Okay, for those of you who’ve gotten to know me you’ll know a few things about me 1) I’m a writer and artist; 2) I’m obsessed with the paranormal; and 3) I’m a sensitive. Yeah, I can hear those eyes rolling, but I’m used to it. I was terrified when I was younger that people would think I was Looney Tunes.
My mother’s side of my heritage is steeped in what some people would say was crazy shit, but for those of us that were lucky enough (sarcasm here) to inherit the gift of sensitivity we’ve learned to laugh and take it with a grain of salt. It’s either that or check ourselves into a rubber room and never see daylight again. I was one of those who learned early on that as Shakespeare wrote, There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
My maternal grandmother saw things before they happened and sensed spirits. My mother had visions, saw and heard spirits. Recently I discovered my aunt also knew when things were about to happen when she saw what she described to one of her sons as the man with a lantern. One of my uncles was obsessed with the paranormal just as I am although he died when I was just a wee one. I only remember him visiting my mother once. I recall a tall slender man in a black turtle neck and the one thing that stood out was the silver pentagram he wore around his neck. Fascinated by the amulet he wore after he left I asked my mother about it. She gave me a look of what can only be described as fear and said We don’t talk about that stuff. Don’t ask again. Getting older I heard whispers of my uncle making deals with the devil, but I eventually came to understand that he was more than likely a pagan which where I grew up basically makes you in league with Lucifer. And I’ve had people call me crazy.
Being sensitive isn’t anywhere close to how Hollywood has portrayed it over the years nor is the paranormal. Part of the reason I avoid the term Psychic is because of the negative connotations associated with the term. Thanks to Hollywood and those so-called psychics
who use their gifts (there’s that sarcasm again) to fill their coffers most folks have no idea what it’s really like.
Try writing when you have a spirit whistling and clicking around your head trying to get your attention. Yeah, I have one in the new apartment that just will not shut up. Saturday night I smudged the entire apartment because I was ready to tear myself bald. The rest of the night was quiet and most of Sunday. Late Sunday night my little friend announced herself with a wild whistle and I nearly shit myself. *head desk* Yeah, this one is female unlike the last one upstairs. *sighs*
A friend of mine suggested the smudging in a roundabout way a week ago when I was complaining. She suggested that it might be the new to me chair that I took from an empty apartment at the end of the hall. That was after I told her the noises were coming from the corner of the living room where the chair sat. That led into an ongoing joke about my haunted, floating, chair and I told her if I woke up to find the haunted, floating, chair setting at the foot of my bed she would be getting a call and I didn’t give a damn if it was three in the fucking morning.
See laughter is the only way to deal with this kind of shit. As I’ve gotten older my gifts have become stronger or maybe it’s just that I’ve come to appreciate what they represent. Unlike my mother I’m not scared senseless nor do I look on it as a curse. Although I often wish my friends who find themselves drawn to me would leave me alone when I’m trying to write. Hell, I have enough corporeal interruptions as it is. In my opinion unless it’s a bloody emergency leave me alone. Of course the spirit world doesn’t work that way. They have no deadlines or clocks. When they want to communicate, hell when they just want to play, they do so without any thought for such things.
Speaking of…my new friend just popped up. I’m starting to feel like Wendy the witch, Casper the Friendly Ghost’s friend from the comics. No concept of time or personal space and they pout when you yell at them.
This is what I meant when I said being a sensitive can suck. 😉