Was It Real?

 The following is an excerpt from the book, 'Spirits From The Afterlife' written by Sylvia Brown and Lyndsey Harrison.
 
Thousands of people, many of them currently on earth, contributed to this book. There are the spirits and ghosts around the world who've been kind enough to show up and tell me their stories for the last half a century or so. There are the 2,014 visitors to my Web site who had the courage and generosity to e-mail their experiences to me, some of which you'll find in the pages that follow-and let me make it clear right now, I read every single one of those e-mails.
Those 2,014 brave people were on the receiving end of some fascinating appearances by spirits and ghosts, some of them deeply comforting and some of them terrifying. There's a victim of an unsolved murder who told me the name of her killer, and there's a Spirit Guide who left her voice on an audiotape, repeating a single word that gave a woman the key to her husband's criminal life. There's a woman who was given strength by a visit with an ex-boyfriend on The Other Side who she didn't know had passed away, and a man who would never have found out he had a stillborn baby sister if her spirit hadn't come to introduce herself when he was four years old.
To the thousands of us collaborators on this particular book, and the many millions who don't question any more than we do that of course there's an afterlife, there are those who will always be ready with a list of handy explanations for what we "think" we're seeing, hearing, and feeling. "Grief hysteria," "oxygen deprivation," and variations on terms for both "mental illness" and "scam" are among the most popular. What these skeptics and "experts" are usually insisting on, though, is the same cynical demand, over and over and over again, which boils down to:
"Prove that there's life after death."
I'm sixty-six years old, and I've never spent one instant doubting that there's life after death. The thousands of us who contributed to this book, on earth and beyond it, don't doubt it. The millions we represent don't doubt it. God certainly doesn't doubt it, since He's the One who told us it's true in the first place, and we take His word for everything. We're not the ones who are having a problem with this. You are. So why do we keep knocking ourselves out trying to prove something we already know with absolute certainty?
Here's my suggestion to the skeptics and "experts," for a refreshing change of pace. We're done proving that there's life after death. We've proven it well past our own satisfaction. From now on, let's do it this way: You prove that there's not. Written by Sylvia Brown and Lyndsey Harrison
  The visit I had last night affected me more than any dream I have had since this post traumatic stress began. What I witnessed was real. As real as I am sitting here typing. I cannot definitely say what happened last night  was a visit, a dream, an hallucination, or a lie. Then only thing that I am absolutely sure of is that it was not a lie. I believe the colonel visited me the way he did for a reason. He was trying to tell me something that would benefit my mental health. He asked me a simple question that I was unable to answer. Why I was not able to answer his question has been bothering me since. I felt immediate anger toward him. I believe that he sensed the anger and went away. He did not look anything like the gaunt, sickly, shell of a man as I last remembered. He had a thick, snow white head of hair but he looked great. He repeated his question and waited. Before I could get a word out he faded from view. He sensed anger. A man cannot think clearly or concentrate when he is angry. Anger is an emotion that will sometimes put an end to my dreams. I thought he was a coward, instead, I believe he knows I cannot communicate with anger in my heart.This revelation has occurred to me after thinking back to my dreams of the past.This is not to say that anger stops or manipulates my dreams. I have experienced anger from him and myself. Was it really his anger? I believe he is trying to teach me of the events that started my post traumatic stress and they are no fault of my own. He seems to want to reach me with compassion but I turn it into fear or revenge. It makes sense to me, now. Why else did he leave when I became angry? The problem of hating him is not his fault. It is a question I am debating with myself. Is he the reason of my hate and my terror-filled nightmares or is it I. It is a question I am having trouble answering and I do not know if I will ever find the answer.    theblogmeister