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Adventures of a Suburban Mystic: A True Story of Spiritual Transformation and Supernatural Encounters

by Lyn Halper Ph.D.

279 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0196; ISBN 1-55212-531-9; US$19.96, C$22.95, EUR16.39, £11.48

Nothing ever happens in the suburbs, right? Guess again!

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Strange predictions, psychic children, spirit guides, Voodoo and parapsychology, alternate realities, a woman compelled by her vision to find a little girl. All these play a part in the stunning true story of a suburban psychologist who seeks to unravel the secrets of the spiritual Path - regardless of the cost. As she searches for answers to the riddles of life, destiny, good and evil, she encounters a Native American storyteller, a Jamaican shaman, a martial arts master, a Buddhist monk, and others who share their Wisdom and their stories of the occult. Here you'll find the Light and the Dark side of mysticism presented with honesty and stark realism. Different and provocative, this metaphysical journey takes a surprising turn, so hold onto your hat, and let's go! Review from Simegen.com. Reviewed by Shari Brennan. Lyn Halper welcomes you to join her in a journey of spiritual discovery. Halper's normal life as a clinical psychologist, wife and mother is thrown into chaos when she comes down with an unexplainable illness. That illness sends her looking for alternative treatments and so she finds herself at the door of a psychic. That meeting changes her life and she begins to see the world and the universe with new eyes. Halper uses wonderful description to explain everything that happens to her. You will feel like you are right there with her. Travel with her as she works with her spiritual teacher and deals with astounding psychic and spiritual events. The more she learns, the more questions she wants answered. The quest for knowledge takes Halper's journey into many different kinds of spiritual philosophies. Paranormal, Voodoo, American Indian, Tibetan and Buddhism are just some of the spiritual stops Halper makes. Each has its own unique merits that are worth exploring. She also explores how psychic abilities are seen more often in children today and how parents need to be aware of that so they can help them. The last few chapters take a look at UFOlogy. Halper explores how UFOlogy fits into her spiritual path and what its implications are for the Earth. Do not overlook the appendix. It has some interesting facts regarding UFOlogy. If you are curious about different spiritual beliefs and practices, then this book is for you. Halper looks at these different paths as someone approaching them for the first time just as she did. As a result, it makes it easy for a newcomer to follow each experience. The book appeals to many different readers since she is exploring these spiritual paths as a psychologist. As a result, she offers insights that someone else may have missed.

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About the Author Lyn Halper, Ph.D. is a transpersonal psychologist and a professor of Religious Studies at Rockland Community College of the State University of New York. She has done research in experimental parapsychology and extensive field work with mystics, holy men, and psychics. Her articles have appeared in scholarly journals and in Fate magazine. She is presently completing a book based on interview material with mystics representing many different religious and spiritual backgrounds. Married and the mother of three, she lives in the suburbs of New York with her husband and thirteen-year-old daughter.

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from Chapter I - Basement Psychic

     It was the summer of '84 when I set out to find the house of Ian Generis, a psychic I'd heard about from a neighbor who dabbled in the occult. I didn't have far to go, a twenty minute drive would take me to the back streets of Tuckahoe, a little trainstop of a town just south of the more affluent suburban neighborhoods. I drove slowly with the windows down, noticing a hot sirocco-like wind coming in, tingeing everything with a hint of the surreal. Leaving the highway, the larger, imposing residences gave way to the small, close-together clapboards that one sees on the main streets of industrial towns. I glanced at the address I had written and turned onto Fielding Lane, a street of wooden row houses, cement sidewalks and pocket-sized yards. Parking in front of number twenty-five, I locked my car, and took a moment to look over my surroundings.
     The shingled four-square had a lop-sided roof and an old metal fence with a hinged gate that protected a small patch of grass in the front. There was a covered porch with metal motel chairs leaning against the rail and a bowl that said "Kitty "next to the front door. A corner of the backyard was strewn with cardboard boxes, rubber tires, pieces of clay pots and strips of plywood. The remnants of a pigeon coop lay on its side.
     I started to walk, then hesitated. There were still a few minutes before my scheduled appointment,I could use the time to think - or, turn around and go back. What would I tell this man, anyway? That a year ago I was perfectly happy with my life as wife and mother, and with my career as a psychologist in private practice. How, seemingly, out of nowhere came a debilitating illness beginning with bizarre allergic reactions, then progressing to fevers and infections that were becoming more serious and more frequent. Conventional and alternative medicine had failed; my options were closing down. It was frightening, and more than that - painful to see the sadness in the eyes of my husband and two young sons.
     My family. I reached into my bag and took out the photo that I carried with me. There was Philip, devoted, strong, dependable, the kind of husband I'd always envisioned as the father of my children. And our boys; William, handsome and serious at fifteen; his hands resting gently on the shoulders of his younger brother. Max, freckles and fly-away red hair, was a dynamo of ten year old energy. Both boys were a source of perpetual delight to us with their curiosity and passion for life.
     It suddenly seemed ridiculous to think a psychic could help. I reached for the car door, but was stopped by the unexpected sight of a figure standing near a side gate. He stood just under six feet, solid body clothed in army fatigues, head and face overshadowed by a wild mane of blond hair and beard. His shirt was partly unbuttoned revealing a silver Greek cross on a black cord around his neck. He appeared to be looking in my direction, though, to closer observation, I could see that his eyes were defocused, glassing him in to some interior terrain.
     I moved slightly, and he looked up with a sort of brooding force. We stood this way for a while, as if suspended in time. I decided to speak, partly to ease the tension, curious to see how he would react.
     "Are you Ian?"
     "Yes." His voice, strong, modulated.
     "I 'm Lyn - Felicia's friend."
     "Yes. I know. Come on," he said, nodding toward the yard, "Let 's go inside." I followed him, trying to picture my sedate neighbor, Felicia, coming to this place for esoteric lessons. We went around to the back of the house, stepping on pieces of cracked slate that led to a screened door. "Better hold on," he said,"the lighting isn't very good here." I nodded, descending the stairs carefully, the sunshine remaining at my back as though barred from entering the premises.
     The staircase ended abruptly in a narrow cellar, cement floor and walls, a single ray of light filtering through a casement window. In the corner of the L-shaped space stood an old sink piled high with dirty dishes, a dilapidated maroon couch and club chair huddled together in the opposite corner, a pungent incense permeated the closed-in space.
     He motioned to the couch, while seating himself in the chair. I eased myself onto the torn cushions, only to sink slowly to the floor with the old coils. So, I thought, this is how a "ten" lives.
     "I haven't had a chance to fix it up," he said,"It's my mother's house and I'm just here for a while. It can be humbling to live in a basement, a good soul-lesson."
     I looked around, smiled politely.
     His eyes took on a knowing expression,"What did Felicia tell you about me?"
     "She said that as psychic's go, you're a 'ten.'"
     He laughed, "Felicia is a wonderful old soul, and a serious student, too. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, drew heavily. "Just one of my vices. I 'm not perfect, not even close! I struggle along like everyone else. The difference between me and an ordinary person is that I can see the Lessons before they come and can prepare myself. Most others can't read the signals and run headlong into a brick wall. K'booom!" He slammed his fist into his hand. I nodded, trying to adjust my position on the couch, the coils complaining beneath me.
     "So, what brings you here?" Smoke rings ascended as the sound of a metallic button brought music, soft and ethereal.
     "I need to know why certain things are happening in my life." My voice had the strange, spindly timbre of ill health.
     He chuckled, "Oh, I was wondering why I brought this thing out of storage this morning. Now I see - it's for you...that breathing thing."
     Startled. Had Felicia told him? She wouldn't have - not her way.
     Now, he gazed at a point just over my head, "You've been having a rough time, yah, but you've been prepared for this...a lot of guidance started coming in for you ....I'd say about ten years ago. Now, that's important because if you hadn't followed those promptings - to go out of the nest and educate yourself - you'd have been walking around the Complete Victim.
     "I'm the complete victim now," I answered, watching the cylinder of smoke rise from his cigarette, open into petals, disappear.
     "You think this is bad, I know. Believe me, it can get much worse. You're uncomfortable, but more scared than anything else. None of this is meant to destroy you -only to do whatever's necessary to get your attention - and that'll be whatever it takes. It's that brick wall. You get prodded once, twice...then if you still don't act..." driving his fist into his hand softly, smiling.
     Act? In what way? The muscles in my body were settling into the cushion, and this time, I let them. Despite its poorness, there was something soothing about the room. The man's voice had a gentle resonance, and the dim lights and music were having a hypnotic effect, despite my inclination to resist.
     Suddenly, he began to gasp, his features twisted, wrenched with spasms of loud sniffing and gulping breaths. I stared at him, not knowing what to expect.
     "Yes," he hissed,"I can feel it when I become you - extreme reactions in the respiratory tract, extending from the lower ribcage, out to the shoulders and to the bridge of the nose - it's in the shape of a shield, and...you are a warrior. It's pressing down, making it difficult to breath, forcing you to get behind it. The message: don't run....to internists, allergists, homeopaths, acupuncturists......this is.....a consciousness-changing factor. Something is trying to show you the bigger picture."
     I narrowed my eyes, trying to distinguish his features in the dreary light. He had correctly named every type of practitioner I had visited, and in the order I had seen them.
     His eyes were clear now, twinkling. "Not sure what to think, are you?" He bent over, scooped a small white cat peeking out from under his chair, nestled her against his chest.

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Catalogue Information

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