The Dead Speaks

It was a rough day for me, yesterday, having to deal with another death in the family. As I lay my head down for sleep my mind would not let it be. The pictures in my mind of my cousin dying from cancer brought back the demon that has been haunting me for over 30 years. After tossing and turning for what seemed like an hour, I decided to get out of bed. It was after midnight and the only sound I heard was the whistle of the wind blowing through the trees. I walked out onto my back porch for solitude and try to make sense of why such a vibrant young lady and mother of three children had to go through such a horrible and painful death. My mind was not on the colonel, yet, he made himself known. It seems that he does not want anyone to take his place. His name is death and he does not want me to forget him. As I am sitting and trying to remove him from my conscious thought he only got stronger. Snapshots of him kept flashing in my mind. He is jealous and does not want anyone to replace him. The harder I try to forget the more I am reminded. I hear his voice from the other room. I must have dozed off but I know it is him trying to control my sub-conscious. He is evil, intimidating, relentless, and overpowering. I cannot stop thinking of him. This is exactly what he wants. He is angry that I have kept him at bay for these last few weeks. He wants me to know that he has the power over me. I hear him calling my name. It is as if he is back in room 225 calling me for help in some type of patient care. I do not believe that he is aware that he is dead sometimes. Maybe his soul is stuck back in 1979 and he is in his own hell. He has been causing me to feel that hell is here. The cancer ate away his body but not his soul. His soul is still living and keeps trying to communicate with me. He calls my name, once again. He is death and life at the same time. He lives in my sub-conscious and will never give me peace. He calls but I do not answer.    theblogmeister

The Light

  In many, if not all, of the near death experiences that I have read one thing is common in most, if not all, the light. The experience that my Mother had back in 1969 was no different. She had seen and felt the light that made her feel that she was beckoned to go to the light. She told of the desire to go to the light and the knowledge that all who had passed before her was there waiting on her. It was easy to step through to a new dimension and she had to fight hard to go back to her body lying on the operating table. The one thing that she was sure of was that my Father could not raise 5 kids without her help. She had experienced sadness about not going to the light to be with those that were waiting for her. Her story was real. Here is another story of a near death experience.


William Brennan

  In 1976 I was in a motorcycle accident in which my left leg was snapped off at the knee by a tree. Still conscious and waiting for an ambulance, I was able to stop the bleeding for a short time before I had to let it continue because of the pain. This went on until help arrived. I had lost so much blood by the time I got to the hospital that I recall losing consciousness as I was carried out of the ambulance.
I could hear the medics' voices for just a short time, and then I was feeling weightless. No pain, no hot or cold, no body. My essence, my spirit, "I" was slowly drifting towards a faint and distant light. I could see planet earth, small, off in the distance to my right. There seemed to be an invisible wall between me and the life dimension I had just left. I knew with certainty that I could not return that way. Nor did I have any desire to go back.
  Questions arose in my mind quickly and were answered just as quick by myself, as if I had some new kind of knowledge. I seemed to know everything. I knew without a doubt that I would see my family and loved ones when they passed. Not years from then, but as soon as I got to where I was headed. Time as known on earth, such as a human's life span, was a mere grain of sand on a large beach. We all, humans, had no need to worry. It was as if earth were just a level we all had to pass through on our way to a peaceful and more beautiful plane of existence. It was serene, all loving, all knowing, like being born to a brand new world, not as an infant, but as a knowledgeable, understanding being.
  Then, without a signal, sign or thought, I found myself on a stretcher with a medical crew working on me. Pain, fear and awe all surrounded me at the same time. To this day, I have never felt anything even close to what I felt in that moment. No joy or drug on earth could even compare with the feeling of security and confidence I had then.
Sometimes I feel like I can't wait to go there again, but I know I have to wait until my existence here is finished. I do not fear death for I know partially what waits beyond. The only aspect of death I may fear is how it will come about, and even then, it will be just a tiny event in the scheme of my existence.

Are these stories real? I believe they are and there are more stories to be told. Tell us yours. theblogmeister

Living Death?

  Death has reached my door, again. Yesterday, my cousin, age 43, died of cervical cancer. She was diagnosed this time last year and death has finally won. I believe that cancer is one of the most horrible ways to die. Fortunately, her children, who are from Dallas, had the chance last weekend to say good-bye. It does not make it any easier. I did not have the chance to spend her last days on this earth and I wished I would have been able. She is the baby of the family having lost her father, then soon after, her brother. What fascinates me about death is what lies beyond. Here are some stories of near death experiences.

Ken Mullins


  I was in hospital following a heart attack. I was having lunch and I felt very strange. I had a cardiac arrest and then it was instant death, but I felt I was aware the whole time. It was a strange, strange feeling.
  It was like when you wake from a sleep type-of-feeling, but it really wasn't sleep, then next thing I went into darkness - really, really black. There was just not one speck of light.
  I used to suffer from claustrophobia, but it didn't concern me. It was peaceful, very, very peaceful and then I felt movement, as if I was going somewhere, but I didn't know where.
  I was drifting, but I wasn't sitting up or standing up. I was just drifting in the form that I was in, whatever form it might have been. At what speed I don't really know, but I know it was incredibly fast, as fast as electricity you might say. That speed factor was an important point; it was very, very quick.
  Eventually, after a period, I can't say time because there was no sense of time, the darkness dispersed slowly, ever so slowly, and then a light appeared and it seemed like it was a million miles away.
  It was like a hundred thousand suns. Bright, incredibly bright. I could look directly in that light. It was so very powerful and ever so bright.
  Words can't really describe the magnitude of the all-consuming love experienced when being in the light. And not only love but perfection, peace, serenity, calmness and beauty. I felt that I was safely home. I was over-awed with the experience.
  The wisps of cloud are the things I can still remember most clearly - I just put my arms out to feel these clouds and I couldn't feel anything, then I looked and I had no arms and then I looked down and I had no body.
  Strange as it must seem I had 360-degree vision because I looked behind me and saw I had no back. But I did fully comprehend the fact that I was probably the size of a ball, but it didn't frighten me it was a feeling of "oh well, so what".
  It changed my whole outlook on life, my whole outlook on people and changed me from a bigoted type of person to being more broad minded and letting people accept what they want to accept.
  I felt there was a form in the light that I could see, but it was only vague.
I felt ever so humble. I felt that this was something greater than greater and I shouldn't have been there.
I couldn't see much more than what I imagined would be a head, but there were arms or what I felt to be arms in the light. They were outstretched and they raised me up. I felt ecstatic, but I still couldn't see into the form, I could look into the light, but I couldn't define that figure.
It was related to me - I can't say spoken because there was no such thing as speaking, it was like mind language and my mission was made ever so clear - I was to go back and help people overcome the fear of death. I would go back and write two-and-half books. I've written two but I get apprehensive about the third! But it was never to be done for money.
  The experience is just so powerful, so all-consuming that the difficulty I had as a free spirit was fitting back into the human physical form. I just didn't seem to fit - I'm not talking size - it just didn't seem right.
I'd gone back home; back where I came from and then I had to come back here and do this mission - to help people by telling them that in death your mind, soul, spirit never cease.
  Later I could tell people what had happened in the hospital room while I was dead, it's not like I was sitting on the ceiling, because I was travelling toward the light, but somehow I could also see what was happening there, I knew exactly what was being done where and when - it was like being omnipresent.
  The doctor said I was dead for 20 minutes; they'd stopped working on me, called for the morgue attendant as rigor mortis set in to my body, and then all of a sudden they said I gave a cough and I was back.
Afterwards I went back and spoke to all the nurses and doctors about it. They said that when I revived I was still black and purple. It was the longest time they'd had someone gone before being revived after a cardiac arrest.
I think I had to die to learn to live. It changed my whole outlook on life, my whole outlook on people and changed me from a bigoted type of person to being more broad minded and letting people accept what they want to accept.
  As a Christian I felt my faith was the only faith and this experience made that view just ludicrous.
I firmly believe that people fear death because of the uncertainty of how and when they will die, but I think death is just going to go into another chapter, another section of your existence

 George Ritchie
At the age of twenty, George Ritchie died in an army hospital. Nine minutes later, he returned to life. What happened to him during those nine minutes was so compelling it changed his life forever. This is one of the most starling and hopeful descriptions of the realm beyond ever written.
Early in December 1943, as American troops fought the Japanese in the Solomon Islands, and as the Allies prepared to invade Normandy, a twenty year old army private named George Ritchie celebrated his good luck. He was to go to the Medical College of Virginia, where he would become a doctor at government expense.
Seven days before he was to leave for medical school, Private Ritchie developed a bad chest cold. It turned into influenza, and he was hospitalized. Over the next few days he seemed to recover. But the night before he was scheduled to leave for Richmond, his temperature soared to a life-threatening 106.5 degrees Fahrenheit. His surroundings became a dizzy blur. He heard the click and whir of the X-ray machine-- and then silence.
The young soldier woke up on a strange bed in a small, dimly lit unfamiliar room. His head was clear. In a panic that he might miss the train to Richmond, Private Ritchie jumped out of bed. "My uniform wasn't on the chair," he remembered later. "I looked beneath it. Behind it. No duffel bag either... Under the bed maybe? I turned around, then froze."
Ritchie was shocked to see that a young man was lying in the be that he had just vacated. "The thing was impossible," he recalled. "I myself had just gotten out of that bed. For a moment I wrestled with the mystery of it. It was too strange to think about- and anyway, I didn't have time." Private Ritchie shivered and ran from the room. The only thing he could think about was getting to Richmond. Out in the hall a sergeant walked toward him carrying an instrument tray. "Excuse me, Sergeant," Ritchie said. " You haven't seen the ward boy for this unit, have you?" The sergeant did not answer or even slow down. At the minute Ritchie yelled, "Look out!" but the man walked right past him. The next minute he was behind him, walking away without even looking back at Ritchie. Before he had time to wonder if he was delirious or dreaming, Ritchie found himself outside the hospital. It was dark and he was moving fast, as though flying through the air. He still wore only his army hospital pajamas but had no sensation of cold. After willing himself to slow down, Ritchie landed on a street corner in a town by a large river. People walked by without seeing him. He leaned up against a thick guy wire bracing a telephone pole, but his body passed right through it. "In some unimaginable way, " George Ritchie wrote later, "I had lost my firmness of flesh, the body that other people saw."
Oddly, given the bizarre circumstances, the young man's most pressing concern was that he was not going to be able to study medicine in his present disembodied form. He knew he had to get back to his physical body as fast as he could. The return to the hospital was quick, even faster than his voyage away from it had been. Running from ward toward and room to room, Ritchie searched the faces of sleeping soldiers. It was not easy to distinguish them in the dim light, so he decided to look for his identifying onyx and gold fraternity ring on their hands instead. After what seemed an eternity, Private Ritchie found a left hand with the correct ring on the third finger, but the body was covered with a sheet. For the first time he thought, "This is what we human beings call 'death', this splitting up of one's self." At the same time, he wondered how he could be dead and still be awake, thinking and experiencing.
Suddenly, the room was filled with an intense illuminations, and Ritchie saw that a man made of light had appeared. From inside himself he heard the words, "You are in the presence of the Son of God." Simultaneously, his whole life, "every event and thought and conversation, as palpable as a series of pictures," he said later, passed before him in review.
At the age of twenty, George Ritchie died in an army hospital. Nine minutes later, he returned to life. What happened to him during those nine minutes was so compelling it changed his life forever. This is one of the most starling and hopeful descriptions of the realm beyond ever written.
Then Private Ritchie woke up in his own body, to the astonishment of the physician who had just signed his death certificate. An orderly who had been preparing the body for the morgue noticed feeble signs of life in the corpse and called the doctor, who hastily injected adrenaline directly into the heart. Although Ritchie had not taken a breath for nine full minutes, he showed no symptoms of brain damage. The commanding officer at the hospital called the Ritchie case "the most amazing circumstance" of his career and signed an affidavit that George Ritchie had indeed made a miraculous return from virtual death on the night of December 20, 1943.

Please send me your comment, story or near-death experience to my email that can be found in the profile section of my blog.     theblogmeister

Where The Hell Have I Been?

  I have been lost for the past several weeks. I realize that I have not published anything on my blog and the reason is I did not want to relive what has happened to me, lately. It is soon to be the anniversary of my Mothers' death. I can still hear my Father calling me at 5am and telling me that he could not wake her up. The feeling that a force has reached in and ripped out your chest is very hard to forget. My wife and I was at my parents house in less than 5 minutes. When we walked into the back door my Dad was cradling my Mom and weeping. She was lying on the couch and appeared to be asleep when my Dad got up to make coffee. He made the coffee, looked at my Mom lying peacefully on the couch, then went into the den to turn on the TV. When the coffee was done my Dad poured himself a cup and went back to watch the news before going to work. At around 5am he turned off the TV and bent down to give my Mom a kiss on the cheek. Immediately he knew that something was not right. She felt cold. He called me and we made it to their house quickly. My Mother was dead. It looked as if she went to sleep and never woke up. It was the beginning of a whirlwind of activity. After we buried my Mom, the family spent a great deal of time talking about her. She was the first woman to have quadruple bypass heart surgery at UAB. It was done in 1969 when she was only 33 years old. The surgery lasted 17 hours. Dad shared some stories from her first of three open heart surgeries. He even relayed something that had happened to her that was not very well known in 1969. She had had a near death experience. She told of the bright light and the feeling of complete and total happiness. She recalled seeing her loved ones that had gone on before her. She also knew that my Dad could not take care of 5 children all under the age of 12. She remembered fighting the urge to stay in the utopia that she had gotten a taste. She just knew that she had to come back. It was not until my Mothers death that my Dad had shared this experience with us. What lies on the other side? For the next few weeks we are looking into this to find out if it is true. I believe it is.   theblogmeister

Caught In The Middle Of Truth Or Reason

Wikipedia states; In traditional belief, a ghost is the soul or spirit of a deceased person or animal that can appear, in visible form or other manifestation, to the living. Descriptions of the apparition of ghosts vary widely: The mode of manifestation can range from an invisible presence to translucent or wispy shapes, to realistic, life-like visions. The deliberate attempt to contact the spirit of a deceased person is known as necromancy, or in spiritism as a séance.The belief in manifestations of the spirits of the dead is widespread, dating back to animism or ancestor worship in pre-literate cultures. Certain religious practices—funeral rites, exorcisms, and some practices of spiritualism and ritual magic—are specifically designed to appease the spirits of the dead. Ghosts are generally described as solitary essences that haunt particular locations, objects, or people they were associated with in life, though stories of phantom armies, ghost trains, phantom ships, and even ghost animals and numbers have also been recounted.
  If you have been reading any of my posts then you know my belief in ghosts is ambivalent. I have had many experiences with those beings that no longer have a body that needs air to breathe and blood flowing through their veins. I have been confronted
by a being that I cannot prove if it was a ghost, a presence, or a spirit. It could have been a dream. My brain tells me it was a dream. I want to believe that those visits were more than just a dream. It would validate my sanity to the point that my belief system could accept that a living, breathing person could travel in different planes of time. I am a believer in a creator that created all things in 6 days and rested on the seventh. I believe, as the Bible states, that Jesus the Christ, was the son of God, he was crucified and after three days, he arose from the dead. If I find this so easy to believe, why do I have such a hard time to believe that someone, after death, can visit me in some other form. Why is it such an internal struggle when I have these dreams that I document? When I was 11 years old, my brothers and I were walking across the field to catch the bus when I was hit by such a sense of foreboding, a sense that something bad was about to happen that I turned around and started home. My brothers ask what I was doing and I could not explain it, so, I just told them I was sick. I heard the bus leaving as I reached our house and my mother got all over me for missing school. We had only one vehicle, so she couldn't take me to school. I had a little sister that was 4 years old and we were sitting in the den watching television when I heard an ear splitting scream. I ran to my mother's room and she was lying on her back, clutching her chest. I ran to the phone and called the plant where my Dad worked. The plant operator asked me what extension he worked. I did not know what she was talking about. However, I did say "extension 36." My dad was immediately on the phone. I told him that Mom was on the floor clutching her chest. He called the ambulance and a few minutes, later, the ambulance and my Dad were there. I was told to take care of my sister. The next day my mother was in Birmingham, Alabama having quadruple by-pass heart surgery. She was the first woman to have that surgery at UAB. This was 1969 and if I had not came back home that day, my mother would have died. Somebody told me to not catch the bus and what extension my Dad worked in. I cannot explain it. There has been a lot that has happened to me that I cannot explain. I do not believe it is through.     theblogmeister

Insight

  It was so black I could not see my hands in front of my face.The feeling of my heartbeat inside my head was harmonic. I was lying flat on my back, could not move a muscle. The pushing down towards the bed felt as if I were trying to hold up the weight of an automobile, sitting directly on my chest. It seemed I was in phase four of sleep, my eyes darting back and forth so fast there was no way of knowing just how fast, REM's at the speed of light. The rise and fall of my chest could not be detected but I was not hypo ventilating. It was the exact opposite. My respiration were over 80 per minute. There was no skin that felt wet from perspiration. The neurons in my brain were firing fast and with precision. The occipital lobe was processing visual stimuli and charging my corpus collasum to generate my right hemisphere to mimic my left hemisphere so the whole brain could work as one master of creativity. Logic did not find quarter. I immediately understood the masters of the past. Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Sandro Boticelli, Raphael. The creativity of those masters became such that I understood what they were relaying to themselves and why so much was avoided for fear of complete and total insanity. They were, collectively, on the brink of such calamity that their expressions became the core of my existence. Creativity is, simply put, the ability to look at one thing and see another. Creativity is combining and recombining previously known into the unknown. Creativity is insanity and insanity is creativity. Perceptions of creativity is supported by at least one major theoretical framework. These theories are entitled creativity as a function of behavior, personality, and cognitive processes.
  A third view is becoming increasingly more common in recent years; creativity is latent in all of us and it just needs to be brought out.
  As my right hemisphere would not completely let go of its function, allowing my frontal lobe to get into the conversation. This part is associated with reason, planning, speech, movement, which is on vacation at this point in time. Emotions and problem-solving brought to bear the work of B.F. Skinner and behavioral viewpoint, while Maslows ideas will illustrate humanist perception. These individuals provide useful insight into the functioning of the creative person.
  A third major theoretical framework examines creativity as a cognitive process. The behaviorist believes a person is not an initiating force in the creative act, but rather a focal point where environmental and genetic forces come together to have a common effect. Skinner states that the environment acts upon the individual "determining that he will perceive it( the environment ) and act in special ways." It is funny how all this happened while I lay on my lazy ass hoping my wife makes the coffee.     theblogmeister  

Further Escapades

  I waited around while my 5th lumbar vertebrae slid so far down the sciatic nerve became pinched creating the pain that started this thing off in 2006. I found a neurosurgeon that accepted medicare and medicaid and we tried the level 3 spinal fusion, once again. The surgery was a success and after a year I had the hardware removed. I then had to deal with scar tissue. In 2009, I had to have my back operated on for the 4th time. The scar tissue had to be removed to free my sciatic nerve from irritation. I now see a pain management doctor who prescribes powerful narcotics and every other month performs a procedure that is similar to an epidural. I am put to sleep with diprovan, the same drug that Michael Jackson overdosed on, and the caudal is done while I am at the neverland ranch. The nurses become aware that I have come to when they hear my renditions of Billy Jean and Thriller. I must be fairly good because I receive standing ovations in the recovery room. I tell the nurses that I am just showing my ass.
  I have been doing legal research to have my VA check increased and have found cases that support my claim. Having been denied 100% service-connected disability for PTSD I filed a claim for increased compensation due to individual unemployability. Pursuant to 38C.F.R. 4.16(b)It is established policy of the Department of Veteran Affairs that all veterans who are unable to sustain gainful employment due to a service-connected disability shall be rated totally disabled. Well, that is me. I have a 20% rating on my back and have been awarded social security disability because of my back, the VA will rule that I be awarded total(100%) disability. That award will be $2,383/mo. I will be paid in back pay from the time I filed in June, 2008. However, the way my luck is going the appeal will be denied because my appeal for PTSD was denied. That is the way the military works, especially since we have been in Iraq and Afghanistan and the hundreds and thousands of killed and wounded in a war that we have no reason, whatsoever, of being in. Thanks to The Bush's, and the Republicans, our foreign policy is in dire straits. That is a whole other post to be talked about at some other time. Once I get this behind me I can concentrate on trying to figure out the meaning of life. I will not try to win a Nobel prize for physics I am only looking for the answers to a half dozen questions. The first one will be asked, soon.      theblogmeister

Hanging On The Edge

  It is an appropriate title for me and the way my life has been going these past few weeks. Stress is my number one trigger for me having hellacious nightmares. I have been under a great amount of stress caused by dealing with the Veterans Administration., lately. I filed a claim for PTSD and the problems with my back because I believed, and still do, that these problems are caused by being in the military. After spending two months of a three month PTSD program,  in which I did not complete, I did not sit still while I was an inpatient. Most of my time was spent in the computer lab filing service-connected disability claims.. It did not take them long, at all, to rule against me in these two cases. The reasoning that I did not get 100% service-connected disability on my PTSD claim was short and and a little confusing. I had not served in a combat era. I had the psychiatrist's diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had the trigger point that goes along with all PTSD patients.  I received the same sleeping medication that is prescribed by all doctors treating this disorder. The one thing that the VA bureaucrats decided that I did not have this disorder because I had never been deployed to war; therefore, I must not have PTSD. It does not make sense. On to the second part of my claim. I claimed that I could  not work because of a service connected health problem. The VA agreed that I suffered from degenerative disc disease brought on by the repetition of lifting patients. I was given a 20% rating and received $243.00. Okay, no problem. Except that I am unable to find a job because of back problems. I had worked in 2003 to 2007 driving an 18-wheeler with my wife by my side. She, too, also drove. My wife came off the truck because of what was later diagnosed as fibromyalgia. I found a job driving a dedicated route from the Honda plant in Lincoln, Al. to a parts plant in Rockmart, Ga. I drove 3 loads a day that payed $75 dollars/load. Hell, that is over $200 dollars/day. It lasted about 2 years until my left thigh area felt as if I was being stabbed on the back of my leg. It came to a point that I had my wife drive about 40 miles to pick me up and the company made arrangements for the truck and its load. I consulted with my primary care doctor and he sent me to a chiropractor. I went 12 treatments and was told that I needed to see a neurosurgeon. I knew what that meant but I never knew it would be this hard. I met my surgeon and he showed me an x-ray telling me, as he pointed it out, that the only way I was to ever get relief was to surgically insert 2 titanium rods, using 8 titanium screws, putting my spine back to where it was supposed to be. I took his x-rays to my chiropractor and I showed them to him and the L-5 moved more than he could have imagined. He was startled. I asked him if I needed this or was the surgeon needing to buy another fancy car. He told me that I needed the surgery. That was enough for me.
  I had the surgery and felt like I had been hit by a train. I lasted 3 days in the hospital and I was home and miserable. I woke up one morning and noticed a pain that was new and unbearable. It was only 4 months post op, and something was seriously wrong. I could feel it. The doctor had told me that it would take up to a year for the bone grafts to take. I was to wear a cast from my naval to under my chin. He gave me strict instructions not to bend, pick anything up, do absolutely nothing. Except get tore up from all the drugs they gave me. When that morning came that I knew something was wrong I asked my wife to take me to the ER. She said that I must be in trouble to go to the ER. People with insurance rarely see the ER. You will mostly find the out of work or the out of mind. After a couple hours I saw the ER Physician. I told him I was 4 months post level 3 spinal fusion and was having a pain from hell coming from my lower back. Hell, he just gave me a shot and said go see my surgeon tomorrow. The ER Doc had called the surgeon after he viewed the film of my back, he saw it and told the surgeon. That's why the surgeon wanted to see me the next day.
  My wife and I walked into Dr. White's office the next morning around eleven.
  "I do not know how you did it but you broke a titanium screw." he said, as he was putting the film up on the light box. "You must be one bad dude,"he said, jokingly. His PA said that my back muscles, the latissimus dorsi, were the thickest back muscles he has ever seen on someone in their late forties.
  "Was that what caused the screw to break?" I asked, as we were staring at the screw.
  "Doubt it," is all he said.
  "What do we do, now?" I was looking back and forth from Dr. White to his PA.
  "We have to take it all out. You see how much the L-5 has slipped? When do you want to do it?" Boy, that was quick. I guess he wants to get it done while I still have my insurance from Osborn Trucking. Damn good insurance, too.
  "As soon as possible." I told him. I had not got it out of my mouth good when he was on the phone with his scheduling nurse. "Wednesday morning, first case?" He was looking at me when he said that. I just nodded my head up and down. "OK, put him down for my first case on Wednesday. Riley, David M. Thanks" He turned to me and Lorri and said he would see us Wednesday morning, and out the door they went.
  He took out all the hardware that was supposed to stay in there for a year and basically kicked me to the curb. I lost my job because I used all my FMLA. Drew my unemployment, applied for disability, then damn dear starved to death the next 21/2 years. That was back in '06. I had to wait after I got my disability from social security, not the VA, to get my medicare and wouldn't you know it. Dr. White does not accept medicare or medicaid. Must be nice. That first operation cost $95,000 Dr. White got $75,000. He must do 12 spinal fusions a week. That's $900,000 dollars a week that dude is knocking down. Anyway, I will resume my escapades with the US Gov't later.     theblogmeister

Is It Real Or What?

  I do not care what people believe out there about visits from the other side because I know for a fact that they are real. I do not know the process on who gets to come back or anything, I just know I had a visit from my mother. My mother died in 2007. She died peacefully in her sleep. I know for a fact she died. While I was doing some work on the house that she and my Dad shared while she was alive I could feel the presence of her in that house. There were constant noises coming from inside that house. Noises that I can't explain. For whatever reason, my Mom could not see me or cross-over to an earthly body where I could see her. It seems that she was trying to let me know by the only way she was able that she was there. My Mom found a way to get her earthly body back to communicate with me. It was about a week ago that I was sitting in my TV room and heard a noise that I did not recognize. I walked toward the noise and I saw a figure standing in my kitchen. I turned the light on and it was my mother standing there. The woman that I loved in the body that I knew her from. She looked beautiful standing there. I started to walk towards her and she spoke the word,"No." I asked her why could I not touch her. I wanted so much to give her a hug. "I am not in my glorified body." she said. I did not know what that meant and I asked her. She did not seem to pay any attention to my question. " I have come to say goodbye. I will not be able to see you, again." Where are you going, I asked. " I love you and I want you to be your best. I will see you when your time has come. Until then, I must go. Treat others as you wish to be treated. Good-bye. I love you." Then she was gone. It was not like a mist and she evaporates. She was gone. I was not sad. Unbelievably, I was happy. I cannot explain it. She gave me a message, treat your fellow man as you would want to be treated. The more I think about it the more I find fault in my own life. I have been stealing my wife's medication and I would not want her to get mine so I have learned not to get her meds. This is such a small example. If we all lived by that simple rule, just think how much better life would be.
  I have been thinking why it took her so long to come to me. Maybe there are rules that have to be followed in Heaven. I know my Mom is in Heaven by the way she lived her life. Why couldn't she have visited me, sooner? I have a lot of questions left to be answered. the one thing I know without a doubt, travel between realms is possible. That I know for sure. I am gonna treat people differently, too. Thanks Mom.       theblogmeister

Death Is At My Door

  My first cousin, Patty, was diagnosed with cervical cancer last year. She had a reaction to Coumadin, a blood thinner, and developed a large blister, covering the whole left calf. The doctors chose to stop the chemo until her leg healed. They had to wait on it to bust on its own, which took a while. Then they did a skin graft and had to wait  on that to heal. In the mean time, the cancer kept growing and growing. It moved into her lymph nodes and where else? By the time her leg was healed the cancer blocked nodes and it caused massive swelling in her legs. I got a call from her the other night and she told me that she wanted me to take her to UAB er. When we got there it was packed. I asked the nurse how much longer and she told me there were 35 ahead of her. I told the nurse that I new what triage meant and she was gonna have to go next. The drive from Gadsden to Birmingham was about an hour and we sat in the ER for another 2 hours. When I told the nurse I asked her to come look at Patty's feet. Well, she looked and decided that we were next. We were seeing the doctor, soon. Patty was admitted and I just learned that because of the delay in waiting for her leg to heal it only gave time for the cancer to progress. She told me that the doctors have given her a couple months to live.
 Somebody dropped the ball, here. They should have known that by waiting on the leg to heal, the cancer had to spread. Hell, even I know that. I would rather lose a leg than my life. See, Patty has not done anybody wrong. Why does she have to lose her life? She is a good person that has been dealt a shitty hand. Here I am, no use to society, and I am living. I have a fucked-up mental disease and she gets the death sentence. What is fair about that? It ain't fair. Who makes these life and death decisions, anyway. It's fucked-up, if you ask me. And there ain't nobody asking.   theblogmeister

Where Have You Been?

  This is an honest and important question that needs to be answered. I just do not have an honest and important answer to give you. My life, as many others at this time of the year, have been consumed by professional and college football. The NFC and AFC champs were decided, yesterday. What is more important than that is the drama of the college football world. College football, by a long shot, is the most exciting sporting event in the world. Not just the games, the recruiting of high school players to play at the college level has more intrigue than any other sport alive. Several college recruiters will often offer the moon if the student will sign a letter of intent to play at that certain school. This 'letter' is not binding and the student will, and often does, change their mind. There are certain rules that must be followed in recruiting a player to play at a certain school. Rules, however, are stretched to the limit and are sometimes violated in order to get that 'signature of intent'. Coaches will tread that fine line in what is legal and what is downright cheating. That is because one player could have such an impact on a school's chance to become great versus good. Take Cam Newton, who played for Auburn last year, without that one player I would feel comfortable in saying that Auburn would have not won the national championship last year for Auburn. In case you have been in a coma the past year, we are talking about college football.
  For those of you who do not know, collegiate sports, especially football is a multi-million dollar business. In less than a couple of weeks we will have national signing day for all of those high school student athletes who hope to make a living in the Professional Football League but first they have to find the right college that will give them the best chance to make it to that next level. Coaches all over the country are evaluating players that will give them the best chance to increase their pay scale and reach their goal of becoming national champions of college football. It is, and has always been, "What can you do for me." The reverse is true after the player graduate, or leaves early for the NFL, The player is asked by the pro team, "What can you do for me? Let's not kid ourselves this is about money. The one thing a high school kid needs is a college coach with experience in the dealings on the NFL. I will say this, I am an Alabama Crimson Tide booster and I believe that we have one, if not the best, college coaches around. We are setting this program up to be one of the most elite programs in the nation. It is great to be a Bama fan, right now. National  championships are possible for the next several years. I will close by saying that I believe we have the coach that is very happy with what he sees and is making plans for the University of Alabama to be a program that will be in the hunt for national championships for years to come. RTR

A New Dream

  The night before last brought with it a new dream. Gone were the disturbing images of a beast that had one purpose; to create fear into every fiber of my being. I have come to wonder about the colonel and why he seems to be wanting to reconcile a relationship that, at a time, was a real and healthy one. I am confused by this sudden transformation and more than a little skeptic. He has, in the past, tried to make amends only to kick the chair out from under me. He seems to get bored with the terror ploy and change his tactics. My dream last night was completely unrelated to the colonel but I feel there is a message in it that intends to help me deal with the unpredictable former fighter pilot. My dream involved my wife and was not a pleasant dream, at all.
  Not to give a play by play of my dream, rather, a synopses of what it was, I can remember very clearly the lack of tact that was shown by a state trooper who informed me that my wife was killed in a car wreck. The news was given in a matter of fact way and once receiving the news that the one person I depend on more than anything else in this world was no longer a part of it hit me like a freight train. My wife woke me up from this nightmare and I have never felt more relief than I did, then. I held onto her and she stroked my hair and with such soothing words brought me back to my real world. Lorri has become very good at bringing me from the edge of hysteria on many occasions. This time was different. Instead of convincing me that the colonel was not after me and bringing me back to the here and now she, by her words and touch alone, made me realize that I had not lost her. It was the most heart ripping dream of my life. I, honestly, do not know what or where I would be without her. She accepted me with all my flaws and has been the reason I am alive. I feel like the colonel has lost his power and has gone after what is most dear, to me. I still am having difficulty deciphering the dream of him with the one question that I cannot answer. Why do I fear him? I hope that answer will be within my grasp, soon. I do not know why. I do not know why.    theblogmeister

A One Day Vacation

 That is what it amounted to. I was fortunate enough to spend one night without a dream, visit, social call, whatever the hell you want to call it, from the demon, friend, psychological scourge, whatever you want to call him. How is it possible for a person to have the ability to enter at will, it seems, into my mind? The message of his visits are taking on a different attitude. In the past the colonel has been a creature of fear, stress, overpowering to the point of terror to becoming somewhat meek and almost confused about his role. In the past he had a sublime inference about his ideas and motives. They were clear and well defined. Imposing his will through fear and intimidation. He was always making a strong statement that I had created in him what I feared most. He is now seemingly apologetic in his wanderings through mental self realities. I am confused by this almost to the point that I wish he would return to the feared demon of my sub-conscious. It was a longstanding relationship where the rules were not obscured. The recent visit that I had of him was the most realistic, the most vivid memory and the clearer image I have had of the man in over thirty years. The one question was why did I fear him? Are you kidding me? The bastard could turn me into a shaking, sobbing, almost catatonic person scaring the daylights out of my wife. The deer in the headlights look, at times. His disruption of my mental status causing me to create an alter-ego. Then he has the balls to ask why was I afraid of him. In life we forged a bond filled with mutual respect. Maybe it was not mutual, after all. I know that I respected him and had actually grown to love He and Bunny. Maybe love is the wrong word. I absolutely cared about both of them very, very, much.
  That fear that he controlled me with for all those years seems like is changing to what I felt when he were alive. The dreams are less horrific and seem to be trying to change my feelings of the way I feel instead of trying to create havoc. It is like he is morphing into a person and less a creature. Maybe I am creating this illusion and tomorrow he will be the selfish bastard I have become accustomed to. I may be reading into this past dream a conclusion that I find satisfactory and able to deal with emotionally. Maybe its another one of his head games. Maybe he did not exist, at all, and I am hallucinating this whole story. Maybe I am the one that manipulated him into killing me and I am creating this log as a homework assignment required by all members of extra-celestial flights. Then, in order to be selected as commander of the next flight, I must show my mental acuity and vision of space time continuem. Yeah, Right.         theblogmeister

A Product of The Seventies

  I was born in the last year of the Fifties and came of age in the Seventies. What a great time to be alive. The music of the seventies was the best of any generation. What my brothers and I would do was go to concerts on the weekends. I lived in Gadsden Alabama and was in the center of the music concert world. We were 2 hours from Atlanta, one hour to Birmingham, and one hour to Huntsville. So, we went to concerts every week end. That is what we all did. The price of a ticket was generally $5 dollars. I am talking about the seventies rock bands that toured and would play at a location near to us, usually in Birmingham. Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers Band, The Marshal Tucker Band. I could go on and on. It was the greatest time of my life. We would have a bag full of weed that we would smoke inside. Someone would always have some kind of chemical such as Quaaludes, Valium, MDA what is now called Ecstasy, or some thing else. It was a party every weekend getting stoned on the way to Birmingham or where ever the concert happened to be at that time. There are not many Bands that we have not seen. I can only think of two Bands we missed. It was probably on purpose. We did not see The Who, or The Rolling Stones. Those are the only bands we missed. It was a party. The best were the outdoor concerts at the Rickwood Field baseball stadium. We saw Skynyrd there and they rocked the place down. They played so long that the Birmingham Police shut the power off. You talk about some pissed off fans. Hell, Skynyrd was pissed, too. But it was an unbelievable show. We saw Wet Willie at the Pete Mathews Coliseum at the Jacksonville State University campus. My brother and I were at the stage, we fought our way to the front at every concert and hoped somebody would say something. Sometimes, they did and it was on. Fighting with fists used to be how we settled disagreements.Nowadays, people use guns and people die. It was not that way back when I was in high school. We used to go by the carloads to our school rivalry and duke it out, toe to toe. You did not have to worry about somebody pulling a gun. Times have changed, I must say. Anyway, my brother gets on the stage before the band played and got a set of morocco's and went to the mike and started shaking them. The crowed started clapping in time with my brother. I saw a guy come out from behind  the curtains and it was Jimmy Hall, of Wet Willie. He came to the mike, put his arm around my brother and started to sing. The place was going nuts. After a few minutes, Jimmy left and this big dude came and scooped mu brother up and disappeared behind the curtain. I did not see him until after the show and he told me that big dude carried him to the exit door and threw him out. He missed the show. But, he was the show for only a few minutes. I have enjoyed talking about some good times. Hell, I may even try it, again.  theblogmeister

Dreams From Beyond

Visitors from Beyond: Or Lucid Dreams?

What Do You Think?

Nannette Richford,

Put briefly, a lucid dream is a dream where you are aware that you are dreaming. This can range from simply realizing that what is happening is not physically possible in the real world; therefore, your mind accepts the

 fact that you are indeed dreaming and the events transpiring around you are not real events. Lucid dreams can, and do, take many forms. It is this basic low level lucid dream where you are aware that the events are part of a dream, but you exert no control over the course of the dream, that I wish to concentrate on.

My mother passed away when my first born was nine months old. It came as a great blow to me. I loved my mother dearly and wasn't quite ready to let her go. I am told that a day or two prior to her passing she ventured outside to view the wondrous sights of nature near her home. When she returned, she exclaimed of the beauty God had bestowed on us in the natural world and added that where she was going was even more beautiful. Within days, she had passed.

Which leads me to the episode of lucid dreaming I wish to share with you. Several months later, when her birthday arrived, I found myself in the midst of a dream that has lingered for 20 years. I was in my dining room when suddenly my mother appeared. Instantly, I realized that she could not be there, as she had passed on; yet I was so eager to see her that I joyously began a conversation with her. We talked for what appeared to be several minutes.

What we talked about escapes me. It is what happened next that has etched itself into every fiber of my being.

I knew she couldn't stay for long, I believe she told me that, but perhaps it was merely knowing that she had passed that told me this. I really don't know. I began to tell her about my son and realized she had not seen him for several months. I asked her to wait while I ran to get him out of his crib, so she could see him before she left. I ran down the hall and plucked him out of his crib only to return to an empty room. On the table was note written in my mother's hand writting. What is said has haunted me through time. "Life is so unpredictable that even death doesn't play by the rules." Did I, in a state of lucid dreams, create this reflection on life? Did my mother somehow find a loophole in the fabric of time that allowed her one more visit? Perhaps I will never know. There are those who could provide convincing arguments to support either side. I prefer to believe that my mother crossed the barrier that seperated the living from the dead leave one final message for the living; but I know that is not very realistic. It is probably far more likely that I dreamed of her because it was her birthday and the message was a reflection of my feelings concerning her life. 

The above was written by Nannete Richford.

 

              

  Every since I had the vision of colonel DeBarge I have been seeking answers from any thing I could find on the internet. There are plenty of people that believe that the dead can pass through a portal to visit the living. There seem to be a concensus of beliefs that only certain people can or have the ability to reach the living. Some say that dreams are often used as a means of communication with the living. It seems that some have the power to make many visits to this realm while others do not. I find it hard to understand why this is so. How can the colonel be alive in my dreams and visit me on many occasions and have such an impact on my life? This is the one thing that I am having a hard time with. It has been too long and it is time for my demon to go. Just leave me alone. Let me get on with my life.        theblogmeister

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

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

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

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
 

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