Embracing the Spirits: True Stories of My Encounters With the Other Side by Barbara Parks (bill gates best books TXT) 📕

room at the time, had flung itself off its high shelf and shattered on the floorboards below.

“Honestly, I was nowhere near it!” Stan explained to the

owner, who seemed as unconvinced as I was.

I had no choice but to believe him when barely a minute or

so later another statue hurled itself at Stan’s feet.

127

128Stan

Stan in his beloved crystal shop.

“Whoa!” laughed Stan. “It’s the old woman whose house

this used to be. She doesn’t like me because she knows I only

work with sixth dimensional beings …”

I must have been looking at Stan strangely as he studied

me for a moment and then began to chuckle. “You think I’m

weird, don’t you?”

“Not in the slightest,” I replied, “I’ve had lots of similar

experiences myself.” I held out my hand in introduction but

Stan waved it away.

“I don’t do that,” he said. And before I knew it, I was envel-

oped in a body-crushing bear hug as introductions were made.

“I’m Stan!”

We chatted about our mutual interest in the otherworldly,

at which point my friend, Charmaine walked into the room. I

Stan 129

didn’t have time to warn her before Stan had swooped upon

her and her petite frame disappeared into the folds of his voluminous flannel shirt.

“I’m Stan!” he said again.

“Charmaine …” came the muffled reply.

It was getting close to school pick up time, so we decided

we had better make tracks, as it was a good forty minute drive home.

“So where are you guys from anyway?” asked Stan.

“Kalamunda,” I said. “We’re hills girls.”

“Really?” Stan laughed as he pulled out his business card,

“Me too. Come by and visit me at my shop some time …”

Unsurprisingly, Stan’s business was a new-age style store

which specialised in crystals. It was nestled at the end of a long driveway; a large converted shed in the middle of the bush. As well as having more crystals than I had ever seen in one place, Stan also sold all manner of spiritual paraphernalia. There

were pendulums, talismans, dream catchers and jewellery. The

was also a healthy population of statues, many of which were

Buddhas. Stan’s store was a haven of treasures, especially for someone as spiritually-minded as me.

There was a shrine-like set-up in the far corner, which is

where Stan did readings and aura cleansing for his clients. He often performed these rituals with the aid of a Selenite obe-lisk-shaped rod.

Having already become acquainted with Stan’s rambunc-

tious ways, I was not perturbed when he ushered me towards

the shrine area.

“Come on!” he urged. “Let’s see what’s going on with you.”

130Stan

Taking the crystal rod, he then proceeded to pass it before

each of my chakras, to check whether I had any energetic

blockages.

It was my solar plexus chakra which commandeered the

most attention, with Stan announcing it was positively brim-

ming with effluent.

“Gotta get rid of this,” he said, holding the rod perpendic-

ularly to my body. It was as if he was using a crystal hose to leach out the negativity which had been polluting my chakra.

“Geez!” he said after a few minutes, “Where’s all this fear

coming from? You’ll be glad to see the back of this …”

I didn’t go into it with Stan at the time, but I suspected that the fear I was carrying was the result of what I now referred to as my poltergeist days, and quite likely to be what was holding me back from developing my clairvoyance.

I have no idea if it was psychosomatic or a direct result of

Stan’s intervention, but I definitely felt a new lightness once the cleansing was done.

Stan then moved behind me and immediately focussed on

the area just over my left shoulder blade, where I had been

experiencing a sensation of pressure and tingling for the past month.

I had thought the sensation was associated with my grand-

mother, Baka, as I most commonly felt it when I was in my kitchen. I had the impression that she was standing behind me

supervising my culinary endeavours! Baka had been an accom-

plished chef, and I always feel particularly close to her when I’m cooking. Since the sensation felt as though someone was

placing their hand just beneath my shoulder, I interpreted it as a comforting, supportive presence. Stan, however, disagreed.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Stan 131

“Yeah, who is it?” I asked uneasily. I was taken aback that

Stan had zoned in an area I hadn’t given any indication of

being of concern to me.

“No, I’m asking you!” he replied.

I was intrigued but also a little anxious.

“Is it my granny?” I asked hopefully. But I already knew

by Stan’s reaction that it was not a positive energy that he was picking up on.

“No, no. Definitely not your grandmother! Someone has

attached themselves to you, see how they’re making a bee-line

for your heart?”

This was starting to feel a little creepy, and had I not been

feeling the pressure sensation on my back I might have been

dubious. But it did seem more than coincidental that Stan was

focussing his attentions on that very spot.

“No dramas,” he said, reaching for his trusty Selenite

rod. He held it firmly to my back, and in what can best be

described as a pulling sensation, the energy began leaching out of my back.

“Now, it might try to attach itself to you again, so if you

start to feel it make sure you tell it to eff off!”

I was hopeful that Stan’s cleansing ritual had been effective, and indeed for at least the next couple of weeks I thought it had been. Then one morning, as I threw on my bathrobe and

rushed about preparing for work, I felt the familiar pressure

suddenly descend upon me. It lodged itself firmly between

my shoulder blades. As Stan had instructed me, I lashed at my

back with a flicking motion, all the while telling the so-called entity to eff-off!

It was barely a minute later that I began to laugh, as I

realised how ridiculous I must’ve looked. Especially since I

132Stan

quickly realised the pressure wasn’t due to a ghostly presence after all. What I’d imagined to be an entity trying to attach

itself to me,