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My First Ghost
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I do what I do because of my mother.
And after encountering my first ghost at nine years old.

It happened one afternoon after school shortly after I got home.
I was a latchkey kid which meant I was the first one home until my sister arrived shortly after. 

My after school routine consisted of making myself a snack, usually something involving white bread, ketchup and bologna then sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework before I plopped down in front of the tv.

Not this day. I started doing my homework and immediately heard footsteps coming down the hallway. (The hallway was carpeted.) Sitting at the kitchen table, and with the hallway situated behind me meant I couldn’t see who was coming. The sound ended where the hall met the kitchen. 

With my back to the hall and too terrified to turn around, I frantically called my mother on the house phone mounted on the wall right by the table. (No cell phones, this was 1981). She told me to run outside and wait for her there until she arrived.

My mother rushed home and told me to wait by the front door while she searched the house. She came back to say the house was empty and it didn’t appear like anyone had broken in.

Repeatedly I cried, “I know I heard someone”-I have always been a terrible liar so my mother knew I was telling the truth. She proceeded to call my dad and tell him she would bring me back to work with her.

While driving back to work, my mother explained to me very matter-a-factly that I heard a ghost, that our house was haunted, and compared it to a hotel where ghosts and spirits came and went freely. She cautioned that if I ever saw or heard another spirit in the house ,to report it to her but don’t “color” it in anyway.

Next to Michael Jackson releasing his Thriller album, that was the most exciting thing to ever happened to me. (I was obsessed with MJ, so you understand how big that was for me).

Later, a psychic friend of my mother’s compared the house to “Grand Central Station” for spirits. Houses like ours seem to be located in areas with energy portals. A few of my clients have portals in their homes. I’ve learned from them the purpose of the portals is to teach those living there how to develop their divine gifts.

One night, I suddenly woke up for no apparent reason to watch a disc of white light spin down from the ceiling, hover for a moment then disappeared back up through the ceiling.

Another night, I woke up again, looked to the doorway of my bedroom and saw the hand of a black woman reach for my doorframe. When she realized I saw her, she quickly pulled her hand away.

I wasn’t scared when I saw the disc of light or the black woman in my doorway. These incidents didn’t make me afraid and neither did the time I found a little boy in his pajamas in, yet again, the magical, mystical hallway in the middle of the night. (Nighttime was a very common time to experience such things).

The little boy seemed to be either lost while astral traveling or newly dead. We never solved that one.

But we were able to get some psychic intel on the black woman in my room. My mother’s psychic friend said she was a ghost named Gertrude, had been a slave and was drawn to my room because she liked the rose patterned wallpaper. 

How was my mother so comfortable with this all this? What made her so “ok” with all these spirits coming and going and seemingly skilled in handling this type of phenomena?

My mother grew up in a tiny, poor, rural Catholic town in North Western Kentucky called Morganfield in the 50’s and 60’s . Her mother was of Welsh and Irish descent and her father was half Cherokee.

But her family referred to him as “ that dirty Indian.” 
He died when she was 3 years old.

She could have shut me down by labeling it being my imagination or be concerned I had some mental or emotional imbalance. She could have played the religion card and sought help from a priest or pastor.

But she didn’t.

She realized as a young child she possessed intuitive “psychic” gifts and abilities. Like seeing and hearing spirits. As a small child, she outed herself by mentioning a conversation to her mother she had had with a dead relative in the living room once .To her family, these abilities were considered to be “of the Devil” yet they were the very essence of what made my mother herself.

It was completely normal in my family to see what others couldn’t. I saw dead boys in the hallway, my sister saw fairies and angels.

Later, a psychic friend of my mother’s compared the house to “Grand Central Station” for spirits. Such houses seem to be located in areas with energy portals. A few of my clients have portals in their homes. I’ve learned from them the purpose of the portals is to teach those living there how to develop their divine gifts.

Watching my mother read books by Leo Buscaglia, hold meditation groups on the weekends and playing “who’s in the room”. I cried every time we sat down to connect with our spirit guides. She grew tired of my response to the overwhelming love I experienced. But I begged her to let me continue. She thought I should be out playing with other kids doing normal kid activities. They paled next to the magic I felt when we practiced.

Even though she was self taught, and received very little community support, she managed to become a skilled healer and teacher over the years.

Her strength became my strength...
Her gifts became my abilities...
Her teaching became my path...

All because of a ghost and a little help from my mother.


 

Want More Magic In Your Life? BYOM

Want More Magic In Your Life? BYOM