Scarlet Ribbons. Harry Belafonte.
http://youtu.be/5611V_V_2mE
Scarlet Ribbons sung by Harry Belafonte.
Classic song about apports.
If I live to be a hundred.
I will never know from where.
Came those lovely scarlet ribbons, scarlet ribbons for her hair.
Popular American song written 1949.
Lyrics by Jack Segal.
Frances.
Just knew I would get this in somewhere ('~').
Apports. The Gold Leaf Lady.
http://i1287.photobucket.com/albums/...suth9texz.jpeg
Source:- http://press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/071527.html
Link to a short article. The Gold Leaf Lady.
Paranormal investigation of apports and materialisations.
Gold coloured foil would appear on various parts of this ladies body.
Frances.
Asports. Spiral's high Viz Hat.
http://i1287.photobucket.com/albums/...st8xyjb0v.jpeg
8th December 2014, 06:38
Talking of Asports.
This is a very interesting account of a recent one.
This is Spiral's story, taken from the thread, "We Are The Experiencers"
I was busy this afternoon and was quite rushed as it approached dog walking time, it's always a squeeze at this time of year with the short days, I got my coat & boots on & went for my hat, of which I have two for this time of year, a warm woolly one & a baseball cap, both "hi-viz" bright orange because of all the hunters around here.
As it's very cold with snow on the hills I wanted the woolly one, but it wasn't there, I knew where I had left it only the day before, on the drawers right next to the baseball cap, I looked around for a while & asked my wife & but just wasn't there, so I picked the one hat that was there & went out, having forgotten about "asking them".
I got back & was pre-occupied with getting firewood in before it got dark, then finally I could get my hat & coat off, and as I put my cap down, right there on the drawers was the bright orange woolly hat !
Paranormal Story Of A Look Into The Future.
Story taken from The ForteanTimes Forum.
Background to the mystery:
I was born during the second world war in a small town in the north of Ontario, Canada, in the Precambrian Shield country, surrounded by tens of thousands of square miles of uninhabited boreal forest (which we simply call “the bush”), a land of thousands of lakes, rivers, and great muskeg swamps. Our lives then would be considered today as relatively primitive, with no running water, an outdoor toilet, and none of the appliances that today are routinely found in homes, such as electric stoves, televisions, refrigerators, freezers, washers and dryers etc.
While we did have electrical service, it was used only for a single light in each room, a radio, and a bread toaster. We heated with wood and cooked on a wood stove, which required going off into the “bush” every year to cut about 30 cords of firewood. We snared and hunted hares, fished, shot moose, grouse, ducks and geese and harvested various berries.
My earliest memories are of travelling by canoe, of the annual trip to the bush to fall trees for firewood, of trekking through the bush to lakes and rivers to fish, of setting trap lines, picking berries to be preserved for winter, hauling water in buckets, going to a lake in winter to harvest blocks of ice which were then covered with sawdust to prevent melting in the summer heat.
By our mid-teens my pals and I would often walk for several days to a particular lake or river to fish or to an area to hunt certain species. As well as obtaining food it was also one of our main sources of recreation, that and playing hockey. As we grew older we went further and further afield, sometimes a hundred miles or more and lasting several weeks. Bush machines such as quads and snowmobiles were still in the future, but we couldn’t have afforded them even if they had existed. Besides, they couldn’t have gone where we went anyway. Due to all of this time spent in the wilds, I and my companions developed an uncanny sense of direction. We never used a compass and often took different routes going to and returning from distant places, through areas we had never before been, just to see what was there.
We never got lost. Ever. At age 16 I and my friends were taking full-time jobs in the bush, fighting forest fires, working remote sawmills, logging, cutting survey lines that often stretched many miles and had to be straight as an arrow, doing the “slug work” for geologists, which meant digging trenches down to bare rock through the tangle of roots, drilling holes in rock, filling them with dynamite and blasting. Our lives and livelihoods revolved around the bush. Doing these things also gave us the opportunity to explore.
During all of that I developed a burning fascination with nature and would spend days wandering, watching creatures, how they acted, how they lived, their habits. My desire to travel, to see what other areas were like, to observe the animals, led me to take up a trade that allowed me to make a decent living while also experiencing new areas and creatures. I’ve worked from the east coast of Canada to the west coast, from the north to the south of this immense and beautiful country. In the course of that I got to observe a great diversity of landscapes and many hundreds of species at close range and at leisure.
I’ve also wandered out-of-the-way areas in several other countries, such as the United States and Mexico, to witness the diversity of the creatures, the unfamiliar climates and the natural and sometimes man-made wonders.
Never got lost in those places either, though many were very remote. Through all of these experiences I have become quite an astute observer of things. I will give one rather silly example. During a visit with my youngest daughter who lives in a city in the most southern part of Ontario, we were chatting on her deck when I got a blink-of-the-eye glimpse of a distant aircraft as it passed a narrow clearing in the trees. I’ve always had a fascination with aircraft as well. I must have had a startled look on my face because everyone began asking me what was wrong, was I alright? I explained that I thought I had just had a hallucination - of an aircraft from the 1930s and 40s that no longer exists, a German Junkers J-52. To my relief, next day the news carried the story of a Ju-52 that had been restored to flight-worthiness in Europe and had stopped at the local airport during a tour of North America.
My point is that in an instant I had accurately identified it, even though it had seemed to me an impossibility.
At my advanced age I still wander to remote areas of the bush where there are no trails. I’m fortunate to now reside in a small northern village (pop. about 200) where the night skies with no light pollution are clear and the display of the heavens and aurora borealis are magnificent, where small children and dogs run free, where there are none of the ordinances that so closely regulate city dwellers lives, where no-one drives more than 30 km/hr, there is peace and serenity and I can be off in the bush in a matter of minutes. And I’ve never gotten lost here either.
There are only three occasions in my life when I wasn’t able to find my way back to a particular place, but I know I wasn’t lost. Having said all this I will begin the story in an instalment to follow. I do hope this has not been too long and tedious for you, but I did want to give some background. regards
To be continued...
A look Into The Future Part 2.
Well, I’ve completed the second part, so here goes….
As time passed, no matter how I tried, I still couldn’t get these things out of my mind. I brooded on it. Relations in our family began to deteriorate. My wife and I began to have arguments. She suspected I was having an extramarital affair.
Looking back from my vantage point of experience, I’ve come see this as a life lesson on the destructive power of keeping secrets from a partner in the intimate relationship of a marriage. I suppose it was avoidance of a bad situation that finally led me to accept a job in a town nearly 500 miles away.
Every couple of weeks I’d leave the job site late on Friday for the 12-hour drive home, then Sunday night I’d make the return trip and arrive on time for work Monday. It was gruelling, but I thought it important to see the children on a regular basis. I’d leave after they were asleep Sunday evening and arrive in time for work.
One winter night on the return trip a peculiar thing happened. At about five in the morning I stopped at an all-night restaurant in a small town. I sat and had a coffee and took a short walk in the cold air before hitting the highway again.
After a few miles it began to snow heavily but I kept going, following the blurred red tail-lights of a large truck I’d caught up to. As the snowfall increased the view of the highway decreased. At length the flurry became almost hypnotic, so I pulled to the side of the road for a short walk to clear my head.
When I stepped out, however, I discovered to my surprise that there was no snow, and although the highway was straight for a long distance, there was no sign of any truck. I thought, “now that’s really strange!” Not an earth shaking event by any measure but it did shake me somewhat. Maybe I was crazy after all.
I continued this exhausting schedule through the winter, until one morning on my return the wife announced that she wanted a divorce.
I couldn’t in honesty blame her. Our life of contentment had fallen to the depths of dissatisfaction and despair. And the blame lay solely on my shoulders.
In what I can only view now as an act of shameless escapism, I called a friend who had previously offered me a job in northern Alberta and asked if the offer was still open. It was, so I quit the job I had, packed the car and once again headed west. After a time we filed for divorce.
About a year later I met a statuesque, intelligent and accomplished divorcee and we shortly after were constant companions. She enjoyed trips into the wilds as well.
I probably shouldn’t tell this but I will anyway. Late one night we were deep in the bush after an afternoon of watching beavers repairing a dam. We found ourselves in an amorous mood and parked in a rough little side road. Things were progressing very satisfactorily when all of a sudden a bright light flooded the cab of the truck.
To say it was a surprise is a vast understatement. We were, as the saying goes, “a mile and a half from nowhere.” We couldn’t see who it was behind the light so I said loudly – and very indignantly - “who are you and what the hell do you want?” The reply was “I’m a game warden.
Do you have any firearms with you?” “No!” I said, but my lady, laughing uproariously, shouted back “Yes, but not the kind you’re looking for!”
The job I was on held many hazards and in the four years I worked there I had several very close calls that could easily have resulted in death.
Despite the high wages I was earning, the site was just too dangerous.
Shortly after a huge explosion levelled a good portion of the plant, melting steel girders so they looked like limp, over-cooked spaghetti, I decided to leave. Money can’t buy your life back. Fortunately there were no casualties in the blast. All the workers were in a building at some distance on coffee break.
My lady friend wanted to continue our relationship and told me she’d go with me if I would like. I had no idea where I would go. She suggested moving to a remote area of British Columbia. We agreed that she’d go ahead with the car and I’d follow with the truck and camper when everything was wrapped up in Alberta.
She left in September and settled in a small town on the north coast where I’d never been, rented an apartment and in a short time got a job. In October I quit my job and headed for the west coast. I stopped for few hours in Edmonton and in the afternoon, climbed into the camper and slept until 10.30 p.m. A half hour later I left Edmonton for the 800 mile journey to the town she’d chosen.
I drove for almost six hours and reached the village of McBride just before 5 a.m. I fuelled up and departed for Prince George about 125 miles further on, at most a two- hour drive.
Prince George was roughly the half-way point of the trip and I planned to stay overnight with a friend. About another hour out of McBride I was feeling stiff and in need of a break so I pulled into a roadside rest area, took a walk and made coffee in the camper.
Then, with a mug of coffee in hand, away I went, anticipating that I’d reach Prince George sometime around 7 a.m. I kept driving and it was some time after daybreak when I spotted a small restaurant and decided I’d stop for breakfast, so I pulled in.
When the waitress came to the table I ordered bacon and eggs, but she said “I’m sorry sir but we don’t serve breakfast after noon.” I thought to myself, ”this waitress has some sense of humour” and I chuckled a little and repeated the order.
She only repeated what she’d said about no breakfast after noon. “Well”, I said, “you must have one funny watch,” at which she pointed to a clock on the wall that read 12.30. I thought the clock must be wrong and turned to another customer and asked to see his watch. It confirmed the time as 12.30. I was stunned.
Roughly five hours had vanished and I could not conceive how it happened. An hour difference I could imagine, but not five hours. I could only think “what the hell happened?!” I reached Prince George by about 2 p.m. after having lunch rather than breakfast that “morning.”
The rest of the journey, thankfully, held no other surprises. Instead, as I neared the coast I was treated to the sight of tall mountains with frequent waterfalls dropping more than a thousand feet to the valley, and many bald eagles soaring the skies.
Shortly after my arrival I found work as an ironworker at a sawmill construction site. On weekends we toured the country, visiting many Indian villages to see the tall totem poles.
We travelled rough roads through the bush to majestic fjords, went fishing with friends we’d made, had crab feasts and salmon feasts and relished the plentiful seafood.
Satisfaction had returned to my life. I’d put aside my obsession and was getting on with life. One day as we explored we came into a village and drove around just for the enjoyment. It was a small community of approximately 700, with a sheltered harbour and dozens of fishing boats tied to the wharves, and a picturesque view of the islands strewn across this area of the Pacific.
Although we were living less than 20 miles from it, prior to that we’d never taken the road leading to it. We cruised the waterfront area and after climbing a steep hill, we entered an area with normal houses on one side of the street, while the other side was lined with mobile homes and we turned into a road running through it.
As we neared a corner my gal was surprised when I suddenly shouted “Stop the car! Stop right here!” I jumped out of the car and quickly crossed the street. which was at the edge of a forest. Climbing a small hill on the side opposite the homes, I turned to look back.
Yes! There on my left stood a tall steel pole. In front of me a mobile was oriented toward me, while next to it were others at right angles.
Children were playing in the street. As I stood there in awe, I could only exclaim “My Lord! This is it! This is the mobile park the young woman in white brought me to!” I was thunderstruck.
Meanwhile, my gal had gotten out of the car and came across the street with an anxious look on her face. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” she asked. I could only assure her happily that “nothing is wrong, but I think something is very right.” It was at that point I noticed the “for sale” sign in front of the mobile at the corner directly across from me. “I’m going to buy that place” I announced, and I copied the phone number from the sign.
Then something else occurred to me. “Come on,” I said to her and we got back in the car. Behind the wheel I drove to the end of the street we had turned off, and there was a road with a surface of fine sand. I jumped out of the vehicle and asked her to drive back to where we had just been and wait for me. Then off I went down the sandy road.
Shortly I came to where – if it hadn’t just been a hallucination or some such after all – the young lady in white had led me off the road. I was quite excited but also gripped with trepidation as I set out into that bush. But I was much more excited when I came to the break where there in front of me was a forest of miniature trees.
I was almost running as I crossed it, went through a section of normal-sized trees and emerged in the exact spot where I had been standing only minutes before. I had quite by accident discovered the mobile park I’d seen more than 13 years before and more than 3,000 miles away. The next day I called the real estate agent and made the arrangements to buy that property.
To be continued…….