I’m not going to run up to you in the street and tell you, “Aunt Tilly says she buried the gold under the old oak tree in the backyard.” I’m not going to jump and shriek in reaction. Typically what I do is pretty boring on the outside, and not visible to bystanders.
I’m a medium and a psychopomp. “Psychopomp” is defined by Dictionary.com as:
“a person who conducts spirits or souls to the other world, as Hermes or Charon.”
It’s a beautiful practice. It did not come easy, that’s for sure. For lots of reasons, including me going through periods of “Nope, nope, nope, that’s not what I’m seeing.” Eventually though, I had to come to terms with it. No, really. It wasn’t always smooth sailing. It got downright rocky, a lot.
But they were ultimately all worth it. Including the “Oh shit!” moments of sheer terror. Yeah. Had those. Lots.
One that’s still vivid happened back in 1997 when I was in England. My friend and I were staying in a youth hostel that was a converted 16th century manor house. It was so cool! I just love old houses and their character. This was my first time in the U.K. and I was thoroughly entranced. I was young, single and traveling with my bestie. Life was sweet. I knew I was sensitive, and had gone through a period of practicing Wicca and so had a decent sense of my own abilities. Not surprising then that they pinged like crazy the second I walked through the door.
This’ll be fun! TBH, at that time, staying in a haunted manor house in England was a bucket list item.
Me: Haunted 16th Century House?
Yeah. I didn’t realize how much I’d regret my excitement at staying in this old haunted manor.
Getting up in the middle of the night is a shock to the eyes when you go from pitch-black room to well-lit hall. The hostel was a somewhat run-down version of its former grandeur, but still graceful. I stood in a wide, empty hall that circled the entire upper floor. Rooms on one side, and a lovely sculpted balustrade on the other overlooked the foyer below. I had a hard time seeing them though. My vision wavered from the rush of tears at the sudden assault of light on my retinas. I managed two or three steps. Enough to get me centered and aimed in the right direction before covering my eyes with the heels of both hands, rubbing to ease them from the stabbing light. I kept walking, thinking the way was clear.
And full on ran into a man. Physically. Rocked me back on my heels and I felt every inch of his body against mine. Torso, legs and arms. He was a bit taller than me, and my face was at his chest level.
In that split second before I pulled my hands away from my eyes, I was absolutely convinced I’d somehow missed that there was another person in that hall in the middle of the night. Not impossible. My vision had been enough to get me centered in the hall, but finer details like a person a bit away from me could have easily been missed.
That hallway was empty. Completely. As in I could see the whole floor now. Wide walkway, every door circling the floor was closed and the silence was unbroken.
Except by my startled, “I’m sorry!” It came out strong but died off when my hands fell away from my eyes and I realized I was completely alone. No doors had opened or closed.
I’d just full-on run into a ghost.
Not in the cool, paranormal romance, just-ran-into-super-sexy-ghost way. Although, that might make a good story…
Nope, this was very real and I was damn-near-pee-my-pants terrified. Because this was one of my strongest, most physical paranormal encounters, ever. I stood for a few seconds, my eyes now fully functional. The only thing in the hallway besides faded carpet and dust was a black cloud. It boiled in the corner where the hall bent at ninety degrees about eight feet away, radiating hate and anger.
I jumped sideways through the only open doorway on the hall, to the lady’s loo. Not ashamed to say it, I hid. Then I heard this guy in my head. Laugh. At me.
“You can’t stay in there forever.”
Unfortunately he was right. I ran back down that hall to my room and dove under the covers.
It doesn’t work in real life. The monsters know you’re there.
He must’ve used up whatever energy he had for manifesting in that one brief moment. He couldn’t do anything but fling ugly thoughts and images at me, but he was inside my head. Closing my eyes didn’t help. The room was as black as the back of my lids and I saw the pictures no matter what.
He loomed over me. Not a good-looking guy. Scraggly hair and teeth, and both were an ugly pale yellow. His skin was pockmarked and scarred. A stained green sweater rolled at neck and wrists. He grinned and pushed down on my shoulders, and suddenly my head was underwater. I was bent backward over a barrel. Rough wooden slats dug into my back, and I looked up at someone different. A burly dark-haired male, features blurred by the rippling water as I struggled and fought.
“That’s how I died. That’s who killed me!” Again his voice was in my head. “That’s my murderer!” The pictures kept shifting back and forth; between his ugly mug and staring up through the water and rim of the barrel at the shadowy man holding me under.
I panicked. I’d never before encountered a being so relentlessly malevolent. He was a human spirit, but he’d had plenty of time to pick up tricks to make him extraordinarily unpleasant to sensitives. He got a kick out of it, I could tell.
I had no clue what to do. I had a clue what shields were but I’d never had to use them in this sort of situation. The surprise attack had me completely off guard.
His only thought was to terrify me, making me relive the moment of his death over and over, just the way he did. He was stuck in a loop he’d been unable to escape for centuries.
This is pretty common.
Ghosts, dead humans who are stuck here on Earth, are often tied here because of traumatic death. They relive it, the pain, the horror, and they project at anyone they can. For some it’s an unconscious reflex, for others like this guy, it becomes a source of malicious pleasure to inflict anguish on the living.
Human sensitives, living ones, can pick up on these either unconsciously or deliberately. Even people who don’t think of themselves as sensitive can get unexpected waves of fear, or anxiety seemingly from out of nowhere because of these projected emotions.
As I found out, this can be pretty overwhelming.
In 1997, I’d had some experiences with the paranormal, but this was far and away more than anything I’d ever come across. I was years away from learning what a psychopomp was, let alone that this was one of my particular gifts.
I just wanted him to go away and stop showing me his scary pictures. I didn’t treat him with compassion, instead I yelled for help and shoved him back psychically just enough to get some space between him and me. My spirit guardians came in and did what they do, they protected me, and drove the ghost away.
He didn’t go far, just into the corner of the room. But he was off me, and I could breathe again without feeling like I was choking on centuries-old water pouring down my throat. With my spirit guides standing guard I even managed to drift back off to sleep. When morning came, he was gone.
I didn’t care if he crossed over, or found peace. And I could not wait to check out of that hostel the next morning.
Working with spirits who are traumatized means you are likely to be on the receiving end of their suffering. This can take the form of physical attacks in some extreme cases. Dealing with these beings takes absolute confidence in your own spiritual and psychic abilities.
It also takes a deep amount of compassion.
Back then, I wasn’t there. I didn’t have the experience, skills or confidence to meet that ghost from a calm headspace and with a loving heart. Which is what it takes to assist these beings who are stuck. Their wounds and grief are all they know. They can’t conceive that there’s a place for them where they can be healed and leave that pain behind. This is why I refer to them as being “stuck.” They can’t move on from that space on Earth – for whatever reason.
Getting them to “cross over” or move on is more a matter of pointing out the path, and showing them the way. It’s their choice, but they have to make it.
I have never “made” a spirit cross over. Again, I’m not that kind of medium. I do have allies in the astral realms who are dedicated to helping these spirits, who act as guides from that side. I act as a sort of bridge between the ghost and the astral guides.
I get the attention of the ghost focused on me, and then my allies call in the deceased’s loved ones and spirit guides. Between me and my allies, we reconnect the deceased with his loved ones already in spirit.
Once the stuck ghost realizes that love and home wait, not punishment, they run to meet their spirit family. I don’t do anything beyond talking to the ghost, and pointing out that there’s a better place than clinging to the past and their wounds.
It’s beautiful. It’s transformational. It’s humbling.
Now, I’d love to go back and see if that ghost is still “stuck” and see if he’s interested in moving on.
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