Hey, everyone. Yes, I know. I haven’t blogged in over a month. I’ve been busy writing Libra, Book 4, in The Sign Behind The Crime series. Scorpio is coming out in October, and I’ll do a blog for the cover reveal in the near future. I put this question in the title out to my social media a few weeks ago, and I received a lot of responses to my post with friends and followers relating their paranormal experiences, so I thought I’d do it on a wider scale for my blog. Please write your experiences in the comments.
My mother, Esther, passed April 17, 2004, so her sending me messages close to her day of passing made sense. It was three in the afternoon, and my coffee maker on my counter went on, boiled the water, and the light came on telling me the coffee was ready to brew. Um, that never happened before. So I thought it was my mother coming to say, ‘hello.’ I would have truly believed that except for the fact that I did not hear her voice, I did not get any message from her, and I did not have any physical sensations indicating her presence. When a spirit is making contact with you, you’d feel one of those.
There’s a difference between true intuition, and creative imagination. When someone thinks their spirit guide, or a spirit from someone who passed is communicating with them and they tell me affirmatively they are, I ask questions. For example, how long was your conversation? That one is major. Spirits make very short appearances. Two minutes or less. If someone tells me they spoke to the spirit for an hour, I’ll respond, ‘no.’ That’s creative imagination, not true intuition. I’ll ask, “What sensations did you feel in your body?” If there’s none, that’s not a communication.
Communications with my mother started six months after she passed, and I was wondering why it was taking her so long. I visited my crystal therapy teacher for some insight and for a session to find out why. During the healing session, lying on the massage table with stones all over my chakra points, my eyes were closed, and I went into a deep state of relaxation which is needed for communication to happen. I saw my mother with chords attached to me at six chakra points. She had not made the journey being so sick and frail, and she was stuck, appearing to float in space. Through the healing session–and I was able to tell the therapist what I saw–he cut the chords and gave my mother the ability to travel upward. My mother always told Bob and me to give her a ring on the phone to tell her we made it home safely, every time for thirty years. And we did. A few weeks after the chords were cut, my cell phone rang. The caller ID on the phone showed my mother’s Brooklyn phone number, from a landline. I answered and it was an Asian woman, obviously a wrong number. My mother’s number had been reassigned. That’s the rationale if you don’t believe in this. BUT… my mother’s number, calling me? Chills ran through me then, as they are now, with me writing this. As the ring on the phone was a symbol of safety to my mother, that ring on the phone that I received on my cell was her way of telling me that she arrived at her destination. There was a connection from something that did happen in real life to the message.
Regarding my coffee maker, it wasn’t a spiritual message. I must have played with the buttons and programmed something I shouldn’t have. And still, I haven’t figure out what happened.
I’d love for you to share your paranormal experiences in the comments.
To show you paranormal experiences in fiction, I’ll include in this blog two excerpts, one from Gemini, in which Dr. John Trenton feels his spirit guide, Max, enter his consciousness at a scene. The second will be a dream which rookie detective Samantha Wright has in Aries, where the decedent, Stephan Larcon appears to give her a clue to his murder. Both episodes of feeling the sprit are short and you’ll see what kind of physical responses the characters have.
There were no accessories on the night tables, which were a plain, light-toned wood. There was nothing to show that a vibrant, energetic, successful woman lived here. John began to take deep breaths. He focused and stared at the bed, embracing one of his clairvoyant visions. He shivered and felt his spirit guide, Max, jump into his crown chakra and travel through his body on the right side, his psychic side. The energy flowed from the top of his head through his body to his toes. His channels to the unseen opened. He concentrated his focus.
He tuned in psychically to Barbara who was wearing a long, sleeveless, black nightgown with ruffles around the neckline, tossing and turning. This appeared to be rough nightmare. He heard her screaming and crying with painful emotions that had overtaken her entire being. Real tears. This was more than a nightmare. This illustrated her life. She rolled from side to side on the bed then curled into the fetal position. Her screams of “No! Stop!” vibrated through him as if they arose from him. He felt the heat, sweating in the middle of February. He envisioned a muddy gray irregular chord of ragged-edged light, three inches in diameter, coming from her solar plexus and going down to the floor, attaching itself to the carpet.
He perceived blood on her hands, dripping onto the floor where the gray light landed as she callously laughed over her victim and then cried.
Who is that on the floor?
He couldn’t decipher if it was a man or woman, child or adult. Where was a weapon? How old was Barbara then? At that moment, she looked younger. He couldn’t tell how much younger.
It was just a hazy cloud. Less than two minutes. That was all Max gave him.
Carlson, who’d watched him from the doorway the entire time, awakened him. “Hey! psychic boy, wake up!”
John re-entered reality, so stunned it took a moment to recover. “Paul, you don’t do that to someone. Not when they’re not ready to come back.”
“Care to share where you went?”
“No. I need proof first.” John went to her dresser and was about to open the top drawer.
He still needed to shake off the uneasy feeling from Carlson’s abrupt awakening. He forced himself to open and shut his eyes repeatedly to refocus to the present.
She was trapped in a cave. In the middle of the desert. She didn’t know where. All she saw was blood dripping from the holes in the walls around her. Blood red. Drip, drip, drip. The puddles of blood spread all around her feet. She couldn’t move. Her wrists were tied above her head with metal cuffs bolted into the walls of the cave, her feet chained to the floor with metal ankle restraints. Her neck was held still by a tight spiked cuff, also chained to a spike in the wall. Rusty old spikes and chains. That was all she felt against her body. She was cold and clammy. She couldn’t move her head. He had stripped her naked. Her T-shirt and jogging pants lay crumpled in a puddle of blood. Where was her underwear? Why was she thinking of that? Her body had not been harmed. She hardly noticed.
He approached her, laughing. He mumbled words she couldn’t understand. She couldn’t identify him. His face was covered with a red knit ski mask. She scrutinized him, but she could hardly see.
The blood drops from the wall hit her head and rolled into her eyes. She blinked several times to clear her vision. Then she made him out. He wasn’t a huge man, nor small. His body was hairless without any tatts. He was naked, too. Then she let her gaze travel down and saw it.
He was missing his genitals. Steven Larcon.
He was trying to tell her something. She couldn’t understand. No. It was more like she wouldn’t let herself understand. She felt as if she had earmuffs on, and she didn’t.
From the distance—almost as if in wisps of air, a whirl of air, in gold and silvers—she saw Dara come through to her. She wore her usual sleeveless white flowing gown, with pleats throughout it and a low V neck. Her blonde curls were pulled up, away from her face, held with a barrette at the back of her head. The rest of her waist-length blonde hair cascaded down her back. Dara, her spirit guide, whom she hadn’t learned to trust completely. Her spirit guide whom she had been trying to ignore. Her intuition, that she had been trying to deny.
Dara came up behind Mr. Larcon. He pivoted toward her. Dara spoke to him. He responded. Damn! Why couldn’t she hear their conversation? Mr. Larcon stepped out of the way. Dara waved her hand and the wrist, feet, and neck restraints dissolved. Sam fell forward into a puddle of blood. She landed in the same position in which runners begin their races, fingers on the ground, knees bent, backside out. She bent her neck up toward Dara and Mr. Larcon. He pointed behind him. What was he pointing to? What was behind him? His past.
He was telling Sam to look into his past.
Sam jolted up in a cold sweat.
Oh my God. She was rattled from that dream. Analyze it quick, Sam before you forget.
Dara had sent a clear message. Sam should start trusting her and her own intuition. Steven Larcon told her to look into his past.
So maybe Adam or Jaye Manning aren’t the fifth target.
If the excerpts and blog caught your interest, and if you’d like to read the blurbs and reviews, here are the buy links for both books in The Sign Behind The Crime Series.
Amazon For both books in The Sign Behind The Crime Series, Kindle and Paperback
Barnes and Noble For both books in The Sign Behind the Crime Series, Nook and Paperback
Amazon CA For both books in The Sign behind The Crime Series, Ebook and Paperback
Amazon UK For both books in The Sign Behind The Crime Series, Ebook and Paperback
Please feel free to comment with your paranormal experiences.
The Sign Behind The Crime,