I'm blogging again. Not really because I feel like I have that much to say, but, because the time feels right for me to do so. It's been a very interesting time since last I posted. You see, I've been working with children who happen to have gifts of their very own. And, I've learned that I could become very jealous of them and their innate abilities and of their having a fabulous mother who encourages them to be all that they are and use their gifts and learn to manage them well, even at their young ages. But, the good news is that I have learned not to be jealous, but, to instead be loving, supportive and as helpful as I can with my own knowledge.
These kids are phenomenal to work with. The little boy ~ he's all of 4 years old ~ is a certified boy! Wiggly, full of energy and ready to roughhouse out the drop of a hat. Well, that's what the world in general sees. I also get to know and learn from and try to teach the young boy who can tell you what colors and things you are thinking of with nearly 100% accuracy; who can project healing energy better and with more compassion than I have seen and felt from many adults; and, who loves to learn how to control the healing energies and learn healing techniques to help his family. His sister is most definitely all girl ~ very clothes conscious, hair fixed just so, loves pink anything ~ a regular little 8 year old girl, on the outside. Her compassion knows no boundaries when working with healing energies. She's a quick study in how to move energy from Point A to Point B and does a wonderful job helping her younger brother realize how to do that during demonstrations of techniques I ask her to do for him. She both feels and sees energies around bodies and illnesses and is very adamant that she will learn how to make things better before she gets grown up.
These kids are also special because they see dead people without flinching and intuitively know who's a "good person" and who is out to be "mean and nasty" to borrow their words. They totally amaze me. And, of course, they make me hope and pray that other kids who are growing up like them are as blessed as they are to have a loving mom who tells them that they are normal and that having gifts is a good thing and not a problem or a bad thing like some parents have done to their kids in the past and are still doing to their kids these days as well. (Not talking about mine ~ they really didn't address it much at all ~ cuz I didn't bring it up much at all.)
Working with these gifted kids is really a blessing to me. It forces me to continue to keep acknowledging my own gifts, learning to increase their potential for helping others ~ yes, even the seeing dead people part~ and they keep me honest with myself about who and what I am. That's the greatest thing about working with these two characters ~ they keep me honest with myself and I'm ever so grateful for that.
Showing posts with label paranormal children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paranormal children. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Okay, teenage years - once over quickly
Okay, here goes, my teenage years - once over quickly. Being a teenager was utter misery. Not only did I have breasts and begin menstruating before everyone else of my gender at school, my abilities were getting stronger and stronger. It was really driving me to distraction, and that's putting it kindly. Between 8th and 9th grades, I grew to my current adult height - 5'10'' - which made me one of the tallest kids in school. That's right, one of the tallest kids, not just one of the tallest girls. In fact, 3 other girl friends and I were, till the 10th grade, the tallest in our grade, even in high school. Yeah, that didn't bring on any teasing and tormenting at all. Each one of us confided to the others that it would be sooooo cool to be able to shrink down to the size of a cheerleader and be popular for a change. That didn't happen either. Instead, we all grew breasts, got our periods, and in general were a mess till the rest of the girls caught up with us, at least as far as the periods arriving that is.
The closest I came to sharing my frustrations with my "gifts" with my friends was sitting with a bunch of girls in the womens' restroom at church telling scary stories, ghost stories and trying to levitate one of our group using "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" for a chant to encourage that to happen. When we actually levitated the girl about a foot off the cement floor, an adult stuck her head into the restroom to see what was going on - "CRASH!!!" down she came to the floor in a heartbeat, with a lump on her head to prove she hit the floor hard. Laughing and giggling we scattered to the winds as best we could so as to avoid any adult questions. When we talked about it later with one another, one of the girls asked, "Did you all see that man standing there watching us?" I nearly said "yes" but stopped when another girl said, "Yeah, right, there was a man standing there watching us! Where was he, in the sink? You have gotta be nuts to believe that!" But, there was a guy standing there, near the sink, watching everything we were doing and shaking his head in disbelief. No way in the world was I telling anyone that I could not only see him, but, sometimes, I could hear his thoughts as well. Nope, not telling a soul.
Ninth and tenth grades were okay, mostly. Tried my best to fit in with the few friends I had, and pretty much kept my mouth shut about hearing voices of folks not present and all that sort of thing. Junior and senior years at high school were the absolute worst ever. I finally was allowed to date, sorta. Had to have a chaperone for the first 6 dates because my folks thought me so naieve as to "give myself away" to the first boy that would even think about kissing me. Never had those thoughts, but, they didn't care. Teenage hormones scared the crap out of them, so, I got to go on chaperoned dates. Yep, that really made me a laughing stock and put me utterly out of the realm of dating. When they finally relented because I wasn't being asked on dates, I dated a wonderful fellow who "sorta" accepted the paranormal - ghosts, spirits, and that stuff, not hearing and talking to them. It was fun, but, frustrating because I could hear relatives of his trying to communicate with him. Since he didn't want anything to do with that stuff, I got to pretend it wasn't happening. Hated that part. Being someone I wasn't just was miserable. Things didn't get any better the next year either. In fact, my gifts were being so "pushy" that I began wishing them away every day. Each time they would rear their heads, I would wish them to go away... till finally they did. My head was quiet. I didn't sense anyone "lurking about" anywhere, ever. I was alone in my own skin, in my own world, and, as much as I had thought I would like it, I wasn't so sure I did.
I finally knew what it was like to not have my "gifts" turned on all the time. Hmmmm, really quiet, have to really pay attention to what other people say and do and not have anything else to rely on but that input... Although I wasn't really comfortable without my other input sources, I let my gifts go, hoping they wouldn't ever rear their ugly heads again. I was tired of having to pretend I didn't see, hear, smell, taste, feel things that no one else was aware of. It was nice to be able to be "normal", only it wasn't. But, my desire to be "normal", "regular", "like everyone else" was so strong, I deliberately ignored my gifts whenever they tried to break through the various barriers I had erected to them. It was an uncomfortable time emotionally for me, but, I perservered because I thought it would be better to be "normal" than "weird". I was wrong, but, that's a story for another time.
The closest I came to sharing my frustrations with my "gifts" with my friends was sitting with a bunch of girls in the womens' restroom at church telling scary stories, ghost stories and trying to levitate one of our group using "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" for a chant to encourage that to happen. When we actually levitated the girl about a foot off the cement floor, an adult stuck her head into the restroom to see what was going on - "CRASH!!!" down she came to the floor in a heartbeat, with a lump on her head to prove she hit the floor hard. Laughing and giggling we scattered to the winds as best we could so as to avoid any adult questions. When we talked about it later with one another, one of the girls asked, "Did you all see that man standing there watching us?" I nearly said "yes" but stopped when another girl said, "Yeah, right, there was a man standing there watching us! Where was he, in the sink? You have gotta be nuts to believe that!" But, there was a guy standing there, near the sink, watching everything we were doing and shaking his head in disbelief. No way in the world was I telling anyone that I could not only see him, but, sometimes, I could hear his thoughts as well. Nope, not telling a soul.
Ninth and tenth grades were okay, mostly. Tried my best to fit in with the few friends I had, and pretty much kept my mouth shut about hearing voices of folks not present and all that sort of thing. Junior and senior years at high school were the absolute worst ever. I finally was allowed to date, sorta. Had to have a chaperone for the first 6 dates because my folks thought me so naieve as to "give myself away" to the first boy that would even think about kissing me. Never had those thoughts, but, they didn't care. Teenage hormones scared the crap out of them, so, I got to go on chaperoned dates. Yep, that really made me a laughing stock and put me utterly out of the realm of dating. When they finally relented because I wasn't being asked on dates, I dated a wonderful fellow who "sorta" accepted the paranormal - ghosts, spirits, and that stuff, not hearing and talking to them. It was fun, but, frustrating because I could hear relatives of his trying to communicate with him. Since he didn't want anything to do with that stuff, I got to pretend it wasn't happening. Hated that part. Being someone I wasn't just was miserable. Things didn't get any better the next year either. In fact, my gifts were being so "pushy" that I began wishing them away every day. Each time they would rear their heads, I would wish them to go away... till finally they did. My head was quiet. I didn't sense anyone "lurking about" anywhere, ever. I was alone in my own skin, in my own world, and, as much as I had thought I would like it, I wasn't so sure I did.
I finally knew what it was like to not have my "gifts" turned on all the time. Hmmmm, really quiet, have to really pay attention to what other people say and do and not have anything else to rely on but that input... Although I wasn't really comfortable without my other input sources, I let my gifts go, hoping they wouldn't ever rear their ugly heads again. I was tired of having to pretend I didn't see, hear, smell, taste, feel things that no one else was aware of. It was nice to be able to be "normal", only it wasn't. But, my desire to be "normal", "regular", "like everyone else" was so strong, I deliberately ignored my gifts whenever they tried to break through the various barriers I had erected to them. It was an uncomfortable time emotionally for me, but, I perservered because I thought it would be better to be "normal" than "weird". I was wrong, but, that's a story for another time.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
"She's just shy"
Last night, driving home from work, I remembered something that had laid hidden and quite dormant in the dark recesses of my mind since I was younger, much younger. The mind is a wonderful thing. It protects you from stuff that has the potential to really screw you up permanently. What, you ask, could be such a big deal that you didn't remember it till last night? A friend of my folks that, as a young girl(10,11,12 or so), I couldn't stand to be around.
That sounds like not such a big deal, right? Wrong. Mr. B and his wife were good card-playing, Saturday night get-together, church member friends of my folks, so, it was a huge problem for me. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't avoid him entirely. Wherever the folks went for fun, all of us went too. For several years, the Bs and my folks were steadfast friends and did lots of stuff together - card parties, church outings, cookouts - you know, the stuff all suburbanites did back in the late 50s and early 60s. The rest of the crowd the folks hung out with were great people. All of us loved them like family members. Mrs. B was okay, but Mr. B and his son were to be avoided at all costs. Mr. B was creepy, at best, and his son was becoming a miniature version of him. The mere thought of them makes my skin crawl to this day.
One particular evening at the Bs popped into my head while driving home last night. The one my mind protected me from remembering. It was a summer night cookout and card party combo deal. So, that meant there were quite a few kids around besides those in the B's family. About 10 or 12 of us plus theirs. Playing lawn darts, hide and seek, badminton, croquet, you know, typical kid fun for the time. We hooted, hollered, ran, played hard, had a great time with one another until it got dark and we were all called to come inside and go upstairs and watch tv with the Bs kids. Again, not a big deal. Until you get to the part where Mr. B scooped me up and tried to carry me into the house. It wasn't just that he scared the crap out of me coming up from behind me and grabbing me - we kids had been doing that to one a another the whole time we were playing and he was "just doing what the kids were doing." It was that he put his arm over one of my shoulders and grabbed me up between my legs and held me extremely tight against his body to carry me toward the house. That creeped me out deluxe and then some. Especially when the thoughts and pictures in his mind came through to me as clear as day! YUCK!!!! EWWWWWW!!!!! GROSS!!!!! I squirmed and wiggled and kicked and screamed "Let go of me!" as loud as I could. Caught him in the groin with me feet - YEA!!! He dropped me like a hot rock and I ran into the house, upstairs to the bedroom where the tv was and wrapped myself in a blanket so tight you'd have thought it was my second skin. Even the Bs son didn't tease or torment me that night like he usually did. I think he thought I might kick him too.
Mom and Dad were up the stairs like a shot to find out what my "problem" was that I had kicked Mr. B in the nuts when he was just trying to 'play with us kids and hurry us up at the same time.' I told them how he had grabbed me up, and, for once, they didn't tell me that I was wrong to do something to stand up for myself. They told me to stay upstairs and watch the movie and try to get as calm as I could and everything would be okay. They promised. It would be okay, they promised. About an hour later, one of the other mom's called upstairs for all of us kids to come downstairs, we were all going outside to roast marshmallows and make s'mores over the grill. Down the stairs we trudged and out into the backyard to get all sugared up on marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers. Yum. Down I went in the blanket all wrapped up tight like a miniature mummy. When I was asked by one of the other parents why I was in a wrapped so tight in a blanket on a hot summer's night, Mom and Dad, to their everlasting credit answered for me. "She's just shy. When CB grabbed her up to bring her in the house, it scared her too much and now she's wrapped up like a cocoon sort of like a protective covering. She's just shy." What they didn't say, and what I distinctly remember hearing, was that their minds were saying things like "That perverted son of a b@#$% touched our daughter in the wrong place. He scared the crap out of her to get his jollies. I'd like to skin him alive and feed him to the vultures!" Those thoughts that they had were one of the greatest comforts I ever drew from my ability to hear thoughts - even though I wasn't supposed to be using it any more. I knew they loved me and wanted to protect me from Mr. B. That was all that mattered. They promised that everything would be okay. Their thoughts were proof to me that it would be.
We, as a family, didn't spend much more time with the Bs after that. The folks would play cards, and go for "grown-ups only" cookouts, but, we kids didn't see much of them after that at all. Except in church, where, thankfully we didn't have to be near Mr. B or that weird son of his. I always felt sorry for Mrs. B and her daughter after that night having to live with not just one young creepy guy, but, another one who was older, stronger and infinitely more gross, disgusting and creepier than his son.
So, what do I want you, dear reader, to take away from this odd story? Just this. Sometimes a shy kid isn't a shy kid just because he or she is socially awkward. Sometimes they are shy because they can feel the emotions of certain people and hear their thoughts. That creeps them out and makes them not want to be near those folks. That's what I'd like you to take away from this story. Socially awkward is one thing. Avoiding creepy adults is another. Learn to tell the difference for the sake of the young ones around you that you care about. Even if you don't believe in "paranormal", "esp", "clairvoyance" and all that other "weird stuff", listen when the young one tells you that So&So is weird or creepy. It might just be that she smells of garlic and dog urine, or, it could be that the young one truly understands and knows more than you do. "She's just shy," was my folks polite way of dealing with the situation all those years ago. My mind protected me, for whatever reason, till last night driving home when I was talking to a friend about taking out all my mental garbage so I'd have room to progress and grow. I'm hoping that somewhere, someone reading will understand what I'm trying to say here, and use it to protect the lovely young ones in her or his own life.
Namaste.
That sounds like not such a big deal, right? Wrong. Mr. B and his wife were good card-playing, Saturday night get-together, church member friends of my folks, so, it was a huge problem for me. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't avoid him entirely. Wherever the folks went for fun, all of us went too. For several years, the Bs and my folks were steadfast friends and did lots of stuff together - card parties, church outings, cookouts - you know, the stuff all suburbanites did back in the late 50s and early 60s. The rest of the crowd the folks hung out with were great people. All of us loved them like family members. Mrs. B was okay, but Mr. B and his son were to be avoided at all costs. Mr. B was creepy, at best, and his son was becoming a miniature version of him. The mere thought of them makes my skin crawl to this day.
One particular evening at the Bs popped into my head while driving home last night. The one my mind protected me from remembering. It was a summer night cookout and card party combo deal. So, that meant there were quite a few kids around besides those in the B's family. About 10 or 12 of us plus theirs. Playing lawn darts, hide and seek, badminton, croquet, you know, typical kid fun for the time. We hooted, hollered, ran, played hard, had a great time with one another until it got dark and we were all called to come inside and go upstairs and watch tv with the Bs kids. Again, not a big deal. Until you get to the part where Mr. B scooped me up and tried to carry me into the house. It wasn't just that he scared the crap out of me coming up from behind me and grabbing me - we kids had been doing that to one a another the whole time we were playing and he was "just doing what the kids were doing." It was that he put his arm over one of my shoulders and grabbed me up between my legs and held me extremely tight against his body to carry me toward the house. That creeped me out deluxe and then some. Especially when the thoughts and pictures in his mind came through to me as clear as day! YUCK!!!! EWWWWWW!!!!! GROSS!!!!! I squirmed and wiggled and kicked and screamed "Let go of me!" as loud as I could. Caught him in the groin with me feet - YEA!!! He dropped me like a hot rock and I ran into the house, upstairs to the bedroom where the tv was and wrapped myself in a blanket so tight you'd have thought it was my second skin. Even the Bs son didn't tease or torment me that night like he usually did. I think he thought I might kick him too.
Mom and Dad were up the stairs like a shot to find out what my "problem" was that I had kicked Mr. B in the nuts when he was just trying to 'play with us kids and hurry us up at the same time.' I told them how he had grabbed me up, and, for once, they didn't tell me that I was wrong to do something to stand up for myself. They told me to stay upstairs and watch the movie and try to get as calm as I could and everything would be okay. They promised. It would be okay, they promised. About an hour later, one of the other mom's called upstairs for all of us kids to come downstairs, we were all going outside to roast marshmallows and make s'mores over the grill. Down the stairs we trudged and out into the backyard to get all sugared up on marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers. Yum. Down I went in the blanket all wrapped up tight like a miniature mummy. When I was asked by one of the other parents why I was in a wrapped so tight in a blanket on a hot summer's night, Mom and Dad, to their everlasting credit answered for me. "She's just shy. When CB grabbed her up to bring her in the house, it scared her too much and now she's wrapped up like a cocoon sort of like a protective covering. She's just shy." What they didn't say, and what I distinctly remember hearing, was that their minds were saying things like "That perverted son of a b@#$% touched our daughter in the wrong place. He scared the crap out of her to get his jollies. I'd like to skin him alive and feed him to the vultures!" Those thoughts that they had were one of the greatest comforts I ever drew from my ability to hear thoughts - even though I wasn't supposed to be using it any more. I knew they loved me and wanted to protect me from Mr. B. That was all that mattered. They promised that everything would be okay. Their thoughts were proof to me that it would be.
We, as a family, didn't spend much more time with the Bs after that. The folks would play cards, and go for "grown-ups only" cookouts, but, we kids didn't see much of them after that at all. Except in church, where, thankfully we didn't have to be near Mr. B or that weird son of his. I always felt sorry for Mrs. B and her daughter after that night having to live with not just one young creepy guy, but, another one who was older, stronger and infinitely more gross, disgusting and creepier than his son.
So, what do I want you, dear reader, to take away from this odd story? Just this. Sometimes a shy kid isn't a shy kid just because he or she is socially awkward. Sometimes they are shy because they can feel the emotions of certain people and hear their thoughts. That creeps them out and makes them not want to be near those folks. That's what I'd like you to take away from this story. Socially awkward is one thing. Avoiding creepy adults is another. Learn to tell the difference for the sake of the young ones around you that you care about. Even if you don't believe in "paranormal", "esp", "clairvoyance" and all that other "weird stuff", listen when the young one tells you that So&So is weird or creepy. It might just be that she smells of garlic and dog urine, or, it could be that the young one truly understands and knows more than you do. "She's just shy," was my folks polite way of dealing with the situation all those years ago. My mind protected me, for whatever reason, till last night driving home when I was talking to a friend about taking out all my mental garbage so I'd have room to progress and grow. I'm hoping that somewhere, someone reading will understand what I'm trying to say here, and use it to protect the lovely young ones in her or his own life.
Namaste.
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