(Do) I See Dead People?!

(Do) I See Dead People?!

This story is not written to convince you of anything, nor is it written to challenge what you already believe.
It is simply a story of my own experiences.
You are welcome to draw your own conclusions, the only thing that I can tell you is
that this actually happened.

But before I continue, I feel that I should probably tell you where I stand.
I do believe in spirits.
I believe that consciousness continues after physical death, that spirit communication is possible.
I am not a religious person, but I do believe that angels exist.
I do believe in good and bad in both the physical and spiritual world.

I realise not everyone shares those beliefs, and that is perfectly fine.
I am not asking you to adopt my worldview. But it would feel dishonest to tell this story without acknowledging my own perspective.

So while you are free to interpret the experiences I am about to describe, I should be honest and tell you that I do not believe I imagined any of it that day.

It depends on who is listening!
This is one of those topics that rarely leads to a final answer, because the answer depends on a point of view, on what people believe in.

For some people, a creaking floorboard is enough to make them run out of a building screaming. For others, it is just a house settling and barely registers.
The same experience, completely different interpretation.

One interest led to another.
Eventually I found my way to oracle cards, Lenormand cards, angel cards, and tarot cards.
Of all of them, angel cards seemed to resonate with me the most.

What started as simple readings for friends and family slowly grew into something bigger.
Before long I was doing readings in a local coffee shop,
and eventually I became the permanent card reader in an angel shop.

Looking back, I don't think I fully understood what I was doing at the time,
and I am talking about my very early beginnings.

After one particular visit, I missed my flight home and had to completely rearrange my travel plans.
Instead of a straightforward journey, I found myself travelling by train and bus to get to an airport in Germany.
While waiting at Amsterdam Central Station, I ended up sitting at the far end of the platform.
Anyone who has been there knows just how enormous that station is.
I just want to mention, that if you live in a different country than the rest of your family, you know how intense those family visits can be no matter how much you love your family, and for the first time in days, I was completely alone, quietly enjoying a little peace and quiet after spending some busy days with family.

That was when someone sat down beside me. At least, that is how it felt.
The conversation began naturally. We talked about my parents, my visit, and the last few days.
The person sitting beside me was an uncle who had passed away years earlier, someone who had spent a great deal of time with my mom and dad when he was alive.

But over the years I began to notice that some of the information coming through was far too specific, too unexpected,
or simply beyond anything I could have known.

The experiences slowly accumulated.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
Just one moment after another, until eventually I could no longer dismiss them as easily as I once had.

Years later I trained in Reiki, eventually becoming a Reiki Master and teacher.
As I started teaching, something interesting happened. More and more people began sharing their own experiences with me.
They had stories ... Questions ... Moments they couldn't explain.
And slowly I realised I was far from alone.

One of the strangest experiences of my life happened after a visit to my family.
My family and I simply viewed these things differently.
They were practical people, and conversations about spirits and intuition rarely went very far around the dinner table.
We loved each other dearly, but this was never common ground between us, my interest in the ‘paranormal’ baffled my parents more than anything else.

My belief system did not appear overnight, nor is it based on a single experience. It is the result of a lifetime of moments, questions, observations, and encounters that gradually shaped how I see the world.

To explain why I reached that conclusion, I need to briefly take you back to where it all began.
For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by things that sit just outside ordinary explanation, things that people try very hard to explain away,
but are still left with an itch that cannot be scratched.
It is not because I grew up in a particularly spiritual household. Quite the opposite.
My parents were practical people.
They were not churchgoers, they did not discuss spirits, angels, life after death, or any of the subjects that would later become such a large part of my life.
If something could not be seen, heard, touched, or measured, they generally had little interest in it.

Yet somehow, those subjects found me anyway.
I have been experiencing strange things ever since I was little.
The very first experience that I can clearly remember happened when I was not even four years old and remains as vivid today as it was then. I won't tell that story here, you can find it on my website https://www.amarae.net/the-curious-mask.
It was the beginning of a lifelong fascination with the unexplained.

By the age of twelve, I was reading everything I could get my hands on about hauntings, mediumship, ghosts, healing, time slips, possessions, and anything else that wandered into that mysterious corner of life.
According to my parents, most of it was wildly inappropriate for someone my age, and more than once they strongly suggested I should probably stop reading such things.

I didn't.

Maybe that is exactly what happened ... Maybe it isn't.

But it remains one of the most precious experiences of my life.

And perhaps that is where stories like these always leave us ... Not with certainty ... Not with proof ... Just with experience.

You may read these stories and see coincidence.
You may read them and see something spiritual.
You may find yourself somewhere in between.

As for me, I know where I stand.

I believe we continue after death.
I believe that love survives the loss of a physical body.
And I believe that, every now and then, the veil between worlds becomes just a little thinner.

You do not have to agree with me.
All I can do is tell you what happened and leave the interpretation to you.
But I am curious ... Have you ever experienced something that challenged your understanding of reality, even if you still don't know exactly what to make of it?
I would love to hear your story!!

Rosita

Years passed.

Then, within two years of losing my dad, my mum passed away as well.
After returning home from her funeral, I found myself trying to adjust to a reality that felt unfamiliar.
For the first time in my life, I was no longer someone's daughter.
My mom and I used to spend hours talking every week. I missed those conversations terribly.
In my mind, I often continued those conversation.
Not because I was trying to contact her, but because it felt like a natural part of grief.

My personal experience had always been that people who pass away take and need time before making contact.
Well ... not my ... appearantly my mom had other ideas ... She appeared almost immediately.
I will never forget what happened.

She stood in front of me, placed her hands gently on either side of my face,
looked directly into my eyes and said:
"You were right. You were right about everything.
And I am so proud of you. I just wanted to tell you that."
Behind her stood a large, calm, protective presence that I can only describe as angelic.

And all I could do was smile.
Because if there was one thing my mom and I had in common, it was stubbornness.
Part of me likes to think she persuaded that Angel to let her come through first,
just so she could tell her daughter she had been right all along.

I still remember staring at it in disbelief ...

Not because a truck passed by ... Not because there was writing on the side of it.
But because of the timing.
The specificity.
The sheer improbability of it all.

From my perspective, I do not believe I imagined my uncle that day. I believe I spoke with him. That has been my conclusion ever since that day.

At the same time, I understand that other people may see the experience differently.
Some may call it coincidence. Others may look for a psychological explanation.
And perhaps that is fair.

All I can tell you is that I was there, I experienced it, and after all these years when people question this story I still find myself returning
the same question:
If it wasn't my uncle, then please explain to me what exactly happened, the odds against it seem beyond belief!
I never spoke to him again after that day.

And when I later told my mom the story, she simply smiled and said, "Sure, honey." That was the end of that conversation.

The strange thing was not the conversation itself.
The strange thing was how normal it felt.
Eventually I had to leave to catch my bus.
"It was lovely talking to you," I said, "but I have to go."
He smiled and told me he would stay with me a little longer.

Once I was on the bus, I decided to challenge the whole experience.
I might be a believer but I am a sceptic as well and have and always will look at
my experiences in every way possible.

I told him that I appreciated the conversation, but that everything could just as
easily have come from my own imagination.
His response was immediate. "True," he said. "But you know it isn't."

That made me laugh because I really REALLY wanted it to be true, but that did not mean it actually was true, which I told my uncle, and I asked him to prove it ... to tell me something or show me something that I couldn't possibly make up.

In life, whenever my uncle was up to something, he always had this mischievous grin on his face. He had exactly the same grin now.
"There will be a T-junction shortly," he said. "A large truck with a trailer will pass in front of the bus. Read what is written on the side."

And then he disappeared ... completely.

I always had a very vivid imagination ... when reading a book ... I read the words, but in my head the words form pictures.
So when I first started reading cards, I assumed much of it was imagination.
Pictures, words, impressions, and occasionally people would simply appear in my mind. I never questioned where they came from because they often fitted the reading perfectly ... and perhaps some of it was imagination ... I still think that is a fair question.

A short while later the bus approached a T-junction. A large truck appeared from the left.
The bus stopped and waited for it to pass.

And there, written in huge letters across the side of the trailer,
was the name of the town where my uncle used to live. In the pictures I used the name Amsterdam, but in reality it was the name of just a small town, like there are hundreds more of in the country.

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