Muriel's at Jackson Square Part II

New Orleans

April 3rd, 2019

Muriel's restaurant sits at the heart of Jackson Square in the Vieux Carre (voo-kar-A), the French Quarter of New Orleans. This will be another year for us visiting the FQ but the first time for us being inside Muriel's. We'd passed it many, many times but I'd never made a point to have a meal there. Not for any reason other than it is known as one of the most haunted places in the area and, as a medium, not exactly where I would go if I wanted to enjoy a peaceful dinner. Tonight was different, though. I'd promised my girls a fancy evening out and I was well prepared for whatever I may encounter there. I was welcome to it, after all, how often would I get this opportunity?

Stepping into the foyer at Muriel's I found myself in awe. It was absolutely beautiful with it's dim lighting, sounds of glasses clinking from all directions and smells of delicious food wafting through the air.

We were greeting by a woman, so well-dressed it was hard to tell if she was a staff member or another dinner guest. She introduced to our wait staff and we were escorted to our table in a dining area to the right of the entrance. It was far beyond what I expected. The table was covered in actual linens, the room we sat in was some kind of parlor with pairs of French doors and windows that opened to street outside. Our chairs were pulled out for us and napkins unfolded in our laps. I looked down at the setting in front of me and forced myself to remember details from an etiquette class I took years ago. I never thought I was going to need that class but am thankful for it!

Dinner progressed as normal. We scoured over the menus and raved over everything that was brought to us. I, of course, helped myself to several of the wines they offered. A choice that would propel me into the most spontaneous spiritual communication in a very inconvenient place, surrounded by a room full of dinner guests.

I can't tell you how the conversation began or certain details, when these episodes happen to me, the room goes silent and I become separated from the world around me. I'm no longer aware of my surroundings and occasionally, my own actions. I often get quite loud without realizing it.

I remember that my communication, once opened, was free-flowing. Thoughts came quickly, so quickly that I could barely catch my breath as I tried to relay them. There were many energies in the place and I could sense them. I wanted to focus in on the person that first reached to me, a man that I knew was an owner of the home at some point in time.

He let me know that we were welcome, that he loved all the visitors in and out every day. He liked it most when his home was full. He didn't much enjoy spending time with his family, he had no patience for children and didn't feel connected with his wife. He felt bad about this, didn't like this aspect of himself but also felt he couldn't help it. He let me know that he loved his wife and she was a good, loyal woman. He wanted to love her but those feelings were just not inside him. He would never hurt and greatly respected her. He loved his children and knew that he owed them all the things good fathers do but he felt forced whenever he was with them. He told me that they were disappointed in him. He told me that they occasionally visit him (he never leaves the property). They watch from across the street, that's the closest they will ever get.

The vision I get at this point is of a woman and two children, perhaps this is how he last remembers them? Perhaps he never got to see the children grow up? I also have a vision looking at Muriel's from the across the street corner, from near the iron fencing in Jackson Square. I believe this is the view from when his wife and children visit. It's as though I was standing some feet behind them.

My communication is disrupted several times throughout the evening, sometimes by my own doing (just for a break) and other times by the normal going-on of the restaurant.

I recall another point where he was telling me about the doors at the front entrance, something about the hinges. He was very detail-oriented and a lot time and attention went into choosing the proper hinges, they need to be strong and he didn't like the ones that were on now. He made it a point for me to understand how much he cared about the details, how much of himself he had put into the home.

It's hard for me to say if who I was communication with was Jourdan or another gentlemen that owned the home. All my research into Pierre Jourdan makes no mention of him having a family nor any other solid evidence to convince me that it was him. I look forward to returning to the beautiful Muriel's one day to find out more.

Thank you for reading,

Emm