Usually, Rachel preferred walking on the 5th floor to her apartment rather than using the elevator. After this exercise, her legs felt like cast irons and she had to take a shower, but it was still better than being in the elevator. She didn’t know why, but inside the elevator, she always felt like she was inside a mousetrap. Not only that, for some reason, it was sickening. This Friday, however, was the day when she had no choice as she had to carry her shopping: three large bags of groceries. Usually, her husband was doing this chore. Not because of some women liberation reasons. She’d be happy to carry the groceries every time if they’d live on the lower floor. She’d even prefer to do this because then she could have placed it in all the proper places on the shelves and in the fridge, rather than her husband who did it all hush push and she had to redo it when he turned away. That is if he wouldn’t scream. But now, he was gone. She finally had the guts to show him to the door. She did the restraining order as her attorney advised. No more putting thick cosmetics on her face to hide a blue eye so people wouldn’t notice it at work. Yet one thing he was good for. He could go in the elevator without problems and carry the groceries on Friday. And now, she had to do it herself.
She looked around seeing if there would be some neighbor, but all in vain. This time, she had to do this all by herself. ‘It’s only a couple of minutes’ she assured herself and pressed the button. The door opened and she moved the three bags inside one by one. The door closed. Inside it, the elevator smelled dusty like an upholstery in the antic furniture store like she was moved back in time. The the elevator started slowly to go up the stores. She bit her lip and counted in her mind ‘one, two, three … A little more and she’ll be out. But wait, what is this?’ Suddenly the elevator stopped. It stopped in such a clumsy manner, between the stores so that only her head was above the fourth floor and her legs were still in the airspace of the third. Rachel heart started pounding and she was instantly covered with a cold sweat. ‘Why did this happen now? Why with her?’ She pressed the button of “support.”
“What?” the voice of the porter was unpleasant as if he was torn away from a very important business. “Did it get stuck again?”
“Yes, … please help me.” Rachel’s voice shook as she trembled.
“Ok, I’ll call a technician.” His voice was moving further away, “Got dammit. This piece of shit got stuck again” – she heard his mumbling.
“How long will it take?” she screamed in pursuit of his weakening voice. She wanted to hold her frustration in, but the tears burst through. It seemed to her that the walls of the elevator are coming closer together. She leaned against the door, unable to hold the panic quickly rose inside her. “Open up, open up, open up!” she pounded on the door plastic giving it the last conscious effort.
When the elevator was fixed a half an hour later Rachel was found unconscious, in the corner in an awkward pose, sitting on top of her grocery bags.
“…and why didn’t you want to use an elevator?”
“.. Because I…,” Rachel raised her eyes and eyebrows so that paths of future wrinkles emerged on her forehead, “I didn’t tell you this yet, but I had a hard time being there.”
Rachel spoke slowly and haltingly, not because her mind ran in front of her mouth and not because the content of her thoughts was more complex than her ability to verbalize it. Her thoughts seemed to be broken to chunks and it took her an effort to string them together into a sentence. She reminded a butterfly in the night, crumpled by some callous will, which only now, little by little, under protective attention from Madame B., started to open up.
“Tell me more about it, sweetheart. Is it because you are afraid of heights? Can you go out on the balcony and look down?”
“Yes. Not that … that I am super brave. But I have an armchair on my balcony, and sometimes I read a magazine when the weather is warm and even take the sun bathe in summer. You know, my floor is the highest and no one from above can see me.”
“What about an airplane? Are you afraid of flying?”
“No. On an airplane, I’m usually listening to music or watching a movie and somehow not thinking of heights.”
“Ok,” Madame B. pondered waiting while the sound of a police siren coming from outside subsided, “then tell me more about what happens in an elevator?”
“This is awkward.” Rachel lowered her head, taking her eyes away from the Skype camera.
“That’s ok, honey. It’s awkward for everyone to talk about their personal problems. And since it’s awkward for everyone, it’s sort of becomes nor awkward. So, relax and tell me what happen. I need to know everything if you want me to help you.”
“I feel…,” a tear swelled over Rachel’s eye, making her iris flicker, “like a hot wave comes from inside, from solar plexus to my throat. I felt panicky, dizzy, I get all perspired.”
“Does it happen every time you are in an elevator?”
“Not every time. I mean not every time to the same degree. But two times it was especially strong. I felt like I was ... like my life was crumbling,” she sobbed and Madame B. could see on the Skype screen how tears ran down her large dark eyes.
Madame B. didn’t fit the stereotypical image of what a psychic should look like. She neither looked solemn and mysterious nor did she appear probing or cunning. Her look was rather amiable, cheerful and attentive when she listened to a question or a narrative. Yet, when she spoke on spiritual matters, her glare became fixed on one spot and somewhat vacant, as if a point of interest located not outside of her eyes, but deeply inside her mind.
Now, when she listened to the client, part of her mind followed the girl’s explanation noting and placing them in order.
“That sounds like claustrophobia”, flickered through her mind.
“Sweetheart, I think I know what you are going through and I pretty sure I can help you. However, you seem to have an advanced case exacerbated by your divorce and I would have to visit your aura and take a closer look before I can make a final determination. Tell me something, did you see someone else before me?”
Rachel’s eyes made a subtle movement up and to the right as if her mind left the attachment to the Skype session while traveling the memory lane.
“I went to see a psychologist here in New York and had three sessions with her. She asked me about my childhood and how the relationships with my parents were and then…” Rachel glanced at Madame B. as if looking for her approval. “…then I stopped because these sessions were kind of expensive and I didn’t feel much better.”
Madame B. closed her eyes, relaxed and focused her attention on the task at hands. In a few moments of concentration, she was able to enter the client’s astral body. She read somewhere that all people’s consciousness are connected and in some place becomes a part of a whole, which made the astral travel instantaneous. That travel couldn’t even be compared with the traversing the distance with the speed of light because there was literally nothing to traverse. Astral travel had to do with relocating to a space and time in another reality, where projections of our three-dimensional subspace collapse into a point, making the travel over long distance instantaneous, similar to an electron that disappears from one orbit and appears on another one. Yet, if you would ask Madame B. to describe her feelings, she would have a hard time explaining how exactly this process transpires. Her senses couldn’t register a silver trail of her consciousness crossing the pitch black vastness of cosmic space. She suddenly just felt the connection with the person she was about to treat. This connection happened abruptly and self-evidently; one instance it wasn’t and another one it was. For Madame B., this was quite natural just like for many other people it was to see, hear or touch. She improved this natural propensity with a lifelong training, relaxation, focusing and meditation. She surrendered to her intuition without doubts, hesitations or analysis of what she saw, felt or have gotten to know.
Having entered the girl's astral body, Madame B. made a swirl around it and saw that the colors are not in balance because of the blockage of green color on the level of solar plexus chakra.
The problem was not only in a realization that some strains of green color weren’t spinning, like they ought to and like other aerial colors did, but because it was thin and lifeless, like the ragamuffin’s rags. In spots where the greens were missing, a bleak murky gray trail crept like a blind gaze.
The foremost task was to reinstate the green and make it spin again; In order to balance all other chakras or energy wheels. Without it, the root of the problem would remain camouflaged, somewhere in the remote location of Rachel’s subconscious. Madame B. started to paint with the green color over shadowy darkness. As she attempted to do this, she felt pressure and tightness of the astral media as if she was repelled by a similar magnet pole. This resistance made her realize that right here there was the root of an emotional problem she had to investigate.
As usual, in this case, Madame B. relied on her trained intuition. Being of a slender and fragile built, one would never suspect that Madame B's intuition was trained like muscles of an athlete. Like a surfer that drifts on the water surface expecting to ride a wave, Madame B. focused her concentration waiting for the next powerful surge coming from the space-time continuum. As soon this wave was passing by her spiritual presence, she settled on its crest, trusting it would take her to the right place.
Slowly, the contours of the past drama began to surface, like features of a face coming gradually to a light from the darkness. Events started to unfold, like frames of an old movie. The circumstances of Rachel past life turned out dreadful and casual at the same time.
With the eyes of her mind, Madame B. saw the traumatic story:
People were carrying a woman to a cemetery. They were wearing bolivar hats, which prompted her to think that these events happened around two hundred years ago. The men brought her to a dug grave. The woman coiled, trying to break loose and cry, but one of the burly men hit her on the head and she lost consciousness. They unhurriedly opened the coffin, placed the woman in it, lighted the pipes, smoked and talked for a while. Then they nailed the coffin, joking and sobbing, and lowered it into the grave. The most startling for Madame B. was the commonness and calm, with which the men executed the entire operation as if burying alive was their everyday task. A realization stroke Madame B unpleasantly like poking a finger for a diabetes test. “In her past life, Rachel was buried alive! The grave yard was in the country where Rachel was born and lived in her previous incarnation.”
During the next session, and before replacing the feeling, Madame B. cleared the memory location occupied by the derogatory grease spot. Now it was critically important to replace the content of the memory location right away. Otherwise, its content could be filled by the same bad memories like a drain pipe during a heavy rain would be clogged again by leaves, dirt and conifer needles.
Having cleared the memory location, Madame B. started painting it in the color of the Heart Chakra - the green color of the heart chakra, the true color of love, at the same time projecting the feeling of flying as an emotional component of her spiritual healing. She knew she could deliver this feeling with intensity because Madame B. experienced this feeling every time she did her astral travel.
Six months from down the road from this moment, Madame B. received the phone call from Rachel.
“Guess where I am calling you from?”
“I don’t know, from where?”
“From the elevator!” Madame B. heard her happy laugh. “…and I am not afraid, at all!”
At this moment, as it usually happens with people whose purpose in life is very clear to them, Madame B. felt happy. She was living her dream – changing the World, one person at a time.
Hi there... This story described the real work of an actual psychic. Her name is Beatrice Koran and she's a very special person, healer and psychic. She helped me a lot and helped may other people.
