- I’d never heard of stone henge when I dreamed of stone circles as a child – it was quite a shock to find out about it in National Geographic.
I was still a kid when I learned that for people on “the other side”, maintaining an awareness or connection to our reality (Waking Physical Reality, or WPR) is optional. I had some very profound dreams that took place in a cemetery where the tomb stones are arranged in concentric circles. I was in elementary school when these started and had never heard of Stonehenge or stone circles and their relationship to my Celtic ancestry – I was quite surprised to learn about this later on. Another odd quality these dream tomb stones possessed was that if you touched them, you would “know” all about the person connected with it. In one of the dreams I went exploring in the woods behind this cemetery and was quite surprised to find more tomb stones hidden in the underbrush. Those ones were cold – if I touched them I got nothing. In the dream I asked my great-grandmother, Susan Grant Black, about it. She was more or less the grand Poobah of this particular dreamscape. She told me that they “no longer had a connection to this world.” I took this to mean WPR.
I will distill a few decades of dreaming on this into a concise point: in order to manifest in WPR, a spirit (ghost) who is in the light needs two basic things: Intent and a Point of Reference. Continue reading
In the summer of 2010 I had the following dream. It felt significant but I didn’t know what it meant. At the time we were in the process of selling my parents’ house to the son of the neighbors across the road (Keith). My brothers and I were standing in the front yard of my parents’ house. It felt like springtime, and the sky was a little overcast as if it might rain.
“Do you think Keith will let us dig some plants out of the back yard?” I asked. “We’ve been so busy cleaning out the house I haven’t had time to do it. But I want to move some of Mom’s garden to my yard.”
“I doubt it,” my brother John said.
“I doubt he would want them, “I said. “He is probably going to mow back there and then the plants will be all gone.”
The dream changed and we were now in my brothers’ old bedroom. This room was right inside the house from where we were standing in the yard. The atmosphere felt heavy and depressing. John leaned against the closet door. “Boy, I don’t feel very good,” he said.
I read somewhere that the first year (approximately) after a person dies is spent getting accustomed to their new state of existence and learning to give up “habits” from Earth life, such as eating and sleeping. I had the most frequent and dramatic contact with my mother during this first year. After that, the contact slowed down but still occured regularly, about once every three or four months. However I was still very much aware of her presence, as her first job in the afterlife seemed to be watching out for my father (see Someone To Watch Over You).
By now Dad was living in an assisted living apartment near us. He gave up driving due to his decline in health and the fact that he was now living where he was not familiar with the roads. Once he moved into this environment with nurses to check on him 7 by 24, my mother’s presence seemed to drift a little farther away, as if she knew he had enough care and no longer needed her to watch him like a hawk.
About a year after Dad moved into his new place, I had the following dream.
The evening of May 22, 2011 found me lying lathargically in the bathtub, mind wandering, nothing thinking about much of anything. This is a mental state not far from meditation. Perhaps it allowed me to connect with my mother even though I was awake, because a thought entered my head out of nowhere and snapped me to full attention: How long ago was it, exactly, that John told you Sherise was pregnant?
My neice, Sherise, married a year or so before. I knew they were anxious to start a family. John told me she was expecting … I searched through my memory banks … sometime in the fall? He was very hush hush about it. Only a few weeks along, so nothing is certain yet. I counted the months on my fingers. Holy crap, she should be due any day now! I should email John and find out when the baby is due, I thought.
But I never got the chance because the next morning an email was already there announcing the birth of my new great-neice, Elin. Somehow I just knew my mother was involved. I wasn’t the only one who came to that conclusion. My sister-in-law posted the same thought on her Facebook page that morning.
One of the strange things I noticed, as time went on, was how my mother seemed to not like it when I talked about her being dead. And if I actually mentioned the suicide? Poof! Gone.
According to my dream log, I’d taken a Galantamine a few hours before I had this one. I’d been awake once already, talked to Bill about having breakfast, and then fallen back asleep. This lucid dream, if you want to get technical, began as a false awakening because I really thought I’d gotten up and went to my sewing room to sew.
My husband opened up the door and said “Your mother is here!” I thought, wait a minute! I’m still asleep!
I hurried over and looked out the door. There’s Mom, coming up the stairs with a bunch of stuff in a plastic Giant Eagle bag, just like she always did.
I gave her a hug. “Wow! I can’t believe you’re here! I am obviously still asleep. I hope it isn’t 9:00 yet. I was planning to get up at 9:00 and sew. I’m supposed to go downstairs and have breakfast. If I sleep in Bill will be pissed.” She laughed.
When I last left off from Mom’s story, I’d been having a lot of contact and dream visitations, and had by this time been to THREE different professional psychics (more on that later) all of whom independently confirmed the validity of the information I was getting. I believed in it enough to begin to wonder if this sudden increase in psychic abilities and activity meant something for my life other than just getting over the passing of my mother. Should I be using this somehow?
At first I did the only thing I knew to do. I started reading like crazy, as many books on the subject, and related subjects: After Death Communication, books written by mediums (biographical and instructional), lucid dreaming, reincarnation, psychic development, meditation, astral projection, ghosts – anything that seemed relevant and had credentials like good reviews, authors with good reputations, etc. At this point I wasn’t necessarily ready to just swallow all of this stuff hook line and sinker, but I thought that reading many different viewpoints would help sort things out. If practically every authority was giving the same information about some topics, then that information has a higher probability of being accurate, I reasoned.
I was asked about this recently so I decided to do a post about it. This was not a topic that resonated with me at first. It was frowned on in most church circles where I travelled in my younger days. However I had many family members who believed in it, one being my Tibetan Buddhist sister, who used to tease me about being buried twice in the same grave!
At this point I am back to believing in it again as it is the only explanation I’ve found for many of my own experiences and the experiences of many other people I’ve known. My mother believed that I was reincarnated from her sister, Emily, who died in 1938. This story came to me by way of my sister, who has it further documented in letters our mother sent to her in the 1970’s and 80’s.
Emily, was 12 years older than my mother. From what Mom told me she spent a lot of time with Emily while she was growing up. Emily got married in about 1937 and shortly thereafter became pregnant with her first child. Early on in the pregnancy she developed a complication called hyperemesis gravidarum. This condition is basically morning sickness on steroids – you are so sick you can’t eat anything for months on end. As this was 1938 there were not many options for treating this condition. The treatment now involves a lot of IV’s and drugs that can suppress the problem with varying degrees of efficiency and risk. But back then? They tried a lot of things but by the 7th month of the pregnancy Emily contracted pneumonia and died. There were ideas back then about a “good death”. When the doctors decided that Emily would most likely die they started bringing in this endless parade of family members and friends, including my mother who was eight years old at the time. Mom told me (while alive) that she was taken to visit Emily the night before she died. She said Emily was on a feeding tube and couldn’t talk, and looked absolutely terrified. When they took my mother away Emily looked at her a certain way, and this image of the last time she saw her sister stayed with her vividly for the rest of her life.
They buried Emily in the family plot. That is burial #1.
With all of the reading I’ve been doing lately about dreams, synchronicity, and shared dreaming I thought I would write the story of Grandma Mason’s passing. This happened in 1984 when I was fourteen years old. I was in about … eighth grade. It is hard to remember exactly what grade I was in but I definitely remember what book we were reading in English class: Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. Unlike everyone else in the class I loved reading this stuff. The teacher would assign chapter one and I would get so wrapped up in the book I’d read the entire thing the first night. Then I’d have to go back and read it again with the class so I could remember which chapters where which!
At this time my dad’s mother – Grandma Mason – had just been admitted to a personal care home. She was 89 years old and had been having problems living alone for the past year. The place was not nearby and I’d only been there once or twice. The visit just after New Year’s I remember vividly. I went with my brothers, Bob and John, in John’s truck. A few days before he’d gotten sick while he was out somewhere and barfed on the side of his truck. It was January in Pittsburgh so the barf froze before he could clean it all off and as a result, the inside of the truck absolutely reeked. This is the kind of stuff that is hard to forget even if you try really hard. But it makes a great peg to hang other, more memorable, memories upon.
We were sitting in what appeared to be a church basement. There was a stage with metal folding chairs setup. It was sunny outside. We were sitting on two adjacent chairs in the first row while my son Henry was playing on the floor nearby. He appeared to be about three years old (in waking physical reality he is 12). We were talking about nothing in particular. My attention was immediately drawn to what she was wearing. At home she almost always wore a “house coat”. This particular one she had for a number of years during my childhood and seeing her wearing it, I could remember it quite well. A few days before this experience, I found some fabric from this house coat in one of the quit bags and although I recognized it, I wasn’t sure where from. I thought maybe it was one of my old dresses. But seeing her wearing this garment, the memory came back with utter clarity. Then I noticed her face, her skin, her hair – all of it is such perfect detail! Far more detail than I could remember in waking reality. It totally blew my mind.
So finally I said, “You know, I guess I just really don’t understand enough about how this whole being dead thing works.”