5.22 The Irish Ghost
This is a follow-up to an earlier entry called Ghost Story. Click HERE to read it first. Last year, I interviewed a psychic for my podcast. I’ve never been to one and I’m on the fence whether this stuff is real or not. Something happened to at least make me wonder. During the interview, she told me that in the next year, I’d travel to Ireland and something important would happen to me there. Ireland was not a place I had on my list to visit, so I dismissed the psychic’s claim and forgot about it.
Fast forward a few months and an opportunity came out of nowhere to travel to Dublin. The psychic was right about traveling there, but would she be right about whatever important thing was supposed to happen?
I stepped off the plane in Dublin ready to be exposed to this important thing. What would it be? Maybe I would meet the woman of my dreams and for the ten days I was there, we’d have a whirlwind romance like out of some movie. Perhaps I’d learn more about my Irish roots? Maybe I’d find out I’m related to James Joyce or Samuel Beckett? Whatever it was, I’d be ready.
Nothing happened at the airport. It took forever for my bag to appear and when it did, it was ice cold to the touch. Didn’t think anything of it and headed to the hotel. After checking in and throwing my bag on the bed of the hotel room, I noticed it had not warmed up at all. When I unzipped it, a flush of cold air rushed out and surrounded me. At that point, the television turned on and all the lights cut out.
I should explain something. The trip to Ireland was perfect timing because I found myself back involved with a very unhealthy relationship. I thought I’d buried the spirit of this person with Lady Mary Jane and our exorcism, but damn if she wasn’t persistent. I know this sounds crazy, but I do find myself asking friends who had met her if she was in fact a real person. Too many odd things started happening when she was around and I had my doubts as to whether she actually exists.
Some people might say that I’m running away from things because I travel so much. I look at it differently. I’m just taking some time to sort myself out. And in this Ireland case, to once again get away from this toxic person - or whatever she was.
Back in the hotel room, I turned off the television, turned on the lights. Went for a walk around the neighbourhood. Nothing. Most of the days I spent in Dublin consisted of exploring the city and visiting the vast amount of pubs. When in Rome, or this case, Dublin, the number one pastime seemed to be drinking pints. Woke up early on the third day to tour around the prison on the outskirts of the city. The prison housed many political prisoners and provided the historical backdrop of the reasons for the IRA and the Irish distaste of the British. There were many spirits in the prison, but these were restless for other reasons.
I took a bus out of the city into the green hills of the countryside. Visited the small town of Kilkenny, walked around the local castle and the cathedral. Honestly, I’ve had my fill of cathedrals, you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. However, this cathedral in Kilkenny was different than the others. It had a large tower that you could climb up. There was an old woman sitting at the base of the tower collecting tickets and warning you that it got pretty narrow at the top. She wasn’t kidding. The climbing consisted of long wooden ladders that brought you up to each level. Now, I’m not really afraid of heights, that is, realistic heights. Not afraid of flying in airplanes because of the detached feeling of being encased. But when I could feel the wind threatening to blow me off the ladder, I did feel the vulnerability of being so high.
There was also a different feeling when in these situations. The thought occurred to me that I could just jump, just let go and fall down. I don’t think it’s necessarily a suicidal thought, just a ‘see what happens’ kind of thought. As I climbed higher in the tower, the wind picked up, which I thought was the result of the height. But it was cold, cold like the thrust of air that pushed its way out of my bag in my hotel room. Cold air even though it was a sunny day. The air seemed to swirl around me, whispered to me. Whispered, Jump.
I pushed back the air and the whispers, but it followed me all the way to the top. Barely room for one person, I grasped on to the stone sides of the tower. You could see far into the distance. The wind continued and only was stronger at the top. My thoughts went back to that idea of what it would be like to jump. The wind encouraged me, made me want to see if I could fly. Instead, I made my way down. At the bottom, the old woman was gone.
Besides the incident in the tower, nothing important seemed to happen. Perhaps I was forcing it too much. When I returned from Ireland, the woman I was involved with had completely disappeared. Maybe she’s stuck somewhere at the top of a tower in Kilkenny.