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Past Lives, Future Healing: A Psychic Reveals the Secrets to Good Health and Great Relationships
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About Past Lives, Future Healing: A Psychic Reveals The
Product Description The one expert millions of readers have learned to trust, one of the few psychics instantly recognizable to television viewers, Sylvia Browne is back. She has proven herself, in her fifty years of working as a medium, to be the reigning queen of psychic phenomena. Here is an insightful look at how much of one's present life is informed by one's past lives, and how many health and relationship problems have their roots in unresolved past lives. From unexplained illnesses to bizarre phobias, from irrational anxieties and fears to the choice of partners, each can be traced back to past lives. Even birthmarks and recurring dreams are signs of issues from past lives. Sylvia helps readers recognize where their deep-rooted problems, fears, and hang-ups all began-and how to ultimately resolve them. About the Author Sylvia Browne was a psychic and the #1 New York Times bestselling author of End of Days, Blessings from the Other Side, Adventures of a Psychic, The Other Side and Back, and Life on the Other Side. Lindsay Harrison is a writer and teacher living in New York City. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Prologue It was dark and cold, the end of a long day, and I hoped as I left my office that I'd make it home before the approaching storm arrived. I was saying good night to my staff when I noticed that my assistant Michael was on a call that was clearly troubling him. He looked at me, mouthed the name of a client I remembered fondly from a few years back, and pantomimed that she was crying. I stepped back into my office, closed the door, and picked up the phone, barely noticing the low rumble of thunder that shook the window beside me. “Robin, it's Sylvia.” “Oh, Sylvia, thank God I got through to you. You're my last hope. Or should I say our last hope. It's about my husband.” I could hear the fear in her voice as a disturbing story spilled out of her. It seems that one day four years earlier her husband, Rick, a successful landscape architect, had headed out for a routine trip to the grocery store, returned without groceries a half hour later in an absolute panic, shut himself in their bedroom, and had essentially refused to leave the house ever since. He couldn't explain this sudden, desperate agoraphobia to himself, let alone to her or to the battery of doctors and psychiatrists she'd begged him to see, and after thousands of dollars worth of treatment and medication, he wasn't one bit better. His terror of leaving the house had naturally cost him his clientele and his career; they were on the verge of bankruptcy. As much as she'd loved the man she'd married ten years ago, Robin wasn't sure she could go on living with this frightened recluse she seemed unable to help. “Please, Sylvia,” she pleaded through her tears, “I can't take this anymore, and neither can he. In fact, if this goes on much longer, I'm afraid he might try to take his own life. You know I trust you, so just tell me what to do and I'll do it.” “Can you get him to come here?” I asked. “Forget 'can,' I will,” she told me. “When?” “Now. Right away. I'll wait for you.” Three hours later Rick and I were alone in my office while a hard rain fell outside. He was shockingly pale, with the gaunt look of someone whose once healthy body had taken on more stress than it could handle, and his gray eyes looked haunted by a dark, soul-wrenching fear. Like most clients who genuinely want to be helped, he let me lead him easily into a deep hypnotic trance and take him back to the grocery store trip four years earlier that seemed to have triggered his breakdown. It sounded unremarkable until he frowned slightly and added, “Oh, and there was this little boy in the produce department.” I asked what the little boy was doing. “He took an apple and started to bite into it. But his father ran over to him yelling, 'Don't eat that without washing it, it might poison you!'” Poison. A potentially traumatic word. I jotted it on my not
