Talk to Me (23 page)

We purchased some incense to burn for the samurai, and my girls were very comfortable taking part in this ritual. It was a multifaceted experience. ‘Ronin' means ‘they are without a lord to follow'. The story goes that in the early eighteenth century a group of samurai were left leaderless after their feudal lord was forced to commit ritual suicide for assaulting a court officer. After patiently planning for two years, the samurai avenged their master's death, but in turn were themselves forced to commit ritual suicide. It was really sad that the Ronin had died in such a way, but at the same time the honour and valour they displayed were admirable. It was one of those moments where you want to kneel down and bow your head, but you can't put into words why.

I asked Joe and the girls to give me some time alone, so that I could absorb the feeling around the samurai and write down the impressions that I got in the cemetery. I closed my eyes and placed my hand on a large headstone. I saw a samurai appear on a horse, and he pointed to a place above the Ronin cemetery, further up a hill. He told me that all of the samurai were not with him, some of them were missing, and they were up there. I also got the impression that the Ronin Warriors may have been buried previously on the hill, so I wasn't sure if they were up there or not. It was a little confusing to me.

I know some of you might wonder how the samurai could communicate with me, since he spoke Japanese. I think he, too, had someone on the other side acting as sort of an interpreter, making it possible for me to understand him. I know when very young people die, I have to ask an older generation to help bring through the child. They sometimes have to speak for them or ‘lend' them their energy, so that's another type of interpreter situation. Also, the dead can make me feel what they felt, and are capable of showing me visions of what happened to and around them, for me to put into words and relay to the living, which makes me a sort of interpreter myself.

The samurai showed me a vision of women falling to their knees in the streets, sobbing and begging for their men back. He told me that they died for political reasons, and that they didn't have to die. He said they were ‘the guardians of the temple', which I took to mean the Buddhist temple on the grounds. As Joe and I were leaving the cemetery, I told Joe that my stomach hurt pretty bad, and I felt nauseous. Joe explained that when the samurai died, they did so by disembowelment, and that could explain my stomach pains.

We continued to a museum on the grounds where they housed the actual chain armour and relics of the samurai. The girls were walking around taking in the history and the beautiful relics. Then my oldest daughter came up to Joe, complaining of stomach pains—not a big surprise. After a brief explanation to her, we set out to see the second museum on the grounds.

We met up again with Mari and her cousin as we walked through sculptures of the 47 Ronin Warriors. I pointed to one who was wearing a uniform that looked like the one worn by the samurai on the horse. At first, Mari was taken aback by what I said. Then she explained that the particular outfit I had pointed out was the one worn when the samurai take their life when sentenced to death. It's seen as honourable. Also, in order to be a samurai, you have to be born into the clan, so it's also seen as their duty.

I shared the rest of the samurai's information with Mari, and she told me that before they avenged the death of their slain lord, the samurai had divorced their wives and left their families to try to save them from political as well as social persecution. One samurai even courted and married the daughter of the architect of the enemy's palace to gain the blueprint of the palace for the attack. Another Ronin Warrior acted as a drunk who was always at the local pub. He was often spat on by villagers for being a disgrace to the samurai.

When the Ronin Warriors had ultimately carried out their vengeance, and their families realised the sacrifice their men had made for their lord as well as their families, the women were beside themselves. This would account for the vision the samurai showed me of the women falling to their knees and sobbing. One of the men who spat on the drunk samurai impaled himself out of shame for doubting the warrior's honour.

We walked back to the office where we had begun our tour with tea and cookies, and I thanked the priest's wife for her hospitality—in Japanese, of course: ‘
Domo arigato!
' (I had picked up a little Japanese through all of my interviews and from a book called
Japanese for Dummies
.)

Mari then asked the priest's wife if she knew the answers to the rest of the samurai's messages to me. She didn't, but stated that there was a groundskeeper who had been there longer than she had, so they summoned him. He was a wonderful energy. He felt like a combination of the earth and sky, grounding yet full of dreams and possibilities. He was very helpful, and said that there were three members of the samurai clan who were still buried up on the hill where the samurai had indicated. In addition to that, he told us that long ago all of the samurai had been buried up there and later moved to their memorial. Everyone else was f loored. I was just glad that I had conveyed the messages clearly. I'm a stickler for that, and getting confirmation of our information kind of scratches an itch for mediums.

I know that I am not the only person who has interacted with the samurai since their tragic yet noble deaths. Think of all of the children who have walked the same steps that I have. They see what I see . . . they just aren't always heard. ‘Hey, Mummy! Look at the samurai in the green uniform.'

‘Yeah, honey, that's nice. Hurry up now.'

So, if you're a parent, listen up, because kids often have messages. Remember, it wasn't so long ago that it was thought impossible for a man to walk on the moon or to have a phone without a cord . . . After all, it's what the eye 193 hasn't seen, but the mind has created, that becomes a reality that has been there all along.

When we left for the airport to go home, our girls were misty-eyed. They had grown so attached to their security guards and Fumi. They loved Tokyo and wanted to stay. I couldn't blame them—it was an extraordinary place. My two youngest talked about the giant beetles at the toy store that Japanese children buy to wrestle their friends' beetles. Yes,
real
beetles, and, yes, they play with them like toys. Wow! I love being immersed in different cultures. My daughters also drank a lot of tea and participated in a Japanese tea ceremony, learning mutual respect.

It's customary in Japan to bring a token of respect to the people you visit, even something small. We brought things like Arizona Wild West Sheriff 's badges and Arizona trivia books, and they received them as though they were the Hope Diamond. We received from them origami cranes and frogs, candles, etc., and we appreciated the sentiment. We also have a new admiration for bowing to pay respect to those around you.

Our hotel room overlooked the Tokyo Tower, and it was marvellous. We got a chance to see the sun turn red, just like on the Japanese f lag—a breathtaking sight. People who can travel should see as much of the world as possible. It changes how you think and how you see others. In fact, my trip reinforced for me that we are all given the chance to be feeling beings, and when we exercise that part of ourselves, there are no barriers between us. Language barriers are not so hard to overcome in life or death, as long as you remain open.

Years later I asked Joe, ‘What would the world be like if everyone believed in life after death—if everyone was open to communication?'

While in Japan we noticed most people were Buddhist or believed in honouring their ancestors, knowing that spirits remain around us. They were not smug or arrogant. It felt so light there, so accepting. Then I came home and the energy was so different. I wouldn't have known this if I had never gone there.

In some areas in the world people just want to be right or win an argument. They have no belief system (not an internal one anyway), an inner navigation system, if you will, or an unbreakable spiritual connection to one another—and that's a crying shame. Each and every country exudes a different sort of energy, and unfortunately we seem to lack cohesion in our country. Our energy is a little scattered; nobody seems to fully agree on anything.

After 9/11 there was a brief time when we stood united behind our f lag. I think we were all proud to be Americans; we were secure in our unity and the American spirit. Now, we have people who hide behind religion and picket our soldiers' funerals, the same soldiers who fight for our freedom. It's so despicable. I never thought I'd see freedom so abused, but it happens on a daily basis.

I hope for more for my children's generation—that there will be less hate in the world and fewer people to judge them.

I always tell my kids that it's healthier to be around people who will allow you to be true to yourself, not individuals who will try to make you into another version of themselves. Our girls ‘get it', and they embrace being interesting kids. What they learned in Japan will always stay with them. The experience has definitely made us all better people.

9
Bad acts

P
eople often ask me, ‘How many murder victims have you brought through?'

I don't know the answer to that question, sadly. I lost track a long time ago. That sad fact really struck me after one of my events where I brought through a woman's young daughter who had been killed by a family member. I had to ask the mother if the male cousin had killed himself, because the case sounded like another reading I did that was practically identical. In this case, though, the killer didn't commit suicide. He was in jail, and that was the only detail that let me know I hadn't read this woman before.

I still don't know how people who take someone's life selfishly can live with themselves. That would torment me every day of my life. I'm sure for those who kill and find their conscience through Jesus while in jail, the memory of their crime must eat them up from the inside out, as they realise the enormity of their actions. At least I hope so. I tend to sympathise with the victim, not the perpetrator. I never understand people who are more concerned with the criminal's feelings rather than the victim and their family. I'm not one of those people.

I think we've become desensitised to murder through movies and television, because we see it all the time. So I decided to share the stories of the real people who lose their life in this way, so that you never forget them. This chapter is an effort to open people's eyes to murder victims, so that you recognise that they, like you, had a pulse; they had a life, and they all matter to someone.

I believe we need harsher laws and penalties and more enforcement of them, but that's a topic for another day.

It's hard to explain to somebody why people kill . . . there are different motives behind taking a life, whether it be possessiveness, hate, war, money—whatever the reason, they all result in death, which leads to a memorial, mourners, flowers and a finality that leaves loved ones asking themselves, ‘Why him?' or ‘Why her?' and sometimes, ‘Why
my
baby?'

A MURDERED BROTHER SPEAKS OUT

I meet many people who have lost a family member or friend to murder, and, yes, it takes a toll on me. How can it not?

I was in Phoenix, Arizona, at one of my events, and I met a young man named Justin Privett, who wanted to hear from his brother who had been murdered. Justin looked like the kind of young man who doesn't enter arenas like mine often, but he seemed willing and eager, so I was up to the challenge. He also looked like, under other circumstances, he would be a great deal of fun to know personally.

My first impression of Justin was that he was a very strong person who was in a lot of pain—pain that he was trying to both understand and attempt to rid himself of. It's always hard reading a young person, because sometimes information comes through that has to be confirmed by an older generation. I was hoping his guard wouldn't be up, because that makes my job somewhat harder. When a person is read, they're already a little like a deer in the headlights because their grief is causing them stress, and it makes it harder for them to process the information I'm giving them in the reading.

When Jereme came through, he was cool and edgy with a wicked sense of humour.

Justin was actually more receptive than I had expected, and he seemed to ‘get it' more than most, because he knows his brother's energy and knew this was his best friend in the room. He appeared to be able to sense Jereme, too, because they were so close.

The reading became more complicated when I said, ‘Your brother lets you know he's around by messing with wires and electronics.' Just then the fire alarm and lights started f lashing in the auditorium, so I had to continue trying to concentrate on the messages with a few minor distractions. The audience understandably gasped, and a couple of people actually exited the room. I thought that was sort of amusing, but they did come back when they were less spooked.

JUSTIN'S STORY

I first heard of Allison DuBois through a mutual friend, who is a prosecuting attorney.

This friend also happened to be the prosecutor on the murder case of my brother, Jereme Lee Privett. Allison came up in a discussion I had with my friend after a status conference in downtown Phoenix regarding my brother's murder. We were in the hallway of the courthouse discussing upcoming court dates and so on, when she mentioned Allison and the story about the jury that was deliberating for a long time (this not being good for the prosecution). She told me about Allison's predicting when the jury would return a verdict. I jokingly said, ‘Call your friend and ask her the outcome of my brother's trial, so we'll know the result without all the worry and stress!'

My Aunt Thel (Thelma Vivian) called me in early January 2010 to tell me that she had bought two tickets to an Allison DuBois conference for that month, and she asked me if I felt up to going with her. She later admitted she had been nervous about asking me to go with her, not knowing how I felt about this ‘sort of thing'. I told her I'd love to go with her, as we had both lost a number of people close to us lately and so I thought it would be very interesting to see if any of them came through. (My mother, Bonnie, passed in March of 2007. She was Thelma's second sister to die young.)