An Evening With a Psychic Medium Unraveled

“Can I go to see a medium on Sunday night—it’s for an article,” I texted to my husband last Tuesday night.

As I pressed send, I wasn’t totally convinced that I wanted him to say yes.  A medium?  A person who speaks to the dead, of which I am notoriously and most likely unreasonably afraid?  (I am the kind of person who's otherwise nicely creative brain gets drenched with horrifying possibility when the lights go out.)

On the other hand, I once spent almost an entire summer sitting in a cemetery, reading poetry to and talking with someone who I had loved very much, who died in a car accident in his early 20’s.  I wasn’t even remotely afraid being in a place with hundreds of dead people.  (Grief can do that.)

The phone vibrated twice.  “Of course.”

Okay.  So I was going to see a medium.  No biggie, right?  Mike would stay home with the kids and I would go face… what?  Ghosts?  Poltergeists?  A Jehovah’s Witness once told me that those who claim to know anything otherworldly are being worked through by the Devil.  Would the medium’s eyes glow red?

Or, with all the hope I felt comfortable allowing myself to feel, would I, after eight very painful years, finally get some kind of closure on my friend’s catastrophic death?

I put it out of my mind until Sunday evening at approximately 6:38, at which time I melodramatically kissed my daughters and husband good-bye, not knowing what kind of person I would be upon return.

The mediumship demonstration was being conducted at the .  As I pulled into the parking lot, I briefly wondered if I might be the only one to show up, but as I walked into the lobby, well, I think I was eighth in line to register and pay the $40, and there were already a handful of people in the yoga room.

The owner, Annika Illiadis, greeted me warmly and told me how she had met Rachel Perry, the psychic medium that would be channeling the dead for us.

“I was actually looking for a psychic,” she revealed.  “And she came in to inquire if I would want to have her do sessions here.  I was skeptical, so I asked her to give me a reading right there.  I was in tears.  That was all it took.”

I walked into the yoga studio.  There were 17 chairs in a semicircle and one at the front.  Tea lights were glowing in the windows while soft overhead lighting made the hardwood glow. 

Everyone else was already in their seats.

I quickly introduced myself to Rachel, and asked if we could do a brief interview after the session was over. Her bright white smile overtook her face, her eyes literally twinkled, and she agreed, with the firm request that I be as open as possible to everything that would happen in the next two hours.

I nodded, still unsure—though somehow not at all nervous—of how things would go.

Of the 17 participants, only one was male, who was in his early 20's.  The rest of us women ranged in ages 20's to 80's.

Most of the attendees had come with friends or family, who chatted quietly amongst themselves, until Rachel swept through the room and laid two boxes of tissues on the floor.  I immediately wished I hadn’t worn eye makeup.  There's going to be crying?  Oh, no.  I cry at everything.

“Spirit likes loud music and laughter,” Rachel announced to us, beginning the session.  “So if you don’t mind, I am going to play a song really loudly and try to get into the vibrations.”

Within 25 seconds half of the group was crying to Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

Oh, my.  I didn’t know it would happen that fast.  Why aren't I crying?  I had been staring at everyone’s sandalled feet.  There were a lot of different shades of red toenail polish.  During that study, what had I missed?

The song played out, and right away Rachel plucked a yellow-orange rose from the white vase next to her feet.  Holding it delicately, she closed her eyes.

“May I come to you?”  Her voice was ethereal, smooth, kind.

“Yes,” replied a young woman, her eyes wide in longing. 

And that was how Rachel—and the spirits for whom she was the medium—operated.  She felt the energy of the spirit first, and then made the connection with the right person.

Pessimists of the spiritual connection might wonder if Rachel spewed out vague sayings or phrases, like “You’ve had a hard time lately,” or “You were close to your relative, weren’t you?”

She did.  But those phrases were backed by concrete images and questions. 

This young woman was with her family.  Just five months ago, they had lost a loved one, a 22-year-old brother, son, grandson. 

I’m seeing an ‘M’—do you understand that?” Rachel asked.  “No, wait, right, turn that around.  It’s a W.  Do you understand that?”  Then, she shot of her hand into the air, looked up toward the ceiling and said, “Thank you!” 

To the family: “His name was William?”

It was.

She described many things about William—Will, the family said they’d called him, like personality traits (“He sure liked them girls, huh?  He’s even flirting with me!) and particular objects he used to have (He’s quacking at me now.  Why is he quacking at me?  Did he used to have a hat with a duck on it?).

A Donald Duck hat, the mother specified.

Indeed, for many of the participants, she would pinpoint fine details of a relationship that would indicate the power of her ability: 

“I’m feeling like I can’t breathe very well.”  (She was feeling the energy of someone who was trying to explain that he had died with emphysema.)

“This was a husband of yours…he liked to drink a lot.  He says that he’s sorry, and that the rainbow the other day?  That was him.”  (This was for an ex-husband who was a recovering alcoholic.)

“Your mom says she likes the CD you just bought.”  (The woman was shocked, and then laughed and said, “Okay, good.”)

“I leave you with your love and light,” Rachel would say, concluding each participant’s mini-session with those words and a flower from the vase.

Everyone cried.  Even the stoic young man’s eyes visibly welled up.

There was no seating order in which Rachel received messages.  She went from the fifth person on my right to the second person on my left, and back and forth, always asking, “May I come to you?”  No one denied her invitation.  Everyone wanted something from the medium.  Including, as it turned out, me.

With each person Rachel went to, with each horrible story that was slowly revealed, with every time I wiped my eyes or otherwise left the tears to fall—with every second that passed and every time she passed me, I wanted more and stronger and then desperately to hear from the friend I had lost eight years ago.

Pessimists will also say that this desperation is the precise reason that stuff like this works, that people will believe anything because their pain is so significant.

I didn’t get to hear from my friend.  Instead, some grandfather I have never met marched into the room and left without saying much, other than that I ought to visit my birth country of South Korea.  Yea, I probably should.

Still, I believed in everyone’s reactions.  I believed in the tears and the speechlessness.  Any of that can be contrived, I suppose, but what’s the point in being skeptical?  Who does that help?  Who does that heal?

The people for whom their spirits came that night were relieved, and happy.  I’m sure some of them got closure, while some got a much-needed visit.

The session ended with another song.  People lingered and hugged. They gave condolences and stood in line to thank Rachel. 

After the crowd cleared, I stayed to ask her some questions and help fold up the chairs.

“Did you see all of the healing that happened here?  It’s a real blessing to talk with Spirit,” Rachel said in an interview after the session was over. 

“I want people to know that I prove the continuity of life,” she added.  “It is continuous, we just change into the spirit form.  But the thing is, anyone can do it—you just have to be quiet, and tap into your third eye.  Spirit is here to communicate with you, it is waiting for you.”

Rachel told me that she has been a spiritual psychic medium for seven years now, and has studied both in England (with Tony Stockwell at the Arthur Findlay College, and with James Van Praagh at the Omega Institute) and in Massachusetts, (with Rev. Rita Berkowitz, who is now in Norwell, but used to be at the Quincy Spiritualists Church with Rachel).

As we walked out into the Bell Tower parking lot, it was about quarter to 10. Moths flew around the tops of lamp posts.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get much for your reading tonight,” she offered.  “It was running so late.  Maybe you can come for a one-on-one session sometime.”

"I will," I nodded.  

I want what everyone else got tonight.  I so will.

For psychic classes, mediumship classes and one-on-one sessions with Rachel Perry, contact the Centerville Yoga and Wellness Center with this link or at (508) 775-1422.