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Crossing Over To The Other Side

Crossing Over To The Other Side

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Crossing Over To The Other Side

5/5 (1 valutazione)
165 pagine
2 ore
Jun 15, 2014


Crossing Over answers the age old questions: what happens after death, where do we go, what our lives all about and why is there so much pain and suffering in this world? Crossing Over tells the story of five people who "cross over" and are met by Bob, who becomes their guide, teacher and friend. He helps them adjust to their return to the spirit world. There's Maryanne, who was killed during a drug war in Los Angeles, Borunda Ni an African tribesman, Clara a widow from a small town in Pennsylvania, Ernst a Nazi war criminal and finally Jeff, who faces a big decision regarding his next incarnation on Earth.
Crossing Over to The Other Side is a bestselling novel in Brazil, with more than 300,000 copies sold and is now in being made into a motion picture. This book was also translated in Spanish and published as Un Viaje Hacia La Luz.

Jun 15, 2014

Informazioni sull'autore

Frederick "Ricky Medeiros" was born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, has a B.S. and M.S. from Syracuse, University. Rick has worked in broadcasting for over 30 years, as a writer, producer and board member of the SBT television network in Sao Paulo, Brazil He has written 6 bestsellers in Brazil, having sold close to one million copies.

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Crossing Over To The Other Side - Ricky Medeiros


Frederick Ricky Medeiros

Copyright © 2014 by Frederick Ricky Medeiros

Spiritual Light Books

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

About the Author

Other Books by the Author


I am neither fortuneteller, seer, nor prophet. No flaming bush grows in my garden. However, I know this manuscript is an inspired one, written with the help of those who live on what we call the other side. I do not affirm this on my own. Five mediums ( or channelers as is the en vogue word for this sort of thing nowadays) do.

None of the five know each other. They have never met and each has their own unique way of channeling. But, they have independently told me what I have known and felt ever since I began to write this book. I am being helped, and I know by whom.

When I was around twenty years old, my youngest brother died. He had a paper route and was hit by a car.

A few years earlier when I was in my mid- teens, I became interested in the afterlife. I guess I was trying to make some sense out of this one. While some guys were playing pool or making out; I was reading Lobsang Rampa and Hans Holzer.

So, it was quite natural after my brother’s death, I should seek out a spiritualist church and see if what I had read was true. I did and wound up at the First Spiritualist Church of Syracuse, New York. Mrs. Margaret Tice was the pastor. She was probably the most gifted and honest medium I have ever met. Without knowing me or the circumstances, she told me of a ...twelve or thirteen-year-old boy who had just passed over to the other side . . . I see him hit by a car, newspapers flying in the air. He says he’s your brother, and his name is Joseph...

Over the next few months, I attended Margaret’s church almost every Wednesday night. My mother, who at first did not believe, went with me.

One night, Margaret told my mother to call up a friend of Joe’s ... the boy with the long blond hair. Mrs. Tice said my brother told this friend about a dream my brother had a few weeks before the accident . The medium said Joe wanted my mother to call his friend and ask about the dream.

Well, Joe had only one friend with long blond hair.

His name was Kevin and as soon as we got home from the church that night, my mother phoned him. She asked him to stop by after school the next day.

He did and my mother asked Kevin about Joe’s dream. The thirteen-year-old was stunned. For a few seconds, he simply didn’t know what to say. He sat silently in one of our living room chairs. Finally, he answered, saying yes, Joe did tell him about a dream he had about two months before the car killed him.

Kevin went on to say that Joe woke up one morning around four. He had told Kevin that he had a dream; more of a nightmare to be exact. In the dream he had been hit by a truck and died.

The kid with the long blond hair was crying now. It seems that when Joe told him about his dream, Joe said he thought he would be dying soon.

And, he did.

At another Wednesday night service Margaret told my mother her son would make his presence known to her, so that beyond the shadow of any doubt she would know that his soul, his spirit (whatever you want to call the part that survives our earthly shell we call body) lived on.

Just like we all do, the medium added.

About two weeks later, he did make his presence known.

And like Mrs. Tice said, he made it known beyond the shadow of any doubt.

A cold, snowy Friday in January and my mother was getting ready to sleep. A small candle she burned every night for him flickered out on the night stand. My father was snoring away on the other side of the bed; my sister was sleeping at a friend’s house, as was my other brother. I, a sophomore at Syracuse University arrived home around midnight and by this time everyone was sleeping.

Around six in the morning a loud, constant buzzing sound wakes my mother. The candle that around 11:30 the night before was dying out, was now at six a.m. lighting up the room.

Back then, we lived in a two-story Cape Cod home and my mother, from her first floor bedroom, heard footsteps going up the stairs to the second floor. After a few moments, she heard those footsteps walk down the stairs. She said even heard the difference in sound as the footsteps left the wood of the stairs landing on the carpeted floor.

My mother got out of bed and looked around the first floor of the house. My father still snored away and I was still asleep in the den.

She was now in the living room and she felt a force pushing her upstairs, where Joe’s room used to be.

She had not been there since he died three months ago.

At the top of the stairs there was a small walk -in storage area. Being a twelve year old Joe was supposed to be in bed by 9:30, but, being a twelve year old, he rarely was. He would often go to this cubby hole, which he turned into his hideout. There he would read comic books, listen to the radio and talk to his friend Kevin on the CB. Joseph was by no means Saint Joseph. - ( He still isn’t, by the way)

Anyway, she opened the door to the hideout and a black crayon fell from the frame over the small door . My mother looked up and there on the wall, written in black crayon were these words: I LOVE MY MOTHER, I LOVE MY FATHER. DON’T MISS ME AND DON’T CRY - JOE.

She became hysterical. My father heard her and ran upstairs. He, too, saw the handwriting on the wall.

He told her he had been in the room just a few days before and the writing was not there. When I finally woke up, I went upstairs to the room. I too had been there a few days earlier and can say the writing had not been there.

That was one of Joe’s first messages. This book is another.

One night, a few months this happened, Mrs. Tice smiled and told us that she finally understood.

Understand what?, I asked.

Mrs. Tice answered by admitting that when we first came to the church almost a year ago she was puzzled and surprised.

A spirit which has crossed over so recently usually did not yet develop the power or strength to be communicating in the way he was. Now for the first time, I can see him and he is a spirit of the highest order. He is next to the creator and came back to this earth to live only twelve years. He came on a mission and the mission ended. What the mission was I do not know, but his time on the sphere was over.

More than twenty five years later, I am living in Sao Paulo, Brazil and a psychic asks if I am writing a book. I answer yes, but add it’s only a hobby. The psychic said I am wrong, it is not a hobby and there is spirit guide helping me. I did not ask who the guide was.

A few weeks go by and another psychic tells me, I see you writing and there is a strong light guiding what you write.

This time, I did ask who the guide was.

She questioned me, asking if I have a brother in spirit. She told me of the true and unwavering light this spirit brings me and how even his death was part a divine plan.

Do I see him while I write? I wish I did.

Do I hear him when I write? Only the faintest of a shadow whisper.

Do I feel is presence. Yes .

Many years ago, back in Syracuse, New York, Joe sent many a message through the mediumship of Margaret Tice.

This book is but another one of his messages and it is a simple one. It is a message of hope, of life, of love and of redemption.



William Shakespeare once wrote, What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.

That being the case, you can call me Bob. Who I am is not too hard to explain, on the earth sphere I am sometimes called the light. When some of you make what we here call a quick visit back ( near death experience ), some report seeing a light. And, guess what ? The reports are right.

The light is comforting, guiding, healing and protecting. It is the light that waits for each and every one of you on the other side of the gate you call death. ( What a lousy name--death. I prefer the arrival, but like Shakespeare said, what’s in name?)

Well, I’m it... The light. I’m not the only one, there are countless others. We all have the same mission, and it’s complicated.

We are not simply a swarm of mystical lightning bugs saying, Hey, come follow us to eternal salvation and redemption. We are here to greet, to teach and to explain.

That is our mission at this stage of our own evolution. And, we are on this mission not only to help but to learn from those we help. That’s you.

To sum it all up, my job is to teach as it is to learn. My job is to show the way and to find the way. My job is to guide and ask for guidance. This book is a part of my job and if you’re willing, we’ll look at what is waiting when you slip from the earth sphere and step through the gate of death.

That’s not the only reason I am writing this book, though. ( No, I don’t have any ambition to be on the New York Times Bestseller list either.)

I want to bring you the truths about what lies on this side of the gate and at the same time help you understand what life on your side is about. Because it is there, on your side , where despair, suffering , and hopelessness reign.

The Earth sphere. It is where you are now and there is reason why. You are on earth to learn, to grow and to discover the glowing divinity existing in every human soul. You are there, as I was many times and many years ago, to overcome and profit from the pain, the suffering, the sorrow, the grief, and the bitterness the dense earth vibrations offer. The earth exists because it is a school and you are its pupils. You are literally on earth to learn from your mistakes.

I have lived on Earth many times. My last incarnation was quite a few years ago. It really doesn’t matter when, but what my life was like does , because there’s no such a thing as an irrelevant life.

No person’s life is meaningless ; we are all connected to one another. We share the same spark ; we are a part of the same creator. That is a lesson many spirits who inhabit the earth plane still have not learned.

My last earth incarnation was in the United States of America, a state called Kansas.

I lived on a farm. After my parents died, I was alone. I had no

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