Although all ghosts are intensely interesting, one of the most remarkable was a ghost called Renate, who nightly raised a king-sized bed, sleeper and all. On her weaker days, the bed simply thumped. Needless to say, the man who was trying to sleep in that bed was a bit concerned—and very, very tired. Once I had gotten Renate’s attention and made a telepathic connection with her I learned that it was no coincidence that the room she appeared in was once a “maid’s room.” She had been the maid, cook and nurse to an aging single woman who previously owned the apartment. Her employer had repeatedly promised her a substantial inheritance, including the apartment. But despite years of faithful service, when her employer did die, there were no provisions made for her whatsoever. Her fury arose from a violent mix of feelings of being used, deceived, abandoned and cheated of a future. And because she was destitute, without money or family, she was terrified of being deported back to her native country in Eastern Europe. Renate remained in the maid’s room as long as she could, crazed with rage and anxieties, which soon led to her demise. My job was to release that obsessed part of her which remained behind after her death. I did this by merging with Renate, allowing her to enter me, and channeling out her rage and desperation, as described in Ghosts III.
Once Renate was able to tell her story and drain some of the rage and anxiety, the obsessiveness broke. She then became open to me, my suggestions and another world view. Careful to keep the attention of this ghost by locking on to her pale, bitter face, I sent visions of a bright and glorious place where she would be safe, with no need of food or money. More importantly she would no longer suffer the gnawing, desolate feelings of abandonment. I also worked to elevate her self-esteem in order to mobilize the desire to go on to a better state. Injecting compassion, positive imagery and hope into such a closed complex of dark obsessive thoughts introduces new elements into the makeup of a fragment personality that it is able to build on, much like injecting new genetic material into a cellular nucleus. As I said, I treat a ghost as though it were a fully developed consciousness. Who am I to judge its capacities for growth? From another perspective, ghost-liberating is not much more than opening a prison door. The long-entrapped ghost comes to the threshold and peeks out at the wide-open space full of possibilities unfolding before it. Taking that first step over the threshold is irresistible. After about an hour of listening, channeling out the thoughts and feelings that held her back and blasting her with encouragement, Renate’s face brightened and she made that first step to freedom.
The apartment she lived in was converted into a duplex after her death. To my surprise, I found another female ghost in it, specifically in the main downstairs bedroom, the same floor Renate lived on. This second ghost was sitting curled up on the corner of a bed, her eyes swollen from weeping. I didn’t need to hear her story because I already knew the woman. She was the present owner of the duplex and quite alive, in the rooms upstairs. The intensity of that past moment of deepest misery had left its signature on the ethers. It was an easy matter to clean it up, to clear the air so to speak. From then on, the apartment felt lighter, cheerier, and at least one roommate was finally getting enough sleep.