My religion is a religion of sharing, not of following. It is a religion of LOVE.
When I was ten years old, I was learning about the real meaning of faith. Our little A-frame church had a tapestry above the pulpit, in bold purple letters, stating that the “greatest virtue of them all” was faith.
I asked my mother, father and my Sunday School teacher to explain to me exactly what faith meant.
The answer was clear; to know, deep in your heart, that your belief is true.
All my life, up to that point, my upbringing told me to believe in God, Christ and Heaven. As far as I could remember, I had never actually seen or heard any one of them. Sure, I was beginning to understand that a beautiful day was God, my mother’s beautiful singing was God and Jesus was always with me. I had no proof. Nothing tangible.
As for Heaven . . . what did I know of this? It was in the sky and everything there; including my grandparents, are happy, safe and live in bliss. I wasn’t sure, exactly, what that meant, though.
Every night, of course, I said my prayers and according to our minister, I could pray for whatever I wanted. I asked for a sign. A sign to let me know, without doubt, that Jesus was really there. That He was really true and not just in my imagination.
You see, I had prayed for quite a few things and many of them didn’t come to me. I prayed a lot, too. Also, as my mother taught me, I was grateful for all the things I did have or received. Still, if God could do everything, and I had faith, how come not everything happened as I prayed?
What I wanted most, though, was true faith. I wanted so much to believe. And I was finding that very difficult because I couldn’t see God, Jesus or even Heaven. I saw the sky, no doubt, but I didn’t see my grandparents or my Uncle Pete who was the first person I ever knew to die. He died when I was seven years old. One night, about a year after he died, Mom and I saw Uncle Pete and his truck on the side of the road. We both saw him clearly and he waved at us! When we turned around and went back, there was no truck and no Uncle Pete. Thus, to my mind, he wasn’t in Heaven; he was there, in Phoenix, AZ, waving at us!
My nightly ritual continued, asking God and Jesus for a sign. Sometimes I would ask them for a specific sign and I often got it. For example, I’d admonish, “If you’re really there, make my curtains move!” And they did!
Nevertheless, I wanted something a little more obvious, unmistakable. Perhaps, the air conditioner was making my curtains move? I prayed.
One Wednesday afternoon, Mom and I went to the church so she could rehearse her solo for the next Sunday. The organist, Marie, was there before we arrived and the three of us moved to the front pew. My mother and Marie, at the organ, began the rehearsal. I was drawing pictures on a sketch pad, and periodically looking up to the large brown cross hovering over the altar above the pulpit.
It was a good time to talk to God and repeat my prayer for a sign.
About that time, a huge breeze swept up the aisle between the pews and whipped my hair into my face. An impossibility as we were far into the church, and the only doors were too far way to create such a huge gush of air.
Nevertheless, I thought Mom and Marie had felt it too. I figured they must’ve noticed; it was so strong! I also thought the minister had come in and somehow created the wind tunnel.
As I, alone, turned to see where the wind came from, at the back pew I saw an angel!!!
She, at least that’s what I assumed, was floating several inches above the ground; looking up at the cross and going towards it. She was completely white from head to toe with a flowing gown and glistening white all around her. Not really wings, more like a gossamer aura encompassing her whole being. In her clasped hands, she held a candle with a flickering pure white flame.
I was staring, in awe, at her. I felt paralyzed. Inside my mind, my mother warned me about doubting saying it wasn’t right. Part of me thought God was punishing me by scaring me so much.
As that thought crossed my mind, though, the gentle and beautiful angel looked at me, smiled at me with a nod of her head and the message I heard in the Christmas story came into my whole body. “Be not afraid, my child.”
Immediately, I could move again and a tremendous feeling of love and peace came over me. My angel continued on her journey toward the cross and disappeared just above the pulpit.
I put my head against my mother’s comforting shoulder and cried . . . for happiness. I now had complete faith. I knew I was not alone and am protected and guided.
It took a while to tell my mother the whole story as I was in a blissful place for a day or two. When I told her about my angel, she believed me. It made me happy as I had often been scolded for having too big of an “imagination” and often buzzing out in school to daydream. It was incredible to be believed and accepted for my gifts, when that wasn’t always the case.
My mother or Marie did not see or feel anything. My mother, to this day, tells me that the angel was there for me and that is why only I was able to see her. Yet, she still believes me!
A blessing indeed!
VISIONS: A Psychic/Medium Views on Organized Religion
By Angela Theresa Egic
I believe in the Bible . . . I believe it was written by men who had low opinions of women (most of them), nearly 100 years after Jesus walked around and said incredible things . . . I believe the stories were worded by the authors, to express their bias opinion, most of the time. In short, how they interpreted the words of a man some 100-years passed on and his words handed down from mouth to mouth to mouth. I know God/Source didn’t write it. Sure it’s in-spired! BUT, so is every book written before, during or after the time of the many scrolls of the Bible!
And, yes, there are incredible things in the Bible (and other books) — which probably should be heeded, are comforting and are good rules to live by. Yet, the Bible still allows that if a woman marries and she is found to not be a virgin, she can be stoned to death. A man, on the other hand, by Bible rules, has all the rights.
I also like to quote and sometimes try to live by the words and examples of Dr. Wayne Dyer, Doreen Virtue, Goethe, Shakespeare, some of the men in the Bible, Sylvia Browne and Julia Cameron, my mother, my father. Number one, though, I live by the beliefs and values of myself. I have valid points.
Nevertheless, I do not agree with every single word that came from my mother, Dr. Wayne Dyer or any of my guru’s. They, too, have opinions of which I do not agree. Many I do.
I have strong feelings about religion, the dogma – I enjoy some ritual(s) and/or rites developed by the churches and/or other spiritual practices and religions; some are valid for me and some is just not my cup of tea; because I can think. Much of it is ridiculous to an intelligent mind.
As much as I believe in a Higher Power, which is not some man in the sky…I know we are part of it; in fact, we are it — along with the plants, animals, soul strength and every other living source or being on the earth, and beyond the earth. Yes, we are G.O.D.; we are of the energy that surrounds the Universe.
One of my guru’s gave me the greatest explanation:
G.O.D., the Universe, Source is a beautiful cloud; then, when we incarnate, we are the drops of rain and pieces of cloud that come down here to experience physical life. We are the bravest souls! Truly, living a life incarnate where there is pain, horror, judgment and illness is a brave adventure for any soul to take on!
The only true judgment, of course, is when we crossover and we, our self, review our lifetime. I often say that hell is living here, on earth, and having to put up with the proselytizing groups trying to save my soul! If heaven is filled with these pests, I’d rather be in hell with the fun people!
My relatives, strangers and friends – of the dogmatic sects of Christianity; including my own mother – have verbally attacked me, argued and mostly judged me: I suspect, they feel they must “spread the Gospel” according to their standard and make me comply. Otherwise, they have not done their job to raise me, teach me and guide me to be a docile follower such as they are!
No, thank you!
Why I’m always amazed at the closed-minded fundamentalist’s attitudes of my very family? I’ve seen those very beliefs drive people to depression, suicide, mental illness and unhappy lives. When I was a Sunday School teacher, I became a very depressed, anorexic mess who nearly died at the age of 20-years-old!
If it’s a sin to be who you really are – faggot, dyke, single, slutty, childless, and psychic, actor, musician, and artist – then, let me be the sinner! As long as I can be who I am, then, fuck anyone who wants to tell me different. As long as my actions do not break the laws of the lands [murder, embezzlement, rape, robbery, abuse]; well, who are you, or them, to judge?
As the song in the musical, Rent tells us, “It’s between God and me!”
The proselytizing assholes in the tunnel at Port Authority, spouting their fire and brimstone, how we are all such vile sinners; drawings of people with bandages on every limb, walking with crutches to illustrate how not following “their way” leads to dis-ease, abuse and plague upon your very body – make me want to beat some sense into them! Their promises are not very inviting … if this “God” they’re selling me is going to do that to me for not following, or questioning; well, he’s a fucking bully!!! I don’t give in to bully’s!
Now, my proselytizing relatives . . . they’re of the sect that leaves no room for psychic gifts, those who speak to the dead or angels, at least, those of us who hear them! Yes, I have relatives who are exceptions to the rule; yet, we probably fit on one hand. Most of my relatives are “God-fearing”. I have never, nor ever will, understand being afraid of an unconditional loving source. If He, it or they love us unconditionally, why should we “fear” them! I fear living human beings with knives, guns and an agenda of war, forcing change and judging us who are different. Even my relatives who think it is their job to “save me.” When such zealous types get too much into religion, and they feel one is a sinner, they often feel justified in destroying the sinner’s physical body to save their soul.
My relatives may not murder me, yet, similar to the zealots who shoot doctors who perform abortions – claiming it was God who told them they could because they are “saving lives”, when really they took a life that had been here for 30 to 80-years and not a few weeks in the womb – Bible-thumpers — who are usually men – and think, once again, it is their right to put their finger, or other parts, in my vagina and in those of all other women; I know I want no part of such closed-minded, single-minded, stupid nonsense. My relatives, and others, seem to want to kill my joy, murder my spirituality and call it sin – when it hurt no human or animal, it brings joy and guidance to millions. My gifts and my beliefs are for all…unconditional, safe and non-judgmental. We don’t proselytize, force or threaten you with fire, brimstone, stoning, hatred, anger for not complying with our ways. We guide, love you and let you choose your path. We don’t sick Satan on you or dis-ease. We enlighten, we guide if asked. Unlike those who want to call me “mislead” or “sinner” or “wrong” or “damned.”
So be it, then, my cousins and aunts, and uncles – then, all right I am damned. I will be in hell with all the Broadway stars, the gifted healers, psychics, mediums; pets – the homosexuals, the transgendered, the party-singles, the sexually fun, all the entertainers – bound to be fun!
In case, it wasn’t clear, hell doesn’t exist, either. This punishment my family fears doesn’t exist, anyway, not like they talk. Hell is here, a hell we chose – brave souls being inside a human body that can feel pain, emotion, physical and mental pain.
Death is not punishment, it is freedom! The soul is free, once again. It’s beautiful! I speak from experience, too! I had a near-death experience when I was 15-years-old. It is not, at all, what religious groups think it is – a punishment; it is a gift to return to our true essence.
We all go there! At least, if we do not purposely hurt others and are generally doing the best we know. For those who do purposely hurt others – as in murderers, rapists, embezzlers and perhaps those trying to force their beliefs on us – they do get judged, they judge themselves; with a group of souls who want to help.
Enlightened souls, us who are true to who we are in this life, get choices – we can come back here, if we choose or learn more. That’s heaven, having a choice. Hell is not having a choice of whether to come back here – to live in a human body; lower souls, who hurt others on purpose, have to come back. They get no choice. Which, all right…yes. Hell.
To my relatives, friends and those who wish to judge me. Keep it to yourself! Say no prayers for me, as I don’t need those types of prayers.
If you pray for me . . . you are welcome to pray for me to have abundance, love, light and joy in my life. Pray for me and all others to be able to freely be who we are, all the time, without judgment, without hatred, without prejudice from you or others.
Otherwise, say no prayers for me. My soul is saved, by me . . . and the angels, guides, saints, the Gods, Buddha, Allah, Jesus, the Powers-That-Be, Source, those who have passed-on, unconditional love and self-love (confidence).
As for what I am: I am spiritual, I am Christian, I am Atheist, I am Buddhist, , I am Jewish, I am Islamic, I am Muslim, I am Gay, I am Straight, I am Transgendered, I am Woman, I am Man, I am me, I am, I am God, I am Jesus, I am the Chosen One, I am a Psychic, I am a Medium, I am alone, I am you, I am all that is, I am the wind, I am the water, I am them, I am us, I am an actor, I am a singer, I am the animals . . . and I am all of that and none of those!
I just am!
Hello my friends . . .
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Angels, Punks & Raging Queens
By Angela Theresa Egic
(my original title)
A few weeks ago, someone I used to call a friend, posted in a public forum that I, Angela Theresa “Curry’s Angel” Collins-Egic, am just “not that memorable”; also, I apparently “lack charisma” to boot.
Since I originally penned this article (last week) — a little glitch in my life [an abnormal mammogram and upcoming needle biopsy to see if its benign or malignant] has caused me to think about memory, being remembered, etc. Two and a half years shy of my half-century mark, I’m having the longevity conversation with myself . So, as I chronicle my life, up to now and hopefully well into the next fifty or so years.
The person who said this does need a little introduction, because to most of you, he’s not that memorable, I would think. To most of my readers, he’s unknown, in fact:
He was born Andrew Martin Arnold but solely uses the stage name of Andrew Martin now. It suits him well.
When we met, back in 1985…I thought he was a 17-year-old girl. Andrew would tell you the same; that he looked like a 17-year-old girl.
For a few of those youthful years, Andrew did start wearing women’s clothing, taking my hand-me-downs, in fact; and marketed his transvestite image. He utilized my talents and Susie “Squeaky” Schwartzberg’s talent to do two cabaret acts at a venue called Jason’s Park Royal. The first one titled: THE LADY AND HIS MUSIC.
He was Miss Andrew, in every sense of the word. A talented, off-the-wall and interesting young gay man.
To some degree, he and I were as close as any two friends could be. Andrew and I met at an 8th Street pizza joint called Bennie’s [worst pizza ever – yet we ate a slice every week]. The day I walked in there, across the street from 8thStreet Playhouse in NYC; on my way to see the NY showing of ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW: I met these two girls, [I thought]; when the very thin, flat-chested one told me her name was “Andrew”. I was a little taken aback. The shorter one, with a tomboyish charm [yet, was obviously female] was “Barbara”.
Really, they didn’t even look related. Nevertheless, they were: fraternal twins.
In 1985, though, Andrew, Barbara and I, and a few others became a gang of misfits, at a place where us misfits fit in. There was the “8th Street Gang [Cast]” and “us”. “Us” who wanted to be in the 8th Street cast—all of us talented enough, yet not popular enough – to Sal Piro, at least. Being that Sal is the President of the Official RHPS Fan Club and cast the floorshow (now called shadowcasts) back then. We were still misfits.
We showed up every week, though, at 8th Street Playhouse – Miss Andrew, Barbara Arnold, Susie “Squeaky” Schwartzberg, Phil Dejean, Shawn Rozsa, Mad Man Mike, Andy Grondahl, Hawkeye, A.J. and many more. Since Sal seemed to have blacklisted quite a few of us from being in the popular 8th Street cast…I found us another way!
I moved to Brooklyn and heard about a midnight showing of RHPS on Saturday midnight. When I heard the floorshow [shadowcast] was thrown out, I grabbed my mis-fitted friends and swooped in to have our own show. I wanted to have the best cast! A cast that would have people saying we were “as good as the 8th Street cast” or “better than”!
I just wanted Sal to see how talented we were and have him, finally, offer us a role in the big show in Manhattan; or acknowledge us, at the very least.
We put the show together, quickly. I had every intention of playing ‘Magenta’; no one wanted to play ‘Frank N. Furter’, oddly. Inspired by an 8th Street idol of mine, Julie Calabrese, I molded myself into ‘Frank N. Furter’. Oh yes, and my other idol, Dori Hartley. [She, Dori, had moved on with her life before I had arrived in New York, though].
Our (really, my) cast, The Low Down Cheap Little Punks, at Brooklyn’s Marboro Theater, became known as one the best casts in the East coast – comparable to Manhattan’s 8th Street Playhouse! At least, as far as I was concerned! Sal Piro eventually took most of my cast into his cast – so, that tells you something. Some of the top cast members of Sal’s 8th Street group, in 1986, got their start in MY CAST!
As time went on, around 1987, when I began working in a talent agency – we represented Sal Piro – Sal and I started a professional, respectful friendship: I’ve attended many Rocky Horror conventions where Sal and I had some great conversations. My favorite was a Las Vegas convention, in the 90s, when Sal introduced me as “one of the most dedicated” fans of RHPS.
Sal also put me in his 2nd RHPS book Creatures of the Night II;invited me to be part of the first television showing of RHPS at FX Studios [I went as Frank N. Furter, of course]; and Sal asked me take his RHPS items to an Albany, NY convention when he couldn’t attend.
In the early years, I was at every convention from the 10th Anniversary (Beacon Theater) – and where my original costume – “Curry’s Angel” brought me Good Morning America and newspaper reporters and photographer’s interviewing me about “who” I was.
Found out, later, one of the friends’ buzzing about me told the reporters that my real name was Angela Curry . . . and that I was Tim Curry’s real-life niece!!!
I hadn’t even met Tim Curry, at that point!
Nevertheless, the next morning, as my interview aired, millions of viewers thought I was, indeed, Tim Curry’s niece as the name ANGELA CURRY was emblazoned at the bottom part of the screen. Coincidentally, when I finally did met TC, it would be revealed how much I resembled his real-life niece. I believe she, Tim Curry’s real-life niece (he has three); one resembles me [I’m older, I believe]; she, my doppleganger Curry niece, has aged much better than me, though.
About three weeks ago – on the Facebook 8th Street Playhouse page – to be told by Miss Andrew that I am “not that memorable” and that I lack “charisma”, really got up my crawl!
We must also remember, after 1987, Andrew disappeared from the RHPS fan base and refused to be part of any of our conventions, get-togethers, etc. until about 2008 or 2009.
In short, while I was involved, actively from 1983 (AZ) to 1984-1987 (NY) and then from 1988-now at conventions, another stint as ‘Frank N. Furter’ in Arizona in the 90s, made a “rock-u-mentary (1990) w/the AZ group, talked to Tim Curry and had many conversations with Sal Piro, Patricia Quinn and Richard O’Brien and too many cast(s) – all the way to England – and had a RHPS newsletter – fans from as far as Italy and France writing me fan mail . . . Really?! Not memorable? No charisma? Me?
Are you talking to me, Andrew? Unmemorable, little ole me?
Andrew claims “more people” remember him from those days. I might agree with him about that, of course. My argument is NOT the numbers; it’s the words about a personality – no charisma, not very memorable. Are those words you say to a friend? A friend so instrumental in so many memories, my own and in his, and many others!
There are people from “those days” who approach me, remember me, actually . . . whom I cannot, for the life of me, remember at all. BUT, friend or foe, I would never be so rude to say to them: “you’re not very memorable” or “you must’ve lacked charisma”.
Hell, for all I know, they are very memorable and have tons of charisma – I just wasn’t lucky enough to see it and or get to know this great person at the time. My loss.
Which was my point with Andrew Martin, supposedly my friend … he went on to remind me and the group how “everyone remembers him” and “hardly anyone” remembers me. A snob! An ego-maniac.
A very insecure person, envious of my involvement and part of this history. Andrew missed the years between 1987-2007, when we had reunion’s, conventions and were interviewed by German, French and British TV shows and even American specials.
After I blocked him on Facebook – had unfriended him months ago when he posted some rude, jealous and snobby remark on my wall – I actually just feel sorry for him. He is, insecure. He is dysfunctional much more than most of us. I claim to have empathy.
Of course, without proper, professional diagnosis, I can say, from my experience (in life) – I find Andrew shows signs of classic Narcissist Personality Disorder. I had another friend with a professional diagnosis of the disorder – thus, I see the similar signs in Andrew.
This means, I really should be empathetic. Yet, I, too, have my ego and insecurities, as well. I guess we’re all a bit narcissist in the theatre business!
A recent scare, which I’m still dealing with calmly, made me think about . . . well, being remembered, etc. and how we are remembered.
I have no fear of death, itself, yet I don’t want to do it right now. I want to see one hundred years on this earth, I mean, if I’m capable and not crippled up, etc. Yet, as I have had friends pass on – far too many for someone my age – it makes me think about who will remember me? Who will share these memories with me, of me and our times in the 1980s?
If Andrew is right, and I’m not that memorable or charismatic — me being there was all, I don’t know, an illusion.
I thought I finally did fit in. I had found my people – the different, the misfits, the unusual – and now, maybe I am still an alien, the kid easiest to bully, the ugly one, the forgettable one.
Sure, I know it’s not true, really.
Andrew is trying to hurt me to make himself feel better – for his insecurities – yet, he succeeded. As really, no one even stood up for me!
I may understand why, though – Andrew will argue, filibuster – and would’ve pestered anyone who dares speak up for me. Because I spoke up for me and he went on and on until I ended it by blocking him! It just would’ve soothed my ego (of course, not my authentic self as “ego” is the false self) if someone had spoken up for me.
I guess we can say Rocky Horror Picture Show also attracts insecure people all around! Yikes!
P.S. I have to mention tarot cards. Why? Because it’s getting me more traffic than any other search!!! LOL! Over 400 people per week search tarot cards. And, oh yeah, I do tarot card, Archangel Michael Oracle Card & Archangel Oracle Card readings! Email me: “Tarot Readings”–AngelAura28@yahoo.com [Tarot Card Reading: $15.00 Full/In-Depth Reading]
Here’s my angelic story . . . besides the fact that my name is Angela. Angels, understandably, have been part of my life all my life.
At age ten: I saw an angel in our little church.
In the 80s: I found a place to fit in, at the midnight movie, Rocky Horror Picture Show — my obsession/love/lust for actor, Tim Curry, began and friends started calling me “Curry’s Angel“.
In the 90s: I began reading the Doreen Virtue books on angelology.
In the 2000s: Hay House Radio (http://www.HayHouseRadio.com) brought me closer to the best and greatest metaphysical authors. I had a phone conversation, during a radio broadcast, with Doreen Virtue. In 2005, through Conscious One, I had another chance to speak with Doreen Virtue.
My boyfriend and I were going through a very rough custody battle for his daughter. He was controlling and I knew I would, eventually, have to leave him. I was about to turn 42-years-old, and for some reason this bothered me more than other birthday’s. I felt old. I was depressed and was thinking about going back on medication.
The panic attacks were happened every half hour, my quality of life was not good, in that sense. I felt I couldn’t go on like this. I was reaching for help and had gotten into some of Doreen Virtue’s books and joined a program called HEALING WITH THE ANGELS through ConsciousOne.
It included a phone call, live with Doreen Virtue. I called and, understandably, Doreen loved my name. I always call myself, Angela and sometimes Ang. I do not like to be called Angie. Never have. I will answer to it; I don’t love it, though.
She vacuumed me and my boyfriend. She confirmed I had to get away from him, soon. And then, the words that truly gave me hope saved me, really and encouraged me to seek more help – through spirituality; and temporary medication in the form of beta blockers.
What she said, though, regarding my panic disorder was the true healing words I needed:
“The greater the fear, the greater the purpose.” Doreen sweetly said to me.
The words permeated my being. It felt right. I knew, without a doubt as a rush of spirit rose from my solar plexus to my head, these words were correct.
About two months ago: On Facebook, on the Doreen Virtue Fan Page site; Mishka Productions was offering a contest – to win a free workshop in my hometown, Phoenix, AZ. Technically, in Scottsdale, AZ [a close neighbor of Phoenix]. I knew I had to enter. The contest was to write why you want to win the Angel Intensive Workshop. I wrote about the experience when I feel, via the healing words, Doreen Virtue saved my life in 2005. She and the angels, the vacuuming she gave me. I was very excited to finally meet her in person.
As I wrote my little short blurb, why I would like to win the workshop, I felt “I’m going to win this.”
Three weeks before the program, as the “tour season” was coming up – and my employer would soon be making a new schedule for tour guides. I had taken off the fall and winter, as usual. I had had a cathartic winter. Besides utilizing law of attraction, flowdreaming and other techniques – I was being a bit, and still have it somewhat (rains a lot in New York now); well, having symptoms of S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder).
I also knew a part of the depression was thinking about returning to being an NYC Tour Guide atop the double-decker, open-top busses. The last two springs and summers doing this job I had gone through sunburn (despite 45 SPF sun screen), several rough bouts of heat stroke (especially on busy days with four  tours in a row], bladder infections (never really enough time to take proper food or bathroom breaks) and getting soaked, head to toe and down through my underwear in rain storms when they hit suddenly.
My head and heart were, for months now, if not for over a year, saying “no more outdoor jobs”! At least, not outdoor jobs that keep me exposed to the elements on any sort of regular basis. Thus, right before I learned of my win, I put in my resignation from City Sights. I am still a card-carrying NYC Tour Guide, but no longer do I work for City Sights or any other tourism company.
Thus, I quit my job, knowing the Universe has a plan: In Law of Attraction, the Universe gives you signs on what action, called inspired action, to take to reach your dreams.
One week later, I see an email from Liz Dawn Donahue telling me to contact her immediately, regarding the Doreen Virtue Angel Intensive in Scottsdale, AZ.
I called immediately. I won!
There was a story, though, a very sad one. I was 2nd choice, last minute. The woman who won, and deservedly so, is going through chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. Due to where she is in her treatment, her doctor would not allow her to travel. So, Liz asked her to go through the entries herself, narrow it down to three and between the two they’d choose the winner.
When Liz called, we discussed the details. I would have to be able to get myself to Arizona, though. For about ten seconds, I thought it wouldn’t happen, due to my current financial situation. Yet, I knew I was inspired to leave my job and the fact I won the workshop – I felt the Universe would provide me the means to get to the workshop.
Next time: The Angels Call Their Messenger Angel
Get this! I just won a FREE entry to this conference . . . !!! Now, I must get to Phoenix, AZ in time. And well, I need a little help for that. Thus, in the next couple of days, I need to come up with about $470 for the roundtrip airline ticket.
I do Intuitive/Psychic Readings and for $50.00 you get one-hour. I may have to give the reading after the conference, nevertheless, if you pay now and help me get to the conference you’ll get one of the best readings ever.
If you’d like to lend me the full amount or something towards it, that’s good too. I can receive gifts via PayPal (money) and/or if you want to cover it on your credit card (you can make the arrangements with the airline and I won’t need your credit card info.) — I will reimburse you when I can.
Help me get my “Angel Certification”. I appreciate all of you.
Love, Light & Laughter,