In 2011, I was returning to my touring job after a 2-year hiatus to give birth to and look after my daughter. It had been a difficult two years, and returning to the job was partly motivated to get out of the house, but also to finish the work contract. The night before my return to work, I lucid-dreamed of my passed-on brother. Two days after that, I was introduced to a new meditation group, and experienced a chakra opening and linking meditation for the first time. It was the first time I could feel tingling in my feet and at the crown of my head, and I learned that the tingles on the crown were my angels/guides communicating to me. The date of this lesson (followed by the test!) is easy to remember: December 10, 2011. There was a lunar eclipse that night, something I only noted because I’d been an astronomy nut.
The night after the meditation I went to bed as usual, but was woken up near midnight by a suspicious sound in the room. I should describe now my sleeping situation: with my daughter requiring so much attention in the night, my bed was a simple pallet on the floor right next to her crib in her room, an arrangement formed out of many nights of my just collapsing in exhaustion there. My head was not pointed toward a wall or headboard but into the center of the room, and when I woke up, my entire crown was tingling like someone had poured ice water onto my scalp.
I was also listening to someone dragging heavy feet in the room, oh so slowly, taking steps closer and closer towards me. I willed it to go away but it kept coming (ever so slowly) and I knew it was not physical but something from the other realm–and I got the scare of my life when it depressed the pallet and pillow above my head. When there was “nothing” there.
No more pretending to be asleep for me. I jerked my entire body, shaking off the shudders, mentally screaming for the thing to get away. I felt it retreat to an opposite corner of the room where it stayed (or where I imagined it stayed) for a while, to my frustration. I called on the Buddhas and Boddhisattvas, visualised them in the room, I said mantras and visualised more protective bubbles out of instinct around my daughter, who slept soundly through the episode. When I felt the room “clear”, I went into the living room to find I wasn’t the only one awake in the apartment, but nothing strange had happened outside of the bedroom. I jumped onto the Internet, confirming that the eclipse was in progress, that the encounter had happened around midnight, and that supernatural activity was stronger during these times (no sunlight and no moonlight). I even chatted online with the night-owl friend who had brought me to the meditation that afternoon, telling her what happened. She then shared my story with the clairvoyant-healer-channel-facilitator I’d just met that day, and the reply was that this spirit had visited me before (but that this was the first time I was conscious of it), and the advice was to visualise protective bubbles before sleep.
It was little help: I had poor sleep for a long time after that, always worrying about the bubbles I’d put up, whether they were still there and holding. But the amazing crown-tingling from that night was something I thought often about, because I had never felt anything like that before or since. Then on one night when I could sleep, I hazily dreamed or detected the presences of four, maybe five comforting blue figures around me in the room. They seemed to have wings. “Could you make the tingles on my head again?” I asked them, partly wanting to confirm them, and to make sure that “notification system” was still working. They obliged, and I went to sleep easier after that, being conscious of how warm and loving they felt, as opposed to anything else I’d experienced so far.
That was probably my first visual introduction to my angels–and boy, I needed them. I started calling on them almost constantly for nights and during my touring work, and they always came through. No more weird stuff happened on my tours, or if they did, the confidence I had dealing with the crises was unprecedented. In all the challenges I faced in my personal life too, I always felt them at my back, lovingly cheering me on and being a supportive audience. No matter what I was going through, they could provide me with a feeling of deep joy and knowing, and as I started acknowledging my guides, these “back of my head” conversations became even more interesting, even downright funny. It was an awakening period of my life (that continues now), teaching me to pay heed to very subtle energies and feelings and giving me coping mechanisms and clues for what I can do.
So the next time I had an unseen, unwanted visitor in the apartment (around September 2012), I was much, much calmer. It was an entity I suspect followed me home from a WWII tour. Strange stuff had happened on that tour, and it was also the time of the year that supernatural activity in Singapore tends to “heighten”–we call this the Seventh Month, or the Hungry Ghost month. Previously perfectly-working audio equipment started malfunctioning on the tour. The bus driver working with me was confounded: “I just had this looked at!” he said, while I made an offhand remark about the time of the year. I also had a strange idea that the entity had a history with radios–something that both the Japanese and Allies were obsessed with during the island’s occupation: radio communication. On the tour, I was forced to abandon use of the microphone and amplifiers, with all the problems cropping up.
That problem was to follow me home. It was almost comic: the radio we had on the top of fridge started making occasional popping noises, like someone trying to find a radio station. Except that the popping noises came whether or not the radio was on, and when it was, in fact, unplugged. It was not behavior that the machine had previously demonstrated, and it was even interrupting my own music as I was working/painting in the kitchen. “Quiet, please,” I said every so often, or words to that effect, while the popping would continue merrily, even into the night (but maybe just once or twice an hour). I stayed calm in the effort not to alarm anyone in the apartment, and was content that the presence seemed to be confined to the radio. And I very vehemently did not want to be forced to toss the radio. It was my radio!
The next day, I cleaned the apartment and kitchen as best as I could. I was not a ghost-buster. I still knew very little about space-clearing or getting unwanted guests (human or otherwise) to leave, and all I could figure was that I wanted a spiritual/vibrational cleansing of the apartment that would make it so that my little radio-spirit would leave on their own. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I had to clean the top of the fridge; the radio popped again right as it was in front of my face. It was such a little thing that happened, but an important moment; I saw NOTHING at all even as this inexplicable activity was right before me, even as I knew it was there. My wish was being respected–I wasn’t seeing anything horrific like out of Sixth Sense or countless Hollywood horror films–the “point” of all this happening was not to scare me, but to empower me somehow. These experiences, weird and not-so-fun as they were, surely were trying to teach me something; I just had to muddle through, hopefully without having to sacrifice my radio.
I lit some marigold incense and had some peacock feathers I really loved–I used one for fanning the incense smoke around. I had Buddhist mantras, one for sending spirits over. And so like this, I worked clockwise through the apartment, asking Guan Yin for help (I hadn’t started working with AA Michael yet), smoking up the space, and would you believe it?
It didn’t work.
Not the first time. The radio popped some more. And I did it again. What’s funny: The nearly three-year-old daughter watched this time and took an interest in the activity, singing and dancing right beside me, finding it the best game ever. She had to have her own feather, and went through all the spaces with me. The sparkling gold joyful energy she gave off was just breathtaking, and after that, the radio popping stopped.
The story was not to end there. I was again painting in the kitchen alone that night, glad for the silence, glad I still had the radio. And right then, there were a couple of pops from it again. Oh no, I thought, surely not. Or have you come to say goodbye?
And that was the last.
(There’s a Part 3 to come.)