My Mother Path
My path through discovering myself as a mother, teacher and self.
I’ve often wondered about portals. Most of what I’ve read talks about places being portals. Yet what about people? Is it possible for a person to be a portal or just to be some type of attracting mechanism for spirits?
All my life I’ve experienced spirits, no matter where I lived. There was a time when this experience seemed to leave my life, but I think it was more because I was focusing and preoccupied by other events in my life.
I grew up in a very small town in NW Pennsylvania. The house we lived in had two rooms in the upstairs and a smallish attic place. When you walked up the stairs , the two rooms were on the left and the attic was a small room with a low ceiling on the right that was situated over part of the kitchen. I hated that space, there was something dark and scary there.
We lived in that house from the time I was about 6 months old until I was almost 11. I usually had the smaller bedroom in the back of the house. It wasn’t a bad place, had a window on the back wall that overlooked our back yard and a small closet. I did not like the closet. Something dark lived in there as well.
What really spooked me about that room was some nights I would go to bed and sometime during the night while I was sleeping, the window would disappear and a long hallway would appear out that window. It was nicely lit, not too bright and not too dim. There were many doors down that hallway. I would walk down that hallway and open a door. There would be children living there. I knew they were spirits, and they all seemed to be grumpy or gloomy. It made me sad to see them in the rooms. They didn’t seem to be able to leave the rooms, it seemed they were stuck there like in some type of limbo. I can remember one little boy sobbing for his mom. I didn’t like that hallway, I always wished that it would disappear. Once in a while at the end of the hallway there would be a bright light. Then, the next time the hallway would appear, there may be different kids in the rooms.
When my parents would switch rooms with me and put me in the front room, I would dream that there was another city of kids of sorts under the front sidewalk. While I would visit there, one of my favorite places, the kids would be running and playing and riding bikes. I felt welcomed there, the kids were happy. I knew that we were under the ground and I could see the ground around us, but if I looked up, I could see the underside of the sidewalk.
I often wondered why the kids “down below” were happier than the kids “up above”. Growing up Lutheran I thought that it should be opposite. Although the “up above” hallway seemed unsafe, unsecure, lonely. The “down below” city seemed warm and kind, safe and secure.
We moved when I was in the fifth grade, I was 10, almost 11. I missed those places, even the “up above” hallway. I worried about the kids, hoped that they all passed through the light at the end of the hallway. It didn’t hit me until later when I thought about the amount of kids that I remember seeing. Some I can still remember what they looked like and what they sounded like.
In the new house, these visions/visitations, what ever you may call them, seemed to stop. One day, sometime in 1984 a young boy, whose family went to our church and were good friends of ours, died. It was a very sad moment for me for I had never personally known anyone younger than me to die.
Four years later I was living alone in Baltimore, Maryland. It had been quiet for me, no visitations. I had met who is now my ex husband. A fine young specimen of a southern gentleman, or so I thought. I had to keep any visions at bay. Never telling him of what I see or feel. He grew up a Jehovah’s Witness, although he no longer practiced that religion, I thought that he had moved on. Slowly over the next few years I would notice this was not completely true.
One night we were sleeping, and I went into one of the most vivid dreams. Having smothered these visions, this one shook me hard. I dreamt that I was back at my home church in my home town. I was in the narthex, there were a bunch of relatives and friends there. A lot of them had been dead. One of my grandmothers, who had passed on, came up to me and hugged me. She told me that I looked absolutely beautiful. I felt as though I was floating. Not really suppose to be there, but not really wanting to leave. My mother had tears in her eyes. They started talking about me getting married. A strange feeling came over me. A feeling of elation, yet wonder. How did this happen? I asked who I was to be married to, as I remember just getting married to the southern gentleman (who now abused me). They said “Gary,” and I realized as they looked in his direction who they meant. I turned and saw him for the first time in so many years. He was so healthy and beautiful. I started gasping and things became foggy. Then I was on a bridge. I didn’t know which way to go. I heard my father’s mother call to me. She and I use to be close, but she had passed right before I had decided to move to Baltimore. She understood me, she understood my visions, and I could talk to her. The other thing, she was one of the only ones who was not at the church in my vision.
I walked towards her. She was so pretty and had such a glow to her. She asked me if I was ready. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but instinctively I told her no. She told me that she knew that already and that I wasn’t ready, and it was time for me to go back. When she said the word “back” pain and light hit me. I woke to another slap in the face and my ex getting ready to slap me again. I yelled at him and he stopped. He told me that for some reason I had jut stopped breathing for about five minutes (of course, time could be off because of his fear). I didn’t tell him what I had seen, I just told him that I wasn’t sure what had happened.
From that moment on, I started having more visitors. There was the guy who had committed suicide in the storm water management pond behind our complex, there was the mysterious person by our train stop. Some months were worse than others. And as my ex’s controlling nature grew, so did the way I could feel when his anger would escalate.
We had finally started to separate and I met and fell madly in love with my now husband. For a while, the visions continued. I described his dead grandfather who had lived in his house for a time without ever seeing a picture of him. I described visions of when he would drive his 1970 GTO down certain roads when certain songs would be on. I felt everything, I could talk to him about everything, I felt open and free.
Then kids started to come along and these visions faded. Once in a while someone would pop through and I would talk to them.
And then he broke my trust and I stopped trusting in my feelings, my visions, myself. I closed down, shut everything off. Slowly, he regained what I would let him. Slowly I tried to trust in myself.
We moved to my father’s mother’s house, which my husband bought as a present for me. I am grounded here, although I am in a tunnel where I have a hard time finding those that have the same openness of mind as I do. At times I feel smothered. But when I relax and am free to be here and let my soul free, the visions come back. Now mostly while I’m in the shower or in the kitchen.
At times while in the kitchen I see a small boy in my back yard. He’s maybe 8 or 9 years old. Dressed back in the early 1900’s style clothing. White or cream colored shorts and shirt with a large collar. He just stands in the middle of the yard and looks at the house. Other times I will let the dog out or go out the side of my house and see the lady who use to live in the house next door. Although my father had torn the house down many years ago, I can still see her in her kitchen working.
But the shower, that’s the magical place. The picture I posted is one of two that I had one day, and had the wits about me to take a picture of the two visitors. One picture was of a young girl. Seemingly of wealthy status because the lady behind her had an air of a governess of sorts.
These pictures are of people, animals, birds, places, elementals and even some other worldly looking creatures or gods. I don’t always have time to take a picture to document. And it doesn’t happen every day. I suds up my scrunchy and take care of washing myself (not to be too personal) and sometimes when I turn towards the shower curtain, there is a picture. I try to feel what they are wanting to tell me or show me then I thank them for allowing me the opportunity to have a visit with them. By then the suds are slowly sliding down the curtain and they move on, almost as if on a continuous trip - moving on to the next.
Am I a portal of sorts or just a conduit?
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