Sharing two and a half years of my life with soldier ghosts who loved to tell me their stories⏤slinking into hypnogogic states⏤nocturnal visitations and me sleeping in the nude⏤the accidental psychic hook-up with a photograph, a bread-bag strap, and an Edelweiss medal⏤items charging my mind with visions of past events⏤snippets of lives no longer living. In the end, the ghosts with dark pasts left me feeling exhausted and off balance so I bid them farewell.
In the early morning hours of June 6, 2015, D-Day (although I didn’t realize it was D-Day at the time), 71 years after the Normandy landings, it wasn't the spirit of an American GI that came to me. It was the spirit of a Fallschirmjäger, a paratrooper in the Luftwaffe. He stood at the foot of my bed, with slicked-back blond hair, his body glowing brightly. He stared at me without blinking, telepathically chanting, “Normandy, Normandy, Normandy.” I sat up and stared back, mesmerized by his presence. He placed his right hand on my left foot, sending a shock of pain to my big toe. He had been shot in the foot, he was conveying. The pain continued even as I moved my foot away from his hand,
I wondered, "Was he mad at me because I hadn't purchased his portrait?"
Rewind to the Previous Day
The day before the paratrooper spirit appeared, I felt compelled to buy original WWII German soldier portraits. Buying old photographs online isn't something new to me (more on this in the next section). But buying Nazi photos was never on my radar (at least, not intentionally). The spiritual "calling" that came through on June 5 was forceful and urgent, but nonthreatening. I felt shame and concern for following the call of buying these old photographs, but I couldn't shake the strange feeling that this dark and tumultuous plunge was larger than the act of simply buying these photographs. It was a part of my heroic journey.
Spiritual calling, which is an aspect of the heroic journey, isn't all paved with unicorns and rainbows, at least it wasn't (isn't) for me. My initiation process has been at times "bipolar," if I had to pathologize it. There have been moments filled with spiritual bliss, where snippets of mysterious insight are downloaded into me in a ways that make me feel one with everything---for a few seconds here and there, I understand the meaning of life, and then it's gone.
I don't think there's anything worse, suspicious, humiliating, and wrong about contending with a Nazi past life while the world sinks deeper into fascism.
Sadly, the gods have not deemed me "prophet" material. I have no other insight other than into my own journey with Hans who is still fighting his own demons from his recent life. That is to say, this journey has been an arduous and confusing one as well, but I think that's just my ego dying a slow death.
Nevertheless, I don't think there's anything worse, suspicious, humiliating, and wrong about contending with a Nazi past life while the world sinks deeper into fascism. Given the dark political and cultural landscape of this country and throughout the world, we, as concerned citizens, have become rightfully more suspicious of anyone who is interested in anything Nazi Germany. Believe me, I'd run away from myself if I could. As it is, I can't escape this mind and flesh, nor the restless spirits that urge me to explore the great cancer of this period---if not of all time---so that I may understand my past self and my spirit guide's past self.
What I do know is that when I unconsciously heeded Hans's first call back in 1993, then consciously volunteered for this journey in 2010, my life has gotten better in ways that are meaningful and leave me no choice but to trust the twists and turns of this journey that is filled with witches, dragons, angels and faeries.
So once again, as it's been the case for many years, I followed the call and combed through Ebay for photos of dark and terrifying warriors.
The paratrooper who stood at the foot of my bed didn't make the original cut of purchases. I assumed he had appeared that evening to let me know that he was upset that I hadn't selected him. So, on June 6, after the ghostly encounter, I immediately purchased his photo.
Then I realized it was D-Day, and that the paratrooper's telepathic message of "Normandy" was no coincidence. It rattled me to the core. From that moment onward, it was my quest to uncover the reason for the visitation. A spirit portal opened up in my home, which I intentionally kept open for two and a half years, consumed by the maddening world of World War 2. GIs would eventually stop by as well, sometimes arm in arm with Nazi soldiers. They loved sharing their war stories with me, and I loved hearing their accounts. It absolutely fueled the dark artist within.
Trying to “Capture” the Essence of Hans through Antique Photography
The handmaidens wear lace and the soldiers show off broken hearts and dueling-scarred faces, garnering their tunics with misappropriated medals and the occasional Iron Cross.
I had been collecting antique photographs of all kinds since Hans appeared in August 2010 (Hans has also gone by a few other names⏤Magic Man, Dylan and John⏤prior to revealing his true identity in 2018. Hans is an alias that I've chosen to use to keep his real identity confidential. He still has family in Germany).
I purchased these photos as a way to try to visually “capture” the physical features that he claimed to possess: flaxen blond hair, sky blue eyes, slim physique. He was a chain smoker, a romantic who identifies with the warrior archetype. He was the hottest, most athletic, and most famous man that he had ever been in all of his past lives combined.
He is also karmically attached to his most recent life where he believed himself to be mythological. But he still grapples with his shadow. Although he is in spirit form, he is still drawn to the physical world. This is part of the reason why he is so paranormally active with me. Below are some of the photos that I have collected over the years that encapsulate some aspects of Hans’s physical attributes.
Telling Their Stories of War to a Ghost Whisperer
My illustrated novel, Blind Love During the Madness, transformed from 14-page fairy tale about unrequited love to a 200-page illustrated dystopian novel about mechanized Valkyries on a mission to kill Nazi zombies wreaking havoc on post-apocalyptic earth. The handmaidens wear lace and the soldiers show off broken hearts and dueling-scarred faces, garnering their tunics with misappropriated medals and the occasional Iron Cross⏤confused monsters with deadly eyes capable of enchanting, stuck in a time loop, repeating old battles⏤fiends high on drugs, carrying out the rampage while Odin watches from beyond the veil.
Take a Hint
I connected with Norman Ohler, who wrote the international bestseller, Blitzed: Drugs in Nazi Germany. After I had completed my novel, I shared a copy of it with him in hopes of having him write the foreword. He told me that he was interested in contributing. He said that he found the artwork "extraordinarily beautiful" but that he had not yet sat down to read it. He then reported that he was staying at a house on Bodensee (Lake Constance) with a "HUGE screen" that was "adequate" enough to accommodate the story and the illustrations.
As I read his email, I became panic-stricken, knowing that my story was not up to snuff. I had already received disappointing feedback to the story from editors and a grant review board. Although the images were well received, the writing suffered from "naiveté," and "it [was] nowhere near ready for publication." So after becoming sensitive about the discouraging reviews and rejections, and not wanting to receive more discouraging reviews, I emailed Ohler back told him that the novel was not ready. "Please don't read it," I said, and that was that.
Truth is Stranger than Fiction
I became consumed by the tales of Nazi soldier ghosts...The more they came forward, the more I wanted to understand their stories...Their accounts propelled me to read many books about World War 2, and to watch dozens of documentaries and films.
Blind Love was a 9-year, mind-fucking, channeling extravaganza. From June 6, 2015 to December 31, 2017 Blind Love took a twisted, dark turn that swallowed me up. I became consumed by the tales of Nazi soldier ghosts. Depending on what I was working on in the story, a particular spirit would step forward and offer creative guidance through visions, words, emotions, synchronicity, etc. The more they came forward, the more I wanted to understand their stories of love, hate, betrayal, regret, and death. Their accounts propelled me to read many books about World War 2, and to watch dozens of documentaries and films.
They tapped into my inherent and obsessive curiosity, feeding me their addictive war accounts that for a while were impossible to turn off. Hans played the gatekeeper, preventing malevolent spirits from gaining access to my physical and psychical spaces. Despite the darkness, all visitations were benevolent, but intense, and often accompanied by an inescapable sadness that is a consequence of living during such troubling times, worse still, fighting on the wrong side of history. That time in my life was unlike any other time I have ever experienced with the spirit realm. And when it was over, it felt as if it had all been a dream⏤or a rip in the fabric of time.
I took it out on Hans. I hated him for exposing me to this dark world, cool as it was to speak with the dead. But in truth, I willingly went down the slippery slope.
After I walked away from Blind Love, I asked the soldier ghosts to go away. I walked around the house, smudging the windows, corners, and doorways with sage, chanting, “All visiting spirits must leave. Archangels, suffuse my house in sacred love and light.” I took it out on Hans. I hated him for exposing me to this dark world, cool as it was to speak with the dead. But in truth, I willingly went down the slippery slope.
Continued Inspiration through Transformation
When I reflect back on Blind Love and search for reasons why I delved into such an abyss, the answer is an obvious one: I wanted to understand who Hans had been. He had always been the driving force for my novel. Now, all the soldier ghosts from WWII are gone, minus Hans who had also fought in the war, as a fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe, and the real reason why the Luftwaffe paratrooper appeared at the foot of my bed. Without his involvement, I would have never done the detective work to uncover Hans.
In 2018, I sold my Victorian house where the ghosts had once manifested. I purchased a newly constructed condo in Stowe where I am now working with the spirits connected to the forest. Although the warrior spirit energy is still present, it has transformed into a powerful force of spiritual energy that is helping me to grow in ways I never thought possible---my heroic journey continues.
Still, the shadow archetype continues to rear its ugly head. I am forever riveted and intrigued by dark things, even if they scare me at little.
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