Where do I go from here? A good question indeed, actually I had more questions than answers. Our home happened to be the oldest farm house in the area, built in the late 1800’s. Prior to anyone settling in the district, it had the distinction of being a site where young Aboriginal boys were circumcised after their initiation. They would run from what is now the top of the street, go through whatever process was required, and were then relieved of their foreskins about fifty metres down from where the house now stands. The outline of a small bora ring could still be made out and oddly enough, every spring a fine stand of small, wild plum tress would sprout. Our neighbour, a builder had bought the kitchen, a separate structure from our house, when the owner passed on. He moved it to his block, put it on stumps, built in underneath and used it as a house. Apparently he also inherited the ghost of a woman, she would always turn up when they had a party and walk down the stairs. They used to host exchange students and had a party to bring them all together from around the district. One of the students, from Brazil used the downstairs toilet. It seems they heard his screams and on inquiring found him basically stuck to the wall in fear. He had opened the door to be confronted by an Aboriginal man, dressed as he would be if he lived a tribal existence, who then grimaced at him and promptly vanished. The description he gave was that of a Kurdaitcha Man, for want of a better term, a witchdoctor. Local tales abounded in relation to several Aboriginals being killed by Native Police in the late 1890’s, and their bodies being buried in close proximity to our house. This intrigued me and my thirst for knowledge on the subject of hauntings couldn’t be quenched.
So what does one do when this happens? You read, explore, study, experiment, open your mind, meditate and think. When you start on a journey, any journey it seems life, or the universe reacts to what you are doing. Doors open, people come into your orbit, and events happen that change the course of your life. I bumped into an old workmate from my prison days and he told me of a job opportunity, he’d seen it on a board outside the job centre. I thanked him and made inquiries, long story cut short I got the job, as a security guard at the local Air Force Base. It felt good to be back at work and the mindless nature of the job ensured I had one thing… Plenty of time to study and read. Dare I say that I haunted the local library, reading books about Mediums, Psychics, disbelievers, sceptics, and a fine book by Lyall Watson, The Nature of Things: The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects This prompted me to begin learning Psychometry, the art of reading objects by touch, anything from a building to a photograph. I also read everything I could on religions of the world, shamanism, witchcraft and spiritualism. If I had a Sunday off I would visit Spiritualist Churches around Brisbane, and afterwards talk with people there. Crystal shops and card readers were next on the list, anywhere that attracted like minded people.
I eventually began attending meditation classes at a local Spiritualist Church, I found it insightful and extremely interesting. The group were a diverse bunch and all had their own reasons for being there. I attended just about every workshop they put on, from reading the Tarot to spiritual healing. The couple running the show, let’s call them, Bob and Betty were, well… I sensed something of a, ‘It’ll be fine if you do it all our way’ type of attitude. I didn’t care for the politics of it, I wanted to learn. I practiced healing and reading the human aura and found it suited me. An explanation is needed here, spiritual healing is about channelling a healing energy into the recipient, via the hands. Where does it come from? God, the Universe, out there? I know there wasn’t anything dark about it, this stuff worked in many cases. It could be felt by both parties as a heat that built up and flowed through the body. Being in a slightly altered state of mind as this occurred one couldn’t help but pick up things about the recipient. I would see, via the mind’s eye people who were no longer alive. Some would actually speak, or I would feel the words impressed into my mind. At first I didn’t say anything, then after a while I would inform the person when we’d finished. The aura, I believe is our life force, Qi or energy.
I know that sceptics everywhere will deny the existence of the aura and everything else I will be writing. I don’t think they even believe in themselves. I digress. Whatever I do or involve myself in I test what I see, hear and feel. I’ve run a few workshops over time and I tell the participants, don’t take anything on face value. Question it, look for other causes, think! Not every creaky floorboard, or strange moaning is a ghost passing by. Doors that open by themselves are common, the list goes on. Back to it Laurie. The church became quite popular and after a couple of years Bob thought I might be good enough to get up on the platform. This is where you have to have your poo in a pile. I can stand up in front of an audience any old time, this was different. People were here for a message, hope, and confirmation that there was a life after this one. You also had people who would come and sit at the back, then spend their time staring at you, trying to put you off. The platform reading would be the highlight of the night and it happened in the second half of the service. I acquitted myself well, passing on several messages that made sense to the recipients. Although you have to be aware that people will jump up and claim any old message as soon as you open your mouth. I’ve found that you have to say what comes through, no hesitation, no censoring just tell it like it is.
The church expanded a little and Bob became a priest of sorts, he’d bought a diploma online and now he wanted to run it like a catholic church. Not on Bob, people who attended were usually those who were disillusioned by mainstream religion. On my last platform appearance he wanted to make it a dual effort, we had a big enough audience. He took one side and I took the other. Once you get in the groove it’s hard to stop while he calls out and talks to someone, then you have to start again. The last straw came when I gave a slightly longer reading to a woman who started crying with relief at getting a valid message. He actually yelled at me to stop. Hmm, I thought, methinks he’s a little jealous. Everything took a turn for worst after that, he hated the fact that people wanted to talk with me, ask me questions and wanted advice instead of asking him. We parted, no I didn’t get half of anything. What I walked away with was experience and the confidence that I could go on and do more.
Goodbye Bob, hello world. We moved house, to another acreage block nearer to Ipswich and took two riding horses with us. I had bred an Anglo-Arab and he gave me a run for my money, I loved riding him. Nearly every block along the street had horses, pacing horses next door, more Arabs after that and donkeys. What the whole street had in common was this, in the 1800’s a coal mine operated further up the street. A rail line ran the length of the street and the coal wagons were hauled by draught horses. Before being transported to the main Ipswich line the coal was washed, this happened at the rear of where our house stood. Prior to WW1 a mine worker who looked after the horses died on the job. The story went that whenever a mare was due to foal you would see the man near the stables or in the paddock. I would take my horse, Flash out for a ride up the road most days, usually for an hour or so. After saddling up behind the house, I’d give him a workout in the yard then trot out to the footpath. We came around the side of the house this day and I concentrated on adjusting my seat, the old jeans were riding up my bum. Flash moved onto the footpath and I looked up. A man in his late fifties walked towards us, dressed in a blue, collarless shirt, thick grey pants and blucher boots. He looked at Flash, who nodded his head at him. I said, “G’day, Mate how are you?” He stared ahead again and said nothing. Blow this I thought, the least he could was say hi. I reined the horse around. Gone, the bloke had vanished, he couldn’t have hidden anywhere.
I saw him again a few nights later. I must explain a little something about this house first. It sat above a deep, underground stream, there were small mounds located around the yard and paddock caused by the pressure of the water. Quite strange really. What it boils down to is, the energy released from fast flowing water can cause psychic phenomena to occur. You will notice that all ancient pagan and holy sites were situated on or very near to running water, wells, and springs etc. I don’t think I had a night’s sleep where I wasn’t experiencing OOBE’s, vivid dreams and manifestations. From my time in Vietnam until only a few months ago I would wake up very close to 2am every night. Either my bladder had an alarm clock or the sub conscious liked to get me mobile. I would go to the toilet and then make my way out to the kitchen for a drink of water. I stood at the sink, glass in hand and wide awake, when I felt somebody watching me. Naturally I was naked (hate pj’s) and it felt as if ice cold water was running down my spine. I didn’t look around, I couldn’t look around. Instead I stared at the large window that overlooked the back paddock. A face floated up the window outside and stopped at my eye level. Calm Laurie, calm. I wanted to run, instead I stayed, I don’t think I could’ve moved anyway. The face resembled the man I’d seen but it looked as if it had been burnt with steam. The skin resembled porridge (oats). An overheated car radiator blew up in my step-grandfather ‘s face many years ago, that’s what this face reminded me of.
It stayed for a minute or so, I pinched my arm and took another drink of water then the face vanished. Taking a deep breath I put the glass down and walked quickly back to the toilet then raced into bed. I soon drifted off to sleep and you guessed it, out of body again. Perhaps our man had been killed in an explosion of some sort, I’m not sure, I do know he appeared next door a few weeks later, when one of their mares foaled. I never saw him after that. We sold the horses after I received a severe kicking from Flash. I took him for a ride one morning along a bush track, when a quail flew up in front of us and lodged in one of his nostrils. He almost turned inside out and dislodged me, my riding boot stuck in the stirrup, I ended up between his back legs. Naturally he wanted to get away and I received several kicks to the side of my head (wearing a helmet) then my shoulder, elbow, ribs, hip, thigh and knee. He galloped home and I slowly followed, someone gave me a lift and dropped me home and there stood Flash, next to his feed bin. I remounted him, rode him for ten minutes then went inside. Ouch. My nose bled on and off for three days and I felt bloody lousy. The horses went after that and now I could give my full attention to the world of spirit.
Next week: The murdered woman – a test of faith.