Below is an excerpt from Chapter Two in my book, “My Child is Psychic, a mother’s journey.”
A few weeks had passed since we began the classes with Lucy. In addition to teaching the Seraphim Blueprint classes, owning a metaphysical shop and giving “rock readings,” Lucy also led meditations every Thursday evening in her studio. We had never attended one of her Thursday night meditations but were intrigued at the chance of a new experience with someone we trusted. My daughter was off school for the week, and we didn’t have to worry about her staying up late on a school night, so we decided we would attend Lucy’s meditation.
We had never attended a group meditation, so this would be a new experience for all of us. I was still uneasy and cautious when we entered a room filled with people we did not know. As we arrived, there were 12-15 people in attendance. I recognized a few people and knew one person from our Seraphim Blueprint class. I was still finding myself pleasantly surprised at how “normal” everyone I encountered seemed. I had not yet dropped the skeptical voice in my head that wondered if all of this was a little out there.
Lucy began talking and sharing her wisdom with the group. She then played her crystal bowls and led the meditation while everyone sat silently with their eyes closed. Because I did not know all the people in the room, I admit that I had a hard time letting my mind drift totally into peace. Ever the mother bear, I opened my eyes every once in a while, to check on my daughter and our surroundings. Yes, my name is Mary Anna, and I am a “peeker.” Lucy’s guided meditation was beautiful. Her description of love and the universe and humanity felt calm and inviting. When the meditation was over, she asked if anyone wanted to share anything. My daughter’s hand went straight up into the air.
My stomach dropped. I was afraid of what she might say and how it would be received. These people didn’t know her. They didn’t know her story. What if they thought she was just some kid with a big imagination, who was making up a story. She didn’t even look over at me, so I could give her the “mom eye,” as she so lovingly refers to my commanding stares. And then the moment I lost control…Lucy addressed her.
“Yes, Hanna. Did you want to share?”
“I talked to Saturn. He was really glad to see me.”
Saturn? My mind went into full panic mode. Saturn? I had never heard of such a thing. I looked around the room to try and gauge people’s responses by the looks on their faces.
They were staring at my daughter.
Oh, please stop talking, I thought. I noticed a man turn to look at his wife. I couldn’t tell what his look meant, but there was an exchange of words between them.
And then someone asked, “What did he say?”
There was nothing I could do to stop this train wreck. I sat paralyzed. Without missing a beat, my daughter sat up straight as if to physically take charge of the room.
“He told me just to be myself and have fun,” she answered.
And then the man who had turned to his wife smiled at my daughter and said, “He tells me the same thing.”
I was speechless as I watched the moment unfold. As usual, my mind took a few seconds to catch up to what was happening. Saturn talked to my daughter? Saturn talks to this man? Am I crazy? Everyone else in the room just looked like they thought the exchange between my daughter and this man was cool. But I could see that a few people were staring at my daughter intensely.
The man who said Saturn speaks to him did not fit the image of a man who could hear a planet speak. This man was a man’s man, a big burly man with a goatee who worked in the construction field. The kind of man you would want as your friend knowing just the look of him would protect you from any harm. But as he spoke, I began to see that he was a big teddy bear. A gentle giant.
After the meditation was over, we all stayed and visited with each other. The people in this community really cared for each other and developed friendships. The gentle giant came over and knelt to my daughter’s eye level. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. He didn’t pressure her or ask what else Saturn might have said. He simply wanted to make a connection. His gesture was simply an act of kindness. It was a sweet moment I will not soon forget. It was yet another moment that gave my daughter permission to embrace her gift. To be her authentic self.
Not long after my daughter spoke with Saturn, I discovered that her conversations with the planet were far from over. On an afternoon car ride home from school, I asked my daughter what projects her class was working on in art.
“We’re drawing eyes,” she answered.
“Oh, are you sketching them in pencil?” I asked.
“I’m not. You can choose what you want to do so I’m painting mine. I’m making my eye into Saturn. I’m pretty happy with it,” my daughter explained.
Saturn? What the heck! My protective maternal instincts started to kick in. I didn’t realize Saturn was still taking up space in my daughter’s thoughts, and the fact that she was inserting Saturn into a school art project worried me. In my mind, I was visualizing all the other student’s eyes sketched out in realistic drawings. It wasn’t the first time my daughter’s art had stood out from the rest of the class. I can recall several times entering my daughter’s classroom in grade school and seeing the artwork displayed on the wall or in the hallway.
Clearly, the teacher had instructed the students, or at the very least, the students tried to copy the teacher’s example because all the pictures or paintings looked pretty much the same—except my daughter’s artwork. It was always within reason but with an added twist of color or design or added objects. I wish I had mustered the strength to square my shoulders back and realize that I should be proud to have her artwork differ from the rest of the class. But in my mind, I was wondering what the other parents were thinking. Does her kid know how to follow directions?
As we continued our conversation about her Saturn eye, I asked my daughter how she came up with making her eye look like Saturn.
“He told me to do it,” she explained. “And he told me which colors to use too. He is so excited about it.”
Oh boy. Here we go again. My daughter loves art, so I responded by saying, “Oh cool, I can’t wait to see it.”
As the days went by, my daughter would come home from school with paint on her hands or arms. It was always my cue to ask about her Saturn eye painting and the progress she was making. She continued to be enthusiastic about it, and I was eager to lay eyes on it. A few weeks went by, and I knew that the class had moved on to the next project. I inquired why she hadn’t brought her painting home, and she informed me that her art teacher had kept it. He was going to put some of the artwork up for display around the school.
I instructed my daughter to ask her teacher if she could have the painting and to bring it home. I was hoping to avoid any questions as to how she came up with altering her eye to look like Saturn and feeling panicked that she might actually tell them the truth. When she finally brought the painting home, I was a bit shocked. I was envisioning at least an 11x14 sheet of paper filled with the image of Saturn. However, my daughter handed me a four-inch square painting that was filled with detail and color.
Pride began to swell up in my heart. I was speechless. I didn’t understand why she painted Saturn with the yellow and green emerging from the pupil of the eye, but I marveled at her artistic creativity. And because I knew that Saturn had assisted her in creating the painting, I knew there was more meaning behind the colors and images I saw. I proudly displayed her four-inch square painting on a shelf in our kitchen and was relieved that we had dodged any questions regarding the subject matter.