The Gift

New York City was like a drug and I was a junkie.

In the late 1960’s, I left the mountains and valleys of West Virginia for the sprawl and vigor of New York City. The air is different there. It stimulates your senses and you’re always in motion. The City is like a drug and I was a junkie.

Even before New York, and really for most of my life, I felt different. As a child I was terrified of the dark, fearing the demons that lined my room when the lights went out, creepy eyes always watching. I begged to sleep with Mom and Dad.

It sounds bizarre—demons. Well, that’s what I call them now. I’m not sure what I thought they were then. But there was something—I believe that. They weren’t in my head. And neither was the small angel who sat in the room’s lone chair.

Mostly, I was normal growing up, but sometimes I knew things there was no possible way I could know. It happened rarely, but it happened enough that I noticed. However, when I went to New York, that city air hit my brain and triggered something.

Strange things began to happen. For starters, New Yorkers don’t notice much, but they noticed me—on the street, in elevators, on buses—they spoke, stopped me, or struck up a conversation—invited me to dinner, to parties, to become famous. Sometimes it was a pure con brought on by my naiveté, but mostly it was just natives, curious about one of the city’s imports. Regardless, I felt like a green pointer sign flashed over my head, like a mountaineer hippie version of Marlo Thomas in ‘That Girl.”

My first New York address was the Phoebe Warren Hotel for Girls on East 68th Street. The Phoebe, as we called it, was a foreboding brownstone sitting amidst other better kept brownstones and high-brow embassies on a swanky limousine-lined, litter-free street, a half block from Central Park.

I met a few residents, including Christina, my future roommate, and now lifelong friend, a beautiful native with a great laugh who was constantly steering me from psychos, weirdos, and con artists. A demanding task, since they also saw my flashing green sign.

That revelatory ‘knowing’, energy, whatever it was—the lukewarm phenomenon that had ‘shown’ me things in my past—was now set on ‘go,’ and because of it, occasionally I’d tell fortunes. One afternoon a woman I’d seen in the Phoebe’s dining room grabbed my arm in the tiny hotel elevator. She eyed me like someone who had latched onto the Holy Grail.

“You know something,” she said to me, her voice shaky. “You have to tell me now! Please.”

I was alone and startled, but naïve woman/child that I was, I went to her room. Why? Well, I did sense something.

When we got there, I asked for a deck of cards. I didn’t really need them; mostly they were a prop, a way to share my ‘gift’ that people could understand.

After flipping through the cards, I unveiled a strange saga: two men were following a younger man they intended to harm. And the younger man needed to contact her. I don’t remember the details—they went on and on—however, I do remember her tears. You see, I confirmed her fears: the young man was her son. This happened at least twice at the Phoebe.

Religion wasn’t something I embraced at this life juncture, but I still prayed. And I believed. Mostly, I believed I had a terrifying gift from the dark side, and I prayed God would take it away.

One night, Christina and I went out to dinner. After we’d returned and gone to our rooms, she ran to my room because a large black bird had flown through her window and into her mirror. Not long after, she and I moved into an apartment on East 74th Street.

Months had passed without much ‘psychic’ nonsense when out of the blue I told Christina my ex-boyfriend was going to call. We hadn’t been in touch in over a year, maybe two. Unbelievably, he phoned that very night. She answered, and after he told her who he was, she screamed, “Karyn, you freak me out!” and handed me the receiver.

“What was that all about?” he asked when I answered.

“I told her you were going to call,” I said.

“How did you know that?” He was incredulous. “I didn’t even know it.” My life was about to take a huge turn.

The next few months were hectic. I was enduring the strain of a new job and a renewed long distance relationship with my ex. The first of November seemed to come early and was much too cold. I was out window shopping, on the way to an afternoon matinee with three friends. Suddenly, an attack of anxiety, complete with heart palpitations, swept over me. I spun around, reversing directions, like a drug addict sniffing out a fix. “I have to get back to the apartment!” I yelled back to my startled friends. They chased after me as my feet clapped the pavement. “What’s going on?” my friend Bobby asked as he hustled alongside me.

“I’m not sure.” I kept moving. “But something awful has happened and I have to get home.”

Bobby motioned for the others to follow and they were all there when I opened my apartment door to a ringing telephone.

It was my ex, who was now my boyfriend, and he was visiting in our hometown. “Karyn,” he spoke softly into the receiver, “your Dad died early this morning. Your Mom’s at the hospital. They think he had a heart attack or a stroke.”

Just like that. Cullen Cantees, my 47 year old father was dead.

I had come to New York to attend the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, and, truthfully, to escape my father’s watchful eyes. The irony didn’t hit me for years: Dad died when I was living in the one place I felt hidden from his control. To further the irony, I immediately moved home. Five months later, I married my ex, who is, once again, my ex.

Thankfully, while I was in New York, I had a heavenly Father who sent both heavenly and earthly angels—friends like Christina and Bobby—who steered me. And though I wasn’t religious, two things I believed: Satan and evil existed as surely as God and good. And in the 1960’s of my youth, evil was often lurking.

Today I believe the prayers of my family and my own simple prayers sustained me. One of those appeals, “God, please take this psychic power, this ‘knowing,’ whatever it is, away from me,” I still ponder. It was a prayer that for the most part was answered. At least for a time.

My ‘gift’ prepared me for certain events during my brief two-year, New York stint, and probably saved my life at least once (stay tuned). Yet knowing the unknown was frightening. Here’s what I’ve come to believe: God gave me a prophetic gift, which, in my youth, I abused, not knowing what it was or how to use it.


The left side view from our hotel room overlooking Central Park two years ago. The above, main photo is the right side view, the gorgeous NYC skyline, looking more like a painting than a photo.

Yet, God was faithful! Because, while my ‘gift’ was sidelined, it wasn’t eliminated. Today, I sometimes know things I have no way of knowing, other than the divine. It’s rare, but when it happens, I am reassured of His unending grace. And I am reminded that when darkness falls, the wondrous light of Christ is always shining.

The orchestra pit at Phantom of the Opera. Part of my dowry when Alan and I married was a yearly trip to NYC. It doesn't always happen anymore.

Orchestra pit, Phantom of the Opera. 


13 Responses to " The Gift "

  1. Oh, Karyn…I hung on to every word. It was riveting. Yes, you do have something special, call it a power, call it intuition to the nth degree…whatever it is, I know that I have had the benefit of being ‘saved’ by it…we both know how your gift altered the course of my life, a path I was on that was not good for me, but my naivete and innocence couldn’t change it. You did. For that I’m forever grateful to you, my friend. Gawd, I love you…keep writing and share this gift. xox Always your sister ally xo

  2. Sue says:

    Another one that keeps on keeping on…….So enjoyed the reading and thankful for your friendship…….when I saw the “unsubscribe” button………I thought “no way would I take a chance on missing one of these” You encourage and inspire by writing……. God has certainly blessed you with this talent……and blessed me with just being able to say ” I know Karyn”… love you.

  3. Jennifer Wingo says:

    Got chills reading about your adventures in NY….I did not realize that your Dad died so young….Rick often speaks of the “Seetnac” and your father and of course your brother Rick. I hung on every word and anxiously await the next chapter. Funny coincidence that you and Alice are such dear friends….I lived with Mary Ellen, Alice and Nikki Garnett in 1970 in an apartment in Huntington. It always amazes me how God seems to weave our lives together. Sharing your gift is a must….regardless of what you are speaking of, the love of God shines throughout the writting. Our life experiences help to form and shape us into the person God intends us to be….it is up to us to follow the pathways He sets out for us….and it is up to us to choose the right path !!!! Love your sharing and your flare for writing….Blessings to you and yours !!!!

  4. Jennifer! I love that our lives have reconnected here w/Karyn’s beautiful heaven-sent writing and gift. Those were some great times. Oh, how, I took them for granted thinking they’d never end. So good to ‘see’ you again, darlin…sending lots of love and good juju energy! Group hug!!! ox

  5. Found you through a Facebook comment on my new soul pal Alice’s post. I was drawn in by your words and followed them here. Your story is indeed compelling. I want to read the next chapter. I, too, am a West Virginia girl who has kept moving ‘souther’ throughout my life. I miss the hug of the mountains, nonetheless, I am called to be a flatlander and an island girl. Your Gift of knowing is similar to my husbands. I will have him read this as he is just unwrapping it as a Gift. I cannot wait to dig into your blog. Happy I followed the intuitive tug on my heart this morning. Good to meet you!

  6. Maggie Barno says:

    Karyn, your writing is amazing! You transport the reader as we are all right there “with” you in your experiences! You are truly blessed.
    And thank you to Alice, who shared your story so that others, like me, are able to be uplifted by your words! I can’t wait to read more of your stories! (((Hugs))) Maggie

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