Nobody Knows the Hauntings I’ve Seen 2…

Nobody Knows the Hauntings I’ve Seen…

Due to what must be a glowing ectoplasmic sign hanging over my head that says: “Ghosts & Spirits Check-in Here”, I’ve had to deal with hauntings and Spirits all of my life.

When you come in with Archangel Michael as a Guide, it means you are here to help heal the darkness in the world, as well as within yourself. It also means you are one of His Legions on the planet—a soldier in the trenches, as it were. Part of my job is helping to clear unwanted visitors by helping them to reach the Other Side. Unfortunately, I didn’t receive the training manual. I had to learn through experience.

It took a long time for me to understand that, as in the movie The Sixth Sense, when ghosts come knocking at your door, more often than not they are there for your help and trying to get your attention in the only way they know how.

I was fortunate in that the house in which I grew up wasn’t plagued with restless Spirits—unless you count my little brother and his practical jokes. But after the door between the Faery Realm and myself was closed, I slept peacefully in my bed until I was 15 and, like many curious teenagers, began to dabble in the paranormal.

My first run-in with an actual ghost came at an interesting time: my wedding night. It was wedding number one of three, and it was also my first foray into living outside the semi-protective walls of my childhood home.

My ex-husband and I had a taste for the kind of luxury that I had not experienced in my parents’ home. We had planned a five-star honeymoon, starting with two nights at the Sheraton Park Plaza hotel in New Haven, before jetting off to Acapulco’s Las Brisas Hotel.

After our Friday night wedding and reception, tired and happy, we checked into the Sheraton and were given room 1413.

I didn’t think of the significance of that number at the time, but most hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor due to superstition, and the Sheraton was no exception.  We were actually assigned room 1313.

We were both exhausted after our long day of ceremonies and celebrations, but, wedding nights being wedding nights, I primped in front of the bathroom mirror for nearly an hour, preparing myself for our first time as an officially married couple.

I slinked seductively into the bedroom, dressed in the white satin negligee that my older sister had gifted me with at my bridal shower; my hair and make-up perfect. Gliding up to the bed, expecting an enthusiastic reception, I found my beloved—snoring. Yup! Out like a light.

I couldn’t wake him for love nor money. I actually took pictures of him asleep in our hotel bed with my little Kodak 110 Instamatic film camera so that I could harass him at a later date in front of our friends. Hey, I looked perfect with my 1980’s BIG hair and sparkly eyelids, and there was nobody to appreciate it!

Since short of dumping the ice bucket over him, (which would not have been conducive to marital harmony or a comfortable night’s sleep) there was absolutely no way of waking him, I sighed and slid my bridal self into the bed and closed my eyes. After a full day of last-minute wedding preparations, as well as the exertion of the wedding and reception itself, I found myself in the arms of Morpheus pretty quickly.

Something woke me in the wee hours of the morning. I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand: 4:13 AM. I had no idea why I would be awake at that ungodly hour—my first husband and I shared a passion for uninterrupted, deep sleep. I lifted my head to peer drowsily over our blanketed feet.

There, at the foot of my bed, stood a woman.

My first thought was, “Why is there a woman in my room?”

My second thought was, “Why is she transparent?”

I was wide awake in an instant, assessing the situation with whatever cognitive functions I had at that hour.

Then I realized that I could see the back of her—through the front of her—reflected in the large mirror over the long, low, hotel dresser that held the 19-inch color TV, as well as the bits and bobs my husband and I had left there throughout the evening.

She appeared to be an older woman in her 50’s, impeccably dressed in a bright red tailored suit, styled in the fashion of the early 1960’s. Her hair was coiffed in the bouffant style of that era, and it was obviously blonde-from-a bottle.

Her expensive jewelry glittered, and her lips were painted a wicked red that matched her fingernails. She exuded the appearance of affluence, but also of a woman trying hard to pretend the ravages of time had no impact on her.

I was transfixed, literally paralyzed, as with a quizzical look on her face, she raised her hand and crooked her index finger at me, raising it up and lowering it down in the universal symbol of “come here” or “follow me” that’s recognizable in any dimension—parallel or otherwise.

I couldn’t move; couldn’t even blink as I watched her continue to patiently motion me to follow. A moment later I realized that I wasn’t breathing, and as I released the gasp of terror I had been holding, my breath puffed out as a visible fog, as if I were outside on a December evening.

I tried to get my husband’s attention, saying his name in a terrified whisper, and then a bit louder. He never even moved his position. He was in a warm, safe bubble while I was outside in the wilderness facing down a banshee.

After the space of a few more frozen breaths, I was finally released from my paralyzed state, and did what any red-blooded Catholic would do: I pulled the covers over my head and began frantically reciting the Our Father and the
Hail Mary.

Several tense moments passed. I kept expecting to feel a hand grab my blanketed foot, or worse, a frigid touch on my exposed fingertips, which were white and bloodless due to the death grip I had on the blanket.

Then the atmosphere around me warmed and I chanced a peek over the top of my protective covers, searching the room, starting at the foot of the bed.

I let out a sigh of relief. She was gone, and I instantly fell asleep.

When I woke in the morning, I had no memory of my nighttime visitor, nor the terror I had felt. I teased my husband about his desertion of me on our wedding night, but only the part about his falling asleep on his negligee-clad, perfect-hair-and-make-up bride. I didn’t remember anything else.

As I mentioned earlier, we had two nights booked in room 1413 of the Sheraton Park Plaza Hotel, New Haven.

The following evening we hosted a large, boisterous party in our hotel room with a dozen of our closest friends. Saturday Night Live was on TV, and the booze was flowing freely. I was not much of a drinker. I never liked feeling out of control of my mental faculties so, after a couple of glasses of champagne I abstained for the rest of the evening, enjoying the sparkling wit of our friends more than the Brut.

By 2:00 a.m. everyone had left. (There may or may not have been a less-than-polite request from the front desk.) My husband and I settled into bed. We had a very early call for our flight to Acapulco, so once again we abstained from marital relations in favor of a few short hours of sleep.

Something woke me once more; exactly 4:13 a.m.—the same time as the previous night’s visitation. I peered over the tops of my feet to see the transparent woman-in-red staring at me.

This time she wasn’t looking at me quizzically. Something had changed. She was irate, whether at my lack of understanding or my lack of backbone, I’ll never know, because one look at her wildly gesticulating hands and thundercloud-brow had me immediately diving under my blankets, my lips forming the Catholic prayers of my childhood before the sheets even settled over my head.

I had learned enough in my years of flirting with unseen forces that you never follow any non-corporeal being when they ask you to follow, especially not into a mirror! Visions of my new husband waking to an empty bed, with no trace of his bride to be found did not appeal to my sense of fair play, and I had no intention of becoming yet another “Abducted by Aliens?” headline in the National Enquirier.

After several minutes with no ghostly ‘touchy-feely’, I peeked out of the faux safety of my blanket fortress and she was gone. This time I tried to wake my husband, but the ghost had more consciousness than he did!

I was shaking like a leaf, but still had enough awareness to be seriously irritated at the interruption to my slumbers, and after quickly eyeballing the room, I rolled over and fell asleep, once more completely forgetting about the nocturnal visits by the see-thru fashion-maven.

Not surprisingly, we overslept and had to scramble to make our flight, so this episode stayed buried in my subconscious, until one night, months later, when we hosted a dinner party and the talk at the table turned to ghost stories.

I don’t remember what was said to trigger the memory, but it all flooded back. Our friends joked at the time that it was probably an omen, and even though I don’t believe in the power of such things, our marriage did end seven years later.

I never did find out what this ghost was trying to tell me, but at the time I was probably better off not knowing.

Being a medium and a clairvoyant doesn’t come with a guidebook, but it does come with Guides. Sometimes, your Guides allow you to have certain experiences—not necessarily pleasant ones—as part of your training curriculum.

Much of my exposure to the Other Side at that point had been limited to a childlike appreciation of the Faery world, a kind of innocent enchantment (even if it held some aspects that were not so innocent). As a young woman, old enough to be married and venture out into the world, I was ready for a more advanced curriculum, and an introduction to the world of earthbound spirits.

I didn’t know then that it was a world in which I would spend much of my work and my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nobody Knows the Hauntings I’ve Seen

The Haunting at the Catholic Cemetery  

Among the many stories I have from my work as a psychic medium, one of the more powerful happened when I ‘accidently’ connected with hundreds of souls trapped in a vision of burning in Hell, who were interred in a Catholic cemetery in Derby, CT.
As I have mentioned in previous stories in this book, what we experience when we die is informed by what we believe when we leave the body, especially if there is fear-based emotion involved. This is not set in stone, as many people who judged themselves as being bad are greeted with loving Beings at their death and go directly into Light. However, there are many who have been taught about an ‘angry’ God, who never resolved their fear-based beliefs before death and therefore had to resolve them after they died, before they could go on to the next level. I also recognize that these particular souls have agreed to ‘karmic contracts’ to undergo this experience for soul evolution and growth – “whatever happens has to happen”, as my Master Teacher Sathya Sai Baba says – so it really is all for our good.
About a decade ago I was looking for an apartment with my then partner, that would be large enough to fit our various children. We were touring one such place in Derby, CT that seemed perfect. It had four bedrooms, a laundry room complete with washer and dryer, a fully applianced kitchen and two full bathrooms – an absolute must for the four children and two adults who’d be living there. It had obviously been decorated in the late 60’s given the predominance of avocado, burnt orange and brown, but it was clean and in good shape. Given all that, I couldn’t understand why the longer I stayed, the sicker I felt.
At the time I wasn’t quite as versed in dealing with darker energies as I am now.
At one point we were looking at a back bedroom when I happened to glance out of the window to check out the backyard.
There, in the back of the building, was the reason for my discomfort. A very large cemetery directly abutted the property, to the point where a few of the headstones had fallen over into the backyard. It was delightfully gothic, what with the sculptures and the gray tombstones, while the overcast grayness of the day added to the atmosphere. Had I been a horror writer, I could not have asked for a better setting for murder, mayhem and melancholy. A very large angel-with-a flaming-sword statue was visible from where I stood and looked to be next to a small chapel, as are present in most large graveyards. The real estate agent mumbled something about it being “St. Something-or-other’s Catholic cemetery” and herded us out of the room.
By this time, I was dealing with the Unseen on a regular basis in my line of work, and ordinarily graveyards don’t bother me – as a child I was fascinated by them and I spent a great deal of time in the old churchyards in the center of West Haven, CT, where I grew up. There are even a few revolutionary war heroes buried in one. However, the more I had stood and looked at the graves, the worse I felt physically, until I had to excuse myself and step out of the house to get some fresh air before I vomited all over the shag carpeting. My partner had no problem with the graveyard – his issue was with the rusted out cars in the yard that appeared to belong to one of the other tenants. He was concerned for our childrens’ safety – a perfectly legitimate worry, all things considered.
We thanked the real estate agent and left, and the long ride back, coupled with the open windows and fresh air helped me regain my equilibrium.
That should have been the end of the story, except it wasn’t. A whole host of ghostly characters followed me home from that cemetery and without so much as a ‘by your leave’ entered into my dreams that night.
The dream in and of itself was horrific in its technicolor brilliance – hundreds of souls burning in the bright red and orange fires of hell, while little black demons tormented them emotionally with taunts, and physically with the lash. Larger cloven-hooved devils applied even worse tortures to other suffering souls. Saint John of Patmos could not have created a more frightening vision of hell.
In the midst of all of this, I was merely an observer – a horrified and uncomfortable observer, but an observer just the same. I knew that what I was seeing was an illusion – a creation of the collective mind of the souls who were trapped within the horror of their belief system.
A quick word about graveyards, funeral parlors and other places where death is fully present in all its glory: If the area is not cleared and sealed on a regular basis, then the humans who come into these places with fear-based thoughts, as well as the energy of grief and anger (anger with the person who passed, or even with God Itself, is a completely normal response under these circumstances) can pull the vibration of the energy down, inviting in lower vibrational entities and thought forms which then continue to feed off of the misery that is engendered in humans by the death of a loved one. Once these entities are powerful enough, they can lead the souls of the newly departed astray before the Light has a chance to claim them. (Please remember this is all an illusory drama and if a soul chooses (because it is fully in control of Its own destiny) to remain outside of the Light, it is for a reason that was already predetermined before It was born into a human body.) Even if a cemetery was consecrated at its inception, that blessing literally gets worn down by the hundreds, if not thousands of lower vibrational energies that are brought to it with each new funeral. Many of my students and clients are surprised when they discover (or I relate to them in story form) that demonic energy can exist in a consecrated graveyard or even within the church itself. If you have a priest or minister who is preaching hellfire and damnation to their congregation, they are engendering fear thoughts in a group of people, which makes it that much more powerful. When Christ said, “where two or more of you gather, there I am also”, he meant that if two or more people focus on a particular energy, that energy is present even more strongly than if just one person was invoking it. This is a form of powerful mysticism and it works with any energy, which is why mobs are so dangerous – fear and anger energy builds, a scapegoat is chosen and bad things happen that average people ordinarily would never do. Think of the mob that nailed Jesus (the mother of all scapegoats) to the cross. I always make it clear to my students that they need to clear and seal themselves and their space regularly, just as you would shower or vacuum your home regularly. I call it ‘having good energetic hygiene’. Unfortunately, since Copernicus and the Age of Reason, magick and mystery have all but disappeared from our day-to-day lives. A pity, given that the Unseen exists whether you believe in it or not.
The souls within my nighttime vision had been trapped by a demonic presence that was ruling the cemetery. Those that were destined to escape this vision of hell went into the Light well before they were faced with this; however, these hundreds of souls were caught in their own fears. I knew I was being shown this storyboard for a reason, but I had no idea what to do. Suddenly to my right, a light started growing and taking shape. It quickly became apparent that Mother Mary, the Blessed Mother of Jesus had joined me. The cool blue and white glow around her turquoise colored robes was an incredibly beautiful contrast to the red orange flames that burned around her. She looked at me and began to say the ‘Hail Mary’, using a beautifully carved rosary. I immediately joined her and I had barely gotten to the second round when I awoke from sleep chanting the words to the prayer I’d known since toddlerhood. “Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed art Thou amongst women, and Blessed is the Fruit of thy Womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” My partner looked at me strangely, but made no comment, luckily for me because I had no words other than this chant to Mother Mary in my head.
It didn’t feel complete to me, so I called a dear friend who was a few levels up on the ‘Spiritual Richter Scale’ to help me decipher what had happened and what, if anything, needed to be done. She felt that a shared meditation was in order to discover the meaning of this vision and so we chanted our way into an altered state and saw that Mother Mary was requesting that I lead these souls out of hell and into Light. My friend was to act as the anchor to help keep part of me grounded in third dimensional reality while I was the one descending into this illusion of hell to be the bringer of Mother Mary’s message of forgiveness and freedom to the suffering souls there. It actually went more quickly than I expected, probably because of the work that the Blessed Mother had already done through me during my nighttime vision. Between the two of us, Mary and I opened a huge portal of Light and invited all souls to go through it – even the lower vibrational entities that were present (no one is excluded from God’s loving redemption). While my friend and I continued to chant the Hail Mary, every being present went through the portal with very little resistance. The ‘hell’ that had been created through the thought-energy of the humans simply faded away into dust and I came out of the meditation weeping with joy at the Divine Love and Compassion that made this healing for hundreds of souls – both human and inhuman – possible and effortless.
Please understand that although it was the God-form of Mother Mary who appeared, any form of ‘God’ would have worked as well. Divine Mother was there because a) it was a Catholic cemetery and therefore the icons of Catholicism were needed for the souls to recognize and trust, and b) I was raised a Catholic and use that foundation when I am working with people raised in the Catholic tradition — you need a common spiritual language that people recognize and with which they resonate. This is why I ultimately became an interfaith minister — I needed to have several different religious languages in my tool bag to help people from various traditions understand what the Divine wishes for them to know.
After this situation I became very clear that salvation is for all of Creation, not just a select few, and that even inhuman entities were being called home to the Light to remember ‘Who They Are’.