Ok, I’ll admit it. I believe in the paranormal. Or shall I say, I want to believe.
As a kid, I loved TheTwilight Zone and Outer Limits. I was a big fan of the X-Files. I look forward to Wednesdays so I can catch two episodes of Montel Williams with psychic Sylvia Browne before going to work. I devour stories about haunted houses, alien abductions and government conspiracies.
I know I shouldn’t believe in this stuff. After all, I am a college graduate. While my friends in chemistry and physics would argue that my biology degree is low on the intellectual-rigor scale, I was trained in the scientific method. It did not include seances and psychics.
It’s just I’ve had too many weird experiences to completely turn my back on the paranormal.
When my husband and I were house hunting 20 years ago, we found a small rural acreage complete with a pond. It and the surrounding yard were teeming with frogs – so many frogs it resembled Pharaoh’s palace after an unpleasant run-in with Moses.
While I tiptoed around tiny amphibians and peered in windows, Vic discovered the back door was unlocked. The house was vacant, so we decided to go in.
The minute I stepped inside, I sensed something was wrong. I glanced at Vic. He had a strange look on his face and asked, “Does this place give you the willies?”
Now, my husband is an intellectually-rigorous chemistry major, not given to paranormal musings. His question was all the prompting I needed to get the heck out of there.
We still called the Realtor, though. She gave us the square footage, number of bedrooms, asking price. She paused. “There’s an odd note here. Apparently the owner died in that house.”
Now, the more intellectually rigorous among us would say, “A place like that would give anyone the creeps. It doesn’t mean it was haunted.”
Not long ago, I stopped by a colleague’s office. Barb put down the spiral-bound report she was studying and said, “And, the answer is. . .?”
I had no clue what she was talking about, but played along.
“Three point seven five.”
Barb gave me a quizzical look. “Have you read this report?”
“No, “ I said. “In fact, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She glanced down at the report then back at me. “This is the final study for our facility expansion. They estimated the cost at 3.75 million.”
Cue the Twilight Zone music.
Intellectually rigorous folks would argue, “There is no such thing as psychic ability.” But studies have shown that dogs know when their owners are coming home. If a Cocker Spaniel can pick up psychic vibes, shouldn’t we big-brained humans be able to as well?
Carl Sagan talked about a fourth dimension that intersects our world causing what appears to be “paranormal” activity. And who’s to say that after death our energy doesn’t float around like radio waves, waiting to be picked by “receptive” individuals?
I suppose we’ll never know the answers. But like the poster in the X-Files office said, “I want to believe.”
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