Last night, I had a series of spirit contacts during sleep. Although my cat (Leonardo DiCatrio) woke me up three times, they continued each time.
The first of the series involved approaching an old door. I approximate the time period of this portion to be circa the mid-to-late 1800s.
The old door was the main entrance to a midsize home. The home had a small porch consisting of wood planks. The door was an unusual avocado green.
As I approached the house, I noticed a walking stick leaning against the door; dead-center. The tall stick was fashioned from a branch of sorts, and was decorated with eight feathers, as well as groupings of eight, braided ropes. One set of rope and feathers was located towards the top of the stick, while the other was located in the middle.
A single number “8” was quizzically located to the middle, right of the walking stick, and just to the left of the door handle. A skeleton key laid on the floor, and to the right of the stick.
I recall asking for permission to enter the house. Upon doing so, a large hand burst forth from a spray of beautiful white and gold light. With its palm facing upward and fingers loosely curled, the hand motioned me into the home. I noticed the appendage was quite old, wrinkled, and appeared to have some mild deformities. Simultaneously, I also saw the face of a very wise, Native American male.
Once inside the home, I was left alone, soaking in the antiquity of the furnishings. The tribal elder left, yet I could sense his strength surrounding me. His essence nudged me through the boxy dwelling.
A female spirit then made her presence known. She was dressed in all black, Victorian era garb, including a black lace veil that covered her pale face. She was incredibly distressed and inconsolable; she could not stop weeping.
As if to provide comfort, a finely dressed, male appeared and extended his hand to her shoulder. He uttered an apology for her incessant sobbing and stated she was not well. He seemed very much a gentleman for his time, and also carried a position of authority – perhaps as the homeowner.
After listening to a few more apologies for the bereaved woman’s behavior, I asked the pair if there was anything I could do to help. The male stated that he did not think so. The two then disappeared, leaving me to wander about the home.
The tribal elder then reappeared. His face was both bold and weathered, yet gentle. His eyes were emblazoned with life’s fire, functioning as a backlight and channel into his soul.
His salt and pepper hair was fashioned into long braids, and was held in place at the forehead with a headband. An unusual ornament adorned the center of the band. It appeared to be the Christian cross surrounded by a starburst.
His hand appeared once more, shooting meteor showers from its fingertips. I was in awe of its power. As his hand sparked and sent stars racing, the elder repeated the following words (recorded phonetically):
Oh toe chee nah
Mask oak hee
Ah kah low
Aye aye eee
(Sorry, folks. No mocha-choco-latte)
The words seemed rhythmic, yet equally guttural and somewhat abbreviated. His voice seemed to linger in my head, even after waking to tend to a rambunctious Leonardo DiCatrio.
After staggering to the drawer to fetch the beast a treat, I managed to fall fast asleep. The series continued, after slipping quickly back into the realm.
The next portion placed me in a hotel room, set in present day. The sobbing woman reappeared. Turning towards her, I once more asked if I could help, by which she stated “yes”. She asked me to go with her (to the house).
Shortly thereafter, I was abruptly told it was time to leave the hotel, and woke up. As my eyes opened, all that I could see was the kind, wise and leathered face of the Native American elder.
The man showed me a trail of white and gold. It was an exciting, confusing, and curiously comforting moment that transpired as I regained my bearings.
What I hold onto is the mystery of the walking stick, purposely placed against the avocado door, as well as the powerful, petrified hand of the elder, and that poor, grieving woman.
I also am trying to ascertain the significance of the number 8, as well as the symbol on the elder’s headband. I am fascinated by its appearance that seems to merge the Christian cross, with a sunburst.
Whether or not any of this may actually make sense will take time to decipher, but I’m on the hunt and open to suggestions, as well as direction, relative to these very old spirits.
(I have included my original sketches in this post)