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No, It’s Not Just You…I Feel It, Too.

A week or so ago, my friend Johanna K.P. and I were having a TweetFest along with Richard Goodship.  At the time I didn’t know Richard and, being curious, I looked up Richard’s profile and found his book, The Camera Guy.

This story about a forensic investigator who can see the spirits of the victims at the crime scenes got me thinking about some incidents that I hadn’t thought about for a long time.

Back in 1969, my family and I had moved into a brand spanking new house (so the creepiness factor wasn’t there) in a nice, middle-class neighborhood in Southern California.  I had gone upstairs to get something one night, while everyone was downstairs watching television, and was on my way back down the hall, when I felt someone or something at the top of the stairs.  There was nothing there that I could see, but at the time I couldn’t explain how my stomach compressed into a ball and found its way into my throat.  But I knew there was something there.  Believe me, if I could have screamed, I would have.  The part that really sucked was the fact that I had to pass this thing to get downstairs to the safety of my mom’s lap.  I sure as hell wasn’t going to stay upstairs with it, so I bolted, staying as close to the wall as I could and took the stairs three at a time.  As soon as I was out of direct line of vision, the feeling stopped, just like that.  I tested it a few times, just to make sure I wasn’t crazy, and sure enough, when I got in plain view of the top of the stairs, that feeling of almost panic and fear gripped my stomach and throat and squeezed really, really hard.  It went on like that for about two weeks.  I never told anyone about it, only to find out years later that one of my brothers had felt it, too.

Same deal with another part of the house.  One end of our couch had a direct view of a window in my father’s study and for about a week, there was that same feeling of being stared down – and that feeling of fear, almost panic, whenever I sat in that spot on the couch.  That time I told my mother. She said she had felt it as well.  It wasn’t a big deal to her because her side of the family (and me by default) was sensitive to the goings-on of the “other side.”  So, no.  It wasn’t my imagination.

When my oldest son was four years old, we were camping at Coloma, California, where gold was discovered in 1848.

My son, my ex, and I were standing in front of ruins of a jail that stood as part of the historic town.  None of us talked, but only stared at the crumbling walls.  The  name “John” popped into my head and I knew that “John” had died in that cell.  His spirit still lingered there.  I didn’t say anything, but just soaked in that energy, because it was almost like he was pleading to be heard, to reach out to someone.  After about three minutes of silence, we turned and walked away.  My son simply said, “That was weird.”  Only then did my ex admit that he had felt something as well.

In Lake Tahoe, back some 15 years ago, a little girl had been kidnapped and murdered.  Her body was found on the side of the highway leading to Reno, Nevada.  Every time my ex drove past the spot where she was found, he would break out in a sweat and start crying – he had felt her presence, and he felt her tell him the events leading up to and the manner of her death.  It horrified him.  Eventually it faded, but for many months he hated driving that road.  He is a lot more sensitive than I am, and there was no denying he could feel her.

There have been many places I’ve felt a definite presence, a feeling that is really hard to describe.  In Montana, near Anaconda, cowboy country, I’ve felt them– whispers, imprints of those who once lived in that area, spirits that wrapped themselves around me like a breeze.  Nothing sad, nothing happy, it was just…there.  Palpable, but not.

Little Big Horn, site of the battle between Lt. Col. George Custer and the Lakota and Cheyenne tribes, still holds a lot of spirit energy.

If you ever get a chance to visit there, please do.  Geeze…I don’t think the chills stopped raking my spine until we actually drove away.

There are many reasons for a spirit to remain here without “crossing over.”  Some include that they are confused as to what had happened surrounding their death, fear, or guilt. As in the case of the child in Lake Tahoe, many spirits linger at the site of their death and try to make contact with anyone who is sensitive to spirit energy.  They may even believe they have unfinished business here, so they stick around to make sure the living tie up loose ends, at which time the spirit feels it can finally leave.

I know a few people who can pick up this type of energy.  Are you one of them?  I love this stuff and would really like to hear your story…please?