Hauntings aren’t ghosts, the paranormal, or supernatural activity.
Everything is energy so what may appear to be hauntings are just energy pockets (or areas of space) we walk into and are able to perceive because we’re energy too. What happens is our energy actually aligns with the vibrational frequency, energy, in the pocket. Our energy aligning doesn’t mean anything more than having the ability to consciously perceive and translate the energetic patterns contained within that pocket.
There’s no need to be afraid of this. Nothing in present time is happening other than you sensing something. Allow fear to take over and your perception becomes tainted by that fear rendering your perception useless.
If we don’t let fear carry us away in howling fright, then oftentimes we’re able to translate those perceived energy patterns into coherent understanding. Fear is a royal pain in the ass because when you don’t know, exactly, what’s going on, you’ll tend to infantilize what’s sensed into some scary myth of “ghosts from the supernatural”. dodo dodo dodo dodo (hear the spooky music?)
Hauntings happen all the time. I haunt flea markets, auctions and art galleries; themes and arguments; even certain friends (I wonder if they get scared when they see me coming)?
Memories can haunt too, revisiting our consciousness repetitively. Some of those haunts are indeed painful. Some thoughts can even take possession of us, if we let it (think obsessive or habitual behaviours). Hauntings, of any kind, aren’t easily forgotten, but the calmer you are, the easier it is to understand the truth of what’s really going on.
Damn it. I missed that aerobics class again. That makes 32 in a row.
Heading home after a few errands I lament the fact I’m not exercising. The conflict between laziness and exercise is nothing new and while I’m aware of the shape I should be in insight doesn’t propel me to action.
Coming up to a red light at an intersection I contemplate how I’ll overcome my reluctance (read laziness) to do what I know I should. While everything is a matter of choice I apparently choose to torture myself with noncompliance instead of exercise.
This was the tired script occupying my consciousness as I slowed to a stop, but just beneath that boring litany I could also feel I was coming into something heavy and dense.
The energy felt in a haunt is the same coming from a live person as it is a dead one; subtle, invasive and unavoidably real.
While I’m always aware the second energy penetrates me, I’m not always immediately conscious it isn’t me. Unprepared I regularly assume the thoughts and feelings of the haunt is me–and that almost always comes as a shock. You’d think by now I’d learn–but no.
At first, I’m not the narrator to the energy; I am the energy. This is a kind of possession but not in the ridiculous religious movie sense. When I’m not prepared I think the thoughts and feelings I begin having are mine no matter how alien those thought or feelings may be. In this case the haunting crept up on me given my aerobic preoccupation, so I wasn’t completely conscious of it until I was driving out of it. In a very real way two narratives are happening in my head simultaneously and often times after the fact I imagine this is how a tUN translator might operate. Hearing one language in your ears while speaking English into a microphone. Consciousness lays over top awareness and always speaks the loudest. Awareness is a subtle quiet thing and never clamours for your attention (but can be repetitive–which is helpful).
Within seconds of stopping at the light I looked skyward scanning the balconies of the apartment building on the corner. Even before the full impact of those alien feelings hit I tried pulling my awareness away from the knowing. There’s ugliness there. I glance at the light—still red–I’m trapped. My eyes of their own accord find the balcony the energy is coming from.
I feel everything that isn’t me–as if it were–like a cacophony of thoughts and emotional despair; infinite sadness carefully hidden; a cunning mask of superiority mixed with an impotent frustration for those around him. He’s isolated yet dreams of directing his burning anger/hatred toward something, anything, in a bid to rid himself of this torment but he’s hopelessly fragmented. He’s trapped in his own hell. I feel everything that’s him while my conscious mind bucks and jerks as if scalded.
Advanced green—I’m turning—driving out of the energy pocket that cloaked in despair I become aware of the car radio again. Right it’s sunny! And I begin to notice I’m me again. And that’s when I realize “it” got me again.
Not me, not me, not me! Inhale. Exhale. Shake it off like a dog flings water. I always think it’s me until I move out of it. Thank Christ. The shock of thinking myself seriously ill begins to wear off as the kilometers lengthen between me and the energy hanging over the intersection emanating from that apartment building. For the umpteenth time I wonder how I could have fallen for it again. This was a live one–a real person this time. Perhaps that’s why is was so strong.
A young man, dark haired, slim, single and filled with hatred, especially for those in the other apartments around him but only because they were closest in proximity; and they thought him strange. His mind is unsettled as he sits alone on his couch. He tries to focus his hatred unto his neighbours but he can’t stick with any one person or course of actionable thought long enough to keep hating. He only clings to that stirred up emotion because at least when he does he feels some semblance of control over his private agony–otherwise his pain and confusion drowns him. He swings from fragmented despair to intense hatred radiating outward like a poisonous gas. He’s conscious of his illness, is ashamed and helpless because of it; and he suffers. This isn’t supernatural or paranormal activity this is a person trapped in despair.
I take another deep calming breath, breathe it all out and let him go marveling at the radius of his pain. Suffering is real, people walk around carrying great pain every single day. I know because I can feel them. My heart squeezes with compassion, and relief.