Imagine the vast cosmic configurations of life. Each step we take, every decision we make creates an impact, immediate and irreversible, forwarding the momentum of our existence in unique ways which cannot be duplicated. Once a precious moment has passed it cannot be retrieved. Such is the nature of life. Death has its own unique imprint as well. Human beings have explored https://themysticmessengeremails.com/ the concept of our “reality” in-depth, now for a millennium or two, seeking knowledge about a condition of being which remains well beyond our capacity to grasp until we arrive at the threshold of death’s dark door. Then, and only then, will we comprehend its significance, the consequences of this inevitable transition, as it occurs and in its aftermath. Instead of being “lights out” it is this moment of realization which will provide us with clarity, illuminating the Light of our immortal existence.
Contemplate the same infinite array of possibilities, the variables associated with death. Some proclaim our end as total dissolution: ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Others insist that we are all essentially spirit having a human experience; so popular a sentiment it became a bumper sticker. Though it may be more logical, few of us really want to think that all we are and all we have become in life is sacrificed to the sands of time the instant we succumb to death; a demise all too final and morbid for most to endure. A “lights out” scenario is disquieting to those of us who sense something else, something far greater than ourselves. Instead, we choose to worship someone virtually invisible. We dare to believe in a much higher power: God as the Creator. Longing for reassurances, for the promise of another state of being beyond our transient, merely mortal existence, the masses pray to the Holy Spirit for divine guidance, hoping for transition to a better place, wishing to be received elsewhere as we perish from this planet.
In an attempt to fill the perceived void created by our collective fear of the unknown, there are many souls wandering this world, proclaiming uncommon knowledge about what death holds in store. Whether pledged from a pulpit or delivered in the form of another know-it-all-tell-it-all book, there are those among us who pretend to hold the key to the eternal question which plagues mankind: what happens when we die? Yet, the mystery remains unsolved. No one ever seems to offer up any definitive proof one way or the other. Some prey upon the frightened, vulnerable only because of the power of fear. Others truly believe what they say, thereby living in bad faith. For any human being to suggest they have the answer is ludicrous. Truth be told, we are all little children lost in the dark, searching for the pure and everlasting light we sense coming from the cosmos…a vast expanse we stare into hopefully as we wish upon a star.
To offer false hope is cruel, the height of hypocrisy; an insidious form of malfeasance. Frauds perpetrate disingenuous prophesies on the gullible, masquerading as sages and oracles, manipulating the masses, passing on their own belief system as factual when there is no evidence to substantiate their claims. Pass the plate. As for myself, considered by many to be an expert in the field of paranormal activity, I must protest, otherwise pleading the case by asserting my ignorance on the topic which continues to befuddle the human mind. As the author of a memoir which stymies those who read it, I do not claim to know precisely what it is that so profoundly affected my fundamental spiritual development. To do so would be dishonest and deliberately disrespectful of those who ask sincere and erudite questions, humbly seeking the truth. I am the one who is humbled by what I have seen but I will never attempt to persuade anyone else that my perceptions should become their own. Even such direct, personal experience does not a guru make.
To those who feel compelled to seek me out for answers I do not possess, please allow me to assure you, I know no more now than I did at the tender age of twelve when I first witnessed a full-body apparition. Forty years has made no substantive difference in terms of accumulated knowledge; my thoughts on the subject are all theory and conjecture, nothing more…just like everyone else. If I might be so bold as to assert, “I don’t know” is a perfectly legitimate answer, validated by the honesty of the response to equally ardent questions; I’m so sorry to disappoint those who’ve hoped I hold the secret key. There is no key and death remains a mysterious, secretive process. Ultimately, my responsibility ended with the act, charged as I was with the task of chronicling these events; various supernatural episodes which occurred within our haunted family home over the course of a decade. I am merely the messenger. Otherwise, I would qualify as another self-proclaimed metaphysical mystic actively engaged in a form of spiritual malpractice.
It is imperative that I express myself clearly. What I impart is a series of thought-provoking questions; a valuable exercise in its own right. From a unique perspective, my point of reference is oddly skewed by having grown up in a house alive with death. While undergoing this second metamorphosis of my lifetime (the first being a decade spent in my childhood home) I now find myself in a rather peculiar predicament. When we were children, no one believed us. Friends shunned us. Our parents insisted we keep “it” quiet, discretion being the better part of valor. Some say we were courageous. Others say we were foolish for staying in such a place. Opinions, one and all — everyone is entitled. I refuse to prey upon the fear and insecurity of those who seek answers. Beware of those who claim expertise in a subject none of us know anything about: immortality.
No. I am neither a prophet or a sage. Rather, a reluctant messenger who longs to satisfy those who seek truth, I am able only to proclaim my own. The world is a wonder and I have spent my entire life wondering what it is I saw as a child, what it means to die and why some souls seem unwilling or unable to transition. Perhaps what has provided lifelong comfort for me is what others find so disconcerting; the potential for becoming wedged between this life and whatever exists beyond it. Some do not want to believe in ghosts or spirits because it has a tendency to complicate the equation. Others have no choice in the matter. Those willing to believe their eyes and allow all of their senses to function, including the intuitive sixth sense, will inevitably come to the conclusion that the paranormal is a normal part of existence. The implications are staggering, a notion which verifies an afterlife and sometimes vilifies those apparently stuck in-between, lingering suspended in the ether, lost and forsaken in a kind of no man’s land forever. This is indeed a frightening scenario. Our dearly departed have much to tell us, if only we learn how to listen.
Frequently described as someone outstanding in the field of paranormal inquiry, instead I find myself on secure ground looking in, marveling as millions continue seeking truth from pulpits and pulp fiction, in pursuit of a theory which works for them. Each one must find their own spiritual path. My supernatural excursion began long ago in the midst of the natural world, as an escape from the numerous inexplicable events occurring in our ancient farmhouse. Wandering the peaceful woods of my childhood homestead, I often found myself mesmerized by elements of the seasons; the artwork of ice, cascading leaves riding the wind, the sweet aroma of garden flowers enticing me ever closer. As a solitary figure, one who possesses no more knowledge than any other living soul, I find myself uncomfortable when perceived as anything other than what I am: an insatiably curious woman who is still contemplating the cosmic secrecy of seed.