The Eagle and the Rose

by Rosemary Altea

  The term ghost is used to describe the apparition of a dead person or animal, a disembodied spirit. The term poltergeist is applied to a noisy and mischievous ghost— a ghost seeking attention. And the term specter is used to describe a haunting spirit, unsettled and often roving.

  This story begins in a remote little village near the town of Brigg in South Humberside, England.

  The site is an old sixteenth-century cottage owned by a young man whose brother and business partner used part of the cottage as a studio. The two were successful commercial artists, and although neither young man lived at the cottage, both worked there most of the day.

  The cottage itself, small and rather quaint, with its original oak beams, had been renovated in keeping with its character, and as one would suppose with a cottage of such age, it had had many occupants.

  When the older of the two brothers, Richard, bought the place, he was taken with the peace and tranquillity he felt there. Having just moved from London, he looked on the cottage as a haven, a place to rest and be himself.

  Several months passed and everything was working out well, or apparently so, for all of them. There were one or two little niggles, especially for the two brothers, although they didn't confide in each other or, for that matter, in anyone else.

  Richard didn't mention to anyone that he had been awakened in the middle of the night once or twice by someone … or something … tickling his feet. It was an odd sensation, but he knew he hadn't been dreaming and that what he had experienced was real. Nor did Richard tell anyone about the times when, if he went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, he would see a shadow, that of a man, maybe, cross the landing in front of him.

  Each time something like this happened, Richard would shrug it off. It must be his imagination, mustn't it? After all, he didn't believe in ghosts.

  His younger brother, Peter, never told Richard, or his partner, Ralph, of the “presence,” the unaccountable feeling, so strong at times, of being followed around the cottage. It was too silly and just his imagination. It must be, mustn't it? After all, everyone knew … there were no such things as ghosts!

  Ralph had had no such experiences, and if either or both the brothers had recounted theirs, he would have laughed outright at the pair of them. It would have been just too ridiculous to suppose that the cottage might be haunted. Anyway, Ralph did not believe, by any stretch of the imagination, in ghosts, ghouls, and things that went bump in the night.

  So he was in no way prepared for his first encounter with the spirit world—a world unseen by most and viewed with skepticism by so many.

  It was late afternoon, early in March 1989, and Ralph had been working hard in the studio, using a special light box used in graphic design. Glancing at his watch, Ralph realized how late it was, nearly five o'clock, and he had a date that night.

  I'll call it a day, he thought. I'll just go to the bathroom, then lock up.

  In order to get to the bathroom, Ralph had to cross the kitchen, go through the sitting room, and climb the stairs. Not much of a trek, but far enough for a desperate man— and Ralph was a desperate man. He needed the toilet!

  Quickly he crossed the kitchen and opened the door to the sitting room … then banged it shut again in panic.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked of no one in particular. Then, laughing at his own fear, he added, “You silly clot, it must have been the light from a passing car, shining through the window.” Shrugging, he opened the door to the sitting room once more.

  The bolt of blue light, sphere shaped, shot across the room in front of him, seeming to come from nowhere.

  Completely startled, the young man stood in the doorway, wondering what on earth it was that he had just seen. Then something else caught his eye … and he froze on the spot.

  The miniature figure of an old man stood in front of him, by the fireplace, staring directly into his eyes, and was surrounded by a brilliant blue light. He didn't speak to the young man, merely gazed at him intently, a curious look on his face.

  Minutes passed, and it seemed to Ralph that he was caught up in some sort of time warp. He felt rooted down, yet strangely peaceful. Everything was so quiet, deathly quiet … he could almost hear the silence.

  Then, during this deathly hush, the old man suddenly disappeared, seeming to Ralph to shoot straight through the ceiling.

  This abrupt movement broke the spell, and Ralph, panicked now, turned on his heels and ran from the cottage, vowing never again to go back.

  Later, terrified and shaking, he told Richard and Peter of his experience, and the two brothers opened up and recounted what had happened to them.

  Now what? Here we have three level-headed young men, none of whom believed in ghosts or any kind of psychic phenomena. And the mere suggestion of an afterlife would, before this, have sent all three into hoots of laughter.

  So what were they to do?

  None of them wanted to go back to the cottage … none of them wanted to face whatever strange being was in there.

  It was the brothers’ father who eventually came to the rescue. After listening to the boys’ story, he remembered a chance meeting in a cafe in Scunthorpe with a lady who, he recalled, had claimed to be a medium. He also remembered how impressed he and his wife had been as she'd talked with them. She had seemed so ordinary, so down-to-earth, not at all what they might have supposed a medium to be.

  Since that time, his wife, the boys’ mother, had heard many reports of this woman, all impressive, telling of her seemingly amazing gift. This lady he had remembered was me, so they decided if it were at all possible, to enlist my help.

  I listened quietly over the telephone as the boys’ father told of the strange happenings and eventually agreed to talk with the boys at the cottage.

  This time the three young men were in for an even greater shock than the one they had already had—but one of a much more pleasant nature.

  For over four hours I sat with the boys and talked. First I explained what being a medium meant, my beliefs in the afterlife, and the possibilities of communication between the so-called dead and the living. Smiling my understanding of their obvious skepticism, I made it plain to them that they were right to be skeptical. After all, why should they believe a total stranger, who really did seem to talk such nonsense?

  I was fully aware, I added, that they needed to see some credentials or, rather, be given some evidence to show that I knew what I was talking about—in fact, that I wasn't a charlatan.

  Our first visitor from the spirit world was a gentleman whose hand, he told me, had been badly crushed when he was a young man, and he told me that he was Ralph's grandfather. Because of the information he gave to me, both about himself and his family, Ralph recognized him immediately.

  Then the grandparents of the two brothers, Richard and Peter, also came to talk to us and through me were able to give precise evidence of their existence after “death.”

  Richard and Ralph sat stunned, only nodding their acknowledgment of the incredible accuracy of the evidence given. Peter, the youngest and most emotional of the three, burst into tears as he realized from what I had said that his grandmother, of whom he was especially fond, was not only alive and well, albeit in another world, but at that moment actually with them in the sitting room of the cottage.

  All three young men were shocked, amazed, but elated at what they heard. Here was a stranger giving real proof of a life after death.

  But now for the real reason I was there. I had to discover the identity of the “apparition” that Ralph had seen so vividly. I also knew that I must, if possible, discover the reason for his visit.

  Was he a ghost, a poltergeist, a specter in the night? I doubted it, knowing that nine times out of ten, visitors from spirit were just ordinary people wanting to make their presence known.

  I discovered that indeed this specter was just that, for I was able to locate him instantly, and he was more than willing to talk to me.

  He was an old man
who had at one time lived in the cottage. He had been interested in all of the renovations to the place and had decided to take a good look around.

  His interest turned to curiosity when, on one of these visits, he had come across Ralph, or rather the strange object that had sat on Ralph's desk. The strange object that emitted a familiar blue light, and he had been drawn toward it, wanting to take a closer look at the young man, the box, and the beautiful blue glow.

  I talked to the old man for quite a while, explaining to him that he had given the boys quite a scare.

  “If you visit again,” I said out loud, “perhaps you could do it more discreetly.”

  At this suggestion, all three boys in unison said, “Please, no, we would like him to visit whenever he wants. Now that we understand, we think it's great.”

  The funny thing about this story is this: When the old man was describing the strange box to me, he told me how puzzled he had been as to what it was, this odd blue glow, shining out into the night. Was it a ghost, he'd wondered, a ghoul … or maybe something that went bump in the night!

  This story can lead us to so many more questions than those we already have—questions about parallel worlds, what reality really is, and which is more solid, the spirit world or the world in which we live, we mortals of the earth plane.

  There are hundreds of stories I could recount, experiences with so-called ghosts, poltergeists, and the like. Suffice it to say that whenever someone tells you a ghost story, of a haunted house or a shadow in the mirror, don't be so keen to dismiss what they say or presume they are crazy … for you see, they could be right!

  What is reality? Who are the ghosts … those in the spirit world or those of us who are here on earth?

  The Strangled Lady

  All mediums are sensitive. The more sensitive we are, the easier it is for us to “tune in” to those in spirit. I was once told by Mick McGuire, my healer friend, that the price of good mediumship is sensitivity, but at that time I didn't fully understand exactly what he meant. I do now. When I am teaching—helping my students to develop their healing abilities—the one thing I try to instill in them more than anything else is to learn to listen to their inner selves. To make themselves more aware of their thoughts and feelings and, when reaching out into the beyond, to try to “tune in” to those in spirit. In order to do this successfully, they must open themselves up to the thoughts and feelings of those with whom they are trying to make contact. There are many exercises we can do that enable us to become more sensitive, and in a future book I will enlighten the reader, explaining spiritual self-awareness in more detail.

  It is really a question of trying to “feel” your way. Very often, when a medium first makes a communication link, it is not through voice contact or with sight, but more by way of “sensing” a person's presence. Therefore your senses must be finely tuned. Most people can learn to develop these senses; obviously some have greater success than others.

  A natural medium has the ability to tune in, using these senses, without ever realizing what she or he is doing. When I first started working psychically it was my natural ability to “feel” my way into the hearts and minds of those who have “passed over” that caused me the most problems. Learning to deal with this in a professional way instead of allowing myself to be engulfed by all the emotion was difficult.

  You must now try to understand that working as a medium is a two-way process. If you were using a walkie-talkie, you could talk into it and be heard by the person “on the receiving end,” and by the flick of a switch you could hear that person talking to you. Now imagine what it would be like not only to hear on a two-way system, but also to “feel” all of the emotions of the person in the spirit world with whom you are talking, and for that person to feel your emotions, too.

  In this next story, I will try to illustrate just exactly what I mean by all of this. I was consulting with Margaret, a young woman in her early thirties who wanted to learn the fate of an aunt who had died in tragic circumstances two years previously.

  Even as Margaret was speaking, I heard a voice in my ear say loudly and clearly, “It's Aunt Maudie.”

  What happened next occurred so quickly, and felt so real, that I thought I was going to pass out.

  I felt two large hands wrap themselves around my neck and press hard. The sensation of being strangled was overwhelming, and my eyes felt as if they were bulging out of my head. As if that weren't enough, I then had the strong impression that my head was being banged against a wall again and again.

  Although I had many times had the experience of being “taken over” by those in the spirit world, I had rarely felt such real panic. A terrifying fear spread over me.

  These feelings, sensations, and impressions were Aunt Maudie's way of telling me, as graphically as possible, how she had “died.”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind was one thought: I must stay in control. (The duty of a medium is to give evidence of survival, not scare the daylight out of clients.)

  Then Grey Eagle's voice came to me, quietly but firmly saying, “Stay calm, and stay in control.”

  It was his voice that made me take a grip on the situation, and my mind “shouted” back at Aunt Maudie, Stop it … stop this now! You can talk to me without all this drama!

  Poor Aunt Maudie! She just hadn't realized that what was for her just a way of making her presence felt, and of telling her story, was for me an experience I could well have done without.

  After a while I managed to convince her that it would be much easier for both of us if she simply talked to me. If she felt it necessary to describe how she had passed over, then she should do it quietly and not be so enthusiastic in her description.

  This agreed, Aunt Maudie began her story.

  She had been living with a man, whom she called her husband, for several years, but for the last two years things between them had been difficult. He had lost his job, which had become redundant, and being unable to cope with the new situation, he had started to drink rather heavily. The inevitable happened. Aunt Maudie started nagging, he in turn drank more, she nagged more. It became a vicious circle.

  Then, one night, Aunt Maudie's “husband” came home roaring drunk. I suppose you can guess what happened next. Aunt Maudie decided that enough was enough and began shouting at him to get out of the house. Before she realized what was happening, his hands were clamped tightly round her throat. Then, viciously and with great force, he began to bang her head, again and again, against the wall.

  Eventually his strength gave out, and he let go of the once happy, lively body of Aunt Maudie, which, now limp and lifeless, slumped to the floor.

  Staggering into the bedroom, he collapsed onto the bed in a drunken stupor and slept soundly for the next few hours. When, the next morning, he found Aunt Maudie's body lying in the middle of the sitting room floor, he was totally stunned and at first couldn't remember what he had done. He was later to give himself up to the police and was eventually found guilty of murder and imprisoned.

  Although Aunt Maudie's passing had been violent and traumatic, she herself had been able, with the help of friends and relatives whom she had met on the “other side,” to come to terms with what had happened. She bore her “husband” no malice. In fact, she told me that she felt very sorry for him. Whereas she had had the loving arms of her family waiting to comfort her, he now had nobody, for all his family had turned against him and he was without love.

  Emotional upsets leave scars which are, for most of us, the hardest to bear. Aunt Maudie, having lived through this terrifying ordeal, should have been particularly distraught, yet she took great pains to make me understand how she felt so that I could explain to her niece, my client Margaret. Although at first, with the shock of death and then the revelation of a new life, she had been, to use her own words, “a bit of a mess” emotionally she had had a lot of time to come to terms with things. She had received a great deal of help from her loved ones on the “other side.”

&n
bsp; “Please,” she said, “tell Margaret that I am now well and very happy with my life.”

  There are, I know, many people who are not only seeking evidence that the people they loved have survived death. They also need reassurance that these people are well and happy. Almost everyone who comes to me for a sitting and who makes contact asks, “Is she [or he] happy?”

  During this sitting Margaret was given this message by Aunt Maudie: “I am content.”

  I have seen Margaret perhaps two or three times since that first memorable sitting, and I know that she feels some peace and has gained a little understanding of life, both on this side and on the “other side.”

  She told me that knowing Aunt Maudie has been able to forgive her “husband” for this terrifying deed, she has been able to understand that there are always two sides to every story. Margaret now strives to be more tolerant of other people's shortcomings. She doesn't always succeed, but she tries.

  There is, of course, a lesson here for all of us. It is so easy, isn't it, to judge other people and their actions, and most of us are guilty of that. Perhaps we should learn to leave the judgment to God and trust Him to decide what is right and what is wrong. Maybe then we too might learn to feel, like Aunt Maudie: content.

  In Stephen Covey's book, Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, this phrase says it all:

  “Be a light, not a judge.

  “Be a model, not a critic.”

  Talks and Services

  Several months had passed since Grey Eagle had come into my life. Samantha, now twelve years old, was settling down at school. I was working, taking private consultations, never fewer than three a week and increasing steadily, as by word of mouth my reputation began to grow. Money was my greatest problem, and I often cried and fretted and worried when I was on my own, fearing I wouldn't manage—but for all that, life was good.

  It was through Mick McGuire that I came to work at the Stainforth Spiritualist Church. He had decided that the time was right and that I was ready to “stand on the platform”—go public.