Wednesday, 19 July 2017

Gonna Take a Paranormal Journey

This post will freak out a lot of people. It contains information many will not believe. That’s okay. I have been called weird (and other names) all my life. My childhood friend Eleanor Hayward even made a point of approaching me on the playground and telling me, “You know you’re weird, right?” She went on to say she thought I was ‘good weird’.

In college three friends and I went out one night to a bar. My one friend had just cashed in some of his Bell Canada stock and had money to burn, so he bought me one of every mixed drink the bartender could make. I, in turn, revealed the true nature of life, the universe, and everything. The boys enjoyed my philosophy, but the girl we were with was gob smacked. She christened me with the nickname “Anti-Christ” and that is what I was known as throughout my college days. (I can assure you my relationship with the Christ Entity is a good one. That's one of the reasons I sought out my wife, but that's another story.)

So I’m used to people thinking I’m nuts.

Let’s start at the beginning.

I am a sensitive born of two sensitives. My parents were both (my Mother still is, but my Father passed away the same week Robin Williams transitioned) highly intuitive people capable of directing the flow of healing energies. The gift of healing is one I have used to help others on many occasions, aiding them in overcoming ‘incurable’ diseases. I am a Level Two Reiki practitioner as of this writing. This is a gift I have not used in many years.

My parents’ ultimate healing challenge came when I was born, for I arrived with a large hole in my heart. The ability to perform surgery on one so young was not available in those days. The doctors told my parents not to expect me to live past a month. (One of the nurses told my Mother, “You can always have another one.”) For the next year my parents and my 6 year old sister (who is an RN today – when they brought me home, she put up her dolls) prayed over me, anointed me with essential oils, and loved me. When they took me back to the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto the following year the doctor was furious. He claimed they were trying to fool him by bringing in a different child because there was no sign of the hole in my heart at all. I am on record (as a patient number for confidentiality) as the first person in Canada to ever self-heal a lesion of the heart. The doctor was wrong, but he was also partially right. I was the same child, but not the exact same child.

That early childhood crisis opened the doors to a world beyond what the majority of people experience.

I used to sleep with the covers pulled over my head so I wouldn’t see and hear what I would if there wasn’t something blocking those two senses. In the dark I could see outlines of people, animals, and other things moving around my room. I could hear them. The door to the closet had to be closed so I wouldn’t see the man with the long neck, who I called Charlie Millar.

The best night I recall was feeling the wind on my face and hearing it howling in my ears as I soared high above Alexandria Park. Nothing beats flying.

The most dreadful night involved clinging to the banister as two dark entities attempted to drag me down to who-knows-where. Abject fear engulfed me as I held the railing tighter. Finally a being of light appeared above us on the landing and said, “You may not take this one.”

It’s about 3 a.m. and I find myself standing at the bedroom window, watching the snow fall. Beside me is a being that stands at least eight feet in height. It is covered in hair and does not have a neck. We stand quietly watching the snow. Casually he says, “All this belongs to us.” To this I reply, “You’re very hairy.” He sighs and mentions something about ‘one day it will return to us’ or something like that. I’m not sure; I wasn’t paying close enough attention. For years I wondered if that encounter really happened. Then I read Michael Harner’s “The Way of the Shaman” wherein he went on a psychic journey to a ‘nether world’ where he met a group of these entities. Upon his return he told the tribal elder what they had said (exactly what the one had said to me “All this belongs to us”) to which the elder responded, “Yes, they’re always saying that.”

It’s around 1:30 in the afternoon. My Mother is having her nap. I am alone in the house, playing in my room. An extra-dimensional being (an alien – short, greyish-skinned) pops in for some reason. I have no idea why it came, what it wanted or what it did. I freaked out. It made an odd noise when it left and that is all I could recall when telling my Mother about it. For years my family would refer to my ‘imaginary friend’ “Doodle-Up” because that was as close to the sound he made when he left that I could come up with.

On a warm midsummer evening my parents, my brother Jay, and I are driving back to our new home from the suburbs of Ottawa. Across the field I see a large triangular craft hovering in the sky. No one else seems to see it as no one comments on it. I keep my observations to myself.

There are other experiences, but I think you get the picture by now. My perception of the world is much wider than most.

I spent years dulling those senses because I did not want to see and hear all I was seeing and hearing. The one thing I have not been able to completely overcome is my sensitivity to emotion. I can feel what others around me are feeling. Part of the reason I lived in Toronto (North America’s fourth or fifth largest city, depending on population growth in the other major centres) for so many years was an attempt to ‘short out’ that ability. The effort failed and made my time their quite uncomfortable.

My wife and I lived for over 17 years on the third floor of a house that had been built in the late 1800s. It was an attic space that had been converted. That flat was brimming with activity of the not-so-nice paranormal kind. Names called in the dark. Mysterious scratches and bruises. Hair-pulling. Objects disappearing and reappearing in different places. Dread. Sorrow. Every day I spent in that place was a day I contemplated the best methods for ending my life.

On one particular horrific day I was curled up in a ball on our bed when I caught a patch of darkness out of the corner of my eye. I whipped around to see a tiny demon (about a foot tall, all black, almost looked 2-dimensional) right at my ear. I went from frightened and pitying myself to full burn anger in a nano-second. (A temper that could raze a steel tower is a ‘gift’ from my Father. That has been another challenge for me. It has always been a curse, but on this occasion it was handy.) I bellowed at the little thing. It screeched and fled through a gate that had opened up. Inside the tear in the fabric of “reality” I could see multitudes of entities of every size and description. Many were laughing at the plight of the miniscule being. When I saw the landlord later that week he commented about the guy downstairs claiming to have seen a demon. I went to visit him and asked him what he had seen. He described the exact same type of being.

As an experiment I set my microphone to make a sound-activated recording. My vocal booth was heavily sound-proofed and sound dampened; owing to the fact the apartment was right on a main road and right beside the train tracks. No sound pierced the walls of that booth. This recording took place overnight while all the other tenants were away. Here you can hear the EVPs. Five seconds in there is a singular male voice. The rest are mainly groups of people chatting or are hard to make out. Keep in mind that there should have been nothing at all recorded, because the system was only set up to record when a sound was made. Stop reading and listen if you don’t want to be influenced in any way.

(Continued below)








Are you back? Okay.

My wife and I both hear voice around 5 seconds into the recording saying, “Hey, asshole.”

Needless to say, we don’t live there anymore.

I think that’s about all I wanted to share at this point. There is also the ‘time’ thing. Time doesn’t always run the same way for me that it does for most people. The history you remember is not necessarily the history I remember and that keeps changing, too.

What was the point of this post? Just to share some of my experiences, so that perhaps some of you will not be so afraid to share your own. The universe is a bigger place than the narrow-minded can conceive.

Sorry this post wasn’t funny. Laughs next time. Or check out my cat posts. Just put ‘cats’ in the search bar below. Or try Jay’s Jokes for some groans and giggles.


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