Author of 22 New York Times best-selling books and one of the first well-known psychics of all time, Sylvia Browne sits down with John and Elizabeth to talk about her latest book, “Psychic: My Life in Two Worlds”.  Sylvia also discusses the key role she has played in law enforcement, her experiences on the Montel Williams show, and some strange encounters she has had with “the other side”.

To meet Sylvia, she is signing copies of her book on Friday, June 9^th, at 7:30pm at:

Magers & Quinn Booksellers
3038 Hennepin Ave S
Minneapolis, MN 55408
612-822-4611

Excerpt from "PSYCHIC: My Life in Two Worlds," by Sylvia Browne. Copyright (c) 2010, reprinted with permission from Harper Collins. All rights reserved.

Psychic: My Life in Two Worlds, by Sylvia Browne

From Chapter 6, “Spirits, Readings, and Audiotapes”

I WAS DOING a regressive hypnosis session with a client I’ll call Patricia. From the moment she went under, it was obvious that wherever she’d gone or whatever was happening, she was spellbound by it and not saying a word. And the longer she sat there in silence, the more I had a feeling I’m not sure how to describe—there was an intensity building in the room. I had no idea what was causing it.

Finally, to bring her out of the wordless awe she seemed lost in, I quietly said, “Patricia, look around and tell me where you are.”

In a hushed, reverent whisper she began talking about a vast building with a massive dome and marble columns, and once she entered she found herself staring at countless wide aisles that went on as far as the eye could see, each aisle filled with more shelves than she could fathom, and each shelf filled with what looked like an infinite number of parchment scrolls.

I knew where she was, from Francine and from astral trips there myself. She was describing the Hall of Records, one of the buildings at the entrance to the Other Side. Patricia wasn’t the first client to travel there during a hypnosis session. What was so remarkable was that, for the first and last time in one of those sessions, I suddenly realized that I was right there in the Hall of Records with her.

I kept quiet about it—any comment on my part would have amounted to leading her, which is strictly off limits. So I was listening to her tour and wondering how I’d been pulled along with her on this trip when she let out a little gasp and announced, “You’re here with me.”

I didn’t confirm or deny it, and she went on walking us through that sacred, spectacular site. Before long I spotted a dark-haired woman with a classically beautiful face. She was draped in blue gossamer and was approaching us from two aisles away, not aware of our presence yet. She silently communicated that she was