Wrong Side Up From the Start

You may believe what you are about to read or you may think that I simply need medication. I’m not writing this to convince anyone either way. This is simply my life as I remember it. Whether you believe this is true or not, it has shaped who I am today and continues to drive the way I think and act in the world. My only hope is that you keep an open mind when reading about my journey  beyond the “Twilight Zone.”

One of the wisest statements I have ever heard was from an old man in India who was chronicling his extraordinary life. He said, “We are born into this world because we have not yet learned how not to be.” Those words rang true for me. So, here I am. I have not learned how not to be here.

I remember my birth. Later in life, I was surprised to find out that other people didn’t remember being born. The first memory I have is of watching my seventeen-year-old mother struggling to bring me into the world. I heard the doctor say, “She’s breach.” He then turned and gave instructions to a nurse.

I was watching, but not from a physical form. I seemed to exist in a nebulous state that could observe from many viewpoints in the room. I was at once near my mother and up in the corner of the room, behind the doctor and next to the nurse. There was a lot of activity as they tried to turn the babe around in my mother’s womb. I guess I was stubborn because they gave up and I was pulled into the world feet first. Oddly, I have never been able to stand on my head or do cartwheels. Coincidence? Maybe.

As the doctor and nurse fussed and worked with the efficient skill that comes from experience, my awareness was jolted. I focused on the tiny body being held up by the  feet. I saw the doctor slap the baby’s behind. I heard her take in a sharp breath and start to cry. I thought, Oh my, here we go again then felt delicate tendrils of myself flow from my existence in the room to the little girl who came into the world wrong side up.

My consciousness was in both places now. I sensed what she sensed, saw what she saw, heard what she heard. At the same time I was separate and keenly aware of my existence as a person who had experienced being born a multitude of times. I felt both sad resignation at being here, yet again, and excitement at the possibilities of making this life different.

The next recollection I have is of being warm and comfortable in my mother’s arms. I saw my father bending over me smiling and saying, “She looks like a monkey.”  I felt his fear at becoming a father at nineteen. I am told that I was small, red, and wrinkly when first born—not a cherub with pink cheeks and rosy skin. I looked at him and thought, I don’t know you.

I remember feeling my mother’s love. As I looked into her large, dark eyes, I tried to tell her mind, You, I know. I promise to make it right this time. I so desperately wanted to avoid the mistakes of the last time we met when I let her drown because my skirts caught in the boat and I couldn’t save her, She was my daughter then. I spent the rest of that life immersed in guilt.

Over the next few months, I slowly integrated myself into the new body and began to forget who I was so that I could concentrate on this life. The funny thing is I never completely forgot my other trips around the sun. Shadows of past sojourns into this world danced in my mind.

My Odd, Odd Childhood
After I grew old enough to express with words, I would tell my mother about the time I was a great lady in a beautiful, big house with three daughters and a husband who went off to war. I told her how I would dance in satin slippers. I remembered that tobacco was our crop and that we lived in a place called, “N’awlins.”  I was four when I remembered this.

When I was five, I started to recall a few words in French. I talked to my mother about the many times I lived in distant lands in different bodies. I talked about them to my mother, because, somehow I sensed that she was the only one who knew it was true.

Although my father was an alcoholic and our home anything but peaceful, my mother was always nurturing and understanding of my “specialness.” I saw spirits as if they were regular people, knew what our pets were thinking, and sensed when things were about to happen. But, this came at a price. I also sensed the darkness around our home, as well as the light. And, darkness was there in abundance.

Because of my father’s drinking, lost souls gathered around him. There were troubling and dangerous forces at work in our home. I learned to surround myself with the brightest light I could to ward off the heavy, invasive dark souls that hovered around us. I learned to call on angels and beings of glowing light to chase away the frightening things.

Before I was five years old, I was having visions, out-of-body experiences, and could see things that the other children could not. Some of the children believed me when I told them what I saw. Others ran home and told their parents, who then labeled me as a troubled child or Satan-possessed. I learned to keep my visions and oddness to myself and share only with my mother.

Arthur Comes Calling

The photo shown is similar, but Arthur had longer hair and a bigger mustache.

The photo shown is similar, but Arthur had longer hair and a bigger mustache.

Although I am sure that many things in my early childhood have been forgotten, a few things stand out. The first spirit I remember seeing and talking to appeared to me when I was four. We lived in Spokane, Washington, in an ancient, two-story house that had been split into two apartments. We lived upstairs.

On the day the talking spirit came, Mother was visiting with the woman who lived downstairs. I was sitting on the floor of our living room, playing with a now forgotten toy. I heard, “Hello, can you see me?” I looked up, and standing in front of me was a tall, muscular man wearing a short, leopard-skin tunic, white tights, and leather boots that laced up the front. He had bright red hair and a handle-bar mustache. His eyes were vivid blue. Now, I know he was dressed like a 19th century circus strongman.

“Hello,” I said. “I can see you. What’s your name?” I think back at my lack of fear and wonder at the simplicity of a child’s acceptance at what is instead of what it all means.

He smiled and said, “Arthur.”

“Oh,” I remember saying. “Mother is downstairs.” I wanted to get back to my toy and was hoping this grown-up would go away and leave me to it. Just then, I heard my mother’s footsteps on the stairs outside, and the man disappeared.

From Earth to Moon
earth from spaceI was a quiet child and liked to just sit and ponder the things in my head. I think if mother understood that a quiet, thoughtful child was not the norm, she might not have had my hellion of a brother, but that’s a story for another time.

One early afternoon, when I was four, I was standing on the couch looking out of the window. I liked to see the sparkling lights that danced in the clear, blue Spokane sky. I don’t know how, but suddenly, I found myself floating in dark space, looking back at the Earth. It was shining, blue and white—nothing like any drawing I had seen in my picture books. This was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but in a flash, I was back in my living room, standing on the couch. I heard Mother calling out from the kitchen that lunch was ready.

I carried that vision with me into adulthood. When, in 1969, I saw a picture of what the Earth looked like from the Moon, I held my breath. It was exactly what I had seen as a child.

Ouija Gets Mad
It seems that everyone has a spooky Ouija Board story. So, I guess in that sense, I am normal. When I was five, my mother taught me how to work the board. One spring day when I was five, my baby brother was sleeping on the couch in the living room. Mother and I were sitting in my bedroom with the board on our laps.

This was a really good Ouija. It answered questions about all sorts of things. But, if we started to ask silly questions, or joke around, the planchette would circle the board three times, skim across the “Goodbye” at the bottom, and refuse to work the rest of the day.
On this particular day, the Ouija felt different. It started saying scary things and predicting world apocalypse. Then it threatened us. When we asked, “Who are you?” the room grew icy, and the curtains covering my closet blew out with a cold wind. Mother, not one to be intimidated, said something like, “We’ll see about that!” She took the board, broke it into small pieces and stuffed into the big pot-bellied, iron stove heater we had in the living room. Thinking that was that, we went about our regular day.

That night, we were startled from our sleep. BANG! BOOM! THUD! We ran to the living room to see that the stove had blown the door off its hinges. It had been flung across the room. Ashes covered everything.

The really odd thing, though, was that the stove was cold. It had not been lit that night. My eyes were drawn to movement on the ceiling. An inky-dark blob slithered across the room to the far corner and disappeared.
Mother knew what had happened, but my father just stood there scratching his head and muttering, “What the. . . ?

Little Green Men Come Calling
When I was six years old, we moved to Los Angeles. My father, mother, baby brother and I all piled into our 1951 Green Hudson Hornet (I thought it looked like a big watermelon) and hit the open road. I don’t remember if we had a trailer for our “stuff” or what. Probably, we left everything behind and only brought our personal belongings and household necessities like dishes, sheets, towels, and such.

We settled in Tarzana. When it became clear that my brother was allergic to pine sap, we moved to the Wyvernwood Garden Apartments in Boyle Heights, a suburb of Los Angeles. In the 1950s these were first-rate apartments with good schools and safe living. They are still there and according to the marketing, remain in top shape.

WyvernwoodThe apartment building we lived in faced a wide expanse of lawn. Another building faced us from a low hill. I slept in the living room on an army cot. My mother, father, and baby brother slept in the bedroom. One night shortly after going to bed, I was startled by bright lights shining through the windows. Curious, I got up and looked out.

There, between the two buildings and just above the rooftops was a large, shining, saucer-shaped, flying object. Though I had never read about or knew anything about ETs or UFOs, I was fascinated. It had brightly colored lights around the bottom that circled in flashes of red, orange, green, and yellow. There was a clear dome at the top, or maybe it was just windows with a solid top, I don’t remember which. I could see odd-looking people moving around inside. After a few seconds, it zipped upward and disappeared.

I don’t remember my parents waking up to see it. Odd. Maybe they didn’t see the lights because they kept their windows covered with heavy curtains and a shade.
The next day, the newspapers reported a UFO sighting in Los Angeles.

I painted this picture of the memory. It's almost exactly right. The dome was larger and the people smaller.

I painted this picture of the memory. It’s almost exactly right. The dome was larger and the people smaller.

When I was eight years old, we moved to a larger apartment so my brother and I could share a bedroom. That’s when the fun really started. One night, I was shaken awake by an invisible hand. I heard the words in my head, “GET UP NOW!” When I opened my eyes there was no one in the room but a light was streaming in through the window.

I looked across the room at my brother. He was sound asleep. I got up and looked out the window. There was another UFO—much bigger than the one I had seen before. Something made me turn around and walk down the stairs and out the front door. I’m not sure how, but in the blink of an eye

I was moving up a beam of light into an opening at the bottom of the “ship.”
Inside, a tall man, blond, with blue eyes greeted me. He wore a white jumpsuit. “Take my hand. I’ll show you around,” he said in a gentle voice. Seeing nothing to be afraid of, I did. We walked around a circular corridor that was flanked with divided stalls. Each stall had one or two animals in them. I remember a zebra, horse, and tortoise, but there were dozens more.

I became concerned that these animals were going to be harmed, but he assured me that they wouldn’t be. They were taking them back to his home world to help repopulate the animal kingdom there. I asked him why and he told me, but that memory has gone away.

After my tour, he knelt down to be at my eye level and asked me if I understood. I guess I did because I nodded. Now, I haven’t a clue why this occurred. I was returned to my front porch by the beam of light. When I turned around, the ship had slipped quietly into the night sky.
I am an animal lover and have been known to “go to the mat” for their rights. Maybe this has something to do with that experience. I don’t know. I had several more visitations but was never again shown animals.

Growing Up Weird
As I grew up, I continued to have strange and sometimes frightening experiences. I continued to stick out as different, or weird. No matter how I tried, I could not fit in with most of the other kids. the friends I had were like me—misfits, odd, and in touch with the invisible world.

As an adult, I dedicate my life to helping others with my “specialness.” I studied, sat with gurus, meditated learned to sing in Sanskrit, learned every spiritual and metaphysical tool I could, including hypnotherapy, astrology, NLP, Tarot, numerology, yoga, tai chi, Kriya, and so much more. I made the choice to remain a non-mother in this life, so my life has been my own to shape, and I had the time to indulge in my passion for learning.

Even through my wild and wooly twenties, when I indulged in the barbarian in me, I never completely ignored my differentness, my distance from many other folk who lived a more normal life, dictated by fears, social rules, and religious doctrine.

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About anitaburns

Confetti Head: My life of change, and color, weirdness, and fun. From the colorful days of Hippie, to all night rocker parties, to married life, contemplation, meditation, and more. My life has been blessedly full and rich. Anita's Real Food: I have loved cooking since my first Easy Bake Oven when I was four. I bake, cook, invent, share, and eat. Enjoy my Real Food Blog. Astrology Learning and Secrets: LIttle-known facets or a deeper dive into the wonderful world of Astrology
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