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Saturday, September 25, 2010

Life After Death: Two Stories from the Book "Realms of Light"



Two stories from the new book 'Realms of Light, Clairvoyant Experiences of Life After Death'.Cover Image: My late singer Louise Mc Connell (L) and I taking a mini-vacation by the ocean while on a concert tour in the mid-eighties. Photo by Glenn Williams. Graphics Design by Diana Souza.

Two Apologies: Stephen and Leslie

Our neighbor Stephen was an athletic, vibrant man in his early thirties when he suddenly "died" from a swift and fatal illness.

His house was on the other side of our back fence, so we saw quite a lot of him while he lived there. He and his wife were very sports-oriented, and they probably played every team sport I had ever heard of. He was healthy and muscular, and enjoyed being strong and physically fit. To balance this, he was sensitive and thoughtful, baked pies and cookies, cared for his houseplants like a mother hen, and was - in a very appealing and charming way - quietly fun loving and somewhat shy. Of medium height and build, he had a boyish look about him, with his fine, light hair and wonderful smile - his sweetness was both endearing and unusual, especially in a man of his age.

We spoke over the fence, or visited each other for an evening, or did various house projects together. He and his wife helped us lay down a new roof for our carport and we helped them build and paint a shed in their back yard. Unfortunately, I chose a color for the shed that everyone else hated; it matched one of Stephen’s ties. We ended up repainting the shed a different colour, amid much banter and laughter. On a more serious side of being and life, Stephen could always be counted on for various projects and emergencies. For instance, the time I was left holding a falling mulberry tree in the backyard. It was summer and all our windows were open, so I called out "Stephen, Stephen, help - the tree is falling over and I’m standing here holding it up. And it’s heavy..." And I heard in the distance "I’m commiinngg ...."

We often had discussions on the ego and its various traps, and the inner workings of the self and its world. One day Stephen quietly mentioned that he had investigated yoga and other disciplines of this nature when he was in his twenties. I offered to teach him how to meditate, and invited him to come to the philosophy classes and meditations held at my house. Stephen expressed a desire to learn meditation and to come to the classes, but somehow something, some activity or inner resistance, always seemed to intervene.

After living next door for a few activity-filled years, Stephen’s life and marriage began to unravel. We would sometimes meet outside, by his front garden. Even though still soft-spoken, I could see the depth of his inner turmoil and struggle. His almost unlined, young face seemed uncharacteristically furrowed and serious, as though he were now grappling with untried and difficult emotions for the first time - almost like a child still too innocent to comprehend the disappointments and inevitable pain of life. After some thought, I gave him a prayer to say - the Mercy Prayer of St. Faustina. The coming Sunday was the Day of Mercy. I told him that Christ Himself had promised St. Faustina that whoever said this prayer at the Hour of Mercy each day, would have their prayers answered - if their request was good for their souls and the souls of others. The Day of Mercy came only once a year, and certainly his prayers would be answered if he prayed on that day. He thanked me, and I later learned that Stephen had prayed and meditated in his own fashion, that Sunday afternoon between three and four p.m..

Some months later Stephen found a very special woman. And one day in the garden, he told me that they planned to marry within the year. I rarely saw him now, for he had moved some towns away. The last time I saw him, his last words to me were : "I’ve never been so happy." and he smiled his quiet, young smile. He was full of hope for the future and the joy of his new life, when he was suddenly and tragically, from our point of view - called to other realms.

This struck others as a senseless tragedy, a young man of such vitality and worth suddenly taken away by a rare and fatal illness. In this case, I was more happy for my friend Stephen than sad at my own loss, because I knew that he would immediately go to a very high realm.

A few days after Stephen’s death I was standing in the living room, on my way to the kitchen, when Stephen appeared to me in the woodpile by the coal stove. He was very transparent, mainly Light. I could barely make out his form. He was speaking very quietly and earnestly, and he said he was sorry that he had not come to our meditation and philosophy classes while he was on earth. He said "I wasn’t ready." - and then after a few more words that I could not hear, he disappeared.

His apology was very unexpected and surprising. His not coming to classes seemed like such a small thing, and certainly nothing to apologize for.

Some years later, in earth time, I was looking at a photograph of Stephen that his ex-wife had given me, which I keep on the music rack of the upright piano in the living room. It was a large photograph of Stephen at a pumpkin farm, pulling a little wagon full of pumpkins and dried corn, looking into the camera with such a sweet and unguarded expression. That night, when I looked at the photograph, he gave me a big, radiant smile - and I was inwardly led to understand that he had recently been told that he would soon be transitioned to an even higher realm. I looked inside and found the realm, and it was a beautiful one. I smiled back and sent him my Love - and my best wishes for the journey.

Leslie

Intelligent and articulate, attractive and spiritual - my friend Leslie was a beautiful person and carried much Light. When I think of her, the image of her smiling and laughing first comes to mind, and that image hangs, lingers there now, even as I write this.

In our many interactions over the years, I learned to admire and respect her. I always enjoyed Leslie’s ready wit, and her incisive observation of life and its events and meanings and those who participate in the seemingly endless intertwinings of destiny and desire that we call life. If one could imagine a person who lived a complex yet simple life simultaneously, a person who could be both serious and fun-loving, who ran through life like a speeding bullet and yet loved stillness - then one might be thinking of Leslie. My last meeting with her on earth was in Woolworth’s parking lot, looking at flowers. And my last memory of her is a radiant smile.

Leslie "died" while in her mid-forties, after a long illness. I was still too injured to visit with her, but towards the end of her last illness I sent her a large vase filled with bright and summer-coloured flowers. My last verbal message from Leslie was a grateful "thank you" for the bouquet.

Until I met her in the garden, a few days after she left for other realms.

She was standing in the holly bush near my piano studio - well, our visitors from other realms are unembodied, and on another vibrational level, they don’t need to be careful of where they stand - Stephen actually appeared in the woodpile near the coal stove. And my friend Leslie was very, very transparent, mainly Light; I could just barely make out her form. She was speaking to me, and I could hear her, but it was not clairaudience - the sound was not outside myself, nor was it an inner voice. I was hearing her speak in her own realm, and she was apologizing for something insignificant that she had said or done. It was so insignificant, that now I cannot remember what she said, only that it was an apology.

I do remember being very surprised, and wondering why she had come to see me in this way. I would not have been surprised had she appeared in the holly bush and told me all about her realm, whom she had seen, what she had done - or if she had just come to say ‘hello’ and had watched me work in the garden.

Up until these two meetings with Stephen and Leslie, which followed each other fairly closely in our earth time/space frame, I assumed that when we left for other realms - we left for those realms with a new perspective and a new, better understanding of our earthly existence - and then thought no more about it, we moved onward and upward.

It had not occurred to me that we would first revisit our friends - or I suppose enemies, if we have them - on earth, and try to make our reparations here.

I was very touched by both these meetings. From our earthly view, at least from my earthly view, neither of these apologies was necessary. It showed me how transparent those realms are, and that what is expected of us there is far beyond the expectations and natural abilities of earthly existence - unless one is perhaps a saint. So much is hidden from our view here, even our inner view is so clouded and veiled. Transparency while still on earth is not an easy thing to achieve, perhaps an impossibility. But these two meetings instilled in me the wish and intent - and the means - to at least try. Figaro Books
More about the author and her books is available on this site. By Laurie Conrad
Published: 7/29/2010

Friday, August 27, 2010

Life after Death

The question of whether there is a life after death is not an issue of scientific concern, for science only deals with the classification and analysis of sense data. While man has been conducting scientific inquiries and research, in the modern sense of the term, for only the last few centuries, he has been familiar with the concept of life after death since time immemorial.

Crucifixion of Jesus
Did Jesus Rise From the Dead? Discover the Facts From Scholars www.y-Jesus.com/Death
Is there any life for death; if so, what kind of life is it? This question lies far beyond the ken of our perception. We do not have the eyes with which we could see beyond the frontiers of worldly life and find out what lies on beyond it. We do not have the ears with which we could hear anything from beyond these frontiers. Nor do we have any instrument by which we could determine with certainty whether there is any life beyond death. Therefore, the question whether there is any life after death lies completely outside the province of scientific knowledge which is concerned with the classification and interpretation of sense data. Anyone who asserts in the name of science that there is no life after death, therefore, makes a very unscientific statement. Merely on the basis of scientific knowledge, we can neither affirm that there is a life after death nor deny it. Until we discover a dependable means of acquiring knowledge about this matter, the correct scientific attitude would be neither to affirm nor to deny the possibility of life after death. The question is beyond its jurisdiction.

When his body grows weak and he becomes apparently unconscious, the dying man gathers his senses about him and completely withdrawing their powers, descends into his heart. No more does he see form or color without.

He neither sees, nor smells, nor tastes. He does not speak, he does not hear. He does not think, he does not know. For all the organs, detaching themselves from his physical body, unite with his subtle body. Then the point of his heart, where the nerves join, is lighted by the light of the Self, and by that light he departs either through the eye, or through the gate of the skull, or through some other aperture of the body. When he thus departs, life departs; and when life departs, all the functions of the vital principle depart. The Self remains conscious, and conscious, the dying man goes to his abode. The deeds of this life, and the impressions they leave behind, follow him.

As a man acts, so does he become. A man of good deeds becomes good; a man of evil deeds becomes evil. A man becomes pure through pure deeds, impure through impure deeds.

A little reflection should help us to see that the question of life after death is not merely a philosophical question; it is deeply and intimately related to our everyday life. In fact our moral attitude depends entirely upon this question. If a person is of the view that the life of this world is the only life and that there is no life of any kind after that, he must develop a particular type of moral attitude. A radically different kind of attitude and approach is bound to result if he believes that this life is to be followed by another life where one will have to render account of all one’s acts in this world and, that one’s ultimate fate in the Hereafter will depend upon one’s conduct in worldly life. Let us try to understand this through a simple example. Consider the example of the people who lived in the Arabian peninsula before the appearance of the Prophet Muhammad. They were great lovers of gambling, wine, tribal feuds, plundering, and murdering. As they had no concept of an afterlife, why not enjoy themselves as they saw fit? But as soon as they accepted the belief in the One God and an afterlife, they became a much disciplined nation. They gave up their vices, helped each other when requested to do so, and settled all their disputes on the basis of justice and equality. The denial of life after death also has consequences in this world. When an entire nation denies belief in the afterlife, all kinds of evils and corruption are unleashed and the society is set on the path to ultimate destruction.

Now it is obvious that this difference between the approaches and attitudes of the two travelers results directly from their view of the nature of their journey and its end. Similarly, a person’s views in regard to life after death have a decisive influence upon his moral conduct in this world. The direction of every step that he takes in his practical life will depend upon whether he treats this worldly life as the first and last stage of life, or whether he also has in view the Hereafter and consequences of his conduct in this world or the next one. He will move in one direction in the first instance and in exactly the opposite direction in the other instance.

As a goldsmith, taking an old gold ornament, moulds it into another, newer and more beautiful, so the Self, having given up the body and left it unconscious, takes on a newer and better form, either that of the fathers, or that of the celestial singers, or that of the gods, or that of other beings, heavenly or earthly.

As a man acts, so does he become. A man of good deeds becomes good, a man of evil deeds becomes evil. A man becomes pure through pure deeds, impure through impure deeds.

There are very convincing reasons to believe in life after death.

First: All the prophets of God have called their people to believe in it.
Second: Whenever a society is built on the basis of this belief, it has been the most ideal and peaceful society, free of social and moral evils.
Third: History bears witness that whenever this belief has been rejected collectively by a group of people in spite of the repeated warning of the prophet, the group as a whole has been punished by God even in this world.
Fourth: The moral, aesthetic, and rational faculties of man endorse the possibility of life after death.
Fifth: God's attributes of justice and mercy have no meaning if there is no life after death.

A man acts according to the desires to which he clings. After death he goes to the next world bearing in his mind the subtle impressions of his deeds; and after reaping there the harvest of his deeds, he returns again to this world of action. Thus he who has desires continues subject to rebirth.
By Dhananjay Kulkarni

Monday, July 5, 2010

Life after death-Case study

On 11 September, novelist Dirk Wittenborn's wife went into labour as their city was convulsed with terror. He recalls how his private world and history were thrown together in the best and worst of all days.

It is just after nine o' clock in the evening. Ten hijackers in two Boeing 767 passenger jets have reduced the World Trade Centre to a 1.6 million-ton snarl of concrete, steel, and death, which burns like a funeral pyre 50 blocks south of where I am standing. And yet, horrified as I am by this tragedy, I find myself in a happy place.

My daughter, Antonia Lieselotte Wittenborn is 23 minutes old, and already she has a nickname - Lilo. She weighs 7lbs 13oz, has blue eyes, all her fingers and toes, and the way her black hair stands on end would make boxing promoter Don King jealous. She is, quite simply, perfect.

My wife, Kirsten, asks me if I want to hold our daughter. I am excited and nervous being introduced to a life so helpless and new. Lilo wails as the nurse hands her over to me. I am 49 years old, Lilo is my first and only child. I have never been what you would call a baby kind of guy. But something miraculous happens as I take her weight in my arms. Strangely and incredibly, my daughter stops crying, and I am stupefied and comforted by the realisation I am going to enjoy this.

It is the most perfect moment in my life. No thought or word touches us. All is right in the world, until something catches my eye out the eighth story window of New York University Medical Centre. I see an F-16 fighter jet, its wings laden with rockets, screaming low over the East River. In the starlight, the pilot lifts one wing as if to salute us, then banks up over the wounded skyline of Manhattan. The drama and exhilaration of my daughter's birth made me forget the horror of what happened to my city. For a moment, life eclipsed death. Now it and she are staring me in the face.

When the final count is in, 9/11 will have snuffed out 2,823 lives. The funeral pyre will burn into the winter. It will be nine months before the last of the rubble is removed from where those towers stood, and no matter what kind of monument they build, the damage that has been done cannot be repaired.

From the birthing classes I attended in the last months of my wife's pregnancy, I know that newborns can't see. But as Lilo looks up at me and the world she has inherited, wide-eyed and blind as I am to the future, I wonder: can she feel the tangle of souls and sadness that is in the air?

Our world was a decidedly different place three days earlier. At 8.43am, on 11 September 2001, I am snoring soundly in our East Village apartment, and my wife is lying next to me half awake. She remembers hearing the roar of jet engines overhead, and half-dreaming/ half-thinking 'That plane is flying very low.' Three seconds later, Kirsten hears an incredibly loud noise that sounds like thunder right outside our window. Fully awake now, Kirsten looks up. It isn't raining, and the skies are blue. For a millisecond, she thinks to herself, 'Could that plane have crashed?' But immediately dismisses the possibility. 'That's ridiculous,' she tells herself, and wakes me up. Ten minutes later, I am in the other end of our apartment, in the office I have been promising my wife for the last two months I am going to move out of so she can turn it into a nursery for the baby that isn't due until next week.

I call an old friend about the TV pitch I'm scheduled to make that afternoon. He greets me with, 'Are you watching TV?' I respond with an early-morning attempt at humour. 'Unlike some members of my profession, I don't write and watch TV at the same time.' He doesn't laugh. I hear a flat panic in his voice as he tells me what he is seeing on CNN. The jet my wife heard had in fact crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Centre.

I hang up and turn on the TV in my office. Stunned, I watch police and firemen arriving at the disaster scene that is a seven-dollar cab ride from my home. There is a gaping hole in the top of the tower, and it is on fire. Over the past nine months, I have imagined every possible worst-case scenario that could surround my daughter's birth... except for this. I am suddenly certain the minute my wife finds out what has happened, she is going to go into labour. I begin to think of ways I can keep the bad news from her. I'll unhook the cable TV, I'll say the newspapers were sold out, I'll disconnect the phone before any of our friends can call. I'll... when I glance back at the television screen and see the second plane explode into the side of the South Tower, I know there's no way I can protect my wife from what is happening to us.

She already knows. She sits with an untouched bowl of granola in her lap, staring at the television in the living room. People are jumping out of windows 80 storeys up to escape the fire. A third hijacked passenger jet has crashed into the Pentagon. The White House has been evacuated. The President is in Air Force One somewhere over America. They won't say where our Commander-in-Chief is going, or when he's going to land, but the message is clear; it's not safe any more anywhere in America.

My wife is German. Her parents were children during the Second World War. She grew up hearing stories of what it was like being bombed. 'All I was thinking is, World War III is breaking out, and I'm having a baby,' she says. She wants to go to the airport and fly to Europe and have the baby where it's safe. She is about to start packing her suitcase when the television tells us that all the bridges and tunnels in and out of Manhattan are closed. All the airports are shut down. All flights to anywhere have been cancelled. We feel trapped because we are.

As we sit next to one another in front of the TV, the South Tower collapses. I ask Kirsten how the baby's feeling. She tells me she is feeling fine and not to worry. She doesn't reveal that she is really thinking to herself, 'All my life, I've been terrified of the pain of labour, and now when I get to the hospital, there's not going to be any anaesthesiologist around for my epidural. Of course, at the same time I know I'm so lucky to be alive' ... Kirsten calls it 'dual-track thinking: 'This horrible thing is happening to all these people right before your eyes. But at the same time, all I was thinking about was the baby. I just kept telling myself, I have to grit my teeth and get through this.'

A call gets through to us. It is a wealthy and influential friend in New Jersey who has arranged to send a boat across the Hudson to ferry us to the Jersey side of the river. We can have the baby at his local hospital. I thank him for his concern and his generous offer but tell him without hesitation: 'We're having the baby in New York.' Part of my refusal stemmed from the fact that the way our luck was running, I was sure Kirsten would go into labour as soon as we cast off from shore in the boat, and I'd have to deliver our daughter mid-Hudson River. But part of me said no simply because I had had enough. I was tired of being bullied and scared. As corny as it sounds, my fear turned to anger - goddamit, New York was my home, and I wasn't going to run.

At 10 o'clock that night, my wife tells me she thinks her waters might have broken. We call our doctor. Predictably, he's not in the city. We are just falling asleep when the back-up doctor calls. Kirsten doesn't want to go to the hospital until she starts to feel contractions. When she tells the obstetrician her symptoms, he cuts her short. 'Get yourself to the hospital right now,' and adds theatrically, 'or there will be an aftermath.' We are not sure what he means, but it succeeds in making us even more panicky than we already are.

I run to the garage to get our car - it's locked. The garage attendants, like everybody else with any sense, have left the city. I am regretting not taking up my well-heeled friend's offer of the boat ride across the Hudson. All the streets south of 14th Street have been barricaded off and are being guarded by state policemen. I ask one if he can call up an ambulance. He politely tells me to call a cab. The streets are empty. Finally, I see an off-duty taxi. I wave a fistful of cash, and he takes us to the hospital 15 blocks away for $50. We pass through three more police barricades. At each checkpoint, I do not decrease my wife's anxiety by screaming out the window: 'Let us through, my wife is having a baby!'

The maternity ward is bustling with life. There are your usual nervous, expectant fathers and elated grandparents. But the surface of normalcy is undercut by a television in the waiting room tuned to CNN; there is no escaping what is now being called Ground Zero.

Kirsten is taken into an examination room. I am psyching myself up to help with the delivery. Thirty minutes later, my wife reappears looking exasperated and worried. We are told to go home and come back tomorrow for tests.

Overnight, the black wall of the hospital which had been papered with faces of the missing has turned into a shrine. My wife is re-examined and tested. Everything is fine, except the baby isn't quite ready to come out. We are sent home again. Our daughter is clearly in no rush to make her way into the world, and who can blame her. When we exit the hospital, the smell of burnt flesh is in the air. I hurry my wife to the car as I overhear someone say: 'They're unloading bodybags up the street.'

Kirsten wakes up at 4.30am on the morning of the 13th. She's in labour. With Kirsten doubled over in pain in the backseat of our car, I race through those same police barricades, shouting once again, 'My wife's having a baby!' The same cops are on duty. They look at me incredulously, as if to say, 'Again?'

The maternity ward that was half-empty is now overflowing. A young woman whose husband died in the Trade Centre has gone into labour three months early. Doctors fight to save a dead man's child. Kirsten is in serious pain now. The baby's skull is pressing against her vertebrae. Much to her relief, there is an anaesthesiologist available. Unfortunately, it is three hours before she gets her epidural.

We are in the birthing room with a nurse and a boyish-looking resident now. For the past three hours, Kirsten has had the three of us in her face screaming 'PUSH!' As Kirsten recalls, 'Just when I thought I was going to die and couldn't take any more everybody suddenly starts shouting, "You've done it! She's beautiful!"' After 16 hours of labour, Kirsten is exhausted and drenched in sweat. And yet, as Lilo suckles her breast, my wife glows.

The difference between actually watching a child being born and reading about it or seeing it on film is not unlike the reality gulf that separates those who were in New York City on on 11 September and those who watched it on the news. You just can't understand the impact of certain events unless you were there in person.

Kirsten sends me home from the hospital at 11 o'clock. I am too giddy to think about sleep. As I get in my car, I make up my mind to call up all of my friends and wake them with my good news. I am higher than cloud nine, until I pass by the temporary morgue in the Armory on 26th and Lexington. Husbands, wives, lovers and friends are claiming the dead. Suddenly, I feel guilty for being so deliriously happy.

In those first weeks after Lilo's birth, 9/11 is omnipresent. When our daughter is a week old, Kirsten and I strap Lilo to my chest and set off to introduce our daughter to her city. The sun is shining and the dog is on the leash. The air in our neighbourhood no longer tastes of dust and ash. But a half block into our first family outing, we are grimly reminded of those New Yorkers who raced off to the World Trade Centre to save lives and died. Twelve of the 27 firefighters at our local firehouse perished. Ladder Company 3 is draped in purple and black bunting. Flowers surround the photographs of the firemen who were lost that day. I recognise their faces, and remember walking past them when Kirsten was pregnant just a few weeks before. We regret we never said more than hello. We make a donation to a fund for the families of the dead firefighters. It hardly seems an adequate way for the three of us to say thank you.

A 'security alert' is announced just as I am about to drive out of the city to introduce Lilo to my 87-year-old mother. I find myself debating whether terrorists would be more likely to bomb the tunnel or the bridge. I choose the tunnel, and hold my breath until we're out the other side.

My wife and I take Lilo uptown on a shopping spree to Barneys, and buy her a ridiculously expensive have-to-have-it-cute faux leopard-fur bonnet trimmed in pink silk. I am thinking she can wear it when I show her off at a friend's upcoming wedding. I have no idea the bride's sister was killed on 11 September until we get a card in the mail telling us the nuptials have been postponed. More bad news in the mail. A friend of a friend who works at ABC opened a letter stuffed with anthrax. Postal workers are dying - terror is at our doorstep, literally. I wash my hands after I open the mail and before I touch my daughter. My brother, a physician, gives us a prescription for Cipro, in case the anthrax attacks become epidemic. He cautions us that the medication, if administered now, will deform our daughter's teeth. Lilo has only just learnt to smile.

Anthrax, rumours of terrorist plots to unleash biological and chemical weapons, and talk of 'dirty' nuclear bombs supercharge the fearfulness and paranoia we, like all first-time parents, feel for our newborn. We and our friends scare ourselves speculating what form the next attack will take. I keep imagining al-Qaeda infecting us with smallpox. Paranoia prompts me to do the unthinkable. I pass up an invitation to the Yankee Stadium to see the World Series.

My wife remembers feeling incredibly anxious about everything all the time. She tells herself she has to pack an emergency suitcase for us in case we have to run for our lives - bottled water, sneakers, warm clothes, canned food, Cipro. She never gets around to packing that bag. Perhaps because she knows if the terrorists do unleash a plague on us, Manhattan will be quarantined before we can get the car out of the garage. Kirsten watches CNN while she nurses Lilo. Every day, the news gives us new reason to be afraid. I wonder if we are infecting our daughter with our fears.

My wife cries whenever she reads the biographies of the 9/11 victims that are published daily in the New York Times. For the first time in her life, she finds herself worrying about dying. My wife confronts the fear that has infected all of us head-on. On an unseasonably warm afternoon in the first week of December, she and a friend whose son was born the day before 11 September take the babies to Ground Zero. They take each other's pictures. For my wife, visiting the scene of the crime makes her feel triumphant, yet humbled.

A few wekks later, Kirsten, Lilo and I are at the Christmas market in Union Square with two of our friends. It is the season to be jolly. Shoppers ignore the half-dozen lonely souls who are passing out leaflets protesting at the bombing of Afghanistan and the war against terrorism. We make small talk about the decidedly hawkish shift in America, and how differently normally liberal New Yorkers feel about this foreign conflict than they did about Vietnam. One of us notices a pram abandoned in the crowd. No one claims it. Suddenly, one of our friends seems to be having a panic attack. He wants to go home. We don't understand - we just arrived. We were having such a good time. We badger him to stay until he shares his paranoia. A pram in a crowd of Christmas shoppers. What a perfect way for terrorists to plant a bomb. I leave the Christmas market thinking to myself, 'This is absurd, ridiculous,' and then remember that's exactly what my wife told herself when she thought she heard a jet crash on the morning of 11 September.

Valentine's Day is our first real date since Lilo's birth. We begin dinner talking about who Lilo's godparents will be. By the end of the meal, we are having a highly anxious conversation about what will happen to our daughter if we both die simultaneously.

Living in New York is different now. It's not a question of if there's going to be another terrorist attack, but when. As Kirsten puts it: 'When I came to New York 12 years ago, it was a place of safety, invulnerability. That bubble burst.'

As I write this, Lilo plays at my feet. She has teeth, she stands. She says 'Da-da' and 'bye-bye' and sleeps with a pink elephant. In just less than a month, my daughter will have her first birthday. The party will be in New York City.

· Fierce People by Dirk Wittenborn is published by Bloomsbury at £9.99
© Guardian News & Media 2008
Published: 8/18/2002

Saturday, May 22, 2010

You are Immortal

Is there Life After Death?A few years ago I lived in London, Uk. My father got ill and was pronounced terminal. He was relatively alone in the country as he was divorced from my mother for about 15 years then and usually lived in Rome. I decided to stay in the hospital as it really didn't feel right for anyone to die alone.

After a few days, the doctors thought he would pass on in about a week or so. That night I could not sleep and went to the waiting room to have a break, around 4 am in the morning. Some voice kept telling me to go back to him and I did.

Sure enough, he was ready to go. I sat close with my treasured father and spoke to him about death and letting go, soft music played in the background as the candles I put up burned. It was beautiful, he died at peace and in company. Well, within a minute the phone by his bed rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was 4.45am. My mother was on the end of the line.

She said, "Hello sweetheart, David and I will come and get you now."

I asked why and she replied, "Your father is dead, he woke me up to say goodbye and the sun shone straight in the room!"

How could the sunshine at 4.45am, in England in Winter? How on earth did my father wake her up? My mother never did know about life after death till then, and she was as shocked as any cynic could be. By Alexandra P. Brown
Published: 8/25/2001

Life after death:Case Study

On 11 September, novelist Dirk Wittenborn's wife went into labour as their city was convulsed with terror. He recalls how his private world and history were thrown together in the best and worst of all days.

It is just after nine o' clock in the evening. Ten hijackers in two Boeing 767 passenger jets have reduced the World Trade Centre to a 1.6 million-ton snarl of concrete, steel, and death, which burns like a funeral pyre 50 blocks south of where I am standing. And yet, horrified as I am by this tragedy, I find myself in a happy place.

My daughter, Antonia Lieselotte Wittenborn is 23 minutes old, and already she has a nickname - Lilo. She weighs 7lbs 13oz, has blue eyes, all her fingers and toes, and the way her black hair stands on end would make boxing promoter Don King jealous. She is, quite simply, perfect.

My wife, Kirsten, asks me if I want to hold our daughter. I am excited and nervous being introduced to a life so helpless and new. Lilo wails as the nurse hands her over to me. I am 49 years old, Lilo is my first and only child. I have never been what you would call a baby kind of guy. But something miraculous happens as I take her weight in my arms. Strangely and incredibly, my daughter stops crying, and I am stupefied and comforted by the realisation I am going to enjoy this.

It is the most perfect moment in my life. No thought or word touches us. All is right in the world, until something catches my eye out the eighth story window of New York University Medical Centre. I see an F-16 fighter jet, its wings laden with rockets, screaming low over the East River. In the starlight, the pilot lifts one wing as if to salute us, then banks up over the wounded skyline of Manhattan. The drama and exhilaration of my daughter's birth made me forget the horror of what happened to my city. For a moment, life eclipsed death. Now it and she are staring me in the face.

When the final count is in, 9/11 will have snuffed out 2,823 lives. The funeral pyre will burn into the winter. It will be nine months before the last of the rubble is removed from where those towers stood, and no matter what kind of monument they build, the damage that has been done cannot be repaired.

From the birthing classes I attended in the last months of my wife's pregnancy, I know that newborns can't see. But as Lilo looks up at me and the world she has inherited, wide-eyed and blind as I am to the future, I wonder: can she feel the tangle of souls and sadness that is in the air?

Our world was a decidedly different place three days earlier. At 8.43am, on 11 September 2001, I am snoring soundly in our East Village apartment, and my wife is lying next to me half awake. She remembers hearing the roar of jet engines overhead, and half-dreaming/ half-thinking 'That plane is flying very low.' Three seconds later, Kirsten hears an incredibly loud noise that sounds like thunder right outside our window. Fully awake now, Kirsten looks up. It isn't raining, and the skies are blue. For a millisecond, she thinks to herself, 'Could that plane have crashed?' But immediately dismisses the possibility. 'That's ridiculous,' she tells herself, and wakes me up. Ten minutes later, I am in the other end of our apartment, in the office I have been promising my wife for the last two months I am going to move out of so she can turn it into a nursery for the baby that isn't due until next week.

I call an old friend about the TV pitch I'm scheduled to make that afternoon. He greets me with, 'Are you watching TV?' I respond with an early-morning attempt at humour. 'Unlike some members of my profession, I don't write and watch TV at the same time.' He doesn't laugh. I hear a flat panic in his voice as he tells me what he is seeing on CNN. The jet my wife heard had in fact crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Centre.

I hang up and turn on the TV in my office. Stunned, I watch police and firemen arriving at the disaster scene that is a seven-dollar cab ride from my home. There is a gaping hole in the top of the tower, and it is on fire. Over the past nine months, I have imagined every possible worst-case scenario that could surround my daughter's birth... except for this. I am suddenly certain the minute my wife finds out what has happened, she is going to go into labour. I begin to think of ways I can keep the bad news from her. I'll unhook the cable TV, I'll say the newspapers were sold out, I'll disconnect the phone before any of our friends can call. I'll... when I glance back at the television screen and see the second plane explode into the side of the South Tower, I know there's no way I can protect my wife from what is happening to us.

She already knows. She sits with an untouched bowl of granola in her lap, staring at the television in the living room. People are jumping out of windows 80 storeys up to escape the fire. A third hijacked passenger jet has crashed into the Pentagon. The White House has been evacuated. The President is in Air Force One somewhere over America. They won't say where our Commander-in-Chief is going, or when he's going to land, but the message is clear; it's not safe any more anywhere in America.

My wife is German. Her parents were children during the Second World War. She grew up hearing stories of what it was like being bombed. 'All I was thinking is, World War III is breaking out, and I'm having a baby,' she says. She wants to go to the airport and fly to Europe and have the baby where it's safe. She is about to start packing her suitcase when the television tells us that all the bridges and tunnels in and out of Manhattan are closed. All the airports are shut down. All flights to anywhere have been cancelled. We feel trapped because we are.

As we sit next to one another in front of the TV, the South Tower collapses. I ask Kirsten how the baby's feeling. She tells me she is feeling fine and not to worry. She doesn't reveal that she is really thinking to herself, 'All my life, I've been terrified of the pain of labour, and now when I get to the hospital, there's not going to be any anaesthesiologist around for my epidural. Of course, at the same time I know I'm so lucky to be alive' ... Kirsten calls it 'dual-track thinking: 'This horrible thing is happening to all these people right before your eyes. But at the same time, all I was thinking about was the baby. I just kept telling myself, I have to grit my teeth and get through this.'

A call gets through to us. It is a wealthy and influential friend in New Jersey who has arranged to send a boat across the Hudson to ferry us to the Jersey side of the river. We can have the baby at his local hospital. I thank him for his concern and his generous offer but tell him without hesitation: 'We're having the baby in New York.' Part of my refusal stemmed from the fact that the way our luck was running, I was sure Kirsten would go into labour as soon as we cast off from shore in the boat, and I'd have to deliver our daughter mid-Hudson River. But part of me said no simply because I had had enough. I was tired of being bullied and scared. As corny as it sounds, my fear turned to anger - goddamit, New York was my home, and I wasn't going to run.

At 10 o'clock that night, my wife tells me she thinks her waters might have broken. We call our doctor. Predictably, he's not in the city. We are just falling asleep when the back-up doctor calls. Kirsten doesn't want to go to the hospital until she starts to feel contractions. When she tells the obstetrician her symptoms, he cuts her short. 'Get yourself to the hospital right now,' and adds theatrically, 'or there will be an aftermath.' We are not sure what he means, but it succeeds in making us even more panicky than we already are.

I run to the garage to get our car - it's locked. The garage attendants, like everybody else with any sense, have left the city. I am regretting not taking up my well-heeled friend's offer of the boat ride across the Hudson. All the streets south of 14th Street have been barricaded off and are being guarded by state policemen. I ask one if he can call up an ambulance. He politely tells me to call a cab. The streets are empty. Finally, I see an off-duty taxi. I wave a fistful of cash, and he takes us to the hospital 15 blocks away for $50. We pass through three more police barricades. At each checkpoint, I do not decrease my wife's anxiety by screaming out the window: 'Let us through, my wife is having a baby!'

The maternity ward is bustling with life. There are your usual nervous, expectant fathers and elated grandparents. But the surface of normalcy is undercut by a television in the waiting room tuned to CNN; there is no escaping what is now being called Ground Zero.

Kirsten is taken into an examination room. I am psyching myself up to help with the delivery. Thirty minutes later, my wife reappears looking exasperated and worried. We are told to go home and come back tomorrow for tests.

Overnight, the black wall of the hospital which had been papered with faces of the missing has turned into a shrine. My wife is re-examined and tested. Everything is fine, except the baby isn't quite ready to come out. We are sent home again. Our daughter is clearly in no rush to make her way into the world, and who can blame her. When we exit the hospital, the smell of burnt flesh is in the air. I hurry my wife to the car as I overhear someone say: 'They're unloading bodybags up the street.'

Kirsten wakes up at 4.30am on the morning of the 13th. She's in labour. With Kirsten doubled over in pain in the backseat of our car, I race through those same police barricades, shouting once again, 'My wife's having a baby!' The same cops are on duty. They look at me incredulously, as if to say, 'Again?'

The maternity ward that was half-empty is now overflowing. A young woman whose husband died in the Trade Centre has gone into labour three months early. Doctors fight to save a dead man's child. Kirsten is in serious pain now. The baby's skull is pressing against her vertebrae. Much to her relief, there is an anaesthesiologist available. Unfortunately, it is three hours before she gets her epidural.

We are in the birthing room with a nurse and a boyish-looking resident now. For the past three hours, Kirsten has had the three of us in her face screaming 'PUSH!' As Kirsten recalls, 'Just when I thought I was going to die and couldn't take any more everybody suddenly starts shouting, "You've done it! She's beautiful!"' After 16 hours of labour, Kirsten is exhausted and drenched in sweat. And yet, as Lilo suckles her breast, my wife glows.

The difference between actually watching a child being born and reading about it or seeing it on film is not unlike the reality gulf that separates those who were in New York City on on 11 September and those who watched it on the news. You just can't understand the impact of certain events unless you were there in person.

Kirsten sends me home from the hospital at 11 o'clock. I am too giddy to think about sleep. As I get in my car, I make up my mind to call up all of my friends and wake them with my good news. I am higher than cloud nine, until I pass by the temporary morgue in the Armory on 26th and Lexington. Husbands, wives, lovers and friends are claiming the dead. Suddenly, I feel guilty for being so deliriously happy.

In those first weeks after Lilo's birth, 9/11 is omnipresent. When our daughter is a week old, Kirsten and I strap Lilo to my chest and set off to introduce our daughter to her city. The sun is shining and the dog is on the leash. The air in our neighbourhood no longer tastes of dust and ash. But a half block into our first family outing, we are grimly reminded of those New Yorkers who raced off to the World Trade Centre to save lives and died. Twelve of the 27 firefighters at our local firehouse perished. Ladder Company 3 is draped in purple and black bunting. Flowers surround the photographs of the firemen who were lost that day. I recognise their faces, and remember walking past them when Kirsten was pregnant just a few weeks before. We regret we never said more than hello. We make a donation to a fund for the families of the dead firefighters. It hardly seems an adequate way for the three of us to say thank you.

A 'security alert' is announced just as I am about to drive out of the city to introduce Lilo to my 87-year-old mother. I find myself debating whether terrorists would be more likely to bomb the tunnel or the bridge. I choose the tunnel, and hold my breath until we're out the other side.

My wife and I take Lilo uptown on a shopping spree to Barneys, and buy her a ridiculously expensive have-to-have-it-cute faux leopard-fur bonnet trimmed in pink silk. I am thinking she can wear it when I show her off at a friend's upcoming wedding. I have no idea the bride's sister was killed on 11 September until we get a card in the mail telling us the nuptials have been postponed. More bad news in the mail. A friend of a friend who works at ABC opened a letter stuffed with anthrax. Postal workers are dying - terror is at our doorstep, literally. I wash my hands after I open the mail and before I touch my daughter. My brother, a physician, gives us a prescription for Cipro, in case the anthrax attacks become epidemic. He cautions us that the medication, if administered now, will deform our daughter's teeth. Lilo has only just learnt to smile.

Anthrax, rumours of terrorist plots to unleash biological and chemical weapons, and talk of 'dirty' nuclear bombs supercharge the fearfulness and paranoia we, like all first-time parents, feel for our newborn. We and our friends scare ourselves speculating what form the next attack will take. I keep imagining al-Qaeda infecting us with smallpox. Paranoia prompts me to do the unthinkable. I pass up an invitation to the Yankee Stadium to see the World Series.

My wife remembers feeling incredibly anxious about everything all the time. She tells herself she has to pack an emergency suitcase for us in case we have to run for our lives - bottled water, sneakers, warm clothes, canned food, Cipro. She never gets around to packing that bag. Perhaps because she knows if the terrorists do unleash a plague on us, Manhattan will be quarantined before we can get the car out of the garage. Kirsten watches CNN while she nurses Lilo. Every day, the news gives us new reason to be afraid. I wonder if we are infecting our daughter with our fears.

My wife cries whenever she reads the biographies of the 9/11 victims that are published daily in the New York Times. For the first time in her life, she finds herself worrying about dying. My wife confronts the fear that has infected all of us head-on. On an unseasonably warm afternoon in the first week of December, she and a friend whose son was born the day before 11 September take the babies to Ground Zero. They take each other's pictures. For my wife, visiting the scene of the crime makes her feel triumphant, yet humbled.

A few wekks later, Kirsten, Lilo and I are at the Christmas market in Union Square with two of our friends. It is the season to be jolly. Shoppers ignore the half-dozen lonely souls who are passing out leaflets protesting at the bombing of Afghanistan and the war against terrorism. We make small talk about the decidedly hawkish shift in America, and how differently normally liberal New Yorkers feel about this foreign conflict than they did about Vietnam. One of us notices a pram abandoned in the crowd. No one claims it. Suddenly, one of our friends seems to be having a panic attack. He wants to go home. We don't understand - we just arrived. We were having such a good time. We badger him to stay until he shares his paranoia. A pram in a crowd of Christmas shoppers. What a perfect way for terrorists to plant a bomb. I leave the Christmas market thinking to myself, 'This is absurd, ridiculous,' and then remember that's exactly what my wife told herself when she thought she heard a jet crash on the morning of 11 September.

Valentine's Day is our first real date since Lilo's birth. We begin dinner talking about who Lilo's godparents will be. By the end of the meal, we are having a highly anxious conversation about what will happen to our daughter if we both die simultaneously.

Living in New York is different now. It's not a question of if there's going to be another terrorist attack, but when. As Kirsten puts it: 'When I came to New York 12 years ago, it was a place of safety, invulnerability. That bubble burst.'

As I write this, Lilo plays at my feet. She has teeth, she stands. She says 'Da-da' and 'bye-bye' and sleeps with a pink elephant. In just less than a month, my daughter will have her first birthday. The party will be in New York City.

· Fierce People by Dirk Wittenborn is published by Bloomsbury at £9.99
© Guardian News & Media 2008
Published: 8/18/2002

Your Eternal Destiny: Life after Death

Have you given much thought to the future? On thing is certain; death is inevitable. Is there life after death or do just simply vanish?Have you ever given any thought about what tomorrow holds, or as a matter of fact even today? Have you considered that today may be your last day on this planet? Maybe the next hour may be your last. Your age has nothing to do with when it could happen. A run away truck, a drunken or careless driver, a freak electrical storm, sickness, the list of causes goes on and on. Sounds grim, but it is very factual.

Your life is not in your own hands. Call it what you want to, providence, lady luck, departure time, etc. The point is that at sometime your life is going to come to an end.

No matter which religion you follow you still have no guarantees as to how long you still might have. Lifestyle gives no guarantees. Smokers live to ripe old ages and abstainers from both tobacco and alcohol die young. Motor manufacturers have come a long way in building safer vehicles. Accidents happen. Still no guarantee.

The only thing that is guaranteed is that one day you will depart this life as we know it.

What then? Knowing that we are destined to die what should we be considering? Surely it is the quality of life that we currently enjoy? Or perhaps it is how much good I can do for others? Maybe it is to try and be a better person? All of these are good motives but should our question not be "Where will I spend eternity?" Most religions have some kind of belief in life after death.

There are various responses to the life after death issue. Besides the religious answers, some people say that they don’t believe in a life after death and that when you die that’s it… it’s over. No more feelings or consciousness, you are just dead. Strangely enough though, these same people, when faced with death quickly change their minds.

I watched a programme on National Geographic about an Airbus that ran out of fuel over the Atlantic Ocean en route to Portugal. The picture of fear, panic and hopelessness on the faces of most passengers told its own story. When actually faced with death the true beliefs come out. Why fear when after you die there is nothing? Why panic when you believed that after death there was no feeling? Why hopelessness when you never hoped in anything anyway? The Airbus never crashed but landed safely on some island. Everyone survived. But what now? Will they continue in denial now that the panic is over, or will they reconsider?

The truth is that all these brazen responses to the issue of death are merely fronts because most people don’t really have any real answers. Deep down inside they know that there is more but they don’t know what it is. They do not actually believe what they say.

I am sixty three years old and have had occasion to be at the bedside of a number of people during their last few hours on this earth. For some the fear, emotional agony and anxiety that manifested in the one breathing his last and also in family members, was quite disturbing. For others, the absolute atmosphere of peace that pervaded the room was beautiful. This included my own father. What made the difference?

The answer is: YOUR INNER HEART CONVICTION CONCERNING LIFE AND DEATH.

Let us go back to what people believe concerning life after death. I am not going to enter into a lengthy discussion on the various religions. Most beliefs are centered in one or other religion. Then there are those who do not believe in any form of after life. They have no belief system whatsoever, denying the existence of any form of higher being such as a god.

I have studied all of the main religions and can only come to one conclusion. There is only one that offers a definite answer… and that is Christianity. Many would disagree with that statement and for good reason. It would appear that Christianity is very disjointed with all the hundreds of different denominations and none agreeing with one another. The reason for this is very simple. They have a form of "Christianity" founded upon human principles which do not line up with the Truth. Each holds to a part of the truth and have then added rules and regulations according to their denominational stand. But true Christianity is not rules, regulations, rites and rituals controlled by man. It is a relationship built on love and trust between an almighty God and mankind.

If one goes back to the root of "Christianity" you will find it in the heart of God. The God of all creation. The God of the Bible. A study of the word Christian will reveal that it was first used in Antioch in about 45 AD to describe the followers of Jesus Christ. It never had a capital letter C and was actually a derogatory term used to mock those who believed in Jesus as the Messiah. God never called anyone a Christian. That term is used in a very broad sense today and it denotes people who go to a "church". Another misconception. For the purposes of this article God has made certain promises to "His church" concerning eternal life.

Back to your eternal destiny. Many people do not believe what is recorded in the Bible. This again comes from man’s various interpretations of the Bible trying to make it justify his belief system. Thus all the denominations, disagreements, confusion etc. None of this negates the validity of the Bible as God’s word to us. All through the years people have been trying to discredit God’s word but it has stood the test of time and it’s integrity still holds true. Written by many authors over many years yet all their writings blend into a beautiful love story. The infallible word of a loving God. A story of the unconditional, sacrificial love of God towards His creation.

My friend are you prepared to lay aside all of your prejudices, philosophies and pre-conceived ideas? Remember it is your eternal destiny we are talking about. Read on.

Now comes the most beautiful part of life’s dilemma… Jesus. Yes, Jesus Christ the Son of the living God. He, and only He, is the guarantee of a secure haven of peace for all eternity. Governments are passing laws forbidding the use of that Name. It is being removed from constitutions. They may be able to remove the Name, but the Person lives on for all eternity. A wise teacher and philosopher of old once said to a government trying to stop the use of the name of Jesus, "Let it be, because if this is from man it will soon die out, but if it is from God no one will be able to stop it." And no one has.

From His virgin birth to His death by crucifixion and subsequent resurrection many have tried to bring doubt into peoples’ minds concerning the truth about Jesus Christ. Many have been deceived into believing the lie but many have also believed the truth. If you are one of those who have been deceived, remember this: a lie can be changed but truth is truth and endures for ever.

Are you prepared to go through life being deceived or are you going to exchange the lie for the truth? It is your choice. Should you choose Jesus Christ then you have also exchanged death for life. With Him there is eternal life in which there is no longer any fear of death, for you will be with Him for all eternity. Each day can be lived to its fullest with no anxiety, fear or hopelessness.

Jesus said,"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

Should you choose Jesus you are in for the most exciting journey of your life. I made the choice at age 35. Today at age 63 I can say that I have never looked back I have a hope and an eternal future, and his name is Jesus.

There is a cost involved. You will have to surrender control of your life to Him. Think of it this way. He created you, so who better to direct your life than the author of life. The long term benefits far outweigh the cost. Think about it, long and hard. It is not a decision to be taken lightly. Your choice will determine where you will spend eternity.

Once you have made your decision to trust in Jesus then you need to visit www.tcitfh.co.za and read the article on Relationship with the Father. This will help you with what to do next.

Should you decide that it is just too much for you to believe then you have sealed your own fate for now. I say for now because God is patient and is waiting for you to have a change of heart. He does not want anyone to be left out of sharing in His wonderful promises. He has not written you off, because He loves you. I invite you also to visit us on www.tcitfh.co.za. I am not part of any denomination. I am simply proclaiming the truth about a loving God, creator of the universe, and His plan for your life. It does not matter what you believe in now or your station in life and not even the lifestyle you are in at present. Forgiveness and acceptance are yours. God has no favourites.

Jesus reigns over all the earth. He is the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. Know that in your darkest hour you can always call out to Him. JESUS LOVES YOU.

With much love,

The Church in the Father's Heart.
jack@tcitfh.co.za
http://www.tcitfh.co.za
http://www.fathersheartchurch.blog.tcitfh.co.za
http://www.inhousechurch.com
http://www.jackviljoensmessagebook.blogspot.com By Jack Viljoen

Life after Death

The question of whether there is a life after death is not an issue of scientific concern, for science only deals with the classification and analysis of sense data. While man has been conducting scientific inquiries and research, in the modern sense of the term, for only the last few centuries, he has been familiar with the concept of life after death since time immemorial.Is there any life for death; if so, what kind of life is it? This question lies far beyond the ken of our perception. We do not have the eyes with which we could see beyond the frontiers of worldly life and find out what lies on beyond it. We do not have the ears with which we could hear anything from beyond these frontiers. Nor do we have any instrument by which we could determine with certainty whether there is any life beyond death. Therefore, the question whether there is any life after death lies completely outside the province of scientific knowledge which is concerned with the classification and interpretation of sense data. Anyone who asserts in the name of science that there is no life after death, therefore, makes a very unscientific statement. Merely on the basis of scientific knowledge, we can neither affirm that there is a life after death nor deny it. Until we discover a dependable means of acquiring knowledge about this matter, the correct scientific attitude would be neither to affirm nor to deny the possibility of life after death. The question is beyond its jurisdiction.

When his body grows weak and he becomes apparently unconscious, the dying man gathers his senses about him and completely withdrawing their powers, descends into his heart. No more does he see form or color without.

He neither sees, nor smells, nor tastes. He does not speak, he does not hear. He does not think, he does not know. For all the organs, detaching themselves from his physical body, unite with his subtle body. Then the point of his heart, where the nerves join, is lighted by the light of the Self, and by that light he departs either through the eye, or through the gate of the skull, or through some other aperture of the body. When he thus departs, life departs; and when life departs, all the functions of the vital principle depart. The Self remains conscious, and conscious, the dying man goes to his abode. The deeds of this life, and the impressions they leave behind, follow him.

As a man acts, so does he become. A man of good deeds becomes good; a man of evil deeds becomes evil. A man becomes pure through pure deeds, impure through impure deeds.

A little reflection should help us to see that the question of life after death is not merely a philosophical question; it is deeply and intimately related to our everyday life. In fact our moral attitude depends entirely upon this question. If a person is of the view that the life of this world is the only life and that there is no life of any kind after that, he must develop a particular type of moral attitude. A radically different kind of attitude and approach is bound to result if he believes that this life is to be followed by another life where one will have to render account of all one’s acts in this world and, that one’s ultimate fate in the Hereafter will depend upon one’s conduct in worldly life. Let us try to understand this through a simple example. Consider the example of the people who lived in the Arabian peninsula before the appearance of the Prophet Muhammad. They were great lovers of gambling, wine, tribal feuds, plundering, and murdering. As they had no concept of an afterlife, why not enjoy themselves as they saw fit? But as soon as they accepted the belief in the One God and an afterlife, they became a much disciplined nation. They gave up their vices, helped each other when requested to do so, and settled all their disputes on the basis of justice and equality. The denial of life after death also has consequences in this world. When an entire nation denies belief in the afterlife, all kinds of evils and corruption are unleashed and the society is set on the path to ultimate destruction.

Now it is obvious that this difference between the approaches and attitudes of the two travelers results directly from their view of the nature of their journey and its end. Similarly, a person’s views in regard to life after death have a decisive influence upon his moral conduct in this world. The direction of every step that he takes in his practical life will depend upon whether he treats this worldly life as the first and last stage of life, or whether he also has in view the Hereafter and consequences of his conduct in this world or the next one. He will move in one direction in the first instance and in exactly the opposite direction in the other instance.

As a goldsmith, taking an old gold ornament, moulds it into another, newer and more beautiful, so the Self, having given up the body and left it unconscious, takes on a newer and better form, either that of the fathers, or that of the celestial singers, or that of the gods, or that of other beings, heavenly or earthly.

As a man acts, so does he become. A man of good deeds becomes good, a man of evil deeds becomes evil. A man becomes pure through pure deeds, impure through impure deeds.

There are very convincing reasons to believe in life after death.

First: All the prophets of God have called their people to believe in it.
Second: Whenever a society is built on the basis of this belief, it has been the most ideal and peaceful society, free of social and moral evils.
Third: History bears witness that whenever this belief has been rejected collectively by a group of people in spite of the repeated warning of the prophet, the group as a whole has been punished by God even in this world.
Fourth: The moral, aesthetic, and rational faculties of man endorse the possibility of life after death.
Fifth: God's attributes of justice and mercy have no meaning if there is no life after death.

A man acts according to the desires to which he clings. After death he goes to the next world bearing in his mind the subtle impressions of his deeds; and after reaping there the harvest of his deeds, he returns again to this world of action. Thus he who has desires continues subject to rebirth.
By Dhananjay Kulkarni

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

DEATH- THE INEVITABLE

by Dr. Shanker Adawal
(submitted 2010-04-19)
1) One way of doing good, thinking good and be on righteous path is to remember Death-an event that has to come to all. It may come to some at young age, to others at middle age and still to others at old age. The concept of longevity differs from person to person and I would say that no Astrologer is Brahamato predict about longevity though we have systems of calculating longevity. However, some Rishis and sages may have god-gifted institution.

2) There is a difference of just a second or so between life and death. You are alive a moment before your death. Just in a moment, present becomes past and the event itself gets into memory with the passage of time. So long one lives, there is urging to live, love and lord over others and all these urges come to an end with the inevitable event-death. All the urges and aspirations are manifestation of truth and the ultimate event death is also truth.

3) Life before and after death is indicated by the horoscope-Janampatri i.e. Position of stars at birth. Karma of the native is very important-rather Astrology embraces the Karmas of previous birth(s) also. Birth with good and exalted planets ma not suffice as they indicate good deeds of the native in previous incarnation. The Karma of the native e in this incarnation also has a vital role to play.

4) The purpose of the Divine Science-Astrology is to dins out the come of actions, good and bad and also to take the people towards the path of virtue. Now with regards to death, without involving technical terms of astrology. I would say that 8th house in the horoscope speak of longevity and 12th house speak of exit from the world (Moksha).

5) The 12th house and its lord would tell about the fall of the native in heaven or hell. The mode of death is also indicted by the planets occupying the 8th house. Death can be predicted though the evil effects flowing from the 8th house and I am sure all of you known that there are 12 houses in a horoscope. Briefly, the mode of death is indicated as under with reference to the sign representing 8th house.

Aires - Death will come through fever, heat and liver or gastric illness.

Taurus - Fire or weapon shall cause the Death

Gemini - Death comes by asthma, colic etc.

Cancer - Death is due to madness (insanity), wind-diseases or loss of appetite.

Leo - Death is due to wild beasts, fever, boils or enemies.

Virgo - Death comes though women, venereal disease, or by falling from high places.

Libra - Death it the result of spleen, fever and typhoid

Scorpio - Death is the result of spleen, jaundice or cholera.

Saggitarius - Death comes by falling of a tree, drowning in water, wood or weapon.

Capricorn - Death is to due to stomach - ache, loss of appetite or mental imbalance.

Aquarius - Death is by cough, fever or consumption.

Pisces - Death comes by drawing or some water diseases.

6) Another principle is that if Rahu is in the 12th house alone with Mars, Saturn and the Sun, the native will go in hell. This is what sage Prasara has said though the same may not be subject to verification. The 12th house relates to one's fate after death. Whether, the native will re-incarnate or attain Moksha and be at the Lotus feet of the Lord, would beep a deep study from the 12th house.

7) Without dwelling further on the concept of death, it would be apt to say that the need of the day is mental peace which missing operatically for all from peon to Prime Minister and from poor to rich. Astrology is a guide for future, but on account of uncertain future, we are always afraid of our future. This unwanted but constant anxiety, tension and stress disturbs our peace of mind specially if the native is weak minded. The only way is to strengthen the mind taking support from the all-mighty-Your Lord and this is possible via mediation or concentration for which you need to practice. The other way is auto-suggestion-self control, repeatedly suggesting to your self, listening to your inner soul for the right path and 'Sankalp' etc. To do or not to do a particular thing. Abhayaswarpurah Aham Asmi- I am strong enough to handle all situations. I have confidence in myself and I am fearless.


About the Author
Dr. Shanker Adawal, Jyotishacharya in Astrology is a professional and Astrology is his passion and an urge. His predictive technique is based on Bhrigu Technique whose principles and doctrines have been deciphered from research of above two decades. www.connectingmind.com

The Bible On Reincarnation

Bizarre events have caused some people who don't believe in reincarnation to reconsider their stance. Does the Bible have any answers for them? Yes, it does.A belief in reincarnation indicates a belief that people experience a series of rebirths until ultimately attaining oneness with God.

The Bible's teachings on science, ancient history, and mathematics have been proven flawless. Also, it's a most unique book in that there's no doctrine, belief, or philosophy that has been, is, or ever will be on which the Bible is "silent". This fact alone attests to the amazing knowledge possessed by its numerous authors who wrote under divine inspiration, thing they should not have known by any natural means.

Many proponents of the theory of reincarnation "authenticate" it with the strange and bizarre stories of people who mysteriously have knowledge about a deceased person they never knew. Such knowledge usually can't be traced back to any natural or explicable means of transmission. There's also the phenomenon of "déjà vu" which many consider to be yet more evidence of reincarnation.

Most evangelical Christians claim belief in the Bible's scriptures as the last authority on what is truth and what is falsehood. The Bible should therefore be the first source of information consulted if it's truly regarded as the last word on everything.

The scripture of Hebrews 9:27 says, "...it is appointed unto men (people) once to die, but after this, the judgment."

It's not another life, but judgment that comes after death. How then does one explain the strange happenings so often associated with a belief in reincarnation? Can the average person explain why concave and convex mirrors don't reflect things the way they actually appear? Such mirrors can make one appear extremely fat, skinny, ugly, and distorted in many other ways. If the person had never seen his real reflection, he would not have the advantage of knowing truth which guards against deception. His eyes would see only the disfigured reflection given by the mirror. The mirror is real. His eyes are real. A million people looking at the reflection would witness the same real distortion. Nevertheless, it would not be reality.

All that contradicts God's word is a falsehood, regardless of how real it may appear, regardless of how many witnesses may attest to it.

Visit Heavenly Manna for in-depth biblical studies on various questions on the paranormal.
By Hannah Henderson

Reincarnation in the Bible

What does the Bible say about reincarnation? Does the holy tome of Christianity believe in reincarnation? Here's an article about reincarnation in the Bible.A lot of religions and cultures believe in the concept of reincarnation and rebirth. What does reincarnation mean exactly? What does the Bible say about reincarnation? Read on to know more about reincarnation in the Bible.

What is Reincarnation?

Before we go on to discuss the concept of reincarnation, we need to differentiate between two things - the body and the soul. The soul is the living matter while the body is the physical being which houses our soul. The proponents of the concept of reincarnation say that the body is mortal while the soul is immortal. So when any living being dies, it is only the body which dies. The soul merely leaves the body and assumes a different life form. Each culture has its own, slightly different interpretation of reincarnation. Some people believe that a soul which was contained in a human body will always be contained in a human body in its next earthly life. Other cultures believe that one soul goes through a cycle where it lives in the bodies of all the life forms on earth. For example, in Hinduism it is said that the soul moves from one earthly life to another and stays on earth till it attains 'moksha', where its earthly travails end. So, the interpretations of reincarnation differ from one culture to another.

There are also seers who claim that they can look into your past life and tell you what you did then. Then again, there are also a lot of Facebook applications which joke about the same!

Reincarnation in The Bible

A lot of people are unsure about what the Bible says about reincarnation. It does seem that Jesus Christ came back from the dead (Resurrection) to address his followers about the path that they should take. But does that amount to reincarnation per se?

While there are certain verses in the Holy Bible which can be interpreted to be hinting vaguely at reincarnation, such as, John 3:3 - No one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again - and there is also the part where John the Baptist is supposed to be the reincarnation of Elijah, the Bible doesn't make any clear reference to reincarnation of a soul. These are simply things which merely hint at the idea of reincarnation, but don't clearly state that reincarnation is advocated in the Bible. The Holy Bible merely says that after a person dies, it is the body which dies, while the soul goes to Heaven for the Last Judgment. The Last Judgment is done in all fairness and depending on the life that the soul has led, it is sent to Heaven, Hell or Purgatory.

What people are perhaps confused about is resurrection. Most people who follow Chrisianity think of resurrection and reincarnation as one and the same, hence a differentiation needs to be established. Reincarnation, as we have discussed at length, is the change in the body which houses the soul after the death of one body. Resurrection on the other hand is a case where the soul unites with the body it contained - the body which just died recently - temporarily for the sake of the Last Judgment. When the Last Judgment is made, both the body and the soul unite for one last time to receive the Judgment. Hence, people think that it is a reincarnation, but actually it is merely a temporary union.

So, this was all about reincarnation and the Bible. There is no clear proof of reincarnation in the Bible, though doubters and protagonists of the reincarnation theory are still finding verses in the Bible that vaguely hint at reincarnation as a real possibility. The verses they are talking about are merely open to interpretation and do not say anything which assertively endorses reincarnation.
By Arjun Kulkarni

The Haunting of Florida

Florida the "Sunshine State". The place to go for a big dose of Disney and to warm up when the cold winds begin to blow.Villa Paula is located on North Miami Avenue, in the heart of Little Haiti, in Miami, Florida. It is a neo-classical 1920 mansion with a Cuban flavor in design. The mansion has ten rooms, two baths, 18 foot high ceilings, hand-painted floor tiles and Tuscan columns.

Villa Paula was built for the first Cuban Consulate in Miami, Senior Don Domingo Milord and his wife Paula in 1925. Six years after moving into the mansion Paula died from complications caused by a leg amputation. The next resident was Muriel Reardon who lived here for over 30 years. After some years it became a home to senior citizens. By 1974 the Villa Paula had become a home to drifters. Along came a man called Cliff who bought the mansion from the Department of Housing and Urban Development and restored it to its original greatness.

Cliff soon discovered that the house had come with company. A steady knocking was heard at the front door but no one was ever there. Unfortunately there was someone who also really hated cats and all three of Cliff’s pet cats were killed. Some unknown force would wait until a cat would go through the gate and then slam the gate in the cat like a trap. Former owner Muriel was known to have hated cats. Cliff’s bedroom door would keep shutting by itself. Finally an elderly neighbor explained that Paula would shut the bedroom door so that she wouldn’t have a draft on her shoulders as she played the piano.

There were times when Cliff would smell the strong aroma of Cuban coffee coming from the kitchen and a fragrant smell of roses in the dining room at a time when roses weren’t in bloom. There came a time when Cliff did see a shadowy form but it quickly disappeared until he finally did see a Cuban woman whose hair was pulled back in a bun and who was swishing down the hall wearing a full-length gown. He did notice she had only one leg before the entity vanished.

He has heard the clumping of high heels on the stone paths in the mansion’s back yard. Once there was a loud clatter in the kitchen and it appeared that a ghost with a very bad temper had thrown dishes and silverware all over the kitchen. A front porch chandelier happened to come loose and crash with a bang to the ground below.

A séance was held in 1976 by a spiritual minister and it was revealed that besides Paula there were four other spirits as well all keeping Cliff company. Being too shy to say who she was, Paula did say she loved to grind Columbian coffee, play music from Carmen on the piano and put roses around the mansion as she liked the smell. Another entity was a thin man in a top hat, there was a heavy-set lady in a red dress, a crying woman who had lost a medal in the back yard and a very unhappy young woman looking for the burial place of her illegitimate baby, who lies somewhere on or near the grounds of Villa Paula.

After the séance for a while all was quiet and Cliff finally sold the mansion. The in the 80’s the ghosts started up again giving a full repertoire right down to cats being bumped off again by the gates or perhaps they’re the jaws of Hell? By 1989 The Miami Herald named Villa Paula the most haunted house in Miami. By the early 90s it became a doctor’s medical office leaving the ghosts to fend for themselves at night in the dark and quiet.

The Polk County Courthouse is a lovely building located in the downtown section of Bartow, Florida directly across the street from the new Courthouse. Two courthouses were built on this piece of land. One in 1883 and the current building in 1909. The present building houses museums, courtrooms and a genealogical library. The courtrooms are used for ceremonial events, including formal installation of county office holders and are also available for court purposes.

The Polk County Historic Courthouse was listed on the National Register of Historic Places on August 7, 1989. It has a central dome which is topped with an orb, spire, and cupola, contains ribbon windows and four clocks.

There are five to six entities making the courthouse their home. The ones that are known are as follows:

In 1886 the Mann brothers who were accused of killing Marshall Silas Campbell outside the courthouse in 1883 were lynched by a mob before they could be tried in a court of law. After dying from this hanging due to mob action their bodies were on display in the courtroom in the courthouse that once stood where the 1909 – 1987 Historical Courthouse now stands.

There was a Boiler room accident. A boiler in one of the four basements exploded burning and killing a worker.

No one knows why she is here but a lady in white also haunts the building.

After a Judge and his wife were killed in West Palm Beach the mobsters who killed them were tried in the main courtroom.

One of the haunted areas of the building is the basement area which is accessed only by elevator. Here employees and visitors have heard the hair raising screams of pain and agony coming from the soul who died a long time ago in a boiler explosion.

In the Old Courtroom (1909-1987) which is located on the first floor cold spots can be felt by the living and sometimes people have felt someone brush against them. Also on the first floor in the room where Indian Artifacts are now displayed manifestations have been felt and seen from cold spots to malfunctioning lights.

On the second floor women’s restroom and on the third floor an apparition of a lady dressed in white has been seen. In the Rotunda area where the bodies of the Mann brothers were on display there is a feeling of sadness and there have been apparitions of the brothers themselves. The spirits in the Polk County Courthouse are restless perhaps waiting for a fairer trail.

In the Orlando area there is a small, rural cemetery on Rouse Road – the Rouse Road Cemetery. It and the nearby woods are haunted by a spirit from the 1840s Benjamin Miles whose presence in the night is signaled by an owl screeching. He’s often in tan-colored work clothes and is a hostile ghost buried in an unmarked grave. During the day there is a strong unsettling presence in the cemetery. A huge tree in the center of the cemetery seems to hold some strange energy. This is a hostile area and should be avoided by those who scare easy.

Not even Orlando theme parks have escaped ghosts. At Universal Studios theme park there are reports of a small, hooded spirit with glowing red eyes and supposedly it’s for real. At Disney’s Magic Kingdom a for real spirit has been spotted in the Haunted Mansion and a ghost in slightly-dated clothing has been seen strolling in front of the castle at the end of Main Street. The fluttering movements of spirits have been seen at the Tower of Terror at Disney/MGM Studios. Why shouldn’t they enjoy themselves too?

And then there’s the I-4 "Dead Zone" an overpass in Orlando that’s supposed to be very haunted and where more than an average number of accidents have occurred. It’s just north of Orlando, at the St. John’s River in Seminole County. Legend has it that the highway was built over the graves of Yellow Fever victims who lived and died at St. Joseph’s Colony which was established on this site in 1887. During the day there is some strange energy here and it is not recommended to investigate this area on your own at night. In other words don’t contribute yourself to the "Dead Zone". By Rasma Raisters

Mysterious Tennessee

Tennessee the "Volunteer State". The two things that come to mind about this state is that it is the home of Elvis Presley and the home of country music. The Carnton Mansion is considered the most haunted house in Tennessee. Now it is a museum located in the town of Franklin, TN. which is about 15 miles south of Nashville. The mansion sits on land that was once the site of a bloody Civil War battle, where many soldiers were killed in a shower of bullets.

The Carnton Mansion has two stories with 22 rooms. It is an early 1800s brick structure with 7 beautiful white columns and a front porch both upstairs and downstairs. A verandah and closed porch are found along the backside of the mansion. The color scheme used in decorating was to use the colors which were popular during the discovery of Pompeii popular in American decorum at this time. The colors are mustard yellow, dark blue and Pompeii red.

Located close to Carnton Mansion is a graveyard where 1700 Confederate soldiers were hastily buried after the bloody conflict in the fields close by. At that time the mansion became a hospital where 4 generals died of their wounds and their bodies lay in state so that men who survived could show their respect.

A young house servant girl was murdered in the kitchen by a jealous field hand in the 1840s, because she rejected him as a suitor and of their five offspring only two Carter children made it to adulthood.

There are two spirits that haunt the kitchen and at times move to other parts of the house. Hearing noises in the small, enclosed porch off the back of the house, the curator went to investigate. She found that two panes of glass had been taken from a box of panes located on a shelf and had been put on either side of the back door. It is thought that this was the work of the murdered servant girl. The head of a cook who was working for the family during the Civil War was seen floating in the hallway, near the kitchen. The cook is often heard bustling about the kitchen doing her duties. In the second floor hallway a beautiful young girl with long brown hair appeared to a workman making him retreat quickly. One of the bedrooms has been occupied by a soldier’s spirit. In this bedroom a picture of the mansion strangely crashed to the floor and was found on top of the floor heater. The back porch is haunted by a lady dressed in white who sometimes floats into the backyard.

Spirits of fallen soldiers appear to be the most active in the autumn at dusk. The spirit of General Pat Cleburne a man with a mustache, a short beard and piercing eyes paces the back porch, walks around the outside parameter of the mansion and occasionally speaks to the living. A man called Mr. P whose ancestor fought in the Franklin Battle came after 5 PM to see the Carnton Mansion but found that it was closed. He walked about the place along a path which led to the back of the mansion. Near the porch Mr. P saw the silhouette of a man about to get on a horse but then the horse vanished. He then saw another man on the porch and asked him what had happened to the horse. The man explained that the horse had been shot from under the soldier. This mysterious man standing on the porch was dressed like a Confederate Officer and he went on to explain that whether on horse or not they would be at the mercy of the enemy tonight. The Civil War officer then suggested that Mr. P had better have a pistol with him if he was going to join in battle further predicting in an angry voice that not many men were going to survive the night and it was the fault of that fool, Hood, who had ordered his men into this soon to be slaughter. Then he began humming a rallying song. All this time Mr. P figured that this was part of a Civil War enactment and that the officer must assume that Mr. P is also part of it. So then Mr. P asked this officer what kind of carbine he was carrying and he replied, "It’s an Enfield 577. What do you have?" At this point Mr. P confessed that he had nothing and didn’t know how to use a weapon. Hearing this, the officer became alarmed and told him to quickly leave or to go to the Carter house, which is also located on the plantation or town. The officer then started speaking to another spirit at his side. "Well, Govan, if we are to die, let us die like men." He then threw his hat up in the air, in an angry way and vanished. Now Mr. P began hearing the sounds of battle. The officer’s voice, yelling "Charge men! Charge." The air was filled with sounds of shots, shells, muskets and cannons. A regiment band was playing "Annie Laurie". There came a whole army of rebel yells, which were fierce and jolting cries. Mr. P tried to run to his car as he was surrounded by the unearthly din of battle. He felt the cold, creepy feeling of death around him and then found himself stumbling around in the graveyard near the mansion. The next day when Mr. P returned to Carnton Mansion he found out that the officer he had spoken to was the much loved Irishman, General Pat Cleburne.

The Hermitage which is just 20 min. northeast of Nashville is the home of the 7th President of the U.S. Andrew Jackson. It sits on an estate of 1,120 acres, which includes the entire 1,050 acre tract that Andrew Jackson owned when he died in 1845. The mansion has been completely restored to the way it was from 1837 – 1845. The Ladies Hermitage Association also bought from the family most of the original furnishings. Tours are given of the site and house.

The Hermitage Plantation was a gentleman’s farm, run by slave labor and providing a home for two generations of the Jackson family. Andrew Jackson enjoyed country living and making a comfortable home for his wife Rachel. He was often taken away from home because of politics, business and military careers. Because Andrew and Rachel were unable to have children they adopted an orphaned nephew of Rachel’s and called him Andrew Jackson, Jr. He became heir to the property. Throughout the years many children lived with the Jacksons for a period of time including an orphaned Indian boy, the victim of war.

In 1825 Rachel began to suffer from medical problems, which became worse in 1828 when Jackson ran for President again. She died on December 22, 1828 on the eve before they were to leave for the White House. Andrew Jackson died in 1845 and was buried beside his wife in the family cemetery in the Hermitage Mansion garden. Andrew Jackson, Jr. inherited the Hermitage Plantation and Mansion and his wife Sarah and two sons and a daughter took official ownership of the mansion.

Not being much of a farmer Andrew Jackson, Jr. put his money in an ironworks operation and a lead mine, which turned out to be bad investments. He began selling outlying parcels of Hermitage land. In 1856 he sold off a 500-acre section of the farm, including the mansion and outbuildings for $48,000 to the State of Tennessee. The Jackson family was allowed to stay in the mansion as tenants. In 1858 Andrew Jackson, Jr. sold what was left of the acreage to private owners and moved his family to Mississippi. When the cotton plantation failed in 1860 they moved back to the Hermitage. The Civil War came and both his sons went to war, serving as officers for the Confederacy. Only Andrew Jackson III came home alive. Andrew Jackson, Jr. died in 1865.

In 1883 the State of Tennessee repaired the Jacksons’ Tomb and Monument and put an iron fence around it. While the mansion was being restored some ladies from the Ladies Hermitage Association took turns staying in the mansion to guard it from intruders sleeping on mattresses in the living room. They were rudely awakened in the middle of the night by the entity of President Jackson making his presence and feeling known. They heard sounds as if someone were riding a horse up and down the main staircase and a message was clearly expressed, "Why are you sleeping? Get up! Fix my house!"

Loud, clanging sounds of chains have been heard being dragged across the front porch and sounds of havoc reigning in the kitchen. However, the next day nothing is out of place and all the doors and windows still locked.

Andrew Jackson did meet the needs of his slaves but felt offenses were severe and did permit slaves to be whipped and posted runaway notices. Throughout the years and even today apparitions of slaves congregate on the balcony in front of the master bedroom and sounds of chains dragging across the front porch are still heard late at night.

The Orpheum Theater in downtown Memphis, Tennessee is a remarkable success story it has survived bankruptcies, a devastating fire, the decay of downtown and the threat of demolition and is now the premier performing arts center for the Mid-South.

This 1928 brick 5 storey theater complete with a balcony and a 5th floor gallery seats 2000 people who enjoy concerts and touring Broadway plays. The inside has a very large, high ceiling, with 2000 lb. chandeliers and gold leafing everywhere. At least 7 spirits have made their home here one of them being Mary.

On the spot where there is now the Orpheum Theater there was once another theater, The Grand Opera House in 1921. In front of this theater a 12 year old girl named Mary was tragically killed in an accident. So it is thought that her spirit decided to stay on this spot and has moved into the Orpheum Theater.

During a run of the musical "The King and I" a quite psychic Yule Brenner saw Mary sitting quietly in the balcony in her favorite seat, CF, dressed in a 20s style white dress. Several cast members of "Fiddler on the Roof" have also seen Mary sitting there and she was enjoying the show. A woman patron and a group of friends saw a 12 year old girl dancing in the lobby. Suddenly she vanished before their eyes. Mary had made her presence known to staff. A theater workman felt her presence constantly around him. He described it as "A cold eerie feeling, like getting into a bathtub of cold liver." Mary has played childish pranks on the housekeeper, by taking the housekeeper’s tools and putting them into the toilet.

Workmen have seen a theater door fly open in an outwardly direction and then shut by itself. There was no wind nor any living person nearby. Trying to repair the theaters organ late one night the repairman became frustrated and decided to take a break. He locked up and went for some coffee. He returned to continue doing battle with the organ and was surprised to find that someone unseen had already repaired it.

A homeless vagrant was mistakenly locked in on the 5th floor gallery by the night watchman. The watchman was surprised by a terrifying scream and the sound of feet flying down the five flights of stairs which were in total darkness. The entrance doors to the gallery crashed open and the terrified person never stopped running. The doors were knocked off their hinges. One wonders what he saw. No joking matter now, for I truly believe but my thoughts turn to the Phantom of the Opera. Remember what was on this site before….

The police with canine units came to investigate one night when the theater’s alarm system went off. The highly-trained dogs refused to enter the theater and lay down on the ground refusing to budge. They sensed what their human handlers didn’t see.

After the opening night of "Fiddler on the Roof" some of the cast held a séance in the balcony and made contact with Mary. Other psychic research groups, such as a Memphis State Parapsychology class, also examined the balcony and sensed Mary’s presence. Other ghosts were sensed throughout the theater.

Have you already purchased your tickets for the next show? By Rasma Raisters

Unforgettable Happenings in Alabama

Alabama is the "Heart of Dixie". It is the state that introduced the Mardi Gras to the western world. The celebration is held on Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent begins.Lucas Tavern is part of a group of historical buildings, called Old Alabama Town located in Old North Hull Square, in the Old North Hull Historic District in Montgomery, Alabama.

Lucas Tavern is a building with a main tavern room, a kitchen, an eating area and bedrooms. It was fully restored by 1979. It has become the Visitor’s Reception Center and the home of the offices of the Historic District, an organization that runs this living museum of historical buildings. The back door of the tavern opens onto a square of historical buildings. All the buildings are equipped with furnishings of the past. The third building from the tavern is an 1890 one room school house, complete with a pot bellied stove, an old pine school teacher’s desk, a kerosene lamp, pupils’ desks, an abacus, children’s writing slates and various books. Guides are dressed in period costumes.

The former owner and hostess of Lucas Tavern was Eliza Lucas. Lucas Tavern was a place for travelers to spend the night in clean beds and enjoy a hot meal during the 1820 – 1840 era. Travelers like General Lafayette, who stayed there in 1825 enjoyed such Tavern fare as was offered then including chicken, ham, five vegetables, pudding and sauce, sweet pies, preserved fruit and desserts of strawberries and plums, along with wine and brandy. Eliza was hard working and raised her family here as well. Her determination made the Tavern a great success. In the 1840s it became a private home for over 100 years. The building was abandoned in the 1960s but the Landmarks Foundation rescued it in 1978 and moved it to its present spot. The restoration of Lucas Tavern was completed in 1980.

The spirit of Eliza Lucas became active in 1980 when restoration was completed and offices were set up in the old bedrooms. She began visiting the other buildings as well. Eliza Lucas spirit is that of a 5 ft. 3 in. woman, dressed in a Victorian dress, waving cordially and smiling at people as they pass by. Her favorite place to stand is in the doorway of the Tavern. One Saturday morning in 1985 a man came into the Tavern wanting to meet Eliza whom he had encountered just inside the doorway not realizing she was an entity.

At a meeting late one afternoon, which took place in front of the fireplace in the main Tavern room a controversial matter was being discussed. One committee member became quite upset and angry trying to get their point across. Suddenly a great puff of smoke and ashes blasted from the fireplace, covering the angry person with a coat of soot. The assumption was that Eliza didn’t approve of the hostile tone in which this person spoke and didn’t agree with their opinion.

Staff members are also reprimanded. During a lunchtime break two staff members were discussing the Historical District just a might too critically. Suddenly the door to their room began to slide off its hinges and hit the floor with a thud. Eliza also take objects and put them in different places. She likes to rearrange, straighten up or put things into disarray.

Eliza also visits the other historical building materializing in front of both staff and visitors. Her special place is the school room. Late in the afternoon in August of 1986 an amateur photographer talked the staff into letting him take pictures of the museum after closing. He chose the school room first as it would soon be too dark to take pictures in natural light. Walking toward the school room he thought it would have been great to have one of the staff pose as a model, as if she were the teacher. He entered the building and closed the door. Much to his surprise there was what he took to be a guide standing in the room dressed in 19th century Victorian costume. She was standing by a window, studying a McGuffy Reader used by school children. The photographer took several pictures of this guide when suddenly his tripod hit the leg of a desk making a loud noise. This startled the woman making her want to leave. He begged her to go and sit at the teacher’s desk so he could photograph some more. She didn’t reply but went to a picture of George Washington which was hanging on the wall and stood under it. Then she looked at the photographer, smiled at him and waved slowly and deliberately. He noticed something strange in her eyes. She didn’t react to him as a person, but looked directly at his face, making eye contact. Despite it being a warm August day the photographer felt chilled. Then the woman floated through the wall under Washington’s picture and disappeared. The next day he returned and talked to a guide on duty in the Visitor’s Center about what had happened and he learned about Eliza Lucas. As he was about to leave he found the McGuffy Reader from the school room laying at his feet which wasn’t there a moment ago. After developing the film taken of Eliza in the school room he saw that the pictures were blank, except for a bright golden light which was seen in every place where Eliza had been standing in each picture.

To this day Eliza enjoys meeting the tourists who come to visit.

The St. James Hotel is located in the heart of Selma’s revitalized historic district on the banks of the Alabama River with a great view of the city of Selma itself. This is the only surviving ante-bellum riverfront hotel in Selma. It was built in 1837 making it one of the oldest hotels in Alabama. The hotel was completely renovated in 1997 restoring its old Southern and historic charm. There are 42 guestrooms and suites, many with great views of the Alabama River or the majestic courtyard. Four Riverview suites have private wrought iron balconies, whirlpool tubs and gas-burning fireplaces.

The St. James Hotel has two restaurants The Troop House for traditional Southern cooking and the St. James Drinking Room which offers contemporary music and a wide-screen TV. There are two room for special events and the elegant Brantly Ballroom opens up onto the Alabama River Terrace and can accommodate up to 200 people.

This hotel was originally called The Brantly and operated under this name for the first 50 years. During the Civil War it became the headquarters of the Union forces during the Battle of Selma and became the home of Union occupation force in what was left of the city afterwards. Unfortunately most of the city was burned because it had a lot of Confederate arsenals and factories. This hotel was spared. After the war it was run and operated by Benjamin Sterling Tower an African American who was the first black man ever elected to Congress. In 1881 taking a break from robbing people the famous outlaws Frank and Jesse James and their gang came for a holiday to Selma. They stayed at the Brantly and took a liking to the place. During this time the hotel was more of a tavern but one could rent a room on a longtime basis, like an apartment.

Around 1892 the hotel went downhill and hit hard financial times and its doors closed for 100 years. In the 1900s a group of investors and the community of Selma began its restoration which was completed in 1997 and the St. James Hotel became the highlight of the old historic section.

According to the Library of Congress there are at least three known entities which enjoy this hotel: Jesse James a male apparition dressed in 1800 cowboy gear complete with spurs has been seen coming out of the upstairs guest rooms 214, 314 and 315. He has been spotted in the bar and employees have seen him sitting at his favorite corner table to the left of the bar. His girlfriend Lucinda. A picture of her hangs downstairs. She has been described as a tall, beautiful woman with black hair. A scent of lavender is around her. She floats about the hotel stopping to look at the living. A phantom dog has been heard running around the upstairs, barking. Thought to be the companion of Jesse James.

In the Inner Courtyard area odd, unexplainable sounds have been heard and the sound of barking dogs when none are around. Apparitions have been seen by psychics standing around the courtyard, dressed in 1800s clothing. They socialize, unaware of the living.

A new cook was staying in room 304 until he could find an apartment. He observed flashes of light repeatedly coming through the window. The curtains would move by themselves. A psychic had a conversation with an angry apparition. He was angry because he had died before he got to finish what he was doing. In the bar area an entity started to clang together glasses behind the bar. This stopped when an employee yelled for the spirit to stop doing that.

In the St. James Drinking Room an apparition of an older man wearing a hat has been seen sitting on a bench. In the Brantly Ballroom a disembodied male voice has been heard by the manager and some employees while walking through the room. A psychic research team did some EVP recording in this room. They asked, "Is anyone there?" When playing back the tape, a scratchy voice of an older man replied, "Well, that’s a stupid question."

The Alabama Foundation For Paranormal Research has conducted some investigations, including recording some EVP’s and found evidence of entities in the hotel. Time for a relaxing vacation in Selma, Alabama.

Strange events have been reported by individuals and passers by since 1865 at the McConnio Cemetery in Monroe County, Evergreen Alabama. Phantoms of Union soldiers have been seen riding their horses across the graveyard and ghostly parades of troops march in lines with bandages wrapped around their heads. Men in Civil War uniforms wander throughout the area. Even people visiting the McConnio Cemetery who have no knowledge of its ghostly past witness strange vanishing apparitions of soldiers killed in battle. By Rasma Raisters