Free It's All In the Playing by Shirley Maclaine

took them out and watered them, but not knowing when I’d get back out to Malibu, I’ve been sending them to you telepathically.”
    “What?” I asked.
    Until that moment I had forgotten I’d left the flowers with him.
    “Yes,” Kevin went on. “I was wondering if anything unusual had transpired in relation to your flowers.”
    I gulped. “How about there’s this pronounced floral smell all through my apartment, and I don’t have a flower in here except silk ones.”
    “Oh,” said Kevin calmly. “I’m getting better at it. It’s not at all unusual when two people are in tune. This also bears out what McPherson’s been saying about your developing mediumistic potential.”
    A rush of concern went through me.
    “I don’t want to become a medium, Kevin,” I said. “I like knowing what’s happening to me all the time.”
    “Oh, my goodness, of course not,” he assured me. “First of all, there has to be an agreement between beings for me to be used as an instrument. I’ve told you often, it’s probably my karma to be a human telephone this time around, and I have certainly given my permission.”
    I thought a moment about the day’s events. I could feel the understandable skepticism of the crew. Was Kevin just acting or might it be something in his own subconscious he was expressing? I finally thought of a question which, if properly answered, would serve as a point of proof for most people regarding the legitimacy of channeling. So I asked him: “Kevin, are you the only medium who channels Tom McPherson?”
    To my surprise Kevin replied, “No. Actually I knew about at least one other man, whom I’ve since met, and probably another whom I haven’t checked out yet. Any time you’d like to talk to Tom through somebody else, let me know.”
    Oh, boy, would I take him up on that. I thanked him for the telepathic flowers and hung up, hoping to get some rest.
    The telephone rang. It was Jach Pursel’s two partners from San Francisco. Jach was the medium who channeled Lazaris, a high-level entity who, according to him, has never been embodied. Therefore he doesn’t speak from earth-plane experience, which he claims doesn’t necessarily diminish his physical understanding. Anyway, Michael and Peny and I began to chat. They were interested in how the screen test had gone with Kevin; a little friendly medium rivalry, you might say. I told them what had happened when I danced the jig with Tom: my nausea and so on. There was a long pause.
    “Well,” said Michael. “We don’t feel that that was very advanced of McPherson. I mean, why was it necessary to put you through all that?”
    “Well,” I answered, slightly taken aback, “I don’tthink it was necessary. It was just a mistake—mine as well as his.”
    “Well, he shouldn’t have made that mistake,” they insisted.
    “Oh, well,” I tried to assure them, “it was nothing, really. No harm done.”
    “What do you mean?” said Peny. “Aren’t you angry and outraged about it?”
    “Me?” I asked, startled at her intensity. “Why, no. Not at all. For what would I be outraged?”
    “Well,” she continued, “because McPherson really came on strong and he had no right to do that.”
    “But, Peny, he didn’t mean to. He apologized. And besides, I told you I wasn’t rehearsing my part with the emotional frequency of ten years ago.”
    “No,” she said. “You deserve better than that. You should face your anger and hostility and allow yourself to feel it.”
    “But I don’t feel any anger.”
    “Then you are holding it at arm’s length. That way you don’t experience pain. But you’ll prevent your growth that way.”
    I stopped and thought about what she and Michael were saying. By now they were on two phones. I didn’t know where Jach was. What they were saying was a little like the early days of psychoanalysis and est training. If you don’t feel anger and rage, it’s because you’re suppressing it.
    I tried very hard to