Some Doors Just Open For You

Well, I made it past 10 p.m. In fact, now it's 10:45 p.m. and I'm still sitting at this computer.

But, I just read a blog post of a friend of a friend saying that she knew she was sharing a house with someone even though she lived alone. She moved into said house and tried to keep a certain door shut. The door would open on its own. One day she made a pact with whatever it was opening the door--if she'd keep the door open, the force wouldn't scare her intentionally.

Boy, do I know what you mean. I've always thought that I could feel a certain presence, but since my father died, I always chalked it up to him. You know, just checking in from time to time.

Here's why I had to pop back over for a post before bed:

About two years ago, my mother and some of her friends arranged for psychic readings. I was the youngest, by about 25 years, in the bunch, but I couldn't pass up the chance for a personal reading.

I've always been so intrigued by the idea. First, what could be the harm? Second, what if there really was something to it? Now I could know.

The psychic set up in a guest house behind the main home for the readings. She specifically asked if there was a place outside of the main area so that she could get an accurate reading. It made sense to me. If there are a bunch of people in one place, and she's trying to tap into one of those people, other "outside" people just might get in the way.

One by one we all went to the guest house. As each woman walked back in to the home we got a quick synopsis of what happened, "Yeah, she hit some points, but I'm not sure that they're all right on the money" or "Nah, she was way off."

I was the fourth person to go. I walked into the guest house and sat down. The psychic started laying out playing cards--not Tarah cards--but regular playing cards. Apparently, each card means something. Of course, I'd decided long before I stepped in that room to answer with nothing more than a "yes" or "no."

She started placing cards on the table. Soon after she started saying things that were absolutely true. "You're in love." "You're not married." "He's a great guy." None of these things, while true, were all that difficult to figure out, so I was still a little skeptical.

Then she said, "Your father has passed away." Of course the answer was "yes." "He passed away suddenly," she said. "You didn't say goodbye." "Yes," I responded just a bit stunned. This wasn't just a logical question that could be deduced by certain things. Things like not wearing a wedding band or looking like a young, lovesick girl. This was something unusual.

At that point, she turned her head to the right and looked at an open closet door. "I'm sorry, I need to shut that door." She stood up, walked over, shut the door, and came back to her seat. "I'm sorry," she said again,"Someone wants to communicate with me. They're trying to come in through that door."

Well, by this point, I was more than just a little freaked out. "I don't like to channel people. I don't like the feeling, and that's not what I normally do," she said. "But, someone wants to communicate with you through me."

Wow. What do you say to something like that?

She went on about her card procedure. She told me that my father was proud of me, that he liked the man I was with, and that my job prospects were glowing. She stopped once again to shake off whatever it was that was "trying to channel" and only charged me half price.

But I couldn't get my mind off that door.

Here's why: For two solid years I had a reoccurring dream.

I walked into a room. The walls were burgundy. Across the room there was an open ceiling-to-floor window with long white, sheer drapes. The drapes blew into the room with a small, quiet, cool summer breeze. Directly to the right of the window was a rocking chair that rocked to and fro with the breeze. I walked in the doorway, looked at the window, then the rocking chair and crossed the room. I sat in the chair feeling the breeze across my face and stared at another partially cracked door. It wasn't the door I'd entered. In fact, the door I'd entered was no longer there.

I'd sit, rock, and stare that this new door. "Should I go see what's in there?" I'd think to myself. "Surely it's just a closet." I sat and rocked for what seemed like hours.

Finally, I stood, walked over to the partially opened door, opened it, and then....I'd wake up. Every time. Just as I was about to see what was beyond the door, I'd wake up.

What a pain in the ass! For two years I had this dream. On again, off again. Sometimes I'd have it three or four times a week. Sometimes I wouldn't have it for months. One day, I interviewed for a job in DC. I got the job, packed up my stuff, drove to my hometown, packed up 18 years of stuff in what was by then a vacant house because my father had died and my mother had moved to Little Rock, said goodbye to my grandmother and moved to Washington, D.C.

To this day, I haven't had that dream again.

L.