Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Breathe, Eat, Sleep & Dream Spirit

August 9th, 2011 

Late this evening Julie and I decided to do some trespassing and sat for a while in an empty building which was still under construction.  Many of its windows had not been covered with glass yet.  I commented on how the wind sounded blowing through the empty rooms, making a lonely song. 
( These are from my diary ) 

March 14th, 2012 

I went back to my cousin's old house in Thornton, the haunted one, where I used to spend the night all the time, sleeping on the couch in the living room and listening to their ghosts moving things about on the dining room table.  Again, the utility room area in the back remained the most paranormally active part of the house, where a malevolent female spirit dwelled.  It seemed longer, and darker, than I remembered. 


The next time I went back, the property had been completely razed and yet I stood on the empty concrete slabs, provoking the spirit as I always did, still trying to get a response from her. 

March 23rd, 2012 

Laura and Craig helped me and James get a deal on a new house, which is next to a historical theater and old restaurant with many opportunities for ghost hunting. Rent is kind of high, but we were able to afford it. 


April 23rd, 2012 

I found 3 neat ghost story books in the children's activity book area, and I remarked to James how I loved finding these books when it wasn't Halloween. 


May 16th, 2012 

Walking back to the office, I suddenly remembered the nearby school building was haunted and I needed to conduct a ghost hunt there. 


 June 30th, 2012 

Two nights ago I told James to go to hell ( with me ).  We were contacted about an Underworld portal, one which was supposedly used by demons and dark forces. The entrance was located in the lower level of an old house, and I loaded us up with sage, cedar and eagle feathers to fight whatever darkness we would encounter. I remember suggesting we fill squirt guns with holy water and - 


 July 6th, 2012 

We are living in an old home in Manitou that has been occupied by many people over the years and is very haunted. An old lady used to live there and told us of its history.  She said - 


July 29th, 2012 

I am sitting in a room, a wooden dining area, which I believe to be haunted, but I want to go outside. 

August 12th, 2012 

I drove James to an underground road where there existed a paranormal hot spot.  In an underground building, we realized we had stumbled upon an old department store.  Lots of dark red oak and soft lighting.  Other people were there walking and sitting around, ghosthunters, maybe.  I began trying to get a feel for the place and started toward the back areas where it was most dark when  -



I told a young girl I couldn't help her out on a paranormal investigation because she didn't know what she wanted except for attention and I felt she was abusing substances.  I told her she couldn’t hide that from me and it made her vulnerable to demonic attack. 


James and I were able to get into an old underground haunted mausoleum beneath a launderette, of all things.  The two doors which were usually locked were left open and we were free to explore and capture evidence.  When we went back to our house we had a surprise visit from two SpiritChasers fans who thought we were having a Halloween party. I prepared some dip and put on our SpiritChasers videos for them to watch.  They said there was a terrible accident on the road involving a semi. 



Went on a ghost hunt with James in an old civil-war type fortress / bunker.  Later, as I was reviewing our video footage I thought I saw something.  Although the moment had passed and I was only viewing our replay of the hunt, I still asked the spirit to appear, promising that I would not be afraid, watching it alone, and it did. 


Later I watched on of my favorite heroines, Ellie Arroway, in Contact. 


James and I were ghosthunting with some other people at a very paranormally active building which was reported to be host to a malevolent spirit which lived in the basement.  Apparently it manifested at the back of the house and down the stairs.  I had a feeling we had been there before, and this time I/we really wanted a breakthrough, to make actual contact with the entity. 

We all pushed past our fears and went into the basement, which was old and full of dirt.  Instead of a ghost we encountered a man living down there.  He had an electronic workstation set up with several computers and equipment in front of him.  I didn’t know how he could work with his back to the rest of the haunted room but I understood that he was someone to whom ghosts did not bother.  He was oblivious to them and simply concentrated on his work. He - 


 We did a ghost hunt at 3 active buildings all next to each other, including a V.A. hospital. 


We participated in a ghosthunt at a very old bed & breakfast in downtown Denver.  The building was ancient and dark, with heavy curtains covering the windows and stone fireplaces in almost every room.  The caretaker, an old German man, took my sister and I to the store for supplies.  Other guests had arrived and had taken their places.  We were helping the man get set up for the evening.  He kept talking in German we didn't understand what he was - 


May 16th, 2012 

In my office today, I walked in with surprise to find a new vending machine.  It was one of those big claw machines and it was full of action figures and novelties.  Many of those inside were exclusive Batman collectibles and halfway through looking over them I did a complete palm face.  “Shit”, I muttered, reviewing the tacky unobtainable holograms as I realized that they could only exist in a dream. I forcibly pulled one out of the display and looked over the tantalizing novelty, utterly irritated that it wasn't real and I couldn't keep it.


( For clarification, the above passages were from my dream diary ) 

   DREAMTIME ARCHITECTURE, as I have titled it, are the near-daily journals I have kept, stretching back to just before I received my Indian name in 1991.  The above entries were all the ones I’d had from the past 2 years that had to do with ghost hunting.  I began keeping a log of my dreams after I began to harbor a suspicion that something was trying to communicate with me.  After being christened “Mato Cante” ( Oglala Sioux for Bear Heart ) during my senior year in high school, I was instructed to record my dreamtime passages as a means of identifying important visions and clues as to my life’s purpose and direction. 

   Some have revealed themselves to be premonitory, some have been so real as to cause severe disorientation after waking, unsure of which was more “real” as sounds heard in that other astral place continued spilling out into my waking life.  Some have been subtle, but sly, revealing a pattern of interconnectedness and intrigue  ( on Tuesday, July 17th, I did find the same kind of children's ghost story books I had dreamt about on April 23rd, 2012, on the very same rack I saw in my dream from the children's department at the Citadel Barnes & Noble ).

   I used to dream about visiting a record store in downtown Denver which carried rare, bootleg and import releases ( Wax Trax ).  It was always night when I went, and I was always looking for the newest Erasure CD.  I would always find something I didn’t have, something from an LP collector’s dream, then I would wake up upset that I had only dreamt of it, that it didn’t exist. 

   Each time, a few weeks after this reoccurring dream, I would find that Erasure was indeed releasing a new album.  The lead singer’s birthday is the same day as mine.  The synthesist’s birthday is the same day as my best friend.  I have talked to them over the phone on the Modern Rock Live radio program and have met them a few times after shows in Denver and Boulder.  I used to travel to the next closest city they were performing in if they happened to skip mine during a tour.  I used to listen to their music with headphones on late into the night, unplugging them halfway so I could hear the secret harmonies and uncover hidden melodies from their synthesizer-based music.  Perhaps I am connected to them in such an intimate way that my spirit can pick up on their psychic broadcasts. 

   Other reoccurring dreams often deal with being in search of paranormal mysteries.  Not necessarily to solve, but to interact with.  In certain instances over the years, since meeting James in 2004, when we are having trouble communicating and are exasperating each other with our assumptions, I will dream of a room where I can only move in slow motion.  This makes it difficult to answer the phone in a timely manner when he calls me.  Many times I arrive too late, and am unable to phone him back.  Other times I am shouting into the phone with all my might, because the mic is malfunctioning, or my voice is all slurred, or too slow that by the time its echoes move through the receiver and into his space he has left the phone.  Sometimes it’s just me screaming, “PICK UP, PICK UP,” when my calls go straight to his voicemail, whose voice greeting sounds like Majel Barrett underwater.  These dreams might occur after he has forgotten to do any number of things on our paranormal investigations, from bringing or charging batteries, cameras, sensitive equipment, or directions… 


   Once I was in the basement of our former home with him and went upstairs to grab something out of the kitchen.  Halfway up the stairs I saw him standing in front of the fridge and let out a scream.  From the basement he came running, “What’s wrong?!”  I looked up at him looking back at me from the kitchen.  “JAMES, YOU’RE UPSTAIRS!” 

   In another instance, sometime during the early eighties, my family and I were at my cousin’s house, that infamously haunted home I still dream about, the one I always used to spend the night in, where I once felt the arm of a dead woman’s body while playing hide and seek in my aunt’s closet.  My mother was on the phone talking to one of her sisters, who was miles away in another city, and yet we all watched her sister coming up the walk toward the front door while my mother was still speaking with her.  My aunt never reached the door, disappearing from view, and we were never able to explain this occurrence.

   Another time my cousin’s friend dropped her off at her house one evening.  The next day she asked my cousin how I was doing and what we had done after she left.  My cousin replied that we had done nothing, as I had been home.  Her friend persisted, saying that when she dropped her off, she happened to glance through one of the windows, and she saw me going up the stairs… 


   Perhaps we simply do a lot of bilocating in my family, astral projecting, or just projecting, period, picking up on each other’s psychic, electromagnetic waves, following them like a current to sources of information that might contain assurances, warnings, or just subtle greetings.  Thankfully for most of the bizarre events I have experienced throughout my upbringing I have had several other family members as witnesses.  For us the paranormal was the normal.  It was our reality and simply understood that these things happened, as mysterious as dreams, and though we often couldn’t decode them we loved sharing these stories with one another.   


I dreamt of someone from our family who had crossed over some years ago.  He was there with a group of four or five people who were protecting him.  They had escorted him to us, and he was dressed all in black, wearing some kind of trench coat or robe with a big hood.  We were allowed to look at him briefly, peering into the hood, from which we could only see one half of his face.  The hood hung low over his eyes, but I saw his unmistakable smile, it was him and we wept with gratitude that he was still around.  When I woke up I understood.  It had been Father’s Day and I dream of him every Father’s Day. 

   Many times I will dream of certain intersections or rooms that seem to represent different periods of my life and those things I was learning during those periods.  In one of the above dreams, I dreamt of a particular ghost, then dreamt of Jodie Foster’s character from the movie Contact.  This was a pretty blatant sign, though its symbology didn’t occur to me until after rereading this particular passage, how dearly I was yearning to make authentic contact with the otherworldly.  I am dreaming to understand myself, and the world around me.  Much like the “enemies” we have the most to learn and be empowered from in our waking life, I find that my nightmares have the most to teach me about my responses to fear, whether or not I am acknowledging them in the astral or physical planes. 

   Once, attending the funeral of a young girl in my dreamtime, she suddenly sat up in her coffin, startling the guests.  Amid the gasps and screams of surprise and horror, her sister ran up to the coffin and threw her arms around her.  “You could never scare me,” she exclaimed, while I ran away in slow motion, noticing my father jingling some coins in his left pocket, coins meant to ward off evil.  Another time I witnessed a woman giving birth on my bedroom floor.  She was actually laying giant eggs, which a nursemaid was separating the living from the dead.  Was I the woman, and did the eggs represent ideas, dreams and desires?   
   Some dreams have been much more sinister, like watching Air Force One flying low over the city just before the events of 9/11.  Or dreaming about an oncoming plague just before the bird flu hit the media.  There was another involving a physical portal to the astral itself.  It turned out this portal lied in a building which actually existed in the waking world.  If you dreamt of a place you’d never been to, seemingly invited there in your dreamtime, would you go?  And what would you expect to find there? 

   I think every now and then I will be sharing passages from DREAMTIME ARCHITECTURE for perusal here.  There are profound catalogs of wonder I have completely forgotten recording, like faded treasure maps in well-worn notebooks, secreted in flash drives, still breathing mystery, still waiting to be decoded.  These logs were the basis of a previous blog of mine entitled “SIGNS OF INTELLIGENT LIFE”.  I remember being admonished once in the astral for sharing some things that weren’t meant to be shared, for stumbling into some areas my dreamtime architects were not finished constructing.  I remember asking one of these “construction workers” what it mattered.  So someone stumbles on my site and reads about my perception of reality, to them it isn’t real until they can see it, feel it, experience it in some way that gives it life. 


   This is a language I am still trying to master, though I do ask for proof every now and again.  Say, our brains get plugged into machines that light up when our eyes are responding to stimulus.  These same machines light up when we are dreaming.  So, our brains don’t know the difference?  They’re both just as real?  I posed this question to no one in particular when I once became conscious during a vivid dream.  I was able to refrain from waking up, and, having The Lost City Of Z at my bedside - which told the story of Percy Fawcett’s real-life search and disappearance looking for Eldorado – I decided I would like to embark on such a search as well.  I was immediately catapulted deep into the rainforests of South America.  This has always been one of my favorite legends, and when I won a short story contest in my youth writing about a conquistador who went mad looking for this fabled city, it was almost as if I were drawing from the memories of an earlier incarnation.   

   I used to watch an animated program when I was young about the legendary Seven Cities Of Gold and the people who went looking for them.  On hot summer days after watching the latest episode I’d go out and gaze at the tantalizing green horizon from my backyard, wondering how far it was to Peru and what the birds sounded like there.  Some mornings I’d wake up before the sun came up and smell the breeze coming through my window, cool and inviting, with a fair amount of certainty that I knew how those ancient temples would light up in the dawn, yearning to go back to a place I had never been. 

   I recalled the power of this longing as my dream placed me before a particular cave whose opening was carved to resemble the opening of the mouth of a Mesoamerican deity.  I knew that if I ever saw this in my waking life, I would recognize it as the entrance to Eldorado.  It was hard to see clearly in the dark, but dawn was coming, and as it did parts of the cave seemed to shimmer in the early light.  I realized that the cave walls were decorated with gold.  I ran my hand across them, and they came away with a gold powder.  But I can't take it back with me, I thought with desperation, it's just a dream. 

   "ONE AND THE SAME," my guide assured me.  What I see here, I wondered, will exist when I wake up?  It's just as real? 


   I woke up, before the sun had risen, the breeze cool and inviting, whispering of adventures never fufilled through my open window.  Did I still feel a sort of powder on my palms?  When I awoke again, I found I was completely bathed in a silent, sacred hue.  The sunlight glowed in such a way that made the walls appear gold.  I moved my hand through that light, and I did believe the eyes I used in my dream and those I was using now were indeed one and the same.  To gaze upon a lost city there, was to see it here.  There was no difference as my spirit curled into itself with this realization, with wonder and delight, my heart ached at the possibility, and I chose to embrace this truth.  I believed I had been to Eldorado.   

   Eat, sleep, breathe and dream spirit, but the mystical interpretation slowly began to fade, as did the magic, as my morning unfolded into one of spilt coffee, obligation, heavy traffic, a full-time job.  Nothing to sap the spirit out of something like a dose of the mundane.  My reality left me tending office with only an echo of the extraordinary, bleeding out as I read the usual to-do list of upper management. 

   A note at the desk informed me that someone named Derek would be dropping off his delivery before noon.  I turned my attention to the PC, perusing over the latest emails, immediately yearning at the pop-up advertising the cheapest flights to Mexico, its borders decorated with the snarling mouth of the Mayan god Quetzalcoatl.  Synchronicity?  Feeling deflated that my duties bound me so far from the temples of my dream, groggy at having woken so early, I sighed.  This can't be all there is.
   But then: 

   "Eldorado's here!" 

   I heard it, clearly and distinctly.  I had not made it up.  Wishful thinking aside, I listened more intently for the voice. 


   And I heard someone loudly coming up the steps.  A man holding two giant jugs of Eldorado water for our cooler stepped into the office.  I had heard my coworker shouting up the stairs at me. 

   "Oh," I chuckled in embarrassment, "you're Derek, the deliveryman." 

   "One and the same." 

   I nearly dropped my notebook.  He shook my hand, then apologized with embarrassment, wiping his on a pants leg, it was dirty, something metallic.  I looked at my palm, traces of a strange coating glittered there.
   It looked gold in the light.

- Christopher Allen Brewer, June, 2013

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