Ghosts Among Us - James Van Praagh [3]
It seemed that the only ones I trusted were the ghosts. They were always friendly and interested in my welfare. I looked forward to communicating with these beings because they were the only ones who truly knew who I was. They were my real friends, and I felt extremely safe having them around. My mother was the only human to whom I confided. She knew about my secret life with ghosts. Fearing for my well-being, she would warn me, “Jamie, don’t ever tell anybody what you see. They won’t understand what you’re talking about. You’re different from other children.” It just so happened that my mother was also different. She was extremely psychic and had the knack of predicting events before they happened. Sometimes I would pass her room and catch her in conversation with her deceased mother and father. I know because I could see their ghostly figures standing at the foot of her bed.
GHOSTS HAUNT THE CHURCH
Like many Catholic children in my neighborhood, I went to Sacred Heart Catholic School. My mother and I attended Mass every Sunday. We loved to sit in the balcony with the choir because we had a bird’s-eye view of all the people in the pews and the priest up on the altar. The only thing that truly frightened me was the fifteen-foot crucifix with poor Jesus nailed to it. I used to wonder, why would people depict God suffering like that? I admit that I didn’t always understand what was going on and wasn’t really interested. However, I did enjoy the singing and the smell of incense. At that time, Mass was said in Latin. Usually, I would nod off into an altered state of consciousness as the priest droned on in a language I couldn’t understand. I would see a myriad of ghosts milling about the aisles of the church. Some knelt in front of statues, others followed the priest at the altar, but mostly the ghosts stood alongside the churchgoers. Looking down from the balcony, I could see deceased parents around their children sharing Mass with them. I could see many child ghosts running around, playing with the hair or clothing of the living children. Some of the living children were aware of the ghosts and would play along. Sometimes a child would be frightened and let out a scream, and a parent would turn and scold him or her to be quiet. It all seemed like a fun game to me.
On other occasions, I could see ghosts kneeling in front of the statues of Mary, Jesus, or one of the saints. I used to ask my mother, “Why do they need to come to church and pray to the statues? Don’t they see the real Mary and Jesus in heaven?” My mother would answer me, “Some people have old habits that make them feel good.”
Generally speaking, a church is a vortex of spiritual energy, no matter the faith or denomination. People come together as a group to worship, contemplate, and pray in the name of God. These actions energize the spirit world, and ghosts show up to influence us with their love and guidance. It is no wonder that church is a place in which people find a safe haven.
I have a vivid recollection of one particular Sunday when the priest at the altar was holding the Host (the thin, round wafer that represents the body of Christ) above his head in consecration. He repeated a prayer in Latin, and everyone answered. It was at that moment that I saw several illuminated spirits dressed in white robes walk through the wall of the tabernacle. I knew they were special ghosts from heaven because I could feel a sense of adoration and reverence. Feeling so moved, I said out loud, “Mom, look at those men in white on the altar.