Apportation: My Own Experience Of The Inter-Realm

Okay, so I'm not at all psychic. In fact, the apocalyptic last stand of Satan could erupt right over my head and I wouldn't lose a minute of sleep over noticing the breeze coming off of it. I spent three hours in the cellar of Bobby Mackey's infamous haunted roadhouse (I even tossed a make-a-wish penny into the "portal to hell") and never saw or felt a damn thing. I'm probably blocking or whatever it is that the mediums call it when someone is doggedly resistant to experiencing the paranormal, but for whatever reason, the voices in my head have always sounded exactly like my own internal dialogue, and the only creeped out feelings I get are due to some creepy someone or other who's all too alive and all too much a part of this realm that we all have to wake up to and deal with on a daily basis.

That said, it's not as if I haven't been the recipient of some impressive After-Death Communication (ADC), because I have. It's just that I've put those who've taken the effort to reach back to me through their paces when they've done so. That being the case, and in my ongoing effort to try and explain just how real and mundane the "supernatural" actually is, I thought that I might take a break from the technical stuff this blog generally deals with and share one of my own ADC experiences.

I think that it's safe to say that everyone knows somebody who's got  a personal ghost story. I, myself, probably saw a ghost of a teenage girl walking toward me as I was riding my bike back out of the Mines Falls trails in Nashua NH one afternoon, but like most people with a ghost story, I only have my memory of what I saw and how it vanished on me, leaving nothing behind as proof that I ever saw anything at all. And since this blog is focused on direct communication efforts between our two human-populated realms, random manifestations aren’t of any real interest. No, what I want to tell you about is how my mom reached back recently with some very tangible evidence and helped me gain a little badly needed perspective during a really tough moment.

Anyone who knew me as a kid knows that I really sucked at being a kid. I guess I've been much better suited to being an adult, but we all have to go through being a kid before we get to be an adult. As a skinny little kid with broken teeth, a spectacular stutter, shock-white blonde hair and black glasses, I might've caused those blue-haired hearts to go all a-flutter as I played "Love Is Blue" with my little cello in their parlors for donations to the school music program (true story, by the way), but as far as the project kids I grew up with were concerned, I couldn't have been more "exotic" if I'd been crated in from another galaxy and dumped on them without an instruction manual. The only thing that kept me alive was my insane levels of rage response, and the fact that – as a result of that over-wrought emotionalism – I was more fun to them alive than dead. Let's just say that it's been a lot more fun to be an adult, and by factors that render the term "exponential" anemic, to say the very least.

About a year ago, I found myself getting really angry over the fact that there hadn't been anyone "there" to protect me from all that crap. I mean, seriously. Look at how the mother hens hover about their own little angels now days, and how their sweet little gifted boys are never beaten on their way to school, or are having to show up to class with their flour and sugar topographical map homework projects smashed to bits, or even forced to gargle their way through Johnny f*cking Tremain while the rest of the class pisses their little pantsies over the entire spectacle until he's tossed out into the hall to think over why it is that he's willfully caused that complete meltdown of discipline and ruined the afternoon for the rest of the children.

 

[cough]

But, I digress.

So, anyway, I did find myself venting a bit to a close friend about how the hell it was that my own mom could've tossed me out into that meat grinder to let me sink or swim (it did end being completely up to me after all) with all the potential in the world for my becoming the very first-ever middle-schooler to come to class with wholesale murder tucked in under his little black trench coat. In fact, I kinda got really angry over how most of it could've been avoided, since most of it was the kind of stuff that teachers are now grabbed up by the scruff of their little necks over. Well, these days, middle-schoolers actually do come to school with wholesale murder tucked in under their little black trench coats if the stress of being a little too different finally gets to be a bit too much on them, so there's that . . .

But, again, I digress.

It was during this period of "self reflection" that my mom decided to reach out from the eternal realm and let me in on what it was like for her as a mother of four boys whose husband skipped out really early on. And she did it in a way that made it impossible for me to ignore and that also made it possible for me to share with you today. My mom sent me an apport.

Now, an apport is a tangible, material item that appears where it could not have been placed under normal conditions. An example would be if your car keys went missing and showed up at the bottom of your grandmother's old steamer trunk in the attic, inside of a locked box that holds the diary she kept when she was a little girl. The transportation of your car keys to that impossibly obscure location – by other than normal means – would be a case of apportation, and your reappearing car keys would qualify as an apport, since they were apported from one location to another.

Moving keys around is one thing, and I've experience many such instances; I'll admit to some being a lot more impossible than others. What's really impressive is when something seems to literally appear from nowhere at all, and especially when it seems to come fresh from a very different period of time. The apport that I received from my mom is – by every indication I've been able to verify – one of these extremely rare apports, and I want to show it to you.

As you can see (below) what it is, is a two page typed letter that she sent to her sisters (and perhaps her own mother as well, since she apologized to all for sending them copies).

 

 

So, a little background is in order here. During this period in her life, my mom had just been dumped by my father, and having been left with nothing, she'd been forced to go out into the big world and get a job. For a young woman with four little boys at home, 1962 wasn't the most welcoming world (big, small, or whatever size it was) and yet, if you read this letter, she was one tough little cookie. That first ever job was at Little Falls WLFH radio, answering phones and typing up the stuff that the on-air DJs and announcers were going to say in-between and after the music at the top and bottom of each hour. 

The station had one of those new-fangled Zerox copiers, so that they could keep and file copies of every word that went out over the air – as required by the FCC – and it appears that she took advantage of that copier so that she wouldn't have to type out a bunch of letters to be sent home to Albany from her home in Little Falls. This neatly folded and perfectly preserved letter appeared in a small make-up case that I had used for many years (since the mid-70s) to toss all my hand-scrawled poems and songs into. This small pea-green case had been sitting deep within the storage clutter of the "attic" of our garage here in Ohio since early 2003, when I moved here, and it was only when I dug that case out to unearth my brother's poems and lyrics (which he sent to me from Italy and Turkey, when we were both in the USAF) so I could finally mail them to him, that I opened it up again after a decade of it being untouched.

What caused me to immediately alert was the smell of cigarette smoke; not fresh cigarette smoke, but that ashtray film smell that comes off stuff that's been smoked over for quite a while. It struck me as odd, since I'm not a smoker, and I've never lived with a smoker. I've dated one or two, but no one that I would've opened that case up for, that's for sure. And yet, it reeked of someone having smoked "into it". My mom was a heavy smoker and died from it, but at that moment, that specific connection didn't come to mind at all. I just thought it odd that it stunk in that manner.

The next thing I noticed was a clean, blank envelope lying on top of the pile of note pad pages and scraps of this and that with wildly drawn lyric stanzas and even some cartoons here and there, with yellowed edges from decades of age. That envelope practically glowed in its whiteness when contrasted by the dingy mound it was lying on top of. At first, I thought it might be the rental agreement from that last apartment I had in Nashua before coming out this way, but I decided to open it anyway. Of course, I was floored. But, not as floored as I would be after weeks of trying to figure out how on earth I ended up with something – anything – that my mom actually wrote.

Several years ago, when I was just getting into writing as more than a quick form of expression, I tried to get some scanned copies of a journal that one of my brothers had, that had once belonged to my mom. I wanted to see how she expressed herself in print, since I was discovering just how personal and revealing the written expression can be. I never got pdf copies of them, and eventually I dropped it (let's just say that other more pressing issues developed). So, it was extremely noteworthy that I would be in possession of this letter, regardless of the otherwise normal provenance of the letter itself. It was to get even stranger as I worked to establish that provenance.

What we were able to establish early on, was that the paper itself – while absolutely free of any yellowing or signs of normal aging – was a weight and type that was common to the late 50s and early 60s, with the relatively primitive, uneven texture being the most obvious indication when compared to even the cheapest copier paper of recent decades. When held in a way to view the paper's compositional make-up, it's immediately clear that this is not modern paper. And yet, it's extremely free of the ravages of time, and this had to be seen as important when trying to determine provenance, since great care would have been required by whomever it was that had been in possession of this letter (we eventually dated it to Feb 5, 1962, as a result of the Feb 5 date typed and the specific circumstances described as happening in that letter) for it to be in such pristine condition (being the early 60s version of cheap typing paper that it is).

As to who it was that had been so meticulous in the preservation of this letter, no none has any clue. When my mom died of (most likely) Pulmonary Fibrosis in November 1973, she left very little behind, and four teenage boys with even less. There wasn't anyone there to collect and preserve her things, and certainly no one with the thought to archive anything. It was as if she'd vaporized and when that happened, the rest of us were picked up by a cold wind that's scattered us about ever since. Some families might survive such a loss, but ours sure as hell didn't.

I scanned it and emailed copies of it around, but my brothers had never seen that letter before, or had ever heard of its existence. I'm certainly not close, or even in touch, with any extended family, and definitely not to the degree that anyone from that grouping of people would have ever had access to my small, hard plastic personal vault of terrible song lyrics and maudlin poetry. Hell, most of my wives and girlfriends haven't ever waded through that embarrassing pile of crap, and that's because it's an embarrassing pile of crap. I have instructions to burn it all in the event of my death, and I mean it. 

That this perfectly preserved letter showed up there is the icing on what's turned out to be an already impossible cake. And that's what makes an apport the bizarre sort of thing that it is.

As to why my mom might've turned such an amazing trick for me? I would imagine that she was trying to say "Look asshole, I did the best I could and under extremely trying conditions. Stop crybabying and get over it. No one's life is good. No one is spared the assholes of this world. Get over yourself. You survived and what's done is done. I have no apologies for you if that's what you're after here." And as soon as I read her letter, I had to smile and say "Okay mom, I get it. And you're right. We all have it tough, even if one version of tough is different than another. I'm okay. We're okay."

And that's what an apport is and why they can suddenly appear in your life. They're impossible, and yet, there they are. My apport is priceless, since not only is it from my mom, but it's a reminder of just how tough she was as a 29 yr old slip of a girl with four little boys and no one that gave two shits about her survival. She remained a small, frail woman who never weighed more than 115 lbs, but she was relentless, and I'm grateful for just how relentless she was on behalf of herself and her four boys. My apport was exactly what I needed at that moment in my own life, and since it arrived, I haven't spent a second wallowing in self-pity or resentful anger over how any of my life has played out. The "dead" have a lot that they can teach us, and The Inter-Realm is where they connect with us. But only if we allow for the existence of that shared realm and work to better understand it beyond the folklore and superstition that's defined it for too many of us.

Spiritual Energy?

Over the past several years I've been digging into the year by year, decade by decade, century by century, progression of modern thought concerning the largest questions that humanity faces: life, death, material reality and whether there's any other version of reality than what's perceivable and palpable. I wasn't interested in radical or revolutionary thought. I wanted to know how the world's thought leadership came upon those notions that would eventually become axiomatic.

One thing jumped out at me as being overwhelmingly consistent. Humanity's most culturally successful Reality narratives are and always have been based on successful societal/technological staples that had – to that point – become integral to the everyday lives of the average person. In other words, what successfully passes as Reality is what it is that's widely available and easily relatable that the human mind can impose upon whatever it is that remains otherwise impenetrable, while being fundamental to the existential structure (and therefore impervious to wholesale dismissal).

Yes, that's quite a statement, but a cursory examination of the definitional evolution of our Universe alone is enough to make my case: Newton's mechanistic universe – static and even more infinitely precise than the finest Swiss clocks of the day, Einstein's expansive, potential/release, energy-centric Universe – reflecting the steam-powered, society transforming technology of his day, and now, as the first fledgling steps toward redefining Reality in terms of bytes and ones and zeros collect across the world of theoretical cosmology, we see (yet again) the digital information technology of our day being applied to the narrative that will be used to define Reality for yet another suite of modern human generations, with all "serious science" eventually falling dutifully into line with that narrative. Nothing ever actually changes. It carries on in lockstep progression, but in that sense, it never really changes.

That said, for the moment, we're still mired in the technologically cemented Reality narrative of our fathers, grandfathers, and great grandfathers; the "everything is energy" narrative of the late 19^th century. And, when I use the word everything, I mean everything. Even those things that science – to this point in its evolution – dismisses out of hand; spirits and afterlife and discarnate humanity carrying on in willful disregard for the fact that the body has fallen and begun its slow decay into raw elements. In these waning days of the steam-powered Reality narrative, energy is still the Alpha and the Omega of all that is, was and will ever be.

So what is energy? Is it really everything? Can it actually be everything? What is the physical basis of energy? Are we just manifestations of energy? Is spiritual existence its own form of energy?

I'm going to get extremely strict in my terminology here, and use a dictionary to precisely define the word energy before we go any further. The one definition that spans all dictionary definitions of the word energy is actually pretty simple:  

• The capacity of a physical system to do work

Okay, so I'll admit that this definition doesn't really satisfy our needs here. Perhaps if I go to the Internet's most beloved source of hard-fought, technically accurate (even if it's often philosophically skewed to one recognizable slant or another) information http://wikipedia.com. Here's what wiki has to say about the nuts and bolts of what energy is.

The total energy of a system can be subdivided and classified in various ways. For example, Classical mechanics distinguishes between kinetic energy, which is determined by an object's movement through space, and potential energy, which is a function of the position of an object within a field. It may also be convenient to distinguish gravitational energy, electric energy, thermal energy, several types of nuclear energy (which utilize potentials from the nuclear force and the weak force), electric energy (from the electric field), and magnetic energy (from the magnetic field), among others. Many of these classifications overlap; for instance, thermal energy usually consists partly of kinetic and partly of potential energy. Some types of energy are a varying mix of both potential and kinetic energy. An example is mechanical energy which is the sum of (usually macroscopic) kinetic and potential energy in a system. Elastic energy in materials is also dependent upon electrical potential energy (among atoms and molecules), as is chemical energy, which is stored and released from a reservoir of electrical potential energy between electrons, and the molecules or atomic nuclei that attract them

The one term in all that, that seems to show up in every sentence is the term kinetic, so I want to take a better look at that term to see if it can help us get to the root identity of energy as something that actually exists. Here's what my dictionary says about the word kinetic:

• Pertaining to motion

Again, my dictionary isn't filling the emptiness concerning what the hell kinetic has to do with the kind of energy we all use in our everyday lives. That said, I know that this is a blog post and not a physics dissertation, so I'll save us all the grief and get right to the punch line; all energy is, is the release of motion in response to a requirement for motion that has been imposed upon a material system of some sort. That system can be anything from a rock being held off the ground (creating a rock-to-ground "system" that features a gravitational energy potential) and then released and allowed to drop to the ground (featuring the energy of that rock's kinetic momentum until that energy is transferred into a force impact as it hits the ground) to a chemical excitation of molecules; causing those molecules to move rapidly and kinetically create heat energy (as a result of friction) until that energy is transferred in some manner away from that system to another system.

Basically, what I'm trying to point out is that energy isn't some vague, nebulous quantity that hovers about here and there, possessing ethereal powers that have – as yet – been ill-defined. At its core, energy is movement, and that's all it is. Energy potential is what builds up when that movement is restricted. That restriction of that movement is what scientists refer to as mass, and if that mass is successful in trapping that movement long enough, and in a sufficiently organized manner, what you end up with is matter; the stuff that our bodies and brains are made of.

That means that unlike the claims that everything that we know to exist is comprised of energy, it's sort of exactly the opposite of that claim. Everything that we know to exist is made up of the restriction of energy. Not the elimination of energy, but the organized restriction of energy.

So, what does this mean for the claims that the human mind is a form of intellectual energy? Or that there's such a thing as spiritual energy? Well, unless you're crafting your own version of the English Language, I'm not seeing the term energy as being relevant to any of it. Energy is movement. Period. That said, I can see why it (energy) is still the catch-all term for whatever it is that cannot be quantified. We're still laboring under the steam-powered 19^th Century's view of Reality as being based on energy and force and this moving with power against that.

I wonder if we'll be better served under the emerging narrative that everything that exists is digitally based on ones and zeros; highs and lows. Like our computers.

In future posts, I'll get into what actually bases pretty much everything that exists – material and non-material in nature. And yes, there is a full realm of non-material existence, and yes, it shares a common physical substructure with all that we know to exist here in the Material Realm. That said, none of it is based on energy.

Then again, perhaps I'm being a bit too hasty here. After all, spatial change is the primary survival strategy of the quantum of Now.

Well, enough of that. Just so long as we've cleared up that whole "spiritual energy" nonsense. More to come.

After-Death Communication

It's not uncommon for a person to experience an After-Death Communication (otherwise known as an ADC) from a recently passed loved one. In fact, the percentages actually favor such an event, although there aren't any hard, fast rules concerning ADC, especially when it comes to the nature of the communication or which of the perhaps many loved ones of the deceased can expect to experience an ADC. It can often be the case that the person closest and most loved by the deceased will never experience anything whatsoever, while those more ancillary to the life of the departed will report contact. Just as often, this leaves the "neglected" feeling confused and a bit slighted.

As is the point of this blog, I feel that it might be helpful if the logistical nuts and bolts of an ADC were laid out for folks who've either dealt with the death of a loved one or are preparing for such an event. Especially the issues concerning those ADC events that feature the freshly passed and those select few that end up being physiologically available for whatever the departed has quickly pitched together as a parting communiqué.

To preview one really critical takeaway point before I go any further; if your mom or dad or husband or wife or whomever it is, leaves forever without stopping by on their way out, don't make the tragic mistake of taking it as an indication concerning the depth of love that this person felt for you. There are way too many reasons why one corporeal brain versus another is available (or not) for an ADC, and as is true about so much in life, timing isn't everything; it's the only thing. Just remember this, even if you forget everything else I have here about After-Death Communication going forward.

People Don't Change

This is probably the most important fact about the passing-over event that you'll ever learn, so I repeat and repeat it again and again from post to post. The death of the body and brain does nothing at all to reconfigure the personality of the individual. It will ease pain and give the suddenly released a certain spring in their step, but that's to be expected in most cases. After all, most people die as a result of sickness or general physical deterioration. Shedding that old, failing body must feel pretty damn wonderful, with the new vitality a bit of a pleasant surprise. Still, once the novelty has worn off, the person who died is the person who remains, for better or worse in all cases.

The fact that each person who's just passed remains the person who was passing only moments before, suggests that each person who enters the eternal realm is facing quite a learning curve; regardless of what you've read in some "returning to your home in Heaven" paperback that's been sitting on the NY Times bestseller list for the last 30 months. No one's ever "returned to Heaven" or returned to anywhere else within the post-corporeal realm, and the reason is because none of us have ever been to any other realm than the one we presently occupy.

Yes, we are "non-material" beings that are emerging – one dynamic informational burst set at a time – from our overworked Homo Sapiens brains, but our perceptional focus is largely glued to the trough that sits directly and specifically before each one of us. That trough is the minute-to-minute grind of material survival, and even the yogi-est guru on Earth has to eat, drink and move his bowels or he'll die. And when he dies, he'll have his own learning curve. Just like the rest of us.

This means that your deceased loved one is going to have to ask for help from someone who's been there long enough to know how to get that message through. The good news is that in most cases, such a person is available and generally willing to grant such a request. Still, it takes your loved one's speaking up and asking for help from someone they've probably never met before, and some folks aren't very good at that sort of thing. Hell, the truth is that, for some, just the novelty of being aware and existent is probably a bit overwhelming in itself. Setting up an instant message back home might not even enter such a person's mind, and how could you blame anyone for that.

You see, getting anything at all through from "there" to "here" is a lot more complicated than (perhaps) you've been led to believe, and I want to take a few paragraphs to overview some of technical issues, even if space prohibits me from getting into the weeds on why these issues exist. I'll just make the blanket statement that the material realm and the eternal realm are completely incompatible, even if it is true that each realm exists to enable the existence of the other realm. And yes, I know exactly how vague and counter-intuitive that sounds, but the two realm combine to be the whole of physical reality, and that means that while they complete reality together, there's precious little that they have in common.

For a post-corporeal (we can use the word "spirit" I suppose) person, affecting the material realm is a finesse move, and some are a lot better than others. Those that are really gifted are described as "powerful" by paranormal researchers, but the truth is that power and energy are material manifestations based on kinetic movement alone. So, no one is more or less powerful within the eternal realm than anyone else. They're just more knowledgeable, and/or perhaps more talented and practiced.

What's also true is that spirit people don't have mouths to speak with or fingers to tap on shoulders with. This means that they've got to get creative and use what is available (and useful) if they want to get noticed by a loved one who's still focused on material survival issues. The easiest and most generally impressive method of getting someone's full attention is to go directly through their brain's external input data wash.

This Direct Data Manipulation (DDM) can only be accomplished by a seasoned veteran, but once fully learned and reasonably skilled, a spirit person can really make stuff happen for the living person targeted for communication. Full body apparitions, full conversations, even a total sensory encounter (yes, including sex) is very possible with this form of ADC, even if the entire encounter is actually only happening within the sensory perception translation center of the brain of the material person being contacted. For that one person, this is a total immersion experience. For anyone else in the room . . . well, it's not a shared (or sharable) experience. It's only ever used when the targeted individual is alone, and other distractions have been largely eliminated.

A more lean version of the DDM style ADC can involve a whisper in the ear, a quick touch of a familiar hand, a scent unique to the passed loved one, as well as many other relatively fleeting indications (including dream encounters), with some as vague (yet deeply impacting) as the sense of physical presence of the passed loved one. Again, this is accomplished by introducing freely accessible data sets (concerning physical attributes of the one who has passed) into the data wash that generally is restricted to stimuli coming from the eyes, ears, nose, and nerve endings. For the contactee, it's as real as such data sets have ever been. The experience is the real and palpable presence of their deceased loved one, and that's the whole point of this form of ADC.

Another form of ADC is basic object manipulation, and the experience of ghostly object manipulation is one that’s pretty easy to imagine, so I'll save the space. How it works is a bit more complicated, and it involves the entity adjusting the forward time trajectory of the material object in a way that introduces a spatial proximity change where one would otherwise not exist for the object involved. How this is done is much too complicated for me to delve into here, since it requires your foreknowledge in System Theory, Holon Theory, a breakthrough approach on Information Theory that is presently hiding within a brand new physics term "contextuality", and a long dreary afternoon digging into the nature of Emergent Systems. Let's just say that while it seems as if it would be straightforward enough, moving things around isn't child's play for the discarnate individual. And yet, there are those who excel at object manipulation. So, as it is on this side of the veil, to each his (or her) own.

Of course, there are those material folks who chase down those anomalous chirps and grunts with digital recorders in search of intelligible contact . . .

 

. . . but I see that sort of thing as being very different than the interaction that is initiated by a passed loved one toward one of their own. The emotional wash and the deep sense of genuine familiarity that comes with an ADC from one you love is nothing at all like the quick bits and chunks of indication that ghost hunters comb through for hours on end.

A true ADC event can refresh, rejuvenate, and set the devastated heart on a new path toward eventual contentment, and if you are so blessed by such an event, just appreciate the lengths that someone (on behalf of your loved one) went through to give you that instant of closure and (perhaps) insight into the greatest mystery that faces humankind. When that voice, that touch, that quick image darting just to the extreme of your periphery, or that moved object, stops you dead in your tracks, enjoy that brief moment within The Inter-Realm, and thank whomever graced you with that moment. It was anything but easy, and it was their gift to you as they wait on your own inevitable passage to the realm of forever.