Throughout my lifetime folks have asked me when I became aware of my sensitivities. I usually keep the answer simple, maybe even a little vague because I know very well the exact pinpoint when I knew. It just that it shocks me because it happened at such an early age. I know no other way of life and I still struggle to accept this, but I do. I knew at the time deep inside that whatever I had was something different, maybe even frightening and I was not going to ever have the safety that my siblings or my parents had.
Fall is by far my favorite season. I was born in the Fall. The energy is so beautiful, so eerie. I love the idea of everything dying only to be renewed again and rise from the ashes like the Phoenix. Fall was also the time period where the dark spirits first showed up. It was November 1969. I had just turned five. The occurrences in our home had became very prominent. We had lived on Goat Island for less than a year and before that we lived with my fathers family in Augusta. The Augusta days were some of the happiest times of my life. Those memories sustain to this day as I would never be able to replicate them. They made me feel safe and grounded. Goat Island however was seemingly haunted. And so was I.
The supernatural events in the Goat Island home had begun to escalate. Rosaries that were draped on the doorknobs started to swing like pendulums, pictures fell from walls, plaster fell from the ceiling, and doors opened and slammed shut on their own. The sound of loud crashes could be heard throughout the home but when we went to investigate there was nothing to be found. This became the norm for me and my family. This time period marked a significant change in my personality. I became very withdrawn and spent countless hours at the library looking for books that would explain what was possibly happening to me.
My father had decided that our home was haunted and he thought by moving us to the next town over things might settle down for me. My father was by his nature logical, levelheaded but quietly compassionate. He never blamed me for the things that went on in our home unlike mom. He attributed the events to externals. Still, I felt guilty and only wanted to be normal. This set me apart and because of my Catholicism it had to be kept quiet, away from prying eyes. At this age I actually believed that these experiences would stop on their own. I thought it was situational and was only related to the home that currently we lived in. We would soon be proven wrong by the Universe.
Moving to our new home on the mainland only helped temporarily. Within three weeks the activity returned and in this home I was hearing disembodied voices and loud gravely male voices that seemed to know my name and what events were in store for me. The daily feeling of fear was now permanent. The anxiety that this brought along was also permanent. At my young age I began to feel a warrior being formed within me. This would be permanent too. I was here to fight, at least that is how it felt since these entities had shown up. Choosing bravery would be my only real option. I wasn’t afraid of ghosts or Angels. It was the darker spirits the jarred me.
For those that think I have a choice in these gifts they are in fact mistaken. I would put the Catholic Church in that category. Looking back I can clearly see that these abilities have always been with me, increasing with frequency and intensity depending on where I was living or who I was interacting with. It wasn’t anything I really wanted or cultivated. I somehow knew though that this was who I was meant to be and if I didn’t help others it was most certainly going to be felt as a curse. I now feel that we don’t choose who God works through, God chooses who he works through.
