Ghost Attachment and the New Mid-Western Mystic


Dorothy looked like other customers, except that she didn’t. She bought the same plants as other customers, except she planned to shlep them back to her home in Michigan. There was something about Dorothy, a difference, a gram of mystery. I found myself locked on her like she was a 50 pound snapping turtle crossing in front of my car. Then she left.

This happens to me a lot. I understand that there is something to understand about people, but polite society deems it inappropriate to pick someone else’s nose for answers. I have found myself wondering the purpose of it all. Why get goosed by curiosity? Why this potty dance to interview people about their lives? I figured it out when Dorothy came back to that very same spot in front of the counter.

I got this familiar tingle of energy in the upper left side of my head at the exact second our eyes met. I’ve learned through experience that this precedes a meaningful exchange, so here I am with the turtle face again. What? What is it? I hated to do it. I ran down the list. I used the word “energy” in reference to Savannah. Was she energy sensitive? No. What did she think of Savannah? I wondered had the city affected her in some profound way. Nothing out of the norm. She lived here half the year, the weather, bla-bla-bla. Finally, I did what I hate to do. I said that I was psychic. Let me be clear. I like sharing that I’m intuitive and hearing about the experiences of others, but the word psychic feels like a bad fitting bra. It’s just too broad.

“I am so glad you said that,” Dorothy said. Relief made her shoulders fall.


“I’ve had one living with me for almost three years now.”

“One what,” I asked.

“A ghost,” Dorothy said. “It’s my father.”


Every ghost story has layers, and I bring this up both for those hearing and experiencing their own stories. Dorothy appears to be in her early sixties. She lives half the year in another state. She is approximately 20 years my senior, but we have one important thing in common. Wacky shit started happening to us a while back. When? About three years ago.

“In 2012,” I asked. “That’s when you became aware of your dad’s ghost?” He had been dead for 40 years.

“Yes. I heard his voice,” Dorothy explained. She added that she had heard it through the box used by a professional ghost hunter. This “professional” had confirmed that it was Dorothy’s father, and that he was there to protect her.

Like I said, there are layers to ghost stories. This ghost hunter ended the case with a bit of comforting information. All is well. No prob here. Except for one thing. When Dorothy asked how long ghosts typically stick around, this person told her, “about 2 years.” Cause, you know, spirit’s on a fucking meter.

If ghost stories are looked at on this layer, and only this layer, the job is incomplete. Assistance has not been rendered. In fact, Dorothy was left watching the calendar. Meanwhile, her sleep was being interrupted. While she had a good relationship with her father, why was he there all of the sudden? Oh, and there was someone else. Along with seeing her father, she also saw a very tall figure that she read as her late ex-husband. Ghost had become ghosts. While I’m hearing all of this, I am not getting a single energy sensation. You know why? Because I already have the necessary answers inside me.

Without a single tingle, I explained…


There’s this thing called the kundalini.

There are these things called chakras.

Vibrations, dimensions, awareness.

Oh, and 2012, (I don’t smoke, but it made me want to take a drag from Deepak Chopra’s dick for inspiration.) uh, yeah, uh-

When I opened up, in 2012, like so many others, my clairaudient ability showed up. It paired with the clairsentience I’d been slightly aware of since I was a young girl. The voices weren’t nice. They were my insecurities, and only after a long dark period did I start to make my way through them. They were the low energies of the ego.

Dorothy’s story continued, and my part in this began to come to light. Her third eye was opening up. Her ex-husband stood in a doorway with a bird in his hand.

“He looked like he was going to throw it at me, and I got angry,” Dorothy said. “I shouted for him to leave.” In the mean time, Dorothy’s father stepped in. He motioned for Dorothy to sit on the sofa. Her ex-husband threw the bird anyway. “It was a dove,” she added. It flew across the room, hit the wall and fell to the ground.” The bird vanished after that.

I pointed out to Dorothy that she had figured out who these people were on her own. I also asked if she had any anger toward her ex-husband. She told me she did. I asked if he had ever tried to make peace with her? Yes; he had tried, but Dorothy had none of it.

I explained to Dorothy that we have the ability to project energy around ourselves.

“Are you saying these ghosts aren’t real,” she asked. Dorothy’s mother had seen a ghost once, and Dorothy had called her nuts.

“No. I am not saying that at all,” I told Dorothy. What I believe is that we awaken, and we become aware of the energy around us. Before we deal with the present, or even the future, we must deal with the past. Dorothy’s emotions regarding her ex-husband and father made her resonate with a ghostly dimension. This isn’t the hallucination of one person. This is a dimension that people can experience. If it is a hallucination, what exactly does that mean? Is one person’s hallucination a gateway along the spiritual path? What Dorothy saw wasn’t her ex-husband in his entirety. It wasn’t her father in his entirety. She resonated with parts of each of them. Her father was the protector. Her ex-husband was the target of her anger. Still, I bet her ex had good days, and her father probably had bad days.

Dorothy was having trouble maintaining boundaries with her ghosts. They showed up when she didn’t want them. But, then again, they showed up and triggered her anger. This anger needed expression. After that it needed to be released. There was another interesting point. These ghosts were the men in her life. They showed up when she was alone. If her grand-children spent the night, another Dorothy showed up. This Dorothy drew a definite line in the sand. Neither one of them was to show up and scare the kids, and they didn’t. Dorothy was the protector at these times, and her energy shifted without her awareness. Men, shmen. Don’t fuck with the grand-babies.


Ask yourself whether ghosts have something to teach? When energy blockages in our emotional bodies are not removed, they create patterns in our lives. When our vibration raises our consciousness, we can see these patterns. There are times, rites of passage, when we also see, hear, and feel ghosts.


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