mamma mia...

Today I was going to write about my first experience with Matrix Energetics and explain it a bit but when I was done with the post, I realized a big part of the story was about Mia, a psychic-medium that I have been working with for the past five years. (See picture to the left) I would normally just link you back to an older post but in March I freaked and deleted my blog so this isn’t possible.

Instead, I’m going to repost the personal essay I wrote about meeting Mia for the fist time. It's a good story. Enjoy!

For my 35th birthday, I gave myself a gift – a visit to Mia, a psychic. As I drove up the winding hills of Studio City to her house, I wondered what she would look like and what she would tell me. I was hoping she would offer a few words of relief, a glimmer of hope for my less than perfect life. I was a single mother, about to be laid-off, on anti-depressants, in therapy, and hating the father of my child because he had recently fallen in love and left us behind. I felt alone, unlovable and lost. I wanted to hear that I would meet someone, be swept off my feet, financially cared for and loved -like Cinderella. I wanted the fairytale.

She was waiting outside as I pulled up to her house. She was tall, slender, in her forties with short hair and sparkling eyes. She was dressed in black casual pants and a purple loose fitting top – a far cry from the over-weight-crazy-cat-woman I had imagined or the old croon in scarves often depicted. There was nothing creepy or extraordinary about her. She was “normal.”

“Hello!” she said in a mischievous and beguiling voice as if we were old friends getting together for a good gossip. “Let’s go inside.” I followed her in and made sure my phone was off before putting my purse down by the door. “Have a seat on the couch. Would you like some tea,” she asked as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“Yes,” I said, as I walked over to the couch glancing around the living room eyeing some chocolate truffles on the table.

“Help your self to a truffle,” she hollered from the kitchen. She must have read my mind, I thought and laughed to myself as I sat down and popped one in my mouth. It was my birthday after all.

Moments later she appeared with two cups of tea. She sat down across from me. “Uncross your legs,” she said, and I did so without question. I didn’t want anything to scramble the lines of communication.

“I was going to start writing but then I was shown a situation with you and a man,” she said. I knew the “man” was the father of my child but I didn’t say a word. “Bottom line is you’re repeating relationship patterns in your adult life, trying to heal the wounding from the parental situation of your childhood. You are trying to fill the hole you were left. It runs you.” She took a sip of tea, smiling. “Strange sitting with a perfect stranger who knows you so well, isn’t it?”

I took a deep breath. This was not the ‘you’ll be married in a year, have a great job and live happily ever after’ I had hoped for. She was revealing the jagged terrain of my inner life, the private stuff that I barely admitted to myself, preferring to pretend everything was fine. Whoever or whatever was giving her this information had a window to my soul.

“I keep seeing bars on your neck like a prison,” she said as she coughed. The bars on my neck had begun to affect her throat. I sat in silent shock unable to believe that she had just described how I pictured my life, a cement room with a window just high enough not to see out. She went on to explain that the neck area is the 5th chakra and relates to truth and being able to hear one’s own intuition. “It’s like you are inside yourself, trying to get out and the only way you are going to escape is through your own truth and your own listening to Spirit.” She got up to get a throat lozenge. “But this feels dicey for me with you. What is your Spiritual consciousness?”

Spiritual consciousness, I asked myself. I realized then that the happily ever after wasn’t coming. “I believe in the universe. I don’t believe in the Christian God as he’s taught. I’ve been reading about Buddhism and Hinduism.” I was lost spiritually. I hadn’t found anything that really spoke to me even though I’d been searching for years. I was raised Methodist but renounced my religion at the age of eighteen because I found the church hypocritical. I never understood Jesus dying for my sins or giving money to a place for worship when there are so many people in need and nature makes the perfect temple. “You are in a self imposed prison, you need to ask Spirit for help to get out,” she said.
I nodded.

“When I say spirit, I’m not talking about dead people.” She chuckled.
“I know,” I said laughing in response.
“I’m talking about a universal consciousness that is in support of you and when you ask for help from your soul you will receive it.”

She then asked me to close my eyes. “You are in jail. Your son is down the hall. Someone is hurting him and what do you do?”
“I run out.”
“Right, you run out and rescue him, ok?”
“Yeah.” I immediately open my eyes, glad it was over.
“Close your eyes again,” she said in her velvet calm voice.

I reluctantly closed my eyes.

“Now go back into that jail cell. You are fifty years old. You’ve spent fifty years in that jail. You get fed three times a day. You don’t have to engage with other people and every once in awhile a guard will come over and give you some sexual activity so you don’t completely feel in prison. You hear down the hall a six-year-old girl…”

“I knew where she was going with this. She was about to free me from my prison and I wasn’t sure I was ready. My prison was my protection. It was where I had control and felt safe. I had been there for almost thirty-five years. I didn’t know what life looked like on the outside. I was scared.


“…and you start to talk to her and ask her what she’s doing there. She tells you she’s there because her mother and father couldn’t be together and she had nowhere else to go. She cries all the time. First you get angry because it’s irritating but then you recognize that you have the where-with-all to go and help her. So what do you do?”

“I get out.”
“And then what?”
“I find her and tell her to get out.”
“What does she look like?”

I broke down in tears. Mia had found her way through the labyrinth of my heart to the chore of my being where I kept my treasure of broken pain. I would no longer be able to be the victim.

She looks like me,” I said through emotional exhaustion and tears.
“But she won’t leave either.”
“She has no choice. I’m going to take her out.”
“So you are going to leave together. What are you afraid of when you walk out that door?”
“Nothing,” I said not sure if it was the truth or that easy.
“How does she look at you?”
“With love.”
“Does she trust you?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s it,” she said.

That wasn’t it. It was a crack, an opening to possibility. Wherever Mia received her information from, be it Spirit, God or the Universe this force knew me, loved me and wanted to heal me. She was given the information I needed to plant the seeds of faith and belief in myself. I walked away that day feeling I had found the elixir to a blissful life and I didn’t want to share it for fear there wasn’t enough to go around. That was my first lesson out of prison -there’s enough for everybody.