Most of my adult experiences have consisted of knowing when "bad" things are about to occur. Knowing who's on the phone just before it rings, knowing my daughter is calling for me, even though I can't really hear her calling and having almost a hypersensitivity to other's emotional state around me, whether I know them or not. I believe my sixth sense got stronger, after the death of my grandmother.
As a child, I had several encounters with spirits or ghosts. The most vivid encounter I recall occurred when I was six years old. I lived in Monterey California. I had a room upstairs in the attic, which I shared with three ghosts. These ghosts would constantly wake me up to talk and play with them. I would get irritated because I was tired and I'd fuss at them, but they were kind of fun to be with. One night they woke me up and I thought it was to talk or play. I got mad, but they kept urging me to get up and go to the doorway at the top of the stairs and look down so I did. All of a sudden a big earthquake hit. It was as though they were trying to protect me from what was about to happen because that happens to be the safest place to be during an earthquake. The house was waving around and when it started to subside, they then told me to lay on my belly and slide down the stairs to my mom and dad's room and by doing this, listening to my playmates, I was safe! I remember they were white and floaty looking, but definitely three-dimensional. I do not remember faces; it was as if they had veils over their faces. They liked to play in front of my mirror and in my rocking chair. We played with dolls and stuffed animals and we even had tea parties. They were taller than I was, so I always thought that they were grown-ups. But now that I am an adult and have a seven-year-old, I realize that at the time, anyone larger than myself would have probably appeared as a big person would. Maybe they were not adults; but I think at least one or two of them might have been, who knows.
Another experience I had was in my great grandmother's home, Mabo. I distinctly remember her sitting on a stool at the piano, playing it like she did before she passed away in a nursing home. I lived with my mom and dad in her house after she went into the nursing home. It was a sad and hard time for me, as an eight-year-old. I think she was trying to cheer me up, because she turned and smiled at me, while playing the piano. It's a really neat memory; I can still picture it in my head.
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