It’s been a heavy week
I’m so damn exasperated with my boss’ forced extra hours policy… Last week I worked more than 12 hours a day and returned home absolutely drained. I played with the Spica for 60 minutes at the most, but without any success. My mood was not the propitious one, I guess.
This past week was not an unproductive one, though. I contacted Angel Manoukian, one of my grandfather’s most advanced and beloved disciples, an authority himself on paranormal research. He will guide me and help me record the next Goldstein’s appearances. He will also lend me a simple device to tape the voice. Angel’s guidance will be fructiferous, as always were our canny dialogues each time he hanged out at home to discuss his ideas with my grandfather.
Tonight, I’ll try to get some EVP again. Maybe yesterday’s full moon manifests itself as a positive influence for the notable materialization of such an anomaly. Will see…
An arcane message
It happened again, today. Early in the morning, while I was taking a shower, the bath lights suddenly went down and trembled with a very pale yellowish languor for about 10 seconds. I took that incident as a signal and hurry myself out of the bathtub, freezing my bones with the southern-hemisphere winter’s chilling air. I grabbed a towel and run almost naked to turn on the Spica. This time it was instantaneous: my grandfather spoke right away…
“Follow the path of the video.”, he said.
His message seemed to me sort of obscure. So I asked: “What do you mean?”.
Then nothing but the white noise. I know that this might sound absurd but for half a minute or so I felt Goldstein’s generous smile, as it were being emanated from the radio itself. I started to cry when his voice struck me as a thunderbolt:
“Don’t get too cold”, he said with what I thought was a sweet, playful intonation.
I waited for 30 minutes for another contact, dressing myself up in the meantime, but my grandfather didn’t come back.
A new message from the beyond
Goldstein was here. Finally, my grandfather visited me again about half an hour ago. It took loads of sleepless hours but it was worth the wait. My anguish vanished as soon as his voice stepped out suddenly, around 2 AM. His call sounded different this time, though, like being pulled from the inside, towards the Spica itself. If I must describe the odd sensation it gave me, I would say that it seemed to me like a record played backwards, although I recognized almost every word of the message:
“Patience” he said first. Then, a two or three minutes lapse of white noise. Afterwards he added: “Prepare yourself (…) perplexed”. This last sentence was divided with a deep guttural gasp that impeded me to understand it in full.
I feel quite well now that our communications occurrences were reestablished. But I need to calm down a little. I could use some rest, also.
Lost communication?
It’s been already several days since my last contact. The Spica is functioning while I’m writing this post, although I can’t hear nothing but the interference. Today, pushed by despair, I’ve tried it all: I fiddled with the volume knob, scanned recklessly the full AM radio frequency spectrum and even changed the batteries. But to no avail. The Spica is still constantly detuned, though. I wonder what’s happening…
Saddened now as I am, I feel trapped in an emotional roller-coaster: skipping of joy one moment, the next hovering clueless.
Rick, from The Heavy Stuff wrote to me this morning and sent me insightful material about the Direct Voice Communication phenomena. As an experienced researcher in the paranormal field he also advised me:
Bonding intentions on both sides probably can give some communication at a limited level — but - I’d also say that it’s possible that the communication is ONLY to convince the one `behind’ (you) that `we continue’ (and hence will be together again). And, after there is a convincing — it may end.
Still, I’ll try to make contact again. I just can’t lose my hope. Not now.
Picture of the paranormal Spica radio
Click on the thumbnail to view the full size picture.
I’m totally burnt out. After almost 3 days of elation and remarkable discoveries I can’t stay awake all night any longer. I’ll have to arrange a strict “listening” schedule if I want to keep my day job. This whole thing is driving me insanely strengthless, and believe me that my boss is not a person that will happily accept an “I’m late because I’ve stayed at home talking with my dead grandfather” kind of excuse.
Anyway, I’m uploading the Spica picture I took yesterday. As you can see, it lacks of visual artistry and fancy photoshopped eye candies, but it will serve fine as a genuine unmodified document of these past events.
Second contact through Electronic Voice Phenomena
I knew that the after-death communication I described in my first post couldn’t be a mere anomalous isolated incident. Deep in my heart I was sure about that. After having the radio turned on for a complete day I’ve confirmed my theory (or I better say my hunch): my grandfather spoke to me again.
I started this weblog to see if I can get my thoughts in order. I also want to record all our conversations, although it seems that they can’t be as fluid and prolonged as they used to be while he was alive. Goldstein was an illuminated talker and, foremost, a superlative listener. He had an incredible gift: to always deliver the right words at the right time. For what I see (taking into account both experiences: this second and the first one), he is now unable to articulate long speeches. I must do a research in the Electronic Voice Phenomena field in order to find out if this is a common circumstance when you carry out such a paranormal conversation.
I’m explaining the above because today he said only one word.
I was really tired at that time, sitting beside the radio for hours. It was very early in the morning so the silence was almost complete. When I say silence I mean that the neighborhood’s usual range of noise wasn’t there. Because, in fact, my head almost trembled with the high volume interference spitted by the AM receiver. The Spica remained untouched from yesterday’s contact so it was set at the same dial position. Maybe I should conduct some experiments regarding my grandfather’s voice reception at different frequencies. But not now, at least until I gain confidence with the technique involved in the instrumental transcommunication. I’m really afraid to screw everything all up if I change even a minimal disposition of the artifact and its context.
What happened this morning is that I finally ran out of strength and almost fell asleep. So I fixed myself a breakfast and after fueling me up, returned close to the radio. I must confess that I felt sort of disappointed: I’ve been hearing the white noise carefully for hours without any substantial result. Frustrated and bored, I grabbed my camera and took a spontaneous picture of the Spica to publish it on here. And there it happened again. It took me by extreme surprise: just after the flash lightened the room a sibilant cry surfaced the wall of nasty sound. It was an edgy, sharp scream that came out cutting the previous noise like a razor blade:
“Listen!”, he demanded.
Then nothing. Not even the white noise. For at least 10 seconds I felt the most compelling void around me. And then the interference made its reappearance.
That was all. And although that imperative my grandfather yelled may be interpreted as a rude complaint, it sounded so tender, in a way, that (at least for me) it wasn’t an admonishment nor a reproach, but more an admonition or, instead, a confirmation, a promise of future contacts.
Goldstein’s after-death first communication
My grandfather passed away one week ago. He was my only family. Believe me or not, I heard his voice yesterday. He talked to me through a vintage Spica radio he used to listen to daily, for years and years. I’m still euphoric although I stayed awake for more than 24 hours waiting for another communication. My head is spinning like a whirlpool, and I feel that all my assumptions are being swallowed by the drain. I can’t be happier, neither more shocked. I should focus myself and try to tell you what happened…
As I said, my grandfather died a couple of days ago. He meant a lot for me: a father-figure plus a spiritual and intellectual guide.
Yesterday, a Saturday, the house felt specially empty without his presence. Alone at home, I sadly realized that he no longer be by my side, so decided to turn on the AM radio he listened to every afternoon, a trick to “keep alive” his spirit. The fact is that the radio started to behave erratically. The on/off and volume seemed OK, but the tuning wheel was out of order. I mean, the radio was now invariably detuned, and the result was an annoying white noise all over the audio spectrum. This was something unexplainable indeed.
I was playing with the knob trying to fix the thing while, suddenly, the phone rang. I left the radio unattended on the table and picked up. The white noise waves started to fill the room, like an hypnotizing never-stopping electric mantra.
“Hello”, I said. But nobody replied. “Hello?”, I asked again. And again, no one answered. And something odd happened: I felt a cold hand in my shoulder. This was truly unexpected. I was 100% positive about me being alone at home. Of course, that sensation didn’t last much longer than a second. But it was doubtless and vivid enough to paralyze me. A freezing chill went down my spine.
As nervous as I was at that point, I didn’t know what was happening neither what to do about it. I coughed for no reason or maybe just as a reflex, for I was damn spooked. And there it came: a dim voice made its way through the radio’s random signal. It was a fainted voice, spectral, bizarre… like a mumble beneath calm water. I found myself frantically entwining my fingers with the phone cord. I didn’t understand what the voice was saying. At first.
I hung up and returned to the table. But I noticed that the radio offered again nothing but a demential white noise. I approached my left ear to the speaker and asked instinctively: “Grandpa? Are you there?”. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound only, trying to fish something intelligible. I stayed almost static for 5 minutes or so. “Are you there?”, I inquired for a second time. And there it was again: struggling fiercely to get across, my grandfather’s voice finally emerged… “I’m not there, I’m here”, he answered.