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Thread: Jordan Maxwell & Other Paranormal Stories

  1. #16
    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Scarlet Ribbons. Harry Belafonte.


    Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=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 ('~').
    Last edited by Frances, 20th July 2015 at 01:01.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Apports. The Gold Leaf Lady.



    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.
    Last edited by Frances, 19th July 2015 at 21:52.
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    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Apports And Asports.

    Source:- http://delawareparanormal.blogspot.c...-rocks-oh.html

    Link to a short article about Apports and Asports, contains short stories of a much loved St Raphael Medal and a book of a poem "lady Of The Lake".

    Asports are objects that unaccountably disappear.
    Psychic phenomena involving the disappearance or transportation of objects supposedly accomplished with the help of a spirit.
    Frances.
    Last edited by Frances, 20th July 2015 at 12:34.
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    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Asports. Spiral's high Viz Hat.



    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 !
    Last edited by Frances, 19th July 2015 at 22:02.
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    asports are my enemies

    i refuse to accept things can go missing. i had a case of an item vanishing, disappearing, leaving this dimension the second after i dropped it..i spent good two hours breathlessly inspecting the area around where it had fallen..torchlight included ..no result.

    i found it/it reappeared months later in a different area of the same room, some three meters away from where it fell, under the settee i don't often look behind. as crazy as it sounds.

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  11. #21
    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Hello Elbie, I suspect a lot of people experience the disaperence of various items, but shrug it off as absent mindness.
    Once you become familiar with the fact that it may be a paranormal happening it takes on a different light.

    Sometimes deceased loved ones find the lost items and return them to the person looking for them.
    I have never had the pleasure of this experience, but it's in my memory box now.
    Frances.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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    Quote Originally posted by Frances View Post
    Hello Elbie, I suspect a lot of people experience the disaperence of various items, but shrug it off as absent mindness.
    Once you become familiar with the fact that it may be a paranormal happening it takes on a different light.

    Sometimes deceased loved ones find the lost items and return them to the person looking for them.
    I have never had the pleasure of this experience, but it's in my memory box now.
    Frances.
    frances, i was stone cold sober at the time and generally not absent minded. plus, i didn't leave it for some time later - i got on with my search there and then, determined to find it..at the same time, the item in question was/is not that important to me, it became so because it vanished after i dropped it. why would any entity want to play with me over a trivial item ? unless of course they are dying of boredom out there.

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  15. #23
    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Well yes Elbie, they may be bored also.
    Frances.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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  17. #24
    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    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 couldnt have afforded them even if they had existed. Besides, they couldnt 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. Ive 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.
    Ive 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. Ive 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. Im 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 Ive never gotten lost here either.

    There are only three occasions in my life when I wasnt able to find my way back to a particular place, but I know I wasnt 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...
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    Part One – the start

    summer 1973 I was weary. I’d been working long hours each day, starting at 7a.m. and at times not getting home until 2 a.m., only to report back to work at 7 a.m. again. It was taking its toll. One day in June I decided that it was simply too much – too many hours, too little time with the family. I decided that it was time for a change. I felt I needed a good holiday, time to relax, time to be with the kids, time to eat proper meals with the family.
    On the drive home I came up with a plan, so when I arrived I asked “who wants to go to British Columbia?” The wife was a little stunned but the kids were immediately all for it. BC as we call it, is Canada’s western-most province, about 3,000 miles from where we were. “I do! I do!” said the youngest, then asked, “where is Birtish Clumbya dad?” The wife, after some consideration, decided that yes, she’d like to see the country too. We quickly made arrangements, putting belongings in storage, giving notice to the landlord of our rental house and to my employer.

    We set out in late June on what was to be a glorious summer. Along the way we stopped frequently, camping in beautiful areas, pausing to watch wildlife and pitching camp whenever someone took a notion they wanted to see more of an area. That happened frequently.
    We watched the moon rising over lovely lakes, listened to the music of wolves howling, stopped to follow pronghorn antelope on the open prairies, sat in the midst of a prairie dog town watching these cute little creatures frolicking and standing about with their arms around each other, seemingly as curious about us as were of them. For a month we dawdled along at a leisurely pace, taking time to see buffalo, porcupines, foxes, coyotes, bears, moose and whatever else we chanced upon, even skunks. We crossed the wide prairies and entered the foothills of Alberta and on into the Rocky Mountains range, camping beside turquoise lakes, watching marmots, mountain goats, Dahl sheep, huge elk, then crossed several more mountain ranges to the interior of British Columbia, into the intense summer heat of the Okanagan Valley where we feasted on the great variety of fruits grown there.

    Then it was on to the coast at Vancouver where we caught the ferry for Vancouver Island. Vancouver Island, the largest Island on the west coast of America, was fascinating – long, deserted sandy beaches, enormous giant trees, and a great variety of wildlife including bright green slugs about six inches in length. And blacktail deer, hoards of them.
    It is also home to the Kwakiutl Indian nation, people who carve huge monumental “totem” poles and great sea-going canoes of 60 feet or more, each from a single tree. They also carve beautiful and fantastic ceremonial masks and many other items. We spent a full month exploring the island, but by early September, it was time to go, to find another job.
    I made a few calls and lined up work in Ontario, so sun-tanned and contented, we caught the ferry for the mainland and embarked on the week-long drive to Ontario. The job, which was in the Kitchener area, went well. We rented a farmhouse in a rural area close to the city but not so close that the clamour of the city reached us.
    Next spring we planted a huge garden, got several bee-hives, a small flock of chickens. With those and the apple and cherry trees, we lived well. We made some fine friends and almost every weekend a crowd would gather in our huge kitchen with the table that sat more than a dozen, or on the wide porch that stretched the width of the house. People brought their kids and instruments and there was music and dancing aplenty. As is my habit, I also began to explore the hardwood forests surrounding us, noting the bird species and the animals that inhabited these quiet shady tracts.

    Contentment reigned. (An aside: last year I visited this same area: since we were first there the city has undergone explosive growth, and only a few remnants of the hardwood forest remain.) By early summer of the following year my wanderings on free days were taking me further and further, sometimes alone but often in the company of a friend I’d made who had a similar interest. We passed some fine days. It was all a pleasant life. But for me. at least, it was about to change.

    Late one afternoon, at a location about 20 miles from home, I came across a narrow gravel road running off the main road and into a forest, one that I hadn’t previously noticed. I parked the car and with binoculars in hand, strolled off down the road. I was rewarded with the sight of variety of birds. In the distance I could hear the knock of a woodpecker so I continued on, and sure enough, discovered a pileated woodpecker, the largest of the woodpeckers in Canada. I was pleased. It was now twilight and I thought “I’ll just go a little further and then turn back and head for home.”
    A short time later I came to a tall chain-link fence with a double gate across the road. Perched in a tree to the right of the gate, was a great horned owl, a rare sight. The owl and I were studying each other when it suddenly swivelled its head. As a reflex I also turned to possibly see what had attracted its attention. It was growing dark but nonetheless I could clearly see why it had reacted.
    There, to my great surprise, to the left of the gate, stood a petite young woman in a white dress. It caught me completely off guard, but I waved hello, whereupon she began to motion to me toward her, which I did. Before I could get a word out, she said quietly, “Come, I’ll show you something.” My curiosity aroused, I followed her through brush for perhaps 50 feet to a corner of the fence.

    She rounded the corner and climbed down to a depression that left a gap under the fence and crouching down, ducked under and entered the fenced off area. I stopped at the depression and told her, no, I wouldn’t enter. That would be trespassing, and I had no intention of being accused of that. “It’s alright. No-one will bother you” she said, and strode off toward a building some`150 feet away. I thought to myself, “well, if she can do it, then so can I,” and climbed through the opening.
    I followed her to a doorway in the building, which she opened and we entered. To my surprise, the building, which had appeared deserted, was actually occupied. The people inside, who I noted had sort of Oriental features, were dressed in light blue coveralls.
    At this point I thought “peculiar that they’d have a round room in a rectangular building.” Several were seated on benches around the perimeter of the room while others were strolling in or out of a long corridor to my left.
    None seem to pay any attention to us, as though visitors were quite normal. As I pondered what this building might be, a tall middle-aged fellow with occidental features and pure white hair approached us. The girl, obviously well acquainted with this fellow, (I thought he might be her father) said to him, “show him the ……….” I didn’t quite hear, or perhaps couldn’t understand what she was asking him to show me.

    Without a word, he strode off, went through a door and in less than a minute was back, whereupon he handed me a mechanical device. Having worked a fair amount on cars, I said “oh, an alternator” and handed it back to him. Maybe that’s what this building is about, manufacturing alternators, I thought. For those who may not be familiar with automotive parts, an alternator is a device that produces the electricity with which a vehicle functions.
    They are round with a more or less flattened front and back and have a rotating shaft through the center. “No, it’s not that,” she said, whereupon he again handed me the device. I gave it another examination, twirled the shaft, which kept spinning for a remarkably long time until I stopped it. To me it still resembled nothing but an alternator. I handed it back to him and in an attempt at being polite said something mundane like “Hmmm. Interesting.” It was growing late so I told them I really had to go, my dinner would be cold and I wanted to spend some time with the family.
    The girl accompanied me back through the opening under the fence and when we reached the road, I said goodbye, thanked her for the tour and headed back along the road to my car. It was late when I got home. My dinner was indeed cold and the wife asked why I was so late. I could only mumble that I’d been bird watching and saw an owl at dusk.

    She was accustomed to my jaunts and to me getting interested enough in something to lose track of time. A couple of weeks later I set out to explore a different area, one near a major river. Again it was late afternoon. I quietly ambled through a clearing in the woods, enjoying the warm day and the sounds and odours of the forest. I sat for a while and watched a small herd of deer. Just as I had decided to continue along, I realized that standing off to my right was the same young woman as before.
    It isn’t all that unusual to encounter other people, but I’d never met anyone before that wore a white dress into the woods. I thought it truly a striking coincidence that we should find ourselves again at the same location at the same time.
    We exchanged greetings whereupon she asked if would I like to see something interesting. “Certainly,” I replied and jokingly asked “is this another building?” She assured me it was not and then led me along a narrow trail and about 15 or 20 minutes later we emerged into a large clearing and started across it.

    I was thinking that this girl really knew the country. At the far edge of the clearing was a group of native guys sitting around a fire, chatting and drinking, perhaps coffee or tea. As we passed them I greeted them but not one turned to acknowledge my greeting. “Hmm. Pretty unsociable” I thought.
    A little further along the field ended in an embankment. From the top of this I could see water flowing from my right to left, and on the far side thick woods. When we had descended the banks, the young lady led me to the right and stopped at an area of bare rock. She pointed to something in the rock at her feet and when I neared her I saw what I realized was a pretty remarkable carving in the rock. There before me was the figure of a person lying with the head in the direction of the water.
    There are areas all across Canada and the US where rock carvings can be found, but this one was remarkable in that, unlike others I’d seen, it was not merely an outline, but a full figure with the body and limbs indented in the rock. It was as though someone had lain in soft sand and left a deep three-dimensional impression of their body. But this was solid rock.
    The impression was partly filled with water, otherwise I might have tried to lay in it to get an idea of the size compared to me. It seemed though to be smaller than me. I could only speculate that this must have taken someone a lot of time and a lot of perseverance to carve. After I’d marvelled at this sight for a few minutes the girl said she had to get back, though she didn’t mention where she had to get back to. We climbed back up the bank and started out across the field, again passing close to the Indian lads, who again completely ignored us.
    We retraced our path through the woods and when we reached the roadway I thanked her for showing me this surprising carving and we parted ways in opposite directions. What was in the other direction I had no idea. I was a little surprised at this point to realize it was growing dark while on the other side of the bush it had been brighter, but thought nothing more of it. Again I retraced my steps to my car and drove home.

    About a week and half later when I left work I knew there would be no-one at home at this time, so I decided to take another little wander, to explore another area. I was in the habit of keeping my gear, binoculars, knife etc. in my car so I left directly for the area I wanted to see, which was about a half-hour drive. I’d passed this spot previously but hadn’t had the time then to spare.
    When I arrived at my destination I again left the car on a side-road and proceeded along at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sunshine and the flowering plants. After perhaps a half-mile the road turned from gravel to fine sand, much easier to walk on, and creating less noise. I had not gone far when I rounded a bend and to my astonishment, the girl in white was sitting by the side of the road!.
    She stood up when I approached and I noticed that her feet were bare. I remarked that I was very surprised but also pleased to find her in the same place as I was once again. “Come for a walk with me” she said, and again led the way.
    A short distance down the road she turned to her right and entered the bush. “Don’t you think you should put shoes on,” I said. “You could hurt your feet walking through here like that.” “I’ll be fine” was her reply. A few minutes later we came upon quite an amazing site. At least it was to me. Here in a swath perhaps a hundred feet wide and stretching left and right some distance, was a forest of miniature trees!

    They were obviously fully grown but ranged from only about a foot to perhaps four feet. None were as tall as me. “Wow!” I said “thank you showing me this!” I had long admired Japanese Bonsai, trees that are cultivated in miniature, and here I was in the midst of a forest of them! “Oh no,” she said,” this isn’t what I was going to show you. It’s a little way yet.”
    Reluctantly I followed along, entering a growth of normal-sized trees, until we emerged once again. . The sight I beheld was totally unexpected. Before me was a small hillock with patches of bare rock. To my left stood a tall metal pole and beyond the low hill was……… a trailer park. (If you’re unfamiliar with the term -I don’t know if these are common in other countries - a trailer park consists of a group of mobile homes in which people live on a permanent basis.)
    Where we emerged was at a corner of a road. Directly across the road was one unit laid out lengthwise toward me. To its right were two more, while on left of the first one, others were at right angles to it. On the roadway a group of children were playing.
    I started toward the road, but the young woman, who was hiding behind the little hill whispered loudly – and obviously anxiously – “No, we can’t do that!” I was a little taken aback at this, but she insisted that we leave immediately. I was disappointed that we’d come here for nothing more interesting than a trailer park, and hadn’t taken the time to examine what I thought was far more interesting, the mini-trees.
    Without pausing she led the way back to the road, straight through the remarkable trees without even a glance. When at the road she announced abruptly that she must leave, and immediately set off down the road.

    I lingered for a few minutes before going, shaking my head at the strange reaction she’d had. “Ah, well,” I told myself, “another day I’ll come back and take my time, maybe bring a camera.” And off I went, back to my car and home.. A short time later my friend with the same exploring urge as myself showed up on a Saturday morning. What were my plans for the day, he asked. “Well, once my chores are done I’m pretty well free for the day” I told him.
    He had in mind, he said, that we take my canoe and cruise down a section of river, which I agreed that on such a fine day was a fine idea. When I was done, we set off for the river with the canoe on the roof of my car. On the way I said, “speaking of the river, have you ever seen the native rock carving?” (That it been carved out by a native was an assumption on my part) Though he’d lived in the area for years, he’d never heard of it, so at my suggestion we changed plans slightly and I drove off in the direction of where I’d seen it. Well, we arrived at the spot, but to my surprise, there was no road.
    “Gee, I must be mistaken. I thought it was here, but maybe it’s further along” I said. So we went further, and then further, but no such road could I find. Finally I gave up the search in frustration: this had never happened before. Of course, he took advantage of the situation to tease me. “Some bushwhacker you are! Can’t find your way even with a highway!” I did my best to deflect his good-natured jibes, but inside I was confused. I always found my way back. Over the next few weeks, I set out many times, determined to find this place, but I never did, though my search became ever-widening.
    I even began to rationalize that perhaps it was closer to the area where I’d been shown the “alternator,” but I couldn’t locate that spot either. I searched for the area where I’d seen the “bonsai” trees, but again with no success.
    I started to become obsessive about it all until I was travelling further and further away. I was determined. The wife was beginning to be concerned about these long unexplained absences. I kept it all to myself, never revealing what was happening with me. I couldn’t explain it to her. I believed she’d think I’d lost my mind. I was even beginning to suspect that might be the case.

    Then one day I realized that in my determination to prove to myself I could find these sites, I’d extended my search almost a hundred miles in all directions and said to myself “this is sheer madness” and I stopped searching. Kind of.

    To be continued….
    Last edited by Frances, 22nd December 2014 at 02:01.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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  21. #26
    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    A look Into The Future.

    Authors Response To Some Questions That Were Asked.

    After reading your posting I realized that I never asked the young woman for her name, something I always do when I first meet a person.
    Very odd in restrospect that I didnt. Ill attempt to answer your questions as best I can.

    Did we converse as we walked? No, but thats the norm for myself and my friends while we make our way through the bush. Well travel for many miles without a word, or fish or hunt in silence for hours at time.

    (Actually I gave up hunting years ago I hunt with my wallet at a grocery store now) Anyone with a tendency to talk a lot was unlikely to accompany us again.
    The talkers were generally folks from cities. (No offense to city-dwellers intended.) We like to be able to hear whats going on around us.
    At home, on the other hand, we tend to be rather loud and gregarious. Silence is not awkward in the bush.

    I never did ask where she was from or why she was showing me things. Thats not unusual either. There have been a number of instances where Ive met people on my rambles and gone off with them to places of interest, maybe a good fishing spot, an unusual geological feature.
    In fact thats how I met a fellow with whom I became very close friends. And still am. I tend to trust folks until proven otherwise, and there have been a couple of examples of that as well. Besides, Im always up for a new adventure.

    There is a reserve about 40 miles away (which I also toured since my mother was from that area). That said, the area was once populated by a tribe they call the Neutrals. I learned that from an archaeologist who was on a dig at the site of a former village from a couple hundred years ago.
    They were apparently either chased out of the area (or exterminated) by raiders from the Iroquois Confederacy. I can believe that because I heard tales when I was young of the Iroquois raiding and killing Cree and Ojibway people as far north as our area many years before, likely in the 1700s.

    I like how you described how it feels in the last three paragraphs of your posting and how it can put things in perspective. I see us as specks on a speck drifting in an incredible endless cosmos when I lay in the dark out there watching the spectacular Milky Way. Makes most of those everyday concerns evaporate. This speck none the less is pretty important to us.

    Am I a writer?
    Thats a little complicated to answer. The straight answer is no, Im a tradesman. On the other hand I have written things through the years on a number of subjects and have had things published. Much of it has been about concerns I had when I discovered things on my travels.
    The last one was on the deteriorating state of a great river in Alberta, but that was almost 10 years back. Lately Ive been engrossed in what I view as the greatest dilemma ever to face this wonderous planet of ours, nuclear power stations.
    I first became curious about this while working in one where I spent a year on repairing equipment. The deeper I delved into learning about it the more concerned I became, until about three years ago Id learned enough that for the first time since I was very young,
    I was frightened. Ive since gotten over that. Now Im just angry about it. Ive had some very narrow and I mean very narrow escapes from being killed during my lifetime, but they didnt frighten me. I was certainly relieved I wasnt killed, but wasnt scared by them, mostly I guess because they happened so fast.

    Its my hope to be able God willing to produce, perhaps, a book detailing in language that anyone can understand, just how insidious and deadly the potential for eradicating much of the life on our planet this industry REALLY holds, despite assurances to the contrary by governments and interested parties. Im not one to see hidden conspiracies at every turn, but this one is without doubt such a situation.
    The material is all there for someone tenacious enough to bulldoze their way through the mass of BS. At present Im merely another voice crying in the wilderness, so to speak. Sorry to go off on a bit of a rant there.

    To be continued....
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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  23. #27
    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    A look Into The Future Part 2.

    Well, Ive completed the second part, so here goes.

    As time passed, no matter how I tried, I still couldnt 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, Ive 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 Id leave the job site late on Friday for the 12-hour drive home, then Sunday night Id 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. Id 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 Id 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 thats 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 couldnt 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 shouldnt 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 couldnt 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 Im 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 youre 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 cant 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 shed 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 shed go ahead with the car and Id 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 Id 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 shed 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 Id 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 Id stop for breakfast, so I pulled in.

    When the waitress came to the table I ordered bacon and eggs, but she said Im sorry sir but we dont 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 shed 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 wed made, had crab feasts and salmon feasts and relished the plentiful seafood.
    Satisfaction had returned to my life. Id 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 wed 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? Whats 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. Im 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 hadnt 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 Id 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.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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    Part three.

    When we were shown the mobile the following week I could see that my lady, whom I shall henceforth, if necessary, refer to by the initial M, was not terribly impressed. Actually, neither was I, but I had some inkling that something, perhaps something significant, might happen if I were there.
    However, without the slightest hesitation she agreed to the arrangement. Where I was, she was willing to be as well.
    It was a rather small abode compared to the apartment we were living in the whole mobile could almost have fit in the large living room of the apartment. But she never complained. A month or so later we took possession and made moving day a kind of party, with the women preparing a feast and our male friends loading and unloading the trucks.

    It was a grand time though the surrounding s were modest. At least now we had our own yard and a good sized deck for the frequent barbecues we had.
    A year passed swiftly. Our neighbours were fine and sociable people and friends from town came out often for what theyd nicknamed a
    The name came about because of my ineptness when removing a turkey from the oven at our first dinner there. I tilted the pan too much trying to hold it with one hand while shutting the oven door - and the turkey jumped from the pan onto the floor and splattered turkey - and (it seemed to me) at least 30 gallons of turkey juice or whatever its called, onto the floor. Heck of a mess.
    If that had happened only once it likely would have been forgotten, but then I did again the next time with a big ham. A roast of beef followed. By then theyd morphed it into a ritual, more or less, so that at every dinner for years, there were shouts of Drop the turkey! and Id have to splatter another meal to the floor at their insistence. (once it was sphagetti. Imagine!) Didnt stop anyone from eating it and I made sure to sanitize the floor before every dinner we held. A Wild Bunch, them who live on the coast.

    The year had passed and nothing of any note happened as I had expected it might, so when a big house on a hill in the village, with a great view, came up for sale, we bought that as well, and rented the mobile to a friend whod come out from Ontario.
    In the early summer of the following year Ive lost track now, but it I think it must have been 1991, I had a call from my daughter back East, asking if we had plenty of room because she intended to drive out to the coast for a visit.
    The new house had three large bedrooms, a huge dining-living room, an office, etc. so I told her of course, Id be so happy to have her there. About two weeks later when her car pulled into our drive I was just thrilled.
    I hadnt seen her for more than two years, since when she flew to Calgary and I met her at the airport, from where we departed for a month-long tour of the Western USA in my truck and camper, just the two of us .

    The main reason for that journey was that I wanted to see where the wild swans that arrived in our area at the beginning of each winter nested and raised their young. Id seen small flocks of them often during winter and had learned that unlike most birds, these ones flew north for winter and migrated south to Wyoming for summer. Go figure.
    Wed had a marvellous time together, through Montana, South Dakota, Wyoming , North Dakota, Iowa Illinois, Michigan and then back to her home in Ontario. Minutes after she arrived and Id hugged her half to death, another car pulled into the drive, a handsome young man at the wheel.

    This was her sweet-heart, who had followed her that whole distance. They stayed with us for several weeks and we took them on tours of the area, showing them the sights, dining in the area seafood restaurants, fishing salmon, crabbing, on boat tours of the area and watched dolphins and otters and great rafts of sea-birds.
    When their planned departure date arrived I was very sad to see them go, and we planned a big good-bye dinner, inviting all the folks theyd met, for a grand send-off.
    When I expressed how much I was I was going to miss her, she replied with a bright smile, that there was no need for sadness, theyd decided they were going to stay and make a life there. They really were enjoying it all much more than they did life in the city in Ontario. I was over-joyed.

    That night M and I talked it over and decided we would give them the mobile to get them started. And something significant did occur in that mobile sometime later, when my first grandchild was born there. It wasnt exactly the sort of thing Id expected might happen, but I was overjoyed.
    One of our turkey-drop friends had a little cabin in a quiet bay up the coast a way, and we would often go there to spend a relaxing day, trapping crabs for a big boil-up. There were several other cabins in the bay as well and I was approached by the owner of one of them, asking if I would be interested in buying it.
    My daughter was with me and said immediately yes dad, lets buy it! And so we did.

    We spent weekends in our cabin, going there as often as possible, remodelling it and making it comfortable for staying at times a week and more.
    It had no water and only an outhouse but we made due, bringing big jugs of water from home. I built a wood stove for it for heat and cooking and we had many cozy nights there, sometimes with a wild Pacific storm blasting in, making our own music, crabbing in the bay, wandering up to a nearby chain of lakes.
    We got to know our neighbours, three single fellows and a couple who lived there most of the year. Any of our friends were welcome to use our cabin even if we werent there so long as they chopped firewood to replace what they used.

    One of these neighbours, a rough-and-ready type and a good guy whod been born and raised in the area and knew it intimately and with whom I became a close friend, came by one day when we were there.
    He and I were on the deck sipping a brew when he said to me say, have you ever been over to the village just a ways to the north? Nope, never have. I said. Well then, how about you and me and couple of brews take a little trip over there in my boat? he said. I was up to it of course, so I told the folks I was going off with L for a little boat cruise.

    At the mouth of the bay he turned north and we were threading our way between a group of islands, when he said heyyyy! Ive got something you might find interesting, and he steered toward shore after we passed another island.
    We beached the boat and he ambled over the rocks for a bit, before he stopped and yelled back yah, here it is. Take a gander at this, and pointed down at a flat the rock in front of him. Whaddya think of that? he asked.
    For a time I could hardly speak. Then I said something like Holeee ****e! Yep, it was the figure of a person carved into the rock, just as Id seen long before and far away. I was thinking, but that was on the shore of a river! I was a little confused.
    That is, until I looked at the water, which was flowing past from my left to my right. Across from us was the thickly wooded shore of a large island. The tide was coming in, and if you had been standing there without any other references, and hadnt tasted the salty water, you could easily mistake it for a river.
    I turned around. Behind me was an earth embankment and I headed straight for it. When I reached the top I was looking out over a wide, level field beyond which thick bush grew.
    He climbed the bank and said to me, Aw, this is nothing. Years ago the folks from the village up ahead cleared it all off and used to grow their potatoes here. Nobodys used it in years.

    Back at the figure in the rock I stared down and told him this must have taken somebody ages to carve out. Well, he said, the story with the natives in the village over there and he pointed to his right,is that sometime long ago, I dont know how long, a young fellow from the village disappeared and was gone for four days or so.
    People looked all over for him, searched the beach and in the bush and spent days looking for a body in the water, but they couldnt find him. Then one day he walked into the village nothing wrong with him and when they asked him where hed been he told them one crazy tale.
    He said some strange folks came down from the sky and carved this out, then they took him away in a strange boat, up into the air and then brought him back down again.
    When they asked where he was for the four days he didnt believe it. He thought he was only gone for a little while, an hour or so maybe. Strange,huh?

    I definitely had to agree. I didnt tell him that Id had a taste of that strangeness myself. A couple of weeks later I went back with my daughters husband and laid in the carved figure. I got quite the soaker laying there and it was as I had first thought, somewhat smaller than me.
    I can only wonder, once again, what does all this mean, if anything? Is there any real meaning to it that applies to me? Does it have any significance for anything at all? Was I shown these things for a reason, or just to confuse me?
    Was it somehow connected to the birth of my grandson? There is no compelling reason to believe it is, or isnt. If there is some meaning Ive never discovered it and it remains a complete mystery to me.

    Since that time Ive kept an eye out, half expecting that perhaps around some corner, down some unfamiliar road, Ill run into a chain link fence with a gate in it, and a depression around a corner that you can climb under, and there will be a rectangular building with a circular room inside.
    So far it hasnt happened. And I dont go searching anymore.

    Ive yet to hear of anything similar happening to anyone else. There is, of course, the young man in Sweden who stopped at a gas station that he couldnt find again.
    Perhaps at some other place and some other time he did find it. One can only hope. Otherwise it will likely puzzle and possibly disturb him for years, as I it did me.
    I do so hope he does, even to prove for himself that it was real, albeit a very strange version of reality. And that he hadnt lost his mind.

    Im old now, but just maybe. Just maybe.. Theres a legend among the native people where I was born and raised, concerning what they call The Trickster (rough translation) and that when youre in the bush there is the possibility that you might encounter this being.
    The Trickster can steal into your camp and take things, usually important items, and make off with them. It can also transform itself and fool you: it could appear as a person, or as an animal, and play tricks on you in this way.
    Could it be something like that? I'm not superstitious enough to accept that as an answer either. The problem I have is that these events all seem so.ordinary.and yet contain such mystery that even though it happened to me (and a number of other mysterious events and unlikely coincidences as well) I sometimes have a difficult time accepting that it really did happen.

    To all who may have been following this tale thanks for your patience. It means a lot to me to finally be able, even anonymously, to unburden myself to some degree. It has all influenced my life in many ways, many of them not positive. Thanks again.

    Author Unkown To Me.
    Frances.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    The Stone Man.


    Frances.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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    Senior Member UK Frances's Avatar
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    The Stone Man.


    Frances.
    I like my mind and the places it takes me.

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