My mother used to tell the story of when she went to a party and a group of people where playing with a Ouija board. She said that at the time she was sensitive to spirits so as she walked through the door, she could feel that something was terribly wrong. The room went quiet. When she looked towards the players that the Ouija board quit moving. Nothing they tried to shove the pieces, but it wouldn’t move.
And then my mother heard a scream. The Ouija board was swirling and then all the pieces chased my mother out the door. She hyperventilated for hours. Now if you knew my mother as I did, you would not believe that she could be scared by the paranormal. But, my father, who was there, swears up and down that it happened. My mother would whisper this story to us until every one of her children had a fear of the Ouija board and anything paranormal.
But, it is in my blood. You can’t run from it. My great-grandfather, the man who raised my mother, was a dowser. In his area in Southern Idaho, he would dowse for water. My husband laughed when I told him of my g-grandfather’s talent. There is so much water in Idaho that it would be hard not to find water. But, my
g-grandfather was sought for miles around. He could find where the water was closer to the ground. In his time closer meant that it was easier to dig for fresh water.
To prove the impossible, my mother to a Y-shaped branch and showed us how he did it. Her branch would dip when she walked over water. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it to do it. She said I held it too hard. It doesn’t come if you wish for it too hard.
My father’s father was a dreamer. It was not in the usual sense. One time when my father was coming home from his stint in the US Navy, he was in a car accident.
No alcohol was involved, but my father was young and very tired. As he was unconscious and bleeding out in the car, my grandfather dreamed that his boy was in trouble. He got out of bed, and found the backwoods road in his dream. He took him to the hospital. If my father had died that night, I would not have been born because this incident happened long before my parents met.
I didn’t understand about the blood. In the church I grew up in, only the men received these gifts of the Spirit (Holy Ghost). The women were allowed to share in these gifts through their husbands. Paranormal gifts were considered evil.
When I hit puberty and started to dream, I wasn’t prepared. I would fight with my mother at night in my dreams and the next day we would have the same fight. I would become so confused that I would stop in the middle of a fight and tell her that she had already said that and I could tell her what was coming next. It didn’t stop the fight, just made it more intense. I thought I was going crazy.
As I got older I realized that if I had one gift I might have another. My brother and I would sit on the floor with playing cards. I would tell him if they were black or red. I was getting about 90 percent right until all of a sudden I was getting 100 percent wrong. For awhile I decided that I had no gifts at all. A few years ago my brother revisited this incident. Apparently when I started to get them wrong, he was looking at a black card and saying in his head “red card.” From that point on he knew that I could read his mind. I wondered for so many years why he was so careful to tell me the truth even when he cheated on his wife.
When I was in the Navy, I had my most flamboyant experiences with the paranormal. I met an hereditary Wiccan, whose mother and grandmother practiced the craft. My greatest talent according to her was my ability to gather energy. When I was in a circle, I had so much energy that I could send it around to the other members. The energy was so great that we would come out of the circle singing.
After awhile I realized that though I wanted to learn more, I was considered a battery by the other members. They would use my energy to craft their spells. And yes, I have seen spells work. One time a friend threw an energy ball to her cheating boyfriend. Within minutes he was fast asleep, unable to wake up for hours. He had a good sleep and didn’t cheat.
The one experience that still makes me cry is when my cat died. She was a green-eyed sepia-toned striped tabby. I found her in Panama City, Panama, wandering a parking lot. The jungle is dangerous for a little tame cat so I took her home. She became the centerpiece of our lives. But, the Panamanians really are frightened of cats. I lived there seven years, but I never understood their fear. On Halloween she was killed. The night before my husband found her and buried her beneath her beloved rosebushes, I dreamed of her.
She snagged my foot with her claw. Like every morning in this dream I got out of bed and made her breakfast. She wound herself around my ankles. I looked down and she looked up at me. Then she said, “This is the last time you’ll do that.”
She flicked her tail around me, gave me a last rub and then left. That was the last time I saw her. When I dreamed of her she had just died. I still remember her on All Saint’s Day. But I never saw her in my dreams again.
So it is in the blood. My sister reads the future in the runes. My other siblings have highly intuitive natures. Each of us have something that would be considered paranormal to someone else. To us it is normal.
Today, I use my talents to write. The greatest gift I have been given is a vivid imagination, which is needed for either writing or paranormal.