I work as a psychic medium, who does a lot of phone readings. Recently I talked to the President of the United States. He was nervous, acted the bully, and said he would pay me immediately after the call with Venmo, my usual procedure (so far he hasn’t paid). This is how the conversation went:
“What’s going to happen?” The president wanted to know.
I told the leader of the free world I would meditate for a moment.
“Your guides say,” I begin, “Your emotions are nearly out of control.”
“What? Listen, you’re the psychic, tell me will the dumb Demos impeach?”
My eyes are closed. I search my imagination for what guidance wants me to say.
“I’m hearing that you are having difficulties eating, sleeping and pooping.”
“That’s nonsense, I poop like a king! Tell me what am I supposed to do to fight off these jerks?”
“A woman is telling me she is your grandmother,” I say, my guides changing directions. “She is wearing glasses with large frames, a string of pearls and she tells me her left arm hurts.”
“My grandmother was kindness itself. But she is dead, leave her out of this!”
“Your grandmother wants you to know, things are going to get better. Don’t kill yourself: it won’t help.”
“You moron, how do you know what I have been thinking?”
I am silent a moment, then a light flashes, “Your guides are telling me you hate being president.”
“I love being president!”
“They say that you know you are a monster and that you almost can’t stand it. That the pressure you are feeling is tearing you to pieces.”
“I am not a monster!”
“Are you terrorized by your dreams?” I ask later.
“I hate my dreams!” the President groans into the phone. “Big tractors get loose from the crowd and roll over my limo. Then I am lying in the street next to crying babies. Women with brown faces pick up the babies. They give me honey milk in a thick cup with a broken handle. We are all sitting in the shade of a wall. I see my limo parked down the street. It is O.K., I want to get in it and go back to being the greatest president ever, but I can’t get my legs to move. I see my dad nearby leaning against a dusty tree. I go down on my knees to him. I beg him to let me come home. I don’t want to be a monster any longer. Make it end!”
And with that the President breaks down sobbing.My guides say to wait not to interrupt. “Let’s take a step back,” I finally instruct. “Before birth you choose your general challenges, and what is happening to you now is something that you arranged at the deepest levels. I am hearing that you are part of a powerful soul, and the experiment you are making in this life takes both gigantic ego strength and a willingness to succumb to being a visible pawn, a true monster in the great thrust of history.”
The President groans.
“You have willingly and bravely,” I translate, “allowed yourself to be swept up into the highest political office in the world. You are the President of the most powerful, ruthless, self-serving country ever known on earth. Your very bulk, crude, racist, hateful attacks on others serve an important purpose. You are the face of the cruel, corrupt United States of America. At home and abroad you are seen as a lying, insanely powerful monster. No one can stop you. Not even the country’s own constitution and duly elected officials can find a way to divert you from your swaggering, shameful abilities of inspiring fear, hatred and rage in the population. You are the visible monster. And it is important that the monster be out in the open and strutting.”
The President groans, sobs, and protests that he doesn’t want the job; he doesn’t want to be the face of evil. I give him a moment, and then continue.
“Remember, you being the visible monster is helpful to this country and to the entire world. Yes, it is a tough road for you to follow. And, naturally, you fear that you will be pulled down from your perch. But you are part of a brave, powerful soul; the part you play in history is vital for our resurgence. You will be remembered as a monster, but we all are, each of us, grappling with our intrinsic unfairness. In this age we are learning the lesson of kindness. And presently it takes great courage.”
“I don’t understand you! You are not being fair. I want to know what is going to happen to me?”
“You will call the dogs of injustice down on you with your own words. Your hatred and bigotry is a form of self-attack. It is your nature, as it is the country’s nature, to swerve from self-reflection. And in the hour of reckoning, you dear President, will be the roasted, bloated pig hefted on a heavy iron bar and carried through the celebrating streets as a symbol of the downfall of racism, corruption and spiritual stupidity.”
“Don’t tell me that!” the President pleads. “Does this mean I am going to be impeached? Will the Senate vote me out?”
The President needed to rally. My guides told me it was important that he restore himself, so he could continue to play the role of the Villain Cain.
“If I don’t get a second term, will I be hounded into jail?” the President blurted. “I don’t want to be history’s monster. I never agreed to that. Why am I seen as the bad guy? I am a good President, the greatest President this country ever had. You are wrong, stupid. You are a fake psychic. I will be reelected by a landslide. I have made America great again. You are a psychic jerk. No one will listen to you. I am the greatest white man who has ever lived! I’m better than that wig-wearing sissy Washington and Lincoln. Christ, what an idiot! No wonder they shot him in the balcony. He didn’t even know how to protect himself. I will be elected to a second term. My adoring core will follow me into hell. Then, after we change the screwy law, I will serve a third term, and again it will be a landslide. This country is a reflection of me. Back off, I am your ruler. God has so spoken. I have been chosen. Go on your knees before me. Fear me. I will make you prosperous and free. Bow before me. I am greater than Jesus and the other fools of the world’s dusty religions.”
The President took a hiccupping breath, screamed his favorite obscenities and clicked off.
I took off the headset, trembled, then took a breath. The President, I decided, was the sick face of each of us! Deep in our ‘for-the-greater-good’ souls, we had elected him. And now America’s evil was out in the open. Each of us were the dishonored, fat, white, corrupt male. We, the U.S., are the country that other countries fear. And with good reason; we kill and corrupt at every point on the globe. No one can stop us or help us.
My eyes blinked closed. I imagined a green ocean wave washing over my feet, clearing me of the tangled session with the leader of the free world. I left my office and heated water for tea. The cat marched into the kitchen, meowing and instructing me in the ways of love. Sipping, I got a feeling of incompleteness about the session with my client. The President had rushed off, raging and frightened.
My subsequent email to the White House:
You mentioned in our session, Mr. President, that you feared for your future. It is true that your challenges are monumental. You are lashing out like a crazed, tormented creature. You see no salvation, but to be more of what you are, objectionable. But there is a pinhole of hope where you can escape your looming, dire destiny. Are you ready? Start with this: on occasion, own that you chose to be a monster; you lust for power. But miraculously, built-in before birth, you placed the seed of your own later awakening. Yes, dear President, it is magically possible for you to end your nightmare. You powerfully contain within you great courage. And it is up to you, and soon you will dare the impossible—you will choose to act with kindness. You will be kindness itself. Your dramatic change of demeanor will electrify the world. ‘Villain Embraces Universal Kindness’ that alone will lead our Nation and much of the world out of darkness. Kindness in your heart and indeed, to yourself, to your enemies and to God. This will be your salvation!
Dear Mr. President, you have the very real opportunity to be a great soul on earth. Kindness will make you our hero. You can do it. Have fun!
Psychic Medium Jesse Austin can be contacted by email: email@example.com.
Original artwork by Jesse’s wife Rita