You know I’ve returned to reading about ESP, psychic phenomena and the like (I guess I never really left such reading but in fact am reading same more vigorously since Michael’s gift of the Time-Life series). [1] There have also been some interesting T.V. shows on the subjects (psychic detectives - or more aptly put - psychics who help solve crimes). It is hard to fathom the orthodox posture in such matters - and it is clearly the aloofness, and insensitivity of society that is limiting the growth of psychic abilities.

Certainly those with psychic ability (moi included) learn very early that such things are not discussed with certain people. In fact I feel that I have forgotten a great deal of what I knew as a child because of the years of suppressing (What? ESP or reincarnation?). Oh yes, I forgot reincarnation is verbatim also.

I do know that as a very young child I could “see” other people, other dimensions living, talking doing things, dressed in clothes of other centuries at the same time as I existed with my people, our talk, our times. The only thing that seemed curious to me was that we were able to exist in the same time and space and not disturb one another ... not infringed on one another, and pursue our own courses relatively unaware of one another. It was only when I was older did I become aware that Einstein had a theory that was what I already thought to be a fact - didn’t everyone already know about the other people, the other dimension [?]. I guess not if that’s what added to Einstein’s fame.

I know that my father was at least an intuitive person - I never heard him profess to being psychic - but he was sensitive and he opened my mind to reading about those many unexplained phenomena - “The Twilight Zone” far before Rod Serling ever became known. My mother professed to having psychic ability but didn’t discuss her “happenings” much. [2]

The psychic experience that seemed to disturb her most - that she shared with me - was the prediction of her own mother’s death. It seems that her mother had been in New York for (I think it was a goiter problem) health reasons - and was supposed to be released that day from the hospital. My mother was in Forest City playing cards at Cooley’s [3] with his daughters when she got a severe chill going down her spine - she looked at the clock and noted the time. The phone call came - her mother had passed away very unexpectedly and quickly. Yes, just at the minute she had noted on the clock.

I too have displayed that self same ability repeatedly. It isn’t the greatest aptitude but it is there. Psychic ability is both good and bad. But the overriding thing I have noticed about it is that one must be open and not pre-occupied to receive the most information. I find I must be totally uninvolved with myself and totally receptive to my environment - and at peace with one’s soul.

About predicting death - I think my first experience was my grandfather Isador Lublin (my father’s father). Although he had serious heart problems when I was younger - he stopped smoking, watched his diet and was leading a normal life and everybody had really stopped worrying about his health because he was doing so well. He had gone at least 2-3 years without any problems and was conscientious about his appointments with his heart specialist.

At any rate I was about 11-12 years of age when all of a sudden I got afraid - it was the kind of fear where your heart goes thump - and you feel like you’ve lost energy in your entire body but your nerve endings seem to tingle particularly at the tips of your fingers and ends of your toes. [4] I got an uncontrollable urge to go into my mother’s room and open the hassock there (which was something I wasn’t allowed to do). Scared, I tiptoed into her room and quietly opened the hassock - I had never done that before - and under a couple sweaters and a blanket I found a framed picture of my grandfather. I took it out and stared at it like I had never seen it before and yes I was almost mesmerized - which was a very unusual reaction - all this time it was like time was standing still. I was so enveloped in whatever was happening that when the phone rang I jumped 3 feet.

I remember being scared as I picked up the phone knowing full well that my mother was picking up the phone downstairs at the same time. I held my breath as I heard my Uncle Harry’s voice say, “Hannah, this is Harry. Dad just died.” [5]

There is a postscript to this story. About 6 months to a year after my grandfather passed way, I was running down the stairs from my bedroom into the living room when I realized I had passed my grandfather sitting in his favorite chair. He appeared white, smoky, transparent [as] an apparition, just like you see in the movies, but he was comfortable and relaxed. When I realized he was there I turned to talk to him (just in the same manner as I normally would because it didn’t occur to me he was dead or there was anything to fear - in fact I can remember being quite comfortable with it! I was happy he was there. Anyway, when I turned to talk to him - he disappeared - poof!

I had forgotten ‘til now but there was also a period of time when Heather [6] was about 6 months to a year old when my grandmother talked to me because my grandfather kept appearing in her dreams and talking to her. I don’t remember the context but he had been coming to me in the same time period. I have not seen him since. Perhaps he is at rest since my grandmother joined him.

Unfortunately, although I have had other death experiences, the next most vivid was my mother’s. Even now as I write this I find myself holding my breath. Yes, she was sick with cancer and every night I went to bed listening to her breathing in the next room and praying that she would get through the night but the night she did die - I came home from school during the afternoon and visited with her as always but God help me - I did something I never did - I dawdled downstairs waiting for my father to come home because I was scared to death to go upstairs - I knew there was death going on upstairs and I was immobilized - I was scared to death to face it alone - it was as though I expected to go upstairs and find the black leering face of death.

Thankfully, my father came home and ran upstairs and saw she was in trouble and called her best friend who had been a nurse at one time and they called an ambulance. But it was death who won - but I knew death was going to win that day. His presence loomed too large that day to win the battle. January, 11th, 1961, He insisted on his rightful claim.

I was 17 and had many small ESP experiences over the years - forgotten in time. It is something like the philosophical question about a tree falling in a forest - with no one to hear it. If you don’t talk about it - if society doesn’t allow ESP as a topic of conversation - then by not verbalizing you forget - and it didn’t happen.

One of the things that always puzzled me was that my mother never returned to me. I know that after her death - I was extremely sensitized and was inordinately tuned to ESP - most of which I intentionally blocked after one particularly strange incident - that really frightened me - which I relate now.

One year after my mother died to the day (I was attending the Academy of Fine Arts by then) I was crossing through Rittenhouse Square [7] by myself; it was one of those strange nights that has a supernatural aura and lighting. The bare limbs of the trees appeared blacker, barren and more threatening than ever; and the wind was truly whistling through the Square. It was one of the rare nights I approached the Square with trepidation. I had walked no less than 50 feet on the sidewalk-way leading to the Center when I heard man’s voice repeatedly calling “Rebecca, Rebecca”, the way in which he called was haunting.

Now, you must realize that all my friends and family at that time called me Ricki, and the only one to call me Rebecca [was my father]. [8] Yet, the voice wasn’t his. Hesitantly, I continued to walk through the Square because I didn’t want to follow the walk to Chestnut Street where the voice was coming from. When I reached the other side of the Square there was a man sitting in a pink Cadillac just like my father’s - now, there were only a couple dusty rose Cadillacs with black convertible tops and black leather upholstery like that and here was a man sitting in this unusual car just like my father’s and calling me Rebecca.

For a second I thought maybe something is wrong and I’ve been sent for, but at the same time I realized that despite appearances this wasn’t our car. “I need to talk to you,” the man began. “How do you know my name?” I asked. “You just seemed to be Rebecca as I saw you walking. I knew that was your name,” he answered. That seemed particularly strange since it would be far more logical for a man to call any other common name - Susan, Laura, Sheila, etc. - if he were trying to pick someone up. But who would respond to Rebecca? In all my years I had known only two other Rebecca’s and both were cousins of mine. Certainly in all my years of school and other social activities I had never even casually bumped into another Rebecca. In fact, the first Rebecca I ever met other than them was a black nurse who began working for my O.B. Gyn, Dr. Kissler, in 1970. At any rate, I digress. And my point is made.

I was baffled and my curiosity was piqued. If he could know my name intuitively, what else could he know? I remember explaining the coincidence of car look-a-likes. He was a little skeptical until I told some hidden features in the car. As  remained on the sidewalk and he sat in the car,we talked.

He began to say things like, “I don’t know how I know this but ...” And he would say things about me, about my art, about my future. Both of us were baffled by his flow of knowledge about me. Neither he nor I knew from whence these insights came. But we spent about ¾ of an hour as this flow of consciousness came from him. We politely said good-bye and I headed to the Gilded Cage [9] where I was going to meet my friends.

Many of his predictions began to take place. One after one they happened and I noted at each occurrence that the man in the pink Cadillac had predicted them.

At the same time other things were happening, my subconscious was an open-receiver. I was able to know when anyone was ill, [or] going to have trouble. I would meet people and know all about them before they said one word. Also my paintings had become somewhat “other world” and when I had a one-man show at the Cage I was approached by a couple of people who claimed to be psychics who believed I was doing “automatic painting”; that was, they explained, like “automatic writing” in that I was guided by the “other world”. One of the people was a man who truly believed that I could “capture his spirit” with my spiritual paintings and was frantic in his hope that I would do his portrait so that others would know what his spirit would look like.

I decided - that is, made the decision - that things on the psychic plane were getting out of hand and that I didn’t have enough knowledge to handle them. Nor did I want to study this in-depth to learn what was going on. I was afraid of the path on which it would lead me. So I decided the prudent thing to do would be to block out my psychic experiences and I did so for some time, although I did miss the milder perceptions that had been a part of me my whole life.

Now, you should know that a psychic told me that the man in the pink Cadillac sounded to be a soul mate to whom there would be throughout millennium a psychic link, and with whom I might meet in various lives and various times. How true that is I don’t know - it’s just one explanation. I always thought a soul mate was someone you shared emotions with and who was emotionally linked to you. But there was no emotional link to the man I met - of that I am sure. It seemed more that he was a messenger.

Of the so-called “automatic paintings” there are only two remaining. [10] One is in the closet somewhere and it is only the beginning of a man falling through the door into the sky. I believe I stopped at the beginning because of all the aforementioned problems. So, the “other world” I intended to connote was not yet begun.

Someday, perhaps, I will return and show what was missing. It does seem a shame in a sense to return to it after it has been left vacant for so many years.

The other remaining piece from that period - Sheila and Billy [11] have it - is a self-portrait, and Sheila tells me that people have remarked about its “other world” quality to her.


The date of this narrative by Rebecca is unknown but falls immediately before her period from 1990 to 1998 when she fully opened to spirit - to “automatic painting” - and brought forth hundreds of pieces depicting spirit life, spirit manifestations and spirit entities. She did complete her goal in the end. Then she passed away.

Notes:

[1] Time-Life 33-volume series “Mysteries of the Unknown” was published from 1987-1991.

[2] Rebecca’s mother was Hannah Lublin, née Krasno; her father was George Lublin, both based in Philadelphia. Hannah was an ophthalmologist and George an insurance and later real estate executive.

[3] Forest City, Pennsylvania was a summer home for her and family and where her maternal grandfather, ___, operated a Jewelry store on its Main Street. Cooley’s was a variety and snack store adjacent to her grandfather’s store and owned by the family of her best friend at the time, ___, who died in a fire.

[4] This event occurred in the family’s home in N.E. Philadelphia.

[5] “Uncle Harry” is Harry Lublin, brother of Rebecca’s father.

[6] Heather is Rebecca’s only child.

[7] Rittenhouse Square is located in center-city Philadelphia.

[8] Her handwritten account forgot or omitted to finish the sentence with a name. The name is George, her father.

[9] The “Gilded Cage” was a semi-“Beat” coffee shop in center-city Philadelphia popular with local artists, intellectuals and writers.

[10] At the time of writing (circa 1989) there were two paintings remaining. Over the next decade there would be hundreds.

[11] Brother Bill Lublin and wife Sheila Lublin.


©1989 Rebecca Bucci. ©2018 Michael T. Bucci. All Rights reserved.
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