Thanks for this. I would only caution people to be careful in dealing with these issues; we can be misled, and think we understand -or more foolishly, control- things we do not understand and should not engage. Caveat in place then, I offer this for your consideration, a true story, about Fr. John, and Daisy:
At one time (perhaps still) Hong Kong construction workers often kept semi-wild dogs on building sites to discourage the unwelcome, cruelly abandoning them after the work was complete. Walking past a site one day, Fr. John spotted a shivering puppy, the progeny of these unwanted curs, and decided to take her home. Daisy was too old to imprint properly perhaps and always remained somewhat feral. But she was fiercely loyal to her rescuer, and the Pastor’s dog became a respected member of the parish. (I remember her: Small in stature but with a bull neck and huge jaws, like she was part hyena) But she never barked, and Fr. John said that if Daisy wanted something, she would get his attention with the touch of her cold nose. Daisy lived a long and happy life, and when she died, the parishioners buried her, marking the grave with a little stone in the parish garden.
On one occasion, Fr. John relates, Daisy padded into his room at night and “nosed” him awake. He got up just in time to see a burglar trying to crawl through the window. The man panicked, tumbled out of the window and ran away. Crime –and possible assault- averted. However, Daisy was nowhere to be seen, for by then she had already been in her little grave for some six months . . .
Be grateful for all the creatures God sends your way. And be kind. For, as the guys in the joint taught me, what goes around, comes around, for good or ill.
Thank you for sharing. I believe you and am touched by your relationship with your mother in law. A previous version of me would have probably explained away your experience as a dream coupled with suggestibility before the death of my own father, who passed unexpectedly at 56. My father was raised religiously but fell away from his faith and often lamented giving up the belief in the afterlife due to this. We had discussed it before and he told me, half jokingly and half serious, that he would give me an unmistakable sign of an afterlife after his death were it true.
He passed, there was service, life moved on.... no sign. I didn't think much of it until one day about three months after the funeral, taking the blue line to work in Chicago where I was living at the time, I turned around and saw my father in the passenger crowd, clear line of sight, standing, holding onto a handle. I was not drunk or on any type of substance. I was not dreaming. I was not thinking of him prior to seeing him. It was him, not someone who looked like him. He was looking straight at me, no real expression on his face of happiness or sadness. Just looking at me. It lasted for about 30 seconds, then he was gone. Just dissappeared.
I gasped and dropped my coffee. People around me were concerned. I got off at the next stop and sat on the platform, heart in throat, and eventualy called into work, went home and crawled in bed. When I awoke later that day at dusk I thought maybe it had been a dream, but my coffee stained clothes laid on the floor and my inbox was full of concerned messaged from my manager hoping I could make it in tomorrow for the big presentation we had been working on.
I am reflecting on your statement about how you know her soul left her body. This is how I learned that. My beloved beautiful palomino mare, Cookies, suddenly took ill and rapidly dropped a tellingly large amount of weight at age 29. I had owned her since she was 3. We were able to trailer her to the vet, where she dropped to the ground after we unloaded her. We made the decision to humanely end her pain and let her go. As I cradled her beautiful head and told her how much I loved her and that she could move on…I saw and felt her soul leave. My dear husband and vet were discussing how to get her body back into the trailer so David could bury her on our ranch. I so loved both of them in that moment and choked through my tears…….she’s not in there anymore and we didn’t need to figure out that monumental problem anymore. As is custom in the horse world, David cut her tail hair off for me. As we pulled up to our driveway, the other horses were pacing the fence whinnying as they spotted our trailer. Calling for her. I took her tail hair over for each of them to smell and say goodbye. Then they were at peace. Cookies is buried in our pet cemetery. My whole attitude about death and now, what? is forever changed.
This, too, gave me chills. It's true that that moment of witnessing a soul leave a body changes you forever. I think it's one of the most sacred things we can witness. Thank you for writing this.
What a wonderful story, if a bit scary (who wants someone, even a cherished loved one, to “attach” to us without permission after death?!). I am glad the pieces fell into place relatively easily for you to be free again - which is also very revealing of the mysterious synchrony at work in these episodes.
I’ve had two less dramatic but similarly real experiences after my father unexpectedly passed away. The first was just hours after he had passed and I had learned of it, as I was driving with my sister in a move back to Oklahoma from California where I had been living for 14 years. We were moving me back home to be closer to Dad since he’d taken ill (although there was no suggestion he might pass so soon). We were driving near Albuquerque, eyes swollen from crying, emotionally exhausted, indescribably sad and confused, when, out of the heavy rain clouds above us, a single brilliant shaft of light pierced the windshield and landed between us in the car. We both gasped and instantly “heard” (meaning received in our minds without really hearing) Dad say “It’s alright. You will be fine. I am fine.” We both “heard it.”
About a year later, a few days before Dad’s birthday, I was sitting at my dining table, which gave me a view of the front door where I could see the porch through the stormdoor’s glass. I was eating when the doorbell rang and for some reason I thought, Daddy! I looked up at the porch through the glass - no one there. I got up and opened the door, stepped onto the porch, even walked into the yard and looked down the street in both directions - no one. No cars, no one on foot. I just “knew” he had made contact.
It was scary, and though the pieces did eventually fall into place for me to be free again, it took months, and was often agonizing, and I sometimes think about what if I hadn't had the great good fortune to find the right help? Of course I also kind of know deep down that I always would have, and yet...
Both of these stories of yours gave me chills. The first one, where the brilliant shaft of light pierced the windshield and you and your sister heard your dad's voice--that is incredible. I truly appreciate you taking the time to write them.
My sister passed away almost 4 years ago at only 40 years old from colon cancer. Two weeks before she died, we had a conversation, seated on the stairs to the upper level of her house. She was very upset (understandably) that she was dying, and dying so young, and leaving behind the only family she had: myself and my husband, my dad, my brother and his family. (Our mom died young, too.) For some reason I was very compelled to tell her, “make sure you don’t hang around here, like don’t be a ghost.” Because I knew how attached she was, even though I’m not sure what I believe when it comes to the after life. At that she kind of giggled and said through tears “but I have to fuck with you.”
I was with her when she died, and I swear I felt her move through me, this white hot force of love. It was overwhelming. She was in such pain when she died, and her face reflected that. My cousin and I bathed her body in sandalwood and water from a spring special to us, and after that her face transformed - it was so serene, she had a smile on her lips! And we just sat with her body and listened to music and honored her life. After she was taken away I had two odd experiences: the first this feeling of not being able to distinguish my face from my sister’s in the mirror, and of continuously moving my hands in the manner she did before she died. I felt like I was in kind of a stupefied, trance state. I’m honestly not sure if this is because we were so close, and I spent so much time with her at the end, or if it was something more. But I do remember having this little conversation with her in my head where I just said, “I love you so much, and I will always carry a part of you with me. But the whole cannot stay here. And you know that. Take a small part of me with you, if you need to.” After that, the feeling eventually dissipated. That evening, I was climbing the stairs to her upper level, and when I set foot on the step we’d been seated on two weeks before, the filament in hall light burst and the light went out. And I instantly knew it was her, “fucking with me.” While it was startling and a little creepy, I had to laugh.
The next day, my dad and I were in the car and this Dylan song came on the public radio station that neither of us had ever heard, titled, I shit you not, “Death Is Not The End.” (I encourage anyone reading this to look up the lyrics.) We are both huge Dylan fans, so no idea how we had never heard this song before (or since.) I was crying so hard, because I felt the message was coming straight from her.
It’s funny you mention a shaman. My sister had some sessions with a shaman originally for her cancer, to see if it could be of benefit, and at the end about her dying. She didn’t say much about the dying conversation, except that what he described scared her a little. I have to wonder if it did help her to move on, though ❤️
This is so beautiful and well-written. I am grateful to you for writing it and touched I got to read it! It's interesting that you knew instinctively to tell her she could not stay--the very thing the shaman taught me. And the Dylan song: I also had similar experiences with music after my mother-in-law passed away, and when my young cousin did, where I knew they were speaking to us through very specific songs coming on at odd moments. I could write a whole post about it! Thank you for being here and commenting.
I wonder about that instinct sometimes, about where it comes from. In that moment, it felt almost like inherent knowledge, because I knew how badly my sister didn’t want to leave us.
After my sister died we played the Grateful Dead song “Ripple,” specifically a recording she and I had made together with me playing ukulele. It’s such a sweet, sad song, and so apropos to her dying, but it was one of her favorites. We hear it all the time in similar ways as you describe. I really do hope you write something about the weird way it seems the dead can communicate to us through this medium! If you decide to make it a Tao Lin style piece, like the one your story initially appeared in, I’d love to contribute. I definitely have more on that topic, and would love to read other’s experiences as well.
We seem to be on the cusp of a paradigm shift about consciousness and souls and the afterlife, philosophers, biologists (quantum), paranormal researchers, NDE experiencers, books on entheogens at Eleusis and Greek writers going yearly, consciousness researchers, and though I think one has to be very careful, since there is very creepy tech that can simulate this stuff, and people's neuroses can get in the way, but the experiences seem to be increasing.
Long ago I worked at a nursing home as an aide, and this man was dying of cancer and in great pain. His daughter, who loved him tremendously, sat with him crying. One of the few humane nurses told her she needed to let him go, so she told him it would be alright if he left. I was running around doing nursing aide things, but when I entered the room again, I walked into a field that felt like pink champagne and Mexican jumping beans, and my sense was that the man on the bed, very still, was a shell. Having been raised by secular humanists in Palo Alto, I did the only thing that came naturally, which was to run for it. When I came back with the nurse, the field was gone. Since then I've had many strange things happen that might just be coincidence, or my soul casting out, quantum entangled, or who knows. An old friend of mine, Sandra Ingerman, found that doing a ritual of soul retrieval can restore people who have been deeply traumatized. And if you listen to any of the hospice nurses on youtube, these sorts of things are just sort of normal to them. Cixous quotes a scribble by Kafka writing on his death bed. "Lemonade, everything was so infinite," which is exactly what I experienced in the room in that nursing home.
Thank you for writing this. I love how you describe the field. I did not know that Kafka had written, "Lemonade, everything was so infinite," but I will remember it now.
Beyond coincidental events and thoughts (think Jung's synchronicity), I have never experienced anything this deep; however, I have talked with others who have. Not a week goes by when I don't think about their stories. I truly believe, Amanda, these words of yours: the body is merely a vehicle for the spirit. Thank you for this great piece and the recommendation.
In 1973 our first child did not make it through recovery from heart surgery. She was 18 days from her 2nd birthday, born on Bob Dylan's 30th, died on my brother's 27th. For a few months after that day, my wife had an experience similar to yours, but the attacks were less frequent, then slowly tapered off and stopped, never to return. A year later a routine check-up revealed a soft heart murmur. It never diminished or got worse, was never accompanied by other symptoms, and never impeded my wife's full appreciation of life. It's our little girl. And we still listen to her now and then through a stethoscope given to us by a cardiologist 40 years ago. Thank you for this story, Amanda.
Thank you for your moving story! It inspired me to revisit some of my own paranormal experiences.
In my early 20’s, on a lark, I went to see a psychic. According to friends, she was very good. This quiet, middle aged, heavy-set psychic lived in a nondescript suburban house. Her readings room was over-stuffed with Catholic imagery. I'm not religious and found it unsettling.
She talked about my past, present, and future. She told me that everyone has a guardian angel. Some are very good at their job and some are lazy and indifferent. It’s curious, she said, you have 2 guardian angels, and one of them is a young girl, about 12. They're both crazy about you and will never let you be harmed.
My best friend (literally from babyhood) Lee, had died suddenly of an undiagnosed brain tumor when we were 12, on a camping trip with her lovely father. We were having a great time in a beautiful and remote area near Canada. Her abrupt death was hugely traumatizing and turned me into quite the youthful existentialist.
At the time of the psychic's reading, I’d been having vivid, reoccurring dreams for the previous 2 years. One was about Lee, protecting me, over and over, ala Groundhog Day, from the same deadly situation. I can still recall it perfectly decades later.
This vision of a Lee as a guardian angel helped heal some of my bitterness about life’s unfairness and cruelty. The psychic's detailed and accurate reading of numerous things she had no way of knowing has helped me stay open-minded about mystery, life, and death!
Over the years I’ve experienced ESP, sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming, and I’ve heard, felt, and have seen a ghostly apparition. But my most frightening experience was premonition.
Years ago I had a retail store in a little mall, in a tourist town famous for beaches, fishing and surfing. One slow afternoon in the low season, I sent my employees home and told them I’d lock up myself, closing early at 5 pm. At 10 minutes to 5, a youngish guy entered the store, looking like every other surf bum in town; longish sun-bleached hair, T shirt, shorts, flip flops, small grubby daypack.
I was behind the counter doing paperwork and totalling my receipts for the day as he was slowly picking up small items from the shelf, examining them and setting them back down, while talking softly to himself. I imagined he was just high, probably looking for a small gift for a girlfriend.
Suddenly the most intense wave of fear I’ve ever experienced washed over me. The kind of fear you can taste. I was alone and the mall was fairly deserted. The shops around me were already closed.
I picked up my phone and called my partner. He didn’t answer (probably out surfing), so I started a fake phone conversation, as if the “person” on the other end was about to arrive at my shop. I continued the “call” while I rang up the customer’s small purchase, a bar of gift soap. He was polite, but didn't make eye contact. As soon as he left, I locked the door, and went to my office to sit down. I was shaking with adrenaline. I’ve never been a fearful person. My life has been filled with adventure and danger, often stupidly so. This kind of fear was unprecedented for me.
The next day, word spread that a park ranger had been attacked and killed by a homeless man, who was simply being told that he couldn't camp on the State Beach. The man turned out to be mentally ill with a long string of violent assaults in other regions of the US. After he was charged, they posted his mug shot in the local paper. It was, of course, my customer from the previous afternoon. Thanks again, Lee.
Two examples: my Louisiana family takes children with warts to the “gris-gris” lady, who instructs them how to visualize their disappearance. And, as Roman Catholics, we invoke St. Anthony several times per month to find keys and other lost items.
Thank you for writing and sharing this. It has been with me for days now. First, I find it to be incredibly sweet and romantic. There is a kind of spiritual labor in love and I couldn't help but think of you as a kind of Antigone. The parallel is imprecise, of course, but it seemed as if you were doing a kind of mourning, a spirit saving mourning. Your description of Walter's uncharacteristically vacant eyes is really powerful. I've never myself been to a shaman before. I think I read about Burroughs' experience in a biography. I resonated in the wholesome normality of your journey, a journey that I think of as a return to shared reality as much as a liberation from your dear mother-in-law's spirit. I found the detail of your friend's nick-nack store fitting here as objects do connect us to history and memory. The ritual seemed wholesome and beautiful, akin in way to many somatic forms of dynamic psychotherapy. A second wave feminist might scorn the fact that women have traditionally had a special role in mourning, but I think it is beautiful. I think it is really cool that you were able to find a path, to reach out to others, to take a leap faith and save yourself and your husband. As an addendum, it occurs to me that this very normal kind of paranormal experience is wholesome because it makes for a strong contrast with crazy stuff that is in the news these days, Nick Land and so on. Thank you :)
Love your writing Amanda. Sharing it with all my friends. 'An Education' is incredible. Commented on this, but accidentally posted as a reply to someone else's comment so it got buried. Ah well. Thanks for all your excellent work!
When I was 7, my family moved from our apartment to a house a couple towns over. A week or two after our move, I asked my mother, “Why didn’t the little girl move with us?” “What little girl?” she asked. (I have a younger brother, no sisters.) “The little girl who sits on my window sill and talks to me at night,” I said.
I had imaginary friends as a kid, but I understood they were pretend. Who this little girl was, whose existence I seemed to take as a matter of fact, has never been clear. But apparently my mom brought her up again later and I didn’t want to discuss it. I don’t really remember now what I was talking about, but I’ve always wondered.
That's really so interesting. I've heard stories like this, that kids can see and communicate with ghosts or spirits when the adults around them can't. Thank you for sharing it.
Thanks for this. I would only caution people to be careful in dealing with these issues; we can be misled, and think we understand -or more foolishly, control- things we do not understand and should not engage. Caveat in place then, I offer this for your consideration, a true story, about Fr. John, and Daisy:
At one time (perhaps still) Hong Kong construction workers often kept semi-wild dogs on building sites to discourage the unwelcome, cruelly abandoning them after the work was complete. Walking past a site one day, Fr. John spotted a shivering puppy, the progeny of these unwanted curs, and decided to take her home. Daisy was too old to imprint properly perhaps and always remained somewhat feral. But she was fiercely loyal to her rescuer, and the Pastor’s dog became a respected member of the parish. (I remember her: Small in stature but with a bull neck and huge jaws, like she was part hyena) But she never barked, and Fr. John said that if Daisy wanted something, she would get his attention with the touch of her cold nose. Daisy lived a long and happy life, and when she died, the parishioners buried her, marking the grave with a little stone in the parish garden.
On one occasion, Fr. John relates, Daisy padded into his room at night and “nosed” him awake. He got up just in time to see a burglar trying to crawl through the window. The man panicked, tumbled out of the window and ran away. Crime –and possible assault- averted. However, Daisy was nowhere to be seen, for by then she had already been in her little grave for some six months . . .
Be grateful for all the creatures God sends your way. And be kind. For, as the guys in the joint taught me, what goes around, comes around, for good or ill.
Wow, what an amazing and well-expressed story! Thank you for taking the time to write it out.
Thank you for sharing. I believe you and am touched by your relationship with your mother in law. A previous version of me would have probably explained away your experience as a dream coupled with suggestibility before the death of my own father, who passed unexpectedly at 56. My father was raised religiously but fell away from his faith and often lamented giving up the belief in the afterlife due to this. We had discussed it before and he told me, half jokingly and half serious, that he would give me an unmistakable sign of an afterlife after his death were it true.
He passed, there was service, life moved on.... no sign. I didn't think much of it until one day about three months after the funeral, taking the blue line to work in Chicago where I was living at the time, I turned around and saw my father in the passenger crowd, clear line of sight, standing, holding onto a handle. I was not drunk or on any type of substance. I was not dreaming. I was not thinking of him prior to seeing him. It was him, not someone who looked like him. He was looking straight at me, no real expression on his face of happiness or sadness. Just looking at me. It lasted for about 30 seconds, then he was gone. Just dissappeared.
I gasped and dropped my coffee. People around me were concerned. I got off at the next stop and sat on the platform, heart in throat, and eventualy called into work, went home and crawled in bed. When I awoke later that day at dusk I thought maybe it had been a dream, but my coffee stained clothes laid on the floor and my inbox was full of concerned messaged from my manager hoping I could make it in tomorrow for the big presentation we had been working on.
Make of it what you will. But I am a believer.
This gave me chills. Thank you for writing it.
I am reflecting on your statement about how you know her soul left her body. This is how I learned that. My beloved beautiful palomino mare, Cookies, suddenly took ill and rapidly dropped a tellingly large amount of weight at age 29. I had owned her since she was 3. We were able to trailer her to the vet, where she dropped to the ground after we unloaded her. We made the decision to humanely end her pain and let her go. As I cradled her beautiful head and told her how much I loved her and that she could move on…I saw and felt her soul leave. My dear husband and vet were discussing how to get her body back into the trailer so David could bury her on our ranch. I so loved both of them in that moment and choked through my tears…….she’s not in there anymore and we didn’t need to figure out that monumental problem anymore. As is custom in the horse world, David cut her tail hair off for me. As we pulled up to our driveway, the other horses were pacing the fence whinnying as they spotted our trailer. Calling for her. I took her tail hair over for each of them to smell and say goodbye. Then they were at peace. Cookies is buried in our pet cemetery. My whole attitude about death and now, what? is forever changed.
This, too, gave me chills. It's true that that moment of witnessing a soul leave a body changes you forever. I think it's one of the most sacred things we can witness. Thank you for writing this.
What a wonderful story, if a bit scary (who wants someone, even a cherished loved one, to “attach” to us without permission after death?!). I am glad the pieces fell into place relatively easily for you to be free again - which is also very revealing of the mysterious synchrony at work in these episodes.
I’ve had two less dramatic but similarly real experiences after my father unexpectedly passed away. The first was just hours after he had passed and I had learned of it, as I was driving with my sister in a move back to Oklahoma from California where I had been living for 14 years. We were moving me back home to be closer to Dad since he’d taken ill (although there was no suggestion he might pass so soon). We were driving near Albuquerque, eyes swollen from crying, emotionally exhausted, indescribably sad and confused, when, out of the heavy rain clouds above us, a single brilliant shaft of light pierced the windshield and landed between us in the car. We both gasped and instantly “heard” (meaning received in our minds without really hearing) Dad say “It’s alright. You will be fine. I am fine.” We both “heard it.”
About a year later, a few days before Dad’s birthday, I was sitting at my dining table, which gave me a view of the front door where I could see the porch through the stormdoor’s glass. I was eating when the doorbell rang and for some reason I thought, Daddy! I looked up at the porch through the glass - no one there. I got up and opened the door, stepped onto the porch, even walked into the yard and looked down the street in both directions - no one. No cars, no one on foot. I just “knew” he had made contact.
It was scary, and though the pieces did eventually fall into place for me to be free again, it took months, and was often agonizing, and I sometimes think about what if I hadn't had the great good fortune to find the right help? Of course I also kind of know deep down that I always would have, and yet...
Both of these stories of yours gave me chills. The first one, where the brilliant shaft of light pierced the windshield and you and your sister heard your dad's voice--that is incredible. I truly appreciate you taking the time to write them.
My sister passed away almost 4 years ago at only 40 years old from colon cancer. Two weeks before she died, we had a conversation, seated on the stairs to the upper level of her house. She was very upset (understandably) that she was dying, and dying so young, and leaving behind the only family she had: myself and my husband, my dad, my brother and his family. (Our mom died young, too.) For some reason I was very compelled to tell her, “make sure you don’t hang around here, like don’t be a ghost.” Because I knew how attached she was, even though I’m not sure what I believe when it comes to the after life. At that she kind of giggled and said through tears “but I have to fuck with you.”
I was with her when she died, and I swear I felt her move through me, this white hot force of love. It was overwhelming. She was in such pain when she died, and her face reflected that. My cousin and I bathed her body in sandalwood and water from a spring special to us, and after that her face transformed - it was so serene, she had a smile on her lips! And we just sat with her body and listened to music and honored her life. After she was taken away I had two odd experiences: the first this feeling of not being able to distinguish my face from my sister’s in the mirror, and of continuously moving my hands in the manner she did before she died. I felt like I was in kind of a stupefied, trance state. I’m honestly not sure if this is because we were so close, and I spent so much time with her at the end, or if it was something more. But I do remember having this little conversation with her in my head where I just said, “I love you so much, and I will always carry a part of you with me. But the whole cannot stay here. And you know that. Take a small part of me with you, if you need to.” After that, the feeling eventually dissipated. That evening, I was climbing the stairs to her upper level, and when I set foot on the step we’d been seated on two weeks before, the filament in hall light burst and the light went out. And I instantly knew it was her, “fucking with me.” While it was startling and a little creepy, I had to laugh.
The next day, my dad and I were in the car and this Dylan song came on the public radio station that neither of us had ever heard, titled, I shit you not, “Death Is Not The End.” (I encourage anyone reading this to look up the lyrics.) We are both huge Dylan fans, so no idea how we had never heard this song before (or since.) I was crying so hard, because I felt the message was coming straight from her.
It’s funny you mention a shaman. My sister had some sessions with a shaman originally for her cancer, to see if it could be of benefit, and at the end about her dying. She didn’t say much about the dying conversation, except that what he described scared her a little. I have to wonder if it did help her to move on, though ❤️
This is so beautiful and well-written. I am grateful to you for writing it and touched I got to read it! It's interesting that you knew instinctively to tell her she could not stay--the very thing the shaman taught me. And the Dylan song: I also had similar experiences with music after my mother-in-law passed away, and when my young cousin did, where I knew they were speaking to us through very specific songs coming on at odd moments. I could write a whole post about it! Thank you for being here and commenting.
I wonder about that instinct sometimes, about where it comes from. In that moment, it felt almost like inherent knowledge, because I knew how badly my sister didn’t want to leave us.
After my sister died we played the Grateful Dead song “Ripple,” specifically a recording she and I had made together with me playing ukulele. It’s such a sweet, sad song, and so apropos to her dying, but it was one of her favorites. We hear it all the time in similar ways as you describe. I really do hope you write something about the weird way it seems the dead can communicate to us through this medium! If you decide to make it a Tao Lin style piece, like the one your story initially appeared in, I’d love to contribute. I definitely have more on that topic, and would love to read other’s experiences as well.
We seem to be on the cusp of a paradigm shift about consciousness and souls and the afterlife, philosophers, biologists (quantum), paranormal researchers, NDE experiencers, books on entheogens at Eleusis and Greek writers going yearly, consciousness researchers, and though I think one has to be very careful, since there is very creepy tech that can simulate this stuff, and people's neuroses can get in the way, but the experiences seem to be increasing.
Long ago I worked at a nursing home as an aide, and this man was dying of cancer and in great pain. His daughter, who loved him tremendously, sat with him crying. One of the few humane nurses told her she needed to let him go, so she told him it would be alright if he left. I was running around doing nursing aide things, but when I entered the room again, I walked into a field that felt like pink champagne and Mexican jumping beans, and my sense was that the man on the bed, very still, was a shell. Having been raised by secular humanists in Palo Alto, I did the only thing that came naturally, which was to run for it. When I came back with the nurse, the field was gone. Since then I've had many strange things happen that might just be coincidence, or my soul casting out, quantum entangled, or who knows. An old friend of mine, Sandra Ingerman, found that doing a ritual of soul retrieval can restore people who have been deeply traumatized. And if you listen to any of the hospice nurses on youtube, these sorts of things are just sort of normal to them. Cixous quotes a scribble by Kafka writing on his death bed. "Lemonade, everything was so infinite," which is exactly what I experienced in the room in that nursing home.
Thank you for writing this. I love how you describe the field. I did not know that Kafka had written, "Lemonade, everything was so infinite," but I will remember it now.
Beyond coincidental events and thoughts (think Jung's synchronicity), I have never experienced anything this deep; however, I have talked with others who have. Not a week goes by when I don't think about their stories. I truly believe, Amanda, these words of yours: the body is merely a vehicle for the spirit. Thank you for this great piece and the recommendation.
Thank you, as ever, for reading and being here, Jeff! I truly appreciate it.
In 1973 our first child did not make it through recovery from heart surgery. She was 18 days from her 2nd birthday, born on Bob Dylan's 30th, died on my brother's 27th. For a few months after that day, my wife had an experience similar to yours, but the attacks were less frequent, then slowly tapered off and stopped, never to return. A year later a routine check-up revealed a soft heart murmur. It never diminished or got worse, was never accompanied by other symptoms, and never impeded my wife's full appreciation of life. It's our little girl. And we still listen to her now and then through a stethoscope given to us by a cardiologist 40 years ago. Thank you for this story, Amanda.
Wow, thank you for sharing yours. I appreciate it so much. It gave me goosebumps.
Thank you for your moving story! It inspired me to revisit some of my own paranormal experiences.
In my early 20’s, on a lark, I went to see a psychic. According to friends, she was very good. This quiet, middle aged, heavy-set psychic lived in a nondescript suburban house. Her readings room was over-stuffed with Catholic imagery. I'm not religious and found it unsettling.
She talked about my past, present, and future. She told me that everyone has a guardian angel. Some are very good at their job and some are lazy and indifferent. It’s curious, she said, you have 2 guardian angels, and one of them is a young girl, about 12. They're both crazy about you and will never let you be harmed.
My best friend (literally from babyhood) Lee, had died suddenly of an undiagnosed brain tumor when we were 12, on a camping trip with her lovely father. We were having a great time in a beautiful and remote area near Canada. Her abrupt death was hugely traumatizing and turned me into quite the youthful existentialist.
At the time of the psychic's reading, I’d been having vivid, reoccurring dreams for the previous 2 years. One was about Lee, protecting me, over and over, ala Groundhog Day, from the same deadly situation. I can still recall it perfectly decades later.
This vision of a Lee as a guardian angel helped heal some of my bitterness about life’s unfairness and cruelty. The psychic's detailed and accurate reading of numerous things she had no way of knowing has helped me stay open-minded about mystery, life, and death!
Over the years I’ve experienced ESP, sleep paralysis, lucid dreaming, and I’ve heard, felt, and have seen a ghostly apparition. But my most frightening experience was premonition.
Years ago I had a retail store in a little mall, in a tourist town famous for beaches, fishing and surfing. One slow afternoon in the low season, I sent my employees home and told them I’d lock up myself, closing early at 5 pm. At 10 minutes to 5, a youngish guy entered the store, looking like every other surf bum in town; longish sun-bleached hair, T shirt, shorts, flip flops, small grubby daypack.
I was behind the counter doing paperwork and totalling my receipts for the day as he was slowly picking up small items from the shelf, examining them and setting them back down, while talking softly to himself. I imagined he was just high, probably looking for a small gift for a girlfriend.
Suddenly the most intense wave of fear I’ve ever experienced washed over me. The kind of fear you can taste. I was alone and the mall was fairly deserted. The shops around me were already closed.
I picked up my phone and called my partner. He didn’t answer (probably out surfing), so I started a fake phone conversation, as if the “person” on the other end was about to arrive at my shop. I continued the “call” while I rang up the customer’s small purchase, a bar of gift soap. He was polite, but didn't make eye contact. As soon as he left, I locked the door, and went to my office to sit down. I was shaking with adrenaline. I’ve never been a fearful person. My life has been filled with adventure and danger, often stupidly so. This kind of fear was unprecedented for me.
The next day, word spread that a park ranger had been attacked and killed by a homeless man, who was simply being told that he couldn't camp on the State Beach. The man turned out to be mentally ill with a long string of violent assaults in other regions of the US. After he was charged, they posted his mug shot in the local paper. It was, of course, my customer from the previous afternoon. Thanks again, Lee.
Your story gives me chills. Lee is watching out for you!!
I’ve learned to really trust my gut with people. Whether my “gut” is messages from a guardian angel or my own instinct, it has served me pretty well.
Two examples: my Louisiana family takes children with warts to the “gris-gris” lady, who instructs them how to visualize their disappearance. And, as Roman Catholics, we invoke St. Anthony several times per month to find keys and other lost items.
Thank you for writing and sharing this. It has been with me for days now. First, I find it to be incredibly sweet and romantic. There is a kind of spiritual labor in love and I couldn't help but think of you as a kind of Antigone. The parallel is imprecise, of course, but it seemed as if you were doing a kind of mourning, a spirit saving mourning. Your description of Walter's uncharacteristically vacant eyes is really powerful. I've never myself been to a shaman before. I think I read about Burroughs' experience in a biography. I resonated in the wholesome normality of your journey, a journey that I think of as a return to shared reality as much as a liberation from your dear mother-in-law's spirit. I found the detail of your friend's nick-nack store fitting here as objects do connect us to history and memory. The ritual seemed wholesome and beautiful, akin in way to many somatic forms of dynamic psychotherapy. A second wave feminist might scorn the fact that women have traditionally had a special role in mourning, but I think it is beautiful. I think it is really cool that you were able to find a path, to reach out to others, to take a leap faith and save yourself and your husband. As an addendum, it occurs to me that this very normal kind of paranormal experience is wholesome because it makes for a strong contrast with crazy stuff that is in the news these days, Nick Land and so on. Thank you :)
Love your writing Amanda. Sharing it with all my friends. 'An Education' is incredible. Commented on this, but accidentally posted as a reply to someone else's comment so it got buried. Ah well. Thanks for all your excellent work!
When I was 7, my family moved from our apartment to a house a couple towns over. A week or two after our move, I asked my mother, “Why didn’t the little girl move with us?” “What little girl?” she asked. (I have a younger brother, no sisters.) “The little girl who sits on my window sill and talks to me at night,” I said.
I had imaginary friends as a kid, but I understood they were pretend. Who this little girl was, whose existence I seemed to take as a matter of fact, has never been clear. But apparently my mom brought her up again later and I didn’t want to discuss it. I don’t really remember now what I was talking about, but I’ve always wondered.
That's really so interesting. I've heard stories like this, that kids can see and communicate with ghosts or spirits when the adults around them can't. Thank you for sharing it.
An amazing story. Well told. There is no fat in your prose.
Thank you! I try. :)
Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you for reading it!
Great piece, thank you
Thank you for reading!