaste. When packing, I had brought just one miniature tube. And that was supposed to last for a month? What was I thinking? Even a week was pushing it, squeezing that tiny tube.

So, in my blissfully Nippon-illiterate state, I compared five brands of toothpaste and chose one with a name in English. Not Crest. Not Colgate. But at least something readable: White.

Back home, I’ve been known to use Rembrandt. With all the coffee I drink, I’m at risk for brown teeth. So here I figured, “Hey, why not?”

Fast forward to my subway trip with Chikako-san. I pull out my toothpaste and ask her to translate what it says on the back of the tube. Here’s my paraphrase:

“If you use this toothpaste and experience discomfort or pain, immediately discontinue use. Then go immediately to find a doctor.”

The wacky part is that I still used it, once I got back home. Call it morbid curiosity. How bad could one little smidge of toothpaste be?

Yum, minty taste!

My teeth have never been whiter. The results were absolutely amazing.

Not just that. If I had been listening closely, I probably could have heard enamel on my teeth screaming: “I’m melting…….”

 So this toothpaste comes with a free concert.

Okay, “White” is clearly way too effective. 

Nevertheless, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. Not yet.

In my family, I’m notorious as a tosser. Already, I’ve already thrown away the packet of bobby pins, bought the same day, another of my adventurous purchases at the 99-yen shoppe. (You ladies know how bobby pins always have a plastic tip at each end, so you don’t gouge your scalp or slice through your hair? Not these bobby-babies. They went into my trashcan as fast as you could say, “Ouch.”)

But so far I have been unable to trash my new toothpaste. I’m thinking, “For results this great, maybe I could use it once a year.”

Making Yourself the Most Important Person in the Room, Part Two

Your trusty reporter returns for Part Two in this series, writing to you from the country of small chairs, low enough so that her feet are pretty much guaranteed to touch the floor. (Being 5 feet, one inch, plus change, that doesn’t always happen for me in America.) 

Besides having small chairs, Japan is also a land of gigantic politeness, where degrees of deference are built right into the language. Yet even here, it is possible to make yourself the most important person in the room.

How can that be? Self-importance that I’m recommending has little to do with external behavior and everything to do with inner consciousness. CONTINUE READING

The Most Important Person in the Room, Part One

Ah, there’s nothing like a slow-motion shuttle between East and West to drive home certain truths: Wherever you live, empath or not, you really owe it to yourself to become the most important person in the room.

No crown is necessary. Nor need you adopt the body language of a pushy person. Instead I’m recommending a certain internal positioning, done with your consciousness (that part of you which always is awake inside, a silent witness to all your waking hours).

You matter most. Or you can. Or else you never, ever will. CONTINUE READING

Aura Readings of My Sumo Wrestler

Okay, he may not know he belongs to me in any way. Nor that I read his aura. Here’s how it happened.

He was waiting for the airport bus, just like me, only he was significantly larger and wore a blue silk outfit you won’t see guys wear back home in suburban Virginia.

I was standing with my greeter. “Reiko” had met me outside of customs, helping me navigate the way onto my ride from Narita airport to downtown Tokyo. Reiko wore smart high heels, a crisply cut black dress, and a sweet, shy smile. She was my first personification of pampering from VOICE, the company that has sponsored my latest trip to Japan.

This time, the bus was crowded. To find a window seat, I had to walk nearly all the way to the back. Settling in to my white-doilied seat in the immaculate conveyance, I saw “Yusei” come down the aisle. Nobody else seemed particularly impressed, but I was. And one look at his huge girth informed me that this man desperately needed a full double seat. Since none were left, I offered him mine. We smiled and bowed at each other and I moved nearby.

SECRET ADMIRER, ONE SEAT BACK, ONE SIDE OVER

All the better to watch him, to read him.

In a land where most people are slender and graceful, sumo wrestlers are revered. Within effective staring distance, I noticed that Yusei wasn’t fat, which was what I expected. Huge, yes. But this his was a  powerful, muscular build. I’ll also admit, I expected him to smell strange or, at least, sweaty in the way it is easy to be on a warm summer day when you weigh something like 300 pounds. Yet every inch of Yusei was fastidiously groomed, from the large sandalled feet to the straight jet-black ponytail folded over and clipped to his head.

But if Yusei’s enormous daintiness shocked me, that was nothing compared to his energy field.

  • The huge projection at the Grounding databank at Yusei’s root chakra, of course I expect that.  He filled the bus.
  • Equally, even exquisite large, however, was the Spiritual Connection databank.
  • Power was hugely developed, of course, at the Solar Plexus chakra.
  • At the Throat and Belly chakras, I could read the price Yusei had paid, the scars of his lifestyle/training. Whatever the glories of the Sumo path, it doesn’t encourage personal self-expression, joy, or spontaneity. Not for Yusei, anyway.

When we embarked at T-Cat, Yusei turned to me and said thank you again for giving him my seat. Would an American football star have bothered? Or would he have traveled alone, ignored on the bus but idolized by the national consciousness? This celebrity athlete and spiritual servant, unmasked with Deeper Perception, showed his true Sumo wrestler’s heart of humility.