Friday, December 31, 2010

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

Thursday, December 30, 2010

A Conversation With The Dead

  I know I am supposed to be writing my life story but what happened last night cannot wait. I woke up in the middle of the night, as usual, and found myself being drawn to the living room. I cannot explain it. A force was pulling me to that room. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. My eyes were transfixed to a spot on the wall. I do not know how long I stood there staring at the wall when a small light appeared. I was confused not knowing the source of the light when it started growing in diameter. Slowly it grew. first it was the size of a quarter, then it grew to the size of a baseball. The light was the whitest light I had ever seen. I looked around the room to see if I could find the source, with no luck. It was not like a flashlight or a beam that would cause the circle on the wall. I did not know where the hell it was coming from. Suddenly the light started to pulsate as it grew larger. The larger the hole grew the more white light emitted from it. There were no sound, what so ever. None. My eyes were transfixed by the illuminated hole. I could not move. After some time, I do not know how long, the hole grew to about 4 foot in diameter. In the center of the hole was a shape. It was too small for me to see what it was. Slowly, the figure grew and after a time it became clear to me that it was the shape of a human head. Finally, I recognized who it was. It was the colonel. It was not the gaunt, shallow, sickly colonel that I last remembered but it was a beautiful, healthy, bust of colonel DeBarge. His eyes were bright and full of life. He did not look at all like the man I first met. He looked younger. He still had his white hair but seemed younger than someone with that color hair. We stared at each other for the longest when he spoke.
  "Why do you fear me?" he did not sound the same. I could not take my eyes off him. I tried to find the words to speak but I could not. "Why do you fear me?" he asked, again. The more I thought about his question the madder I got. I wanted to ask him why he ruined my life but I could not speak a word. His gaze was mesmerizing. Almost hypnotic. I stood there shaking with fear and he could sense it. Suddenly the light completely disappeared along with the colonel. What the hell is wrong with me? I was like a little girl afraid of the dark. I grew some balls after he left. "Come back, here. Do not leave me like this. I want some answers." I fell to the ground and began to weep.   theblogmeister

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Darkside

    I have on many occasions told you where my fears lie and why. I lose control the minute I fall asleep and enter a parallel universe. I am alive, breathing, but my mind does not sleep. My body is getting to the point that I cannot continue these excursions into a reality that does not belong to me. My body is racked with chronic pain that consumes my waking hours. After 4 back surgeries and countless epidurals they are becoming a problem almost as taxing as my mental health. Good mental health requires me to have a healthy body, which I do not have. I have been taking morphine for the past 5 or 6 years to the point of achieving tolerance. After a rough day dealing with the pain I need a good nights sleep which is beyond my reach. I have tried numerous sleep aids with no good results. When I was using something to help me sleep it would only give my sub-conscious mind over to a reality, whether real or not, that would confuse a mind trying to rest. Rest does not exist for me. I am battling a real foe during the day and I am in a constant state of terror at night. I cannot remember the last good dream that I had. It has been that long. My dreams are dominated by the colonel. In some form or fashion he is a part of my dreams. I do not understand how my sub-conscious mind can be taken over to the point of complete dream domination. I do not have good dreams, they may start out that way, invariably ending with some warped or twisted end. This shit gets old, too. I am trying to write a story about my life and cannot keep what I want to do a possibility. That bastard, whom at one time I really loved, will not let me live my life without interference from him. All I really want to know, is it him or is it me? I do not like living like this. Afraid to sleep in my own bed or anywhere, for that matter. If I am doing this to myself then why? Can anyone answer that? Am I punishing myself for what happened over 30 years ago? That seems absolutely crazy, to me. Some people have the ability to communicate across the divide of reason. I know that when I was putting in a bathroom in the master bedroom of my Mom and Dad's house to get it ready to sell I kept hearing loud noises, bangs and crashes and never found the reason for the noises. My Mom died in that house 2 years ago and while I was alone in that house I kept hearing noises that I could not explain. I would walk through the house yelling my mom's name and she would not answer. I wanted her to answer me so much. To this day we still did not find the reason for the noises. Was my Mom trying to communicate with me? Hell, I do not know. I call myself crazy for the things that go through my mind. Am I , really? It could be possible for spirits to communicate with the living. Maybe we all have the potential to do this, we just do not know how. I have had some unexplained things happen to me over the years. I have some dreams that would push a sane person over the edge. Why am I not a slobbering, bumbling fool? Post traumatic stress disorder is what the medical professionals call it. It is more like the twilight zone, to me. Here I go rambling on about the realities of another dimension. All I know for a fact is that I am being visited, whether real or in my head, by someone who has been dead a long time. It is not every now and then, rather, on a consistent basis. I do not have answers that I want. I do not know how to find those answers. I will not shy away from the demon of my dreams until he tells me why I am being terrorized. Someday I am going to make sense of all of this. When I do, I hope it is for the right reasons. Because right  now, nothing makes any sense.  theblogmeister

Monday, December 27, 2010

Dreams I'll Never See

  The title of an old Allman Brothers song that was re-recorded by a band from LaGrange, Ga. called Molley Hatchet. One of the great southern rock bands of the 70's. Now, why am I titling this post after that song? Simple, I am not sure if I am dreaming or experiencing reality. Take yesterday, for example. It was not a dream, at least portion of the reality may have been a dream. That is why I get so confused. I do not know if what is happening to me is real or a dream. So much has happened in the past few years concerning the Col. that my dreams and realities lines have become blurred. Is there a medical diagnosis for this? I have heard voices and loud noises in this house every since I moved here in 2007. The house was built in the thirties, made of block, and looked like it could have been condemned when my Dad bought it in the mid 90's. He bought the land the house was on and had plans to tear it down. My Mom, with a knack for seeing good from bad, talked my Dad into leaving the house to re-do. Several years later, my son and I started the painstaking process of cleaning the house. The front porch, which went the length of the house, had fallen in, the side carport was caved in, the house itself was full of beer cartons stacked wall to ceiling in every room. The house was full of spiders(I hate spiders) and the brush was grown up to where you could hardly see the damn thing to begin with. We had our work cut out for us.
  The house had to wait. The noises we kept hearing were not your every day abandoned house noises. My son informed me that he remembered he had a lot to do, elsewhere. This was my first contact with the unearthly squatters. I remembered I, also, had some other things to do that did not involve working at that house. It sat vacant for a few more years.
  The big question for me is to distinguish reality from this world and reality from another world. Look, of all the dots in the sky, we cannot be the only intelligent life form out there. I know it. I have seen the Col. after he was dead. I have seen him on many different occasions. What I need to know is the catalyst for his appearances. He has to be here for a reason. I do not think God will let anyone scamper across the celestial bodies for the hell of it. Is the Col. here to reward me for carrying out his wishes? I doubt that. Is the Col. visiting me because he changed his mind and forgot to tell me? That is what it sounds like, to me. It sounds as if he is pissed at what I did on His behalf. Could it be God is pissed at the Col. and me allowing Him to fuck with me in the here and now? I do not know what the reason is that I keep having these problems with the Col. Is all this in my head? Those are answers I do not have and I have no way of knowing or if I will ever know. That is what bothers me so much about the whole deal. You all know how much I sacrificed to make an old man happy. He should be giving me the numbers to the power ball, instead of haunting me. I ask myself how much more has He got in store for me? I wish there was some way I could do something to scare the dead shit out of Him to get Him to leave me alone. Is He that bored where ever He is? I wish I knew.
  In the mean time I will keep on doing what I can to survive. I am waiting on the weather to warm up so I can start cleaning off my lot and work on the home place. I have agreed to buy this house and about 4 acres to fix up this summer. My wife and I are going to build a house and push this old scary block house down. Maybe that will get rid of the spirits that roam around here. I do not think they are involved with the Col. in any way. They were here before I got here. Ya'll probably think I am full of shit and have a few screws loose. Well, that may be, but I know that I am not the only one occupying this old house. These spirits are not as blatant as the Col. They do not cross into my sub-conscious and mess with me. They are of the kind that does not like publicity. Heard and not seen. They are not shy about making noises, either. It compounds the problem. I have to decide the origin of the spirit. Is it the Col. or the ones that were here from the thirties? It should be interesting to find out. I really would like to get them on film. I have not tried, yet. I have plenty of time and I will keep you posted.   theblogmeister

Sunday, December 26, 2010

The Ghost of Christmas Present

  The bed was so very warm. I have a heating blanket that I put under my bottom sheet and turn my heating blanket on before I crawl into bed and the heat, besides feeling great, it helps the circulation in my back. I lay there for a while. I really do not want to get up. What for? We have no children in our house to run to see what Santa brought them as soon as they wake up. So, I just lie there. I try to remember how it used to be when I was a child. I had 4 brothers and we were all one grade in school, apart. You can understand the excitement on that one day of the year that we all celebrated. I sometimes wish I had a time machine to go back to those days. I would enjoy them even more and not wish my life away.Here it is, some 40 plus years, later. Things have changed more than I would have wished.
  I did not smell the coffee and could not feel my wife lying next to me. She had probably left to see her grand kids open their gifts. She knew not to wake me up to go with her. I just do not like kids. I would not hurt them or mistreat them in any way, I just like my peace and with small kids around you will not find peace and quiet. I feel myself trying to drift off, what the hell.
  The noise woke me up sometime, later. It was a low, drumming, monotonous noise. It sounded like a cabin of an aircraft, sorta. I sat up in bed to try to pinpoint the origin of the noise. It was everywhere. I walked into the kitchen and the noise was exactly the same as it was in my bedroom. It was almost loud enough to vibrate my windows. What the fuck is going on? I started to get concerned when my phone rang. I have an LG Ally Android and spent the last week figuring out how to work the thing. When I touched the green phone picture I lost the connection. My screen was black. I hit the button to turn it on and the screen came on, flashed, and went off, again. Something strange was going on. I have a poodle that is about 15 years old and usually barks at anything because he is blind. As I was looking at my phone I saw my dog walking towards the front of the house rather quickly. That doesn't happen. Since he lost his vision he does not go anywhere except from our bedroom to the bathroom where he can lay in front of the heater. Where in the hell could that damn dog be going and why is he not raising hell about all this humming noise? I walked towards the front of the house and the dog was standing at the front door acting like he wanted out. Well, that is something else that is strange. He never uses that door. He always goes out the side door. There is something that has got his attention at the front of the house. The noise does not seem to be bothering him. Hell, he usually barks when the ice maker dumps ice in the fridge. I had not noticed it before but it was hot as hell in this house. We have only 2 heaters, one in the bath and one in the living room. They are those gas radiant heaters and it never gets hot in the house. I starting to get a little wigged out by what was happening when the dog started to claw at the door wanting out. Hell, he was probably getting hot. I was. I started walking toward the front door when I heard the humming becoming louder. Almost deafening. I had not noticed, before, but there was a brilliant light emanating from outside. It was like my house was being bathed in flood lights. There were no lights on in the house and you could see your way around inside the house without problems. Am I about to be bum rushed by the cops? It has happened, before. This was different, though. This was something very, very, strange. I walked over to the window, opened one of the slits on the blind, and was met with a blinding light. I could not tell what was out there. Hell, I could not see a damn thing. I walked to the other side of the house to see if I could find out the reason for the light. Same thing, as soon as I separated the blind the same white light hit me like a laser. My phone started buzzing. Maybe that is my wife, calling to let me know that ET had her and wanted to trade. Keep her. Just kidding, Mr, T. I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my housecoat. Still no picture. I do not have a clue as to what is going on. The damn dog is still scratching the door, wanting out. I opened the door to let him out when a hot wind ripped the door handle out of my hand and the door crashed against the wall. The dog did not move. What the hell is happening? I am starting to get wigged out for real, now. My dog just stood there, staring out into the bright light. I grabbed the door and closed it, locked it, then bent over to pick up my dog. He was stiff as a board. It is like he is a stuffed animal. I am standing there looking at my dog wondering what the fuck was happening. I have to be dreaming. I will wake up and all of this will be a bad dream. I hear a loud bang on my door that is on the side of the house. I run towards the computer room where the door is located that was responsible for the bang. I slowly walk to the door. I noticed the door is unlocked. It starts to move. I can actually see the door knob move. I put the dog down and grab the door handle. Someone is fucking with me and I am about to turn the tables on them. I count to three. All of a sudden I snatch open the door screaming at the top of my lungs. I heard a scream almost as loud as mine. It was my wife, returning from her daughters house with her mother running back to the car, screaming. Merry Christmas.  theblogmeister