Just for the Record?
I've often wondered if some people have an extraordinary gift to perceive things beyond our physical world. This idea might seem far-fetched unless you've personally encountered such abilities. We often see psychics on TV or hear about mediums who claim to communicate with the departed, and most of us approach these claims with skepticism. However, this doubt can quickly fade when one experiences something truly remarkable and feels an innate connection to the spirit realm.
My awareness of this gift emerged later in life, like a hidden talent waiting to be discovered. It began with an inexplicable unease whenever I entered certain homes or locations. The atmosphere would change; the energy would be different. My body would instantly react to the emotions I was feeling. The hair on my arm would stand up, and I instinctively knew. What do you know? I hear you ask. You know that whatever you are feeling is your sixth sense, an intuitive gift, undefined and unexplored. A talent perhaps? So many questions, so few answers.
I came to the conclusion that I have an intuition that I regard as my "Sixth Sense." No rhyme, no reason, but my senses are often peaked and heightened, alerting me to the change in the energy flowing around me. This is part of my psyche. To many, it is unreal, perhaps not grounded in reality; to me, it is very real.
The House
Imagine walking into a house you've never been to before. A wave of fear assaults your senses, and you know instinctively something is not right. I feel fear, and it is palpable, surging through me. The hair on my arms stands up as coldness creeps through my body. "I must leave this place," I think. I don't know why. Is this just a feeling, or a hunch? There is nothing tangible here. Yet I know I must leave. It's just a thought, right? An irrational thought? Or is it?
I went with a friend to view a house he was thinking of buying. It was a small terraced house, dark and musty as I walked through the front door. The staircase leading to the upstairs was right there. I stopped short. There it is, alarm bells were ringing as the familiar sense of unease coursed through me. The feelings and my gut instinct were so strong I had to make an excuse and walk out.
My friend was perplexed, looking at me quizzically. Mouthing "later," I went back to the car and waited for him.
It was hard to explain to him as I did not know how he would take it. Most people find it amusing, bordering on craziness and wild imagination. It was real for me.
I suggested looking at other houses, but his mind was set on this one. In the end, I did tell him that I had a "bad feeling" about the house. He laughed.
He did buy the house and brought his mum and sister over to help him unpack. I was not surprised, though alarmed, when he told me his mother fell down the stairs and broke her toe. A couple of days later, he told me his sister fell down the stairs and hurt her ankle.
Several months later, my friend showed up at my doorstep. He told me that he was speaking to his neighbor, an elderly gentleman, who said, "Shame about the old geezer that lived there before you!" "Well, poor old codger, fell down the stairs and died right there. Right at the bottom of the stairs!"
There was something going on around the bottom of the stairs. One relative slipped down the last three treads on the stairs and broke a toe. The other one slipped down from the top of the stairs. I did not know what had happened there; I just had a hunch that something was not right.
One day, months later, my relative called to say, "I was speaking to the old man who lives next door, and he said it's a shame what happened to the old geezer!"
"What happened?" my relative asked, curiosity aroused.
"The old codger fell down the stairs and died there, right there at the bottom of the stairs!"
Cornflake Ghost
There have been times when my imagination has gotten the best of me, leading me to miss the mark, overcome by emotions and fear. A deeply religious Muslim Imam once told me, "Fear lends itself to become all-consuming and bigger than the very thing you are scared of." He was right, and over the years, I have experienced many such moments. These instances are part and parcel of a "sixth sense" awareness, combined with a vivid imagination, which culminates in the nature of my next experience.
In 1963, a heartbreaking tragedy struck our family. My beautiful cousin succumbed to the ravages of a devastating house fire and died at the age of nine. She was my favorite cousin. A beautiful girl with an aura that evoked tranquility and calm. We were the same age, and losing her was a profound loss that haunts me to this day. I agonized over her loss and still feel it keenly to this day. I have a vivid imagination and would often imagine us playing games together, just as we did during her short life. I wanted to see her again, but the thought of that, knowing that she was no longer of this world, the proverbial ghost, filled me with trepidation.
My aunt was devastated after losing her beautiful child. Many times, I overheard her telling my mum that my cousin would visit her at night. It was a lovely thought on one hand, a comforting presence in her grief, and yet, it scared the life out of me.
We lived in the basement of a grand, three-storied house in London. The black front door, aged and imposing, was tucked away on the side of the house, leading into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. The first room you saw was the living room, a cozy haven with worn, plush furniture and a fireplace that crackled warmly in the winter months. On either side of this room were bedrooms, each with its own character and secrets.
The long hallway stretched out from the living room, its wooden floorboards creaking underfoot, leading to a tiny, almost forgotten kitchen. This kitchen seemed so far away from the living room, as if it were a separate world entirely. The walls were adorned with old, faded wallpaper depicting pastoral scenes, and the air always carried the faint scent of spices and home-cooked meals.
At night, the house took on a different personality. Shadows danced in the corners, and every sound was amplified, echoing through the old walls.
One evening, months after my cousin left, my mum asked me to make a bottle for my baby sister. It was a daunting task for me as our kitchen in that house was located at the back of the house, accessible through a small hallway. I couldn't refuse as my mum and dad were busy working. I squared my shoulders. "I am going in!" To bolster my courage, I began to sing a song as loudly as possible, thinking the louder I sang, the safer I would be. In a weird way, it gave courage as I did not feel alone.
I poured the milk in a pot and was about to turn on the stove when I heard it. A distinct noise like rustling. Oh my God, I thought, something is in the kitchen with me. I froze, and the sound stopped!
I turned back to the stove and lit the burner. There it was again. This time there was no stopping me. Every nerve in my body was on high alert, and no amount of rational thinking could assuage the mounting anxiety I was feeling. Like a lightning bolt, I screamed in terror and dashed out of the kitchen.
Mum and Dad came running out as I screeched, "There's a ggggghost in the kitchen!" Mum took me into the living room where my siblings were standing there, anxious and perhaps scared themselves. Dad had bravely gone to the kitchen to investigate.
Mum managed to calm me down, by which time Dad returned, and in his hand was a Kellogg's cornflakes box. He had a strange smile on his face as he called me over to him, telling me to look inside the box. I didn't want to, but he encouraged me to, and there at the bottom of the box was a small baby mouse stuck in the folds of the cornflakes see-through pouch.
Is She Really Here?
Mum's aunt passed away in the late 60s, and as was customary, everyone gathered at the "Dead House" to keep a wake, pray, or simply chat. People brought food, and this continued throughout the night.
In the UK back then, it was common practice to bring the deceased person home the night before the funeral. They did just that with Nanie. She lay peacefully in her coffin in the corner by the window of the front room. It didn't phase us as kids; we were used to this sort of thing, but I was always careful never to look too long at the person because I would then carry that image with me.
At some point during the night, all the kids were sent upstairs to bed. My siblings and I were in the front room where makeshift beds had been made on the floor. We laid down, said our prayers, when one of my brothers whispered, "Nanie is here, look she is over there!" We all looked in the direction he pointed, and there was a collective gasp. We were terrified at what we saw! Scared to get up and run, we huddled closer together, held each other's hands, and closed our eyes tightly. Standing bent over, as was Nanie's stance, was a figure that looked like Nanie. We didn't see a face, but the shape and outline were that of a person. Restless, uneasy sleep was all I got that night. I prayed that Nanie would go away, but every time I looked over, she was still there.
Morning came, and the sunlight streamed through the curtains. I peeked over, thinking Nanie would be gone by now, but she was still there, though it looked like she had a sheet draped over her. One by one, my siblings woke up, whispering that Nanie was still here, but we were wondering why she had a sheet draped over her. Getting up, we inched slowly over to her, and one of the boys yanked the sheet off. Our mouths dropped, and we looked at each other before collapsing on the floor, giggling our heads off.
Underneath that sheet was a stand-up, old-fashioned hair dryer!
The Mist
I hesitate to say that I am psychic or that I have psychic abilities. However, I often sense the physical and emotional states of those around me. It's a gut feeling, an intuitive hunch, without anything tangible to pinpoint. Albert Einstein once said, "The only real valuable thing is intuition." Marilyn Monroe added, "A woman knows by intuition, or instinct, what is best for herself."
My next story is different because I actually saw something. It wasn't just a hunch; it was real.
In March 1978, I lay in bed with my two little girls, staring at the ceiling, waiting for them to fall asleep. We were living in my parents' home in a one-bedroom flat. Something above the wardrobe caught my eye. I blinked once, twice, rubbed my eyes, and closed them. It was still there - a fluffy, white cloud-like object, reminiscent of cotton candy, hovering over the wardrobe.
Whatever it was, it didn't belong there. As I stared at it, fear began to creep in. Without thinking, I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen where my siblings were gathered.
"What's wrong with you?" one of my brothers asked, his eyebrows knitting together in a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Nothing," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant as I walked over to the kitchen sink. But the words tumbled out before I could stop them, "There's a thing in my room, a cloud-like, misty thing over the wardrobe."
The room fell silent. My siblings exchanged glances, their expressions a blend of skepticism and intrigue. My eldest sister, always the practical one, tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, as if weighing the plausibility of my claim. My youngest brother, the joker of the family, stifled a laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Fine, come on guys, let's go and see this mist-like thing," my brother said, his voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and curiosity.
We traipsed upstairs, the wooden steps creaking under our weight. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and embarrassment. As we entered the room, I realized with a sinking feeling that I had left my girls sleeping while I ran away. The room was just as I had left it, but the mist was gone.
My siblings looked around, their faces a study in disappointment and disbelief. My eldest sister sighed, her shoulders slumping as if to say, "I knew it." My youngest brother couldn't hold back any longer and let out a chuckle, shaking his head.
"She's bloody mad," the unspoken words hung in the air, heavy and palpable.
Sheepishly, I crawled back into bed, feeling foolish. I tried to convince myself that I had imagined the whole thing, but the memory of the mist lingered, a ghostly reminder of what I had seen.
The next day, at 8 am on that Sunday morning, we got the call. Dad answered the phone; I was feeding the girls but looked at him as his tone had changed. I felt instinctively that something was wrong.
The sound of the phone had woken the others up, and one by one, they came into the kitchen.
Dad hung up the phone, his voice hoarse with emotion, and said, "That was your mother. Your grandma just died."
Devastated, we all sat in silence around the kitchen table, lost in thought.
That was the first time I saw the mist, but it would not be the last. It is 2024 as I write this, and I have seen the mist on countless occasions when it uncannily appears as a signal that something significant, often death or some other unfortunate event, is about to occur. Although I cannot predict who or what it will be, the mist has become a reliable warning sign for me.
I last saw the mist a week before my sister-in-law's mother passed in 2023. I was lying on the sofa, wide awake, and then I saw it. It was slightly different now, larger than I had seen before and more swirly. I lay there watching it for quite some time.
Later, I reached for my phone and messaged my kids and grandchildren as I usually did whenever I saw the mist.
"Hey guys, I saw the mist this morning. Please all take care and be careful." It was my early warning system.
A week later, I got the call from my brother. His beloved mother-in-law had died.
Recently, I came across an article by Dr. Raymond Moody, known for his pioneering work in near-death experiences. His article discusses a strange mist that people have reported seeing over a deathbed. People have described it in many different ways; some say it looks like steam, others say it looks like smoke, and some people have reported seeing the shape of a human being (Glimpses of Eternity, Dr. Raymond Moody).
Food for thought? Fanciful thinking? To those who experience such uncanny feelings and phenomena, it is very real.
Realization
Defining intuition or feelings is challenging; there is no single, conclusive analogy or explanation. Over the years, I've noticed certain traits in people who have experienced similar things to me.
Having a sixth sense can be a stigma, with people labeling you based on their own ideas and their ability to compartmentalize situations they don't understand. My journey toward understanding and interpreting my intuition and hunches spans decades. How many of you listen to that little voice in your head? Yes, you know the one! The first instinctive voice you hear when you think of doing something. That little voice acts as a guide for me. It's not absolute, but it does make me pause before taking action.
As an intuitive person, I cannot ignore my gut feelings or the fact that I feel things keenly. Instead, I use it to explore and think beyond what is readily in front of my eyes. Though not the sole determinant of my decisions, this emotional aspect does factor into how I make choices.
Intuition can sometimes be the bane of my soul. I often say, with the utmost respect, that I should never be a juror. I am flexible in my thinking, often finding each side justified. I once thought this ability to flip-flop was a weakness, but it is actually a strength, as it brings out the empathetic part of who I am.
