4.3
February 3, 2021

How the Mediumship Gallery Changed my Beliefs about Death.

Let’s face it, many of us grew up in households where death is an endpoint rather than a beginning.

That was definitely me. While I had hoped there was more to be explored, I couldn’t say that had I believed in an afterlife.

That’s changed.

When I was invited to attend a mediumship gallery, I wasn’t wholly a skeptic; having done some similar things in the past, including past life regression. I’d been to one prior gallery and not received a message of my own. I’ve also seen mediumship demonstration podcasts, but these were not people I knew. And while I did not know this group of 20 or so souls, their stories of loss, struggle, accomplishments, and the eternal nature of love moved me profoundly.

A gallery is somewhat like a giant group therapy session, where people receive messages from those in their lives who have died.

Masked, socially distanced and in small groups, arrivals were encouraged to select a seat that called to them. As latecomers, we were seated in the front row, in front of a mother, father, and adult son; a configuration similar to our own family.

After some introduction, including a bit of the medium’s story—he had not developed his abilities until his 40s—the two-hour gallery began. From the start, the medium presented as humble and genuine.

Almost from the get-go, our loved ones flooded the room.

While later in the gallery the medium pinpointed who the messages were intended for, the initial onslaught was immediate. We were in for some life-changing events. “Where’s Jim, your mom’s here,” or “I’m seeing an image of someone chopping wood, does that make sense to anyone?” and so on. Pointing to my side of the room, “I have a Fred here for someone on that side of the room” and for me, “Who lost a Bobbi in a car accident?” Nailed it, hands down.

Hands were raised, including mine and my husband’s, as people acknowledged the presence of their loved ones.

As the medium gently asked these souls to step aside and await their turns, the room took on a holy feel.

The messages we received were generally of a few types: a personal confirmation that the person was there with us, messages of continued love and pride (or alternately a stern warning that some people in the group needed to shape up), and some more universal messages that resonated with several of the attendees.

As we awaited our loved one’s turns, we began to know and connect with each others’ stories.

The medium explained that he receives images primarily and interprets them through his lens. While he cautioned that the details may need some interpretation, it was not usually a stretch. Details about places and dates of deaths emerged and aspects of relationships—both positive and negative.

“She’s so proud of you for your work with the kids,” to a special ed teacher. “He says he never told you he loved you enough, and he wishes he had,” he commented to another person. Both the person he was addressing and a person who sat behind her, burst into tears.

“This was a difficult relationship, and she says she’s sorry,” as another soul popped in with a message for a couple seated in front, “Bob also says to tell you that too.”

The universe had arranged the room for easy access to their messages.

Several of the people in the room were there at the behest of someone else. In a quirk of fate, their loved ones almost always showed up. “Your brother says she brought you here,” pointing to one man’s girlfriend. He then went on to deliver a stern fraternal warning that the man’s drinking had to stop. This earned a sheepish acknowledgment of the problem.

While it was a challenge to know how this message had landed, I had more of a direct view of a man sitting across the aisle, who the medium addressed next. “Do you have something in your pocket of your wife’s?” the medium asked the young widower—a question intended to dispel doubt and brought on a nod.

Looking directly at him, the medium delivered one of the most powerful messages of the evening. “Your wife says she’s not a possession,” he said. “She wants you to move on. And your drinking needs to stop too. It hurts her.” Even with the mask covering the lower half of his face, I could see the tears of gratitude and healing.

Our loved ones see the positives and challenges in our lives, as there were plenty of those mentioned in the room. They remain with us and worry when we are not taking care of ourselves.

The spirits that attended were not always human. The medium explained that animal spirits also reside with other souls, and these manifestations of the love also remain. To one participant, “I don’t know what this means, but your grandpa keeps talking about sausages and I’m seeing so many deers.” You guessed it—a family member makes his own deer sausages. Definitely, a powerful reminder that the lives we take to feed ourselves are also sentient beings.

While most of the heavenly visitors in our room were close relatives, at least one more distant soul entered the mix. On our side of the room, which drew a combination of military families and people who’d lost others in vehicular accidents, a departed teen came through with a message for his family.

The medium shared particular details of his death, and a teacher in the room acknowledged knowing a young man who’d recently died just this way. While the teacher did not know the young person well, the departed soul implored her to let his parents know he was safe and okay.

The messages my husband and I received were similarly specific. For me, confirmatory details that my mother and grandmother were there (an uncommon first name, specifics, and circumstances of the deaths). The skeptic in me was encouraged to communicate with them more; something I’d been practicing. “I can hear your words,” I was told.

My husband’s departed father referenced a repeated childhood memory of him having a difficult time learning to tie his shoes. His father Fred, speaking through the medium, “He says you may not be able to tie your shoes, but you’ve turned out well and he’s proud of you.”

The dead have seemingly retained their sense of humor.

While the two-hour gallery was a snapshot in time, it helped erase any lingering doubt I had about an afterlife and our continued connection to those that have passed. I feel more confident that I can use this in my personal life and with clients I counsel.

They see us, take pride in our achievements, and watch over us with loving concern.

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