Note: This is a reprint of a blog I originally published in 2007 on an old discontinued blog of mine. When I attended Michael Wheeler’s course in 2005, he was relatively unknown. If he had been a “name” psychic, I probably wouldn’t have given his course a shot because of my fairly ingrained prejudices about “name” anybodies. Apparently he’s either famous now or just knows how to hype himself better. At any rate, I’m glad I met him when I did, because it was a remarkable day. Here’s the story.
Learning to be psychic with Michael Wheeler
In 2004 and 2005 I was living in Netherland: not the Netherlands – Netherland. Netherland is my own mythological country – it’s neither here nor there, but some place else. In Netherland I was living a life-between-lives, neither married nor not and with money in the bank, but only a part-time job, I was neither needy nor not. I hadn’t a clue what the future held in store for me, but was unable to go out and find one for myself, so I explored the only terrain that was open to me – myself. I went to workshops and seminars, psychics and tarot readers. In spite of all the extraordinary experiences I’d had on San Juan Ridge, in India and in Bali, I remained sceptical. I knew what was possible, but remained convinced that things like spiritual healing and “second sight” were gifts accessible to only a few rare individuals. With as open a mind as possible I wanted to find out more. I wanted to find out if I could do it, too. If not that, I wanted to find out how it was done. But where was I to look and who was I to trust? I decided that for once in my life I was going to trust my instincts or intuition. And so my search began.
My search began rather mundanely: I googled “psychics” and clicked the “search Australia only” button, since I was neither curious nor confident enough to take a chance on an overseas experiment. It’s amazing how many people claim to be psychics. Some are, I’ve discovered, some are some of the time and some only think they are. So far, I’ve never met a complete charlatan, though I’m sure they exist as well. Of all the “psychics” in Australia, one caught my attention: it was a website called Psychic Oranges. I liked the title so I had a look. As it turned out, the reason the author gave his website that name is because the smell of oranges was his first psychic experience.
Intrigued, I decided to see how much the workshops cost. To my amazement and delight, I found that one was coming up soon; it wasn’t expensive; and, incredibly, it was going to be held just up the road from where I lived – a 10 minute drive away! I called the number and signed up immediately.
The presenter, Michael Wheeler, was a tall, lean young man who didn’t come across as mystical or spiritual in any way. He started off by telling us what his website had already told me: how he became psychic and how it was not a special “gift” but something that was already within us if we knew how to tap into it. This was what we were going to do that day.
Michael didn’t waste a lot of time with preliminaries. We would begin with a guided meditation to take us through the chakras and help us induce a theta brain wave state, in which we would be receptive to psychic images. Then, while we were still in that state of deep relaxation, we would sit at tables outside opposite a partner and see what happened. The partners were chosen before the meditation so our minds would not become disturbed afterwards.
It was a very nice meditation; not unlike the one I was practising at home at the time, so I had little trouble following him. My first partner was the young woman I happened to be sitting next to. The psychic exercise we were to do was for one of us to take a piece of jewellery – a watch, a ring, anything – hold it in the palm of our hand, close our eyes and go with whatever thoughts and/or images came into our mind. Michael Wheeler called it “psychometry.” If you want to know more about it, there’s a nice explanation on About.com called What You Need to Know About Psychometry.
My partner gave me her watch. I held it between my palms, closed my eyes and waited. As instructed, I made no attempt to filter my thoughts or the images that arose in my consciousness. I simply waited and as the images arose, I told her what they were. Her only job was to listen and not comment until I was done.
As clear as a bell, the first thing I saw was a sailboat – a beautiful, old-fashioned teak sailboat. Don’t ask me how I knew it was teak. It was painted white, yet I was certain it was teak. I got the distinct impression that it was solid and reliable.
The next thing I knew, I was looking at the mast and sail from the sailor’s point of view. My conscious, critical mind jumped in momentarily when the mast mysteriously morphed into a golden lance like the ones used by medieval knights. “Wait a minute,” it said, “that’s not what I’m supposed to be seeing.” As instructed, I let go of those thoughts and let my imagination take over again.
All by itself, my perspective changed and I found myself looking at the lance from a distance. It was being proudly held aloft by a handsome knight in shining golden armour riding a pure white stallion. Strangely and a little disconcertingly, I felt like I was falling in love with him.
Perhaps it was that discomfort that made the image fade. At any rate, it faded. I opened my eyes and asked my partner what she thought about my psychic journey.
It had made no sense to me and I still felt a little uncomfortable about having a romantic fantasy about another man, but it made perfect sense to her. Her fiancé was an accomplished sailor and when they went out sailing together, she felt safe and secure when he was at the helm. And he was very much her “knight in shining armour” – she was deeply in love and looking forward to their wedding day, a few short months away. In short – I was a psychic!
If I was a psychic, the young woman’s fiancé turned out to be a “super-psychic,” though it didn’t seem so at the time. Like mine, the images and words that came to his mind made little sense to him, but like me, he followed our teacher’s instructions and let them come out unobstructed. It went something like this:
“I see you sitting at a desk overlooking a field. It might be a soccer field. The word ‘soccer’ is coming to my mind. At least, that’s what I think it is. It sounds more like ‘soaker’.” He was clearly confused, but didn’t let that stop him.
“You’re sitting at a desk, working very hard at something. It looks like you’re writing. Your house isn’t old, but it is decorated like something out of the fifties. There’s a glass-topped coffee table and some plastic flowers. I don’t know why, it just feels like the fifties. Does that make sense to you?”
With that, the spell was broken. He opened his eyes and shrugged. We tried to fill in the picture with something I could relate to, but nothing he said matched anything in my experience. I quietly feared that in my future I’d be living in a cheap rented home close to a footie oval somewhere in Australia. But that was always my fear. My future prospects were pretty grim at the time.
That was in 2005. Flash forward to 2007 and I find myself sitting at a desk in my newly built home in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. There’s a plastic clock in front of me and a plastic bouquet behind me. My home can best be described as “French-Khmer,” a style that originated in the fifties. I didn’t have a glass-topped coffee table in 2007, but I do now. For the record, I didn’t buy it. Sopheak did. Downstairs in the living room, our gaudy chandelier would have been quite a status symbol in an American home in the fifties and our wedding photos in their kitschy gilded frames look like something my parents might have hung on the wall in our first home – the one they bought in about 1952 with my Dad’s GI loan.
And what about all that stuff about a “soccer field” that sounded more like “soaker?” My house does overlook a field, but it’s divided up into paddies for growing a local vegetable. Close enough? No. But just down the road, at the Sokha (sounds like soaker without a hard American ‘r’) Resort, there is a soccer field. I often ride past it on my bike. The grounds of the 5-star Sokha Hotel are an important part of my life here. There’s almost never anyone on the quiet stretch of beach near the soccer field and I go there frequently for some much-needed quiet and solitude. In fact, it was there that it dawned on me just how freakishly accurate my fellow psychic experimenter’s vision had been.
I wish I knew where this couple is now. I’d like to tell them my story. What’s most interesting to me is that I’m sure the young man was only there to indulge his wife-to-be, yet it was he who had the greatest success. I have a feeling this might be why he was successful – he wasn’t trying. Like they say in Zen, the key is in “effortless effort.” Why is this so? I’m pretty sure it’s because when we are thinking, we are in a “beta” or fast brainwave state. Beta is great and necessary for dealing with this plane of consciousness, but is completely useless when it comes to the psychic or spiritual planes. These are the province of the slower alpha and theta frequencies. Remember I said that in our guided meditation Michael was taking us into the theta state? Well, I’ve been there since, naturally and aided by brainwave entrainment
software. When we’re dreaming we’re in theta. Apparently, dreams are the least of theta’s capabilities when you know how to tap into it.
I just googled “Psychic Oranges” again and am happy to see that Michael Wheeler is still in business. His website is quite a bit slicker than I remember it and he’s written some books and CD’s. Check it out on psychicoranges.com.