When last we met, I was learning to tear down walls that shut off my "gifts" and had seen my first dead guy at his own funeral since my dear sister walked into my bedroom following her death. Now that you and I are caught up, let's move on. My dear young friend, bless her soul, insisted that I talk with her mind to mind. "It keeps things private, really private", was one of her arguments in favor of such foolishness. Another favorite was, "If your Dad can learn more about this stuff and use it (he was in a development class with the woman who became his mistress) you can use the gifts you already have and are better at!" Since he wasn't high on my list of nice people by this time, that one always succeeded in goading me into using my gifts to "mind talk" with my friend K. She is now and was then, genuine, loving, kind, ornery, fun to be with and above all else accepting of folks who might be just a bit "unusual". That made her especially treasured in my eyes then, and now. Whenever we got together, we would test each other's gifts in one way or another, talk about how weird it was to have such gifts when most everyone both of us knew doubted their existence, and just life in general in our individual skin suits.
It was nice to have someone I knew personally who was "gifted". It made life less lonely, less awkward, less weird, because I had someone to talk to about hearing, seeing, smelling and tasting things that weren't physically present. It was the same for her too. Her parents didn't want to know about her gifts, mine either, even after I knew my Dad was taking development classes. "What you don't know about can't hurt you" but it sure makes it hard on you when your family members don't know and think you crazy for what you know to be your own personal truth. "Children of the Paranormal" is a wonderful show. I'm tickled to pieces for those kids. I had only 1 friend in all the people I knew who believed me, and, whom I believed. The kids on those shows have folks to show them how to manage their gifts and they can bond with one another. I also am jealous of those kids (teeny tiny jealous, not huge jealous) because they have help. K and I did not. We taught each other stuff. We accepted each other's stuff as real, valid, and worth learning and listening to. AND, we had to do it on the sly so that we would still fit into the world around us. That was the tough part of it all then. Having only one another to talk to and to learn from and to teach... then having to pretend none of it existed so that we could get along with those around us with whom we lived and to whom we were married. Not so much fun. Like living an enormous lie. It sucked the life right out of me, and K too. It truly sucked the life right out!
"Hey! Found a great book for us to read." "Did you read (insert name of a book here) about (insert topic here)? I'll let you know when I finally take it back to the library so you can check it out next." "What do you think about (insert topic)?" "Have you ever tried seeing ghosts on purpose? Did it work? What did you do when it worked to make it work?" "Did you hear that? see that? smell that?" Those were the types of conversations K and I had a lot of. It was great. It was educational. It was a wonderful bonding experience that has kept us friends all these years later. It was also sad because we so longed for guidance and had none. We wanted "how to's" and could only find limited information in library books. It was a great time and a sad one as well. We were teaching one another how to be more who and what we were and were to become in our later adult lives. Goodness knows that we may have had fools for teachers, but, we had a great time learning from one another, and, about one another. Then, all too soon, we grew apart so we could grow back together later on. The loneliness was unbearable, and so were the noises, voices, smells and tastes without someone to share them with. I would later find out that she, like I felt similarly................. Ahh, the wonderful beauty and pain of early adulthood.
Showing posts with label rememberances. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rememberances. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Seeing Dead People at Funerals
It was in my 20s that I started having to attend funerals and viewings. That whole death circus thing we do in western society is so odd to me and was to me then. Well, actually then it was more creepy and morbid and horrendously sad. Now it's odd. The first dead person I saw attending his own funeral was a very much loved and respected member of the church family. Stand-up kind of man, great dad, loving hubby, someone everyone liked and respected. He died from a terminal illness in middle age, really a hard kind of a loss for family and friends alike because of his dynamic personality and charm.
The viewing was difficult enough. Emotional energies were off the chart, as was to be expected, and the snarky gossipy stuff going on in people's heads was too! That's another story for another time, trust me, it's a hoot! Back to the viewing. I kept thinking I was seeing a human shape moving through the room, but, being in such a situation, it's really difficult to turn to another person in the line to ask, "Hey, did you just see that dead person moving around the room? Or, was I just imagining things?" Granted it would probably be the topic of conversation for a while outside the funeral home, but, definitely not the type of thing one says in "polite company" at a viewing. Long story short, I felt cold breezes in the room, and was really beginning to believe that I was seeing someone moving about like they were visiting with the mourners and the family. Because the hour was late I paid my respects and left, not wanting to stay longer so I could avoid my inevitable question about the "phantom" I kept seeing to some poor unsuspecting person at the funeral home.
At the funeral the next day, held in the funeral home, there was a very large crowd of people, occupying all the folding chairs and standing respectfully around the room. The family entered and took their places at the front of the room nearest the casket. The church organist played beautiful music this man loved in life, his family spoke of his life and their love for him, and, then it happened - the dearly departed walked through the door to the room where the service was being conducted, walked straight down the aisle, kissed his wife on the top of her head, hugged his daughter, patted his sons on their backs, walked over to the casket to stare at his own corpse, shook his head at that sight, turned walked back up the aisle, waved hello to me because I could see him, then left the room and faded away into nothingness. Just walked out and faded away. Snap! Just like that! He paid his farewells to his family and left "POOF!"
It was weird, wonderful, confusing, and fascinating all in one breath. The first time I had seen a dead person that I knew personally since my sister died all those years before. Proof positive to me that "we" exist after the demise of the skin suit we put on every day and proof positive that those who die are "whole" the moment after their deaths because this man had been quite ill before he past and the spirit that walked into that room was healthy, robust and full of love and zest for his next role.
Seeing dead people at funerals doesn't always happen for me, but, when it does, it usually teaches me something or provides me with messages about life after death that I needed to learn for my existence in my own skin suit.
I have more stories about dead people at funerals. I'll share them with you eventually. But, for now, this is the most important one. The very first of many dead people out of the casket and walking around among the living before the funeral ever started.
The viewing was difficult enough. Emotional energies were off the chart, as was to be expected, and the snarky gossipy stuff going on in people's heads was too! That's another story for another time, trust me, it's a hoot! Back to the viewing. I kept thinking I was seeing a human shape moving through the room, but, being in such a situation, it's really difficult to turn to another person in the line to ask, "Hey, did you just see that dead person moving around the room? Or, was I just imagining things?" Granted it would probably be the topic of conversation for a while outside the funeral home, but, definitely not the type of thing one says in "polite company" at a viewing. Long story short, I felt cold breezes in the room, and was really beginning to believe that I was seeing someone moving about like they were visiting with the mourners and the family. Because the hour was late I paid my respects and left, not wanting to stay longer so I could avoid my inevitable question about the "phantom" I kept seeing to some poor unsuspecting person at the funeral home.
At the funeral the next day, held in the funeral home, there was a very large crowd of people, occupying all the folding chairs and standing respectfully around the room. The family entered and took their places at the front of the room nearest the casket. The church organist played beautiful music this man loved in life, his family spoke of his life and their love for him, and, then it happened - the dearly departed walked through the door to the room where the service was being conducted, walked straight down the aisle, kissed his wife on the top of her head, hugged his daughter, patted his sons on their backs, walked over to the casket to stare at his own corpse, shook his head at that sight, turned walked back up the aisle, waved hello to me because I could see him, then left the room and faded away into nothingness. Just walked out and faded away. Snap! Just like that! He paid his farewells to his family and left "POOF!"
It was weird, wonderful, confusing, and fascinating all in one breath. The first time I had seen a dead person that I knew personally since my sister died all those years before. Proof positive to me that "we" exist after the demise of the skin suit we put on every day and proof positive that those who die are "whole" the moment after their deaths because this man had been quite ill before he past and the spirit that walked into that room was healthy, robust and full of love and zest for his next role.
Seeing dead people at funerals doesn't always happen for me, but, when it does, it usually teaches me something or provides me with messages about life after death that I needed to learn for my existence in my own skin suit.
I have more stories about dead people at funerals. I'll share them with you eventually. But, for now, this is the most important one. The very first of many dead people out of the casket and walking around among the living before the funeral ever started.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tearing down walls
Last time we met was Christmas - what a hoot that season is. Before that, I was a teenager who had successfully wished away her gifts, or so she thought. Not so much. When my first husband and I started attending the local Presbyterian church, I met a young gal who could talk in her head too... and no one else knew about it much at all. Granted she was a few years younger than me, but, we hit it off quite well, despite her mother's fear that I was some kind of weirdo stalker chick out to hurt her kid. It was far from that. We really understood one another and the things that were going on energetically around us. That was such a great thing for the both of us then, and, it continues to be to this very day. Odd ducks sometimes do gravitate toward one another - not that she's weird or odd, just that she is energetically tuned in when so many around us are not.
Well, it was because of this young woman I had to learn how to access my gifts again. Really ticked me off having to do that too! She would sit and think about talking to me and I would hear her, clear as a bell, calling my name out loud. Look around, no one there, no one talking to me. CRAP! Call her on the phone, "Were you thinking of calling?" "Yes." "Cut it out! I hear you calling my name." She'd just laugh and tell me I was supposed to be able to hear her and to get my head out of my butt and do what I was supposed to do naturally. And so, through our years of friendship, especially the early ones, she would think of something she wanted to talk about, I'd hear my name being called, or she would come to mind, and the phone calls would start flying back and forth till we caught up with one another and had time to sit down for a long talk. (Yes, this was in the days waaaaay before cell phones. We actually had to use landline phones that dialed when you wanted to place a call.)
Once the walls I had built up as a teenager started to come down, all the noise, the chatter, the emotions, etc that I had pushed away came back into my "realm of existence" with a vengenance. Twenty-four hours a day, non-stop for the longest time. Reconnecting to the "ethers" wasn't pleasant, but, it did teach me that I was supposed to learn to control what I was "gifted" with and to use it in the best interest of others. I began devouring books by every medium, psychic, clairvoyant and mystic I could get my hands on. Jeanne Dixon, Cayce, et al. were people I learned a great deal about. I read about the Girl with the Blue Eyes, Atlantis, and all other forms of what has been referred to as "New Age" wisdom. I accepted that I was not alone in hearing things that no one else heard. What was puzzling was how to control it. None of the books I was reading then gave that kind of clarity to the process. That took time and patience... two things a twenty-something didn't want to take.
Well, it was because of this young woman I had to learn how to access my gifts again. Really ticked me off having to do that too! She would sit and think about talking to me and I would hear her, clear as a bell, calling my name out loud. Look around, no one there, no one talking to me. CRAP! Call her on the phone, "Were you thinking of calling?" "Yes." "Cut it out! I hear you calling my name." She'd just laugh and tell me I was supposed to be able to hear her and to get my head out of my butt and do what I was supposed to do naturally. And so, through our years of friendship, especially the early ones, she would think of something she wanted to talk about, I'd hear my name being called, or she would come to mind, and the phone calls would start flying back and forth till we caught up with one another and had time to sit down for a long talk. (Yes, this was in the days waaaaay before cell phones. We actually had to use landline phones that dialed when you wanted to place a call.)
Once the walls I had built up as a teenager started to come down, all the noise, the chatter, the emotions, etc that I had pushed away came back into my "realm of existence" with a vengenance. Twenty-four hours a day, non-stop for the longest time. Reconnecting to the "ethers" wasn't pleasant, but, it did teach me that I was supposed to learn to control what I was "gifted" with and to use it in the best interest of others. I began devouring books by every medium, psychic, clairvoyant and mystic I could get my hands on. Jeanne Dixon, Cayce, et al. were people I learned a great deal about. I read about the Girl with the Blue Eyes, Atlantis, and all other forms of what has been referred to as "New Age" wisdom. I accepted that I was not alone in hearing things that no one else heard. What was puzzling was how to control it. None of the books I was reading then gave that kind of clarity to the process. That took time and patience... two things a twenty-something didn't want to take.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Closing up shop
There was one weekend when I stayed with my Cousin D and we both pestered Granma mercilessly all day and most of the evening. Having left something at her house that D and I wanted to use, I dashed next door to Granma and Granpa's to retrieve it. She was brushing down her hair with her eyes closed. It was such a peaceful and beautiful moment to observe. Granma S would always brush down her hair when I was younger. She'd wear it pinned back all day for her factory work job and then at night, she'd unpin it and brush it down at night. It was pretty hair - dark mostly with some salt and pepper gray beginning at the temples and at a curl in her forehead - and mostly down to her shoulders all around - really pretty hair.
"Whatchya doin' Granma?" "Closing up shop!" "Huh?" "Closing up shop ~ telling everyone good night and get some rest ~ closing up shop." "Why are your eyes closed?" "So I can close up shop!" "Huh?" "Close up shop. End things for the day. Let 'them' know I'm done for the day and don't want to hear any more." "Oh. Have you seen my drawing pad? I think I left it here before supper." "Basement by the wringer." "Okay, thanks!" "Tell your Uncle J Granpa and I need him to help us tomorrow with picking all the blackberries that are left." "Okay, g'night!" "G'night!"
Doesn't sound like much of a conversation does it? But, years later, like right now, I remember it so well and so darned clearly. She was telling me something I really needed to know and had said so on numerous occasions - how to turn off my "gift" when I wanted to. Doesn't sound like much of an instruction does it? No, not really. But, it was HUGE!!!!! She had a ritual that she went through every day and night that told "them" that she was through listening and being engaged with them. I just didn't realize it at the time because of my age and inattention to her subtle teaching about being "gifted" and how to manage it. And, Granma was also telling me, without telling me, that she still had her gift and used it most days, even though it was something Granpa really didn't "cotton to". Again, youth and inattention let me miss that one for a long, long time.
Granma was and still is a very important woman in my life for tons of reasons. She was the first adult female to allow me (and my female cousins) to join the female rights of passage in her household: sitting and snapping beans on the back porch and talking all afternoon; learning to run the wringer washer and hang clothes on the line while holding clothespins in your mouth and talking about things; plucking, gutting and cutting up chickens for dinner(after they had been caught and had their heads chopped off by Granpa); shelling peas on the back porch and talking about everything; how to retrieve eggs from a hen house without being pecked to death; talking about menstruation without embarassment (something the mothers in my family didn't do well); letting the girls experiment with her make-up under her supervision so we wouldn't look like "trollops"; and best of all, learning from her that it didn't matter who the person was, if they didn't have manners and good behavior, they were 'poor' and needed to be shown good examples of behavior and "comportment". She was also the person who told our parents to hush and let us be kids while at her house; let the grandkids eat any and all food with their hands, spoons only, or whatever struck their fancy because it would be a learning experience about how people in other times and places ate their meals; and who subscribed to National Geographic and talked to us about the bare breasted women and the oddly disguised penises of tribal men that appeared in its pages just because it was good for us to learn more than what was being taught in school. In other words, she was one cool gal! She was a heroine to me. She taught us a lot about being kind by example, by talking to us about odd situations from her childhood, by deed, and by just living her life every day.
It took me a long time to realize then that she was always teaching me in particular, and the rest of the grandkids in general, about "the gift" of being psychic, of knowing when ghosts were around. How to tell if something is spirit or ghost. What's good energy or bad energy. How the land feels. How plants feel. How to listen to the wind and pick things up from it that are unspoken. The memories still come back and teach me now ~ especially because I am working to retrieve them so I can remember those lessons more clearly. Granma S was the Granma who told ghost stories sitting around the patio in the dark. Or, the elder who told stories about her kids growing up and the entities that they drew to the homes in which the family lived, often to the shock and surprise of her husband and grown children. She was quite the lady and one terrific Granma.
And she's just come to whisper to me, "Go to bed child, you need your sleep! It's time to 'close up shop' for now. Get goin'~NOW!" So, with that I'm off to bed, closing up shop for the night and remembering that sometimes psychic teachings come in the quiet things said and observed and remembered later.
"Whatchya doin' Granma?" "Closing up shop!" "Huh?" "Closing up shop ~ telling everyone good night and get some rest ~ closing up shop." "Why are your eyes closed?" "So I can close up shop!" "Huh?" "Close up shop. End things for the day. Let 'them' know I'm done for the day and don't want to hear any more." "Oh. Have you seen my drawing pad? I think I left it here before supper." "Basement by the wringer." "Okay, thanks!" "Tell your Uncle J Granpa and I need him to help us tomorrow with picking all the blackberries that are left." "Okay, g'night!" "G'night!"
Doesn't sound like much of a conversation does it? But, years later, like right now, I remember it so well and so darned clearly. She was telling me something I really needed to know and had said so on numerous occasions - how to turn off my "gift" when I wanted to. Doesn't sound like much of an instruction does it? No, not really. But, it was HUGE!!!!! She had a ritual that she went through every day and night that told "them" that she was through listening and being engaged with them. I just didn't realize it at the time because of my age and inattention to her subtle teaching about being "gifted" and how to manage it. And, Granma was also telling me, without telling me, that she still had her gift and used it most days, even though it was something Granpa really didn't "cotton to". Again, youth and inattention let me miss that one for a long, long time.
Granma was and still is a very important woman in my life for tons of reasons. She was the first adult female to allow me (and my female cousins) to join the female rights of passage in her household: sitting and snapping beans on the back porch and talking all afternoon; learning to run the wringer washer and hang clothes on the line while holding clothespins in your mouth and talking about things; plucking, gutting and cutting up chickens for dinner(after they had been caught and had their heads chopped off by Granpa); shelling peas on the back porch and talking about everything; how to retrieve eggs from a hen house without being pecked to death; talking about menstruation without embarassment (something the mothers in my family didn't do well); letting the girls experiment with her make-up under her supervision so we wouldn't look like "trollops"; and best of all, learning from her that it didn't matter who the person was, if they didn't have manners and good behavior, they were 'poor' and needed to be shown good examples of behavior and "comportment". She was also the person who told our parents to hush and let us be kids while at her house; let the grandkids eat any and all food with their hands, spoons only, or whatever struck their fancy because it would be a learning experience about how people in other times and places ate their meals; and who subscribed to National Geographic and talked to us about the bare breasted women and the oddly disguised penises of tribal men that appeared in its pages just because it was good for us to learn more than what was being taught in school. In other words, she was one cool gal! She was a heroine to me. She taught us a lot about being kind by example, by talking to us about odd situations from her childhood, by deed, and by just living her life every day.
It took me a long time to realize then that she was always teaching me in particular, and the rest of the grandkids in general, about "the gift" of being psychic, of knowing when ghosts were around. How to tell if something is spirit or ghost. What's good energy or bad energy. How the land feels. How plants feel. How to listen to the wind and pick things up from it that are unspoken. The memories still come back and teach me now ~ especially because I am working to retrieve them so I can remember those lessons more clearly. Granma S was the Granma who told ghost stories sitting around the patio in the dark. Or, the elder who told stories about her kids growing up and the entities that they drew to the homes in which the family lived, often to the shock and surprise of her husband and grown children. She was quite the lady and one terrific Granma.
And she's just come to whisper to me, "Go to bed child, you need your sleep! It's time to 'close up shop' for now. Get goin'~NOW!" So, with that I'm off to bed, closing up shop for the night and remembering that sometimes psychic teachings come in the quiet things said and observed and remembered later.
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