Auras Appear!
The first time I saw colorful auras
I didn’t set out to read people’s auras. The auras came to me. The first time I saw them I was in my condo, sitting in my living room in Minnetonka, Minnesota in 1998. I talked and laughed with Susan, a flamboyant singer, and Nancy, a mellow mother of two, just enjoying and appreciating them as my dear friends.
Feeling relaxed and peaceful, I passively gazed up at Susan when her aura appeared. A royal sapphire blue radiated brightly from her head and shoulders, indicating a good, caring person. Then I looked at Nancy. Her aura was bright neon green, a strong healing color. Both shined more brilliantly than any colors here on Earth. I was fascinated, but I didn’t speak of it for fear I’d be thought a freak. It only lasted a moment, but I knew that my quest for spiritual knowledge and auras had begun.
* * *
My cousin Rich invited me to his company Christmas party which was a big to-do at Dave & Buster’s Video Arcade with psychic tarot card readers, a palm reader, and an amazing Aura reading machine. I was in line to get a photograph of my aura. I felt nervous about it for fear it would reveal my heightened awareness of the spirit world, something I didn’t want publicized.
The excited people in line ahead of me were commenting on the solid reds, oranges, and blues they saw on the screen in front of them. Somehow, I knew from looking at the people in line that mine would be different. Sure enough, it was. When it was my turn, the aura machine operator laughed and whinnied like a pony when she saw my multiple bright colors changing constantly on the aura reading screen.
“Oh my, gosh, you’re a multi-faceted being.” She said it like it was a rare thing to see.
Aren’t we all?
I blushed with embarrassment, not really surprised, but people were looking at me, staring at the changing colors on the screen: the freak.
“Take a deep breath and hold it for a moment.”
I inhaled all the way in. Then I held my breath.
The aura lady instantly snapped the photo and we got a bright oval electric green picture, which was not the usual turquoise I had seen in the mirror, but what I felt at that second of the snapshot. I learned later that many performing artists can change their aura colors at will. My un-photographable aura was more like a rainbow dancing, reflecting many fluctuating far-fetched ideas, creative thoughts I was reluctant to share back then.
I took my disappointingly dull picture and merged with the party crowd.
* * *
I was sitting in an Alcohol and Other Drug Studies counseling class at San Diego City College with my coiffed gay friend Larry, who always wore his stylish Gucci sunglasses, even when it was cloudy outside, even indoors. We were like two little kids giggling in grade school, passing naughty notes to each other under our desks. We pretended we were making up personal ads as we listed qualities we did not want in a prospective date.
“Excessive acne,” I wrote and discreetly handed my note to Larry.
“Poor hygiene,” Larry wrote back.
We muffled our chuckles behind hand-covered mouths, so the professor wouldn’t hear us. Larry was better at this game than I was, evidenced by my laughing louder.
“Chronic unemployment,” I wrote.
He read my note, looking less amused than I was. His wit was beating mine, so I thought I would impress him with my elementary aura-reading trick.
“Larry, look at that girl across the room,” I pointed. “I’m going to make her scratch her head.” I focused on cute little Kara, a young student we didn’t know.
“Huh?” He looked up from writing his next ad, and said “You what?”
“Just watch. . .” I focused on reading her aura which was easy, with a sterile white wall about a foot behind her. She sat still, paging through her textbook. I saw a sky-blue haze steam up from her head. I had learned it was a common color for compassionate counselors and other co-dependent personalities. As I stared intently at her aura, she lifted her hand, right on cue, and scratched her head above her left ear. It was exactly where I had focused my attention on her.
Larry let out a guffaw. “How did you do that?”
I felt exposed. I knew that ancient witches were burned at the stake for less. I had never shared this gift of mine with anyone until now—to my fun personal ad-writing buddy. Smiling, I wrote on his next illicit note, “Ability to make people scratch their heads.”
“Do it again.”
But now I felt like a circus act. I was concerned about karmic integrity and a possible boomerang effect. Maybe I shouldn’t be invading people’s personal space like this if it makes them itch. I’d done it for Larry. He was safe to share my secret with, because he had his own secrets.
But I wanted to prove to Larry it was no accident that Kara scratched her head. I focused on a man this time, a husky honor student named Juan. His aura was an illuminated aqua, greener than blue, signifying wisdom and harmony. As my focused gaze penetrated his forehead’s electrical field, he scratched his eyebrow.
Larry’s bleached-teeth grin grew wide below his designer shades.
I was pleased with my ability to entertain him.
Since then, as an educator and a singer, I’ve looked out at many large groups. I see the brightest auras, the most spiritual indigo-purple ones that were all exceptional in some way, and the darker, more negative auras that clung close to the body. I sent intentional love rays to them.
Through the years, I have seen many auras, but other times I have not. I guess it depends on whether I’m receptive or not. I can’t force it. It comes easily and more often now when I simply allow it.
I see the stunning blues, bright teals, and sunny yellows. I have a long way to go in my studies of the aura, but I am always delighted when they show up. They’re like old friends of mine, letting me know that the deeper spiritual dimension exists around and within us.
A few years later I learned that Larry’s caring and sensitive blue light left much too soon. It saddened me to hear that his tender heart gave out from alcoholism. He died before he finished his certification process as an alcohol and other drug counselor.
When he had his memorial service in San Diego, I was staying in Minnesota and I cried.
Later I wondered if they cremated him in his Gucci’s.
AURAS APPEAR
I didn’t set out to read people’s auras. The auras came to me. The first time I saw them I was in my condo, sitting in my living room in Minnetonka, Minnesota in 1998. I talked and laughed with Susan, a flamboyant singer, and Nancy, a mellow mother of two, just enjoying and appreciating them as my dear friends.
Feeling relaxed and peaceful, I passively gazed up at Susan when her aura appeared. A royal sapphire blue radiated brightly from her head and shoulders, indicating a good, caring person. Then I looked at Nancy. Her aura was bright neon green, a strong healing color. Both shined more brilliantly than any colors here on Earth. I was fascinated, but I didn’t speak of it for fear I’d be thought a freak. It only lasted a moment, but I knew that my quest for spiritual knowledge and auras had begun.
* * *
My cousin Rich invited me to his company Christmas party which was a big to-do at Dave & Buster’s Video Arcade with psychic tarot card readers, a palm reader, and an amazing Aura reading machine. I was in line to get a photograph of my aura. I felt nervous about it for fear it would reveal my heightened awareness of the spirit world, something I didn’t want publicized.
The excited people in line ahead of me were commenting on the solid reds, oranges, and blues they saw on the screen in front of them. Somehow, I knew from looking at the people in line that mine would be different. Sure enough, it was. When it was my turn, the aura machine operator laughed and whinnied like a pony when she saw my multiple bright colors changing constantly on the aura reading screen.
“Oh my, gosh, you’re a multi-faceted being.” She said it like it was a rare thing to see.
Aren’t we all?
I blushed with embarrassment, not really surprised, but people were looking at me, staring at the changing colors on the screen: the freak.
“Take a deep breath and hold it for a moment.”
I inhaled all the way in. Then I held my breath.
The aura lady instantly snapped the photo and we got a bright oval electric green picture, which was not the usual turquoise I had seen in the mirror, but what I felt at that second of the snapshot. I learned later that many performing artists can change their aura colors at will. My un-photographable aura was more like a rainbow dancing, reflecting many fluctuating far-fetched ideas, creative thoughts I was reluctant to share back then.
I took my disappointingly dull picture and merged with the party crowd.
* * *
I was sitting in an Alcohol and Other Drug Studies counseling class at San Diego City College with my coiffed gay friend Larry, who always wore his stylish Gucci sunglasses, even when it was cloudy outside, even indoors. We were like two little kids giggling in grade school, passing naughty notes to each other under our desks. We pretended we were making up personal ads as we listed qualities we did not want in a prospective date.
“Excessive acne,” I wrote and discreetly handed my note to Larry.
“Poor hygiene,” Larry wrote back.
We muffled our chuckles behind hand-covered mouths, so the professor wouldn’t hear us. Larry was better at this game than I was, evidenced by my laughing louder.
“Chronic unemployment,” I wrote.
He read my note, looking less amused than I was. His wit was beating mine, so I thought I would impress him with my elementary aura-reading trick.
“Larry, look at that girl across the room,” I pointed. “I’m going to make her scratch her head.” I focused on cute little Kara, a young student we didn’t know.
“Huh?” He looked up from writing his next ad, and said “You what?”
“Just watch. . .” I focused on reading her aura which was easy, with a sterile white wall about a foot behind her. She sat still, paging through her textbook. I saw a sky-blue haze steam up from her head. I had learned it was a common color for compassionate counselors and other co-dependent personalities. As I stared intently at her aura, she lifted her hand, right on cue, and scratched her head above her left ear. It was exactly where I had focused my attention on her.
Larry let out a guffaw. “How did you do that?”
I felt exposed. I knew that ancient witches were burned at the stake for less. I had never shared this gift of mine with anyone until now—to my fun personal ad-writing buddy. Smiling, I wrote on his next illicit note, “Ability to make people scratch their heads.”
“Do it again.”
But now I felt like a circus act. I was concerned about karmic integrity and a possible boomerang effect. Maybe I shouldn’t be invading people’s personal space like this if it makes them itch. I’d done it for Larry. He was safe to share my secret with, because he had his own secrets.
But I wanted to prove to Larry it was no accident that Kara scratched her head. I focused on a man this time, a husky honor student named Juan. His aura was an illuminated aqua, greener than blue, signifying wisdom and harmony. As my focused gaze penetrated his forehead’s electrical field, he scratched his eyebrow.
Larry’s bleached-teeth grin grew wide below his designer shades.
I was pleased with my ability to entertain him.
Since then, as an educator and a singer, I’ve looked out at many large groups. I see the brightest auras, the most spiritual indigo-purple ones that were all exceptional in some way, and the darker, more negative auras that clung close to the body. I sent intentional love rays to them.
Through the years, I have seen many auras, but other times I have not. I guess it depends on whether I’m receptive or not. I can’t force it. It comes easily and more often now when I simply allow it.
I see the stunning blues, bright teals, and sunny yellows. I have a long way to go in my studies of the aura, but I am always delighted when they show up. They’re like old friends of mine, letting me know that the deeper spiritual dimension exists around and within us.
A few years later I learned that Larry’s caring and sensitive blue light left much too soon. It saddened me to hear that his tender heart gave out from alcoholism. He died before he finished his certification process as an alcohol and other drug counselor.
When he had his memorial service in San Diego, I was staying in Minnesota and I cried. Later I wondered if they buried him in his Gucci’s.
AURAS APPEAR
I didn’t set out to read people’s auras. The auras came to me. The first time I saw them I was in my condo, sitting in my living room in Minnetonka, Minnesota in 1998. I talked and laughed with Susan, a flamboyant singer, and Nancy, a mellow mother of two, just enjoying and appreciating them as my dear friends.
Feeling relaxed and peaceful, I passively gazed up at Susan when her aura appeared. A royal sapphire blue radiated brightly from her head and shoulders, indicating a good, caring person. Then I looked at Nancy. Her aura was bright neon green, a strong healing color. Both shined more brilliantly than any colors here on Earth. I was fascinated, but I didn’t speak of it for fear I’d be thought a freak. It only lasted a moment, but I knew that my quest for spiritual knowledge and auras had begun.
* * *
My cousin Rich invited me to his company Christmas party which was a big to-do at Dave & Buster’s Video Arcade with psychic tarot card readers, a palm reader, and an amazing Aura reading machine. I was in line to get a photograph of my aura. I felt nervous about it for fear it would reveal my heightened awareness of the spirit world, something I didn’t want publicized.
The excited people in line ahead of me were commenting on the solid reds, oranges, and blues they saw on the screen in front of them. Somehow, I knew from looking at the people in line that mine would be different. Sure enough, it was. When it was my turn, the aura machine operator laughed and whinnied like a pony when she saw my multiple bright colors changing constantly on the aura reading screen.
“Oh my, gosh, you’re a multi-faceted being.” She said it like it was a rare thing to see.
Aren’t we all?
I blushed with embarrassment, not really surprised, but people were looking at me, staring at the changing colors on the screen: the freak.
“Take a deep breath and hold it for a moment.”
I inhaled all the way in. Then I held my breath.
The aura lady instantly snapped the photo and we got a bright oval electric green picture, which was not the usual turquoise I had seen in the mirror, but what I felt at that second of the snapshot. I learned later that many performing artists can change their aura colors at will. My un-photographable aura was more like a rainbow dancing, reflecting many fluctuating far-fetched ideas, creative thoughts I was reluctant to share back then.
I took my disappointingly dull picture and merged with the party crowd.
* * *
I was sitting in an Alcohol and Other Drug Studies counseling class at San Diego City College with my coiffed gay friend Larry, who always wore his stylish Gucci sunglasses, even when it was cloudy outside, even indoors. We were like two little kids giggling in grade school, passing naughty notes to each other under our desks. We pretended we were making up personal ads as we listed qualities we did not want in a prospective date.
“Excessive acne,” I wrote and discreetly handed my note to Larry.
“Poor hygiene,” Larry wrote back.
We muffled our chuckles behind hand-covered mouths, so the professor wouldn’t hear us. Larry was better at this game than I was, evidenced by my laughing louder.
“Chronic unemployment,” I wrote.
He read my note, looking less amused than I was. His wit was beating mine, so I thought I would impress him with my elementary aura-reading trick.
“Larry, look at that girl across the room,” I pointed. “I’m going to make her scratch her head.” I focused on cute little Kara, a young student we didn’t know.
“Huh?” He looked up from writing his next ad, and said “You what?”
“Just watch. . .” I focused on reading her aura which was easy, with a sterile white wall about a foot behind her. She sat still, paging through her textbook. I saw a sky-blue haze steam up from her head. I had learned it was a common color for compassionate counselors and other co-dependent personalities. As I stared intently at her aura, she lifted her hand, right on cue, and scratched her head above her left ear. It was exactly where I had focused my attention on her.
Larry let out a guffaw. “How did you do that?”
I felt exposed. I knew that ancient witches were burned at the stake for less. I had never shared this gift of mine with anyone until now—to my fun personal ad-writing buddy. Smiling, I wrote on his next illicit note, “Ability to make people scratch their heads.”
“Do it again.”
But now I felt like a circus act. I was concerned about karmic integrity and a possible boomerang effect. Maybe I shouldn’t be invading people’s personal space like this if it makes them itch. I’d done it for Larry. He was safe to share my secret with, because he had his own secrets.
But I wanted to prove to Larry it was no accident that Kara scratched her head. I focused on a man this time, a husky honor student named Juan. His aura was an illuminated aqua, greener than blue, signifying wisdom and harmony. As my focused gaze penetrated his forehead’s electrical field, he scratched his eyebrow.
Larry’s bleached-teeth grin grew wide below his designer shades.
I was pleased with my ability to entertain him.
Since then, as an educator and a singer, I’ve looked out at many large groups. I see the brightest auras, the most spiritual indigo-purple ones that were all exceptional in some way, and the darker, more negative auras that clung close to the body. I sent intentional love rays to them.
Through the years, I have seen many auras, but other times I have not. I guess it depends on whether I’m receptive or not. I can’t force it. It comes easily and more often now when I simply allow it.
I see the stunning blues, bright teals, and sunny yellows. I have a long way to go in my studies of the aura, but I am always delighted when they show up. They’re like old friends of mine, letting me know that the deeper spiritual dimension exists around and within us.
A few years later I learned that Larry’s caring and sensitive blue light left much too soon. It saddened me to hear that his tender heart gave out from alcoholism. He died before he finished his certification process as an alcohol and other drug counselor.
When he had his memorial service in San Diego, I was staying in Minnesota and I cried.
Later I wondered if they cremated him in his Gucci’s.
A true story from Sprinkles from Heaven - Stories of Serendipity
by Carolyn Jaynes, M.A.