Eight Difficult Deaths:

Anonymous Winter 1995

A friend who is a minister complained to me during a visit I made that there seemed to be a “ghost” in one of the upstairs rooms of their religious education building. People in the church who talked about it considered it to be the ghost of a minister who thirty years or so earlier had been killed in a car wreck. More and more my friend observed that people tended to avoid the room. She asked me to check it out. She said you could hear footsteps all the time from downstairs, but when you went up to check no one was present.

We were relaxing at her home. I was able to check into the building and got a visual impression of an older man, late sixties?, wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and slacks. He seemed engrossed and perturbed. I got a sense of urgency that he was trying to get somewhere to meet his family. A detail of his appearance struck me. His hair was mussed in a quite chaotic way, tufts zinging out in arbitrary directions. It looked exactly like the hair of an elderly friend of mine who has Alzheimer’s. I told my friend I didn’t think this was their minister, and fed back to her what I was seeing. She mentioned that there has been a nursing home next door for many years that had closed only recently. I began to be sure that this was someone who had died there. 
It was a little confusing because my friend kept pumping me with questions. “When did he die?” etc. One question was very useful: “Does he know he’s dead?” In response to this one, I probed into him and met a blaze of energy around his solar plexus that repelled me so forcefully that I shook violently. “Nope”, I said, “I don’t think he does.”

It was time to work. I encircled him with energy and prayer. Two beings appeared, one on each side of him, and they seemed to be holding open a door. The door looked like it was made of fire, shaped rather like a Gothic arch. It almost looked like a vulva made of fire & light. He really didn’t want to go. I could feel his resistance and pulling away. I think the image I was getting of the door was his perception of it - that motion out of his state meant immolation and destruction. Eventually he was able to move forward. I got a sense of him being surrounded by, and being a part of the luminosity that was gathered there for him.

In reflecting afterwards, I felt sure he was probably suffering from some kind of dementia which combined with the urgency he felt about reaching his family. It seems he was caught there and couldn’t get out on his own. I look forward to asking my friend if they’ve heard anything else from him.