These posts are an account of my own personal experiences with spirituality and the paranormal in chronological order, to the best of my memory. I will do my best to post new entries on Thursdays.
I was very little at the time. I'm not sure exactly how old I was. I was in bed and my mother was about to turn out the light overhead as she left my room. I asked her to leave the light on because I was afraid the ghosts were going to get me. I had convinced myself they wouldn't come if the light remained on. She became angry at me and yelled how it was going to make her electricity bill high. She did not turn the light off though when she left my room.
As a very young child, my mother would train me to develop my psychic gifts. I remember walking home from the store with my mother and younger brother one time. I was trying to read minds. I asked my younger brother to picture his favourite flower in his mind. I concentrated and saw a pansy.
I said, "It's a pansy."
He asked my mum what a pansy was and she told him it was a small purple and yellow flower.
"That's right!", he told me.
I then asked my mother to do it and I saw a rose. I told her and she confirmed that I was correct. Years later, my mother would tell me that when I was young I went around the house talking about Patty Hearst for some time. She said she had no idea what I was talking about until it came on the news one day. I don't remember this. She stopped working on my psychic gifts and told me to stop talking about it when she got together with my step-father. She said he wouldn't like it. I learned to hide it.
When I was a kid, my mother would play the radio in the mornings while we ate breakfast and got ready for school. Every week day morning, the radio station would have a phone-in contest for children. The kids had to call in and guess the number. If they got it right they won a prize. I only remember them allowing one child to try each morning.
One morning when they made the announcement for the kids to call in for the contest, I somehow knew it was number 4 that day and if I called in I would win! I ran to the phone on the wall in the kitchen and asked my mother if I could call the radio station because I knew the number was going to be 4 that day! She refused to let me.
Disappointed, I sat down at the table to eat my breakfast along with my brothers. The contest came on a few minutes later and the D.J. asked the kid that called in for the number. He guessed wrong. It had been 4!! I had been right. I would have won the prize if I had gotten through. That is, if I had been allowed to call at all. That was the only time I got the number. I suppose it was fruitless to bother again, so I never tried.
However, that was when I decided that 4 was my lucky number, despite not actually getting the prize.
We were driving in the car at night. My step-father was driving, with my mother in the passenger seat. I sat directly behind her, with my brother and one of my step-brothers beside me in the back seat. I don't remember where we were going or if we were returning home. I only know that I was young and it was night time.
As we drove I was leaning on the door, looking out the window. This was a time before seatbelts were mandatory. I notice a light high up in the sky that seemed to be following us. At first I thought it was a star, but the other stars weren't moving like it was. Then I had the thought that it must be an airplane. As soon as I thought that, the light turned at a sharp angle. Being a young child I did not know the proper term for that turn. Now, I realize it was a 90 degree angle or right angle. Even though I was that young, I wasn't sure an airplane could turn at such a sharp angle, so I asked my parents.
"Can an airplane make a turn like a car? If the car was driving down Mohawk road and then turned onto West 5th street?" I was asking if it could turn the corner like a car can on any street corner.
"No.", My step-father responded and then went on to explain the whole thing fully, but I stopped listening to him. I just needed to know yes or no.
I leaned back to look out the window again, thinking to myself "They are just letting me know they are there.", with the knowledge that 'they' were aliens. However, I could not see that moving UFO anymore.
As a family, we drove to the Chedoke Ski Hills to go tobogganing. There was a small hill that us smaller kids could use for just such a purpose. There were many families there. My younger step-brother sat in the front of our shiny, red toboggan and I sat behind him, my legs on either side of him. Down we went, farther than ever before and approached a smaller hill covered in trees.
I clearly heard a voice tell me 'If your brother jumps off the toboggan you will crash into the trees and both end up in the hospital. Do not allow him to jump off! You will not hit the trees if you just stay on the toboggan!" I looked ahead and could see our way was clear, as the voice had said.
Sure enough, my little step-brother tried to jump off. I held him on, forcing him to stay put. I could hear the yelling and gasping of the people on the hill where we had come from. We cleared the trees with no problem! When we came to a stop and got off, he was so mad at me he yelled at me, but I didn't care, we were safe. As we went back up the hill where the parents of all the kids were, he yelled at our parents that I kept him on the toboggan. When confronted by my parents, I simply stated that I could see our way was clear and we would be okay. There was no way I was going to tell them a voice told me what to do. Afterall, my mother forebade me from revealing my psychic gifts anymore. Luckily, I did not get into any trouble.
We moved into a home on Fisher Cresent. I did not like the basement at all, it was haunted. There was a workshop down there, and that seemed to me to be the source of the haunting. There was a laundry room, a washroom with a shower, a family room where the television was and a large recreation room with a pool table. I was scared to go down into the basement by myself. If I was asked to get something out of the basement I did it as quickly as possible. It wasn't so bad watching television as that helped to distract me enough to forget about the ghosts.
My parents decided to build a bedroom in the corner of the basement where the family room and recreation room met. They put in a walk-in closet as part of the room. They did this so my two younger brothers could have their own bedrooms, rather than sharing one. They decided I was to get the basement bedroom. I pretended to be excited about it, as we had an abusive, dysfunctional family and there was no way we could have our own opinions or go against what our parents had decided. So into the basement I went.
Right away there were issues being down there alone at night. So many nights, I would wake up in the middle of the night because I could hear someone playing pool. I could hear the billiard balls smacking into each other and bouncing off the sides or being sunk. At first I opened my eyes to see if the light was on in the recreation room. If it was on, it would shine through my door, which I kept closed, but there was never a light on in there when this happened. Eventually, I just kept my eyes closed and pulled the sheets over my head.
One night, I saw red eyes staring at me from one of the windows in my doll house. They glowed red. Again, I hid under my blankets. This was before the days of digital clock radios, so there was no reflection of any red light happening. I never said a thing about the hauntings to anyone at the time, because my mother had forbidden me to talk about my abilities. I suffered alone, in silence.
It was Easter time and I was sent to Sunday school, although my parents did not attend church. I think they just wanted time alone without us kids, so we had to go to Sunday school every week, unless we were ill. Anyway, on this particular day the teacher was telling us about how Christ rose from the dead. She asked what we thought he was teaching us.
I raised my hand and she let me answer. "He was showing us that we will live again! That life doesn't end with our death!", I exclaimed.
She was horrified. "NO! That is not correct! Be quiet!", she angrily tried to put me in my place.
I knew better. I knew I was correct. I knew we would live again and in my mind that is exactly what Christ was trying to show us and teach us. I didn't know it was called re-incarnation at that age, but I was born with the knowledge that we would be reborn. Back then, I didn't know how I knew, I just knew.