Channeling Erik®
  • Proof in the spirit world
  • November19th2012


    Before we begin today’s exciting topic, I want to share a couple of stories. The other day I was sitting outside with my sister, Laura, reminiscing about our mother who died this past summer. A few months ago, blog member and medium, Robert, told us that she would come to visit us as a butterfly. Sure enough, along came one with rather tattered wings flying around my head. It settled on the chair next to me and sat there for a long, long time. Even when I touched it and cupped it in my hand, it didn’t fly away. Then after several minutes it circled around my head and came to rest on my shoulder. We told her we loved her, thanked her for her company, and she flew away. What a wonderful visit that was. Butterflies that appear after death do have symbolism: They are a message that indeed there is life after death. I find this very comforting, because this means that my mother, an former atheist, was trying to communicate to us that she was wrong (and probably very happily so.)

    Here’s another amazing story. My son-in-law has had persistent groin pain for the past 5 years. We thought it might be a hernia but of course, being the modest man that he is, he refused all offers to check from the plethora of doctors in our family. Months go by. Then Friday I ask Erik what the cause of his pain is and he told me it was a problem with the gracilis muscle where it inserts into the pelvis. Really? Really? How in the hell would Erik know about this thin little muscle? I venture to say most physicians don’t know about it. Erik also recommended he go to someone who does myofascial release work and he did just that the next day. The diagnosis was confirmed and the result of his initial treatment was amazing. Dr. Erik. Jack of all trades. No malpractice insurance required.

    I also would like to make a request. Those of you who attended the San Diego conference, if you haven’t already done so, please write a testimonial and email it to me ( Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to be a novel. I also would love those of you who have participated in the grieving parents call to share their feedback as well, because I truly think it’s healing to communicate with deceased sons and daughters. Perhaps your words would be just the encouragement they’d need to take that leap of faith.

    Today I have something very special for you. Cindy and Kent (, two special attendees from the San Diego event, recorded the entire weekend. This recording, as you will soon see, has forever changed my life and for that I am forever grateful to them. In the recording, Jamie trance channeling spirit, Grace, who died over 100 years ago. Her “job” is to guide other spirits in designing their life plan before reincarnating, and during the San Diego event, most of us asked her just what we are here to do. In order for you to see how clearly different Jamie’s voice is from Grace’s, I’d like you to listen to Jamie channeling Jack the Ripper for a few minutes. Even if you’ve already listened to this YouTube in the past, refreshing your memory is crucial here.

    Now listen to Jamie’s voice as she trance channels Grace (who also likes to be called Gracie). Not only is her British accent impeccable, the voice is that of a more matronly woman rather than Jamie’s  high-pitched girlie voice. (Erik often complains about that.)

    Since this is not a video, I also need to point out that midway through the recording my sister, Laura, and I break down when Gracie describes us as survivors who have chosen a life full of hardship. At that point she and I fall into each other’s arms and begin to sob. We have had lives that have been full of more grief, more tragedy and more suffering than most people know. Especially Laura. I’ve never shared the particulars with any of you. Then, on Gracie’s cue, the entire room of my newfound friends came to give us hugs. A giant ball of hugs. Words cannot possibly express the feelings coursing through that room and through my heart. Please click on the link below so that the mp3 will download to your desktop. Listen and be forever changed.

    This conversation with Gracie had another effect. It removed that 1% doubt that that my lifelong skepticism created. Gone forever. Even the seemly indisputable pranks and physical manifestations were not capable of erasing that tiny, nagging bit of uncertainty. Jamie is clearly trance channeling an entity from the spirit world. That means she’s really trance channeling Erik. Those hugs are real. Erik is alive. Alive. You’re deceased loved ones are alive also. They’re not gone forever. They’re not. I still cry with joy, and I want you to as well.

  • July13th2012


    Hello Channeling Erik family members. I miss you all as well as the healing effect posting on the blog has for me. My father is still very ill and my sister, Laura, and I are keeping vigil.Along with our husbands, we’ve moved into my parent’s house to tend to him as he is bedridden.

    To make matters worse, my mother was transferred home under hospice two days ago because, while in the nursing home where she was undergoing rehabilitation after the surgery for her hip fracture, she suffered what seems to have been a small pulmonary embolus. From the physical signs, she appears to have severe deep venous thrombosis in both legs and in her abdomen, so the probability that she’d have another, more severe episode is very high. In fact, as we speaks she’s poorly responsive and moaning because of chest pain. We’ll see if this is a false alarm or not.

    Now for brighter news: Erik seems to have been very busy. World renown explorer of afterlife evidence, Victor Zammit, shared with me and account of our boy’s visit to Germany. To find out more, click on the link below. I also encourage everyone who hasn’t already done so to subscribe to Victor’s Friday Afterlife Reports. They’re amazing as is he. (Notice the medium’s messy hair. You’ll get it when you read what Erik says.)

    Thank you, Victor.

  • May15th2012


    First of all, I want to thank everyone for their warm wishes and flattering comments for my daughter, Kristina and her new husband, Houston Braly. They’re on a short honeymoon in Paris and the French Riviera where the weather is now gorgeous probably having the time of their lives.

    Second, I sent all of your tributes to Jamie on Mother’s Day and she was beyond touched. What a beautiful gift you all have given her–well-deserved and incredibly poignant. I’m sure it tugged on some heartstrings. So, again, thank you so much.

    Third, Betty Daniel, along with Erik, has published Part Two of their novel, Second Chances. If you’d like a free copy, you can email her at Be sure you don’t put an “s” after daniel. That was a common mistake when she offered Part One. Also, make certain you specify whether you want Part One, Part Two or both. Thanks, Betty and Erik!

    Okay, finally to the main event today: Blog member, Michael M. sent me the most exciting link yesterday: proof that things are shifting in the right direction!

    Last, I feel compelled to share a bit more on what you all have written about what Erik means to you. I guess I’m missing him. It was hard not having him in the physical to see his big sister walk down the aisle and to share Mother’s Day with me. :(

    This is for you, Sweetie:

    Erik has given me Faith… does that even make sense? Erik has shown me Love.  Because of (you and) Erik I now can face death (others and eventually mine) with new acceptance.

    Thank you!


    Love, Sachi



    Thank you for sharing your most personal, precious and often heartbreaking experiences with everyone in order for us all to learn and grow from them. 

    I am mom to three teenagers and my youngest son’s name is Erik too!  I love and appreciate Erik’s young, fresh, honest perspective and his patience, willingness and availability to answer our questions about the aferlife as well as questions about our loved ones and the lives we are living now.  Erik is so joyful and the information he relates makes sense, it has the ring of truth, being consistent with other related material I’ve read.

    I think I saw Erik one night as I was coming out of a nap in my chair with the TV on.  I only saw his torso down.  He had his hands in his jean pockets and was wearing a red and blue checkered shirt.  just had the thought that it was him.

    I told my daughter about him and warned her that he may prank her sometime, just to give her a “heads-up”!

    The work you, Erik and Jamie are doing is truly wonderful, bringing enlightenment, hope and peace to so many.

    Thanks so much for everything!  I don’t mind if you use my name.



    You and Erik helped me with an issue that was eating me inside, terrible and embarrasing as it was… and didn`t judge me. For that I`ll always thank you both.



    I’m so glad you asked this question. Erik has actually been there for me when I needed him. When I lost my soulmate – accidental suicide OD- I was devastated. I stumbled upon this site and have never left since. That was 20 months ago. I prayed that Erik would somehow let me know this was an accident, my love was safe. I grew up with so many misconceptions about suicide and how you never make it to a peaceful afterlife. You wouldn’t believe the messages and signs I received. I talked to a physic- she said my love was with another man, someone helping him and not to worry. Everything was explained and made sense. I met Erik in a dream, sweet, concerned look on his face for me and very busy. He was moving and had a mess on his hands. I begged Erik to help my love manifest in a dream. At last, I had my last goodbye- a wonderful kiss – so real from my love. At last, closure thanks to your wonderful, heavy-hearted boy. Thank you Erik. I love you my Raymond forever.


  • March10th2012


    Enjoy Part One of this YouTube series with Peter Russell. I encourage to to watch Part Two and Three as well!

    Peter Russell is a fellow of the Institute of Noetic Sciences, of The World Business Academy and of The Findhorn Foundation, and an Honorary Member of The Club of Budapest. At Cambridge University (UK), he studied mathematics and theoretical physics. Then, as he became increasingly fascinated by the mysteries of the human mind he changed to experimental psychology. In this video he talks about the inability of science to explain consciousness.

    Don’t forget to reserve your spot for the small group phone session with Erik and Jamie scheduled for Thursday 12:15 Central Time! Here’s the link:

  • January22nd2012


    This is perhaps the most uncanny display of synchronicity of Victor Zammit’s multi-part series on afterlife evidence, because in my last channeling session with Erik, he shared that we will soon find an infinite source of energy in what’s known as the zero point field. He also said that the information on how to harness that energy will come from other beings. This energy source, I believe, is why scarcity is truly an illusion and why thought can create reality everywhere and so instantaneously in the afterlife. Please enjoy.

    For those signed up for tomorrow’s conference call, expect the phone number, access code and instructions from Jamie shortly!

  • January9th2012


    Blog member, Libby, shared her amazing Erik story with me, and it brought such immeasurable joy. After all I’ve been through, I’m still floored by confirmations like these. Perhaps I need to have a bit more faith and let go of that last thin thread of doubt. But how? Here is her Facebook message to me.

    Happy New Year!! I went to see a medium over the Holidays and wanted to shAre my joy with you. My mother came through loud and clear and funny as ever;) There were so many folks clamoring to talk the medium had to center herself again half way thru the session and ask the folks to please – one at a time – hahaha! She let me ask questions at the end of the session and I asked if my friend Erik stopped by. She asked him the name of a living person connected to him so she knew it was him – he said Michelle:) She said he is a bit of a rebel and loves music – in fact he’s hanging out with a bunch of musicians. She also mentioned that he had taken drugs as a means of escape in his life prior to his suicide. He said he knew I had Tarot cards and I should use them, could do this on the side:) His energy was making the medium a little woozy so I didn’t press for anything more from Erik.

    The thing is I didn’t tell her anything about Erik – in fact I called him my friend and didn’t even think about that until later. Erik is the only friend I have that became my friend after his passing – and that is because of you and the beautiful blog community you’ve created.

    Thank you Elisa and Erik – I am most grateful!!

     Love & Light XXOO – Elizabeth Schrader

    The medium is a gal named Glennie Turner and she lives in Atchison Kansas. Please do post it on the blog and you can use my name:) It never even dawned on me to mention I didn’t get the chance to know Erik in life – because I feel like I know him so well and that is because of your wonderful blog and all that the two of you have shared.

    XXOO Elizabeth

    Be sure you email me if you’re coming to the Austin event. One of the main things Erik will teach us, besides pranking us and answers our individual questions, is how to channel our deceased loved ones and guides. Again, this should be a life changing weekend for all of us and a chance to meet lifelong friends.
    If you haven’t nominated CE and my daughter’s blog ( yet for the Bloggies and if you think it’s made a positive impact on you and others, please do. Karma is a bitch. (heehee) Plus, you don’t want Erik to prank you until you cry uncle! Just click on the big fat yellow star to the right and follow the directions.
    Love you all!
  • December12th2011


    One of our blog members floated a great idea: making an iPad/iPhone app for the Channeling Erik blog. Just think how exciting it would be to offer it on iTunes and the app store for free! The audiences it could reach. Wow. Do any of you know how something like that is done? Is there a service we could use?

    And now, enjoy blog member, Richard’s funny (and typical) Erik experience:

    First of all I would like to say thank you, not just from me but also from the whole world. You are making a difference. The reason I wanted to run this story by you first is because there is an aspect in the story that has to do with (with out any easier way to say it has to do with fecal matter and I would not want to gross anybody out).  In January of 2010 my father died at the age of 55 of colon cancer that metastisized to his liver. To fight the colon cancer he had to have most of his small intestine removed, and because you are a Doctor you would probably know that fecal matter stays a liquid until the small intestine and it has a very strong smell to it.  With the background out of the way I want to get into my Erik story. I either read in one of the blogs or it may have been one of the readings live over the Internet, anyway I heard Erik say would visit all the bloggers. So that night I tried to sign up as a blogger and some kind of problem and it didn’t work, so I tried again.  After the second failed attempt I heard someone laughing very hard (the kind of laughter one might imagine seeing someone bent over with tears running their face). Then the voice said you really f**ked that up didn’t you, but not to worry he has had his eye on me and knew my intention. I was kind of caught off guard at this so I asked if it really was Erik and not my imagination. Then he said don’t worry you’re not crazy and to prove it the next time he comes by he will bring someone with him. So a few days later I was feeding my kids and heard the same voice say I’m back then I smelt the unforgettable smell that I would smell while changing my dads colostomy bag. I was in a room full of people but I was the only one who smelt it and it was extremely strong. Then Erik started laughing again then said leave it to someone who has a degree in a computer field not being able to do something as easy as creating an account at a blog site. Then he said you better hop because he has the ok to bug me relentlessly until I do.

    And for a special treat, blog member and channel Robert, wrote the following poem depicting the power of subtlety. Savor and select on every stanza, because each is as delicious as a bite of homemade key lime pie. Damn, I’m hungry now.


     true wisdom

    is expressed

    in the micro,

    the unseen overshadowed

    by the overt.

    it is in

    the single blade of grass,


    amongst the obvious beauty

    of the pasture.

    the real lives

    in the lone snowflake,

    whose crystalline crevices

    unite with its own kind

    to blanket the Earth

    with a powder of wonder.

    true treasure

    surrounds us

    in the singular space,

    silently beckoning

    to be noticed.

    it is in the

     delicate gaze,

    gone in an instant,

    yet unyielding

    in the shrouded meanings

    left rippling softly

    on the surface.

    truth resides

    in the brief curl

    of his mouth,

    transformed by momentum

    as it builds and crescendos

    into the unmistakable symbol

    of adoration.

    this language

    speaks loudly,

    if one chooses

    to listen.

    true power

    is expressed

    in the minute places

    of Our experience.

    it hides

    in plain sight

    and brightens the Light

    of the macro.

    to see the face

    of All That Is,

    look past the conspicuous.

    for it is in the subtle

    where  answers

    are found.

    robert f. burke

    december 4, 2011

    Takes one’s breath away, doesn’t?

  • November12th2011


    Many of you have asked about IADC, induced after death communication. Developed by Dr. Al Botkin, it’s based on EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing). EMDR uses bilateral stimulation, reproducing REM sleep with horizontal eye movements to treat post traumatic stress disorder. Purely by accident, Botkin discovered that during EMDR sessions, some of his patients communicated physically with their deceased loved ones in the afterlife. Once they were able to see, hug and speak to them, their grief greatly decreased or disappeared altogether.

    I plan to undergo IADC soon. In fact, I’ve asked Graham Maxey, Dr. Botkin’s righthand man, to come to Austin during our event in March so we can learn a bit more about IADC and so that some of you can possibly experience this miracle yourself.

    Enjoy these two videos.

  • October31st2011


    A Sister’s Eulogy for Steve Jobs. You must read the last bit and share what you believe he saw! I believe he saw evidence of the afterlife. Maybe this is truly the effect his death was supposed to have on the world. What an amazing man.


    Published: October 30, 2011

    I grew up as an only child, with a single mother. Because we were poor and because I knew my father had emigrated from Syria, I imagined he looked like Omar Sharif. I hoped he would be rich and kind and would come into our lives (and our not yet furnished apartment) and help us. Later, after I’d met my father, I tried to believe he’d changed his number and left no forwarding address because he was an idealistic revolutionary, plotting a new world for the Arab people.

    Even as a feminist, my whole life I’d been waiting for a man to love, who could love me. For decades, I’d thought that man would be my father. When I was 25, I met that man and he was my brother.

    By then, I lived in New York, where I was trying to write my first novel. I had a job at a small magazine in an office the size of a closet, with three other aspiring writers. When one day a lawyer called me — me, the middle-class girl from California who hassled the boss to buy us health insurance — and said his client was rich and famous and was my long-lost brother, the young editors went wild. This was 1985 and we worked at a cutting-edge literary magazine, but I’d fallen into the plot of a Dickens novel and really, we all loved those best. The lawyer refused to tell me my brother’s name and my colleagues started a betting pool. The leading candidate: John Travolta. I secretly hoped for a literary descendant of Henry James — someone more talented than I, someone brilliant without even trying.

    When I met Steve, he was a guy my age in jeans, Arab- or Jewish-looking and handsomer than Omar Sharif.

    We took a long walk — something, it happened, that we both liked to do. I don’t remember much of what we said that first day, only that he felt like someone I’d pick to be a friend. He explained that he worked in computers.

    I didn’t know much about computers. I still worked on a manual Olivetti typewriter.

    I told Steve I’d recently considered my first purchase of a computer: something called the Cromemco.

    Steve told me it was a good thing I’d waited. He said he was making something that was going to be insanely beautiful.

    I want to tell you a few things I learned from Steve, during three distinct periods, over the 27 years I knew him. They’re not periods of years, but of states of being. His full life. His illness. His dying.

    Steve worked at what he loved. He worked really hard. Every day.

    That’s incredibly simple, but true.

    He was the opposite of absent-minded.

    He was never embarrassed about working hard, even if the results were failures. If someone as smart as Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit trying, maybe I didn’t have to be.

    When he got kicked out of Apple, things were painful. He told me about a dinner at which 500 Silicon Valley leaders met the then-sitting president. Steve hadn’t been invited.

    He was hurt but he still went to work at Next. Every single day.

    Novelty was not Steve’s highest value. Beauty was.

    For an innovator, Steve was remarkably loyal. If he loved a shirt, he’d order 10 or 100 of them. In the Palo Alto house, there are probably enough black cotton turtlenecks for everyone in this church.

    He didn’t favor trends or gimmicks. He liked people his own age.

    His philosophy of aesthetics reminds me of a quote that went something like this: “Fashion is what seems beautiful now but looks ugly later; art can be ugly at first but it becomes beautiful later.”

    Steve always aspired to make beautiful later.

    He was willing to be misunderstood.

    Uninvited to the ball, he drove the third or fourth iteration of his same black sports car to Next, where he and his team were quietly inventing the platform on which Tim Berners-Lee would write the program for the World Wide Web.

    Steve was like a girl in the amount of time he spent talking about love. Love was his supreme virtue, his god of gods. He tracked and worried about the romantic lives of the people working with him.

    Whenever he saw a man he thought a woman might find dashing, he called out, “Hey are you single? Do you wanna come to dinner with my sister?”

    I remember when he phoned the day he met Laurene. “There’s this beautiful woman and she’s really smart and she has this dog and I’m going to marry her.”

    When Reed was born, he began gushing and never stopped. He was a physical dad, with each of his children. He fretted over Lisa’s boyfriends and Erin’s travel and skirt lengths and Eve’s safety around the horses she adored.

    None of us who attended Reed’s graduation party will ever forget the scene of Reed and Steve slow dancing.

    His abiding love for Laurene sustained him. He believed that love happened all the time, everywhere. In that most important way, Steve was never ironic, never cynical, never pessimistic. I try to learn from that, still.

    Steve had been successful at a young age, and he felt that had isolated him. Most of the choices he made from the time I knew him were designed to dissolve the walls around him. A middle-class boy from Los Altos, he fell in love with a middle-class girl from New Jersey. It was important to both of them to raise Lisa, Reed, Erin and Eve as grounded, normal children. Their house didn’t intimidate with art or polish; in fact, for many of the first years I knew Steve and Lo together, dinner was served on the grass, and sometimes consisted of just one vegetable. Lots of that one vegetable. But one. Broccoli. In season. Simply prepared. With the just the right, recently snipped, herb.

    Even as a young millionaire, Steve always picked me up at the airport. He’d be standing there in his jeans.

    When a family member called him at work, his secretary Linetta answered, “Your dad’s in a meeting. Would you like me to interrupt him?”

    When Reed insisted on dressing up as a witch every Halloween, Steve, Laurene, Erin and Eve all went wiccan.

    They once embarked on a kitchen remodel; it took years. They cooked on a hotplate in the garage. The Pixar building, under construction during the same period, finished in half the time. And that was it for the Palo Alto house. The bathrooms stayed old. But — and this was a crucial distinction — it had been a great house to start with; Steve saw to that.

    This is not to say that he didn’t enjoy his success: he enjoyed his success a lot, just minus a few zeros. He told me how much he loved going to the Palo Alto bike store and gleefully realizing he could afford to buy the best bike there.

    And he did.

    Steve was humble. Steve liked to keep learning.

    Once, he told me if he’d grown up differently, he might have become a mathematician. He spoke reverently about colleges and loved walking around the Stanford campus. In the last year of his life, he studied a book of paintings by Mark Rothko, an artist he hadn’t known about before, thinking of what could inspire people on the walls of a future Apple campus.

    Steve cultivated whimsy. What other C.E.O. knows the history of English and Chinese tea roses and has a favorite David Austin rose?

    He had surprises tucked in all his pockets. I’ll venture that Laurene will discover treats — songs he loved, a poem he cut out and put in a drawer — even after 20 years of an exceptionally close marriage. I spoke to him every other day or so, but when I opened The New York Times and saw a feature on the company’s patents, I was still surprised and delighted to see a sketch for a perfect staircase.

    With his four children, with his wife, with all of us, Steve had a lot of fun.

    He treasured happiness.

    Then, Steve became ill and we watched his life compress into a smaller circle. Once, he’d loved walking through Paris. He’d discovered a small handmade soba shop in Kyoto. He downhill skied gracefully. He cross-country skied clumsily. No more.

    Eventually, even ordinary pleasures, like a good peach, no longer appealed to him.

    Yet, what amazed me, and what I learned from his illness, was how much was still left after so much had been taken away.

    I remember my brother learning to walk again, with a chair. After his liver transplant, once a day he would get up on legs that seemed too thin to bear him, arms pitched to the chair back. He’d push that chair down the Memphis hospital corridor towards the nursing station and then he’d sit down on the chair, rest, turn around and walk back again. He counted his steps and, each day, pressed a little farther.

    Laurene got down on her knees and looked into his eyes.

    “You can do this, Steve,” she said. His eyes widened. His lips pressed into each other.

    He tried. He always, always tried, and always with love at the core of that effort. He was an intensely emotional man.

    I realized during that terrifying time that Steve was not enduring the pain for himself. He set destinations: his son Reed’s graduation from high school, his daughter Erin’s trip to Kyoto, the launching of a boat he was building on which he planned to take his family around the world and where he hoped he and Laurene would someday retire.

    Even ill, his taste, his discrimination and his judgment held. He went through 67 nurses before finding kindred spirits and then he completely trusted the three who stayed with him to the end. Tracy. Arturo. Elham.

    One time when Steve had contracted a tenacious pneumonia his doctor forbid everything — even ice. We were in a standard I.C.U. unit. Steve, who generally disliked cutting in line or dropping his own name, confessed that this once, he’d like to be treated a little specially.

    I told him: Steve, this is special treatment.

    He leaned over to me, and said: “I want it to be a little more special.”

    Intubated, when he couldn’t talk, he asked for a notepad. He sketched devices to hold an iPad in a hospital bed. He designed new fluid monitors and x-ray equipment. He redrew that not-quite-special-enough hospital unit. And every time his wife walked into the room, I watched his smile remake itself on his face.

    For the really big, big things, you have to trust me, he wrote on his sketchpad. He looked up. You have to.

    By that, he meant that we should disobey the doctors and give him a piece of ice.

    None of us knows for certain how long we’ll be here. On Steve’s better days, even in the last year, he embarked upon projects and elicited promises from his friends at Apple to finish them. Some boat builders in the Netherlands have a gorgeous stainless steel hull ready to be covered with the finishing wood. His three daughters remain unmarried, his two youngest still girls, and he’d wanted to walk them down the aisle as he’d walked me the day of my wedding.

    We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.

    I suppose it’s not quite accurate to call the death of someone who lived with cancer for years unexpected, but Steve’s death was unexpected for us.

    What I learned from my brother’s death was that character is essential: What he was, was how he died.

    Tuesday morning, he called me to ask me to hurry up to Palo Alto. His tone was affectionate, dear, loving, but like someone whose luggage was already strapped onto the vehicle, who was already on the beginning of his journey, even as he was sorry, truly deeply sorry, to be leaving us.

    He started his farewell and I stopped him. I said, “Wait. I’m coming. I’m in a taxi to the airport. I’ll be there.”

    “I’m telling you now because I’m afraid you won’t make it on time, honey.”

    When I arrived, he and his Laurene were joking together like partners who’d lived and worked together every day of their lives. He looked into his children’s eyes as if he couldn’t unlock his gaze.

    Until about 2 in the afternoon, his wife could rouse him, to talk to his friends from Apple.

    Then, after awhile, it was clear that he would no longer wake to us.

    His breathing changed. It became severe, deliberate, purposeful. I could feel him counting his steps again, pushing farther than before.

    This is what I learned: he was working at this, too. Death didn’t happen to Steve, he achieved it.

    He told me, when he was saying goodbye and telling me he was sorry, so sorry we wouldn’t be able to be old together as we’d always planned, that he was going to a better place.

    Dr. Fischer gave him a 50/50 chance of making it through the night.

    He made it through the night, Laurene next to him on the bed sometimes jerked up when there was a longer pause between his breaths. She and I looked at each other, then he would heave a deep breath and begin again.

    This had to be done. Even now, he had a stern, still handsome profile, the profile of an absolutist, a romantic. His breath indicated an arduous journey, some steep path, altitude.

    He seemed to be climbing.

    But with that will, that work ethic, that strength, there was also sweet Steve’s capacity for wonderment, the artist’s belief in the ideal, the still more beautiful later.

    Steve’s final words, hours earlier, were monosyllables, repeated three times.

    Before embarking, he’d looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life’s partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them.

    Steve’s final words were:


    Mona Simpson is a novelist and a professor of English at the University of California, Los Angeles. She delivered this eulogy for her brother, Steve Jobs, on Oct. 16 at his memorial service at the Memorial Church of Stanford University.

  • October30th2011


    Before you kick back on a lazy Sunday to watch these fascinating and comforting videos about life after death evidence, I’d like to make a quick announcement. The dates for the Channeling Erik Weekending of F#*&ing Enlightenment have been moved to March 2nd, 3rd and 4th. This is (probably) final. Jamie is spending nearly all of November teaching in Japan, but as soon as she returns, I’m sure she and Weedie will have details for me to share. Skeptics, hold on to your hats!

  • October15th2011


    Blog member, Dan, shared this two-part story about a family whose young daughter communicates from the afterlife in a crystal clear manner. I hope this lifts your spirits! Thanks, Dan!

    Part One:

    Part Two:

    Tonight at midnight is the deadline for the free channeling contest. I’ll announce the winner tomorrow morning!

    And now for a bit of fun. Knowing ourselves is crucial to spiritual growth, so, if you like, take one or both of these tests and gain a better understanding of who you really are.

  • August27th2011


    A few of announcements!

    1) The Ask Erik page is back! Since I’m still channeling celebrities for the book, I won’t be able to handle more than one submission per session, so if you have the financial ability to pay a psychic medium for a session, please do. This is mostly a charitable service Erik, Jamie and I provide for those in spiritual need who do not have the funds to seek the answers to important questions in their lives or to connect with deceased loved ones to help them get through the grieving process. It all comes out of my own pocket, and I’m happy to do it.

    2) I also welcome any questions that haven’t been asked yet about the afterlife, death, the human experience, the soul, and other spiritual issues. All members can ask these and use the Ask Erik page to do so.

    3) It looks like October is crazy busy in Austin, so Jamie is thinking about moving the event to January or February. I know the weather is usually great then. If you have any preferences or feedback, please let Jamie or me know!

    4) My question on the secession of Texas was just something fun for me, but some members made comments that were rude and personal. This is a blog open to sharing ideas, concerns, and love. Judgement has no place here. That’s the job of the universe. That said, anyone who hurls personal insults or cruel judgments my way will be blocked. I’ve given a great deal of myself here, and I expect civility in return.

    I was channeling Erik yesterday during my walk in the forest, as usual. This time, I took our 4 year-old chihuahua, Winnie, who thoroughly enjoys the experience. I asked Erik if Winnie could see him clearly, and he said, “Yes, but not as well as Peanut.” Peanut is our other chihuahua. I don’t take her on these walks because she’s very old. I asked why that was the case. Erik said, “Because she’s closer to crossing over, and she’s nearly blind so she’s not distracted as much by the 3-D reality.” He goes on to say, “Animals don’t fear death like humans do. For them, it’s as simple as walking through their pet doors. Religion and science have helped to make death this horrible thing when it’s really not. It’s just like going from one room to the next.”

    And now for one of my heroes, Deepak Chopra, on his views about life after death. I hope you find what he has to say as comforting and fascinating as I did!

    Part One:

    Part Two:

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