1944—1978

As a child, I had an invisible friend I considered “The Man”, who explained everything I didn’t understand and quietly gave me predictions, though I kept him secret from my family. He reappeared briefly at 17, then again when I left nursing and began giving readings at home, returning fully when I was 31. He introduced himself as Ezekiel.

I realized that The Man was more than just a childhood companion—he was a teacher of the soul, pulling back the veil so I could see what most overlook. His guidance was never loud or forceful, but a steady current of clarity shaped how I approached every reading and every moment of connection. He showed me that the deepest truth doesn’t live in objects, symbols, or systems—it lives in the silence within. That sacred stillness became my compass.

Though I delight in the artistry and symbolism of tarot and sometimes enjoy drawing a card for quiet inspiration, my readings and investigations have always been guided by direct perception. Whether connecting with a missing loved one or seeking answers for a family in pain, I’ve learned to listen with my whole being. When working on crime cases, I may ask for a photo or visit the scene—not to rely on it, but to attune more deeply to the soul’s imprint.

Everything I’ve taught, healed, and solved has come from entering that inner sanctuary where truth exists, waiting to be heard.