Do you believe in ghosts?
If your answer is “no” or “I’m not sure,” I suggest you start by reading this story I wrote about an encounter I had with a ghost back in 1982. Because, prior to that encounter, I didn’t believe in ghosts either. Then, I had a rude awakening.
Unfortunately, though, I had no idea that two ghosts surreptitiously “attached” themselves to me (shortly after that first encounter) — a condition I lived with, completely unaware, for more than twenty years before an odd series of dreams and channeled guidance led to their discovery and release.
Most everyone is familiar with dreams where recent personal events, news stories, movies, songs, television shows, etc., end up mashed together into a surreal dream time stew. But how many can recall having dreams that have absolutely nothing to do with their waking life? If you make a regular practice of remembering and recording your dreams as I have for the past 30 years, undoubtedly, you will come to similar conclusions:
Some dreams involve interactions between your spirit/astral self and other spirit/astral beings (also known as astral traveling, or astral projection), and are not merely random creations of the unconscious sleeping mind.
Also, paying close attention to your dreams may reveal other fascinating dream types such as prescient dreams, mutual dreams, allegorical dreams, lucid dreams, and as previously mentioned, astral travels to other localities, whether those localities are within our physical universe, the 4D plane, or dimensions beyond.
— my spirit guide, “Spirits are Like Chocolate” (1999) — 5 years before I learned that I had 2 spirit attachments.
Had I forgotten the extreme feelings of shame and betrayal that I had experienced? Had I forgotten the fear? Was I looking for more trouble?
In hindsight, the best answer I can give is to say that I knew I had a gift that allowed me to communicate with the dead, and clearly, one negative encounter hadn’t scared me enough to stop me from using that gift. Thus, on occasion I continued to experiment with automatic writing, and on occasion I received little snippets of information from beyond, or as I would later come to understand it, from the lower realms of the astral plane (also known as the 4th dimension).
As you can imagine (if you know a little something about the lower astral plane), the information I received was far from reliable or meaningful — something that should have been of concern to me. However, I was young and naive, and what I really wanted from the world of ghosts was winning lottery numbers. (How pathetic, I know!)
So, it was numbers I got (although none of them ever won a single thing), while along with those numbers I occasionally received a snippet of intriguing information — i.e. the name of a man (Jack Ionero), his occupation (lawyer), the name of his female companion (Lorraine Wilson), dates (in the early 1900’s), a place (London), a crime (murder). However, whenever I followed up with a little research (which wasn’t all that easy to do in the pre-internet days), I could never find anything that corroborated the information I had received — another sign that should have been of concern but wasn’t. Instead, I continued to dabble with automatic writing off and on for the next few years. And, I continued to receive losing lottery numbers accompanied by bits and pieces of spooky information.
Meanwhile, in my outer life, I was struggling to balance the demands of university, dating, and other social activities when one day, right out of the blue, I unexpectedly ended up in an emotionally exhausting confrontation with an unseen yet very real (and not so nice) spirit being who refused to relent until I agreed to accompany him to some unspecified destination on the other side. (For that story, please see this link.)
A year later, another life-altering experience struck unexpectedly when the most beautiful loving being materialized in a room with me, showed me that I was loved, and validated the importance of prayer. Unfortunately, tho, that experience left me with many burning questions. And, when it became apparent that answers weren’t forthcoming any time soon, I had little choice but to pull myself together enough to finish what would turn out to be my third and final year of university.
A few months later, settling into a career, I met Nola, the woman of my dreams (quite literally — but that’s another story), and in short order we were married. And the years rolled by — more than twenty in fact while my wife and I welcomed three beautiful daughters into the world (in 1986, ’88, and ’98) while at the same time, debilitating bouts of depression consistently overwhelmed me every time I found myself in-between jobs.
Depression was a strange experience at first because I never suffered it as a child or a teenager. Nevertheless, it became a regular companion in my early to mid-twenties, and I grew to expect it anytime I was unemployed. I also grew to expect that every time I would lapse into it, my wife would suggest counseling — a suggestion I refused every time on the grounds that a psychologist or psychiatrist wouldn’t understand my encounters with the world of spirit. You see, even though several years had passed since the last of my three spirit encounters, I was still very uncomfortable with the idea of talking about that part of my life.
In hindsight, I think I was most fearful of being judged as crazy or of opening myself to the possibility of being diagnosed with a psychiatric disorder. I knew that the strange encounters I had had with spirit were real. However, the more time I spent unemployed and without answers to my old burning questions, the more I found myself beginning to question my sanity. And, well, I didn’t want someone to affirm that my sanity was questionable. So, I continued to refuse therapy. And, for better or worse, my journey to wellness turned out to be a long and difficult road.
Thankfully, tho, my spirit guide and guardian angel broke through and delivered the help and guidance I needed; the guidance that eventually enabled me to overcome the debilitating depression and mood swings that were the unfortunate side effect of two well-intentioned ghosts who, unbeknownst to me, had successfully attached themselves to me in the early 1980’s.
Looking back through my journals, the first clue I found that revealed the presence of two ghosts in my life was written on November 15, 2003 (although, like all of the clues that surfaced during that time in my life, I wouldn’t become aware of their meaning or existence until the research phase of this story began some eight years later).
Back in November of 2003, my eldest daughter, Sarah (who was 16 at the time), was involved with a somewhat rebellious boy from school who my wife and I didn’t particularly like. We had very clear curfews in place for Sarah, and she was more than aware of them. However, one evening Sarah went out with a girlfriend, missed her curfew, and ended up calling home hours late at 1:30 in the morning, claiming to have coincidentally met up with her boyfriend (before curfew), gone to his apartment, and mistakenly fallen asleep on his couch.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t a first offense for Sarah. (And, thankfully, Nola and I had been devious enough as teenagers to know when our own teenager was trying to pull a fast one.) Thus, it was hardly unreasonable when we told Sarah to get on a bus right away and get home. And, when Sarah refused, and called her mother a “psycho,” that pretty much sealed her fate.
Nola and I immediately got out of bed, and made the twenty minute drive downtown to Sarah’s boyfriend’s apartment to fetch our recalcitrant kid. Sarah’s angry silence spoke volumes as she climbed into our car, and refused to speak a word during the entire drive home.
Now, you might be wondering, what has any of this to do with this story? Well, it was in the midst of all of this drama that I crawled back into bed, only to wake up a few hours later remembering a dream that seemed strangely more like a movie than a dream.
In the dream, it’s night, and I’m standing on a street in the middle of a middle class residential neighborhood, looking up towards the second floor corner room of a house. Inside, a faint glow of light illuminates two figures — a man and a woman.
Inside the room, I am now observing the man as he leafs through some papers and finds a photograph. He then excitedly calls out to the woman. As she moves to join him, I see that she is holding a different photograph — hers, a high school class photo — the kind you see in a high school yearbook. I watch as the woman shows her photo to the man, and as he seems pleased to discover that the photo of the young man he has matches the one of the young man in the class photo. The man and woman now seem confident that they know who they are looking for.
Suddenly, however, the man and woman are aware of my presence in the room. They confront me and disclose that they are ghosts and that I am the only one who can see them and talk to them.
Suddenly, the scene transitions. It is now day outside and I am with the two ghosts as we enter a high school.
Inside the school, we walk along a basement corridor and stop when we spot a young man with messy, dirty blonde hair. There are other students milling about as the young man heads off to the restroom. The male ghost follows the young man into the restroom. I think I also follow, though upon waking, I can’t remember what happened. Somehow, I think the ghost may have roughed up the young man, but I’m not certain of this.
The next part of the dream I remember, I am standing with the two ghosts watching the young man in the lobby of the school. There is a bake sale going on and I end up distracted by some cookies I want to buy. I don’t seem to have the right amount of change. Meanwhile, the young man makes a sudden bolt from the school and the ghosts follow. Seeing this, I run after them.
Outside, on the street, the ghosts are walking at a quick pace, following the young man while I excitedly walk beside the male ghost, nattering on until the male ghost finally turns to me and says, “For God’s sake, if you’re going to keep talking to me, at least learn to speak with your mouth closed!” This causes me great embarrassment as I suddenly remember that I am the only one who can see him. I am suddenly afraid that I made myself look like an idiot babbling out loud to myself as I hurried down the street. I try to apologize but the male ghost is already well ahead of me, having picked up his pace. Struggling to keep up, I wake from my dream.
Earlier that same week, unfortunately, our youngest daughter, Kaylin, 5, had suffered a stubbornly malicious bladder infection and had to be rushed to the hospital on two separate occasions with uncontrollable high fevers. Thus, Nola and I were already under great stress and somewhat sleep deprived when Sarah pulled that stunt with her boyfriend. Nevertheless, in spite of the prior week’s stress, the drama now behind us, my wife and I were feeling much better when on the night of November 20th, we woke from a deep sleep to a sudden loud crash.
Nola immediately jumped up, thinking Kaylin had fallen from our bed. (During Kaylin’s recent illness, she had spent several nights in our bed, though on this particular night, she was sleeping in her own bed.) Realizing it wasn’t Kaylin, that somehow in my sleep I had knocked a very heavy reproduction antique telephone off my bedside table, I calmed Nola down, picked up the phone and set it back on the table.
I then noticed that the time was 3:30 — the third night that week that I had woken up and glanced at the clock at exactly 3:30. I had gone back to bed on the two previous occasions thinking nothing of it. But this time, given the circumstance, I couldn’t help but think that someone wanted to talk to me. Thus, I got out of bed and headed downstairs to my basement office (and computer) where I immediately typed out the dream I had been having when we were so rudely awoken by the sound of the crashing telephone:
In the dream, I am a bus driver, driving a city bus along a busy city street, when I suddenly notice passengers waiting at a stop ahead — a stop I am just about to pass. I quickly stop the bus and open the doors to a middle aged couple. After they get on the bus, I shut the doors behind them, and am just about to pull away when the woman suddenly decides she wants off the bus. I think it a little odd, but I open the doors and watch as she exits. The next thing I remember, the male passenger is now driving the bus and I am a passenger.
The dream then changes location.
I am now standing on a street — a street that looks very similar to the one we were just driving on — only, I am now standing on a dirt surface because the asphalt has been removed. All around me, construction workers prepare to erect a large canopy over the dirt while I assist one of the workers (possibly the man who was on the bus in the earlier part of the dream, but I’m not sure). For some reason, I feel anxious about how I am supposed to navigate my bus through this part of the route (with the road all dug up like it is). A foreman addresses my concern with a long and complicated answer, however, I don’t understand what he’s saying, thus, the longer he talks, the more my anxiety increases.
And, that’s what was happening when I suddenly woke up to the startling sound of a heavy telephone landing on my bedroom floor.
Back in my home office, having completed the task of writing down this dream, I was in the middle of taking time to type out my prayers when I suddenly began to think of my father.
My father and I had had a turbulent relationship that had never resolved itself by the time he passed away in 1989. Thus, there were many reasons to think of him, although I rarely did. When it came to my father, I had a hardened heart and wasn’t consciously bothered in the least to carry it around with me. I had years upon years of unresolved anger associated with the entirety of my relationship with my father, therefore, by the age of 43, I was quite comfortable with the scar tissue in my heart.
Nevertheless, there I was, not only thinking about my father, but finding myself suddenly inspired to write a letter of forgiveness, telling my father in no uncertain terms that I completely forgave him for his shortcomings. Reaching the end, I decided to ask my father if there was anything he wanted to say, and was surprised when a channeled message came through. Basically, my father told me that he loved me, that he was sorry that he had never been there for me, and that he was available to help me now, if I needed him. Though it was a touching message, I couldn’t help but think it was maybe just a little too shallow and sentimental to be authentic.
However, there was something intriguing that happened that belied that thought.
Somehow, the words I was typing as I channeled switched from normal type face to bold type face the moment my father’s message started to come through. (Prior to that occasion, having sat in front of my computer and received dozens of channeled messages, this had never happened before.) Of course, I realized at the time that there was likely a keystroke shortcut to enable bold typeface, however, I didn’t know what it was (and to this day, I still don’t). Thus, it was definitely a cause for pause.
(For the record, after that incident, a similar thing happened a few times during later channeling sessions — but, with italics rather than bold type.)
Anyway, the reason I have taken you on this long digression is to say, maybe it was my father who wanted to speak to me that night I knocked the telephone off the table during my sleep.
The very next night, once again, I awoke exactly at 3:30 in the morning, this time feeling intense fear and anxiety, but having no idea why (unfortunately, I couldn’t remember what I was dreaming about when I woke up). Not being one to shrug off irrational fear (or at least, what seemed irrational to me), I immediately got out of bed and headed downstairs to my office where I prayed for help (to release the fear and anxiety), and then channeled a message from my spirit guide who said, among other things:
“You have a strong sense of awareness regarding the negative energy that surrounds you. These forces are not there to sustain themselves through you. You will not let them so they will dissipate in time. Yours is to live and let live. In this way, you will overcome these forces in all their many forms.”
A few days later, I awoke in the night feeling miserably depressed. And I remembered a particularly crude dream I had just had. In the dream, I am sitting on a toilet in a public restroom, and no matter how much I try, I can’t get myself clean. To say the least, it was extremely frustrating. And especially so since all I wanted to do was return to some kind of work that I was excited about doing (unfortunately, upon waking, I couldn’t remember what that work was).
In my real life (in the 3D world, that is), I was going through a great deal of financial stress. I had just made a proposal to the tax department which, if accepted, would have saved me from having to declare personal bankruptcy. The process was all a great big unknown to me, thus it caused more stress than it should have. Fortunately, I was able to take my worries about money to my spirit guide. In particular, having just read a book called “Angelspeake” (a book that advocated asking your angels for money and other physical things you wanted), I was surprised when my guide told me he wasn’t my angel, and asked if I’d like to be introduced to my guardian angel. A few minutes later, after a few introductory remarks, I wasted no time in asking my guardian angel for money. Here was his answer:
“God is the provider, the sustainer, the Creator of All. If it is money you desire, then we suggest you speak directly to God. You can do this through your prayers. We can facilitate, but God must provide.”
Based on the teachings I had read in the book “Angelspeake,” his answer confused me. I told him what the authors had written and this was his response:
“They are not correct. Physical rewards and gifts do not come from angels. Angels facilitate emotional stability and health — rewards of the spirit. It is not ours to say who should have and who should not. We give equally to all souls on earth.”
Satisfied with his answer, I went on to ask other unrelated questions which he gladly answered. Interestingly, I enjoyed his energy and felt excited to make a new connection, however, I was a little worried about the protocols. Was my spirit guide to remain my go-to-guy or was that now be the role of my guardian angel? Would one be offended if I went to the other? How was I supposed to decide? I wasn’t sure. And, I wouldn’t find out the answer until much later: both were more than willing to offer guidance, and there was absolutely no ego involved, Thus, I could ask questions of one, or the other, or both. It was completely up to me.
Another night, another dream:
I am trespassing on the property of a grand estate, lounging in my underwear on the front patio when the owner suddenly pulls up in his car. I quickly run off so as not to be caught, however, on my way out a side gate, I take it upon myself to usher a middle aged woman and several small children off the property as I somehow know that they are illegally there just as I am. Although they are upset with me for telling them to leave, they do so anyway.
The month of December was marked by continued financial stress that I somewhat managed to mitigate by selling off a few minor stock holdings that I had.
While Nola made preparations for Christmas, the flu took its turn on everyone in our house. At the same time, I continued to wake in the middle of the night, usually at the stroke of 3:30, whereupon I would pray, write down my dreams and channel.
During this period, I was having a lot of flying dreams, which always left me feeling exhilarated. Something else, however, was going on that I also need to mention. Ever since I was a child, I had debilitating fear of the dark. In my early childhood, there were several occasions when I witnessed grotesque spirit beings watching me through my bedroom window. As far as I can remember, this was where the fear first developed, and unfortunately, that fear never left me.
Consequently, in this period of my adult life, in an eagerness to heal, I took it upon myself to get out of bed at my 3:30 am wake-ups without turning on a light. Instead, I chose to basically grope my way through the dark, down two levels of stairs to my basement office, whereupon I finally allowed myself to turn on a light. Some nights, depending on the nature of the dreams I awoke from, I would be terrified to do this. And yet, I still forced myself to do it anyway.
Then came the night of December 27, 2003.
On this particular night, I awoke feeling fear so intense, it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. As I slowly worked my way through the dark, down the unlit stairway to the even darker pitch blackness of the basement, the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. I stopped in my tracks and that’s when I heard it — a strange noise coming from the basement. The fear swelled in my stomach. I thought I was going to throw up. And then the noise stopped. Determined not to give in, I spoke out loud to the dark as my heart pounded wildly. “It’s probably just the cat,” I said, trying to assure myself. “God Almighty, please help me to overcome this fear.”
A few weeks earlier I had come down the very same stairs in the darkness at a similar time of night with the very same intention of conquering my fear. On that occasion, however, I had done so well, I had come away feeling triumphant. I had conquered my fear, or so I thought. And then came the early hours of December 27. Clearly, not only had the fear come back, it was back with a vengeance.
With the hairs on my neck at full attention, and my heart pounding through my chest, I slowly yet cautiously edged my way through the dark basement playroom towards my office. When I finally made it to my office and switched on the light, the fear was still so intense, I dropped to my knees to pray. I so wished not to live in the shadow of fear. And yet, even with my prayers, I couldn’t dispel this particularly egregious foe. A few minutes later, finally feeling a little relief, I was able to sit at my computer to memorialize the experience.
“I still feel it right now as I sit here,” I wrote. “My back is to the open door and out beyond in the unlit area that is normally a play area by day, I can feel the presence of — OH MY GOD — something is lurking there in the dark.”
Once again the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I thought I was going to vomit. I have to stop and chant, I suddenly realized. “Seek the Light of God,” I shouted at the darkness of the kid’s playroom. I clapped my hands loudly. “Go to God. The Creator. Seek God.” I clapped my hands several more times. This action had the instant effect of making me feel a bit better, though not enough to try to channel or to write another word about the dream I had just had. That would all have to wait until the light of day.
In the morning, when I felt safe enough to return to my computer, I wrote down the entire ordeal including several dreams that I remembered from the night. As I wrote out the dreams, one in particular provoked an intense fear reaction:
I am wandering thorough empty houses looking for ghosts but seem not to be having any success. Suddenly, I am on the second floor of my own home, accompanied by my 14 year old daughter, Emily.
In the dream, Emily reminds me of the fact that we had all seen a man in the basement of our house that she and her older sister, Sarah, were convinced was a ghost. Even though I had apparently been present during that sighting (in the dream), I wasn’t convinced that the man had been a ghost. To appease her, I volunteer to go down to the basement to check it out.
On my way down the stairs, I suddenly get spooked and react by skipping steps to reach the main floor. Unfortunately, no sooner do I get there, Emily suddenly cries out in fear. I immediately turn around and bolt back up the stairs to see Emily cowering on the floor, and to also see, at the other end of the hall, the man we had seen in the basement.
As I’m looking at him, I direct Emily to move towards the stairs, just in case of trouble. Emily moves and the man approaches. Although I’m afraid, I keep my fear in check. I can see that the man has a hammer in his left hand and yet, I stand my ground as the man’s right hand brushes past my left arm. In fact, his hand passes right through my left arm, and yet I don’t feel a thing — something that would only happen if one or both of us is a ghost. Well, I certainly know that I’m not a ghost, however, the whole thing happens so quickly, and I’m so concerned with the possibility that the man is going to attack me with the hammer he is holding in his other hand, I fail to notice the significance of his lack of corporeal form — at least, I’m not aware of it as it happens.
Anyway, no sooner has his right hand passed through my left arm, his left hand moves towards my right, and this time, I feel the hammer as it grazes my arm. I react by quickly grabbing the handle and wresting it from his hand. And that’s when I notice that the claw of the hammer is missing, and the man says,
“Do you know where I can get it fixed?”
He asks in such a friendly, nonchalant manner, it catches me totally off guard. Giving the hammer a closer look, I decide it’s beyond repair.
“I think you should buy a new hammer'” I say. “Hammers aren’t that expensive. And if you try to weld another claw, it’ll never be strong enough.”
The man thanks me for the advice and that’s when I woke up remembering the dream and feeling that intense sensation of fear. I know I confronted the object of my fear in my dream, and yet I failed to clue in that the object of my fear was a ghost — a fact I wouldn’t realize until I wrote the dream down in the morning (as soon as I remembered the moment in the dream where the man’s hand had passed through my arm).
However, even when I came to realize that the man was a ghost, I believed he was only a dream symbol representing a ghost. It would be days later before I came to understand that the man in my dream wasn’t just a symbol, he was a real ghost, making a very real appearance in my dream.
The next morning, as I wrote down my dreams and worked to process the ordeal of the preceding night, all I knew for sure was that my fear of ghosts was much stronger than my belief in the power of God. And so I expected my trials were likely going to continue. I was anxious to hear what my guardian angel had to say about my experience. Here were his words:
“You have a valuable lesson in understanding to come. You have been struggling with this one for many years now and you are working towards achieving release. We know you can do it. We always have. You will soon see. You are doing well to overcome all that hinders you.”
The very next night, once again, I found myself remembering a dream that seemed like scenes from a movie — though no movie I had ever seen:
In my dream, a man has been murdered in his kitchen by a sniper positioned somewhere outside the house. I am in the house where the murder has taken place, looking for clues, investigating the murder, accompanied by two other people — a man and a woman. I happen to be standing in a bedroom when a window slides open and a man climbs through. I hide against a wall and watch as the man fully enters the room before hitting him in the head with a glass astray, immediately rendering him unconscious. I then drag him by his feet into the kitchen where my two allies are working. They are pleased to see that I caught this man.
The next thing I remember, the intruder is now conscious and he is leading us up to the roof. He tells us the murdered man’s wife was an accomplice, and apparently, there is proof of this hidden under the shingles. My male confederate is with me on the roof when the intruder lifts a false section of roof to reveal what we all believe to be incriminating evidence — an airplane ticket. The dream then ends there, as far as I can remember, however, there is a whole other section that preceded.
In this part of the dream, I am in another house with two men when a murder is committed. In the house, one man is a serial killer and the other, like myself, has never killed anyone. For some reason, while the serial killer prepares his high-powered rifle, the other man tells him he wants to do the killing.
I spend the next few minutes trying to talk the man out of doing the job. “You don’t want the responsibility of murder on your soul,” I say. But he is not to be stopped. He picks up the rifle, takes aim through the scope and fires. I then see a man, standing in a kitchen, hit and killed by the bullet that was just fired. Then, I am in that same kitchen, at the scene of the murder, and I am an investigator.
When I woke up and remembered this dream, I had absolutely no idea what it was about. All I knew for sure was I felt like a fraud. I knew who committed the murder and yet I had chosen to live a lie by pretending to investigate.
A few hours later, it suddenly occurred to me that the dream had something to do with the double life I felt I had been living ever since the beautiful being materialized in a room with me years earlier in 1984.
You see, after that incredible visit, I unequivocally knew that God and spirit were real, and that prayer was a worthy pursuit, and yet, I never figured out how to change my outer life to reflect that knowledge. I didn’t talk with anyone about my experiences. Instead, I chose to sweep them under the rug as if they had never happened. But they did happen. Consequently, my actions (or inaction, rather) caused some part of me to feel like a fraud. And, as far as I could tell, my dream appeared to be telling me this.
As the New Year approached, a second wave of flu attacked my family. It was during this period that I woke up remembering a strange dream in which I held a small small amoeba-like speck in my hand, and felt fiercely protective of it. This dream was significant for several reasons, not the least of which was the startling discovery that my eldest sister, Anne (who I rarely spoke with and who lived 1000 miles away), had the exact same dream that very same week. Having never experienced such a phenomenon as this before, I did a bit of research on the internet and soon learned that there was a name for it — mutual dreaming.
On the last day of 2003, another interesting event occurred when my spirit guide suggested we could combat terrorism in a simple way by placing a phone call to a key leader of the Taliban. I wrote about this event in a post here.
New Year”s Day came and went while the flu continued to run its course through the house. On January 2nd, I woke at 3:30 in the morning with the name “Massoud” in my head. Heading to the internet, I soon found out that Massoud had been the leader of the Afghan Northern Alliance — a man who had been murdered by two Taliban men posing as reporters. According to news sources, the killers had hidden a bomb in their video camera. Channeling my spirit guide that night, I was told that Massoud had been one of the good guys, fighting to bring freedom and democracy to Afghanistan. I was further told that Massoud’s death would not be in vain, and as such, the original quest that I had been given three days earlier (to make that phone call to the Taliban) would still happen one day when the time was right.
The next day, January 3rd, I had a surprising personal breakthrough when I found myself unexpectedly moved to visit my father’s grave for the first time since he had died fifteen years earlier. I found forgiveness for myself that day and shed a lot of tears.
That same night, I woke up at 3:30, again, this time because two voices simultaneously called my name. In one ear I heard the voice of a man, in the other, the voice of a woman. Immediately opening my eyes, I knew I had been dreaming, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what my dream was about. All I knew for sure was that my faith had been tested and proven to be weak because as soon as I awoke, I could feel the all too familiar sensation of fear. As usual, I got out of bed and kept the lights off as I made my way down the stairs..
Making my way through the darkness without incident, when I entered my office and turned on the light, I found several papers scattered on the floor that must have fallen off a shelf earlier in the night (they certainly weren’t on the floor when I had last been in my office). As I picked them up, one paper in particular caught my eye — a transcript of a talk given in Jakarta, Indonesia, in 1958 by the founder of a non-denominational spiritual group I was a member of called Subud (I joined in 1984, soon after my very first ghost encounter).
Not believing in coincidence, I sat down to read the paper and soon came across a specific section that really resonated for me — a retelling of the biblical story of Daniel and the lion’s den — a story about a good and just man whose faith in God is so absolute, his fearlessness in the face of danger (brought on by an injustice), ends up delivering him from harm completely unscathed. As I read this story, I immediately recognized that this was something I needed to learn. And although I didn’t know it at the time, I was five days away from being given a perfect opportunity.
First, however, several other developments would have to unfold.
On January 4th, my family spent the evening at the home of close friends. Unfortunately, as the evening wore on, familiar feelings of being a fraud and living a double life, began to surface. I knew they stemmed from the fact that I held myself back from telling the truth when conversation that evening turned to the journaling I had been spending much of my time doing. A lot had been going on with me in recent weeks, however, rather than sharing some of the details of my inner life with close, open-minded friends, I clammed up and said nothing. Consequently, I found myself overwhelmed with uncomfortable feelings. In fact, the feelings became so pronounced, by the time I got home at 9:00 pm, I desperately needed time alone.
That night, alone in my home office, I had been reading my most recent journal entry when I felt suddenly compelled to read through all of my old journals. Before too long, it was already 1:00 am. And the only reason I noticed the time at all was that someone was moving around upstairs. Returning my attention to the journals, I felt thankful for the three hours of peace and quiet I had just enjoyed. The channeled words I had been reading were so beautiful and encouraging, and yet, ever since I had channeled them, this was the first time I had ever read through them in a single sitting.
Fifteen minutes later, I was just getting to the part about the dream with the man and the broken hammer when out of the corner of my eye, through my peripheral vision, I saw what appeared to be a short man-like creature dart past my door. Was it my imagination? Was it borne out of the fear I was feeling as a result of reading about all of my recent attempts to conquer my fear? I didn’t know. And in the moment I didn’t care. It was 1:15 in the morning, I was alone in my basement, and I was seeing strange creatures. A wave of chills ran up and down my spine and I reacted by instinctively clapping my hands. But it was no use. As much as I clapped, I couldn’t dispel the fear. Thus, my reading for the night came to an abrupt end.
The next morning, I set Kaylin up in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal, and descended the stairs to the basement. And that’s when something happened that had never happened before. I was suddenly overcome with chills in broad daylight. Surprised, I clapped my hands and spoke out loud to the room. “If there is a ghost in my house, go to the light. Seek God.” I then prayed for forgiveness as I knew I shouldn’t be afraid.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I looked around, half expecting to see an apparition. But there was nothing there. I need to be like Daniel, I thought to myself. I need to be without fear, and if I find myself face to face with a ghost, I need to stay calm and ask if it would like my help. The only problem was, my fear was getting in the way. And it seemed to be getting worse. Because unlike the past, now I was feeling it at all hours of the night and day.
In spite of my fear, I sat down in my office to continue reading from where I had left off the night before — at the dream about the man with the hammer. As I read, it suddenly dawned on me for the first time that the dream seemed to be telling me that there really was a ghost living in my house. I suddenly wondered if one of the construction workers had died as a result of an accident during the construction of my house. Or maybe the worker died due to an illness. Either way, it seemed apparent that a ghost was roaming around my house with a hammer, scaring my children. Nevertheless, in spite of the fear that these thoughts aroused, I continued to read on through my journals. Because, as odd as this may sound, I couldn’t recall a time in recent memory that I felt happier. The channeled words I had been rereading from my spirit guide and my guardian angel were so comforting and encouraging. And somehow, I felt like I was making progress, slowly assembling the many fragmented puzzle pieces that were me.
A few hours later, standing under a hot shower, I was suddenly overcome with fear for the second time that day in broad daylight. The shower had always been a sacred and relaxing space for me, thus, I felt blindsided, and a little angry. This has got to stop, I thought. WHAT IS THIS FEAR?
I no longer remember the exact order that everything came to me, only that I suddenly received understanding in the form of a download about my fear. I was afraid of ghosts, of course. But not just any ghosts. I was afraid of two ghosts who were haunting my house — a man and a woman. I didn’t yet realize that they were haunting me, as opposed to my house, and that they had been with me for more than twenty years — that understanding would have to wait several more years to come.
In the meantime, however, there I was, standing under a hot shower, suddenly thinking about the man with the hammer, Emily’s fright at the top of the stairs, a female ghost that Emily had told me she had seen twice in the house, for real, on two separate occasions — once in Kaylin’s bedroom and once in the hallway outside Kaylin’s bedroom — and as well, there was also an instance when Emily had told me that out of her peripheral vision she had seen a pair of disembodied work boots walk past her when sitting alone at the family computer in the basement playroom.
How ridiculous that all three times she had brought up the subject of ghosts in our house I had dismissed her visions as her imagination. I had never spoken of ghosts to my kids before. With all the strange things that had happened to me, I didn’t want to scare them, so I kept that side of my life to myself. And yet, when my own daughter brought up the subject independently, I refused to consider that maybe she had a similar ability as me. With all the fear I had been experiencing and working to release, perhaps having a child who could see ghosts was just one more thing than I could handle. I don’t know. But suddenly, there I was in the shower, and it all came flooding in. And it all made sense. The ghosts were real and they were looking for help, and unfortunately, I had been too afraid to clue in.
Well, standing there in the shower, I suddenly knew and understood all of this. In fact, I suddenly understood a whole lot more.
In the dream, when I had seen the man with the hammer, I was afraid. Even though I stood my ground and spoke to him, I spoke from a place of fear, not from a place of love and compassion. The man had asked if I knew how to fix his hammer and my response had been to tell him to go and buy a new one. What kind of lame advice was that to give to a ghost? The problem was, because I was afraid, I had convinced myself in my dream that I was talking to a man and not a ghost. But my subconscious knew — it was well aware of the moment when the man’s hand had passed through my arm. And suddenly, in the shower, my conscious mind knew the truth too. The man wasn’t asking me to fix his hammer, what he was really asking was, “Can you help me? I want to work but my hammer is broken.”
Suddenly, a wave of emotion overwhelmed me as I opened my heart to this poor man’s predicament. I wanted a chance to meet him again so I could properly answer his question. Was that possible? In my head, I told God that if it was God’s will for me to see this man again, I would be brave enough to do it. Of course, I expected such a meeting would happen some time in the future, not right then and there in the shower. But God’s will was that the meeting was to take place right away. How I knew this, I can only answer by saying that I was suddenly overwhelmed with an immediate sense of knowing. So profound was this knowing, I immediately started to speak out loud in the shower. But the words weren’t words composed by my conscious mind; they came straight from my higher self. All I had to do was surrender and let the words flow.
Here is my best recollection of what my higher self said:
“I can see that you have a good soul and that you want to work. I can help you but you need to listen to the truth in my words. You are lost and you are not aware that you are lost. If it is work that you desire, there is a place you can go where you will find all the satisfying work your heart desires. But you need to go there. It is not where you are now. I can help you go to that place that your heart desires. When you get there you will find that your hammer will already be fixed to your own standards of perfection. The place you need to go is the place where God resides. I am not exactly sure how you get there, but I have heard that you need to look for a white light, or look for the hand of a caring angel who will come and guide you to where you need to go. Do not be afraid. You need to surrender all of your fear in order to go to that place that I know you want to go. I love you and respect you and know you can find your way. This is my best advice to you. Seek God and seek the truth. You will find your way. I know you can do it.”
No sooner did I finish getting the words out, I started to weep; the truth of the experience was felt deeply in my heart.
Moments later, when the crying subsided, I suddenly thought of the woman who Emily had seen. I had no recollection at that time of all the moments the man and the woman had shown up in my dreams — I hadn’t yet made that connection. However, somehow, my subconscious told me that the male ghost had a female companion, and that companion had been his wife in their last incarnation. The woman was stuck here in our house and I knew she wanted to look after children. No sooner did I understand this, I suddenly found myself speaking out loud once again, this time telling the woman the same as I had told the man, that I loved and respected her, and that there was a place she could go where all of her desires to look after children would come true.
When I came out of the shower a few minutes later, Nola told me that she had tried to come into the bathroom, but saw that I was having some sort of experience so she let me be. I told her everything that had happened, and interestingly, she reminded me of something I had completely forgotten in the shower — namely, how I had been woken up several nights earlier when a male and a female voice had called out my name. “Oh my God,” I said, as I started to cry. “You’re so right,” I said. “That was them. They’ve been trying to get me to help them.”
The rest of the day, I felt happy to be alive — more so than I could remember in a long time. Later that evening, when my journaling was suddenly interrupted by friends dropping by, the same friends I had decided not to share my truth with a few weeks earlier, this time, I opened up about my relationship with my spirit guide and my guardian angel. It felt amazing and they reacted with interest and acceptance.
Here is what my spirit guide had to say about my breakthrough with the ghosts:
“You have had a remarkable spirit-filled day. Congratulations. You have succeeded in confronting your fears today. It was miraculous to witness this encounter. Many were watching and rooting you on. It was a special moment for you.
“Praise God Almighty who has willed that you were to help these lost souls who gravitated to you and your family. These two have been earthbound for a good long time — about a century in your earth years. They will not be bothering you again. You will not feel their presence in your home any longer. They are saved. They are delivered from their self-imposed purgatory. You do not have to encounter them again in your dreams. But you were totally correct in your interpretation of your recent dream. You did act out of fear and thus, you were unable to help the man at that time. You have been allowed to see the way that fear can interfere with our spiritual progress and development. This was a very good example of how fear interrupted the spiritual path of three individuals. It is fortunate for all of you that you had the sincerity and dedication to continue to search for the truth and meaning behind your fear.”
And so ended a long and difficult chapter in my life.
Nevertheless, this wasn’t the last experience I would have with ghosts. Because, now that I knew I could help them, I invited my spirit guide and guardian angel to use me to help free other lost souls. And, in short order, earthbound spirits began to meet me in the astral plane during my dreams. That is, until a particularly difficult case scared me and shook my confidence. But, now I’m getting ahead of myself. Because before that would happen, little did I know but something highly strange and incredibly traumatic was about to happen first.
Please see this link for that story, and for the ongoing story of my awakening.
(For the previous story, see this link.)