My name is Marianne, and I’ve been seeing things other people can’t since I was a little girl. Not ghosts, exactly, but… energies. Auras. Echoes of past pain and future joys. It's a gift, they say. Sometimes it feels like a burden. But when I can use it to help someone, to untangle the knots in their soul, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. That’s what happened with Clara.
Clara came to me in the late spring, when the jasmine outside my little cottage was just starting to bloom. She was a woman in her late thirties, I guessed, with kind eyes that seemed to hold a deep sadness, like a still pond reflecting a cloudy sky. Her smile didn’t quite reach them, a polite mask she wore for the world.
She sat across from me at my small, round table, her hands nervously twisting in her lap. A single flickering candle cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the crystals and tarot cards scattered around the room. The air was thick with the scent of incense and anticipation.
“I… I don’t know where to start,” Clara said, her voice hesitant.
“Start anywhere,” I encouraged gently. “Just let the words flow.”
She told me about her life, the surface things. A decent job, a comfortable apartment, a few close friends. But something was missing, she said, a deep-seated loneliness she couldn’t shake. She longed for love, for connection, but every relationship seemed to crumble before it could truly blossom.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, and reached out with my mind, my “second sight.” I saw her aura, a muted tapestry of blues and grays, beautiful but clouded. There was a darkness there, a shadow clinging to her heart.
“Clara,” I said softly, opening my eyes. “There’s something from your past, something from your childhood, that’s holding you back.”
Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear, quickly masked. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s okay,” I reassured her. “It’s not your fault. But there’s a wound there, a deep one, that needs healing.”
I picked up a deck of tarot cards, their edges worn smooth from years of use. I shuffled them, the familiar ritual calming me, centering me. I asked Clara to cut the deck, her touch tentative, as if she were afraid of what they might reveal.
The cards I laid out painted a picture. The Tower, reversed, symbolizing a deep-seated fear of upheaval and change, a resistance to letting go of old patterns. The Five of Cups, representing grief, loss, and a dwelling on past disappointments. And then, the Hermit, reversed, suggesting isolation, withdrawal, and a fear of vulnerability.
“There was a man,” I said, my voice low, “a father figure, perhaps, or someone else you looked up to. He hurt you, didn’t he?”
Clara’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes welled up, but she didn’t speak.
I saw flashes, fragmented images flickering in my mind’s eye like scenes from a broken film reel. A tall, imposing figure. A harsh voice. A small child, cowering in fear. The smell of stale beer and cheap cologne. A locked door.
“He… he wasn’t always bad,” Clara whispered, her voice trembling. “But when he drank…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. I saw it all, the betrayal, the fear, the deep, soul-crushing shame. The way her trust, her innocence, had been shattered.
The tears flowed freely now, years of suppressed pain finally finding release. Clara sobbed, her body shaking. I held her hand, my own trembling slightly, offering silent comfort, a witness to her grief.
“It wasn't your fault,” I said again, my voice thick with emotion. "It was never your fault. You were a child. You didn't deserve that. But in that time, you learned to associate love with that pain. You are not at fault. This has made it hard to love or trust."
We talked for hours that day. I guided her through a meditation, helping her to visualize that wounded inner child, to offer her the love and protection she had been denied. We talked about forgiveness, not for the man who had hurt her, but for herself, for carrying the burden of his actions for so long. I suggested some exercises for her, some were visualizations, and some were affirmations to practice. It was about self-love and self-compassion. She needed to tell herself she deserved love. She was not a bad person. She was worthy. She was deserving.
It was a painful process, like lancing a boil, but it was necessary. The poison had to come out before the healing could begin. As the session drew to a close, I saw a shift in Clara’s aura. The gray clouds were still there, but they were beginning to dissipate, revealing glimpses of brighter hues, of hope and resilience.
She left my cottage that day with a newfound lightness, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She thanked me, her voice filled with a gratitude that warmed my heart. I knew, in that moment, that our paths had crossed for a reason.
I was worried about her and how she would do. I put a lot of energy into our session. I wanted to reach out to her and see how she was progressing. But I knew I could not. That was not my place. I just had to hope I did enough. I had to hope she did the work.
A Month of Silence, Then a Hummingbird
The weeks that followed were filled with my usual routine of readings, consultations, and quiet contemplation. But Clara lingered in my thoughts. I often found myself wondering how she was doing, if the seeds of healing we had planted were taking root.
Then, one sunny afternoon, a month after our session, I received a message. It was from Clara.
“Marianne,” the message read, “I don’t even know where to begin. Everything has changed. I met someone. His name is Mark, and he’s… he’s incredible. He’s kind, and gentle, and he sees me, really sees me, flaws and all. We’re getting married.”
My heart soared. A wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over me. I read the message again, and again, a wide smile spreading across my face.
Attached to the message was a picture. Clara, radiant, her eyes sparkling with a happiness I hadn’t seen before, her arm wrapped around a tall, handsome man with a warm smile and eyes that mirrored her own joy. They looked… perfect together.
And then, another message.
“I know it’s sudden, but it feels so right. I wanted to invite you to the wedding. You helped me find my way to him, Marianne. You helped me heal. I wouldn’t be here, with him, without you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, tears of joy this time. This, this was why I did what I did. To witness such transformations, to be a small part of someone’s journey to happiness, it was the greatest reward imaginable.
As I sat there, basking in the afterglow of Clara’s message, I heard a faint buzzing sound outside my window. I looked up and saw a hummingbird, its tiny wings a blur of motion, hovering near the jasmine blossoms. It hovered there for a moment, its iridescent feathers shimmering in the sunlight, before darting away, disappearing into the vast blue sky.
In many cultures, hummingbirds are seen as symbols of joy, resilience, and the ability to overcome hardship. They are messengers of hope, reminding us that even after the darkest storms, there is always light to be found.
Seeing that hummingbird, right after receiving Clara’s message, felt like a sign, a confirmation that everything was as it should be. Clara had found her light, her joy, her hummingbird. And I, in my own small way, had helped her find her wings.
The Wedding
The wedding was held a few months later, in a beautiful garden overlooking the ocean. It was a small, intimate affair, filled with close friends and family. Clara, in a simple but elegant white dress, looked absolutely breathtaking. The sadness that had once clouded her eyes was gone, replaced by a radiant glow that lit up the entire garden.
Mark, her groom, was everything she had described and more. He looked at Clara with such adoration, such tenderness, that it brought tears to my eyes. It was clear that they were deeply, madly in love.
As I watched them exchange vows, their voices filled with emotion, their hands clasped tightly together, I felt a profound sense of peace. Clara had not only found love, but she had also found herself. She had faced her demons, healed her wounds, and emerged stronger, more beautiful, and more whole than ever before.
During the reception, Clara came over to me, her eyes shining.
“Thank you,” she whispered, giving me a warm hug. “Thank you for everything.”
“You did all the hard work, Clara,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I just helped you find the strength within yourself.”
“You gave me the key,” she said, “the key to unlock my heart.”
Mark joined us then, putting his arm around Clara. He smiled at me, a genuine, heartfelt smile.
“She’s told me all about you,” he said. “Thank you for helping her find her way to me.”
“It was my honor,” I replied, feeling a warmth spread through my chest.
We talked for a while longer, about their plans for the future, about the honeymoon they were taking to a remote island, about the life they were building together. It was clear that they were on the threshold of a beautiful new chapter, a chapter filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.
As the evening drew to a close, and the guests began to depart, I found myself standing alone for a moment, gazing out at the ocean. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple. It was a breathtaking sight, a perfect ending to a perfect day.
I thought about Clara, about her journey, about the hummingbird. I thought about all the people I had helped over the years, and all the people I would help in the future. It was a humbling thought, a reminder of the power of healing, the power of connection, the power of the human spirit to overcome even the most daunting obstacles.
Being a psychic isn’t always easy. It’s a lonely path, often misunderstood, sometimes even feared. But moments like these, moments of pure, unadulterated joy, make it all worthwhile.
As I walked away from the garden, leaving the happy couple to their new life, I knew that Clara’s story was far from over. It was just beginning. And I, Marianne, the psychic who saw the shadows and helped her find the light, would be forever grateful to have been a small part of it. The hummingbird had taken flight, and its song filled the air with a melody of hope, a testament to the enduring power of love and the resilience of the human heart. And in my own heart, a quiet joy bloomed, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always light to be found, if only you know where to look. This is just the beginning of Clara's new life. I am sure she will be happy. I am happy that I could be a small part of helping her find her happiness.