ANGEL ON MY MIND
So what’s this pre-occupation with the angel-kind? Well, I’m at least in ample company, as many folks around the globe, and throughout history, have had some kind of association with what may or may not have been a divine intervention. Yes, just like Jimmy Stewart’s connection with his Guardian Angel, Clarence, in the Christmas-theme movie, "It’s A Wonderful Life." Minus Hollywood embellishments of course. I don’t have an angel obsession but rather a bold, etched-on-the-mind dream remembrance, from childhood, which has stayed sharp and clear for almost half a century. How many of you can remember a dream from two days ago?
Earlier in this blog collection, I wrote about a childhood encounter with an angel. I am one hundred percent sure it was a dream visitation, moreso than a chance meeting in real time, in a real place. I’ve never really felt that I had walked to our meeting because at the point the event occurred, sickness had kept me immobile for almost two weeks. There was a time when I did wonder if I had, in a stupor or a sleep-walk, made it out of our apartment alone in the wee hours. I don’t have any evidence now to support this actuality.
Since my fathers’s passing, in January of this year, I’ve definitely been doing some soul searching, trying to more fully appreciate what the ethereal existence might be like, for those who have crossed over. I do believe the alleged "other side" does exist, not because of any religious instruction (I only went to church for three Sundays as a kid) or anything from my family home that I’ve toted along, as a borrowed belief to this point. Well, there was one thing. My wee audience with what I know was something divine. I have indeed kept this memory alive since childhood. There’s no chance of me shedding it without a catastrophic event first. I’ve written quite a lot about this incident based on the fear I might have some future memory loss. I wanted my family, at least, to know just how strange their pop was! And over the past few months of discontent, I admit finding much comfort in this memory...... recalling the seconds (that seemed like hours) in the company of my heavenly message. Every year of my life since, I’ve had dozens of poignant recalls because of the comfort it provides. It’s just as vivid today as it was in the early 1960's. But it’s more than comfort. It’s one of those ethereal situations that is difficult and somewhat precarious to describe. I don’t want to offend any one by understating or poorly describing the attending angel. I’m not an angel expert. Simply stated, it’s a feeling of elation and that despite our earthy worries, pains toils and tribulations, all is well within the universe.
The odyssey began when I contracted a wicked cold-flu combination that gave me a fever, nausea and a gut-wrenching cough. It was one thing to feel like crap, because of the nausea and sore-all-over feelings, but the cough was so harsh I would throw-up each time the hack commenced. I had to have a bucket at my side constantly. I couldn’t hold anything done even the drugs. I couldn’t lay down so I had to sit up in a chair for days, so as not to choke while coughing and vomiting.
I remember one night my mother showing worry on her face when my temperature started to rise, and the symptoms hadn’t abated by even one smidgeon. She kept putting ice packs on my forehead and washing my face and chest with cold water. I had been seen by our family doctor and he felt it was just a case of riding out the bug. I was pretty sure I was going to die in one of these coughing fits, because it was getting harder to catch my breath after. I was in a fitful sleep and would wake up one moment soaked in sweat, and then another time shivering. It was at this time, in one of these half-slumbers, that I met my guardian angel. I’m still here so the helping hand was substantial.
I can remember being in a basement room in our apartment, with all the lights on, yet there wasn’t anyone down there using the washing machines. My first thought was that the lights were way too bright for the basement, a plain, high ceiling room, I knew so well as an always-exploring kid. It wasn’t a blinding light. It was more of a white glow, like standing within the illumination of a cloud, or mist, versus the yellow hue from something electric glowing from behind a glass fixture. When I looked back at the door that had just closed, I saw in the corner of that room, a full-regalia angel hovering in the corner. I probably didn’t think of it then, as anything particularly divine, because I didn’t understand the concept. I know for sure that I never once told my parents of the encounter. And I don’t remember thinking of the dream visitor as an angel until many years later, when I did learn a little more about these heavenly messengers and protectors. She was composed of the same glow that while intensely bright didn’t force me shield my eyes.....keeping in mind it was a dream. There were angel wings that rounded well above her shoulders and down past her arms. Her hands were clasped together in her lap. There was movement as I watched, as if the apparition was floating on air currents up and down.
In this vivid dream I stood, unable to speak, unwilling to move a muscle, staring up at this most amazing sight. I saw her huge, billowy angel wings, a long, puffy white gown, what appeared to be a halo, a very pale skin tone on her hands and face, blue eyes and a most assuring, calming look on her face. It was my first dream in full color. There were no words spoken by my visitor. I felt shivers for the entire period I was in her company but that most definitely could have been my fever breaking. It was such a wonderful feeling of nirvana, and she was of such radiance and beauty that there was nothing to say but stare in awe of what levitated in front.
At this age I had minimum exposure to television. I had no real knowledge of what an angel might look like. We didn’t even have a nativity scene for our Christmas tree, and I don’t believe we had a single ornament with an angel motif. I don’t believe I could have concocted, via a dream, all that I saw and experienced in that undoubtedly short visitation. Although there were no words actually spoken, I felt restored in health. The aches that had even been part of my dreams for days, were suddenly absent. I awoke with my mother at my side, who told me the fever had broken, (I didn’t know what that meant either) and that the worst part of the sickness was sure now to be over.
I have had many days recently, when I have tried to more thoroughly revisit my meeting with this alleged angel. I would know her face in a split second. I have looked through many books on angels, and religious paintings dating back centuries, hoping to find a similar face, a particular expression I could relate to for reference. Alas there are features of all, part of the face I knew. I can find thousands of parallels in part but not in whole. I have even begun trying to sketch from memory, what she looked like during that sickness induced slumber that provided one of my life-long memories. I have even pondered asking an artist friend to make a few attempts, based on my description, because frankly I have no talent to draw anything let alone an angel. I guess my only possibility is if being touched by an angel gave me some sensory advantage with pen and paper, to depict what I experienced. I’m just not sure what I would say to the artist, so as not to generate any weirdness between us. I’m kind of a controversial guy at the best of times, and expect pensive looks from many of my colleagues when I talk of new projects, but painting an angel from a 50 year old dream? "Ted, you’re a nutter!" Possibly. This was one unearthly encounter however, that parallels the dreams experienced by millions of people over centuries. Mine isn’t all that spectacular. It was nice though as dreams go!
When people I know ask about this old, many-times-told story, I do feel they have a genuine interest in what that might be like.....having an in-person audience with an angel. It’s certainly a minority of our population that can say they had such an intimate meeting, in real time or dream time. They want to know what it felt like, and all I can answer them is that it was a feeling of "safe harbor," and that my visitor made it clear by calm and an imposed solitude, that "I was not finished my journey yet.....and that everything would be well again." On the hour my fever broke, I had experienced a vision of being in company of an angel, who let me know by sensory perception, my life had been extended. Yet the truth is, and it is what I have felt since my father’s death, the greater sensation than restored health in my angelic dreamscape, was a strange enduring sadness that I wasn’t going with her instead. Almost as one would feel a love lost. She had, by her presence alone, removed any fear of an ultimate demise. I was resigned and prepared to touch her robe and turn heavenward at her beckoning, I realize in retrospect, although I wasn’t at all sure then where I might soon arrive.
In moments since, when I’ve been worried about health issues of family members, and well, questing in my mind for the meaning of life, I have come back to that curious visitation in an apartment basement, and truthfully, my fears diminish to a manageable concern from outright fear. It is the reckoning I called upon frequently during Ed’s illness. For those last minutes of life, I told him many times in a low voice, to go to his wife Merle, who was waiting for him on the other side. While visibly altered and non-communicative, he repeatedly held up his arms heavenward to someone or something visible to him. The attending nurse watched the same gestures. I had even mildly admonished my mother Merle, for not showing herself to him sooner, as he was in great distress, and need for comfort beyond what we could provide. He was alive for only a short while after this. Strangely, I had the feeling my angel had returned, as I knew she would, and when I clasped Ed’s hand for the last time, I felt a strange sensation as if another hand had come over-top of ours. But this time, there was no life to spare. It had run out of its time in this mortal coil. There was a peace with this mutual understanding, and parting of ways.
I was saddened by his demise but satisfied he was in a more peaceful, gentle environs, without the pain he had suffered up until the final moments. It was at his bedside for those last minutes that I thought about my own guardian angel, and what her presence in this situation might mean. As I had supposed, for my dad, well, it was time to go, and his journey was now over. It was a calm, warming embrace of belief and affection for all the details of our lives together, and I felt that all was indeed well within the universe.
I am still not a religious man and we are not a particularly religious family by the strict definition of organized religion. But whether we believe in the soul’s ability to cross over, we have felt the evidence clearly enough, to have shed our most significant doubts. I have described my encounter with a guardian angel many times to my wife and lads, because I want them to feel the peace and joy I celebrated way back,...... when a child’s heart and mind were open to all the possibilities of heaven and earth, life and beyond, and the interplay of the spirit-kind upon us all,...... if and when we choose to believe in the dimensions of existence in one form or the other.
I have never related this story for a cent of profit. I could not. I have over a lifetime, felt a great privilege having had this dream encounter. I can not explain why it has stayed fresh in my mind for all these years. I for one, have had great need of my guardian angel, and I’ve never once been abandoned in a time of need.
As a final note of clarification. I have never, despite my keen awareness and study of this childhood dream, been able to beckon my divine visitor to my bedside for a repeat performance. I trust this is due to continuing good health!

HAUNTED ARTIFACTS, ANTIQUES, BOOKS AND PAINTINGS
It might be the case, because I can’t back it up with newly gathered statistics, that most antique dealers would deny that spirit-kind play any role in their trade. You could ask a hundred dealers whether or not they believe in ghosts, or have had any paranormal experiences, and it’s probable, well more than half will bark out a loud, and unwavering .... "No!....Are you nuts?"
If you were to win over their confidence, and put down anything that looks like a recording device, electronic or pen and paper, (so they won’t have to say "off the record") over the course of a discussion, even those who are secure in their beliefs, will demonstrate a modest appreciation for the ghosts of antiquity. If they adore reading Dickens, "A Christmas Carol," or Washington Irving’s tales of the haunted Hudson River, and the frightening story of the "Headless Horseman," at Sleepy Hollow, they might fidget a little, make a few faces but it could well sneak out in modest proportion that, "Why sure, I’ve seen things.....!"
I’ve been in the antique trade since the late 1970's. I’ve lived in a haunted house, worked in a haunted office, operated a haunted museum, and I’ve had many vintage articles having a wee bit of the paranormal attached. I’ve hunted through old houses during estate sales and auctions, and I’ve never attended one in more than 30 years, even outdoors, that I couldn’t say with assurance, "Something other than the living was watching." Yet after so many years in the company of the qualities and quantities of "those who have crossed-over," I always expect a certain number of interventions wherever I go. First of all, my wife Suzanne and I are not ghost hunters. We don’t have to hunt them because they always find us. We’re not resistant to being approached and we’re quick to relay messages between us, when it seems particularly relevant to the task we are performing. Hunting through old properties with a huge bank of history, will usually provide a few good stories when we finally get a chance to sit down for a pop at the end of the quest.
Now most dealers are practical folks who are interested in historical conservation, and of course, just being around old stuff. Some in the paranormal field might suggest there’s a reason for this beyond just adoring antiques. Possibly we in this trade are like-minded enough, to feel a compulsion to rescue history because of some inner ambition we don’t quite understand. How, for example, did I grow into the antique trade when as a kid, my mission was to play professional sports. Side by side the sport’s ambition was an unquenchable urge to seek out significant heritage items. I may well be able to trace back my antique hunting to my public school years, when I’d come home with pockets jammed full of found items. My mother thought it was troubling and warned me that if I kept doing this, I’d become a "riding the rails" hobo-type and all I’d ever have in life was a bindle-stick full of odds and sods. Frankly I was okay with that, and it made her crazy.
If I was to sit my sons down today, and tell them that "ghosts make me collect stuff," well, antiquing dad might be heading to the home for old dealers. It’s just not a rational argument to them, even though they know full well, my eccentricities trump normality. Yet they would be able to explain to someone else, why their father, out on a tramp through an estate sale or auction, will latch onto a piece(s), and for no particular reason of value, or purpose, (such as fitting into a collection), insist on making the purchase. It might seem a ridiculous purchase, but for some unexplained jolt of interest, some dog-eared piece will be hauled home for posterity.
I have always been open to impulse and yet I’m not really an impulse buyer, who will finance anything that turns my crank. There’s something more in the connection. I can look at five old paintings, of similar period, subject, artistic merit and condition, and decide to make a purchase based on two impulse. One is for attraction. Which one, or more, held me spellbound? Which one, or more, had an unexplained allure beyond artistic competence? Which ones could I sell for a profit? I’d like to buy everything based on spiritual connection but I’d soon be broke. Well, in the case of the paintings, I might decide to buy one or more for profit. I might decide to make an offer on the easel or the stool with the paintings, because of some particular aura that sets them apart from the others. Is this nuts or what? If you live with as much stuff as we do, and you’ve got to get along, well it just makes sense to buy what you like, and it’s doubly good when it also translates into eventual profit.
This lengthy diatribe isn’t to suggest that a haunted piece means that it will fly around the house in the wee hours of the night, or re-arrange itself in a room for a lark. These are pieces that when you first see them, you know there’s a lot more than meets the eye. There’s a beckoning to touch it, handle it, examine and potentially, buy it! You may not have a clue at the time why this is important, or what you think it represents. I think there are spiritual attachments to some heirloom pieces; a modest possession of strange historic aura that may not be strictly considered a paranormal experience....... but at the same time can’t be written off entirely as just a frivolous emotional surge to purchase. I’ve had pieces in my hand that radiated paranormal vibes, such that it would be impossible to ignore questioning its provenance. It could be something about the look of an old doll or teddy bear, a flash-back sensation when clutching a beat-up old toy, from a child’s room at an estate sale or auction. You instantly feel connected to another life, another time, and it’s not just a nostalgic sensation. It might even be the case you can visualize the child at play with this gnarled old buggy or doll house. Rather than feel creepy, most antique dealers welcome the aura but don’t ask them whether or not they believe in ghosts.
My association with what I believe are paranormally influenced items, has ranged from old books, Bibles, diaries, photo-albums (always a way to pick up a ghostly traveler protecting their heritage), chairs, paintings, framed photographs, games, toys, jewelry boxes, assorted collections created by one individual, and clothing. The practical and realists amongst us, will brush off these paranormal vibes as irrelevant.....caused by an undigested bit of potato from lunch, or a second cocktail at dinner, maybe a restless night’s sleep. For many of us who validate the "other side," and those who have "crossed over," and don’t get freaked out by paranormal activities, connecting with a piece that has its own strange aura is fantastic, and something to be shared and enjoyed. While it is true that antique hunters have occasionally found a cradle that rocks itself, paintings that refuse to hang straight, books that like to topple off shelves for attention, and dolls that fall despite best intentions of their new owners, the majority of paranormal experiences seem to be of the modest, non-threatening variety. We had a hair wreath, done as a memorial tribute to a loved one, hanging in a museum where I worked, and there was no doubt in my mind it radiated the essence of the dearly departed. A majority of sightseers to the property kept well away from this shadow boxed memorial, as if they were informed by an audible whisper to stay clear. Only a few guests ever went up to study it closely. When they’d ask what it was made of, that usually influenced them step back in disgust. It was common practice in the Victorian era. Those who side-stepped it entirely, never even asked what it was made of....the aura emitting from that wreath was enough to thwart most "up close and personal" contact.
If you think back in your own life, to times when you marginally believed in something of a paranormal characteristic, even if it was getting scared telling ghost stories around a campfire, the disconnect is often as illogical as thinking of ghosts as an impossibility. You want to believe in ghosts or you wouldn’t have any fun at the campfire. There can be a lot of fun getting scared out or your wits. It’s the basis of roller coaster design. Yet when it comes down to the science of ghosts, and the reality we can’t make ghosts dance on command for the camera, many simply opt out of the discussion because it’s uncomfortable. You don’t want to be laughed at, or thought a nutter! At the campfire, when you had to hug your mates for safety, what exactly were you afraid of anyway? Ghosts aren’t real, are they?
I’ve lived an open life, ready to experience whatever I come upon, and so far, I’ve survived pretty well without any tragic ghost or paranormal encounters. I’ve never once been afraid to avail myself to a paranormal experience, whether it comes with the patina of an old china cupboard, a jam packed recipe book, a family Bible, a portrait, doll collection or teddy bear. I’ve seen ghosts but they’ve never once raised a finger to hurt the intruder. I’ve heard ghosts, and they’ve never once uttered a foul word. I’ve awoken at night to find a ghost standing in my room, and never thought it necessary to run or hide under the covers. I’ve watched, listened, touched, and enjoyed their interventions. And after all these years as a collector / dealer of antiques, I can still be swayed into a purchase by the strong aura of any piece.....the provenance attached that takes me back to the many former owners who have enjoyed the article before me.....most of them of course, in the rank and file of the deceased.
If you research ghosts and paranormal activities around the globe, you will find lots of references to spiritually enhanced antiquities, that the dearly departed haven’t quite finished with yet, for their own good reason. That’s for the new owner to interpret and resolve. The rocking chair I once owned, that carried its own rhythm through the night.....well, it kept the cat company.....and the room always feeling occupied.