Paul J Penton – Songwriter

Fingers trace over the ring, it’s worn smooth on the outside, the lustre of the gold dulled, diamonds and rubies seem to be swallowed by time somewhere in its grooves.  I probe the surface, the metal still warm from her ring finger. What am I perceiving?  Eyes closed I see symbols and images in my mind, are they my invention or is this some sort of transmission from ‘the other side’.

The chair is sort of uncomfortable, I become aware of my bum resting on the solid cushioning and while I try to concentrate on the ‘messages’ being passed to me, I smell a vase of flowers somewhere nearby – a vase that needs the water changing, though the flowers still look ok.  She wants to know about her husband who has passed over. I am the conduit for him to speak from the beyond, but I don’t hear anything don’t see any floating apparitions, only these symbols and impressions, and nothing is clear enough for me to give anything I feel is worthwhile.

Should I strain harder to ’see’, to understand what the third eye  is scanning, or should I admit the fact that I have no ‘ability’ at all.  The expectation in me is huge, the seventh child of the seventh child whose grandmother was well known in those early days at the turn of the last century, why not me?- I’d love to know the lotto numbers or where my life should be going, but there’s nothing. I could lie to comfort her, take a stab, a guess, but conscience does not allow. I let her know I am getting nothing, her face becomes a landslide of disappointment , as they always are- sometimes……..