There’s never a dull moment when I go visit my medium and spiritual advisor, Steffany Barton of Angel’s Insight. For one, she’s never wrong. She could casually predict the sky would be green and you’d be guaranteed a Kermit-colored sunrise the following day. Her ability to connect with otherworldly spirits and celestial beings is unrivaled. Yesterday, was no exception.
Often, when she’s in the midst of our session, she’ll quiz me about someone who’s crossed over. While she may not have the name exactly right (“Dave? Dan? No, DON!”), she’ll often have it narrowed down and give me clues on who is trying to come through. It’s like a cosmic version of “Password Plus” come to life—or death, whichever.
Yesterday, my friend Jeremy Spotts wanted to chat—about metaphorical seeds. Jeremy—whose middle name is coincidentally Mackey—passed away nine years ago in a motorcycle accident in NYC. I can honestly say he is the best looking creature I’ve ever met in person. Ever been awestruck by someone’s good looks? Well, Jeremy was the quintessential head turner. On rare occasions, he will hone in on Steffany’s radar to say hi or chime in with an analogy. His last one—from about four years ago—involved elephants. He wanted to convey to Steffany that if I don’t get what I want in life I should just barrel my way through—like a herd of elephants. Random advice, but I’ll take it.
In our “meeting” yesterday, Jeremy channeled that I was akin to a bunch of seeds in a packet. There’s a lot of potential there to grow, but it’s not going to happen unless I’m grounded (and firmly entrenched) in Mother Earth. Again, a fine bit of insight. What surprised me though is Steffany said, “And he wants you to put that in your blog.” Done and done, Jerm. I’ve always been curious to see what would have happened to Jeremy. He passed away at age 27 right as his little shooting star was poised to go Supernova. His seeds never had a chance to Jeremy-nate, er, germinate. (I know you’re rolling your eyes at that bad pun, young man.)
Later in the session, Steffany started humming. At first, I couldn’t make out the song, but then she announced, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough is stuck in my head.” I figured it was just an earworm as she went back to aligning my chakras or buffing my aura—or whatever she does when she moves my energies around the room.
“Hey, there’s someone you used to work with coming through. She beat cancer, I think. Huge lifeforce. Someone in news or journalism,” Steffany mentions. I drew a blank. Stumped, I asked for more detail. “Well, Ain’t No Mountain High Enough is now louder in my head,” she says.
I immediately got a set of pin-prickly goosebumps all over my body. “WENDY F*CKING CHIOJI!” I yelled—and then immediately apologized because Steffany’s kids were within earshot. Wendy—or Wendell as she was affectionately known—was my galpal, an anchorwoman who beat cancer, like, a dozen times. I had to laugh because one of the very first times Wendy fought off cancer, she celebrated by climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro—because, of course, she did. Steffany got goosebumps after I mentioned that too.
Turns out that since Wendy crossed over, she’s stealthily been my creative touchstone—implanting ideas and nuggets for me to subconsciously digest. She turned up the song in Steffany’s head so I wouldn’t miss the correlation. (I almost did. I’m blonde. Sorry, Wendell.)
Steffany and I gabbed about Wendy and what a spitfire she was. Funny that I was on the receiving end of her heaven-sent streaks of imagination. Per Wendy, she’s been rattling around in my head all this time and I didn’t know it. A ninja-angel. Or angel-ninja. Whichever.
The beauty of having Steffany be so unfiltered in her psychic abilities is that you never know who’s going to pop in for a visit. My dad grabbed Steffany’s ear and made mention of my messy silverware drawer. (It’s true. It’s a disaster.) Could Steffany have known about that? There’s no way. It was just Dad’s way of picking something so hyper-specific to me, I knew he was in the room. (Silverware. Sheesh.)
Ms. Steffany was definitely on fire yesterday. I was mentally and spiritually exhausted and, yet, oddly refreshed when I left. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve got some kick ass guardian angels around me.