My Life As a Medium. Betty Shine
months later, whilst looking in the mirror, that I realized it was identical to my own; this was my mind’s eye – my third eye. From that moment I was able to ignore it and my sleeping hours were restored. Three years later the eye stopped appearing, and I missed it.
Something new seemed to be happening to me every day, and there were times when I just had to get out of the house. I would drive to the nearest park and, depending on the weather, either go for a walk or sit in the car. It was on one of these occasions that I pondered over the different spirit messages I had received for myself. How was I to know whether the voices were true or whether I was listening to my own higher mind? It worried me, and I had no idea how this was going to be resolved.
The following day, whilst carrying out that most mundane of household jobs, washing-up, I had my answer. A voice repeated over and over again the christian names and surnames of both family and friends, many of whom had been dead for some time. The repetition was extraordinary. I wrote them down. It was very similar to the way I had been taught parrot-fashion at school when learning my times table. When the voice eventually stopped I looked down at the names on the paper. Some I remembered, others I did not. As I had a day’s healing ahead of me, I had to put them out of my mind at that point.
That evening the voice returned, repeating the same names three times. Toward the end many new names were mentioned. The process continued in this vein for the next two months. During that time I checked with relatives and friends, and all of the names that were unknown to me were verified. As time passed I was also given the second christian names of many of these people. Once more I had to check, and once more they were confirmed. The voice itself had no name and I was never to find out who it had been. But one thing was sure, it was the most persistent of all the communicators. If that person had ever lived on this planet he would surely have made an excellent politician!
Although the results I was having with healing were excellent, I found the survival evidence intrusive. Somehow it did not seem to belong in the healing room, although the messages were well received. But I was unhappy about it. There were so many lessons to be learnt as far as healing techniques were concerned and I needed the time to study them.
I remember sitting alone one evening, praying for the voices to stop. I had heard a child’s voice that day asking to speak to her mother, and the shock had reduced me to tears. This is how it happened.
I was healing a young woman who had been suffering with acute irritable bowel syndrome for the past two years. This was her second visit. She told me she liked being with me as I didn’t ask her questions. It was so peaceful. Suddenly I heard a little girl’s voice saying, ‘I want to speak to my Mummy.’ I looked at my patient. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep. I touched her hand and she opened her eyes. ‘There’s a little girl here who wants to speak to her Mummy. Have you lost a child?’ I asked gently.
She whispered ‘Yes,’ and then incredulously, ‘Can you hear her?’
The child spoke again. ‘Tell Mummy that the nice lady said that I could talk to her as she is so unhappy.’ I passed the message on. With myself as the mediator the conversation continued as follows:
Mother: ‘I love you and never stop thinking about you.’
Child: ‘I know, Mummy, because sometimes I can see you.’
Mother: ‘Where are you, darling?’
Child: ‘Well, I’m not sure, but it has lovely birds and we stroke them.’
Mother: ‘Who is we, darling?’
Child: ‘My friends. I have to go now, Mummy.’ A woman’s voice took over.
‘Hello, Jill, it’s May. I thought you would like to hear from Gemma. We’ve been worried about you.’
Jill’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t believe it! May was my aunt. She died about ten years ago.’
May then continued, ‘I look after the children, and Gemma has been with me since she arrived. She is a very happy, lively little girl and much loved. Now I must go.’
Jill was crying and questioning at the same time. I sat and held her hand.
‘Why did your little girl call May “the lady” and not auntie?’ I asked.
Jill wiped her eyes. ‘Gemma was only two when my aunt died. She didn’t know her.’ She frowned then, and said, ‘It is strange. Gemma died exactly two years ago today.’
I smiled. ‘Obviously it was a treat they had planned for you.’ ‘I had no idea you were a medium,’ Jill remarked suddenly. I smiled and said nothing. Jill left.
If I had been truthful I could have told her that I didn’t want to be a medium. That I had found the whole session a terrible strain. I re-learnt a valuable lesson that day. The truth is sometimes a cross we have to bear alone so that we can ease the suffering of others.
After Jill had left I sat alone, going over and over the conversation she had had with her daughter. The little girl’s voice was in my head and I couldn’t get rid of it. The sadness overwhelmed me. I prayed that the voices would stop. Two weeks later Jill asked for a healing session. Although I gave her an appointment, I dreaded seeing her again. When she arrived I could not believe she was the same young woman. The pallor had gone and her previously dull eyes were shining.
‘Betty,’ she said, ‘I haven’t come along hoping to hear from my daughter again, I just want to thank you for the precious gift I received last time I was here.’ She laughed. ‘I haven’t suffered with my bowel since, and I know that my daughter’s visit has cured me.’ As an afterthought, she went on, ‘With your help of course.’
Whilst I was healing Jill, a spirit child built up in the room. It was Gemma. She was smiling, and although she didn’t speak I was able to give Jill an accurate description of her. Jill never looked back. Because she now knew that Gemma still lived, albeit in another dimension, it gave her the strength to rebuild her own life.
Was I being shown the link between healing and survival evidence? Did they sometimes have to go hand in hand to get results? At the time I did not know what to think. All I knew was that things were moving too fast for me and I just could not take it all in.
One night I awoke with a start. I could hear a rushing sound, like a waterfall. Then as the sound receded I saw the most beautiful coloured pictures being projected on to the wall opposite my bed. The first scene depicted a small village with white houses and a dusty track. Behind the village were hills, and just above the hills was the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. The sky was a mass of many different colours. As I stared, the scene slowly changed. This time it showed a valley filled with people crouching on the ground, obviously listening to the figure standing before them. I could not see the face of the figure as it was half hidden by a white cowl. The scene changed again, and before me was a beautiful waterfall and the same rushing sound that I had heard on awakening. And then a voice said, ‘Everything is possible.’
As my bedroom returned to normal I tried to leave my bed. At this point I needed to make myself a cup of tea – perhaps with a tot of brandy! But I could not move. The whole of my body felt like lead. Eventually, I was able to sleep. The leadenness, I was to find out later, was due to the mind energy having practically left the body, as it does with shock or deep sleep, and until it slips back, the physical body is helpless. These visions have continued, and all have a spiritual significance. I love them and would hate them to disappear altogether.
It seemed that the more I tried to reject the voices so eager to pass on messages of survival, the stronger they became. Healing sessions were usually of an hour’s duration. I felt that anything less than that would lead to a sense of urgency, and when people are ill they need time to talk. When survival evidence came through, the session obviously went on for much longer and this worried me a great deal, because my clients liked the confidentiality that I gave them. I did not favour the packed waiting room. It might give the appearance of being successful, but it does little for the sensitivities of the people who are forced to share their space when they are at their lowest ebb. As I could not stop the flow of spirit voices I had