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Psychic Angela Thomas| email: info@angelathomas.org | call: (636) 485-4814 | St. Louis, MO
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Psychic Angela Thomas
Get into your future
Thoroughbred Horses

Retro-cogition, the ability to ‘see’ in the past, is what gives psychics and clairvoyants the means to touch upon past events. Like precognition, the ability to see in the future, it can come in the forms of retro-cognitive dreaming (which differs from normal dreaming), while awake, and even instantaneously. It is the latter that often surprised me in my younger years. Now, my retro-cognitive and precognitive experiences occur so often, they have become a comfort to me, and something I rely on. Most of the time, I keep quiet about what information I receive, unless I’m reading for a client, but it was not the case when I first began steadily receiving psychic messages.

Messages are not only psychic impressions, they can come by way of clairaudience (clear hearing, one aspect of clair abilities), strong ‘I know’ feelings, and even visuals. Let me just say that when I began experiencing visuals, I felt compelled to share them with whomever was around at the time. It took an unusual incident to teach me to keep my mouth shut.

It’s the mid-1980s, New Orleans and I am sitting across a table from a man I’ll call H.H. We were meeting for lunch at a popular restaurant to discuss a property investment. At this time, I had not “come out” as a psychic, and really, I wouldn’t have given myself such a title. Things were happening to me on a psychic level, but I didn’t know enough to use it for my greater good. I was there sitting in front of an ‘angel’ investor, a man that my local banker connected me to. 

We talked briefly about the property and the 2 million investment needed to get things going. H.H. suggested we eat lunch first before delving into the meat of the financial prospectus. All of the safe niceties were covered: people that we knew, our families, and the weather. 

H.H., a short Italian-American which hailed originally from the New York City area, mentioned how much he missed the East Coast. No sooner than the words spilled from his mouth, I saw, in my mind, thoroughbred horses racing on a track. I dismissed it thinking it was my mind wandering from the conversation. 

H.H. continued to speak, and again, the thoroughbred horses racing came into my head. Then I heard; clairaudiently, “I know about the horses.” Foolishly, I decided to share what I was getting. I told H.H. that I was seeing thoroughbred horses racing in my head, and then I repeated what I heard, “I know about the horses.” 

As soon as I said it, the face of H.H. turned a deep red. He reacted violently. He shoved himself back from his chair, stood up, and began shouting a string of profanities at me. Many ‘F’ bombs were dropped in with words I couldn’t make out. 

“Who sent you?!” he demanded. “You know about my horses? H.H. was shaking while tossing his chair around. He would lunge towards me, and then back away.

The more I tried calming him down, the worse it got. I tried to explain that I was merely seeing it in my mind, and that I had heard a voice speaking about the horses. 

Eventually, H.H. did calm down with the help of the restaurant manager and other men that stood nearby waiting to come to my rescue.

“They burned my horses alive!” H.H. yelled. He looked at me with hate. There was no way he believed my explanation. He thought I was sent under the guise of looking for an investor. I was under the impression that he was a haunted man always looking over his shoulder. 

“You know they died the night before the big race. My poor horses,” he said as he was walking out of the restaurant.

I sat there stunned for the longest time before calling my banker friend and relaying the news. Naturally, he was upset and concerned that his friend, an investor, would suspect him of wrongdoing or collaborating with others who had harmed him in the past, and who may have had intentions of harming him in the future.

A big lesson was learned that day. Not all people welcome psychic information regardless of the intent or how it is delivered.

Shhh, I frequently remind myself. Don’t say a word.

# # #

The Devil in New Orleans

Many years ago while living in New Orleans, Louis, a man that I worked with, was celebrating his birthday. As a gift to him, I decided to give him a psychic, tarot reading. Before I began the reading, I asked him if he had any specific questions that he would like me to answer. The most important question he had to ask was about an investment, a real estate investment that he and his wife were pondering over.

The real estate investment was the purchase of a second house, and this house would be used as rental property. According to Louis, they would have to move into the house to fix it up for renting.

As I began reading, the 'Devil' card appeared in the house that he wanted to purchase. I was a bit alarmed. After all, the devil card has many meanings; good and bad, but I didn't like this card associated with his house. The more I looked at it, the more disturbed I felt. I stopped and psychically meditated on it. When I did, I began to feel sick.

“Whatever you do, do not purchase this house,” I advised. “The devil lives there.”

His eyes opened wide, and he looked down to the ground shaking his head. “But, this house is a really good price, and my wife and I have saved up all of these years in order to buy a home that we can rent to others. A rental house would provide the income that we need when we retire.”

“This house is not for you,” I insisted. “If you decide to purchase this house, it will not work out and you will not be there long.” I continued to read for Louis, and the more I did, the sicker I felt about the house.

Flash forward six months or so later. One afternoon I saw Louis and he looked to the ground. He would not look at me. As I approached him, he finally looked into my eyes. I knew something was terribly wrong.

“I’m sorry Miss Angela, I should have listened to you.”

That same sickness that I felt before had returned. “You bought the house, didn’t you?” I asked already knowing the answer.

“Yes we did, but I wish that I had listened to you.”

I was eager to hear his story. ”What happened?”

Louis was visibly shaken. “When we first moved into the house, everything was fine. My wife was especially excited because the house sat in the neighborhood that she grew up in. She loved the house and location so much that she said that she would prefer to retire in this house to be around her old friends.” Louis then hesitated. It was as if he could not find the words to say next.

I was waiting for some terrible news. You know the kind of news I mean? The kind that one has to swallow hard and clear the throat in hopes of being to speak about it. “Oh boy,” I said recalling that very same feeling I had when I read for him. “What kind of devilish thing happened there?”

Louis seemed to struggle with the words that would come next. “We really didn’t notice it at first, but there was an old shed on the property. It set way in the back of the yard which was covered by a lot of overgrowth from the trees and bushes there. While it was still light, I went to the old shed to check it out. I noticed an old deep freezer covered in rust, and it had a large chain and padlock around it. I knew it had been there for a long time because it was rusted and the shed itself was falling apart. I had plans to tear the shed down when the time came to do it, but first I was going to open that old freezer to see what was in it.”

A rusted freezer with a chain and padlock around it did not sound good. My stomach felt queasy, and watching his face told me there was a whole lot more to the story.

By now, Louis had tears forming in his eyes. “I went back inside and my wife and I began to work indoors. We worked into the evening, and after we stopped working, I remembered about the freezer in the shed. I looked around for something to open the padlock with and I made my way out to the shed with a flashlight in hand. I worked and worked until I opened the padlock, and when I opened it up, there was a large trash bag inside. When I pulled the bag out and placed it on the ground, I heard a lot of clanking, and I opened it up.” He sounded choked up.

Louis could not say it. Not at first. He hesitated to say what was inside the bag.

I adjusted my voice to be as soft as I could when I asked, “What was in the bag. Louis?”

“There were many skulls in the bag! Every skull had a hole in them with the same size and in the same place.  It looked like drilled holes in them.”

“Oh my God, did you call the police?”

“Hell no, I didn’t call the police. I called my attorney!”

“Why in the world would you call your attorney instead of the police?”

“Because I am a black man and I didn’t think the police would believe that I didn’t do it. That’s why I called my attorney first.”

I found out that Louis’ attorney called the police. The New Orleans Police Department investigated the matter, but Louis never found out what the results were from the investigation. He and his wife moved out immediately and back into their first home. He later listed the second house and property for sale.

The devil card was very revealing. Had I looked into it psychically a little bit more, I would have known that multiple murders had taken place there. You see, the devil card represents many things, and the worst case scenario is that of murder.

Since reading for Louis in New Orleans, I always pay attention to the devil card and where it lands in the spread. And from time to time, I am led to Louis’ story, and that lets me know to look further into the negative side of the devil.

I never will forget his story and what happened at the property. The devil had been in New Orleans.

# # #

The Gathering of Crows

Nature often sends us messages in ways that only we can understand. Spiritual messages, that is, which is frequently overlooked by daily distractions in our busy lives. Nature assist spiritual entities in delivering signs of new things to come. For me, nature has often gotten my attention through the masses of things: birds, flies and grasshoppers. In my published prose, Hurricane Katrina: A Reflection, I shared my experience of grasshoppers. Before the hurricane made landfall, I left the Mississippi Gulf Coast and headed north. Once I arrived at my destination, and parked my car, hundreds of grasshoppers poured over my car, dotting nearly every square inch on the hood. As amazing as the sight of grasshoppers was, it would be the gathering of crows that would play a significant role in my life.

Having heard that birds are spirit messengers, I paid attention to single birds that would loudly chirp outside my window, or to those which would linger near me. One particular day; however, a flock of crows descended upon my property covering the front and back yards, as well as, harbored themselves in the trees. The gathering of crows was magnificent. Now many people would not find this unusual. After all, birds are known to land by the hundreds or thousands in certain areas, but it was only my yard, on my property, and in my trees which were filled with perching crows. I looked outside in my neighborhood and discovered my neighbors’ yards were free of crows. Logically, I thought the crows would soon fly away, but I was wrong.

The crows became louder with their caws until it was almost deafening. There was no way of ignoring their presence. I stepped outside and tried shooing them away, but they casually stepped away from the place they had stood, and their caws grew louder. It was at that very moment when I realized the crows were messengers of change soon to come. Change did come quickly. The type of change that changes one’s life.

The following year, a client and friend, Chris asked me to come over for her final, psychic reading. She was in the last stages of cancer and she wanted a reading mainly to address the future of her surviving family members. When I arrived at her home, she cracked the sliding glass door open to let in some fresh air. We sat and talked for a while before I began my reading. No sooner than I had started the reading, we heard crows outside. Through the glass we could see two trees filled with crows which seemed to cover every branch on the trees. Then the crows suddenly became silent. I started my psychic reading again, but this time something was different: Their response. As I was speaking, the crows were silent as though they were listening to my voice. As soon as I would stop speaking, the crows would respond by making noise in unison.

I thought I was the only one that was thinking about the crows and the rhythm of their response, but Chris finally brought up the obvious. “They agree with what you are saying,” she said. “They’ve come to support us through this reading.” She called them messengers and liked the idea that spirits had gathered outside her home and made their presence known. It wasn’t long after my time with Chris that she passed away.

Whenever I see a crow, my memory recalls the gathering of crows and the sudden changes that followed. I look to see them again, and when I do, I’ll know that a significant change is imminent, but the spirits are with me through the cawing voices of the crows.

# # #

Precognitive Dreaming

When do our ordinary dreams become something more than random thoughts and images during sleep? They differ when one’s dream turns into precognitive dreaming. To define precognition; it is the knowledge of future events or situations through extrasensory means, a ‘tool’ of the mind, a looking glass into the future.

How can you tell the difference between ordinary dreaming and precognitive dreaming? The difference is like night and day. Precognitive dreaming includes an energy that you’ll experience, and often times, you’ll be a part of it as an active observer. 
My own experience with an extraordinary difference happened years ago. The influence of it has impacted my life even to this day.

It was no ordinary dream. My five senses were heightened, the colors were vibrant, and energy moved in a way I had never known. I physically was surrounded by colorful energy which wrapped me in whirls of blue and pink. The energy felt like separate entities holding me in place to witness an event I would not be able to bear in my waking state. I questioned whether or not I had crossed over into another dimension. 

In the precognitive dream, I was in an area I knew well. I was standing across the street from a convenient store I often visited. I knew the owners as I did business with them through the company I worked for at the time. 

While standing across the street, a four-lane highway between myself and the convenient store, I saw traffic passing before me. I literally could smell the gas fumes from the cars that passed by. 

As I looked toward the store, I saw one of the owners stepping out through the doors and walking.  Bang! Gunshot. I heard the gunshot coming from behind me. It hit the owner and I watched as his body folded, and fell to the ground.
There was a large pool of blood gathered around his head, and it made its way down the dark, green sweater and khaki pants he was wearing.

I was jolted out of the dream. When I woke, one thing was obvious: The dream was given to me to warn the person of an imminent threat to his life. 

As I made my way down the hallway, I could barely hold myself up. After reaching the telephone, I dialed the phone number with shaking hands.

When the owner answered, I explained the dream. My words were dismissed.

“Oh Angela! Stop. I don’t believe in any of that psychic ‘stuff.’ 

Despite the dismissal, I again told him that the dream was something more than merely dreaming. I insisted that he keep his gun with him at all times. He assured me that he had a gun, and he also had a security guard there when he or his wife was ready to leave the store with that day’s deposits.

When I hung up the telephone, I felt sick. I tried reasoning with myself that what I experienced in the dream was just a dream. After all, he had a weapon and a security guard. What was I worrying about?

The following day, while driving in my car, my beeper (Remember those?) kept going off. Every few minutes, another beep came in. I quickly found a payphone and dialed the number that I recognized as one of the owner’s numbers.

The words that came from the other end of the phone was numbing. He had been shot. They found him on the ground in a pool of blood. From what was known at the time, someone had shot him from across the street. He was alive though. The bullet hit his head, shattered his skull in several places, but bounced off, never piercing the brain. 

“What was he wearing?” I asked. I wanted to know for the sake of my experience. I already knew what the answer would be.

“A dark, green sweater and khaki pants,” she replied.

This could have been avoided. The incident happened as the owner was leaving with his security guard. He forgot the deposit bag inside, and waved the guard to go on without him. When he came out alone, the shooting happened.
Within the day, the shooter had been captured. It was a boy in his teens following his mother’s orders to shoot the owner. The mother was a disgruntled employee. She lost her job when she was caught stealing from the owners.

Although my warning from the precognitive dream was not heeded, it served me well. Perhaps it was merely preparing me for the jolt. Maybe, too, I was to know in order to warn the owner about an immediate life threat. Had he listened and taken it seriously, it could have been avoided. Unfortunately, he lost seventy-five percent of his memory.

The overall experience has stayed with me. I recognize the difference between dream state and precognition.

To this day, I pay attention to the difference between ordinary dreams and precognitive dreams. Each and every time it happens, I must decide whether to warn others (even though it may fall on deaf ears), or keep the information to myself. 

Which would you choose to do?

# # #

Seeing is believing

Some years ago, in the early part of a relationship, my then ‘boyfriend’ (I’ll call him ‘F’), and I were riding along St. Charles Avenue close to the Garden District in New Orleans, Louisiana. St. Charles Avenue, the richest street in New Orleans, is lined with old mansions, and landscaped in lush oak trees and beautiful foliage one often sees in the Old South.

‘F,’ as I had learned, was a divorced man with two children. As a former deacon to a church his family had founded, he was uncomfortable as a divorced man. He was a family man through and through. In consideration of the church, he bowed out as a deacon when his wife filed for divorce. He reasoned that he would be unable to counsel others since his life was no longer in order. 

He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his family initially. When asked about his parents, he merely shared that his father had owned a business, and had passed away. His mother was still living, and she owned a business. 

As we were riding along St. Charles Avenue, ‘F’ suddenly pulls up in front of a mansion, and parks. The mansion is lovely except it had an unusual amount of tall windows that stretched across the entire width of the front. I thought it odd and commented on the number of windows. 

“That’s my mother’s place,” he announced. “I need to run in and grab something really quick. Do you mind?”

I wait in the car not wanting to go in and meet his mother. It was too early, I thought, and the intentions of a man introducing a woman to his mother spoke volumes. 

While he was inside, my attention was drawn back to the windows; especially, to one area of the mansion. For a moment, I thought I had seen a window open, but in a blink of an eye, it was closed.

A few more blinks, and the window was not only open, there was a woman being dangled from the window by a man holding onto her ankles! As quickly as the image before me came, it went away in a few more blinks. It was a vision.

‘F’ enters the car. By this time, I’m concerned about the vision. I hesitated even bringing it up. After all, being psychic was unwelcomed by many, and often thought of as “being of the devil” in southern, church doctrine. I knew a deacon would definitely frown about it.

Maybe it was the look on my face that caused him to ask if I was okay. I glanced once more to the windows where my vision took place.

“See those windows over there?” I asked pointing to the windows. I count up to the third story of the mansion.

“Yes. That’s my mother’s wing.” He explained she had turned a five story mansion into condos, and she lived on the third floor. 

You can imagine what was running through my head. Do I say anything? Should I tell him so he can warn her? I decided it would be best just to say it.

“Well, I hate to say this, but I see a woman being dangled from those windows. She’s being held by her ankles by some younger man.”

Silence. The tension filled the air.

Tick, tick, tick…I’m waiting on the bomb to go off.

“Angela, enough with the psychic thing! I don’t want to talk about THAT.”

I go to speak, but he’s red-faced, and angry that I even brought it up. He goes on and on about how he is torn between seeing me as a nice woman, and this ‘psychic thing.’

Finally, I drop even trying to explain anything to him. I merely end the conversation with letting him know that I wouldn’t see it if it wasn’t going to happen.

It wasn’t long before he dropped me off and he went home.

Flash forward. I’m living on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. It is one hour away from downtown New Orleans. The phone rings.

“Angela?” It’s ‘F.’ “I owe you a big apology. I just had my brother arrested for trying to kill my mother.”

The vision flashed before me again. Why wasn’t I shocked? I listen.

“I swung by my mother’s place, and let myself in with the key. When I opened the door, my mother was screaming. My brother had my mother by her ankles, and she was dangling out of the window. He was swearing to drop her on her head if she didn’t make him the Power of Attorney to all of her affairs.” 

“I see.” What more could I say? 

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he says. “I’m sorry about everything. Let’s get together soon and talk.”

“Seeing is believing.” I remind him of the vision, and what I said about it happening as I had seen it.

We never spoke again.

# # #

The Waiting Room

In December 2004, my mother suffered two strokes, and survived. Following her strokes, I became her primary caregiver. I must say, I was initiated into ‘Medical Terminology and Appointment Making 101’ very quickly along with all of the duties that came with being a 24/7 caregiver.

One particular afternoon, I pushed my mother’s wheelchair into a doctor’s office anticipating having to lift her weak body onto some platform for another test. Instead, the medical staff assured me they would help my mother, and I could be seated in the waiting room.

The waiting room was empty. It was just me, myself and I among a sea of chairs. How lucky was I to have an entire room to myself, and rest for a period of time? Very lucky, I thought. After scooting into a chair that was one of many facing the backs of other chairs, I closed my eyes to rest. 

My rest was short-lived. I felt movement in the room. As I opened my eyes, and turned around to see what was moving, an African American woman sat in the chair directly butted up against mine. From what I could tell, she was in her 60s. It wasn’t long before I resumed my position, and closed my eyes once again.

With my eyes closed, I began getting visions. Some of those visions were of the woman that had sat directly behind me! Opening my eyes caused the visions to disappear, and I was relieved. I sat still with the intent to merely rest, but within a few minutes, the woman struck up a conversation with me. It was small talk: The weather, the doctor’s office, the local community, and so on. 

Suddenly, I felt a bit dizzy. Playing it off, I kept talking despite feeling as if my mind was drifting elsewhere. My hearing began to change, and it felt like something was placed over my ears to muffle sound. Despite the odd sensations, I continued to talk.

How do I say this? I was aware of speaking to the woman, and yet unaware of what I was saying. I felt like a foreigner unable to grasp what the words were, or meant. I couldn’t keep my eyes focused on her as my vision now was blurry. 

“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” the woman shouted. By the sheer volume in her voice, I was brought back to my senses. She jumped out of her chair, clapped her hands, and began dancing about the room. “Praise God! Thank you, Jesus! Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah!” 

The glass partition parted open and a receptionist peered out, and watched the woman. She, too, was witnessing a woman in sheer ecstasy. 

The woman stopped dancing, but her body was shaking. She approached me with excitement.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said as she sat down in the chair beside me. “On my way here today, I prayed to God to send me a sign, or bring me a message, to answer my prayers. You are the messenger.” I was stunned by what she said.

“What did you pray to God about?” I asked, not really knowing if I wanted to know the answer. After all, I had no idea what I had said to her. 

“I prayed to God about my church. I wanted to know if I should become the co-pastor of my church. I’ve dreamed about it for a long time. He chose you to deliver His message.”

From what I gathered through her praise and dance, God gave her the answer: A resounding ‘yes.’ I was merely the messenger.

# # #


I remember as a young child, I always prayed to God to be given the ability to heal others. I knew healing others was one of the gifts from the Holy Spirit. I daydreamed of a time when I could instantly lay hands on another and heal them. As I grew older, my prayers increased for this same gift, but the gift of being a prana healer; miraculously, changing other people’s lives for the better, did not come.

Although that particular gift did not come to me as I had envisioned it, another ability came instead: The ability to receive information as a psychic. To begin with, I wouldn’t dare suggest that I am a prophet -  one of the gifts from the Holy Spirit - to be able to prophesize. I am merely a psychic predicting near future, world events, as well as, for individuals.

After relaying the story I am about to tell you, a dear friend of mine brought to my attention that she thought my prayers had been answered (the prayer to heal others), but my abilities to heal are brought about in a different way than laying hands on someone.

Here’s a way that a ‘healing’ occurred:

In 2002, the national chain store, Service Merchandise closed its doors. A day prior to the official closing, I was one of many who stood in a long line to buy deeply discounted products in Gulfport, Mississippi. I had my mother with me, and the two of us stood watching one cashier ring out item after item.

While standing in line, my attention turned toward the woman in front of me. She was in her mid-60s. Like others in line, she was growing restless. Suddenly, I began to receive messages from a person in spirit! The spirit was that of a young man who was pressing me to deliver messages to the woman in front of me.  I ‘telepathically’ told the spirit that I didn’t like this uninvited communication, and I wasn’t going to deliver messages to a complete stranger. Besides, I didn’t particularly care for any sort of medium-ship scenario. 

Medium-ship has never been my forte, yet what was happening to me right in the middle of the store was full-blown medium-ship. The more I insisted I wasn’t going to deliver the messages, the more the man in spirit became insistent. Finally, I agreed to deliver the messages because the sheer aggravation and stress from my communications lead me to relieve myself from the burden of my experience.

I tapped on the woman’s shoulder and introduced myself as a psychic in the local community. I introduced her to my mother (whom I was relying on to back my story as a psychic so the woman wouldn’t think I was crazy), and I began to deliver the messages.

“Do you have a daughter in Huntsville, Alabama?” I asked. The woman replied yes. I could hear the man in spirit telling me north Huntsville. “North Huntsville, Alabama?” I asked. 

The woman confirmed she had two daughters in Huntsville, and one of her daughters lived in North Huntsville.

“These messages are for your daughter in North Huntsville.”

I began telling the woman about the young man in spirit. He was apologizing to her daughter for everything that had happened. He admitted that he had committed suicide, and when I spoke of this to the woman, she began tearing up. 

“It wasn’t her fault,” the man in spirit told me. The whole feeling of regret was felt through my entire body.

After I relayed the man’s messages, the woman told me her account of the story. She said that her daughter had been engaged to a young man, and the wedding date was set. Two weeks before the wedding, her daughter didn’t feel right about getting married. She had no idea why she felt the way she felt, and in the long run, she told her fiancée that she didn’t want to get married in two weeks. 

The young man was devastated. Even though her daughter wanted to continue to see him, she was simply not ready for marriage. In haste, the man completely broke off their engagement, and on the day they were to be married, he took his life.

The woman was crying as she told me the story. She said from that point on, her daughter was burdened with so much guilt, she quit her job, and for several years, she refused to leave her home. Refusing to leave her home quickly turned into a phobia, a fear of leaving the home, and the young woman was a virtual prisoner in it.

I asked the woman if she would tell her daughter to call me that evening, and I would finish delivering the messages the young man had told me. The young woman in Huntsville did call, and I gave her all of the messages I could remember.

The most important message was about freeing the young woman from her guilt. The man in spirit was asking her to talk with his parents. (She hadn’t spoken to his parents since the day of the suicide.)

After I hung up the telephone, I felt good that I was able to relay the messages, and it felt rewarding. My reward; however, would come 4 to 6 weeks later.

The young woman called me back to thank me for the messages. She said she spoke with her fiancée’s parents, and they filled her in on his mental history. What she had discovered was the young man had, since childhood, made several attempts on his own life. He had spent some time in a psychiatric institute, and had been treated for severe depression.

Once she learned of her fiancée’s history, she knew deep down that it wasn’t her fault. 

The young woman’s biggest news to share with me was this: She was once again working, and getting on with her life. She was free from the chains of guilt that had once bound her to her house. 

Finally, she was healed.

# # #
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