0 comments/ 3352 views/ 0 favorites Ghostly Manifestations By: TheSeasideOne The ocean glimmers in a myriad of soft reflective pastels as the tiny sounds it intimately holds are engulfed completely by the more robust waves reminding the shoreline that nothing is truly solid forever. The nautical conglomerate, so easily swayed by the pull of the moon and the warmth of prevailing winds, redefines itself, and all it's contents, with every passing second. In unending variation, the source of all life emanating from the murky depths struggles toward the jagged mountaintop, eternally searching for what it already intrinsically knows. The spirit refines itself with each individual impetus. Along with history's hundreds of tales liken to horrific sea serpents crushing long boats and the glorious romantic swashbucklers of old plundering, there roams the proprietor of a small voice seldom heard roving up from the sea, through villages, then city states and on through the wilderness. That small voice without physical apex has bourn the weight of the world on it's shoulders throughout centuries and civilizations, never able to tighten a hold upon the burden, for the source of the voice is perfect spirit. One infinitesimal fragment of manifestation past hand to mouth rock bed reality, sends shivers of delight down one person's spine and calls frightening dark demons into another's conscious quickly so the voice moves in silence more often than not. We cast images of perceptions beyond the surface of "things" to impart an understanding of "spirit" and with each description the allegory to suffice becomes something unique. The reason for this is because the ghost or spirit is no longer marking a place in time and singular imagery is inadequate. That larger essence is not bound by focal blinders so it occupies a greater breath than our senses can comprehend. Once in the nebulous spirit mold, these ghosts can, and do, live in more than one singular moment at a time. When contact with the living is established the comprehension of experiential multiplicity is disconcerting to human beings. Our individual brains are disrupted (at the stem) from the incongruity caused by multiple simultaneous experience. This is due to our own singular experiential conditioning from birth. That actually is a blessing in disguise for it illuminates the path living humans can take to help the troubled spirits find peace at last. With those things in mind we can examine three different encounters and see the way ghosts or disembodied spirits interact with the living. The first will be a group interaction. The second a forlorn encounter and the third an encasement that unfolds in mystery. All three hold one of the strongest elements in connecting the spirit realm to the living, and that is heartbreak. The first tale begins with a pioneer going out west to the gold fields with his young bride hoping to strike it rich and build a homestead. After finding a pretty little meadow on a hillside in the mountains just north of Groveland California, they dug a well and built a small house. Just for the sweet girl they put up a little picket fence to keep the varmints out of the garden. The love they both felt for each other was tremendous. On the other side of the barbed wire fence on the far hill lived the town's Preacher so they both felt safe there. Of course the Preacher was a wealthy man and even had a carriage house on the property that long since became a lodge and went through other changes over the years. These are impressions I got from walking among the ruins of The Pioneer and his wife's abode. There is one particular account that is amusing though I doubt it's validity. When I first saw it the only thing left standing of what my Uncle called the "prospector's place," was the fence gate and a few of the pickets. I opened the gate and walked through it. A magnificent vapor of intense love settled upon me and I was deeply affected by the power it had. As I slowly pieced the mystery together, drawn to that very feeling, I realized it was the love between the Pioneer and his wife that I felt back then. I was actually very young at the time. According to the story, no one had been able to open the gate as it had been stuck shut for nearly a hundred years. After I open it, I walked through as the feeling grew steadily stronger. I was almost thrown to the ground as I experienced such deep feelings. That's when several fragments of impression popped into my head. All of them were good feelings of these two celebrating their lives together but I couldn't process the impressions as they all came to me at the very same instant. It was then a slow process of recollection that allowed my brain to analyze them. Tragedy befell them in the long cold winter and the wife came up sick and passed away. Eventually, the Pioneer died as well in a fire that burned the house to the ground. All that was left of it, when I was there those long years ago, were some charred remains of the corners where the walls joined and part of the chimney they had made out of field stone and crude clay mortar. One old ceramic metal coffee cup lay rotting in the middle of where the building once stood. My Uncle owned the property and didn't want a single thing touched there. He just let it all go back to nature and never talked about it or any impressions he got from it. I asked more than once and he got a far away look in his eyes and as they clouded over, all he'd say is "that's where the old Prospector lived." He covered what was left of the well up, which amounted to nothing more than a deep hole in the ground, but never even tried to use it, that I know of.. Another impression was what led me to believe the story I am telling you took place. This time on a warm summer night I was laying in the house we were building, roughly thirty yards away from that spot. The house barely had the walls framed and the roof overhead but there was a sofa bed for me to sleep on. I was about eleven years old at the time and there was absolutely no reason for me to get the feeling that came over me. Amid the massive feeling people report having during meditation etc. where you are immensely large and at the same time immensely small, a profound and foreign sense of sadness washed through me. There was definitely a masculine essence to the perception. It was grief but I didn't know it at the time as I had never lost anybody near me until much later in life. The Pioneer had grieved for his wife for quite some time before the fire actually rejoined them. All of this was just the foundation of what was to follow. Not many days after that, I went down to Jamestown with my Uncle Bill. He parked the truck outside the place that used to be a bar. I waited in the pickup for him to go get something we needed and some food to make sandwiches out of. As I waited there, the three drunks who have been reported as haunting that spot approached me. These three have actually been on television with a well known psychic investigating it. Now the three of them seemed to still be inside the place and were calling to me from inside. That actually scared me out of my wits. I could feel all three of them impinging upon my very being. They were drunk and rowdy and once again the circumstances of their own lives were laid out before me all at once. They actually had died in a gun battle between them and something nefarious was at the core of their untimely deaths. They had been bilking all the prospectors who came to town and somehow they argued over it, which started the fight that killed them. Sensing all of this, in fact being thrust into the middle of it, and being there alone, made me feel like they were actually trying to get me. But after a short time the experience changed to a more relaxed and codifying one. They were trying to tell me something and I didn't understand what. As soon as my Uncle opened the door to the pickup the intensity of feeling vaporized but the memory seemed to linger on for the rest of the afternoon with me still not comprehending what they were trying to impart. A day or two later we were at a building supply store and another occurrence took place. Now bear in mind that there was no radio playing, no television, nothing in the way of possible input that could have put suggestion into my head, so that possibility is out of the question. As my Uncle was driving out of the parking lot a feeling, and vision, came to me. Once again, there was the experiential multiplicity very strong and quite unsettling. This time I not only heard the voice as if someone were actually speaking to me, I also saw a fellow who's face was right up in mine. At the very same time I perceived him walking up from the southern end of Groveland toward downtown. At that time the town hadn't really changed much over the last hundred years except the advent of electricity and use of automobiles so it looked the same whether I was seeing him walking in the present or perceiving one of his memories. I called the fellow Pistol Packing Pete because that's who he reminded me of. The gist of the conversation was that he was mad at The Preacher who he thought had killed The Pioneer, so he was going gunning for him. I mentally told Pistol Packing Pete that The Preacher was innocent and didn't kill The Pioneer. This seemed to satisfy old Pete and he vanished after a few more choice words and a great deal of grumbling. Now this apparition was spotted in those years by many people, but after that I don't recall anyone reporting having seen Pistol Packing Pete again. Apparently what I had to say to him had actually helped to put his soul to rest. The basic story I came to understand was that Pete didn't much like The Preacher who was the town's VIP. What The Preacher had allegedly been doing is dragging in converts by hook or by crook and that upset Pete who was less than pliable. When The Pioneer (or Prospector if you will) came up dead in the burned out house Pete thought The Preacher had killed him. It appears the whole problem had centered around The Preacher's Carriage House and the possibility that The Pioneer was caught snooping around in it. If we back track just a little when I first started going up to Groveland with Uncle Bill and Aunt Lil ... by the way, thousands of people called them Uncle Bill and Aunt Lil but they were truly my relatives. Uncle Bill was my mother's brother. Anyway, when I first started going up there, as any kid would do, I went exploring. I can remember walking for miles down the firebreaks in late summer and early autumn. It was breathtaking. The sweet fresh Mountain air and the stupendous colors of nature abound in a cornucopia of God's creation. I was never once concerned about Mister Bear coming to eat me for diner or even Dogs from neighboring properties attacking me on those firebreaks. One particular time my Cousin Hugh and I must have walked from mid-day until nearly nightfall down the firebreak that ran across my Uncle's place and far back into the deep woods. We knew we had walked well past the confines of Uncle Bill's as he only had 80 acres and had arranged to sell 40 of those to a friend of his. This was Stanislaus National forest and the firebreak was basically impassable for vehicles but a very comfortable stroll. The deer were plentiful and not a day went by without seeing or hearing at least one coming down for a drink of water from the spring. Gray squirrels played in the Sugar Pines and Oaks and I wished I had the ability to identify all the species of birds that sang in the trees. Our goal on that long hike was to see how far it was to somebody else's place and it was a tremendous distance. We did finally see another cabin nestled down about a quarter of a mile to the south of the trail and I for one was glad to head back for diner. Up in those mountains there was ample evidence of the Gold Rush days. Everywhere you looked you would see wooden "rockers" for sifting out gold from the dirt with long water troughs on stilts leading to them from tiny spring that had dried up long ago. Every few miles there would be a brick storehouse with Iron Doors protecting the contents. There were many artifacts laying on the ground, virtually everywhere from those days, and musing over what happened to those people was a popular pastime. That should give you a sense of the area and you should acknowledge that I felt perfectly safe there. Mister Bear seldom came visiting and when he approached, you would know in an instant, well in advance of his arrival, for all the deer scrambled hastily and the woods got deathly quiet, where ever his heavy foot fell. A deep sense of dread was abound throughout nature and if you were directly upwind you might not have smelled his scent but anywhere else the distinct odor of wild bear was easily discernable. One of the first things I found near Uncle Bill's place was the Carriage House across the spring and just a little ways up the next hill. The barbed wire fence that once stood between the properties had long since fallen to the ground and I didn't see it that day. The Carriage House was truly nothing more than a old ramshackle barn type structure only large enough to fit two carriages in it with a work bench at one end and one to the side. It was about to fall down back in the early sixties and is probably returned to the dust by now. One of the two doors was ajar but neither would move as I recall. The door ajar was jammed and tearing anything up was out of the question so I never actually went in there. When I discovered The Carriage House I thought it was on my Uncle's property but I later found out that it wasn't. It was obvious that no one had been inside the structure in a very long time. The cobwebs were so extensive it seemed as if there were curtains or thin transparent veils hung from all the rafters. I saw rattler nests also present inside, but thankfully, none of the ratters announced it to be their domain. There was almost enough of a carriage to actually be considered a complete one sitting in there under layer upon layer of silt, and pieces enough laying around to make yet another one. Actually the stuff was too old to be of any practical use and would have fallen apart had someone tried to recondition it. A few old hand tools were scattered around under at least three quarters of an inch of dust. I got up on tip toes and rubbed a spot clean in the little window to peer inside so I could see what was in there. Right then an extremely strange feeling came over me as if someone very large and powerful was standing directly behind me and shouting menacingly. It was a very overwhelming feeling. I surely must have looked like I had seen a Ghost, as I had! I later found out that was The Preacher. The words were indiscernible, devoid of sound, but the meaning was unmistakable. It was like a deep gray cloud had descended upon the area around this old ruins and around me specifically. This was totally out of sorts for my own true experiences up in those mountains. The message was "stay out! Get away from here!" There was a strong sense of ownership in the Ghost's intent. I didn't really need to be told twice so I took off scurrying down the hill and I didn't stop until I was standing in the spring water. For some reason that felt good despite the fact my shoes would be sopping wet all night. When I talked to my Uncle he told me that wasn't part of his property and I shouldn't be messing around that building. I didn't say anything about the Ghost as I was afraid he'd think I was crazy and didn't tell him about all the ratter nests because I didn't want his concern for my safety to limit my explorations. They didn't bother me and I didn't bother them. I did have a dream where I was actually seeing what must have happened many years before that. Through the Pioneers eyes he (or I) had gone into The Carriage House and was admiring one of the tools that was laying on the bench. There were no cobwebs or snakes there in the dream. The Pioneer was not a thief and he wanted and needed that tool but he couldn't bring himself to even borrow it without permission. Right then The Preacher came in and caught him. He began yelling at me (or the Pioneer actually) and The Pioneer was trying to explain that he hadn't taken anything and wasn't going too. At that point something frightened The Preacher half out of his wits. I don't know where it actually came from but it felt like something protecting The Pioneer from The Preacher's undue wrath. The Preacher ran off and The Pioneer was leaving when I woke up. The dream ended there and I felt very startled and disoriented for some time after awakening. What I believe happened was The Preacher was furious at finding The Pioneer in his Carriage House and something in the back of his mind had actually kept him from doing anything to the poor guy. What The Preacher saw was most probably discerned by him to be some huge unknown force that was protecting The Pioneer. What he would have probably thought, is that The Pioneer was in league with the Devil himself! Of course at the moment The Preacher wasn't seeing The Pioneer's innocence, his love for his wife, or the need within him. The sense I had was that The Pioneer was actually a young man at the time but that might have been clouded by the fact that I was in reality very young then. The sense of grief I felt over the death of The Pioneer's wife, prior to this occurrence, gave me the impression that he was not that young at all when he passed away. So perhaps that was how it all took place but it was not presented to me in a direct timeline so it is very difficult to say with any certainty. Down in town they have seen The Preacher many times over the years. He used to always walk along the sidewalk from the stores to hotel. Later, most times they saw him in the doorway of one particular store. You see, he was very afraid of Pistol Packing Pete who was coming to gun him down so when Pete relented The Preacher wasn't seen walking as often. Whatever happened in The Carriage House had given The Preacher a firm belief in Ghosts. So apparently he eventually became one himself and would preach the fear of the Lord, to warn people, then he would actually go into the Hotel to get away from Pistol Packing Pete. Pete's thinking that he had killed The Pioneer lead to the drunks down in Jamestown telling me to tell Pete that The Preacher didn't do it. And they chose me because I was the only person in the area that they were drawn too. At an impressionable eleven years of age I wasn't afraid of ghosts, I just didn't like how mean they seemed to be. It took many years for me to figure out that they weren't really trying to be mean. It was the multiple simultaneous experiences that confound and frighten living humans. In the dream The Preacher caught The Pioneer in The Carriage House but he didn't harm him. Whatever scared The Preacher most probably had him acting very defensively whenever he saw The Pioneer. And on top of that it put a conscious knowledge into The Preacher that there were forces stronger than nature itself surrounding The Carriage House. I do know that the descendants of The Preacher had stayed away from The Carriage House themselves and didn't want anybody going anywhere near it. Of course, the spiders and the snakes were reason enough, but I believe there was far more to it than that. Since I actually didn't go down into that little section of town very often that was said to be haunted by The Preacher I never encountered him after I figured out what was truly going on. From what I understand his visitations to the living were replete with moods. Sometimes it was fire and brimstone and other times he was very benevolent. I did see him in one of his more benevolent moments but I didn't think to tell him that the danger from Pete was over. He may still appear there but hopefully he got the message through the ether that all is safe and he has nothing to worry about. One day I will find out if he still appears, and if so, I'll tell him that he has been vindicated and what he saw was the essence of the love between The Pioneer and His Wife that was simply protecting The Pioneer and it was not The Devil on The Preacher's heels. I don't think it's necessary though. I believe he has heard my message and most probably rests in peace now. I'm not sure about the Lady who waits in the Hotel in Groveland though. I've never seen her and don't have a clue what's happening with her. It's quite possible she waits there to comfort The Preacher when he comes to hide from Pistol Packing Pete. Ghostly Manifestations But you see the entire thing was borne of love. The Preacher loved his religion and the importance of the little community, Pistol Packing Pete loved freedom and The Pioneer and His Wife loved each other! Some of those experiences were really frightening to me when I was a kid and I didn't truly understand what it was all about back then. What that truly entails was something I've since learned is accepted fact. Groups of people do go through lives together and return over and over again to perfect their spirits. Their souls are connected and combine into a larger soul or essence if you will and all of those people were intimately connected to each other. Next we have a common story but I swear to God I actually witnessed it! I was camping in a pristine little camp ground just south of Mendocino Village. It was a cozy little place with only a few sites nestled in the trees right next to highway One. It was very quiet there and naturally verdant green. A tiny creek ran out to the sea which was only maybe 150 yards from the camp ground. As you may know in that area the mountains actually go all the way down to meet the sea unlike other places in California that have miles of flat land before you see ocean. To me that was the best of both worlds. I love the mountains but I grew up down in the Los Angeles area where the beach is always only a few miles away. So there I was with my wife and our young son camping to get away from the stifling summer heat of the big valley. It was a cool night and the only people around were divers who were too tired from their day of underwater discoveries to be making much of a fuss. First I felt something coming over me as if someone was calling to me but there was no voice and no sound other than the hypnotic ocean waves rhythmically trouncing the sandy beachhead and the lazy crackling campfire. I started looking around and I saw a beautiful brunette woman emerge from around the cliff. Before she ever looked at me it was as if I could hear her thoughts of resignation. She looked my way for an instant and a chill ran down my spine. She walked across the street (Highway 1 in that spot is really nothing more than a street with one lane of traffic in each direction). She had a shawl wrapped around her and the wind kept tousling it and her long dark hair. For some reason what I was seeing was a breath taking beauty and the feminine pulchritude was as thick as butter or ice cream. That luscious hair seemed to dance on the wind and the way she moved was like she was gliding with extreme deliberence, treading ever so softly as she walked. At that place, the beach is not very big and it does go gently down to the sea with no crags or anything to obstruct your view. She turned back around and looked into my eyes for a moment. The woman's gaze was absolutely electric! She had a very strong feeling of remorse and sorrow as if she truly was completely broken hearted. She turned around and looked out to the ocean. I remember watching her long dark hair flowing out behind her and shimmering in the moonlight and that shawl whipping around revealing a model's figure in a long dress. I actually did not look away as I wondered what the girl was going to do. I actually wanted to ask her to come sit with us by the fire and be warm. But before I moved a muscle she vanished right before my eyes! She didn't turn to walk or anything. No car went by on the street. Nothing distracted my view of this woman. One second she was there and the next she was not! What I felt from her when she looked into my eyes was profound heartbreak. My heart went out to the poor girl and I felt like I wanted to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. It was all very compelling. I felt as if she had told me her whole life story in the twinkling of an eye and with that instant communication the feeling of majestic love came over me. Just before she turned to look out at the ocean her eyes softened for an instant as if she felt my concern for her and was edified. The compelling nature of this girl's spirit was overpowering. And when she disappeared I felt a distinct feeling of loss. There are a lot of stories about "the preverbal young woman with everything to live for" who threw herself in the sea and drowned over lost love but that's not how this particular story ended. Here she was standing on the beach far from the shore and just vanished. For several years there were claims of sightings of a young beauty going down to the ocean and disappearing in it, but in recent years there hasn't been as many. On top of that, it is my understanding that most of those sightings were around the Carmel area and that is a great many miles south of Mendocino. The experience had me shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. I asked my wife if she saw that and she replied nonchalantly, "That girl. Yeah I saw her." The girl didn't look into my wire's eyes and my wife barely noticed her. In astonished tones I said, "She just vanished!" My wife replied, "You probably just didn't see her leave." I knew better than to make a big deal of it, but that whole night I kept feeling this woman's spirit all around me. From time to time I do see the woman again in dreams or she crosses my mind and I wonder who and where she is, or if she really was a ghost. You'd think now that I'm not married I'd be more wrapped up in the mystery woman but no, I just chalk it up to something else inexplicable happening in my life. The thing that was odd here was that there was no fragmentation of events. I didn't perceive any pieces of memories or speculations coming from her or surrounding her. Everything seemed like it was in order. In fact the clarity of it all was amazing. They say when people commit suicide there is often a moment of extreme clarity when their decision to do so has been made. I don't know if that was what it truly was or not. All I know is, if the girl is a real live human being I'd truly love to meet her now that I'm not married to somebody else anymore. What I felt coming from that woman was truly supernatural and profoundly intimate even though we were never even remotely near each other. Was she actually a ghost? Well she didn't have a sign on her saying so but after feeling those extremely powerful emanations and watching her disappear I'd have to say she probably was. Now before we begin the third examination I have to add here that I have been accused of being an empathic psychic myself. I have also been accused of many other things that definitely aren't true but I will admit the paranormal is more normal to me than many other people. I see and accept those things more readily so they happen to me more frequently. Along with other paranormal experiences there have been many instances involving "spirits" I won't go into here. Just one example that took place in the house my family called home for over forty years will suffice. My younger brother who had died in the living room made a startling show one night. I was getting ready to move to another city and while sitting there in the living room with a couple of friends I stood up, held my arms up and asked, "Well Mike are you ready to get out of here?" To answer my question, the army coat he wore all the time when he was alive was hanging on a coat rack by the kitchen door as it had for months, maybe even a year or more, gave the response. No one was standing or sitting anywhere near it. It lifted off the coat rack, moved over an inch or two and fell on the floor. My comment then was, "Yep, Mike's ready." The two friends who were sitting there were freaked out a little and we all had cold chills running down our spines. That didn't just happen. Mike answered me. So now we can begin the journey toward the third occurrence. The actual manifestation was but a infinitesimal glimpse that lasted only a couple of seconds in human cognitive terms. I was sight seeing in Eureka California and one of the attractions there are several extremely impressive buildings. Most are old Victorian Estates which are marvelous examples of craftsmanship and architecture. Though I wouldn't even want to live in a Victorian home preferring Frank Lloyd Wright's architectural philosophy and the concept of feng Shui (i.e. fung shuay) I marvel at the work that went into those grand homes. It was almost like in the movies. I was sitting in the car outside one such Mansion looking at how marvelous it was, when an extremely strong perception hit me. It was an energy that was lacking any continuity and came from well behind the dwelling on the bay's shoreline and to the right of the mansion as you look in from the street. It turned my head to the side slightly and in involuntary response my head flew back and I recoiled. Had I been standing I probably would have jumped backward. The feeling was that strong! It was almost as if I had been electrocuted by free power again and had to pull myself away from it. As the sorrowful verve encumbered me everything was a complete blur. I had to fight my way free of the perception. It took quite a while for it to filter down and compartmentalize into conscious thoughts I could examine. All of the ear marks of contact with a disembodied spirit were there. Bodily sensations (i.e. an instant cold and clammy feeling mixed with an eerie warmth, shivers, increased heart rate etc.) and the psychological manifestations all matched several prior experiences but this was more powerful. Intense in fact! I have to point out to you here that it takes time to let the impressions sink in because the things that are more important to spirits are not necessarily event identifiers. Take for instance the event of their deaths. You would think that would be of profound significance to a spirit but I find that generally isn't the case at all. Their deaths are of little to no significance to them. Death appears to simply be a doorway they have already past through. The feelings which effected them the deepest, in the defining moments of their lives, is more important. So important, in fact, that the events which forced those feelings to arise may be extremely hard to discern. The only way that I seem to be able to comprehend what they are imparting is by lingering in the feeling and it's engrams until it contains enough realism and depth for me to piece together the events of the situation. I do feel their pain but it isn't my pain so I can let it go easily. And realize I don't go looking for these occurrences. If they happen around me then okay what's all this about? Otherwise I'm quite satisfied to pursue my own life among the living. After a great deal of examination I pieced together all the fragments that seemed to emanate from that essence. What I envisioned may well be the events of this particular spirit's existence and I think I know what it would require for the person to find peace. Framing the situation we find, the place was Eureka, the first capitol of California. As it grew from the early days into a bustling lumber town William Carson and his partner John Dolbeer quickly became forerunners in that industry. When William Carson built the beautiful Victorian Mansion on M Street and 2nd, now owned by the Ingomar Club, the wood available for him to construct it from was at a pinnacle of quality throughout the world. It's actual address is 143 M St. It is a private club and the mansion is their "Club House." The place is beautifully maintained and is the most photographed Victorian in California, if not in the United States. Many people come to Eureka just to see that very mansion as well as many other Victorians there, just as I did the day I had the brief encounter. Mister Carson was a revered member of the burgeoning society and his wife was a wonderful person. I tell you this because I don't believe the story has anything to do with them or even his partner. Though his partner's wife did commit suicide that event took place in San Francisco many years after what I believe happened. Imagine a gorgeous young lady, prim and proper, growing up in Eureka, a town filled with rowdy loggers and smelly fishermen. News of other places came as grandiose enchantments by way of Steam Ships, and eventually, from the train that finally linked Eureka to Sacramento as well. San Francisco was the epoch of high society on the West Coast and this young woman must have been eager to hear every tidbit of news from those places. She appeared to be the toast of the town among her peers with ample charm and grace to fortify her position in society. Her bearing was that of a young woman from a well do to family. But there was a brooding essence about her as well. She definitely felt isolated from what she knew her potential was, yet she renewed her cheerfulness with hopes of future progress. The sweet girl's rosy cheeks and upturned nose caught the eye of many suitors. There was a older man in the community involved in politics who held considerable power and he was absolutely taken with this girl. He longed for her touch, her attention and her love but she was not interested in him. She felt a strong bond between herself and her friends and was eager for them all to flourish together in the boundless expanse of a young, vital, America. The older man had already faced all his trials and tribulations and she felt as if she would only be window dressing for his lifestyle, lingering futile as he sat back on his laurels. She was far too anxious for adventure and also willing to test her own mettle to resign herself to that. Eventually she fell in love with a hard working "logger" who was a good hearted man that treated her very well even thought they didn't have a great fortune. Their dreams were such that they aspired to great heights and doubtlessly William Carson was either their (or her) mentor or someone they both venerated. Her lover was the rock she based all of her desires upon. The older man was not pleased at the loss of this young woman to anyone, much less a lowly "logger!" He felt the roust about woodsmen were all a dime a dozen and kept trying to force the two young lovers apart. He was certain he could then maneuver himself into becoming the object of her affection. The shrewd old "gentleman" stood in the way of all the young couple's hopes. One day in Humboldt Bay the logger was floating a great many redwoods into the mill when a guide chain snapped and his body was crushed by the giant logs that were suddenly at the mercy of the headwater's thrust. His torso was mangled and his vital organs crushed. He desperately clung to life as the other workers summoned his young wife to his side. She did arrive, but only in time to see the last glimmer of life slip away from her true love and the void was too far a distance. She stood in horrible shock as his blood washed from the bay and out into the ocean. A thousand thoughts raced through her brain as she felt her very life force wither into dismal numbness. Among those thoughts were suspicions that the older man had something to do with her true love's demise, as he was always meddling in their lives. She also cursed the gaiety of how she busied herself that day, thinking that if she were not out having fun with friends, she could have at least been there in time to say a final goodbye to the sweet gentle man who was her whole world. Those two ideas overtook what was left of her life from that point on. She became more and more sullen and more and more suspicious. She was not only suspicious of the older man's every move she also questioned everyone and everything around her. Nothing in life held significance and she was constantly drawn back to the water's edge while she tried relentlessly to make the recollection turn out differently, but it was all in vein. She saw all too clearly what had happened that foggy day and it was far too hideously vivid for the memory to fade. After biding his time when the older man tried to approach her she reacted violently, spurning his attention with vehemence. Her reaction to even his mere presence bid him never attempt to communicate with her again. He couldn't explain to her that he truly did not have anything to do with the guide chain breaking. To appear above reproach in her eyes was tantamount in his desire. There would certainly never be a day when he told her that arson was his specialty and he already attempted to have the forest her husband's team was working from burned down but rain had foiled his plan. The torch man he dominated would not commit direct murder for him and he certainly could not tell her he'd already suggested it, in a rum soaked rendezvous, to no avail. Explaining his next devious plan to have her and everything else he wanted, was to burn down the very mill most people in town worked at, was also out of the question. So his own underhanded activity defeated him because his guilt in other matters would show through his honest report that he didn't do this to her husband. She would see through him for she was his weakness and he could not hide from her focused suspicions. She barely ate and seldom slept. Her heart withdrew into the solace of darkness never opening the blinds in her home or dropping the shield around her soul. She even blamed God for her husband's premature death. She hated the night and cursed each day and that ghastly fog clinging to everything was her mortal enemy for it was a constant reminder of the only thing she felt after seeing her husband's crushed body. When her life slipped away from her, she was too weak to even notice it was gone. On into the realm of spirit, she kept blaming herself for not being there in time to at least hold her dying husband to her breasts. On into the afterlife, she kept reliving the appalling tragedy begging to the one who's life was cut short. On into the hereafter, she mourned. More than a hundred years have past since the two lovers parted in that dreadful way and even though time hasn't stood still it has done little to aid the young woman's despair. The young Logger waits outside time for their reunion and surely at any instant she will be there. In his heart and mind only minutes have past by and his beguiling young sweetheart must clearly be listening to yet another story of high society coming straight from the latest steam ship's arrival. Any second she will burst in with another wide eyed exuberant tale and he will smile at her and hold her in his arms while supporting her dreams with equal enthusiasm. His spirit is alive and well so the dreadful day never occurred to him. The way to bring this young woman peace is to present her husband to her. The key is to do it in such a way as to hold her attention while explaining that in the afterlife they are both perfect and whole again. She must be convinced to put her faith in God once more so the miracle of their reunion can take place. With God's help I actually believe I could accomplish this. There are two reasons I think that. The foremost reason is that I do have the capability to project an image of myself that can resemble other people. As my being communes with someone I tend to present a mirror-like image of them. That is actually called Avloketsvarian wisdom by the Tibetans. I don't need to know what the young woman's husband looked like. All I need to know is what he "was" like, and I believe I do know that. There is cause to trust that I surely must have been similar to him in some way, either in appearance or spiritually, in the first place since she was clearly beckoning to me. The other reason is that throughout my life many people have claimed I look like Jesus. I can convey that semblance with calm love and meditative capacity as well as holding altruistic intent in my conscious mind. Selflessness must also be brought along into the foreground of my consciousness which is something I can accomplish easily especially when I don't have worries of my own to chain me to my identity. But in order for her to actually reach the peace of their eternal reunion she must "let go" of the world. For someone who has died young that can be a terribly difficult thing for them to do. Their youthful vigorous energy is transferred into spirit and their worldly desires attach them firmly to the illusion of life continuing. The hundred years have at last prepared her for her transformation and it is time. Ghostly Manifestations Here is the danger in trying that. I'm certain I can let her beloved stand enlivened amply within my countenance, for a time, and also certain that I can convince her that I am on a Mission from God so to speak. But the problem becomes that if she is too convinced that her husband lives within me she will cling to me instead of wanting to move on into the afterlife that she should be experiencing. Her spirit must seek out her real husband's essence and know it is not lost or gone from the world she now truly resides in. Those blinders must be removed from her residual soul. There must also be a reason for her to give me back to the world I live in and let me be myself again, to help her find her husband's spirit in total. The plan I had formulated for that to take place easily has not manifest but there are other ways to make that happen also. I would truly love to help this eternally, young woman find the peace and contentment she actually deserves. So one day, in secret, perhaps the Ingomar Club would allow me to walk out past the Carson Mansion to the bay if I asked them. It appears significant that I walk in that very direction from the Estate's grounds since William Carson was an extremely important figure in her life and her friends were his employees. I will not trespass on their property. So if I manage to make my way there again perhaps I can help her but how do you put such a request to members of a private club you know absolutely nothing about? Especially when you have no doctorate in paranormal psychology, you are not a "Ghost Chaser," and everything you have done in that respect has thankfully remained unknown. Maybe you write a story and smile as you call it fiction! * © 2008 The Seaside One All Rights Reserved