Michael D. Bodine - A Psychic’s Life: What It’s Really Like

About the Author

Michael was young when he discovered his psychic abilities. He spent his childhood studying with established psychics and going to psychic camp (somewhat reluctantly) to gain a greater understanding of his gifts. Through the loving support of his mother, Mae, he was able to mature in his practice, while staying true to his own creative style.

Michael has been a professional psychic for more than forty years, giving readings, performing ghost bustings, and speaking at events and conventions. His clients range from celebrities like Melanie Griffith and Gary Busey, to financiers and dog walkers.

Copyright Information

A Psychics Life: What Its Really Like 2018 by Michael D. Bodine.

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First e-book edition 2018

E-book ISBN: 9780738759265

Book design by Bob Gaul
Cover design by Shira Atakpu
Editing by Annie Burdick

Llewellyn Publications is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (Pending)
ISBN: 978-0-7387-5866-4

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Manufactured in the United States of America

Contents

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Dedicated to my granddaughter, Noella

Introduction

T his book is about answers: finding them, seeing them, acting on them.

My hope is that when youre done reading it, youll have a sense of the magic and power thats out there. That youll know youre exactly where you believe you should be, and you can go exactly where you think you belong.

I hate when people tell me what to do or when they profess to know more about my thinking than I do. So this book isnt about telling you what to do or what to think. These are stories; you make your own conclusions

I just ask that you please have an open mind. Maybe dont just assume Im trying to con you for fame and fortune. Fortune, maybe, but you can keep the fame.

Even with all the proof, the videos, the testimonials, and the eyewitness accounts, there are still idiots out there who refuse to open their eyes even a little. Theres one clown who claims to offer a million dollars for proof that psychics are real.

Theres no point in dealing with a person like that. Their fear and insecurities wont allow them even the slightest thought that maybe theres some unseen magic out there. They would rather think themselves insane than have belief. I should know. I was one of those people.

Ive struggled for years with all this psychic stuff. Is it real, is my mind playing tricks? How the hell do I really know some of the stuff I know? How did my mom or my sisters know things I never told them about?

Ive been on my knees more times than Id care to admit, begging for some sort of sign or reason why things are the way they are. I understand how it feels to seek guidance. Ive been surrounded by psychics most of my life and Ive gotten so many readings that I should write a book. (Wait, I did write a book.) Ive questioned just about everything there is to question about life. People come to me for answers for their lives, and Im still trying to understand my own.

Ive struggled with who I am and why I feel the way I do. Why am I so weird? I say the wrong things and do the wrong things. I never seem to have good balance. Why cant I just be normal? Join a bowling league and shut up?

I often wonder if Im too out there. Maybe people think Im an idiot? I know Ill never be voted most popular or greatest guyIm odd and awkward.

Ive literally had my head examined several times since I was a kid. Not the kind where they ask you if you ever killed a family pet (although I have had those too). I mean the kind of examination where they plug a bunch of electrodes into your head, then flash lights and make noises, just to see whats going on in that weird head of yours.

Ive gone to counseling for depression, anxiety, and guilt. Ive tried group counseling. I went away for weekend self-esteem camps and power of the mind camps. Physical therapy, emotional therapy, spiritual therapy, even light therapy. Ive tried just about everything I could think of, hip or unhip, legit or just stupid, to get an understanding of why I feel the way I do and how to feel better as a person. But whatever answers and solutions I got only seemed to last a week or two and then Id be right back where I started, wondering What the hell?

Ive thought about suicide. Ive thought, If I just died, it would all stop. The deep sense of dread, of not knowing. Seeing other people succeed, seeing them happy, more gifted, more intelligent.

Ive watched people that I know are assholes advance in the world and be treated with respect. What chip didnt I get?

But I know suicide isnt the answer. In my work, Ive come across so many spirits of people who have killed themselves that its stopped me from making that choice. Seeing their frustration and sadness, their loneliness. And the biggest one: their lack of options. Because once you cut that cord, its done. You dont get a redo. So I kept going.

But after a while, I stopped asking for help. The silence was almost worse than the depression. Or maybe the depression was caused by the silence? Chicken or egg, who knowsI just stopped.

And then one day, I brought my kids to my moms so she could watch them while I did some shopping. When I said hello, I noticed that she had her concerned mother look on, so I asked her what was wrong. She said she was worried because she saw I had given up. She said she noticed that I had checked out a while ago. She asked if Id let her do a spread for me, which in our house meant she wanted to do a tarot card reading. I told her I was fine, that I didnt need a reading, and that I was done asking for answers. I was tired of waiting for whatever was going to happen.

As I stood there whining, she got up and walked toward the kitchen cabinets. Keep going, she said. Im listening. She took out a glass, filled it with water, and proceeded to throw it in my face. Honey? she said. Sit down. I want to talk to you. I was too busy spitting out water to sit, so she started back to the sink to fill up the glass again. I put my hand up as if to say uncle! and told her I would sit.
She seemed disappointed that she couldnt throw another glass of water in my face, but went to the rag drawer and threw me a towel instead.