Your Very Own Spiritual Coach

Secrets of Achievement &

Change With Spirituality Coaching…

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With Spiritual/Intuitive Counselor, Psychic/Medium: Angela Theresa Egic.

 

Do you have something you want to change or achieve in your life (rapidly)? Perhaps you’d like to …

* Start Your Acting/Creative Career.

* Start Your Spiritual Business.
* Find New Love.
* Change Careers
* Lose Weight.
* Find/Work With Your Spirit Guide.
* Know The Archangels To Increase Income/Health

* Or something else?

No matter what you’d like to change, achieve, find peace, the secrets to success are the same . . .cropped-cropped-theatretix_googleimages001.jpg

1) Get clear on exactly what you want. The more clear you are on what you want to have in your life, the more likely you will achieve it!

2) Get perspective. Most people don’t tell anyone what they want or what they are struggling with and because of that they don’t get the needed perspective.

3) Get support. We all thrive more when working with another. The top people in their field, from Actors to Sports Stars have coaches.

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This Special 1-Hour
“Rapid Change/Spiritual Coaching Session” is now available for $111.00. Usually $222.00 1/2 Off

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Do you hcropped-book_twinflames001.jpgave something important you’d like to change?

If you want to speed up your success rate, then I’d like to help you do it with a special one-on-one personal “Rapid Change Spiritual” coaching session where we’ll work together to …

 

>> Create a crystal clear vision for “ultimate success” so you know exactly what you want, where you are headed, and what you need to make it happen.

>> Uncover hidden challenges that may be sabotaging your ability to make changes that last or that are slowing down your progress.

 >> After this session, you’ll be renewed, re-energized, and inspired to finally achieve the change you seek; once and for all!

If you’d like to take advantage of this very special, very limited, and at the lowest price, 1-Hour “Rapid Change Spiritual” coaching session, send your answers to the following questions to AngelAura28@yahoo.com.

1) What do you want most to change today?

2) Have your tried to change this before?
a) Did you read or follow Law of Attraction book(s)?
3) What have you attempted in the past that didn’t work?
4) Why do you think it didn’t work?
5) On a scale of 0–10, how important is it for you to achieve change today?
6) What other areas of your life do you want to change (or improve) — if any?
7) Full Name
8) EMail Address (for invoice for your session)
9) Phone #

10) Time Zone.

Which areas would you like most to work on:

** Business
** Weight Loss.
** Relationship (get into one)
** Relationship (Improve the one you’re in)
** Lead a more spiritual life
** Career Change.
** Other

>> Please indicate…

Since we’re making this offer for the first time right now and we don’t know how intense the response will be, we can’t guarantee a coaching session for everyone.

We’ll take as many people as we can and then start a waiting list. You can expect to receive an invoice to book your session within the next 5 days.

Again, to take advantage of this offer, simply answer the questions and send them to: AngelAura28@yahoo.com

Respond now to make sure you get a session.

Or go to http://www.gofundme.com/HireANGELA for more specials.

Send Me An Angel: Seeking Faith

My religion is a religion of sharing, not of following. It is a religion of LOVE.

 ~Osho

NOTE: https://angelaura28.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/gods-unconditional-love-and-its-conditions/

Age 10

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.

West Congregational Church

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!

Mom N' Me (Age 7)

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!!!

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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!

Even Optimists Get Depressed

DISCLAIMER: This is about a recent incident, mostly and other past situations.

The incident: The night before I had to be up at 6:00am, with a job I had planned for over a month. A friend/client texted. “Can you do a reading, right now?” 

I texted back, honestly, and said, “Not tonight. Tomorrow, later in the day — maybe. I have to get to bed early for a morning gig.” 

This person does pay, nevertheless, with no sleep; I would mess up the job in the morning. And in my intuitive business, I prefer to make an appointment.  This friend/client texted back, “I will never use your service again!” and unfriended me on Facebook!

I don’t recall saying that I am here at the beck and call to my friends/client. Yes, I have done same day readings; it is not my regular thing to do. Secondly, to unfriend me and refuse to utilize my service again, over this, how unkind, rude and very unloving (for a friend).

 Apparently, not a friend at all.

Of course, through the years, there’s the friends who feel my gift is something I should give them full benefit of – all hours of the day or night, for two or four hours – without compensating me.

NOTE: Nevertheless, I do have wonderful friends who pay me regularly for readings – as they can and what they can – when they ask me to utilize my gifts for them.

Still, even optimists get depressed. We really do . . . yet, when we do [get depressed], we get chastised for it.

You see, us who encourage and fix everyone else are not truly allowed to . . . well, feel down. I’m sure it’s because, if we’re down, then, the world must be ending.

Reality check, we hit bottom, too. Sure, 85% of the time, we are the cheerleader for you, ourselves and the Universe. Then, after weeks, months or even years of being that gracious, fun-loving and joyful person – we hit a jagged rock or two or a hundred.

Through our tutelage and/or our encouragement you get to:

1) pursue your dreams,

2) win, win, win from all our free advice

Then, you feel showering us with “I love you” is a fair reward for the two-hour phone chat – during non-free minute days – or when we could be looking for a job.

What’s love got to do with it? I’d rather have cash . . . to be honest. Money may or may not buy happiness – still, I certainly feel much better when I have electric, food, transportation and can pay for my phone, rent, etc. Thus, having money lowers my blood pressure, and stops panic attacks. And certainly that makes me happier.

Somehow, one thing is forgotten – we, the cockeyed optimists – have to give up our dream career for a “real job”. We are asked to do the right thing, give up everything we ever wanted. All our giving of our free advice (to you) pays no income, and you do not offer or have excuses.

I love youdoesn’t pay rent, unfortunately. We can get downright depressed! Can you blame us?

To add salt on the wound – you will give us advice, i.e. “don’t post that you need help on Facebook. It looks unprofessional . . .

And no . . . psychics do NOT know everything, i.e. lottery numbers, where you are, your name or if we will get clients. Our gift may be highly accurate, yet, there are limitations.

Then, when we don’t express our need, guess what happens in our life? NOTHING! We don’t get money, we don’t get help and we fall deeper into depression, debt, high blood pressure, sleepless night and dis-ease.

Then, you tell usyou’re different orcheer up”. Pay me, I will cheer up! You have to seek help to get it. The Lord helps those who help themselves. Being quiet, sitting in what’s left of our room, begets no actual help. We’re hungry. We have bill collectors calling hourly . . . we get told “no” at every corner for jobs . . . and then, you text or call and want immediate attention! Wow! Because we are home, unable to go out — we are supposed to stop everything and help you through an emotional crisis, for no compensation.

Of course, you have a job and do not know what it is like to have the electric company threatening to turn off your electric . . . still, we, the optimist, the person with a business that you, or others, consider “unimportant” and not really worth actual money . . . we are supposed to jump to cater to you the second you have an issue.

Sorry, my time is worth money. Yes, you are a friend. You are not being my friend, though, when you feel it is my job to jump when you say jump. Strangely, I recall, awhile back when you said, “If you ever need anything, just ask.”

And I remember when I did need help – like now – you aretoo busyor youhave bills”. Yes, you have bills and an income. I don’t [have an income] unless you compensate me for my time. Your bank account is down to $1,000 until your next paycheck. Wow!

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My account is down to .05 cents (no exaggeration). Closed my savings account a few months ago, since it cost $3.00 a month and I often had $2.00 or less in it. My .05 cents won’t go up

until you, or someone decides my service is worth a few bucks.

What I’m saying is be real, my friends. I just had to vent . . .

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming of optimistic encouragement, love and light!

God’s Unconditional Love And Its Conditions

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!

My YouTube Videos: AngelAura28 — Part I

This is a quickie to share some of my favorite YouTube videos: Videos I made myself . . . with CyberDirector or Windows Movie Maker.

This one was just so much fun! I try to attend the Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS Flea Market & Grand Auction. Last year, 2010, I found a fun table for an Off Broadway play titled, Tales From The Tunnel.

I end up winning tickets to the play. I was happy to learn Wilson Jermaine Heredia, he played ‘Angel’ in the Broadway show and movie, Rent! At the play, he gave me a huge hug!!! What a great guy. In March 2011, I saw Wilson again on Broadway, this time, in La Cage Aux Folles. It was so much fun to see him again, at the stage door, we were like old friends!

A Rocky Horror Picture Show fan club asked for a 30 to 60 second video about “What Rocky Horror Means To You”. I found I couldn’t get it to 60 and say all I wanted. So, I videotaped a lot more — finally made a short version — then used the footage for this.

It has been years since I put on ‘Frank N. Furter’ make-up, so I really don’t have enough of the right colors left. Still, I guess a decent job with what make-up I actually have. And my collection of Tim Curry collectibles.

When I first posted this, in 2007, it was clearer [as in video quality]. Hopefully, in storage, the original is still clear and I can re-make it with updates! Yes, I still want to portray ‘Elphaba’ in the Broadway musical, Wicked. Nevertheless, it’s 99% positive I will not in this lifetime. I am more suited now to the role of ‘Madame Morrible’. And I will play it proudly should the opportunity present itself!!!

I did, of course, portray my dream role at a Halloween party or two. The photo is from 2009 at the Manhattan Theatre Source Halloween gathering. And who knows, this year, I may done my green make-up again at a certain Halloween party.

Now, this production of a play is important to me. It was so exciting to see my friend (ex-boyfriend)’s story up on stage. It was moving and my reviews were fabulous. Even though, some facts were messed up in the final production — I want to make a true documentary on Fredy Adolfo Gonzalez De Leon as he still deals with homelessness, citizenship and now communicating with his son, Juan Miguel in Guatemala.

As I write this, Fredy lives in a shelter in the Bronx. Although, he enjoys it there. He awaits his status from our government on his citizenship. Nevertheless, he is unable to earn money or fend for himself. Sort of sad, really.

For now, I will close with another video about my work . . . and do another one of these soon, with more videos!

Looking for new clients — come be one! One-Hour Psychic/Medium Readings … usually $100.00 for one hour, for you, if you mention this blog, only $75.00! A saving of $25.00!!! Woo Hoo!

 

BOOK YOUR READING: Psychic/Medium, Angela Theresa

Hello my friends . . .

Book your readings today . . . there’s so much to learn:

Psychic Insights: [Real-Life Crimes] Etan Patz — 1979

DISCLAIMER: Yesterday, when I originally posted this story — from the pages of my memories, and my drawings, from some 30-something years of keeping to myself. Well, I contacted Mr. Patz so that if any of the information I picked up years ago would be of interest or ring some sort of bell; I just wanted him to know. This was not wise. I offended him. And I, in no way, wish to add to the pain of the Patz family. They have been living with this tragedy for 30-something years.

Thus, first, my public apology for contacting Mr. Patz. I really should have left him to his privacy. And apologies for anything I published or said that has and/or will offend you.

Mr. Patz (Stan) contacted me, same day, and said he preferred I take down the whole article; and corrected me on information (from my cloudy memory) which I quoted incorrectly.

I wrote him back to let him know, I’d like to keep the article posted and remove the parts that offended him most — the YouTube links bothered him [and I understand why — they have sales ads] and me misquoting him, also understandable.

Mr. Patz informed me there has never been a lead, reference or even a thought of Etan being in Syracuse, NY. So, there you have it — it is just my dreams, impressions that picked up Syracuse.

As a psychic, this case, which happened when I was just a teen [living my high school life far away – Phoenix, AZ], really developed my psychic crime-solving gift. I have only told a few friends about my early images of how Etan Patz was killed, his age at his death and where his body might be.

In those years, I had never been in New York City – my first time would be 1984 – this case moved me. Soon after it was public, I had dreams of being in a car, with other children, on the West Side Highway [at that time I didn’t know it was the West Side Highway, either]. I just dreamt of being on a semi-circular roadway looking through a window at a big city…surrounded by water and bridges. Although, I am not sure it is related to Etan Patz.

One night, all those years ago around 1981 (the year I graduating high school), I had a dream [this was also more recognition of my medium gifts]:

In my dream, I found myself sitting on a ratty old couch in a messy old single room apartment. Sitting beside where about four to six children, boys and girls. When I “awoke” in this drab, dirty room I immediately stood up to face all these children – ages 6 to 12 – and asked them who they were and why they were here. All of them were very silent and had the large hungry eyes of starving children in Third World countries. Their clothes were tattered and their demeanor that of abused children – no tears, just large, sad eyes. Not one of them spoke.

I kept questioning, wondering why no one would answer me. Then, one of them, about 8-years-old, sitting between the other children was familiar to my eyes.

You’re Etan Patz!”

The boy nodded that he was, indeed, Etan.

I looked at the other children and it came to me, “Oh my God, you’re all dead, aren’t you?”

The children nodded.

For whatever reason, they were unable to speak to me out loud. I found they could hear my questions in their mind and would answer with their yes and no head nods.

I looked at Etan and said, “This is where you all are? This apartment?”

Etan gave me the affirmative.

“Can you tell me where ‘this apartment’ is located?”

Etan stood up and walked to the front door. Right beside the door was a light switch. Etan pointed to it and it turned into a moving, virtual reality map – similar to today’s touch screen computers [this was 1981, though] – and I could see maps moving quickly until it landed on New York. Etan pointed at a name on the map. I expected New York City, but it was different.

Etan pointed harder at the name on the map, which I had trouble reading: I didn’t know New York names and places well, at that time, at least. I saw the word Sycamore. Etan disagreed with his head nod.

I asked him, “It sounds like Sycamore, right?”

He seemed disappointed, it was the only way I could read the word,at that time.

“Etan, is your body in this apartment? I want to tell your parents.”

Etan told me no . . . with his head. And again pointed on the light switch. The picture went from the map of this place I was calling Sycamore, NY – like a film. I saw two brick buildings, white, a few stories high, side by side, same size, same look. In front of it were some fields of grass/dirt and one tree [perhaps, a sycamore tree?].

Etan pointed to about the third story window, to show me where this apartment was from the outside of the building. Then, for where his body was, he pointed to the field area, very near the one tree.

I asked him how old he was when he was killed. He was 8-years-old, although he disappeared at age 6. I picked up more information telepathically from Etan and the other children.

The man who killed them lived in the building in which they were [in my dream]. Etan confirmed [in my dream]:

  • Etan was familiar with the man when he intercepted him in New York. 

  • The man abused boys, mostly, yet would hurt girls, too.

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I promised to remember the information given when I woke up – I had realized it was a dream.

So, when I woke up, I asked Etan Patz to draw through my hands about all the information.

I have had these drawings for years and was always scared to share it with anyone:

  1. I was a teenager and who would believe me

  2. It would be awful if law enforcement dug up a campus and found nothing just based on my impressions

  3. I would be accused of being an opportunist.

Yesterday, number three happened. Etan’s father thought I was just seeking instant fame and/or God knows what. I’m not, at least, not about this situation. If my impressions can find Etan Patz, fine. And if my impressions do lead to him, I don’t care if they ever say my name or not. As for money, I don’t ask for money for missing children cases; nevertheless, if a reward or business compensation [where businesses are involved] is offered, I would accept monetary compensation should my impressions directly lead to the recovery of a child and/or solving a crime.

>> Yes, I am in the Psychic/Medium business, as well. Since I cannot take on every case, I will help when and where I can [with missing children only]. As I did for the Maine Police Department in finding a missing child (deceased). My name was never mentioned, I never visited Maine or Canada (where I told them they’d find the missing child — and they did), and I have not received one bit of money from that case. << 

Still, this is NOT my goal or purpose in posting or sharing my findings [financial gain or fame — although, I am, with my blog, advertising my gifts for profit]. I am sharing these [drawing and insights] for FREE so a missing child can come home and/or a crime can be solved.

Thus, I kept them [the drawings, psychic impressions & dreams] all these years and now it’s time, with a place (my blog) for me to finally share them.

THE DRAWINGS: They are drawn from a child’s hand, Etan Patz, as I, basically, in 1981, channeled him to draw them for me. I have found, since I have actually helped in a couple of cases with the police in recent years, I can draw pictures based on what I pick up from dead children.

BACK TO THE STORY: Years later, when I moved to New York to attend college (1984) – I learned my mistake with Sycamore. Because I hadn’t heard of it, a friend whom I showed him the drawings, told me it is in Syracuse, NY.

The information from my friend:

  • It is the college campus and the buildings were part of the college there.

  • The room I described, he told me, was what the dorm rooms look like inside.

  • The building was where the staff would live.

The field has since been built-up and I didn’t hear of them finding bodies or remains.

Although, Etan told me he is buried near this building(s). 

My friend told me that these buildings, the original college buildings, were torn down.

It wasn’t the case, though, in 1981, when I drew these pictures.

If these impressions and drawings help solve the crime, I would be glad to work, even anonymously, with anyone out there working on the case.

Coming up, in another blog postings, my drawings from the Jon Benet Ramsey case and the recent case of Lauren Spierer (which I should post next so they can, possibly, find her).

I did contact AMW.com and they informed me they do not take psychic impressions on cases.

Ethan Patz: Missing Boy Case Reopened 31 Years Later – ABC News

  Train tracks which bisect the city are two blocks from the dorms.

Even though this is a house, it is sort of how I saw the building(s) in my dream. This photograph and the above caption was taken in Syracuse, NY.

 

 

 

 

 

The other photo, from Syracuse, NY (near the dorms) is a pretty good image of the field I saw where the children are buried [should my dream have any truth in it]. I saw only one tree and remember, my dream took place in 1981.

DELUSIONS: Angels, Punks & Raging Queens Long Forgotten

UNFORGETTABLE:
Angels, Punks & Raging Queens

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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 TheresaCurry’s AngelCollins-Egic, am just “not that memorable”; also, I apparentlylack charismato 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.

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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.

Barbara Arnold
 It didn’t take long to figure out that both Andrew and Barbara were talented, intelligent teens. In fact, wise beyond their years! I instantly adored them. Through them, I met some great people, many of whom are still friends today; including Barbara and Andrew. Except, the friendship with Andrew has ended a few times and we are, as of July 2011, not on good terms . . . which is what I’m writing about.

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.

Cabaret>>Click Here

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?

with Susie "Squeaky"

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]

Curry Chronicles: You Must Be His Daughter–Part I

DISCLAIMER: These are my experiences, shared by me, as they happened to me. People in these true event(s), may not remember them in the same way. Certain facts can be agreed upon by all parties, nevertheless. I met Tim Curry, in New York, on August 28, 1987. Beyond that, I do not, in any way, suggest, hold or express that anyone else experienced this event in any paranormal, psychic or unusual way. That is how my experience of the event(s) happened, though.

YOU MUST BE HIS DAUGHTER

By Angela Theresa Egic

 It was getting very near the time I would finally meet the man!

 I saw signs where everywhere. Many were almost too literal.

Everywhere I went I could feel Tim near me, around me. I would ‘just know’ he was in New York.

A day or two later, I’d read in the gossip column that Tim Curry was seen in New York, on the very day I thought he was nearby!

This feeling of knowing Tim was nearby began when Clue was released. I had missed TC by one day. I went to the theater the day before the movie opened to the public; they had the premiere (for the actors) the day before that, nevertheless.

I was getting closer to meeting the man, though, admittedly.

My life was about to be forever changed, though:

A little overview:

On September 28, 1984I turned 21-years-old. I had barely survived anorexia, had a boyfriend away in college in somewhere near Flagstaff, AZ; was living with Mom & Dad in Phoenix, AZ. Before the anorexia got the best of me, I had applied for and auditioned for NY’s American Academy of Dramatic Arts. The audition was held right there in Phoenix.

October 4, 1984: I took my first airplane ride and arrived in New York City, for the first time in my life. Had a job at Macy’s in three days and began school at AADA.

In about 1985: I left AADA and moved to Brooklyn with my friend, Betsy.

One day, I called home to Phoenix. My father answered the phone. He was not the most observant or demonstrative man.

I said, “Hey Dad, remember me?”

My father grumbled, as usual, “Of course, Little One [he always called me this]!”

Absent-mindedly, I replied, “So, no one is home?”

My father, a man of 71-years-old [17 years my mother’s senior], was not terribly reliable about taking messages. Thus, if he was there and answered the phone, he’d surely forget I had called by the time Mom returned from her errands.

Dad, rather defensively, told me, “I’m home, I’m somebody!”

Laughing, “Oh, I know, Daddy. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Then he really shocked me, “You know, I saw that actor you like on television. Is he British? Tim …something?”

I was pleasantly surprised that my rather aloof father would even notice my obsessions, especially from three thousand miles away!

Excited and happy, I asked him, “You mean, Tim Curry?”

Yes, he was on TV. I like him! Have you met him yet?”

I told Daddy that I hadn’t, but hoped to someday. Dad gave me his blessing. That was a lot for my father and made me happy.

Late 1986: My father had cancer surgery, went into a coma and was declared dead. My mother and I, after five neurosurgeons reported he was brain-dead, opted to turn off life support.

My father breathed on his own for three months, then passed away, in Arizona, on February 4, 1987. The same day Liberace passed on. My father’s spirit came to me, all the way in NY, the night he passed and he told me goodbye.

Right before my father passed, my Uncle Curly, Mom’s brother, [the uncle that Tim Curry resembled in Clue. Yikes!], passed away. After my father, my Mom’s sister, Aunt Mary Margaret, passed on. My poor mother lost her brother, her husband and her sister all within a few months of each other. Rough year.

In New York, my Rocky Horror Picture Show midnight friends/cast and I were still going strong, doing our shadowcast show in Brooklyn each Saturday. We called ourselves The Low Down Cheap Little Punks. I played Frank N. Furter and getting great reviews.

Our friend in the cast, Susie “Squeaky” Schwartzberg, 19-years-old, was, like my father, battling cancera malignant tumor under her eye.

While I sought my meeting with TC, Susie and her family were trying to contact her obsession; Christopher “Superman” Reeves. [This was before his tragic accident.]

I had seen a psychic at a psychic fair (duh) and the minute I brought up TC– she said “Yes, you will see him soon!”

I didn’t even tell her his last name. When I did tell her — she had never heard of him!

As the reading went on, she said I’d meet him at a place with the initials MM – my first thought was the Mid-Manhattan Library. I worked near it and Tim is known for his keen interest in literature.

I, naturally, spent a lot more time at the Mid-Manhattan Library. I spent some time there, anyway, as I love books, too.

In the meantime, I listened in my head and my body for that vibration that let me know, rather accurately, when TC was nearby.

The psychic also said, “TC is just a breath away, just turn around and he will be there.”

I was walking my regular route home from work, towards Times Square, and my usual hang-out, The Marriott Marquis. Wait one minute! Hitting me, like a ton of bricks. I hung out at the Marriott Marquis, a lotthat has the initials MM!

I became aware of TC being nearby, just then, and rememberedjust a breath away, turn around and he will be there.”

At a ‘Don’t Walk’ signal, I turned around slowly.

There! In bright red letters:

CURRY IN A HURRY

When did that restaurant get there? I walk here every day and have never seen this restaurant, and there it was!

Nearly out loud, I talked to TC telepathically, “Very funny! If I am going to meet you, tell me when, please!”

The numbers 23 and 24 came into my head. This was June or July 1987.

I almost instantly understood: I will meet TC while I am still 23-years-old and nearly 24.

My 24th birthday was coming up, too, September 28th, 1987.

At the Times Square area, I was passing 1515 Broadway on the corner of 44th, a block before the Marriott Marquis [the Broadway show Me & My Girl was playing at the Marriott Marquis Theater].

Inside the big glass windows of 1515 Broadway, you can see the escalators to what I believed to be a movie theater.

I was still feeling TC in the area and wanted to test my intuition, see if I could actually track him down this time! As I stepped in front of those glass doors this very overwhelming thought to go up the stairs made me stop and stare at the plate-glass doors of 1515 Broadway.

I argued, in my silent voice, with this thought. I figured it was from TC. “But, Tim, I don’t want to go to a movie!”

The thought was even stronger, almost pulling me to the entrance turnstile doors. The number three (3) invaded my thoughts as well – theater number three? After about twenty minutes, I forced myself to walk away and go home, without ever following my gut feeling to enter 1515 Broadway and head to Theater 3.

At home, my TC picture fell off my desk.  I cried out, “I just need to meet him!”

I talked to my father, my God and TC in my prayers. I asked God and Daddy to help me meet Tim. And I asked Tim, since I didn’t understand these signs, to show me, in my dreams, where he is exactly!

I cried myself to sleep with these thoughts and prayers — to meet the only person I had ever felt such an intense spiritual connection to. I no longer believed it was just attraction.

TC reminded me of something deep in my soul . . . a soul mate, yes, but more than that! A long-lost love, friend, brother, father, a voice in my very soul, a guide, a comfort and the spirit which accompanied me through lifetime after lifetime in so many ways. Crazy maybe, certainly it couldn’t hurt to meet him, to befriend him or to date him.