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The Family Summer... A haunt with love and caring...
10/31/2007 23:50:42 / Freakin Happy
As many of you asked for a continuance of my stories, I decided to
write about the life I've led and a bit about a special house that
blended the paranormal with the normal... My Great Grandmother Nonnie's
home... Of course, I had promised to write of my Grandmother Bessie in
the first installment, but it does seem that I should follow some
progression of time to properly introduce the family and times to you.
As
a very young man, I experienced a time when my own family couldn't take
much of me and it was decided, at age 17 and a lot of raging hormones
clattering about my Scottish frame, that I would spend a summer in our
second home in Paradise, California. This home had been in the family
since the early 20'th century. When my great Grandmother had it built,
it cost $400.00 and was the spiritual center of the family then and on
into the future. So, one fine June morning, I waved at my parents as
they left me to watch over the home and I was filled with uncertainty,
more than a little fear a being on my own and a sense of adventure as I
entered young adulthood while trapped without a car in a remote
mountain community....
Many lives came and went throughout the
20'th century. Parties and marriages, love and fighting and laughter
mixed with pain. All in all, a place of all of life's experiences.
Underlying it all was a sense of peace and permanence as I remember it
all. Nonnie was the matriarch of the family and she presided over a
family of 12 children, many of who preceded her in death and the
remainder of which needed her to guide them, even well into their elder
years.
So, for sixty odd years, the house was a hub of life and
creation. And as the house aged, so too did the great bulk of the
family, who then split apart slowly but surely, like a dandelion
shedding it's seeds and scattering to the wind.
Scottish folks
tend to have shades of very dark brooding sides overshadowed with great
humor for the most part. That side of our family was no exception to
this way of seeing the world. Nonnie's experience and view of things
was to approach these things with a calmness and elegance that made all
bow to her presence when she presided over the family, usually in some
row or silly fight that needed stopping.
Nonnie passed when she
was 92 and I remember the day well when she did leave the Earth. As I
walked out one fine summer morning from the typical family breakfast at
my grandfather's house next to her home, I suddenly stopped. As we are
all psychic, myself included, I entered that dream-time that seems to
tell you, although you don't realize it at the time, that something
life-changing is about to occur.
So I stopped and gazed into her
eyes. The Scottish gaze is a powerful one you know. Filled with
meaning, it is a strange thing. Psychic to psychic, we stared. She
looked back cooly at me and smiled. It was if I had said goodbye and
she sat back, chewing the last of the pancakes that she was eating at
that moment. I smiled back and then went on outside to hang out with my
cousins. Five minutes later, she had a heart attack and was passed
within the hour. My mother held her as she died and I never forgotten
that experience, amongst of many psychic episodes I've had in my life.
I was totally shocked at how I had "known" but not. This was the first
of many such life-changers that annouce themselves before they happen,
if only we would wake up at the moment.
We inherited her house.
And, of course as families are want to do, they fight over such things.
Silly, isn't it? Fighting over something that someone gave to you from
their heart and elicting jealousies that have no real basis in logic
but more in schoolyard ethics than anything else. So, with our
inherited property, we found ourselves "kicked out" of the family. Our
own small family took it hard for awhile, but we carried on. We
improved the property and took pride in our new summer home.
Forward
to wo years later; I found myself facing down the lane as my parents
car moved away and I turned to face the house that I knew held more
than empty memories. I had sensed things in that house before and now I
would face them full force for three long months. No one had ever told
me I had the sight. All I knew was that I knew something was watching
me from those windows. And I was terrified of that knowledge. No one
would have believed me, right? Of course not!
In my first week
in the home, I remember sleeping with the lights on, since I was
particularly scared of the room my Uncle Jaffy had died in. He had
passed many years earlier of cancer and had taken a hard death. I
remember the last time I had seen him and that he said a tender goodbye
days before leaving the earth for good. I sensed a presence in that
room and it was the first time I felt a spirit looking right back at
me. For the untrained youth I was, this was a scary thing indeed!
So,
I took residence in my grandmother's room. That seemed logical, since
Nonnie hadn't died *in* the room. That went pretty well for the first
week. And then... the events began. The noises were the start of it
all. And then the hostilties began, but not from a spirit.
One
morning, I woke up to find a hold in the screen and a pile of dirt in
the back porch in the shape of a grave. I couldn't figure who in the
heck would do such a thing, but it did unnerve me. As we had a pretty
hostile neighbor who ran a motorcycle shop and he was quite a piece of
work (a drunkard and bully), I guessed it might be him and I called
home to report the problem and my folks said they would look into it
next trip back up. So I put it out of mind and made sure to lock the
house down extra tight.
From that point on, the distrurbances really began to pick up steam.
It
started with sounds of people *in* the house. Always at around nine to
twelve at night. And they were sounds of parties and people milling
about the home. Sometimes I heard kitchen noises. It became so bad, I
took to leaving the tv on to drown out the noise. I felt that there
were people looking at me in Nonnie's room and one night, I felt the
bed move as someone else got into it. Someone who bloody well wasn't
there!
It was at that moment I called home in the middle of the
night in sheer terror. My mother had experience in these things and
calmed me down and recommened that I realize that this was probably
family and that they were not trying to terrorize me. So, with some
trepidation, I returned to go to sleep, but then changed rooms to where
my Uncle had died. I figured he would understand. So, I began sleeping
there.
A couple of days into that new arrangement, the next
thing happened. I looked to the head of the bed to find a white light
had appeared just above the spot where Uncle Jaffy had died. I tried
everything to cover it up and explain it away, but it remained for many
months. It didn't matter if it was light or dark, that light stayed
there. I finally realized that he was letting me know he was looking
out for me and it brought me quite a measure of peace to realize that
he cared enough to show it.
So, with a dead Great Grandfather
watching out for me and other equally dead family members making noises
all over the house at all hours, I spent the summer with the shadow of
my 17'th year arriving and going.
If you ever want to get a
kid to shape up, put him in a house with dead relatives and leave him
there to scare the crap out of him. Believe me, it works. And then take
solice in knowing it will also turn him into a man.
I remember
one night, I woke up to hear the screen in the window shaking and I
realized my intruder was back. I peered out and saw the motorcycle jerk
from next door fiddling with my screen, so I grabbed my 22 rifle and
loaded it with blanks. I stuck a fishing BB in the barrel and climbed
out the window and snuck around to where the so-called intruder was
cutting the screen. While he was intent on the mission of scaring me, I
proceeded to toss a rock at him, hitting him on the side of the body
with a sickening thud and scaring him near to Hades. As he turned to
run, I aimed the 22 and shot the bb into his back-side and that added
an extra-bit of speed to his already motivated run for life. I will
never forget the screaming. It was particularly satisfying to see that
blowhard run for his life and to get even so handily. I did let it be
known to neighbors the next day I had shot at an intruder and that I
was now arming with real bullets for any potential comeback performance.
My
next sighting of Motorcycle-Boy had a particularly hostile stare thrown
my way. I smiled and enjoyed my new found military experience.
I
had no more problems with cut screens for the summer. And I discovered
that I had the family penchance for resolution of problems via
justified, but measured violence... As I am a direct descendant of Rob
Roy McGregor, this does seem fitting and has been the hallmark of my
style ever since.
My mother would come up every weekend to stay
and help me with the property and she got quite the laugh when she
heard about how I handled his nibs. That weekend, she and I went
fishing at a place called "Timberslide", a favorite and very magickal
spot for the family. This is the place we scatter our dead. And a great
place to fish too. We mix life and death you see... And in this mixing,
we share our lives with those who passed.
That weekend, I had
another experience while fishing. Trout fishing in the Sierras is a
particularly absorbing experience. One can gain total focus and rest of
the mind while engaged in traversing some of the most hostile country
I've ever fished in. It is a stark beauty. Granite boulders, trees all
around in ravines that wind and twist with giant elephant ears dancing
over the water and trout that fight like no place else on Earth.
As
I fished a wide expanse of river, I heard a shout. I turned and looked.
No one was there. I shrugged it off and then my "spidy-sense" went off.
I could *feel* someone looking at me. And a brief investigation showed
no one and nothing about. So I moved on.
It happened again.
This time, with my name being called. I stopped. It was a chill that
went down my spine at this latest event. I'd heard these things before,
but never told anyone. How would it look to my family if I start saying
crazy things like this?
So I spent the rest of the day going
along and having voices call out every so often. I finally would stop
and say "What do you want?" and it would be quiet.
So, as often
is the case with fishing, I found myself cleaning my catch next to my
mother when I tactfully brought up the question of if she had ever had
an "unusual experiences" on the river. She stopped cleaning her fish
and eyed me for a long moment. Then she asked me "So... the river is
talking to you eh?"
The expression on my face said it all. She
had me clean my mess of trout to finality and then we sat and talked
about it all. She said that many spirits and family members use the
noise of the river to speak to us. And if we listen, we might learn a
thing or two. She also told me that sometimes it was "false-speak",
with the river making noises as rocks tumbled below and that our brains
would interpret these things as voices. But, with practice, I would be
able to discern real spirit voices from the false ones. I asked where
she had learned this and she revealed that, without exception, the
entire family had the gift of sight and had all had these mountain
conversations with loved ones long passed.
So, I learned to love
that place. It has been and always will be my place of remembering
family and conversing with them. We always take extra food and stop at
the place of scattering where my Grandmother and various uncles and
aunts have found their final peace. And, we always smile, feeling them
about as they nod approvingly of our catch and then seek to speak to us
over the dancing waters of the Feather River.
Returning home, I
faced down another month or so before coming home. My mother showed me
the cold spots where things had happened in the far past that were not
of our family, but which spoke of someone's passing in a way not
natural. And I became aware, in extremely great realization, that life
was more than what we see. Our world blends in with the paranormal.
Those who have passed live with, in and around us, if we would only
open our eyes and ears.
Not long after this time, I entered
the period of my life I call the "great shutdown" and the desert that
preceded my final awakening to the spirit world's total reality. I'll
detail this in a future article and open up a bit about that great
period of discovery that so many in the spiritual path find as
exciting, unique and totally absorbing after facing the real issues of
life and letting the spirit world have it's due with our heart and
souls.
Oh... and I still haven't forgotten about the
photograph of my grandmother's spirit... you didn't think I would,
would you? I'm just leading you down the path dear reader....
Tomcat 
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