Author Archives: Baja Rock Pat

Tapping an Unknown Realm – Ghosts (Part 2 of 3)

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Do you see the cloudy image near the bottom center of this photo? It is believed to be the face of a young woman. She’s looking up and to the left. (The computer monitor in the picture was not on when the photo was taken and yet, it certainly appears to be. Was the ghost absorbing energy from the computer?)

 

(Continued from 3/24/12:)

Ken handed the rods to me and showed me how to hold them with a light grip. They immediately moved into an “X” again. I swallowed hard.

“Ask Mary Bell a question,” he told me. “But don’t ask it out loud. Think it with your mind. Ask her to please uncross the rods if it’s true that her father’s name was Stewart.”

At this point, I would assume the average reader might be thinking, “Here comes the parlor game part, right?” Um…

I did as he instructed. Suddenly, the rods moved very smoothly apart until they were parallel to one another. How could that be? I didn’t move them. Nor did I feel anyone or anything take control of my hands or the rods and cause them to move; they did it all by themselves.

“Was her dad’s name Stewart?” I asked Ken. He nodded. I think my eyes must have been bugging out of my head at this point, because in addition to my own astonishment, I sensed something. I wouldn’t describe it as an unseen presence though; it was more like the feeling of energy in the air before a storm—bristly and exhilarating. I tried not to focus on it–ghosts and dowsing rods? Get real. And yet, I felt a little out-of-sorts.

My friend Jill then tried the rods and I watched as they suddenly moved and gently hit her on her shoulders.

“What did you ask?” I wanted to know.

“I asked her if she would be my friend. I asked her to give me a hug,” she said looking very pleased.

Jill obviously wasn’t the least bit worried. I was thinking, “Although I’m not entirely convinced about all this, just to be on the safe side, I don’t think I’d be encouraging a ghost to be my friend…”

After that, we all assumed our positions in the chairs Ken had set up for us at the end of the hall, and turned on our cameras.

Ken then shut off the light, and he immediately said he saw something through his lens, but all I saw was dark. Before long, both Jill and Ken said they saw streaks of light moving in front of us. I was beginning to think that either they were imagining it or something was wrong with my camera, so I started messing with it to see if I’d adjusted it right. Yep. Nothing wrong there; maybe the night-vision feature wasn’t as effective as it was supposed to be. Or my friends were crazy.

As we sat looking through our viewfinders, every now and then, Ken or Jill would shout out, “There! Did you see that?”

I didn’t see a thing. However, the longer I sat there, the more I began to feel something. And that “something” grew stronger with each passing minute, until it became so intense that it caused those same physical sensations in me that I had experienced before, only this time magnified exponentially—goosebumps, chills and tingles popping from the inside out like sparks from metal grinding on metal. My spine felt like someone had taken a 10,000-watt electrical cord and plugged it into my tailbone. Tears fell from my eyes and I started to gasp so hard I wondered if Jill or Ken might wonder what was going on with me. The muscle in my left leg erupted in spasms. My throat became so dry, it was hard to swallow and it felt like someone had wrapped a scarf around my neck and was gently twisting it; but not to the point where it completely cut off my air, just enough to make it hard for me to breathe. It was right about then, that I noticed I had a huge headache on the right side of my head. Never in my life have I had a headache like that. I wasn’t sure what all the sensations meant—was the ghost trying to take over my body? Why would she want to? Now, maybe if I was J. Lo… Or was it simply the result of her energy interacting with mine?

Just when I didn’t think I could take it another second, it grew even more intense. I very seriously considered getting up out of my chair and leaving the room. These kinds of feelings never happened to me when anyone else was around before, and they were never this strong, so I was kind of embarrassed but at the same time, I was also pretty scared.

It seemed like it would have been so much easier to panic than to maintain self-control, but something within me said, “Get a grip, Pat!”

I remembered doing the same thing as a teenager when I went swimming with some friends at a local lake one summer day. I’m not the best swimmer, but I started to follow my friends out to the floating platform, and I got halfway there when suddenly my body became exhausted and I sank. I could see the green of the lake water all around me in every direction—up, down, left, and right, but I couldn’t touch the bottom. I couldn’t even see the bottom! And the surface was at least 10 feet above my head. Somehow, I managed to paddle hard enough to get myself to the surface, but no sooner did my face pop out of the water when I went under a second time. I wanted to panic, but I knew that if I did, I would surely drown. Instead, I told myself to keep my wits about me; if I lost self-control, it would be all over. I knew I needed to use all my strength to get back to the surface and then to float on my back until I calmed down, so that’s what I did. I know that that moment of mental clarity saved my life. If I would have allowed myself to panic that day, I would not be here now telling the story.

It must have been that same part of me that took over while at Ken’s house. Part of me wanted to panic. A very big part of me. But why? What was there to panic about? Nothing I could see with my eyes. And what good would it do me to panic anyway? There was no logical explanation for the feelings I was experiencing, just an overwhelming sense of being in the presence of something spectacular, powerful, and unfathomable.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, trying to keep my volcanic emotions in check. “Did you just feel that?”

Ken didn’t say a word, as if it was all old hat to him. Jill looked at me. “What?” she asked sounding only minimally concerned.

“You didn’t feel anything?” I sorely needed validation; it was too much for me to grasp.

“Well, I feel energy in the air,” she said sweetly.

“That’s all? Just energy?”

“Yeah, energy. You know, like maybe there’s something else in the room with us.”

“Oh man…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied, as I fought to catch my breath.

She went back to peering through her camera lens as if it was no big deal. My head and backbone felt like they were about to explode.

Ken and Jill continued to state that they were seeing things every now and then, but apparently not as often as Ken had hoped, so he turned on the light and decided to try another tactic to help make it easier for Mary Bell to show herself.

“Ghosts need to absorb energy before they can fully manifest in visual form,” he explained as he hooked up some kind of large silver machine shaped like a mushroom with a very long stem and placed it on the opposite end of the hall from where we were sitting. And while I kind of wanted to see Mary Bell as she once appeared in human form, I also didn’t know how much more I could take.

I got up out of my chair and leaned against the kitchen wall. It was all so overwhelming. Weren’t ghosts supposed to hang out in dilapidated, abandoned houses with long, grey corridors and spider webs hanging from gaudy chandeliers? The Harmon’s house was new, and warm with the feeling of friendly people living there: modern furniture throughout, Rosie’s dog dish on the floor in the corner, and a coffeemaker sitting on the counter waiting to brew coffee in the morning. How could a nice place like that be haunted?

My left leg was still quivering. The pain in my head persisted. I wondered why I had a headache and I mentioned it to Ken, but he didn’t even seem surprised. He said that when he first started encountering Mary Bell, he used to have headaches like that too. And he said he experienced the same thing when he took the ghost tour at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado. The same hotel where Stephen King wrote “The Shining.” The Stanley is famous for its ghosts. Great. So what did that mean? And what was it that I was desperately trying to deny while at the same time, having it affect me in such an unusual way? I knew the answer of course, but I didn’t want to admit it. Not even to myself. Because what would that mean? That there really was a ghost present? A dead person who was “seeing” me? My mind felt like a rubber band being pulled in opposite directions.

The silver machine added yet another surreal element to the scene as it sat at the end of the hall making electrical sounds and cracking and sparking.

We all sat down again and Ken turned out the light. Jill handed me her video camera, claiming that her arm was tired from holding it. At that point, my headache was no longer constant, but it wasn’t completely gone either. It kept coming and going.

I lifted the camera to my face and looked through the viewfinder.

That was when I saw it—a ball of light about the size of a fifty-cent piece moving in an odd manner in an arc near the floor. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed in my entire life–an animate inanimate object sort of shooting then falling silently. Gracefully.

(To be continued next week. Please check back.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ken Harmon

 

A retired Fort Worth Police officer, Kenneth Harmon lives in Fort Collins, CO with his wife, four daughters, and a ghost named Mary Bell. Kenneth loves to write both fiction and non-fiction. He has been a prior finalist for the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association Zola Award, and has had short fiction published in numerous anthologies and on line. In addition to spending time with family and friends, he enjoys reading, sports, music, and taking long walks along the Poudre River. For more information, please visit www.ghostunderfoot.com.  Thank you for your interest.

(All photos by Ken Harmon. Used by permission.)

Tapping an Unknown Realm – Ghosts (Part 1 of 3)

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Are these orbs of light the ghost of Mary Bell Wilson?

 

Have you ever had times when you’re busy doing something and out of the corner of your eye, you see someone move but when you turn around to get a better look, you realize there’s no one there? Or maybe you’re working away and all of a sudden, you get a really strong whiff of your granddad’s Old Spice cologne, but you know that’s impossible because your granddad died 15 years ago?

I think most of us have experiences like these at least once in our lifetimes. And I don’t know about you, but it sure makes me question my sanity. Or at least my imagination.

But what if it’s not our imagination?

While I have always kept an open mind about the existence of ghosts, I continue to maintain some skepticism because I think a little skepticism is healthier than accepting any premise without first checking it out. But since having an OBE (out-of-body experience) in 2003 and after losing people very close to me, I have had some pretty strange things happen, things that made me wonder whether spirits really can contact us from other dimensions. I’ve had moments where I’d be in the middle of doing something and for no reason, I’d get goosebumps; tears would run from my eyes, and I’d feel emotion so intense, it was as if I was experiencing all human emotions at once. My breathing would come in gasps and my body would tense up like how some people react when they hear the sound of fingernails on a blackboard. After doing a lot of research, I decided that these moments were times when a spirit was trying to contact me. I’d never heard of anyone having a reaction like that before, so there was no way to be sure, but I couldn’t come up with any other explanation.

And now that my book about those experiences has been published, I’ve been wondering where this road will take me next. I thought perhaps I should explore the possibility of nurturing my spiritual side in order to be of greater help to others from that angle. And because I stated my intention to the Universe, it, in turn, obliged, although once again, not in the manner I expected: I was given the opportunity to meet a real ghost.

No matter what one’s beliefs, there is still something tempting about the whole notion of ghosts, is there not? Like a game, not to be taken too seriously.

But what if they are real?

Well, let me tell you, it is not a game. It is real. I witnessed it with my own eyes. And I now see why one must be very respectful of these situations. In other words, it scared the crap out of me. So much so, that I hesitated to tell the story. But after I gained a better perspective of the situation, I realized that what happened to me was not evil in any way—I wouldn’t even have considered pursuing it if I thought there was any indication of that—and I wanted to experience it because I thought perhaps it might help me better understand all those unusual sensations I’d been getting since my OBE 10 years ago.

It certainly did that.

Last month, I was invited to the home of Kenneth and Monika Harmon, to make the acquaintance of their resident ghost—Mary Bell Wilson. According to Ken, Mary Bell died in 1886 at the age of 21 of typhoid fever, leaving behind a husband and a 2-year-old daughter, and for some unknown reason, her ghost has “adopted” his family ever since they moved into their brand-new home in Fort Collins, Colorado. She even followed them when they moved from one house to another. All of his family members, including their dog, Rosie, have had contact with the ghost, so Ken began filming some of the incidents. His research, along with Mary Bell’s activities, resulted in Ghost under Foot: The Spirit of Mary Bell, which has recently been published. Ken also put together a video with real-time footage of apparitions and sparks of light that streak in front of the camera. (You can view this video on Ken’s website. The address follows this post.)

 

 

I must admit that when I first watched the video, I was still skeptical. I mean, with all the progress in digital enhancement technology these days, and software such as Photoshop, it makes it easier than ever for even the average person to manipulate photos and videos. But what were those orbs in Ken’s video? Dust particles? Insects? Light refractions? I’ve read that orbs can easily be explained away as these types of things. And yet, that didn’t explain the spinning apparition shown in one of the frames, or the hazy image of a woman’s dress fading into the Harmon’s bookshelves.

When the day for my visit arrived, Ken welcomed my friend and me and invited us inside his house. It’s an odd feeling walking through someone’s front door, and stepping into a house that looks ordinary in every way, when you’re not necessarily there to visit the people who live there, you’re hoping to witness a supernatural phenomenon. It was surreal, like being an actor in a movie but without a script.

Ken introduced us to his wife and three daughters—a lovely family whom I liked instantly. We all sat at the kitchen table and nibbled on yummy cookies and sipped hot tea while Ken told the story of Mary Bell and how it all came about.

“Mary Bell hasn’t been real active lately,” Ken explained as he finished his story, “but we’ll see if she’ll reveal herself to you tonight.” Ken told me that before we arrived, he communicated with Mary Bell and asked her if it would be okay if my friend Jill and I came over to meet her. She said yes. Then he asked if she would show up for us. She said yes.

At that point, Ken started to set up chairs for us in preparation for our introduction to Mary Bell, and I began to feel a mix of trepidation and excitement rising inside me, but I pushed the feelings away in an attempt to convince myself that this was just an ordinary visit with an ordinary family. “Maybe next time I can invite them all over to my house for a barbeque,” I thought. Yeah, right. Rosie, the family dog, must have sensed my nervousness because she jumped up on me in the sweetest way, as if she wanted to let me know that everything would be okay. Ken told us that Rosie used to growl at thin air and refuse to walk past certain areas of the house, but now she was showing no signs of fear, as if she too, realized that the ghost meant no harm, and her demeanor helped me relax too. Well, momentarily.

My heart started to pound as we readied our video cameras. I brought a tripod along and Ken told me to aim the camera near the floor in the hall. I wondered why the floor? But I didn’t ask because all of this was already too hard to believe. Then he showed us the dowsing rods he used to communicate with Mary Bell—two pieces of wire, like straightened coat hangers, with one end bent into an “L” shape. He held the rods in his hands and I watched as they slowly moved and crossed, creating an “X”.

“What does that mean?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“It means a spirit is present,” he said.

My heart skipped a beat.

 

(Part 2 will be posted next week. Please check back.)

 

 

 

 

 

Ken Harmon

 

A retired Fort Worth Police officer, Kenneth Harmon lives in Fort Collins, CO with his wife, four daughters, and a ghost named Mary Bell. Kenneth loves to write both fiction and non-fiction. He has been a prior finalist for the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association Zola Award, and has had short fiction published in numerous anthologies and on line. In addition to spending time with family and friends, he enjoys reading, sports, music, and taking long walks along the Poudre River. For more information, please visit www.ghostunderfoot.com.  Thank you for your interest.

(All photos by Ken Harmon. Used by permission.)

Podcast of Planetary Spirit

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Jeff

Host Jeff Ferrannini reads excerpts from Patricia’s book on the air, expounds on Patricia’s portrayal of Sammy Hagar who, despite his role as a legendary rock star, also has a deeply spiritual and caring side, and then moves on to discuss the implications Dance of the Electric Hummingbird has for the ordinary person in today’s world. Says Ferrannini,

“Dance of the Electric Hummingbird is probably going to open the doorway to a lot of people who wouldn’t be approaching this at all if you didn’t open that door and say ‘here’s another way of looking at it.’ And it’s not a holier-than-thou-type of perspective … it’s so natural, so down-to-earth, so unabashedly personal and honest that I really would find it hard to believe for most people who take the book and at least get to page 60 to not take it to heart.

This book has so many surprises for me. You’re very open and honest and playful about your sexuality.  It almost feels like an innocent person who’s awakening to that … and they’re surrendering in the moment to what feels good and pleasurable and we get taken along for the ride. Not in a dirty or titillating kind of way. It’s more like you present it like it’s something sacred: ‘This is my awakening to something so much deeper to what a human being is really all about.’

The honesty that you bring into this, it gives people permission to be themselves and to also embrace their spirit as a beautiful thing as opposed to something that needs to be bridled and controlled.”

To hear more, please visit: http://www.planetary-spirit.com/Guests/248_PatriciaWalker%20.html

A Spiritual Awakening While Fly-Fishing

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Since my out-of-body experience during Sammy Hagar’s rock concert several years ago–the moment that changed my life forever–I have stumbled upon others who have had similar experiences but through different means. And I’ve been discussing this very thing in a lot of my radio interviews lately. I’m often asked, “So, what can others do to have a mystical awakening?” I tell them that one doesn’t have to be a guru or a yogi or a nun or a monk on a hilltop to experience enlightenment, heaven, Nirvana, mystical experience or whatever term one cares to use. A spiritual awakening can happen to anyone, anywhere, through any means. That’s because each person’s spiritual needs are as different as each man, woman or child. And our ways of looking at life are just as unique.

While there is no set of rules that if one follows, will ensure a mystical experience and we cannot make it happen–these things happen when they’re meant to, when the soul, for whatever reason, is ready to hear and receive the message–there are things one can do to help expedite the process. I will discuss this in another post

For now, I’d like to introduce you to some of the people who like me, have personally experienced this amazing and wonderful clarity of mind. It is my hope that as you read these accounts, many more of you will step forward and share your stories as well. There are a lot of us out there, but many hesitate to talk about their experiences for personal reasons. But we cannot help others by remaining silent.

Meet Dean Miller. He was minding his own business, just enjoying being in nature and doing a little fly-fishing when his life changed forever. I would like to personally thank Dean for allowing me to share his story with you. Writes Miller:

I stood, not in a crowded rock-and-roll bar in a foreign country, but in a river—a solitary figure. Surrounded by high canyon walls, the warm October sun reflected golden hues that glinted off of the river’s surface. I was indeed searching, but it wasn’t to touch the divine, but simply rainbow and brown trout. I found the trout—and something quite unexpected.

The river flowed gently against my legs, its cold penetrating my waders. Fishing trinkets clinked against each other as I made each cast, accompaniment to the gurgle and babble of the slow moving water. A light breeze, nearly imperceptible, brushed my arms. My heart settled into a comfortable rhythm. The rest of my life drifted downstream, carried by the current to another time.

I made a cast and watched the imitation grasshopper float toward me. No luck. A second cast placed the foam bug further upstream, and I watched again. But this time I could see myself standing in the river. Strangely, I was unsurprised at my new perspective.

I ascended a bit higher and then paused, not of my own accord or thought, but from reaching a state of equilibrium with everything around me. I experienced no physical sensations, only complete love…from everything seen and unseen. The rocks, the water, the air, all transmitted the same intense joy that I felt from a source beyond the physical realm.

Suspended in that timeless domain I knew the answer to every question, should it be asked. Touching to farthest reach of the universe was just a thought away. But there was no need for action on my part, as “it—this love and knowing” was already melded with my soul. I was involved with everything and desired nothing. In that brief span of cross-dimensional existence, I understood what lay beyond my physical being. And I saw how easily the filigreed curtain between body and spirit can be lifted.

Suddenly, a trout swallowed the hopper pattern and without reason or explanation, I was back in my body. I resumed my earthly presence, still radiating with the feeling of what had just transpired. Landing, and then releasing the fish, I exited the river and sat for a moment. Overhead, a lone hawk circled once, then soared above the canyon walls and disappeared from view. I was again, alone, forever changed, with nothing else to do but continue my life.

I choose not to speculate where I would have ended up, or what would have happened, had that trout not taken the fly. My time in the mystic realm, however fleeting, helped direct the next phase of my journey here on earth. Knowing what is “out there” is enough for now.

 –Dean K. Miller

Dean K. Miller is a freelance writer and member of Northern Colorado Writers. His work has appeared online and in Trout Magazine. Employed by the FAA as an Air Traffic Controller for over 23 years, he was the 2010 Northwest Mountain Region recipient of the NATCA Archie League Safety Award. He resides in Loveland, CO and enjoys fly fishing, family, and friends. Please visit his website at: http://deankmiller.blogspot.com.

Sammy Hagar announces the sale of DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD at Cabo Wabo!

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October, 2011

During Sammy Hagar’s annual birthday bash at Cabo Wabo in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, on October 13, 2011, Sammy announced to the crowd that he would be selling my book at Cabo Wabo. Quipped Sammy,

“Pat has written a book about this whole experience from the beginning. It’s gonna come out very soon and we’re gonna carry it here. She did a great job with that f–in’ book. It’s … a must-read for redheads, okay?”

Although Sammy had already contacted me and informed me of this days before, I was honored beyond words to hear him mention it during his concert because the show was streaming live all over the world.

How many big rock stars would do such a thing? For me, it was the honor of a lifetime and I will never forget it. Thanks, Sammy! You ROCK!

11-7-11 NEWS UPDATE: Here’s a video of the event. If you don’t want to watch the whole thing, skip to 7:45 in the video; that’s where he starts talking about me and my book, calling me “Baja Pat.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Realizing I Have a Choice Even When It Doesn’t Seem Like It

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This time of year is difficult for a lot of people, including me. Several years ago, my dear father passed away right before Christmas, and 51 days later, so did my mom. So after the hustle of the holidays is over and I’ve taken down all the decorations and packed them in boxes for next year, pawned off left-over cookies on my visiting sons and anyone else who will take them off my hands before I eat them all (I was raised to believe that wasting food when people were starving in the world was simply unacceptable), like many others, the starkness of winter often hits me like a slab of icy concrete.

The other day I had a particularly tough day. I was scheduled for a radio interview, was all hyped-up and ready, but for some reason, at the last minute, it didn’t work out; we had to reschedule.

Things went downhill from there. It wasn’t any one thing that seemed to contribute to my bad day, it was a combination of a lot of small things.

I felt as if my brain was in a fog and my body slowly sinking in a very deep sea. I tried really hard to make myself accomplish something because sitting around doing nothing is not something I take kindly to. Besides, I already had my day planned out—I would organize the papers in my office—make folders for all my book files, get the laundry done, catch up on the bills and bank accounts, ship a copy of my book to my aunt and finish the grocery shopping. These are not difficult tasks, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t put my body or my brain into motion. Plus, I’d been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s book “Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage”, her follow-up to her #1 best-seller “Eat, Pray, Love” and “Committed” made me ponder all sorts of things, like my identity for instance. But that’s another post.

I was also pondering things like, What else should I do to help promote my book? and I wonder if we can afford for me to go to the dentist this month and Why the hell has my arm been hurting so bad for two weeks now? All rather trivial things, to be sure. None of them are major stressors like losing one’s job and not being able to pay the rent, or finding out one’s teenage daughter is pregnant.

Nevertheless, my mood darkened by the second, until I found myself no longer treading water; now I was going under. That was when, by some miraculous visage of strength from the back of my brain, I told myself I had a choice: I didn’t have to let those negative feelings overtake me. And I knew this, but I kept sliding into that dark abyss anyhow, and the further I slid, the less I felt able to grasp that knowledge—that I truly did have a choice. I also realized that there were thousands of people in the world suffering from full-blown depressions and all sorts of similar conditions and I was beginning to see how that could easily take root in one’s psyche when one felt like that. Perhaps, just like what was happening to me, it started with the little things and before long, those little things overpowered you like a swarm of piranhas. And as I was thinking all these thoughts, through some remaining shred of logic, I wondered—what can I do to pull myself out of this?

A very big part of me said to tough it out, to push forward because after all, you’re damn lucky to be where you are right now; you have so much more than a lot of people—a house to live in, food in your belly, clothes to wear… How dare you feel so sorry for yourself! Of course those thoughts didn’t offer any solace; they just made me feel worse, because then I felt guilty for feeling down when I had so much to be thankful for.

Right about that time then, guilt, which needs only the tiniest fissure in which to creep in and wrap itself around me like a familiar coat (or a boa constrictor—whichever image you prefer) took a firm hold of me and made things even worse: I should be accomplishing something today. I shouldn’t feel this way. What’s the matter with me? Why am I such an ingrate?

It was at that moment that some semblance of self-empowerment took over. I can’t rightly say where it came from, but somehow I managed to step back from my insistent ego-mind to remind myself all over again, that I had a choice. I could let the darkness sabotage me, drag me down further, maybe even into a full-fledged depression, or I could listen to what my body and spirit were trying to tell me, even though I kept dismissing them for all those reasons of guilt. So I leaned back in my chair and asked my body and spirit what they needed.

And this is what they said, “We’re exhausted.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! I slept just fine lastnight; how could I be so wiped out?” It was my ego-brain attempting to rationalize things again.

I decided to listen to my body and spirit. I took a nap. And when I got up, I popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave and got myself a real Pepsi, not the diet version I usually have, but a real one—loaded with sugar—and proceeded to polish them both off, even though my ego-mind was jumping up and down in the back of my brain like a bratty kid and telling me that it was almost time to fix dinner; if I ate all that stuff, I wouldn’t be hungry for dinner. Besides, sugar wasn’t good for me.

After that, I went upstairs and sat in front of my computer, and as I glanced out the window, I realized that the sun was going down behind the mountains, but I also realized something else: those last few rays were shining on my face and they felt warm. They felt like love.

My darkness melted.

We all have days like this once in a while, but this experience showed me how even small negative thoughts can easily turn into HUGE negative thoughts. Negative attracts negative just as positive attracts positive. But sometimes it seems easier to wallow in the negative, to let those thoughts pull us down rather than to search for the energy to claw our way out of the pit and into the light again. So what can we do?

I’m sure medical experts would say that I shouldn’t have had the sugar, but according to a recent article about the wintertime blues, for the most part, I did a few things right, which is perhaps the reason my bad mood didn’t swallow me whole. For one, I saw that I had a choice, and for another, I exposed my face to sunshine. I also sat back and tried to determine the cause of my bad feelings: I listened to what my body and spirit had to say, even when my ego mind told me there was no reason I should have felt that way. And when I listened, my body and spirit knew exactly what they needed.

Shamanism taught me to use this technique in other aspects of my life as well. If I’m pondering what to do in a given situation, I ask my body and spirit and notice how they react. Sometimes the reactions are so slight that I can’t detect them and sometimes they’re blatantly obvious. But the more I listen to my Higher Self, the more in tune I become with my own sense of what it is I really need, and that is one of the keys to true happiness.

I always have a choice.

Guest Appearance on Van Halen Nation!

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Patricia would like to extend a heartfelt “Thank you!” to the fine people at Van Halen Nation as she was recently honored to have been invited to be the very first guest on their brand new radio program. Van Halen Nation features videos, interviews, photos, live appearances–even a store which is offering Patricia’s book, “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird” for sale–and much more–all dedicated to the mighty Van Halen. Please pay them a visit. You’ll be glad you did!

If you’re unable to access the following link, you can also go here:Van Halen Nation Radio Show with Guest Author Pat Walker

Please click here to listen:

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My Father’s Spirit’s Christmas Gift

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This is coming from my heart. Unedited.

Six years ago today, I was stepping into my car, getting ready to go to work, when the phone in the garage rang. It was my brother, telling me that paramedics were working on Dad and it didn’t look good.

But it was too late; they couldn’t save him.

My precious father left this world just days before Christmas in 2005. We were a close family. Mom joined him 51 days later.

To me, Christmastime is family time. A time to relish the blessings I have in the form of my loved ones. And every year, I go overboard in spoiling them. I figure, what good are material things if not for sharing with others? According to my husband, I spend too much money on my family and friends at Christmas. I bake too many cookies and make too much candy; I have too many decorations and too many corny Christmas CDs. It’s true. I do. I can’t help it. It’s not because I think giving material things or causing people’s waistlines to expand are the most important aspects of the holidays, it’s because I use these things to honor those I love. Because to me, it wouldn’t be Christmas without the cooking, baking, gifts, and decorations, but mostly, it wouldn’t be Christmas without my friends and family.

And because of this, coupled with the fact that we lost Dad right before Christmas, I miss my parents more than ever during the holidays.

So last night, before I sat down to meditate, I was thinking about how much I missed my dad and I wrote in my journal about how badly I wished I could see him again—hug him, smell him, look into his eyes. And as I meditated, drifting to that place of serenity in my mind, I “saw” a black tunnel about twelve inches in diameter. The opening was small and it grew wider on the opposite end, like a funnel with the small end facing me. The inside of it was swirling and there were wisps of white stuff floating in it like threads of cotton candy. And suddenly within the tunnel, like the image from an unseen projector, was my dad. He was much smaller than in human form and he was walking toward me, calling me by the pet name he used to call me when I was a little girl.

Was all this just my imagination? I wondered.

Still maintaining the controlled breathing I use during meditation—slow, rhythmic, even, measured—I opened my eyes. And then I saw it—the outline of something moving and transparent like liquid egg whites. I could see primarily just the edges of it near the dresser in my bedroom. It was the shape of a human, but I didn’t recognize it as anyone in particular. And it was about eight inches shorter than an average adult.

A tingling sensation went down the back of my head and down my spine. Tears flowed from my eyes. I knew then, that the sensations I was getting, were my body’s way of telling me that this apparition was the spirit of my dear father.

I said out loud, “Is that you, Daddy?” as tears ran down my face and my nose began to run.

There were no verbal or intuitive messages from the spirit, so once again, my mind told me, “You’re just imagining all this because you want so desperately for it to be so,” but at the same time, a part of me knew. My body knew; the chills I felt were not imagined.

I told my father that I loved him. I told him how much I missed him. And the spirit lingered for a long time, as if it was working very hard to make itself more recognizable to me, but it never quite accomplished that.

Before I knew it, I laid down on the bed and fell asleep. I never sleep soundly, but last night I did. I slept like a rock.

Perhaps this sort of thing happens to other people on a regular basis, but it has never happened to me before, which was why my mind kept telling me it was just my imagination. But I’ve heard it said that imagination is the bridge to the world of spirit. I also believe that at Christmastime, there is a kind of magic in the air even more so than at other times of the year. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve believed this. And what we believe is more powerful than any amount of scientific justification, is it not?

I believe this was the greatest Christmas gift I could ever have received—the gift of love from beyond what I see with my eyes—the gift of love, which never dies.

Wishing you and yours the blessings of love and joy in the coming year.

–Baja Rock Pat

Holiday Blessing

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As the holidays approach and many of us find ourselves over-extended in so many ways, I wanted to take this opportunity to share with you, a message that was sent to me recently, as it reminds us of what is really important–the gift of self. We can’t shine our light into the lives of others unless we nurture that light within us. Enjoy.

 

May the Light nourish your eternal and internal longing
to reach toward the Spirit.
May you recognize the unique and powerful contribution you make
to the world and to those in your life.
May the Light shine in you, and show you who you really are.
May you be loved by someone who sees you.
May the Light transform any shame, guilt or unworthiness,
and fill you with qualities
like self-respect, confidence and compassion.
May you be at one with your own body,
recognizing it as the home of your beautiful and alive Spirit,
And may it teach you to care for yourself.

May you befriend all of your emotions.
May the Coming Light enlighten you to your inherent nature.
May you live more and more from that place:
a nature fully creative, fully powerful and intelligent,
full of awe and wonder,
completely connected to yourself and others
in loving cooperation.
And may you,
with me,
extend this wish to all beings.

-Written by Rosen Body practitioner Dorothea Hrossowyc 2011-