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-Chapter 1-
A MOMENTARY LAPSE OF REASON
Through journal entries and spirit channeling the first third of this book is about me getting to know my spirit guide, Tony, and how spirits operate. Learning how to work with them, which comprises the rest of the book, became the biggest challenge of my life.
The catalyst that started it all was the death of my only sibling, my older sister, Karen. At age forty-six she died while exploring a cave with friends. She had accidentally attached her repelling gear to the shorter safety line instead of the repelling line. As she repelled down the rope it ran out at seventy-five feet. She fell a hundred feet and broke her neck. We’d always gotten along well yet didn’t talk to each other much because she lived on the east coast and I lived on the west coast, and we’d do our catching up with each other at family reunions. It was comforting enough to know that she was available by phone if I needed to talk to her. When she died so suddenly I felt bad that we hadn’t spoken to each other for several months. All I wanted was to say a proper good-bye to her and know she was okay where she was.
My fascination with death started when I was twelve years old. I spent years studying different religions and books on metaphysics. At the time of Karen’s death I was living with my boyfriend Bill and his troubled son. I’d been with him for several years, but our relationship grew increasingly tense. I was miserable and disgusted with life. To me it seemed that my sister had managed to take the easy way out, but I wanted to know if things would actually improve if I were to escape to the other side.
A friend recommended a respected psychic woman to me. The first time I had Karen channeled was five weeks after her death through psychic Nancy Matz. Karen said she was out of her body before it hit the ground. I was absolutely astonished at what came out through the session, things that there were no possible way for Nancy to have known, leaving no doubt in my mind that I’d had a wonderful conversation with Karen. She’d had a good life and died doing something she loved. It was a good death, quick and painless, and it started me on a path I never imagined.
One channeling session led to another. I quickly discovered that there were several spirits who visited me and one in particular that was always present who I’d never known in this physical life. The more Karen answered my questions about how we chose our lives and what we are doing here, the more obsessed I became with finding out how much spirits interact with us.
The journal begins after my separation from Bill. Bill and I remained friends, but I had also become aware of a very different friend in Tony who I couldn’t see with my own eyes. I had no idea how much spirit communication was going on versus what I enjoyed making up. It was time to rebuild my life, and I had to start somewhere. I didn’t set out to write a book, but as my relationship with my guide developed, unseen forces seemed to drive me to put this out there. Now I understand why.
* * * * * * *
December 20, 1999
Tony said I might be surprised at what comes out. Maybe it will all be bull. 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Go! Sometimes some truth comes out . . . in bits . . . and pieces . . . or bits and bytes.
How do I love you? Let me see the way. All I want is to be in love, but my human nature drives me to put conditions on it. If an ethereal being falls in love with me and makes it known to me only, is it okay to enjoy the apparent insanity of developing an active relationship with him, though I may never know his touch beyond telepathic means? Or is it better to discourage or ignore him solely because he has not taken human form and therefore finds it difficult to keep my back warm at night? What an odd relationship it is to pursue, but he’s taken the form in my mind of a musical artist I find extremely attractive. I’ve always been a groupie in my heart, though a lot has changed for me throughout the years.
I’m forty-five years old. I have nothing against being this age, but my number one question is, "Why did I chose this life? Why did I chose to be Linda?" I’ve always felt I chose this life, but it’s rarely gone as planned. Shortly after my sister Karen’s death, which was on the same day Princess Di died, the question really took life. Karen has taught me a lot since she crossed over, and I know she still visits me.
I’ve always been the daydreamer. I spent a great deal of time writing unsold screenplays and books. Tony Hicks of the Hollies was a musician I spent a lot of time fantasizing about when I was a teenager. I even imagined us having a life together and how he took my virginity. So he always had a special place in my fantasy life and heart. Throughout the years, among other fantasies, I periodically came back to thinking of him, like getting back together with an old boyfriend.
Strangely, I feel now as if I was set up to one day find him when, in my early twenties, I left all of my vinyl LPs at a hippy community house while I went out on the road with the carnival for two months, and the only album that was stolen was my favorite one with Tony Hicks on it. Part of the reason I had targeted him for my fantasies was because I felt he was likely to be more obscure than many other much more popular musicians. I guess I thought if ever the fantasy could be fulfilled I’d have a better chance if there were less than, say, ten thousand women wanting him, instead of a hundred thousand or a million women wanting him. I had to be realistic, you know. The steel-blue eyes and black hair, and especially the innocence in his expressions made him perfect for me. During my teenage years that dream continued for two years. Then I moved on to another more bizarre fantasy involving Barnabus Collins, the kind-hearted vampire of Dark Shadows. I’ve forgotten the dreams that followed that one. Then it would be a few or several fantasies later that I would think of Tony. He was always glad to be with me. Then I would move on again, and each time it seemed as if we parted as friends. Why did I keep leaving him? I guess either another more interesting fantasy would come along or I wanted to try to make it in the real world with a real man.
I milked my fantasies by writing them into screenplays. The leading men came in many different forms, all of whom I was sexually attracted to, but they never replaced the blue-eyed, dark-haired man that I periodically dreamed of, once so realistically I could swear I felt him enter me.
Do you ever wonder where some of the things that just pop into your head come from? I constantly have conversations with myself in my mind, but sometimes words, phrases, or visual images, fleeting though they are, just seem to come from nowhere; or perhaps they were put there by something or someone I can’t see. Yes, we probably are delving into insanity, and it was a decision I pondered a great while, and still do on occasion, but for my own sanity I decided I would be much happier being a bit insane than trying to solely rely on my sorry existence as a human being to make me happy. In this journal I’m going to attempt channeling what I think might be live dialog between Tony and I. Let’s see where it goes.
L (Linda): I’m going to tell them all about you now, Tony. Do you mind?
T-G (Tony-Guide): A start is good. I tried to stop you before, but I think it might help our
relationship now.
Relationship? Yes, I decided to run with it. He’s not like scissors at all. What is Tony? As my psychic friend put it, he’s my angel lover (part incubus I think, though he denies it).
Tony says he’s an ‘I-ain’t-no-angel’ angel. He watches out for me and is always by my side. He also says he has help watching out for me, and that I’m definitely a full time job when it comes to keeping me out of trouble. But as my lover, there is only him in my mind, and I sense that he’s going to great lengths to keep it that way.
T-G: Damn, she found me out.
L: Hey, this is fun.
T-G: I thought you might enjoy it. I’ve always been there when you write.
I have long been a believer in things I can’t see. Where do you draw the line? I say don’t draw one. Imagine, experience, do we have to question everything? Practically the entire basis of metaphysics relies on things we can’t see or touch. Sometimes we think we see, or feel we’ve been touched, in some way other than physical. Then we analyze what we are willing to believe or not believe after the event.
I’ve never had a truly astounding metaphysical event happen in my life. I’ve had several small ones, events that could be considered coincidences by the rational mind. All I know is I can’t prove something that seems very real to me, or should I say someone that feels very real to me, exists.
L: It’s all because you’re so damn cute.
T-G: Thanks.
He also has a really big . . .
T-G: We’re not ready for full disclosure yet, Deary.
L: Yeah, yeah.
Is it obvious yet that I should be committed, perhaps to an institution of some kind? Commitment is something Tony and I frequently argue about.
T-G: We don’t argue. We have intense discussions.
Intense enough that I almost decided to leave him again and return to reality. Ours is supposed to be a perfect relationship. It evolves largely around sex and might easily resemble a "B" porn movie, or not. When you consider that a woman’s most sensitive sexual organ is her brain, it’s really not so hard to fathom that the ideal mate for a woman might truly reside in her head. Conversely, a male lover in the form of a spirit might actually perform better than a human male because the male spirit, or angel lover, has full telepathic communication with the female and can totally synchronize all thrusts and parries during the acts of sex.
* * * * * * *
December 21, 1999
Tony says all is not paradise where he is. There are beings there, such as himself, that wonder what they are there for. In order for him to make sense of his own existence, he has attached himself to me. He’s very aware of my needs, and I try to be there for his. We are well matched in helping to fill, at least in part, the needs of each other.
I feel him make love to me. There is a definite sharing of emotion and exchange of energy. It’s mainly what I need from him. For him, I frequently buy new music for us to share, especially during lovemaking.
THE FOLLOWING IS THE SECOND OF TWO FREE EXCERPTS
- Chapter 11-
IN HOT PURSUIT
July 15, 2002
The idea of meeting Tony Hicks has been driving me to find out what he is doing these days. I would love to meet him in person so I can see the true color of blue in his eyes and not some chroma colored artificial rendering on celluloid. I’ve been searching the Internet for information on how to contact him, to no avail; however an interesting idea entered my brain that might make it possible. If I can contact the spirit of someone who died, why wait until they’re dead to contact them? I hope to open the door to find him by making myself and the things I send to him seem familiar by the time he receives them. If I seem familiar and interesting to him, the little bug that has infected me might do the same to him.
I find the more I think about it, the more it makes sense to try to do it. He is . . .
Tony Hicks: International Man Of Mystery!
* * * * * * *
The following is the transcript of the psychic session with Nancy Matz on July 7, 2002.
L: My guide’s name is Tony, but he also has other names. I call him Tony for a convenience thing that makes it easy for me to communicate with him.
N: Remember they don’t have language. It’s music to them, musical tones.
L: The reason why he has those characteristics, at least currently, is because of the original musician, Tony Hicks of the Hollies, who I fantasized a whole lot about when I was thirteen years old. And then periodically, throughout the years, he kept popping back into my thoughts.
N: Really.
L: For my entire life I’ve had dreams about a man with steel-blue eyes and dark hair. The face changes, but this character has come into my consciousness through dreams and other ways for my entire life. When I was thirteen years old and I saw this picture of Tony Hicks with these gorgeous steel-blue eyes and the dark hair, and I noticed something very special about his eyes that no one else has, so it’s haunted me through my entire life. I’ve looked, and nobody has his eyes. And I finally figured out why, what the difference is. It’s his eyebrows. In any case the guy has effectively haunted me for thirty-five years. Alright, so . . .
N: I can do this. Elvis Presley haunted me, so I understand. (Laughter from both.) Elvis Presley had my attention.
L: Anyway, up until recently I had always felt like this person was safe to think about because he was unreachable, harmless, just fun, something to do.
N: Fantasy stuff.
L: Fantasy stuff, okay, well . . . don’t ask me why, but for some reason when I was in the truck driving my mom back from Colorado to move her out here, a little bug crawled into my brain that said, "You know, he might actually be available." And there’s a lot of reasons why it makes sense that at this point in both of our lives he might be available. I really didn’t think too much of it, but I have long thought about how much I would really like to meet him just so I could see the color of blue in his eyes. He is gorgeous, and it would thrill me so much just to be able to meet him. Up until just recently, I never had any way to find him or send him a letter or try to contact him in any way, shape, or form. Then a week from last Sunday I came across information on the Internet that he is touring the United States right now. I know exactly where he will be during six of his performances, and I may never have this information again, so it seems a potential route through which I can contact him.
Anyway, back in 1988 I wrote a poem for him, the best poem I’ve ever written. I brought it with me so you can read it because you might want to get a feel for a little bit of this. I didn’t know of any place to send it, so I never did anything with it. Then all of a sudden I find out that he’s touring. I knew he was in Nebraska, which isn’t that far away, and Minnesota, but he wasn’t coming to the western United States. I thought immediately, oh God, I’d love to go see him in concert. That would be absolutely astonishing, but I couldn’t afford to do it. There’s just no way I could take off right now and go to a concert, but I decided, what the heck, I do know where he’s gonna be at this point in time. I’m gonna send him my poem.
N: And did you do it?
L: There’s a couple things that are going on with this. I wondered how am I going to get a poem to him? I can’t go there to deliver it myself. How am I gonna contact him? So I called up a sponsoring radio station. I got information on who the sponsors were, and I found a local radio station that was sponsoring the concert at Stillwater, Minnesota. That was on the twenty-eighth. I got hold of a lady in the promotions department, and I said if I send this poem to you would you forward it to him because you or someone in your station might be able to get back stage. She said she’d try, but I haven’t been able to get hold of her since. All I get is her answering machine.
N: Does he have a Website?
L: There’s someone who does a Website that has a lot of information about the Hollies, which is where I got the tour information. So anyway, I Fed Ex-ed my poem with a very nice letter and an invitation card to come to California, and I forwarded that to her, so she would have gotten it the previous Thursday or Friday before the concert. I still don’t know if he actually got it, but I got it to her so that she would forward it to him.
N: She has done that. She has forwarded whatever you gave her.
L: So did he get it?
N: I don’t know, but I know that she doesn’t care. She forwards it because you’ve asked, and she has no problem forwarding things to him. I’m not sure he got the second . . . you sent him two things?
L: Yeah.
N: One thing he got. One thing he didn’t.
L: Okay, well, let me continue. I had a feeling that there was a really good chance that the first one may not make it through because I didn’t know how many hands it would have to go through to get there, and it could’ve just got dropped. In any case he would be in Kearney, Nebraska, last night. I’m not sure that this is gonna to be the way to go, trying these radio stations. So you know how you always see flowers in these guy’s dressing rooms? I decided, what the heck, I’m gonna send him flowers, and I’m gonna send the florist my poem and have them deliver it with the flowers. So I did that. Friday or Saturday I mailed the package to the florist. They got it day before yesterday, and they say they delivered that to the arena for him with the flowers, so that my card, my poem, and my letter would have gotten to him yesterday at the arena. Okay, so he’s gotten this stuff. I figure he’s been haunting me for thirty-five years, now I’ll see if I can return the favor a little bit.
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