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Why would ghosts and their stories be freaky?
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I have always been able to feel, smell and see ghosts. Today, I also talk to them.
As a young kid, I knew that there were “things” standing behind me, constantly looking at me. My room was always cold, despite a wide open window in the summer or a cranked-up heater in the winter. Each time I would turn around, a shadow would suddenly leave my bedroom, sliding underneath my closed door. At night, I was too afraid to open my eyes in the dark, because I knew that there were “people” by my bed, staring at me. And I still have a very vivid memory of this icy cold breeze that would whirl around me, even though all windows and doors would be shut inside my parents’ house.
One day, I made the mistake to share those perceptions with my parents. They immediately diminished and undermined my experiences. I think that my stories were great generators of discomfort and, to so many people out there, what is unknown is uncomfortable, and therefore must be brushed away fast and ignored once for all. Interestingly enough, instead of remaining confident with what I knew existed, I chose to align myself with my parents’ viewpoints and, as a result, suppressed what Grace would help me acknowledge as being a tremendous ability many years later.
Last year, Grace and I traveled to Australia to give a series of relationships seminars, and Perth marked the fifth stop of our tour. Perth, during our winter, is absolutely delightful: gorgeous white-sanded beaches, warm temperatures, fun people, great local wines and beers, etc.
We arrived at our hotel located in the central business district, checked-in, took the elevator and then walked to our room. As we arrived to the door, an intense and overwhelming smell of cigarette suddenly invaded the space. Since all hotels in Australia are non-smoking environments, it really surprised us. Instinctively, I chose to take two steps sideways, and there was no more smell. Walking back to my initial position, facing the door, the smell reappeared.
We finally opened the door, stepped inside the room and it was freezing cold. Grace rushed to turn the air conditioning system off, but it was already turned off. The only element of satisfaction was that the room did not smell like cigarette.
Anyway, starving after a six hour flight from Sydney, we decided to have lunch in one of those restaurants with which we had fallen in love during our previous stays in Perth. In an attempt to warm the room during our absence, we left the window opened. As soon as we walked outside the room, the cigarette smell appeared again. And after walking a couple of yards toward to elevator, it vanished. We returned to the hotel a couple of hours later, same cigarette smell at the door and a 48 degree (9C) temperature inside our room. So we called the hotel reception desk and asked them to send us a repairman. The man showed up fairly quickly and was absolutely shocked to see Grace and me wearing layers of clothes. I’ll always remember what he said: “You guys are sick? It’s nice and cozy in here! The thermostat must be broken. I’ll fix it tomorrow, so no worries mate!” When I asked him if he had smelled cigarette at our door, he answered he had not. I even walked him to the door and asked him again. He said, “You Americans are all paranoid with the cigarette!” Then he laughed and walked away.
As we were taking a break on the first day of our class, an attendee approached me. And it smelled like cigarette again! Before she had a chance to open her mouth, I asked her, “Do you scent anything weird?” She answered, “Of course! It’s my sister. I recognize her brand of cigarettes. She died of lung cancer twenty years ago. We were not in good terms at all. She’s been haunting me since then. That’s why I am attending your class. I want to create with her the relationship we never had when she was still alive.” And instantly, the smell dissipated and never came back again.
At the end of the second and final day of class, Grace insisted on returning to the hotel because she was feeling (abnormally) exhausted. So I thought I would go to the rooftop gym and pool, and enjoy a warm 100-degree (40C) evening with a gorgeous view of the river and marina. I changed to my workout clothes in the icy cold of our hotel room, despite the window still being wide-opened and the heater turned on to its maximum capacity. Grace lied down on the bed and fell into a deep sleep right away. An hour later, I returned to the room. At the door, there was no more cigarette smell but I had the strange sensation that there was a party going on inside. I stood there for a couple of minutes, able to hear distinctively the sound of clinking glasses as well as the background noise that is generated when multiple discussions are being led at the same time. Stunned, I opened the door and all the noises I could hear from the outside ceased. There was no one but Grace, on the bed, convulsing. For no apparent reasons, I suddenly felt the urgent need to scream, “That’s enough now. Get the F@#% out of here, F@#% off!” which I did repeatedly from the top of my lungs. Within seconds, the convulsions had stopped and the temperature inside the room had gone from freezing cold to normal. Moreover, my screams never woke her up.
The morning after, when we checked out, I asked the desk employee a little bit about the history of this hotel. She said that a fire had destroyed what used to be a place where the bourgeoisie from Perth would attend lavish parties, before it was rebuilt and turned into what it is today. Then I shared with her my astonishment about being the only clients on our floor. We never saw or heard anyone else. Intrigued, she told me that the hotel was fully booked…
We have been conditioned to believe that ghosts do not exist, that they are a pure fabrication, which is intended to insufflate fear. What if there were in reality so much more than what most religions would like us to believe? What if some sort of “intermediary” world does indeed exist for those souls who are experiencing difficulties in reaching their final destination? What if we could understand why they are here and learn from them, instead of mechanically fearing them?
Even though Grace and I are currently living in Las Vegas, most of our belongings are stored inside a container in San Francisco. Two years ago, I needed to get my ski gears. As I was loading a few items inside my car, from the corner of my eye I was able to see an old Chinese man inside the container. He had a long white beard and long white hair, he was wearing a long white piece of clothing, and he was cleaning our antique Chinese armoire. As soon as eye contact was made, he vanished. It did not scare me. Why would I be scared of someone who is taking care of something for me while I am gone? I felt so much gratitude for him.
Those who, like me, strongly believe and/or know that ghosts do exist, should also acknowledge that they can be here for a reason: to help us, to look after us, to mend something with someone. The willingness to acknowledge their presence and the ability to talk to them represent phenomenal potentials to create powerful situations that will always defy all forms of logic.
That was my ghost story, and I am sticking to it. Time to stop, because it is really freezing cold in my office…
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Grace & Nicolas Roquefort-Villeneuve
contactus@readytochoose.com
www.readytochoose.com
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