After Life_ Answers From The Other Side Part 3

"Oh, that's Joy! She used to take care of her."

"Did she talk differently than everyone else?"

"Yes, yes, she had a very strong English accent."

"Did you ever keep Harriet in a different part of the zoo? Because I'm getting that she likes it better here than where she used to be. She felt kind of isolated there."

"Yes! She used to be closer to the entrance; it was away from the people."

"Did someone knit her a special blanket? Did someone mark her on her back?"

The information kept coming, and the guide kept validating. And Reid, of course, was flipping out all over again. For the rest of the trip, I'd hear him on his cell phone time and again telling someone, "He read a freakin' wombat and a turtle!"

But Jill, a Manhattan publicist in the truest sense of the job description, was naturally pus.h.i.+ng for more play here.

"John," she asked, as I was quietly communing with Harriet, "do you think you can get Darwin Darwin to come through . . . ?" to come through . . . ?"

FROM B BRISBANE, IT WAS BACK to Sydney for three seminars. I stepped onstage the first night in Sydney, and the applause was deafening. I actually got a standing ovation for just walking out there! It was staggering. to Sydney for three seminars. I stepped onstage the first night in Sydney, and the applause was deafening. I actually got a standing ovation for just walking out there! It was staggering.

I'd been reading the local reviews of the seminars we'd done so far, and the critics were writing that I had "rock-star status" and that the people were "embracing" me. While I do appreciate acceptance like that, I don't want people to pay too much attention to the messenger and miss the message. It's not about me; I'm just the speaker . . . an amplification of the process. In the past, attention like that used to make me feel embarra.s.sed and self-conscious, until I broke it down mentally in a way that made sense to me: The audiences aren't really clapping for me, but for their own relatives. The yells and cheers are for what I represent. They might think they're clapping for the guy on TV, but ultimately what they're applauding is the idea that their loved ones are still connected to them. And I would clap for that, too.

Oftentimes, I wish people at the seminars could see the bizarre pictures I'm shown when loved ones from the Other Side try to capture my attention. Let me just say this: The Other Side has one wacky sense of humor. I started off one night with an image in my mind of a woman biting her toenails with her teeth as she watched television. Was I seeing this correctly? Could this be right? You betcha. After much prodding on my part, the nail biter, a former contortionist, it turns out, eventually raised her hand and owned up to her nasty habit so she could get her messages from Mom on the Other Side.

There were no drinks and food allowed in the auditorium we were in, but that same night I got an image of a hunk of gooey cake someone was hiding in a purse. I could practically taste it.

"Who's got the cake?" I demanded. I got off the stage and walked through the aisle looking for this mystery dessert. Finally, one woman shyly raised her hand.

I pointed to her. "Show me the cake!" And voila, she did-she produced a wedge of cake from her pocketbook. She had bought it on the way to the seminar because she'd missed dinner and had planned to secretly nibble on it throughout the evening. After she admitted to her "cake crime," then, and only then, could I give her the messages from her dad on the Other Side.

Sometimes the images I get start even before I arrive at an event, and at the most inopportune moments. It was our first workday in Sydney, about five hours before the seminar that night, and I was in the shower was.h.i.+ng up after a gym workout. Just as I was rinsing the shampoo out of my eyes, I got a nudge from a boy on the Other Side.

"Hey," I urged him, "come back tonight when your relatives are in front of me!" I was eager to finish was.h.i.+ng my hair . . . alone alone. He obliged. So when I got to the event later that evening, I started off the readings with David, the shower crasher.

John: At 1 p.m. this afternoon, someone's son came through to me while I was in the shower. He's coming through for his mom. He's been gone a long time, twenty to thirty years. He was there to meet Dad. Dad just pa.s.sed. There's a February connection here. And the woman I'm looking for is white-haired or gray-haired or platinum blonde. The son needs to let the mom know not to worry about Dad. I'd like to know what you were doing at one o'clock this afternoon. And there's also a connection to the 16th.Woman: My son died twenty years ago, but my husband died before him.John: There's another male figure to the side there for you. February is important here. You must have the February connection.Woman: I have a grandson who will be two years old in February.John: This male figure showed up at 1 p.m. today, and he's the son, gone twenty years. He was there to connect to an older male figure after him, and he says you'd have another contemporary there as well, that you lost a male to the side as well. Is Richard connected to you? Or Robert? Who is the "R" name?Woman: My husband is Robert.John: And there is a train reference here.Woman: My older brother worked with the railways for a long time.John: Were there six of you? I'm getting you were a family of six kids.Woman: I was one of five.John: Do you know if your mom miscarried?Woman: Oh, yes, she did . . . one time.John: With your husband, Robert, was there a question of someone's paternity? Or that someone acted as a father to someone's child? Or maybe there's a joke about the paternity of a child. . . .Woman: Yes, my husband's brother kind of took over for the kids as a father figure.John: He helped with their schooling.Woman: Yes.John: There's a story about the man who acted as the father figure, a story about him being shot. But he did not die of this gunshot. He died the same way Robert and your son died, with an impact. They all died from something impact related.Woman: Yes.John: And someone is known for raising chickens or birds.Woman: Yes, my brother raised birds!

Kay Dunn's son, David, had died in a car accident twenty years earlier, and Kay told us after the reading that she got the news of her son's death through a visit from her father in a dream.

"The day my son was killed, I woke up after having had a dream of my father sitting on a fence with all this green gra.s.s around him, and he was telling me, 'Don't worry, everything's going to be all right.' I remember looking at the clock when I woke up that morning, because I was a bit shook up, wondering, Gee, what was that? Why did I have a dream like that? Gee, what was that? Why did I have a dream like that? A few hours later, [the authorities] came and told me that David had died, and it had happened just a little bit before the time I had the dream. I don't talk to people about this much because I think people will laugh at me!" Kay's son, her husband, and her brother-in-law all pa.s.sed in vehicle accidents, she confirmed, which came through in the reading with the three "impact"-related deaths. A few hours later, [the authorities] came and told me that David had died, and it had happened just a little bit before the time I had the dream. I don't talk to people about this much because I think people will laugh at me!" Kay's son, her husband, and her brother-in-law all pa.s.sed in vehicle accidents, she confirmed, which came through in the reading with the three "impact"-related deaths.

Kay's son also had a knack for unique timing like his grandfather when it came to coming through from the Other Side. At 1 p.m. that day, as David's energy ambushed me in the shower, Kay and her niece, Jan, were having lunch with friends and telling them about the seminar that night. "At about 1 p.m., I said, 'Look, we've got to go . . . we need to get ready because we're seeing John Edward tonight,'" Jan recalled.

The seminars in Sydney ended on a sentimental note when two brothers, separated by death, reunited using their love for a rugby team (a popular football game) as their means of connection. It was also one of many funny moments during the trip that made the audience chuckle at my self-confessed lack of macho sports knowledge.

John: Someone has a dog on their s.h.i.+rt.Man (standing up): I do, it's the Bulldog. (standing up): I do, it's the Bulldog.John: There's a bulldog on your s.h.i.+rt?Man: Right . . . from the football team. Best football team in the world!John: I'm sports-illiterate in the U.S., never mind Australia! Someone wants me to acknowledge your marriage, and they weren't able to be there physically, but they were at your wedding from the Other Side. And I need to acknowledge the two kids.Man: Yes, yes.John: They want me to talk about the man with the really strong, baritone-type voice.Man: We had an uncle who had a really loud voice like that.John: And they clearly want me to acknowledge the older male figure who was at the wedding.Man: I had an older brother.John: He'd wear the same s.h.i.+rt as you?Man: Of course! We buried him in it.John: I was going to say . . . there's a joke about burying him in an opposing team's s.h.i.+rt! He says he would not be wearing that s.h.i.+rt. He says there was another team he liked a little bit more. . . . Who's Steven? He could be a player for all I know.Man: There was a player, Steven, who was a favorite when my brother was alive.John: Then I have to tell you, that team was a "different" team when he was alive.Man: No, it's not the same team now . . . all the players are different, and the s.h.i.+rt is different.John: Your brother sends a hug to Mom.Man: She's right here, next to me.John: He says that when he pa.s.sed, your mom said that he'd be illuminating heaven.Mom: Yes, I say that all the time.

"As soon as you said there's a dog on a T-s.h.i.+rt," recalled Angelo Dimitrakas, "my wife was nudging me to get up, get up!" At the last minute before coming to the seminar, Angelo decided to put on his old football jersey belonging to the Canterbury Bulldogs, his favorite Sydney football team, when he and his older brother, who pa.s.sed over in 1994, were growing up. They buried Angelo's brother in the jersey the team wore when he pa.s.sed away.

"We joked a bit about swapping the s.h.i.+rt and putting him in another jersey," Angelo said. "If I'd done that, he would have really been ticked off. But it's true that when he was alive it was really a different team, a different generation, and a completely different jersey but with the same colors. Now the team has all new players. The other team was always on top, but this new team is way behind. So when he says it's a different team . . . it sure is."

Angelo's brother had died a few months before Angelo's wedding and before the birth of his two kids, which Angelo acknowledged in the reading, as well as noting the loud uncle with the booming voice: "That man, when he talked, not only did the whole room hear him, but the whole neighborhood heard him." And finally, "My brother was the life of the party, and he made an impression on everybody he met. When he died, we thought that he'd do the same there, in heaven. My mother says it all the time: 'He'll brighten the place up-up there.'"

BEFORE MOVING ONWARD TO M MELBOURNE, there was one more journey to take. Everyone kept telling me I had to do "The Bridge Climb" in Sydney, but I had no idea what that was. Then, from the balcony of my hotel, I saw it: The long Sydney Bridge stretched out far and very high, with people who looked like tiny little ants making their way up it. Hmm. I don't know about this Hmm. I don't know about this.

Because we were filming the John Edward Goes to Australia John Edward Goes to Australia doc.u.mentary, Paul had instructed Jesse and Duncan to film my every waking moment on this trip and get me doing something more interesting than ordering my daily Happy Meal at McDonald's. But if you know me, you know that I'm not exactly the easiest person to "capture." Even though I had agreed to do the doc.u.mentary, I didn't want a camera stuck in my face all the time. In fact, I'm sure Duncan and Jesse have at least fifty censored bloopers from our two-week trek showing me holding my hand up to the lens, threatening their lives, or describing to them in detail just how painful a tripod up their . . . how do they say it in Australia?-their doc.u.mentary, Paul had instructed Jesse and Duncan to film my every waking moment on this trip and get me doing something more interesting than ordering my daily Happy Meal at McDonald's. But if you know me, you know that I'm not exactly the easiest person to "capture." Even though I had agreed to do the doc.u.mentary, I didn't want a camera stuck in my face all the time. In fact, I'm sure Duncan and Jesse have at least fifty censored bloopers from our two-week trek showing me holding my hand up to the lens, threatening their lives, or describing to them in detail just how painful a tripod up their . . . how do they say it in Australia?-their backsides- backsides-would be.

But Paul was excited to capture the whole climb on film and told me I had to do it for his art. He then informed me that he, of course, would not not be accompanying me on the climb, as he was afraid of heights. Ah, this is where the fun began for me. If he wasn't coming, I told him, I wouldn't do it. So the whole gang-Paul, Jill, Jack, Mike, Duncan, Jesse, Natasha, and me-filed into the chamber where you register and go through "training" for the climb. be accompanying me on the climb, as he was afraid of heights. Ah, this is where the fun began for me. If he wasn't coming, I told him, I wouldn't do it. So the whole gang-Paul, Jill, Jack, Mike, Duncan, Jesse, Natasha, and me-filed into the chamber where you register and go through "training" for the climb.

One wall was covered with photos of celebrities who had done the climb and lived to pose for a portrait, and I noticed that they were all wearing the same outfit-a sort of gray jumpsuit with a Batman-like utility belt. The belt, our trainer explained, would hook us onto a cable that lined the bridge the whole way up and down, so if a strong gust of wind knocked us over, we wouldn't plummet to our deaths. No. Instead, we'd just dangle there for a while until someone could hike over and rescue us. I glanced over at Paul, who had gone pale. He looked at me with an "Are you really going to make me do this?" look. Yep, I was.

Because our group was so big, Jack and Jill joined the group behind us (and please, no jokes about their names and the fact that they were about to go "up a hill" together-they've heard it all). What I didn't know was that Jill was also freaked out about making the climb. After we changed into our gear and watched the instructional video, it was time to march on.

Duncan and Jesse hooked me up for sound with a wireless microphone, and we followed our tour guide, a very pretty young woman named Amanda. We had a choice, she told us: We could either take the elevator to the top and then walk across the bridge only a short distance, or or we could climb each of the rafters, level by level, over the Sydney harbor and across the fast-moving traffic below. Paul perked up at the first suggestion. we could climb each of the rafters, level by level, over the Sydney harbor and across the fast-moving traffic below. Paul perked up at the first suggestion.

"Oh, no," I told Amanda, with a smile, "we want to do the whole climb, every step of it."

I have to share with you the pleasure I was getting in making Paul squirm. Paul and I have a great relations.h.i.+p, but because a good portion of it is spent on work-related stuff, it's usually about him making me do things I don't want to. For example, he'll make me record voice-overs for the show again and again until I get it just right because he heard a little something in the background. Or, when I introduce a segment-a "wraparound"-on Crossing Over Crossing Over, he'll make me redo it because there was a wrinkle in my s.h.i.+rt, or a few hairs on my head were out of alignment. At least once a week, he starts a sentence off with "Hey, wouldn't it be great great if . . . " to which I usually shake my head no, but end up doing it anyway. if . . . " to which I usually shake my head no, but end up doing it anyway.

Now the tables were turned, and it felt pretty good. I only felt bad about it once during the climb . . . the time Paul was crying for his mommy. Um, okay, I made that last part up. But he did look like he was going to cry for his mom when he was taking his tiny, measured, delicate steps up, moving ever so slowly.

Natasha, a very strong Slavic girl, was behind Paul the whole way and promised to catch him if he fell. We paused at the bridge's highest point, and the views of the harbor were magnificent. Amanda told us stories about the builders who had died while constructing the bridge, and we all stood there high over Sydney, enjoying a panoramic, spiritual moment. For once, I was glad that we'd caught something like that on film. As we began to descend, I looked over at Jill in the group behind us and noticed she was in that same senior-citizen posture Paul had adopted.

"Having fun?" I yelled over to her. And her response was a pleading, "Get me off this thing!" All right, enough was enough. I pulled Amanda aside and asked if we could take a different downward route . . . say, in the elevator? She sweetly agreed to rescue us all, and I told Jill that she owed me big time. The next time she wanted me to walk the press line and I didn't want to do it, all I had to do was give her the magic word: brrrrrridge! brrrrrridge! As we descended (yes, in the elevator!), I thought of the bridge as a metaphor for all our souls' journeys. Regardless of where we are-in a physical body or not-we strive to put one step in front of the other, however tentative, as we travel on our spiritual path. As we descended (yes, in the elevator!), I thought of the bridge as a metaphor for all our souls' journeys. Regardless of where we are-in a physical body or not-we strive to put one step in front of the other, however tentative, as we travel on our spiritual path.

DO YOU VALIDATE?.

I WOKE UP IN WOKE UP IN M MELBOURNE, the last city on the tour, to hear myself being discussed on one of the early-morning talk shows. I was just sort of lazing about in bed flipping the channels when I heard a reporter and the guest astrologer, Athena Starwoman, gabbing about what they thought of me. Amazing Amazing, I thought. My level of public recognition down under was still difficult for me to grasp. Back home, an ocean away, the talk was all about the impending war. The night before I'd seen Saddam Hussein's son on CNN threatening the U.S. that if we attacked Iraq, the tears we cried over 9/11 would seem "like a picnic" compared to what will will happen. His words shook me up. happen. His words shook me up.

Now I switched channels to CNN again and felt a wave of patriotism for America as I watched our troops hugging their wives, husbands, and kids good-bye and getting on s.h.i.+ps going G.o.d knows where. It totally put me over the edge when I saw one news clip of a soldier telling a reporter, "You know, my baby son is going to be crawling when I see him next." I thought of Sandra and Justin back home and missed them terribly. I wondered if they were asleep and if it was it too late to call and send good-night kisses over the phone.

I was still feeling pretty emotional as we drove to the convention center that night. When we arrived, our driver couldn't find the proper entrance and turned into the wrong road in front of a locked gate. While we were waiting for him to figure out which way to go, a bunch of religious protesters approached the car holding up signs. Once they realized I was in the car, they began banging on my window for me to roll it down. I've had a few experiences with holy rollers who show up at these events claiming I'm a fraud and it's all entertainment. As I've said, I totally respect the fact that some people don't believe in what I do-it's their choice. But the last thing I felt like hearing that night was someone yelling in my face that I was doing "the devil's work."

Those words in particular make me want to tug off my spiritual gloves and knock the person on their a.s.s. I don't need anyone questioning my faith. And anyway, to me, this work isn't religious, it's spiritual . . . it's painting an energy portrait. Whatever canvas or framework an individual uses to paint that portrait is their choice and based on their own belief system. One person might have a Catholic framework, and another might have a Muslim framework, and somebody might have a Jewish framework, and somebody might have no framework at all because they're atheistic. The atheists, interestingly enough, are usually the loudest energies who come through once they get to the Other Side because they have so much to say after they realize, Yikes-I was wrong, there is an afterlife after all! Yikes-I was wrong, there is an afterlife after all!

So, needless to say, I didn't roll down my window. I just smiled and waved as we drove away to the proper gate, leaving the protesters muttering to themselves in the parking lot. For the duration of our trip in Australia, these were the only demonstrators I attracted. And before introducing me that night, Leon told the audience he was nicknaming our time down under as "The Silence of the Skeptics Tour" because we'd barely heard a peep from the diehard cynics.

One of the last readings in Australia turned out to be one of the funniest and most dramatic moments on tour. It was for two sisters, Jeannie-Marie and Victoria; and Jeannie's mother-in-law, Carmel. The sisters had come to the seminar together thanks to Victoria's eighteen-year-old daughter, Kerrina, who had given up her cherished ticket so that the two women could have a night out together. They didn't know that Carmel was in the audience until they saw her face on the giant video screen as I was giving a reading to someone sitting near her. And then, I felt a pull in two opposite directions. . . .

John: I have two families who are split. I have somebody on one side of the room who's connected to somebody on the other side of the room. So if you know you have family here and you're not sitting next to each other, say, "I'm over here!"[A young woman stands up and waves wildly, dancing around.]Jeannie: Hi, Mom! I love you!John: Can somebody claim this child? [Much laughter. A woman stands up directly on the other side of the room.] Carmel: That's my daughter-in-law!

What followed was a back-and-forth family reading worthy of a tennis match at the Australian Open. Carmel's husband, who had pa.s.sed from cancer, came through and brought with him the family cat, a child connected to Victoria, and also shed light on a naughty family romance. I was even able to use my TV pop-culture reference to unearth more family mysteries.

John: Okay, do you guys know I Dream of Jeannie I Dream of Jeannie?Jeannie: That's me! That's my name! [dancing around]John: But there's more to it than that. In I Dream of Jeannie I Dream of Jeannie, the astronaut lands his s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p on a deserted beach, and poof, there's the bottle. There's got to be a story in your family where your husband landed someplace he thought might have been deserted, or there had to be some type of unique landing and then he found out . . . there's a funny story at the end of that somewhere . . . . where he might have thought he landed in enemy territory and he landed on his own Air Force base. Do you know what he means when he's talking about the unique landing or the funny story like that?Carmel: Yes!John: Can you explain that?Carmel: No . . . it's private! [more laughter]

The audience had a good time and a lot of laughs with this family reading, but never knew of the dramatic scene that followed later that night. After the seminar, Natasha and Duncan walked Jeannie-Marie and Victoria back to their hotel where Kerrina was waiting. Kerrina was originally going to accompany her mother to the seminar because she was anxious to connect with a childhood friend, Ryan, who had died nine years earlier from leukemia. The women weren't sure how she was going to react when they told her the good news: that they had a reading . . . and the not-as-good news: that Ryan didn't show up.

When the gang reached the hotel, Kerrina, who had been curled up in front of the TV, answered the door in her pajamas.

"You had a reading?" she asked, hopeful, after one glance at their smiling faces. "Who? Who was it? Who was it?" she demanded, excited.

When the women told her that Ryan didn't come through, Kerrina burst into tears.

"But why, Mom? Where is he? Why didn't he come through?" Where is he? Why didn't he come through?"

The three women stood in the hallway of the hotel hugging and crying. Natasha and Duncan-pulled into the group hug-tried to console young Kerrina.

Kerrina's disappointment is something I face every time I do a reading. I try to prepare people for the possibility that you won't always hear from those you want to hear from-we don't have control over who comes through. Sometimes it's difficult to find the words to ease the pain.

"He'll be in heaven, darling," Victoria told her daughter, stroking her hair as she sobbed. "There wasn't a message for you this time. It's like John says, not everybody gets a reading, but everybody's in heaven."

What happened next, says Natasha, was a moment as heartfelt as they come-and it carries with it a message with a capital "M" for all of you reading this.

"Kerrina dried her tears with her sleeve, looked up, and smiled," recalled Natasha, "and she realized she'd helped get the reading for her mom, her aunt, and for Carmel, and she was so happy. Here was this teenage kid who suddenly realized how, in this universe, we are all wonderfully connected."

Through her broken heart, Kerrina saw the bigger picture. And in doing so, she was able to be happy for her aunt, who had a reading instead of her because of her selfless act.

"The three of them were meant to be there together," Kerrina said, still sniffling, "and it just wasn't my turn. Not yet."

BY THE END OF THE TRIP, I was tapped out energy-wise, but also exhilarated. I was pleased to find that no matter where we are in this world, the human experience of love and loss is universal. Despite my sporadic fumblings with the down-under dialect, I realized that Australia and America weren't all that different. The spirit world crossed barriers in culture and geography. So far from home, people here were just as anxious to connect with their loved ones, be a.s.sured they were okay, and know they weren't so far away after all.

CHAPTER 4.

HOUSTON.

I'VE ONLY BEEN TO H HOUSTON, TEXAS, a handful of times in my life, but each time, I've been wowed by the readings I've experienced there-two seminars in particular were especially memorable for me.

The first, in February 2002, was unforgettable because of the unusual way one energy from the Other Side grabbed my attention. I was preparing for the seminar in my usual manner-doing the rosary and meditating-when Ace, one of my security guys that day, knocked on my hotel-room door to check if I was ready. I popped my rosary beads into my pocket, grabbed my sungla.s.ses, and we hopped into the elevator together . . . and that's when it started. I was suddenly distracted-not by the living people coming in and out of the elevator-but instead, by a young girl from the Other Side.

If an energy tries to get through to me when I'm "off duty," so to speak-that is, when I'm not specifically doing a reading or paying focused attention to the Other Side-I'll feel a buzzing at the base of my neck. This can happen before a seminar has begun or even when I'm on vacation, when I'm at the gym . . . it even happened on my honeymoon in the middle of the night (Sandra was a good sport about it). It's like I've turned off or tuned out from my phone line to the Other Side, but I'm on eternal "vibrate" just in case of an emergency.

That buzzing means pay attention to me! pay attention to me! It started in the elevator, and it followed me through the lobby, out the front door, and into the car. As soon as I buckled my seatbelt, this young girl let the information fly. I saw a picture of a room that looked like a lecture hall. Was it tonight's venue? I had no idea, since I'd never been to this auditorium before. I saw a picture of a large American flag in the back, left-hand section of this room. The young girl told me that she belonged to someone who would soon be sitting in that flag section, and then she continued sending me messages-including one about an organ-donation issue. During the entire drive to the seminar location, this girl wouldn't stop. I was getting pictures and feelings . . . and that buzzing at my neck. So much was coming through so fast, I was afraid I wouldn't remember all the information for the seminar an hour later. So I started to repeat it out loud to Ace as he drove. It started in the elevator, and it followed me through the lobby, out the front door, and into the car. As soon as I buckled my seatbelt, this young girl let the information fly. I saw a picture of a room that looked like a lecture hall. Was it tonight's venue? I had no idea, since I'd never been to this auditorium before. I saw a picture of a large American flag in the back, left-hand section of this room. The young girl told me that she belonged to someone who would soon be sitting in that flag section, and then she continued sending me messages-including one about an organ-donation issue. During the entire drive to the seminar location, this girl wouldn't stop. I was getting pictures and feelings . . . and that buzzing at my neck. So much was coming through so fast, I was afraid I wouldn't remember all the information for the seminar an hour later. So I started to repeat it out loud to Ace as he drove.

Ever since my popularity has escalated, I've had to travel with a security crew whose job it is to check the entrances and exits of venues where I'm appearing and make sure our routes are planned and I stay safe. Ace-a big, muscular, retired court officer-was not only acting as driver and bodyguard this day, he was also trying to help me remember the information bombarding me. I kept getting flashes of this room with the American flag, so I asked Ace if he'd noticed the Stars and Stripes on the back wall as he did the security walk-through of the venue earlier that day. He couldn't remember. I had a hard time believing that he'd forget seeing this humongous flag I was envisioning in my mind if it was there, but of course, Ace's focus is on security-not on the room's decor.

I kept repeating the information over and over to him so that between us, we'd remember it. When energies come through early like this before a seminar, it kind of feels like they're "jumping the line" or "cutting in"-as if they're afraid they won't be able to get through once I'm in front of a big group of people and their respective dead relatives, battling it out for stage time. My guides, who act as my Other Side "security," don't usually allow energies to come through at random times. They put up the Do Not Disturb sign to make sure I can go through my daily routine like everybody else and not be interrupted every morning when I shave or every night at the dinner table. So when energies do do get through, it means that they've convinced The Boys it's something important enough to warrant special treatment. As far as I'm concerned, whoever gets through to me is get through, it means that they've convinced The Boys it's something important enough to warrant special treatment. As far as I'm concerned, whoever gets through to me is meant meant to get through, so whenever this happens, I listen. to get through, so whenever this happens, I listen.

As we pulled up to the convention center, Ace noticed a row of flags on the building next door and pointed them out. But I was sure that the flag I was seeing in my mind was inside inside the room, not outside. The girl showed me the image again and then continued throwing information at me. I had to start this reading p.r.o.nto; this girl wouldn't let me rest. We rushed inside, and when I got backstage, Carol, my a.s.sistant, noticed that I was restless. the room, not outside. The girl showed me the image again and then continued throwing information at me. I had to start this reading p.r.o.nto; this girl wouldn't let me rest. We rushed inside, and when I got backstage, Carol, my a.s.sistant, noticed that I was restless.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Carol, I have to start the seminar right away right away," I told her. "I have a girl coming through, and she's insisting I start with her-now." I told her about the American flag message and asked if she'd seen one in the room. She shook her head no.

"Well . . . anyway, we have have to start," I said. I was anxious to get this message out of the way and was worried that if I didn't, this energy might mess up the entire seminar. I usually like to lecture for at least an hour before I start doing readings, to familiarize the audience with how I work. If they aren't accustomed to the process and an energy from the Other Side is trying to relay a message and the relatives here don't know how to "receive" it, the whole thing gets very frustrating, and it feels like trying to talk on the phone with a child (in this case, the Other Side) tugging at my sleeve. to start," I said. I was anxious to get this message out of the way and was worried that if I didn't, this energy might mess up the entire seminar. I usually like to lecture for at least an hour before I start doing readings, to familiarize the audience with how I work. If they aren't accustomed to the process and an energy from the Other Side is trying to relay a message and the relatives here don't know how to "receive" it, the whole thing gets very frustrating, and it feels like trying to talk on the phone with a child (in this case, the Other Side) tugging at my sleeve.

But we couldn't start the seminar yet, Carol informed me, because people were still arriving and finding their seats. I put the microphone in her hand and begged her to just introduce me, and do it fast . . . the floodgates were opening, the information was flowing, and I was about to burst.

Carol peeked her head through the black-velvet curtains to check again on the audience. Doing intros was not her usual duty. She hated speaking in front of large groups of people, and usually we have a local radio personality introduce me. But today it was her her job, so she was already nervous to begin with. Then, I'd doubled her panic because of the urgency I was feeling at the moment. And now, I was pus.h.i.+ng her to start ahead of schedule. Carol walked out onstage, anxious and fl.u.s.tered, and cleared her throat. job, so she was already nervous to begin with. Then, I'd doubled her panic because of the urgency I was feeling at the moment. And now, I was pus.h.i.+ng her to start ahead of schedule. Carol walked out onstage, anxious and fl.u.s.tered, and cleared her throat.

Backstage, I did some last-minute meditating. I closed my eyes and silently told this female energy coming through that it was "showtime" for her and her family. I asked her to come through with information to help her family recognize her, and let them know how important it was to her to come through first first.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I heard Carol say, voice quavering, "Um . . . John is ready to begin immediately . . . uh . . . if you all would please take your seats . . . and please . . . turn off all your cell phones and . . . um . . . vibrators. . . ."

My eyes popped open, and I looked at Ace. "Did Carol just say to turn off your vibrators?! vibrators?!" He didn't have to answer. A second later, the audience erupted into thunderous applause at Carol's blunder. Of course she'd intended to say, "Please turn off your cell phones and put your pagers on vibrate. . . . put your pagers on vibrate. . . ." The audience was in hysterics, and I was laughing so hard from backstage that tears were dripping down my face. When Carol returned to where I was waiting, she was a shade of red so bright I laughed even harder. It was a major icebreaker that day, and Carol's flubbed line became a cla.s.sic story to tell at subsequent seminars.

But now, it was time to get serious and deliver this girl's message. I walked out onto the stage in front of the 2,500 people there and immediately scanned the back, left-hand side of the room, expecting to see the American flag. No flag No flag. I paused, a bit surprised. Maybe I'd misinterpreted the message? I began telling the audience what had taken place on the car ride over, hoping that someone would connect with the information I'd been given.

As a medium, I knew I had to surrender my ego and keep going with the information as I saw it, even though I risked being "wrong." My job is to honor those on the Other Side and the information I'm given as it comes to me. I rattled off the details again, looking over at Ace to make sure I was getting it right, and I repeated everything twice as I paced up and down the stage. I looked out to the back section of the room where the flag wasn't wasn't, and searched the sea of faces in the crowd to see if anyone showed a hint of recognition.

The room was quiet, and everyone was still. Those minutes standing onstage felt like a lifetime, and all I could think was that I'd made a poor decision. As a teacher, which is ultimately how I see my work, maybe I shouldn't have deviated from my normal curriculum. Because I hadn't given my usual explanation of the process, this girl's family might not understand what I was saying, and this message wouldn't make it through. I was kicking myself for making a bad call when very, very slowly, a woman stood up in that section in the back. Everyone turned and gasped. This woman was cloaked in red, white, and blue. She was wearing a big leather bomber jacket in the same shape, design, and colors of the American flag. She then proceeded to validate each and every detail that had come through to me earlier, courtesy of her dear daughter who had crossed over.

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM.

ALMOST ONE YEAR TO THE DAY, I was back in Houston. It was a chilly February morning in 2003, and I was fighting a cold but losing the battle. One funny thing about being a medium is that when I do readings while I'm sick, the Other Side suspends my symptoms and carries me through. But when I'm finished the reading, I feel sicker than ever. It's like I use up any reserve fuel I have and am left depleted. I began the seminar by telling the audience the story of the woman wearing the American flag jacket the year before, and many who were present-who were also in attendance the year before-remembered the moment.

This time, I started the seminar in my usual way-giving a talk about how the process works and taking questions from the audience. Some people asked the standard questions about my personal experiences, while others took the microphone to thank me for doing what I do. One woman in particular almost reduced me to tears when she shared that she'd recently lost a baby, and watching Crossing Over Crossing Over had become a form of therapy for her in dealing with her overwhelming grief. had become a form of therapy for her in dealing with her overwhelming grief.

When people tell me things like that, I feel an immediate and emotional reaction deep down inside my gut, inside my inner being . . . like I just won the spiritual lottery. But instead of money as the reward, it's joy. When someone appreciates my work, it's truly like they're handing me a gift. It's not easy for me to leave my family behind and travel from city to city as much as I do-so often that I sometimes forget what city I'm in. So when someone takes the time to communicate with, appreciate, and validate me me . . . well, I just melt into a mushy puddle. So, thank you to all the people out there who have done that for me. It makes all the sweat and the B.S. that sometimes comes with this work worth it. . . . well, I just melt into a mushy puddle. So, thank you to all the people out there who have done that for me. It makes all the sweat and the B.S. that sometimes comes with this work worth it.

As soon as the lecture and Q&A period were over, I was pulled to the middle section of the room. I remember standing on the stage of the theater, extending my arm out in front of me and pointing-drawing a straight line from me to the center of the audience. As I did so, I had a powerful image in my mind's eye . . . it was the Columbia s.p.a.ce shuttle. I just knew . . . I knew knew . . . this message coming through had something to do with the explosion that had occurred just three weeks earlier, and someone right in front of me was connected to it. . . . this message coming through had something to do with the explosion that had occurred just three weeks earlier, and someone right in front of me was connected to it.

My own connection to this disaster began before it even happened. I'd watched the shuttle take off on television on January 16 from home with Sandra, and I remember getting a really bad feeling as it shot into the sky. It was just a general "not good" feeling-nothing specific. That's how I often feel these kinds of premonitions-my guides don't show me details. So when people ask why I don't do anything to prevent some tragedy, that's my answer: I don't know myself what's going to happen.

Five days later in Los Angeles, en route to Australia, I did a magazine interview, and the reporter asked me if I get premonitions, and could I give her my most recent one. I said sure, but it wasn't a very positive one. I told her that I'd watched the Columbia launch and felt concern for the astronauts. The reporter immediately jumped on it and asked, "Is it going to crash? Or explode?" and I freaked out a bit, realizing maybe I'd said too much. I tried to backpedal a bit to calm us both down, saying, "No, no . . . I just don't have a good feeling."

That was the last I thought about the shuttle until the final night in Australia, on January 29, 2003, when we had a huge dinner in Melbourne with all the people who had helped organize the tour, as well as the Hay House Australia team-my new Aussie family. Natasha and I were digging into our steaks and making idle chitchat about the local wine when I froze mid-sentence, fork in air.

"John . . . what's wrong?" Natasha asked. She recognized that look look on my face. on my face.

"I feel like something is exploding," I told her, putting my fork down-"and there's some kind of . . . Israeli connection to it."

What? When? Where? Where? She asked about a dozen reporter-like questions, whipping out her pen and notebook, but I couldn't answer any of them because I didn't know the answers myself. I told her not to worry about it for now, and I pushed the feeling out of my mind. I kind of thought, okay . . . Israel . . . they have explosions there all the time . . . this isn't so psychic of me. We both went to sleep that night a little uneasy. She asked about a dozen reporter-like questions, whipping out her pen and notebook, but I couldn't answer any of them because I didn't know the answers myself. I told her not to worry about it for now, and I pushed the feeling out of my mind. I kind of thought, okay . . . Israel . . . they have explosions there all the time . . . this isn't so psychic of me. We both went to sleep that night a little uneasy.

The next day we boarded the plane for the long flight back home. As we waited for our connecting flight in Los Angeles, there it was on CNN. The shuttle had exploded that morning, killing its entire seven-member crew-including the first Israeli in history to ever make that expedition. Sitting in the airport that morning, I felt the deep sadness I always experience when a bad premonition comes true, and I said a silent prayer for the crew members and their families.

"I feel really awkward saying this," I told the audience in Houston, "but is there someone here connected with someone who perished in the recent shuttle disaster?"

There was an immediate hush over the room. I felt uncomfortable asking this question because the time frame was so close to the disaster, and I was sure that anyone connected would still be emotionally raw. I always tell people that mediums.h.i.+p is not a cure for grief, and can only be helpful at the right time during a person's journey through through this grief-which is rarely right after their loved one has pa.s.sed. this grief-which is rarely right after their loved one has pa.s.sed.

I discourage people from seeing a medium right after a loss. I used to think this was because a person/energy who recently left their body for the Other Side wouldn't be "ready" to come through yet-maybe they first need time to rest up and adjust to their new world. But now, I think the un-readiness has more to do with us here. Right after a person crosses, the loved ones left behind are usually devastated, and they feel a gaping hole in their hearts. It's important to "honor" this pain. And when I say "honor," I don't mean that you should be all happy about it or throw a party. I mean you must let the grief evolve through you naturally-that is, you should feel the pain, cry into a pillow, yell and scream and oversleep, and most important, work with a counselor, therapist, support group, priest, rabbi, minister-anyone who can help you get through this and get to the core of the hurt.

Once you get to the core of the pain, you can start finding your way back out again. And for each person, this journey through pain-then beyond it-is a unique, important, and healing experience. If someone seeks out a reading too early, it may interfere with their natural stages of grief-which can take months or years, depending on the person.

In my novel, What If G.o.d Were the Sun? What If G.o.d Were the Sun?, I explored this journey through the life of a fictional family. I stress the word fictional fictional, because many people, even some of my family members, thought it was autobiographical. Yes, there were hints of my family in there, but it was more an amalgamation of the many families I've sat down with and read over the years.