About Ken Kessler and Psychic Tapestry...
I have has always been interested in psychic phenomena, and like Mulder on the X-Files, I always wanted to believe. But like most people, I tended to look for, and accept, rational explanations. But sometimes things happen that defy a rational explanation, that can tip the scales and turn a skeptic into a believer!
My story is not all that earth-shattering.
Though, it was a pretty big deal to me. But, like many of these kinds of stories, it doesn’t have conclusive evidence that would stand up in court. There’s no irrefutable proof.
But here’s what happened.
I should start by saying that I was a skeptic. Not one of the militant skeptics, who ridicule everyone that dares to call themselves a psychic medium. I actually wanted to believe. But I had a problem reconciling my desire to believe with what I believed were the facts.
And the facts, as I understood them, were that once you were dead, you were dead. That was it. I wanted to believe in Heaven. I wanted to believe in an Afterlife. But I also wanted proof.
Through my wife, who is a writer, I met a psychic medium. She explained the use of pendulums as divination tools, a way to communicate with spirit guides. She explained that we all have spirit guides, and, for the most part, spirit guides were once alive like you and me, but have passed on and now chose to help those of us on This Side.
I wasn’t so sure I bought that. Neat idea, but I was skeptical.
I got a pendulum and tried it out. This was basically a crystal or stone at the end of a short piece of chain. You hold one end of the chain between your thumb and forefinger, and let the stone dangle. It is supposed to spin in a small orbit to let you know that someone is there, trying to communicate with you. Then you ask yes or no questions, and it shifts motions one way or the other to give you a response (mine was left-to-right for yes, and back-and-forth for no).
So the pendulum moved, but did that really mean anything? Was my hand’s slight movement causing the stone to move? Was I subconsciously moving it to make it appear to answer me? Was there some kind of physics involved here that I didn’t understand?
I didn’t know the answers to any of those. But I stood outside of my home, and I felt that pendulum change direction while a breeze was blowing. And it moved against the breeze.
While that didn’t really prove anything, there was a definite chink in my skeptic armor.
I attended my first Spirit Gallery shortly after. This is where a psychic medium relays messages from those on the Other Side to those in attendance. It’s not like what you see on television or in the movies. No creepy music. No dramatic voices.
The psychic medium I had met told us to think of who we would like to hear from. I wasn’t really sure. I hadn’t been that close to any of my relatives who had passed away. So I thought it would just be nice if one of them came through and told me they loved me and were proud of me. I’d like to hear them tell me they didn’t think I was a screw-up.
My uncle came through. He died 25-30 years ago, and I couldn’t tell you the last time I’d thought about him. But as she started relaying a message, his face popped into my head. She was saying that someone was coming through with a thick accent, and he was difficult to understand. My uncle often spoke in Yiddish which, to a child, sounded like hilarious made-up words.
His message to me was that he loved me and that he was proud of me. Those weren’t his exact words, or the medium’s exact words, but that was the ‘gist of it.
Afterward, the skeptic in me quickly dismissed this. It was a pretty generic message, after all. No personal information was revealed. No anecdotes. Nothing really, other than he loved me and was proud of me.
My wife pointed out that those words were exactly what I’d said I wanted to hear.
Another chink.
Flash forward a couple months, and I attended another spirit gallery. My grandfather came through this time.
I never got the chance to meet this grandfather. He had a heart attack on the golf course a few months before I was born. I had always heard great things about him, and was always sorry that I never got to meet him. My Mom (he was her father) named me after him, giving me his initials.
So I didn’t really know him. I didn’t know what to say or ask. His message to me was that he was with me and that he loved me. Nice to hear, but, again, kind of generic, right?
Then the medium said that he was showing her a ledger or a file or a folder or something like that. He said it was somewhere, and he thought I’d like to have it. He didn’t say where it was.
I didn’t know what to do with that information.
I wasn’t about to call my mother and tell her that her dead father had visited and said there was a folder somewhere that I should have. He had passed away almost fifty years ago, and my grandmother had been gone for about fifteen years on the day of this particular Spirit Gallery. If any of my grandfather's things were still around, who would even have some folder or ledger or whatever? And what was in it? Was it some kind of writing? He had been an accountant, and I wasn’t excited about getting an old expense report (unless maybe there was secret bank account information in there and I was about to be rich).
I puzzled on it for a while.
More time passed.
My grandfather’s sister had been one of my favorite relatives. She had terrific family scrapbooks with pictures that went back to the early 1900’s. She had always told me that, since I liked looking at them so much, she would leave them to me. And she’d also said she would sit down with me one day and tell me who all the people in those scrapbooks were.
She never got to do that, but she did leave me the scrap books.
I think she passed away in the early 1990’s. My sister, who lived near my aunt, boxed up those scrapbooks and sent them to me. And I poured over them, cover to cover. I knew who a few people were. Unfortunately, none of the photos were labelled, so I didn’t know who most were.
As the years went by, and I moved from one place to another, the box my sister had packed those scrapbooks in got worn, and I re-boxed those scrapbooks. After I got remarried in the mid-2000’s, I shared the scrapbooks with my wife. I’m sure it wasn’t thrilling for her, but some of the older photos were pretty cool, even if you didn’t know who the people were.
Anyway, the point of all this is to let you know I had been through that box many times, even repacking every single item in it into a brand new box. I may not have known who was in all the pictures, but I knew the contents overall.
One day, my wife and I were talking and the conversations turned to old relatives that were no longer with us. I mentioned a favorite of mine, who passed long before I was born. He had an amazing turn of the century mustache (entering the 20th century, that is). I went to get the box of scrapbooks to show her his picture.
I brought in the box from where it had been stored with other boxes in the garage, opened it up and started taking out the scrapbooks.
Then, I paused. In between two of the scrapbooks was a very large, over-sized photographer’s folder. I took that out and saw that there was a Post-It note on it that said simply, “For Ken”.
I want to make sure you understand something. I had been through this box many times. I had looked at everything in it. I had even transferred each scrapbook from the old, worn original box to this newer one.
I would have noticed a large, over-sized photographer’s folder with a Post-It note WITH MY NAME ON IT.
Inside the folder was a large, black-and-white photo of my grandfather.
Growing up, my Mom had a framed photo of her father displayed in our house. This picture was of a younger man, possibly around the age I was at the time this happened, if not even younger. It was a picture I hadn’t seen before.
So what does this prove?
Well, it doesn’t prove anything. I can’t prove that this folder wasn’t always in that box.
But I know it wasn’t. And for me, that’s enough.
I find it difficult to believe that somehow my dead grandfather rescued this folder from wherever it was hiding, slapped a Post-It note on there, jotted down my name, snuck into my garage and hid it in this box. Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?
But he sent me a message that there was a folder that he thought I would want. And I know that it wasn’t in that box before.
I’m pretty sure this was something that my aunt had put aside for me. She may even have put that note on it. But it went somewhere else instead of going into that box of scrapbooks. And then, somehow, it found its way to me.
Is this irrefutable proof of Life After Death? Hardly.
But what I know is that there was a message for me from my grandfather that there was a folder for me. And then there was a folder in a box where there had not been one before.
And now I have a beautiful photograph of the grandfather I never got to meet, and I know he loves me and is with me.
That might sound a little simplistic to you. But think about your own family for a moment, particularly those who have passed on. If they communicated with you now, what would they say?
Would they give you some kind of complicated, Da Vinci code message leading you to fortune and glory? Would they submit to taking some kind of test, answering your barrage of trivia questions that have secret answers that only you know? Would they perform some kind of parlor tricks, flickering lights and bending spoons?
Or would they simply tell you that they loved you?
I don’t know about your family, but I do know that it was hard enough to get mine to answer questions when they were on This Side. I have a hard time believing they would go to the trouble of communicating with me, only to take some kind of Afterlife SAT.
For some reason, we like to make things more complicated than they need to be. This really doesn’t have to be one of those things.
Imagine your own grandfather, or great grandfather, or uncle or aunt or any other relative that you loved who has passed on. What would you say to them?
And what do you think they would say to you, if they were with you right now? Because, if you’re thinking about them right now, they are with you.
At least, that’s my takeaway from all of this.
I started Psychic Tapestry as a way to spread these kinds of messages. I understand not everyone is ready for them, and that's okay. For those who are ready, who are searching, who need this, I look forward to connecting. Maybe through this, we can all help each other, bringing hope and healing to as many as we can, as many as want it. And maybe these stories can help to further connect us all.
Like a Psychic Tapestry!
I have has always been interested in psychic phenomena, and like Mulder on the X-Files, I always wanted to believe. But like most people, I tended to look for, and accept, rational explanations. But sometimes things happen that defy a rational explanation, that can tip the scales and turn a skeptic into a believer!
My story is not all that earth-shattering.
Though, it was a pretty big deal to me. But, like many of these kinds of stories, it doesn’t have conclusive evidence that would stand up in court. There’s no irrefutable proof.
But here’s what happened.
I should start by saying that I was a skeptic. Not one of the militant skeptics, who ridicule everyone that dares to call themselves a psychic medium. I actually wanted to believe. But I had a problem reconciling my desire to believe with what I believed were the facts.
And the facts, as I understood them, were that once you were dead, you were dead. That was it. I wanted to believe in Heaven. I wanted to believe in an Afterlife. But I also wanted proof.
Through my wife, who is a writer, I met a psychic medium. She explained the use of pendulums as divination tools, a way to communicate with spirit guides. She explained that we all have spirit guides, and, for the most part, spirit guides were once alive like you and me, but have passed on and now chose to help those of us on This Side.
I wasn’t so sure I bought that. Neat idea, but I was skeptical.
I got a pendulum and tried it out. This was basically a crystal or stone at the end of a short piece of chain. You hold one end of the chain between your thumb and forefinger, and let the stone dangle. It is supposed to spin in a small orbit to let you know that someone is there, trying to communicate with you. Then you ask yes or no questions, and it shifts motions one way or the other to give you a response (mine was left-to-right for yes, and back-and-forth for no).
So the pendulum moved, but did that really mean anything? Was my hand’s slight movement causing the stone to move? Was I subconsciously moving it to make it appear to answer me? Was there some kind of physics involved here that I didn’t understand?
I didn’t know the answers to any of those. But I stood outside of my home, and I felt that pendulum change direction while a breeze was blowing. And it moved against the breeze.
While that didn’t really prove anything, there was a definite chink in my skeptic armor.
I attended my first Spirit Gallery shortly after. This is where a psychic medium relays messages from those on the Other Side to those in attendance. It’s not like what you see on television or in the movies. No creepy music. No dramatic voices.
The psychic medium I had met told us to think of who we would like to hear from. I wasn’t really sure. I hadn’t been that close to any of my relatives who had passed away. So I thought it would just be nice if one of them came through and told me they loved me and were proud of me. I’d like to hear them tell me they didn’t think I was a screw-up.
My uncle came through. He died 25-30 years ago, and I couldn’t tell you the last time I’d thought about him. But as she started relaying a message, his face popped into my head. She was saying that someone was coming through with a thick accent, and he was difficult to understand. My uncle often spoke in Yiddish which, to a child, sounded like hilarious made-up words.
His message to me was that he loved me and that he was proud of me. Those weren’t his exact words, or the medium’s exact words, but that was the ‘gist of it.
Afterward, the skeptic in me quickly dismissed this. It was a pretty generic message, after all. No personal information was revealed. No anecdotes. Nothing really, other than he loved me and was proud of me.
My wife pointed out that those words were exactly what I’d said I wanted to hear.
Another chink.
Flash forward a couple months, and I attended another spirit gallery. My grandfather came through this time.
I never got the chance to meet this grandfather. He had a heart attack on the golf course a few months before I was born. I had always heard great things about him, and was always sorry that I never got to meet him. My Mom (he was her father) named me after him, giving me his initials.
So I didn’t really know him. I didn’t know what to say or ask. His message to me was that he was with me and that he loved me. Nice to hear, but, again, kind of generic, right?
Then the medium said that he was showing her a ledger or a file or a folder or something like that. He said it was somewhere, and he thought I’d like to have it. He didn’t say where it was.
I didn’t know what to do with that information.
I wasn’t about to call my mother and tell her that her dead father had visited and said there was a folder somewhere that I should have. He had passed away almost fifty years ago, and my grandmother had been gone for about fifteen years on the day of this particular Spirit Gallery. If any of my grandfather's things were still around, who would even have some folder or ledger or whatever? And what was in it? Was it some kind of writing? He had been an accountant, and I wasn’t excited about getting an old expense report (unless maybe there was secret bank account information in there and I was about to be rich).
I puzzled on it for a while.
More time passed.
My grandfather’s sister had been one of my favorite relatives. She had terrific family scrapbooks with pictures that went back to the early 1900’s. She had always told me that, since I liked looking at them so much, she would leave them to me. And she’d also said she would sit down with me one day and tell me who all the people in those scrapbooks were.
She never got to do that, but she did leave me the scrap books.
I think she passed away in the early 1990’s. My sister, who lived near my aunt, boxed up those scrapbooks and sent them to me. And I poured over them, cover to cover. I knew who a few people were. Unfortunately, none of the photos were labelled, so I didn’t know who most were.
As the years went by, and I moved from one place to another, the box my sister had packed those scrapbooks in got worn, and I re-boxed those scrapbooks. After I got remarried in the mid-2000’s, I shared the scrapbooks with my wife. I’m sure it wasn’t thrilling for her, but some of the older photos were pretty cool, even if you didn’t know who the people were.
Anyway, the point of all this is to let you know I had been through that box many times, even repacking every single item in it into a brand new box. I may not have known who was in all the pictures, but I knew the contents overall.
One day, my wife and I were talking and the conversations turned to old relatives that were no longer with us. I mentioned a favorite of mine, who passed long before I was born. He had an amazing turn of the century mustache (entering the 20th century, that is). I went to get the box of scrapbooks to show her his picture.
I brought in the box from where it had been stored with other boxes in the garage, opened it up and started taking out the scrapbooks.
Then, I paused. In between two of the scrapbooks was a very large, over-sized photographer’s folder. I took that out and saw that there was a Post-It note on it that said simply, “For Ken”.
I want to make sure you understand something. I had been through this box many times. I had looked at everything in it. I had even transferred each scrapbook from the old, worn original box to this newer one.
I would have noticed a large, over-sized photographer’s folder with a Post-It note WITH MY NAME ON IT.
Inside the folder was a large, black-and-white photo of my grandfather.
Growing up, my Mom had a framed photo of her father displayed in our house. This picture was of a younger man, possibly around the age I was at the time this happened, if not even younger. It was a picture I hadn’t seen before.
So what does this prove?
Well, it doesn’t prove anything. I can’t prove that this folder wasn’t always in that box.
But I know it wasn’t. And for me, that’s enough.
I find it difficult to believe that somehow my dead grandfather rescued this folder from wherever it was hiding, slapped a Post-It note on there, jotted down my name, snuck into my garage and hid it in this box. Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?
But he sent me a message that there was a folder that he thought I would want. And I know that it wasn’t in that box before.
I’m pretty sure this was something that my aunt had put aside for me. She may even have put that note on it. But it went somewhere else instead of going into that box of scrapbooks. And then, somehow, it found its way to me.
Is this irrefutable proof of Life After Death? Hardly.
But what I know is that there was a message for me from my grandfather that there was a folder for me. And then there was a folder in a box where there had not been one before.
And now I have a beautiful photograph of the grandfather I never got to meet, and I know he loves me and is with me.
That might sound a little simplistic to you. But think about your own family for a moment, particularly those who have passed on. If they communicated with you now, what would they say?
Would they give you some kind of complicated, Da Vinci code message leading you to fortune and glory? Would they submit to taking some kind of test, answering your barrage of trivia questions that have secret answers that only you know? Would they perform some kind of parlor tricks, flickering lights and bending spoons?
Or would they simply tell you that they loved you?
I don’t know about your family, but I do know that it was hard enough to get mine to answer questions when they were on This Side. I have a hard time believing they would go to the trouble of communicating with me, only to take some kind of Afterlife SAT.
For some reason, we like to make things more complicated than they need to be. This really doesn’t have to be one of those things.
Imagine your own grandfather, or great grandfather, or uncle or aunt or any other relative that you loved who has passed on. What would you say to them?
And what do you think they would say to you, if they were with you right now? Because, if you’re thinking about them right now, they are with you.
At least, that’s my takeaway from all of this.
I started Psychic Tapestry as a way to spread these kinds of messages. I understand not everyone is ready for them, and that's okay. For those who are ready, who are searching, who need this, I look forward to connecting. Maybe through this, we can all help each other, bringing hope and healing to as many as we can, as many as want it. And maybe these stories can help to further connect us all.
Like a Psychic Tapestry!