August 21, 2008
My Actual Connection With Spirits
You are about to read a true story. I felt very compelled to write about this as I have been receiving quite a bit of mail on the topic—not to mention publicity.
Also, I am doing this because as a published author, it is my duty to promote like hell—so promote I must. With that said, I will begin.
Now for some of you, this may be quite a hard thing for your minds to grasp, but nonetheless, it's all true. I'm speaking about the Spirit World.
What are spirits and ghosts? Do angels exist? Does God exist? Well, I'm not one to debate the issue either way, and if you want, you can write Sylvia Browne or John Edward for two of the answers to those questions. But what are spirits and angels to me? Are they real? Yes, they most certainly are. How do I know? Because they have contacted me. Let me put it to you like this:
Let's say something so fantastic happened to you that you could not believed it happened. Let's say that you thought you saw a UFO, or perhaps you saw an apparition in your home that scared the daylights out of you. Let's say you witnessed SOMETHING that you simply could not justify in your mind's eye. What do you do? Who do you tell? Do you keep it to yourself for fear of being judged as crazy?
For many of you who have had unexplainable sightings or events cross your paths, the answer is to not bring it up. You don't mention it … at least not right away.
Okay, so now you pretty much get the idea of where I'm going with this.
Since I was a young kid, I have had strange things happen to me. I once saw a man fly into the trees, and when I tried to get my mom's attention, she shushed me—she was talking with someone. But ever since that day, there hasn't been a day in my life when I didn't think about it and wonder who it was.
After my father died, in April 1995, things got out of control—supernaturally speaking. On the day we buried him, I was in the kitchen of our house when suddenly I smelled the chocolate scented pipe tobacco that he always used. After freaking out for several minutes, I felt a touch on my shoulder, and when I turned around, of course, there wasn't anyone there.
Several months after my father died, my mother and I moved to Staten Island from Brooklyn, New York. We purchased a brand new home never thinking that our new home would be a haven for the "other side". The lights would go on and off. The TV channels would change by themselves. We'd see shadows on the walls of strange figures. We heard footsteps creeping up the stairs. Things would disappear then reappear. The phone would ring, but nobody would be there. We had a huge window shatter out of the blue—I mean I could go on and on. But here's the thing. Back then, I didn't believe in spirits. Heck, I didn't even believe in God. Did I want to believe that perhaps it was my father playing jokes on us from heaven? Of course I did, but my overly analytical mind wouldn't permit that possibility to form a truth, so I blew it off as mind over matter.
Well, three years ago, I had a relapse with agoraphobia—that's a fear of leaving the house. I was scared to death of being put into a mental institution and having the key thrown away. Feeling the most desperate that I had ever felt in my life, I turned to the one thing I never believed in … God.
I prayed for God to help me. I prayed for Him to be real. I prayed for Him to prove His existence. I needed to believe in Him in order to keep my mind from thinking the unthinkable—ending it all. Well what happened after that was shocking. I began to get signs--real signs; signs that were too many to be considered coincidence.
Now I could go into great detail about all the signs I received, but then this blog would be a mini series, so I'll just say this: Read Master of the Realm. The other side led me to write it.
Master of the Realm is my true story. It speaks of the hardships that I had endured—my childhood abuse, my bad choices in men, the development of my anxiety disorder, and finally, all the supernatural signs that I received from the other side when I begged God for His help.
At this point in my life, I simply cannot believe that me, an absolute nobody in this illusion called life, was chosen. I say chosen simply because there's no other way to explain it. My connection with the other side is undeniable and unexplainable, yet real.
The other side contacts me in several different ways, but the most prominent lately is through the scent of cigarette smoke. Yes, that's right, cigarette smoke! And no, I don't smoke and neither does anyone in my family. When I smell the smoke, I take out my camera and take a picture into the air. It hasn't failed yet to discover orbs and actual people posing for me—yes, they want me to capture them on film!
I have had clouds of white smoke zip through the house, through walls—leaving me stunned. We have had a female voice sneeze by the staircase and have found tiny handprints that were left behind. Things would fall from shelves and doors would slam.
So why me? Well, lets just say this. The gift that I have been given from our Father is the gift of connecting with spirits and angels. It is to help mankind to know about the afterlife and about our Father. He has chosen me to set an example of how to use our minds to connect with Him and with the other side. But why? To learn the truth.
There have been many who have been chosen to do the same, perhaps in different ways—to help mankind to understand that this life is just for learning—to understand the human aspect of our Lord. We are here to learn, and to love and to give—and that's it! Those who seek our Father, will move to the next realm, which is the other side, and most likely will not be reincarnated. Those who do not seek our Father, will come back and live again—unit they finally learn the lessons of love.
Through these signs from the other side, I have put my agoraphobia into remission and I did it by praying. Praying you say, in doubt? Yes. Praying reconditions our thought processes and moves our energy into a positive flow instead of a negative flow.
Do angels and spirits and God exist? Are they around you? Yes, all the time—around every single one of you.
Look at the cover … that's an untouched photo. What do you think it is?
Valentine deFrancis. All rights reserved. Copyright 2008