[Note: I started channeling in 1994. At first it wasn't just Dr. Peebles who spoke through me. A phenomenon known as "full body channeling" was happening. I eventually learned that it was part of my training as a trance medium. I channeled any spirit that was presented to me; frequently that meant channeling dearly departed loved ones. I allowed for them to use my body to communicate with their family members and friends, and it was physically exhausting. I was aware of the channelings, and could feel the spirit moving my body around as if I was a puppet. It is the most vulnerable experience I have ever had, since I usually didn't know the people that I was channeling for, or who would be coming through to speak to them. I did this work for three years for anyone who asked, and I did it for free, as I never ever intended to channel for a living. However, once my training was over, Dr. Peebles came through and announced that he would be the only one speaking through me. "We are not here to prove that there is life after death. You are all going to find out the answer to that question sooner or later," Dr. Peebles quipped. It was time to start teaching people how to fish, not give them fish. However, lately I have been reflecting back on the "good ol' days," and I sure do miss those magical moments and the healing that was offered to those who had the opportunity to have this direct connection to the other side. Here are some of those stories from the good ol' days, excerpted from my one-day-to-be-released-if-I-ever-get-around-to-editiing-it autobiography. Enjoy!]
There are so many amazing things about channeling that I cannot explain. But, there is one lesson above all that the process has taught me—everything has a spirit. Even objects—things—have a story to tell. Dr. Peebles says, “There are as many perspectives in the universe as there are stars in the heavens.” I don’t doubt that one bit.
What a more loving world it would be if we could all remember to “walk the footsteps of a stranger.” That’s what it was like for me in the first few years of channeling.
My husband, J. continued to grill me during the channeling process, asking for Jesus, Brigham Young, Edgar Cayce, and even his Uncle Hubert and other assorted dearly departed loved ones to speak through me. They did, with accuracy and clarity. Then, one day, our laser printer broke and J. said, “Channel it.”
“The printer?” I said.
“Sure. Channel it, so we can fix it.”
“O-kay…” I said hesitantly.
This was very scary for me, because if I didn’t channel the printer accurately and the printer was unsalvageable, J. would get angry at me. I did not want to endure anymore abuse.
However, with no other alternative (because I was too afraid to deny J.'s request) I “tuned in” to the printer.
“Hi. I’m Percy,” it said to my astonishment.
“Uh, it says its name is Percy. He’s telling me that he helped in the design of the early laser printers.”
“Hi Percy,” J. said, stroking the printer, “How can we fix you?”
“He says to open up the front. Look inside and you’ll see a black bar. There’s a small hole that goes down to the black bar. The hole is too big for your finger, so you’ll have to use a screwdriver. Just put the screwdriver in the hole, and push it to the right.”
J. did as he was told. There was a loud pop from the printer.
“We’d better not continue, J.. I don’t want to mess this up beyond repair.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, “Let’s plug it in and see.”
J. plugged in the printer, sent something to print, and we were wide-eyed as it hummed and purred and printed out a perfect page. We used that laser printer for years to come.
Eventually, word got around about my channeling, and soon friends, family members, and total strangers were asking for channeling sessions, which I did for free. On some days I’d stop two or three times a day to channel for someone in need.
One day, my friend’s son, Derek, called me from California.
“My mother-in-law is very despondent about her husband’s passing. Could we visit you for a session?”
I quickly agreed to do the session, and he, his wife, nine-year old daughter and mother-in-law came over to my house a few days later.
I did not know what to expect. After a short greeting from Dr. Peebles, the woman’s husband came through. He was a gentle man, and very humble and kind. It was no wonder he was sorely missed. As he came into my body, he lifted his hands and began to fidget with a tie that evidently he was wearing (but, of course, no one could see it, because I didn’t have a tie on).
“I’m wearing the tie you bought me, my dear. The red knit tie, with the flat ends,” he said. His wife burst into tears.
“That’s the last tie I bought for you!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, my darling, the answer is ‘yes,’” he said gently. Then, in a rather astonishing moment for me, he got up out of the chair and kneeled in front of his beloved wife, took her hand and kissed it and said, “Yes, I would marry you all over again.”
She cried even harder. This was the most pressing question on her mind since he had passed away, i.e. would he marry her again? He stood up, and returned to the chair.
At that moment, his granddaughter skipped into the room and plopped into her father’s lap. “That’s Grandpa!” she squealed in delight, “You can see him there.”
“Hello dear,” he said so kindly. His granddaughter cried softly, jumped from her father’s lap and wrapped her arms around her Grandpa.
“I love you, Grandpa. I miss you,” she whispered in his (my) ear.
Channeling dearly departed loved ones was emotional and sometimes very traumatic for me. Accuracy in this kind of channeling is of excruciating importance for the living family members. Sometimes accuracy might mean to allow someone’s mother to be the bitchy woman she was in life (some people never change).
One of the most fascinating and emotionally traumatizing sessions I ever did was for a man named Phil.
Phil was a person I couldn’t size up very easily when we first met. He was an average looking seventy-seven year old man who was unusually quiet and pensive. I imagined he carried some very deep pain inside that he’d hidden from the world for years. He came to my house for a session.
Phil sat quietly during the session. Two other people were in attendance, and they were doing all the talking, asking to speak to assorted relatives (plus a rat they had just buried who bitterly complained because he’d been buried upside down—a moment of joyful confirmation that they were talking to the right rat).
Finally, Dr. Peebles entered my body towards the end of the session. Without missing a beat he turned to Phil who remained quiet the whole time and said, “Phil, do you have a question?” Phil was startled. “A...as a matter of fact I do NOW!” he said, quite surprised that Dr. Peebles would know, “I’d like to talk to Herschel.”
Still in trance, I argued with Herschel, “No way am I going to channel you! Your son doesn’t know you were murdered, and YOU are not about to tell him that!” (Although I knew that Herschel was doing just fine now, I was deeply concerned about how Phil would react to the news of his father’s murder.) Dr. Peebles and Herschel sidled up to me with love and tenderness. “Please, Summer. We know what we’re doing. Phil will be fine.”
I could feel how important this was. I thought of Phil. I thought of the pain I’d have to endure to allow for this to occur. I thought of the pain that Herschel was carrying. I thought of the prospect of something being resolved. Something beyond my own comprehension: closure for people here on earth and on the other side. How could I say no? Love pervaded the moment and won.
Herschel came into my body. It hurt. It hurt like hell, because he was still carrying his pain so that he would never forget what happened to him. He explained later that he was going to have a little chat with the men who had killed him, once they joined him on the other side. Only then would he release the pain.
“Hello, son,” said Herschel carefully and lovingly. The joy of recognition radiated from Phil. I could feel it even while I was in trance. Or, perhaps it was Herschel’s joy that I felt. Or both.
“Dad,” Phil said with a gasp.
“You are here because you want to know how I died.”
“Yes,” said Phil softly.
“As you suspected, I was murdered.”
You could feel the weight drop from Phil’s shoulders. An awareness and understanding he’d carried with him since the age of ten: that his Daddy had been murdered. He knew it. The police had lied. Phil had been right all along, and no one would listen to him. It was a botched financial deal with the wrong people that led Herschel to his early grave. Now, sixty-seven years later, dear Phil was free of his burden.
The physical pain of that session was too much for me. I swore off channeling, and I didn’t channel again for six months. The emotional burden of what had happened was enormous as well. What if I hadn’t allowed Herschel to speak? Poor Phil would never have been able to get the confirmation he was seeking. The responsibility involved in this work overwhelmed me. I cried for days.
Dr. Peebles called himself my “Gatekeeper.” He told me that he would assure that any spirit I channeled would have to go through him. I trusted Dr. Peebles so much, that I continued to allow spirit after spirit to parade through my body and my life. I heard them, saw them, and even felt their physical touch. I began to meet my guides face to face. One of these guides was very unexpected. His name was George, a man I had known of since I was only twelve years old.
In late 1995, I received a phone call from my childhood friend Brenda. She tearfully shared with me that her beloved brother-in-law, George, had died very suddenly and unexpectedly. Even after George and her sister Linda divorced, there was not a single person in the family who didn’t love George. Even Linda’s new husband loved George.
I listened with interest, but with very little emotion since I didn’t know George all that well. I only remember that he was at Brenda’s house a lot when he and Linda were married. I would walk to Brenda’s house, and it seemed that George was always waiting for my arrival. He would stand out in front of the house, and he would watch me intently as I approached. He grinned from ear to ear. I was afraid of him. It wasn’t because I thought he would hurt me. It was just that, even though I was only twelve years old, I could feel him looking into my soul. I was excruciatingly shy, and in George’s presence I felt like he was reading every thought I had. I felt exposed and vulnerable.
I remember veering away from Brenda’s house, pretending to just be on a stroll. This just made George grin even bigger. He would not take his eyes off of me. I watched him the whole time too. Our eyes locked like two dogs about to fight…or, make love. I never understood what these exchanges were about until after George died.
George’s teenage son, K.C., had heard about my channeling abilities. I had never made this known to the family until I heard about George’s death. I reticently told Brenda about my unusual gift, uncertain whether she would understand. To my surprise, she did understand. She told K.C., and arrangements were made to fly my family Denver where K.C. and Brenda lived. The plan was that I would channel George for the family, once a day, for two days.
Before we left, George was already in joyful communication with me. My first contact was one morning while I blow-dried my hair.
“Summer!” I heard a man’s voice, “It’s George.” I continued to blow dry my hair.
“Good morning, George.”
“Hey! I need you to call Linda,” (Linda was his ex-wife, and Brenda’s sister), “I want her to have a few of my things around when you channel me.” George was very down to earth.
“What do you mean?” I asked while I stretched my bangs straight with a roller brush.
“Well, first of all I want to be channeled in the house with the big picture window. I want my gold watch, my incense, my Quiji board…”
“Quiji board?” I laughed, thinking, “Sure he had a Ouiju board.”
“I did,” he said, “Stop complaining, and just listen. We don’t have much time. You have to call her right now. She’s about to go to work.” He continued to rattle off a long list of items, most of which I doubted she still had, and many that I thought probably did not even exist. I was always my own greatest skeptic.
Drying my hair was a long, arduous, important part of my morning ritual, in my decades long battle against curly frizzy hair since 1972.
“You need to call her now!” George insisted.
“I’ll call when I’m done drying my hair!” I argued.
“No!” he pleaded, “She’s about to leave for work. Please! Hurry! Call her!”
I slammed the blow dryer down on the counter. “Fine. I’ll call her.” I dialed the phone, muttering and mimicking George, “’Hurry she’s about to go to work.’ Sure," I grumbled feeling doubtful, "She’s probably sleeping.”
“Hello?” Linda answered.
“Hi Linda? It’s Summer.”
“Hi Summer. Can I call you later. I’m just stepping out to go to work. I’m running late.”
“That’s what George said.”
“What? George?” her voice was less urgent, and she softened considerably.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. He insisted that I call you. Said you were about to leave for work. He’s given me a list of things he wants to have at the channeling session,” I said.
“That’s George,” she giggled. “Okay, go ahead and give ‘em to me.”
“His gold watch,” I said.
“His gold chains. Did he like jewelry?”
“Oh yeah. Got ‘em.”
“His…okay, this is weird, but he did say, his Ouiji board.”
“Oh yeah…I’ve got that too.”
“Incense holder…the metal one.”
“Yup. It’s here.”
We went through the whole list, and she had everything.
“Oh, and Linda? He wants to be channeled at the house with the big picture window.”
“Really? Wow. That would be K.C.’s house. We were thinking of doing it at my place, but, okay…we’ll do it at K.C.’s”
Once we were in Denver, it was decided that I would channel George at K.C.’s house on one day, and then at Linda’s house the next day.
On the first day I stood in K.C.’s living room, wondering where I should sit.
“Where would George like to sit?” Linda asked.
“Yeah, let Dad decide where to sit,” K.C. agreed.
I looked at the recliner and decided to sit there. As I sat down, something didn’t feel right. “Sit on the floor,” George said.
I shifted to the floor, and sat crosslegged. Linda and K.C. stared at me with wide eyes.
“That’s what George would do,” Linda said shaking her head in disbelief, “He’d go for the recliner, then shift to the floor.”
The coffee was table covered with all of the items that George had requested. I marveled at the number of items that were there, and gently touched the gold watch. Even the Quiji board was there.
Linda, K.C., Brenda, and her husband Mike took their seats. The channeling sessions were remarkable for a number of reasons. Of course, the confirmation and healing for the family was primary.
I went into trance, and after Dr. Peebles said his introductory statement and introduced George, I could feel George’s long, lanky spirit body slip into mine. Channeling George was effortless. Since his death had occurred without pain, I did not have to experience his death. My arms felt elongated, and my head felt large. George’s spirit was very loving, and I did not feel a smidge of discomfort with his presence. In fact, I became so calm during this channeling session that I slipped out of my body, curled into the fetal position, and was held gently in the arms of three beautiful angels. This had never happened before, and it never happened again. A gentle peace came over me, and I was unaware as George passed the next two hours with his family. The next thing I knew, George left, and Dr. Peebles was speaking through me.
“It is time for our dear channel to return. She will need to go to the potty immediately to urinate, so please make certain that the way to the bathroom is clear,” Dr. Peebles said. Everybody giggled.
I thought this was ridiculous. I did not have any urge to go to the bathroom at all.
“No!” Still in trance, I argued with Dr. Peebles, “I’m fine. I don’t have to return.” I was in such a beautiful and blessed space of bliss, I honestly did not want to return. Instead, despite my protests, the three beautiful angels very gently placed me back into my body. I groaned as I returned, and wiped the sleep from my eyes.
“Is there something you need to do?” Linda teased me.
“Huh?” I looked up, having forgotten what Dr. Peebles said. Suddenly, the urge to pee hit me hard. I thought I was going to pop. “Oh, my God! Where’s the bathroom?” Everyone laughed and cleared the way as I raced to the bathroom to relieve myself. I was lucky I made it.
The next day we all gathered at Linda’s house. Again, I sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table.
“Hey Linda,” George said through me, “Can I have a cup of coffee?”
“You bet!” she said, and quickly brought him a cup of coffee, black. He took a sip, and nearly spat it out.
“Oh c’mon Linda. You know how I like my coffee.”
“Oh alright, George. You caught me.” Linda returned to the kitchen. While she was in the kitchen, George yelled out, “You always did sneak those little bottles of alcohol off of the airplanes!”
“GEORGE!” she called, incensed and embarrassed. She returned to the living room with a little bottle of Kahlua. “You’re not supposed to tell people my secrets.” Apparently Linda had a basket of mini bottles of alcohol stashed on top of her refrigerator. Linda wasn’t a drinker, so it came as quite a surprise to her family members.
“Do you have any beef jerky?” he asked. I could taste beef jerky in my mouth, as George got a craving for it.
“No, sorry George. I haven’t kept that around since you died.”
“Uh, Dad,” K.C. spoke up, “Remember when we used to talk about reincarnation? Do you remember what you told me?”
The room got very quiet. George became thoughtful. I could feel the importance of this question. It was the $100,000 question that would confirm life after death for K.C., and assure him that he was talking to his Dad.
“Of course,” George said, “I told you that if I could reincarnate, I would love to come back as an eagle.”
“That’s right!” K.C. said, nearly jumping out of his chair. “He did! Uh, you did! You…he…Dad said this to me! He wanted to come back as an eagle.”
“Hey, Linda,” George turned to her, “Remember what I said to you about Summer when she was just a little girl?”
“Yes I do George,” she replied, “You said that, if you died before I did, that you would come back and talk to me through Summer.”
If I could’ve, I would’ve jumped out of my chair. I had no idea that George and Linda had communicated about me like that. Now I understood why George used to look at me the way he did, looking into my soul. He knew about my gift decades before I even knew it.
From that day forward, George was in my life almost constantly. He helped me with the psychic readings that I started doing to supplement our income, now that we’d lost our huge graphic design retainer. Since I could see, hear, and feel spirit, I thought that psychic readings would be the least taxing on me physically. And, frankly, psychic readings were way more acceptable than channeling sessions. Channeling in the way that I did it, as a trance medium, was a very hard sell. I was still very self-conscious about the process, and nervous about the outcome too. I simply didn’t feel right about charging people money to talk to their departed loved ones. Most people brought me gifts anyway, and I had bottles of wine, bags of food, artwork and even a beautiful full-length mirror given to me.
Although I still offered messages from deceased loved ones, my psychic readings were more often like counseling sessions. The readings I did would tap into the depths of a person’s issues, and offer guidance as to how to resolve those issues, sometimes in unconventional ways.
A young man, about sixteen years old, came to me one day with his mother at his side. He wouldn’t look at me, and sat down on the couch, refusing to speak. He leaned forward and gazed at the floor. I looked at him and wondered how or if I would be able to read anything about this closed and angry young man. I closed my eyes.
“George, what’s up with this kid?” I asked telepathically.
“He sees air,” George said.
I knew exactly what this meant. This kid was a total mystic. He didn’t see the world the same way as others did. In other words, he was a lot like me.
I looked up and smiled and said, “You see air!”
The kid gasped, sat up, slapped his knee and exclaimed, “Yes! What IS that?”
I first explained most people could not see air. Yet, people who were mystics could see movement in the air, and a thickness about it that others couldn’t see.
The relief he showed was absolutely exhilarating.
“Yes! Yes!” he cried, “Exactly!”
“You are seeing energy,” I explained, “Most people experience the space around them as being empty space. But, you are able to see the substance of air, and the energy in it.”
“I knew it!” he said, “I just thought I was crazy!”
“I know,” I said, “I thought I was too when I was your age.”
I felt something else coming to me. The young man sat forward and eagerly awaited the next message.
“You have…” I listened and heard and saw letters developing in front of me. I did not know what they meant at the time. “You have been told that you have…is it…A.D.D.? Is that Attention Deficit Disorder?” A.D.D. had just recently become a popular diagnosis for children who were, by all appearances, hyperactive and unable to focus. I was just barely familiar with the term.
“Yes!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” his mother admitted.
I looked at both of them is astonishment and disgust at what I felt psychically about his A.D.D. diagnosis.
“Oh my God. You feel like you are strange, different from everyone else. You are told that this is a ‘learning disability,’ but it isn’t! You are hyper-intelligent. You learn so fast that you get bored with school and life very easily!”
Both the young man and his mother looked at each other as if, for the first time ever, they understood each other implicitly. I knew that I was putting words to their mutual dilemma in a way that both of them could understand it.
“You have a hard time concentrating on homework,” I said to the young man, “And, you have a hard time understanding why,” I said to his mother. His grades were slipping, his mother was worried, and everyone was at a loss at what to do. I was able to put words to ideas and concepts that none of them could yet grasp.
“First of all,” I told his Mom, “He doesn’t see the world in the same way as everyone else. Stop trying to make him be like everyone else, because he’s not. He grasps things quickly, and gets bored easily. Let him line up his homework assignments on…let’s see…you have a long rectangular dining room table where he does his homework, right?”
“Yes we do.”
“So, let him put his math book on the table with a piece of paper nearby. Open the book to the page of math problems,” then I looked at the young man, “And, when you walk by the table on your way to the kitchen for a snack, look at one of the homework problems. You get the answer almost immediately.”
“Yes, I do,” he agreed.
“Then write it down, and walk away. Every time you pass the table, just do another problem, or write a sentence down.”
“See, Mom? She understands!” he said, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”
This was a cherished moment of my psychic career that I’ll never ever forget.
I could fill a book with tales of my readings of the other side, and perhaps someday I will. But, the important part of all of this is that, this was just training for my real work that would happen “down the road apiece.” It was by saying “yes” to this parade of spirits that I learned to surrender to life and learned to love with more depth than I ever imagined was possible. Because life, at its best and most fulfilling, is really about saying “yes” to everything. I don’t mean “yes” as in “agreement,” but rather as acknowledgement of the other perspectives.
Instead of saying, “That’s not true!” I would put myself in the other person’s shoes in order to understand what was truth from their perspective. To say, “What I feel is truth, and what you feel is truth, are both truth” is a very loving way to look at the world. Someone with an opposing perspective to my own has reasons for believing that perspective. If I just wave a hand and disregard their perspective, casting stones of judgment, I will never learn about them and what makes them tick, and why they function the way that they do. What a kinder, gentler world it could be if we would just listen to each other.
As I helped this young man come to embrace his unique self, I was learning to embrace my own. The young man’s mother learned how to set aside her preconceptions of what a “normal” child “should” be, and hence released her massive expectations of her son. She learned to embrace who he was, as he was. The last I heard from him, his life was on the upswing. He was more confident, doing better in school, and his shyness was dissipating.
My shyness was dissipating too, as I was constantly required to be as vulnerable as possible and hold nothing back in my readings and channeling sessions.