Intuitively Speaking

I've watched programs on television that showcased some of their, for lack of better terminology, powers, but I will never fully comprehend those people who possess psychic abilities.  Nor will I ever be one hundred percent convinced of the legitimacy of said power.  All that withstanding, I can't shake this strange feeling from time-to-time.

The idea that a person can accurately predict or reveal secrets, unbeknownst to them previously, from sources from the beyond.  Bringing to light messages and secrets that only the dearly departed and a particular loved one connected to the deceased, completely blows my mind.  The process that an empath or medium can subject themselves to in order to bridge the gap between this world and the next is incomprehensible.  A completely alien concept to me, unless I'm under the influence of something, in which case I'm convinced everyone is psychic and are obviously probing my brain, seeing through the transparency of my alleged sobriety.  Then again, it could just be my own anxiety giving me away. Revealing my secrets.

Until recently, it never occurred to me that I might possess certain proclivities that would allow me certain abilities.  Nothing outlandish like predicting the future or bridging that gap, as I stated previously between here and the afterworld, but it's a legitimate feeling, nonetheless.  I feel as though I may be sensitive to...  Awe, hell.  I don't even know for sure.

According to Google; One who is psychically sensitive is like being highly empathic.  The definition explains that those with this "gift" are very attuned to the feelings and attitudes of those around them, often taking on some of the burden, stress and/or emotions. This attribute can be dangerous as the compilation of so much energy can be detrimental to the host, especially if much of that energy is dark and negative.  If someone is already afflicted with depression, piling on more negativity is definitely not beneficial.

I don't know if I qualify for that category, although I do have that small collective of friends & acquaintances who always seem to be so negative.  The never seem very happy or joyful, but constantly complaining and whining about shit.  I find it exhausting, sometimes, to be around them.  Practically sucks the life out of me.  Like a succubus, only I'm awake during the torturous process.  Is it possible?  Possible that I'm affected extra hard, because I have this third eye, so to speak?

I'm also familiar with that feeling of heaviness, when you walk into a room after two people have been arguing?  It's like an unseen fog that blankets the room, like a veil of webs draped across the room.  The room is electrically charged, but it's negative.  It's heavy and you can feel it weigh you down.

I've mentioned previously in my blog (Jeff's Brain Matter) about my encounters with supernatural forces.  I aim to share more and one of those experiences will be in the next paragraph.

Years ago, I tagged along with friends who were going to a party of some friends who'd recently returned to the city.  The party was in the basement suite of this tattered old building which stood not far from the Woodlawn Cemetery.  The area already feels strange, what with the neighbourhood bordering on the largest cemetery in the Bridge City (YXE).  This night was cool and breezy, which felt nice on my face as I exited the crowded party.  There was something else, though.  I got a strange feeling whenever I was inside.  I felt overcrowded.  It was separate from the people, because as people left the apartment for fresh air, the nearly empty room still felt heavy and uncomfortable.  I left that party, soon after.  I just didn't like the way it made me feel, there.  I would later learn that the apartment was formerly a hospital.  The first one in the Saskatoon area and the basement, where the apartment is situated, was originally the morgue.  To this day, thinking about that party still gives me the creeps.

I've had similar experiences over the years.  Some light and peculiar.  Other shit that's been heavy and uncomfortable.  One such experience occurred when was working nights at the Heritage Inn.  I was the night custodian which had me roaming all over the place in that hotel.  I'd already experienced some weird shit over on the banquet room and restaurant side of the building.  It was weird and unnerving, sure, but what occurred on the third floor of the hotel, freaked me the f*ck out and I avoided the third floor at all costs after this horrific experience occurred.

Recently, I was watching television and saw a commercial for Casino Regina, located in the Queen City.  The advert invited people from far and wide to come to Regina and visit the casino, listing all the amenities in the process.  It really is more than just bells and sirens of winning slots.  There's a very fine restaurant there as well as a theater for concerts and shows.  I've been to Casino Regina a couple of times and was fun both times.  For the most part, anyway.

I've gone to the casino in Regina a couple of times, both being with my mom.  We'd be in town for whatever and figured we'd stop at the casino before leaving that wretched city.  We'd play the penny slots and leave with more than we'd arrived with.  I recall the last time we were there.  It's been more than a decade, now, I'm sure, but we'd arrived and started playing the penny slots, like always.  I had a string of good fortune, while my mom didn't fair too well.  I remember scooping out a handful of coins from my bucket and gave them to my mom to play with.  And play she did.  She won back the money she'd lost and then some.  When we'd had enough, my mom treated me to supper at the fancy restaurant inside the casino.  We had a nice time and before leaving to go home, I stopped to use the washroom.

I'd visited the Casino Regina once before and as I recall, I had to use the washroom that time, too.  The washrooms are located in the basement of the building.  I felt uncomfortable the moment I began my decent into the lower level.  The feeling downstairs, for me, is staggeringly heavy.  It's like a weighted vest placed over my shoulders and the simplest of tasks almost seem laboured.  Suffice it to say, I got out of there as quick as I could.  Even now, reflecting on the experience, weighs heavy on my chest.

After the TV advertisement for Casino Regina had ended, I was left with that familiar heaviness and then took to the interwebs, calling on Google once more, typing in Casino Regina haunting and yep.  As suspected the aged building has some unearthly residents within it's walls.

Casino Regina now resides in the former home of the Canadian Pacific Railway.   Dubbed Union Station, the building was constructed in 1912, making it one of the founding buildings of the fledging settlement that would eventually become our province's capital city.  After many years of service, the building was eventually converted into a casino in 1996.  Since the opening of the venue, there have been reports of paranormal sightings.  From railway workers appearing and disappearing on the main level, to a woman witnessed roaming about upstairs.  And then there's the basement.

When the building was a train station, the basement level served as a jail.  Prisoners awaiting trial would stay in these cells, as well as those awaiting transfer.  It's said that one prisoner wanting to avoid a lengthy prison sentence, attempted to escape, losing his life in the process.  It's believed that his soul still roams the basement of the casino.  The basement where the washrooms are located.  The basement where I was overwhelmed by the heaviness.

I don't know if there's anything special about me.  It's not something I'd want to pursue.  I would like to verify or confirm that whatever it is, is real, but beyond that, it'd just be nice to know that when I'm experiencing that heaviness that there's a reason for it and not something goofy like a stroke or something. 😂 

 

The Man In The Brown Suit

In the brief time that I've been a transit operator, I've seen many different locations all around town.  Places that I, otherwise, would never have seen if I were doing anything else.  I've driven down new streets and seen many new things.  In my travels I've spotted new restaurants and eateries that I've since tried. Some good, some not so much.  I've seen parks and roadways and all sorts of places that would otherwise go unnoticed.  Especially for someone, like myself, who rarely ventures out if I don't otherwise need to.

In addition to all the new scenery, I've also revisited old memories of past haunts.  One route takes me down Ruth Street, past a location where me and friends would get drunk at, then stumble home as we lived close-by.  The route I'm currently doing in my afternoons, takes me past a house where I lived...  HOLY SHIT!!  Over twenty years ago, now.  I remember I moved out the spring following 9/11.  (*Holy crap...  Sorry.  This realization just freaked me out a little.) 😲

I lived in the basement suite of 70 Laurentian Drive.  It was a nice little place.  A one bedroom, with a private entrance.  It had a cool room, under the stairs and a bar in the living room, where I stored movies and shit.  Unfortunately, there was a washer and dryer behind a door in my kitchen, which the upstairs landlord used, so they'd frequently barge into my domicile unannounced and I'd mostly feel awkward.  Just imagine relaxing in your underwear, watching TV, when your landlord comes booming down the stairs.  It was ridiculous, to say the least.

I had moved into that place after moving from the afore mentioned house where I'd stumble home from the bar to.  I worked nights and needed the peace and quiet that I wasn't getting from where I was.  For the most part, everything worked well.  Come home from work and the landlord and his wife would be gone already.  I'd wind down a little bit watching TV, then I'd retire to my dark bedroom for a few hours of shut eye. 

One day, I'd come home from work, the last night before a couple days off.  As per the usual, I'd camp out in the arm chair, staring at the TV.  About an hour or so in to my programs, I started hearing foot steps upstairs.  None of the cars belonging to the landlord and his wife were parked in the driveway, so they must have company staying upstairs, I thought.  All day long, however, these thunderous footsteps would wander from the living room, which was directly above mine, to the kitchen.  Then out of the kitchen and down the hall to the far bedrooms, also located above my similar rooms.  The kitchen was above mine, as was the hallway, bathroom and so on.  The footsteps continued in this pattern all day long.  Heavy steps, that echoed throughout the house.  If I was going to get any sleep, it wasn't going to be that afternoon.

From about nine in the morning until about thirty minutes before the landlord and his spouse would return home,  A couple hours later, Denny, the landlord, came down the stairs to run a load of laundry.  We exchanged pleasantries, then I asked him who the houseguest upstairs was?  Denny cocked his head to the side like the confused mutt that he was, forcing me to explain what I was referencing to.  

"All day," I explained to him, "I've been listening to footsteps that walked heavily from the living room, to the kitchen to the far end of the house and back."  I explained that it'd been occurring all day long and that I wasn't able to get any sleep because of the loud racket.

With a look of clarity on his face, Denny leaned back against the door jam that separated the small kitchen from the living room.  He followed that facial expression with a look of hesitation, then explained that there wasn't any houseguest roaming about upstairs.  He paused for a moment then said, "It was probably the man in the brown suit."

Denny had only recently gotten married to his bride, moving into her existing residence.  (For the life of me, I can't remember her name), had lived in the house for many years, residing there even before meeting her, now, husband, Denny.  He continued to explain how in addition to the odd occurrences that happen from time-to-time, there have been a couple actual sightings.   Most notable was his wife's introduction to the "man in the brown suit". 

Apparently, she'd been awoken from a deep slumber by an unnerving presence.  When she'd opened her eyes, she saw a tall man in a brown suit looming over top of her as she laid in bed.  Frightened for her life, she sprang out of bed and ran to the kitchen to grab a weapon to protect herself, only to discover that she was alone in the house.  Nobody, not a soul...  Wait a second!  Over the years, she'd grown accustom to the presence and never gave it much thought beyond that.

I was taken aback by the response to my query.  It didn't scare me, to be honest, and moving forward from that time, I'd continue to hear odd things, but whatever it was or whoever it was, never ventured down the stairs, so I was never bothered directly.

Eventually, the landlord asked me to move out as they were looking to convert the basement suite into a lounge area for their kids to hang out in.  On the day that I was to move out of the tiny apartment, the ghost upstairs was having a fit.  I don't know why it chose that day in particular, but I had a feeling that it was protesting my leaving.  Not that it was attached to me or had any sort of connection, but I always got the feeling that whatever it was, had a deep dislike of Denny, which as I got to know him over the brief time that I'd lived there, I could understand.  Denny was a real boob.

As I sat, waiting for family to come over and help me move, I sat at the bottom of the stairs and listened as the spirit upstairs slammed ever cupboard door in [their] kitchen.  I don't know how many doors were up there, but rest assured, every last one was being slammed repeatedly.

I've had many encounters with the paranormal over the years.  In recent years, some of it occurs in my very own house.  Many weird and strange things happen here, at home.  Other stuff has happened when I was at work, in a variety of vocations, even as a bus driver, I've had some strange shit happen.  I'm not psychic, but I do believe that I'm sensitive to the presence of weird shit.  No time to expand on that subject, at the moment, but I will delve into that shit at a later time.

For now and for the next two months, I'll continue to drive past the ol' homestead and every time I do, like a person with Tourette's, I look at the house and utter the words, "The man in the brown suit."  I would not be shocked if I were driving past one day and actually saw a man in a brown suit peering out the window. 😄

4 Fox Sake

 

I noticed today that I've been saying "For F*ck Sake" a lot.  A Lot.  A LOT!!!  And, honestly, it's annoying the shit outta me. 😒 I don't know when I started saying it, nor how long it's taken for me to realize that I am saying it. 🤨  I do know that it's not something that I've said my entire life, because I do know that I haven't.

If memory serves me...  I believe it was a permanent resident of my dad's vocabulary. 🤔  A truly poetic swearologist, my dad was.  He could lace together a plethora of curse words that sounded as lovely as a Shakespearean sonnet.  I've never heard another person do it like my father could.  If I had to, I'd say Ricky from Trailer Park Boys, is about as close as comes.

Oddly, I've been thinking about my dad a lot, lately.  I've been watching some show on TV about celebrities confronting ghosts that haunted them once upon a time, doing so through psychic Kim Russo.  They, Russo and whatever celebrity is featured that episode, exchange some casual banter, usually involving loved ones who've passed away previous to filming the episode.  I don't know if it's real or not, but the information she reveals is usually bang on accurate.  Real or not, it gets a guy thinking.  If I were in that situation, with someone who has psychic abilities, who would come back to message me or more accurately, who would I not want to hear from?

Of course, I'd welcome anything offered my way.  I'm kind of a mark for that shit, but if it is real and accurate, do I really want to hear how disappointed my dad is in me and the shitty life I've lead?  I live with that regret every day.  I don't need a reminder from beyond the grave. FML.

Could it be?  In thinking about the what ifs and the what was's, I was reminded of all the times I'd disappointed him when he was alive? 🤔 All those times I'd f*ck up and he'd give me that look.  You know that look!  Every son who's f*cked up has seen that look. 😠 My dad would yell, "FOR FUCK SAKE!!!" Followed by a compilation of expletives linked together like the limerick of a deranged psychopath.  It was scary as f*ck when it was happening, sure.  I'll grant ya that, but f*ck me, thinking back, man. When I hear a parent in the next aisle at the grocery store go postal on their annoying kids, I smile and think about my dad. 😊💬

Holy shit. 😲 When I set out to type this blog out, I was just looking for a way to delete the phrase "for f*ck sake" from my vernacular.  Instead I had a psychological breakthrough.  Holy f*ck!! 😄

Ricky (Robb Wells)
Trailer Park Boys

Excellent Swearologist