I’m a Sensitive who’s had supernatural experiences all my life. I’ve shared the darkest chapter of my life in a previous
. I was asked if I’d share more experiences, and I’ve decided to do this a
little at a time, starting at the beginning.
: Being a Sensitive means that I have the Sixth Sense, allowing me to perceive things that others cannot. I do not claim to be a
‘psychic’ however, as this title places greater expectations on you; I cannot read minds, see the future, etc. by will (only accidentally.) I have
never tried to enhance my perceptions, I just live with them. Also, I was never on any medications, illegal drugs or alcohol during these events, nor
am I schizophrenic or given to hallucinations.
Beginning with my own first memory of the supernatural, I was very little (maybe four or five) and playing around while I listened to music. My father
liked playing loud music in these days (mostly classical, classical pop and classic rock) and I would get a high on this music. Words cannot describe
how it felt to me: from Mozart to The Moody Blues, I was inspired and mesmerized. One song in particular had a powerful effect on me.
First, understand that I was extremely sensitive as a child and everything around me felt explicit: colors, moods, vibes. I felt the emotions of other
children like they were my own. If someone cried, I’d cry too. If someone laughed at a joke I didn’t find funny, I’d laugh too (feeling their
humor.) If someone was angry, I was quite bothered by it. If someone was bottling up negative feelings under a false pretense, I saw this as clear as
day as well. I assumed for a long time that this was normal and that everyone was just pretending not to notice these things.
Being highly sensitive, music had a hypnotizing effect on me. I was uplifted to a higher level of consciousness, where I visualized many wondrous
things. I knew of course that I was a spirit and life was spiritual (as I assumed everyone else did.) But it wasn’t merely sensation when my father
played a certain song: “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who. Whenever this song would play, my parents would step aside and watch me. What they
witnessed was different than what I experienced:
The moment the first cord would strike in the song it was if someone hit me over the head with a mallet! I would freeze still, overwhelmed by an
emersion of prolific vibrations of otherworldly energy. Everything would turn black. The music faded a bit (I could feel it more than hear it (it was
the energy of it that engulfed me.) I would then feel my metaphysical body (soul) lift up out of my physical body, into the blackness. My body form
was still, limbs loose but slightly spread apart. Then I felt lasers shooting through me. All was black, but I felt these multiple narrow beams of
intense energy shooting through me. Some would pass through my arms, shoulders, etc. and others would miss me (I would feel them passing by.)
(If I were to paint a visual symbolic image of this, I would paint myself, limbs partially spread, with various laser beams of different colors
shooting through me (straight-on as if from one direction.) I say, “different colors,” because each beam felt like it had a different frequency of
I assumed at the time that each beam was altering my consciousness somehow, but that was (and is) an assumption, as I merely felt the sensation of
them passing through or near me, nothing more. What was conscious-altering was of course the experience itself, which was certainly a kind of
out-of-body experience which showed me that the physical world was merely a dream from which we could enter or leave (given the right motivation or
stimuli.) When the song would end, I’d find myself drifting back down into my body. I’d ‘came to’, conscious, my body still, as I’d look
around in wonder as I regained my normal conscious awareness. My parents would be gazing at me with amused expressions.
One day, in my adult years, I told this to my mother and asked her what she remembered of it. She described it like this: every time they played this
song, I would go into a trance and begin dancing. They would watch with amusement. I told her that I had absolutely no recollection of dancing (or
ever having danced in my youth at all.) She maintained that I was (apparently unbeknownst to myself) dancing. I asked her how long this was happening.
She replied: “Since you were in diapers.”
So, I guess I was a psychedelic baby. This may explain why I was always different.
As the years would pass, I would see things: shadows, usually low to the ground or hovering about. Of course, adults would just tell you that you’re
just ‘seeing things’, and so I’d tried to believe that’s all it was. As I got older (closer to age 10), I stopped seeing these shadows. I
believed that I’d ‘moved past’ this childishness. I was a much more contemplative, philosophical child at this point. I questioned everything:
religion, science, you name it. I was skeptical about everything.
At age nine, I was dropped off at a friend’s house. My friends and I prepared to go trick-or-treating. My parents were taking my sister and her
friends. While I was at my friend’s house, looking over each other’s costumes (I can’t remember what I wore that year), an odd feeling came over
me—this I would later call the “strange feeling”. It was an odd feeling that made me forget who I was, where I was and what was happening around
me. Life seemed to blur into a dream, as if I was waking up from it. Being nine, I was very disturbed by this. Unlike my other experiences, which were
either positive or at worst spooky, this was really scary.
I excused myself from my friends, claiming I was “sick” (which would be a common excuse for years to come.) I wanted to walk home alone, as I
believed that all the hubbub was unnerving me, so I insisted I’d be fine to go alone. I walked down the street (in my country community, near the
ocean), right in the yellow lines. No cars were around, everything was silent. (There weren’t many houses where I grew up, so it made sense that
most of the time kids would be getting driven around busier neighborhoods.) I felt better now, but still unnerved. Perhaps I’d experienced some form
of panic attack or nervous reaction (as I got shyer and more withdrawn, I would eventually develop social phobia years later (but not at this
As I walked down the street, lit by streetlight, all was quiet. Barely any wind. Then I heard a burst of singing coming from the woods, just past the
intersection ahead. It was too far away, in the dark of the woods, for anyone to see or hear me coming, and no one else was around. It came from a
spot in the woods near an old church where kids believed people had been buried (but adults insisted they hadn’t been.) The singing was very loud
and very clear. The tone was ghostly. My logic told me that clearly this was a professional musician, playing on his acoustic guitar (which was
excellently played) and singing just to spook neighborhood kids.