I’m about to post a vlog that gives a bit of insight into the Port Gallatan series.
The FICTITIOUS location for the series.
The West Virginia part of that story has a bit of personal meaning, and is a great illustration of how having the paranormal AS reality in my life has played out.
In a way that went way beyond being a writer.
During the autumn YEARS AGO, I found myself in West Virginia. Though a series of events that took place over that weekend were of a paranormal nature, it was the weekend itself – and the events that led up to it – that transformed my life.; a situation where the whole was far more than the sum of its parts.
- I was invited to come down and spend a weekend.
- I would drive down right after work on Friday and arrive very late.
I had had the WEEK FROM HELL so I can’t begin to explain the basket case I was when I arrived, nor how it felt to be swept into a loving embrace, accompanied by an assurance that I was welcome and I could leave it all on the front porch.
- There were no expectations
The individual who extended the invitation is one of the only truly altruistic people to ever cross my path.
- The house was over 200 years old.
Spending the night in a place that had been there when my country was birthed from a revolution – at the hand of commoners who dreamed of being free from theTYRANNY of King George III cannot be easily described nor manufactured in a factory. Farmers – not trained soldiers – led by great men – won that war.
- The smell of cedar touched/connected with something from my Irish great-grandmother
My parents kept the quilts she handmade to keep out drafts from the walls of her home in Ireland in a cedar chest so the moths wouldn’t destroy them.
- My host provided acceptance that healed parts of my soul in need of healing
- I was reminded of who I was at a soul level, reminded that corporate (and those in it) did not define me
Though God knows they tried.
- I was reminded that life is what I make it (No excuses).
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay the individual who invited me – nor fully explain what that weekend and those nights in that house did for me.
So – the paranormal of that weekend.
We ventured to a park where there were a number of ghosts.
Story of my life since LONG before the brain surgery!
I tucked this part of the weekend into my normal “Wow, this is really cool…”space and went with it.
With regards to all the ghosts I saw on my way to the payphone?
I had to call someone to wish them happy birthday!
I believe in Democracy for ghosts.
Who am I to-tell them to go to the light ?
Paranormal experience aside, it was a turning point for me.
Did the ghosts play a part in that? Not as much as staying in that house did.
Going Home. I drove the PA then OH Turnpike, knowing I wouldn’t get back to MI until well past midnight, needing to report for duty to the corporate black hole early the next morning.
I was a completely changed person though I had no idea at the time just how much.
To give a perspective of the degree of dysfunctionality of our particular sinking ship…
- There was a sandwich board in the 1stfloor hallway that read the difference between us and the Titanic was that at least the Titanic had a band
- There was a Far Side Cartoon with God looking at the animals and contemplating “Hmmm…pretty good – all I need is something to eat you guys…” on my boss’ office door.
With an arrow over God’s head that had the current black hole program name on it. The animals? There was an arrow with the name of our “sacrificial” team on it.
My boss was NOT amused.
I was NOT the orchestrator of this chaos!
Hey, at least we had a sense of humor while we were going down…
YES – I know Scott Adams did not author the Far Side.
Around 11pm Sunday night, close to the OH-MI border, I checked my vmail. There were a number of messages from someone who was another energy drain on my life.
Prior to the nights spent in that house – talking to the woman whose family had owned it for generations – I was somehow oblivious to the energetic damage being done by this psychic/emotional/psychological vampire.
By the time I was listening to the sixth – or seventh – vmail DEMANDING that I call him and tell him WHERE I WAS – I was rolling my eyes and acknowledging that my life needed some serious work.
Ghost to the Rescue!
Not long after, I had a visit from the ghost of my deceased maternal grandmother, reading me the riot act because my husband was about to come into my life and there was WORK TO BE DONE and there I was screwing around with a vampire!
Rattled by the dream – my maternal grandmother NEVER yelled at me – I nonetheless blew her off.
Immediately after, my life took a turn into a nightmarish if entropic direction.
It was as if someone yanked the tablecloth off the table of my life and every damned glass thing on it fell to the floor where it proceeded to smash to smithereens.
Those were some rough months afterward…
But as I recount in After Here: The Celestial Plane and What Happens After We Die, my husband DID enter my life a few months later.
The transformation – Cosmically Guided – was set in stone.
The Paranormal as Reality Revisited…
I was reading an article the other day and considered where I was when this guy was blowing out an amp.
I was living in the Bay Area, seeing my husband-to-be in a vision on my Silicon Valley apartment balcony. I actually asked him to wait – explaining I wasn’t ready yet. This was BEFORE being chewed out, mind you.
Cosmic Time. Upon reading the article, I realized that though it seemed like an eternity at the time – the actual space between when I saw my husband in that vision and when he showed up in my life was relatively short.
My grandmother’s admonition notwithstanding.
The rapidness with which everything else was swept away once I touched his hand when we finally found each other? It left me with no doubt that
- Destiny Exists
- Love is a powerful force
- Paranormal IS reality if you look for it
On a side note: Just before we were married, my husband took me to a place where he used to spend time during a difficult part of his life. It was the exact location I’d seen him sitting in in the vision, though he was there two years – almost to the day – before I was in my apartment.
The speed of desire across time?
Just the information a storyteller loves to draw from.