Tuesday, September 11, 2007

I Remember

Everyone will remember the day September 11th, 2001. It is a day many people lost a family member, a friend, an acquaintance. Just like the day JFK was assassinated, no matter how many years pass, no matter how many paths they take, people will always remember what they were doing, where they were, the moment they heard that the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center had been attacked.

This is I Remember

I remember the day, the exact time when I first heard that two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers.
I remember the foreboding dream I had had the night before; that I had dismissed as an unnerving fragment of my imagination.
I remember telling myself that it wasn’t my fault; that there was nothing I could’ve done.
I remember the hot tears that poured down my face, leaving a salty taste in my mouth.
I remember the deafening silence when the loudspeaker had finished it’s screeching announcement that had left the rowdiest kids speechless, that had left them crying.
I remember the stunned, shocked expressions on every face, every mind speculating in unison.
I remember because I was one of them.
I remember.

I remember some thinking about the people in those planes.
I remember others thinking about the people in those two Towers.
I remember most thinking about their families or their friends’ families; brothers, sisters, parents; uncles, aunts, cousins; husbands, wives, and children.
But all thinking, wondering: Who survived? Who got out in time? Who was trapped? Did they even go to work today?
But most of all: Why? Why now? Why us? What did we do to deserve this?
I remember everyone stuck like prisoners within their own minds.
I remember because I was one of them.
I remember.

I remember the desperation that held us still. Frozen. Unmoving.
I remember the yellow shirts, the purple shorts, lose their color.
I remember the gym’s huge walls close in on us, the space getting smaller and smaller.
I remember because it became harder to breathe.
I remember because I was there.
I remember.

That was six years ago and still I remember.
I remember how the world seemed to stand still.
I remember how movement was forbidden; how breathing was forbidden; how speaking, sound of any kind, was forbidden.
I remember the lives lost.
I remember the bravery, the courage, the unwillingness to give up, to give in.
I remember how one plane’s passengers fought against all odds. To save lives, even when they knew their own couldn’t be saved.
I remember.

I remember the Phoenix that rose from the ashes, the remains of what used to be the Twin Towers.
I remember its fierceness, its loyalty, its resolve, and above all, its patriotism.
And most of all, I remember the consequences.
I remember the counterfeit reason, the excuse for why we went to war.
I remember the senseless deaths of those who fought for a false cause. A cause to further one man’s personal agenda.
I remember the stupidity, the ignorance, the selfishness of this man.
I remember because I’ve seen the lethal results.
I remember.

Friday, September 7, 2007


“Rose,” Jake screamed as he darted throughout the massive apartment. Each room held a gruesome discovery, yet at the same time empty of the one life he was searching for, the one he treasured more than breathing itself. “Where the hell are you, Rose?” he muttered frantically through clenched teeth. “Rose!
The colors of each room flew by in a blur. The bathroom, guest bedroom, living room, foyer… all were empty. Jake dashed into the kitchen and around the basalt-topped island. His feet slipped out from under him and he landed flat on his back against the tiled marble floor, knocking the breath from his lungs. Why was the floor so cold? And what was soaking into his shirt? he wondered. It was then a salty, metallic scent reached his nostrils. With much slipping and sliding, Jake turned on his side and what he saw made him gasp in horror and his eyes turn into saucers.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

The Lumberjack Ghost

In the past couple of weeks I've started seeing this huge, burly man. I mean huge! He's very muscular and quite tall. His thick dark brown hair was cropped close to his head, as was his beard. His hair was so dark as to look nearly black.
What drew me in, though, were his inquisitive eyes. I didn't get any negative feelings off of him. His demeanor was one of confusion and he acted surprised that I saw him, or rather that, he saw me. An "What are you doing here?" aura radiated from him. They say that "Eyes are the windows to the soul." I'm not sure who "they" are, but I wholly agree with "them." This man does not have a mean bone in his body. If I hadn't felt that, I would be able to tell by his eyes.
Something just occurred to me. Byron isn't a ghost haunting this ancient home at all. My experience with this man is the result of a bleed-through. A bleed-through is where the past and present become fused into one. So, while in my mind, Byron was intruding upon my space, Byron is probably coming to the same conclusion about myself. I'm there in his space, literally in his time, I guess I should say. Bleed-throughs are often mistaken for visits by spirits and hauntings or appearances by ghosts. Next time you think you're experiencing a bleed-through, not a visitation of a spirit from The Other Side or a ghost stuck on earth, go to the nearest library and do some research on the area of land that you live on. Anyways, on with my story.
He's appeared to me several times now (which is leaving me to believe that the energy concentrated in my house is extremely powerful.) It wasn't until I was telling my mum about this whole experience that his name finally came to me: Byron. More information poured in as I spoke. He was a lumberjack in the mid-1860's and had moved in this house (may I remind you that it is well over 140 years old) with his wife, Sally, soon after it had been built. Today, the area in where I live is quite woody. Back in the 1860's the whole area was just woods. For miles and miles and miles, there was absolutely nothing but woodland.
Sally was a small woman, barely five feet tall. For such a tiny woman, she was full of life, her bubbly personality infected everyone around her. Her honey-colored hair was naturally curly. Her golden-brown eyes were warm and sparkled with humor. And though Byron was a reserved and quiet man, he smiled easily and was pleasant company. While Sally and Byron were as different as summer and winter, they loved each other dearly.
As I'm concentrating on these people, more and more information about their life together is flooding through me. In the past, I've gotten little flashes, like a mini-movie showing in my mind. But now, as I write this, it's not a movie. It's... difficult... to explain. It's like a 3-D movie, unfolding in my mind. No, that's not right. It's like I'm actually there, watching these events that include this devoted couple unfold. This is new in every way, shape, and form, for me. The things I see and know have gotten much more detailed, and quite intense. I wonder what will happen when I meditate tonight. Each time I mediate, I find something new that I'm able to do or see. I wonder what I'll find tonight that I'm also able to do.
I wonder...

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Ghosts and Spirits

I need to get one thing clear here. Most people confuse spirits with ghosts and vice versa. Spirits and ghosts are not alike in any way.
First of all, ghosts don't have the slightest idea that they are dead. Instead of "going into the tunnel of light" as I call it, they turn away and ignore its existence. As a result, ghosts remain earthbound for reasons of their own. Some might think that God is upset with them. Others might stay behind to get revenge. They're confused, lonely, and sometimes angry. They don't understand why most people ignore them as if they weren't there. In all actuality, people don't see them because, technically, they're neither really here nor there.
This is because when souls leave their bodies, they also leave this dimension.
Sylvia Browne talks about three dimensions. “Earth's dimension, ghosts' dimension, and the dimension of Home.” What she calls Home, others call Heaven. Earth's dimension is, of course, the dimension of humans. Ghosts' dimension is the dimension where ghosts are stuck in their own point in time. Home (aka Heaven) is where Spirits (souls) go when their earthly domain (body) has expired.
One of the biggest differences (not to mention the easiest way to tell the distinction between the two) between spirits and ghosts is that spirits will appear in perfect health. Ghosts on the other hand, show visible signs of any injuries, deformities, or illnesses they had when they were alive. I'll give you two examples, one of an encounter with a spirit, and one with a ghost. These are derived from my own personal experiences.
My Grandmother had died when my brother and I were just nine years old. Her health had deteriorated surprisingly fast. By the time she left her body and went “Home” she was so skinny she resembled a skeleton. That's all I remembered of what she looked like. I've tried to picture what she looked like in the past but couldn't. I was meditating the other night—
Excuse the interruption, but I need to make something clear. When I meditate, I mentally put myself in a black-painted room. There are no windows or doors. Just pure darkness and absolute silence. Nothing can get in. Not thoughts, not noise, not anything. So, I was surprised when I found myself outside of that box, and in what seems to be a memory that had slipped away into my subconscious.
Anyways, as I was saying: I was meditating the other night and suddenly I was watching myself, nine years old, standing in the upstairs hallway. It was as if I was having an outer-body experience, but in the past, not the present. I was wearing a long white nightgown, and my dark brown hair was almost to my elbows. But, more surprising than that, was the woman standing several feet in front of my younger-self. It took me a moment to realize that the woman was my grandmother! She was nothing like I remembered her to be. The Grandmother that stood in front of me had honey-colored hair cut just above the shoulders. Her teal eyes watched me (my nine year old self) lovingly. Her physique was full figured and slender, as she had been in life, long before she got sick. Not the skeleton figure I remember. I know now that she was letting me know that she was alright. She radiated comfort, love, and warmth. She's a perfect example of a spirit who made it “Home.”
One night, many years ago, I was rifling through a chest that had been given to me by a close family friend when suddenly, I felt someone standing behind me. It wasn’t a comforting feeling, quite the opposite. I became very unsure, and frightened. I forced myself to turn around, still on my knees. There, before me, stood a young man in a Confederate uniform. He was covered in dirt, as if he had been crawling through wet soil. But the worst of all, was his face. It’s what frightened me the most. The left part of his face was bloodied. Specifically, his entire left cheekbone, his temple, eye and eyebrow, and all the way to his ear was covered in dark red blood. It looked as if he had been standing much too close to an explosion. With his one good eye, he stared at me. Shock, disbelief, and confusion emanated from him, but also irritation. Needless to say, I bolted from the room and refused to sleep there for almost a week. I was camped out on the couch downstairs. That is a perfect example of a ghost, lost and roaming, with no idea where he is or where he's going.
Next time you encounter a spirit or a ghost, you'll know which one you've come across. I hope this was as informative and as useful to you as it has been to me. This knowledge that I've learned over the years has helped me through everything I've experienced and will experience.
Now, before I go, I need to tell you that the house that I've lived in for most of my life is well over 140 years old. It holds a lot of secrets, knowledge, and mysteries. In this three-story Victorian, many souls have entered and left this world. So, it's no surprise to me why the activity is highly concentrated. It's also no surprise why I've had many experiences with imprints, each different and unique. But, that's another story, to be told another time.