I recently visited the home where I was raised – the same house, where as a child, I heard noises upstairs when nobody was there.
We all heard it. The sound of footsteps on the stairs, a door shutting or a window closing – all when nobody was present.
One morning on my stay, after spending the night sleeping upstairs, I was greeted by older family members in a state of confusion. “Why were you banging last night?” “We heard you yell, were you okay?” “You were moving around heavy furniture up there – why?”
I had been asleep the whole time, I told them.
It was then that their faces turned white.
The truth is – I never sleep-walk, and even if I had, there was no heavy furniture to move. Everything in my room, the tiny chair and table – exactly as it was when I had fallen asleep.
Was it a ghost? The same creepy spirit that occupied the home when I was a child? Perhaps the entity viewed me as a threat and was trying to throw me out (even though I had not heard a thing).
People have speculated that it was the weather. Yet it was a calm night. Others said maybe someone was on the roof. Perhaps an animal (who apparently sounded like a man) was stuck in the walls.
What amazes me is that we humans refuse to accept that life can have its mysteries. Our determination to “explain away” everything says a lot about our inner desire to know it all and be in control.
But we don’t know it all.
And we’re not in control.
To admit our vulnerabilities, to face the reality that we may be living in a universe occupied by another dimension, or to simply refuse to acknowledge that there are things on this planet which have no rational explanation – would be too great a blow to our collective ego.
If we believe in ghosts, we’re considered insane.
If we have faith in a higher being, we’re being silly.
Tell all that to whoever, or whatever, lives upstairs.