Ghosts like Bacon PART 1: Beyond the Veil

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There aren’t many people who understand what my daughter and I go through daily. Some might think we’re a little crazy – a couple French fries short of a happy meal. But I can assure you, if you’ve stumbled onto this blog and are curious enough to read it, everything in these pages happened exactly as it was written. There is no need for a made-up story, since my life is stranger than fiction.

My daughter, whom I will call “Kiani”, was born with the ability to see the spirit world. I’m not exactly sure why or how, but I do know she’s not the only one.

I once watched a video online in which a man explained how to see energy in the air. He said if you’re relaxed and do it right, the air around you takes on a “staticky look”, like pixels over a TV screen.

When I told my daughter this, she was surprised. “But…that’s normal for me. Everywhere is static. The world doesn’t look like that to you?”

“Nope,” I replied. “Crystal-clear.”

It’s my opinion that she has been this way since she was a baby, though I don’t know for sure.
She was always vocal; full of laughter and chatter but quiet in public. Most of the time, she would just quietly glance at strangers, like many shy kids do.

But when she was baby, she would sometimes look at someone and completely flip out. She’d burst into frightened tears, turn away from them and then attempt, quite impossibly, to hide behind me by crawling up over my shoulder. It was more than a little awkward. I would always say something like, “I’m sorry. She’s shy with people she doesn’t know.”

I thought it was odd behavior at the time, but now, I often wonder what it was she saw when she looked at these strangers. Were they accompanied by some malevolent entity that only my daughter could see? I guess I’ll never know because she doesn’t remember it.

Later, as she got a little older, I remember her being frightened of “monsters” in her room. It’s common for kids her age, so I thought nothing of it. She would often talk of red-eyed creatures looking in through her windows and dark shapes outside on the street, and I would sooth her with phrases like, “It’s all right, honey. You’re just tired, and things around you can look a little weird when the lights are off.”

Her fear of sleeping alone was so bad that I never bothered to enforce it much. She had her own room when she was four, but it served more as a toy room than anything. I never used cribs when the kids were babies either, opting instead for two gigantic, Japanese-style mattresses laid back-to-back so that we could all sleep in the same room, if we wanted to. No falling out of bed, no baby monitors, no staggering from my bedroom at two a.m. to the call of a crying child, etc.

When she was five, things got a little more intense. Once, she came to me crying because she saw a torso of a man (no arms, legs, or head) hovering upright over the stairs. Then, around the same time, both my kids were frightened because a plastic play set next to them had lifted up a few inches off the floor and crashed back down.

The little stories continued, and I kept casual about them. I listened and nodded and tried not to react much one way or another, partly because I didn’t want to inspire fear before I understood what was going on.

I wasn’t exactly inexperienced with things of the paranormal variety, and if this wasn’t just childish imagination, then I knew instinctively that fear could often amplify activity such as this. You see, I have “intuitive gifts” of my own, which seem to run in the family. I’d had experiences with both good and bad spirits, but they were rare, and I didn’t know what to think of what she told me at the time. If they were bad spirits, then ignoring them was the best option (don’t give them power by paying them attention), followed by prayer and use of The Great Spirit’s name, if that failed.

I was raised Christian but became simply “spiritual” in my twenties. Later, due partly to my Native American genes, I ditched Christianity altogether and considered myself to be mostly Native American Spiritual. I believed in a Creator (The Great Spirit) and good and bad spirits, of course, but I was still undecided on ghosts. Though Native American tribes believe(d) that the spirits of our ancestors can hear and respond to us, I’d never experienced a “human spirit” personally. Did they exist? I had no idea.

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