Posey Gilbert
Paranormal Maven
I am kind of shaky about submitting this article because I know there will be those that despite my warning not to do so will copy my actions and may not be as lucky/unlucky as I was.
What I am to talk about here is not a game or something to be played around with to this day I feel I am still suffering repercussions from these very actions.
Maybe if I was raised in another culture I would have been able to realize the full potential of what I was allowed to experience but I was raised in this culture and can not understand why any would choose this as a path to walk.
I walked this one in ignorance and maybe what saved me was that I had no idea of what I was doing.
If however you choose to do this now after hearing of my experience then you do it willingly and your fate is of your own doing/undoing.
I submit it with hopes that their may have been others out there that may have had a similar encounter and will after reading this get in contact with me.
When I was about a year old I awoke to find myself alone in the house.
I know I was one at that time for my brother Ralph had not been born yet.
Finding myself alone in the house I decided I wanted to finally see what I looked like.
So I took off all my clothing and was jumping up and down on my parents’ bed trying to see what I looked like in the big mirror on the dresser across from their bed.
I had just made my third bound when I saw something in the mirror that confused me, and it was at that point I heard. "Muumuu you nasty little boy you stop that and put your clothes on!"
It was Mrs. Jones an old lady that lived across the way from us she had been watching me.
I did not know at that time that my mother had been called to school for an emergency and had asked her to watch me for she did not want to awaken me.
The combination of what I had seen in the mirror and Mrs. Jones scolding me from across the yard frightened me and I remember trying to put my clothes back on and having a hell of a time doing it being so young.
Thank goodness for that for it was my intention to leave the house and go in search of my mother.
But buttoning a shirt that was on inside out was more of a task than I thought it would be not to mention trying to tie the strings of shoes that were on the wrong feet.
Half zipped half buttoned I headed for the front door as I reached it, it opened and my mother came in.
I was so happy to see her that I forgot about what I had seen in the mirror.
It would be fifteen years later that I would again see that image that so frightened and confused me.
It was as I stepped from the shower I was sixteen and had pubic hair.
Now understand I had seen myself naked before then but it was just the way I looked at that one time that I recognized the image I had seen and I flashed back to that little boy bouncing on Mom and Pops bed.
Then as I thought about it I said, "Well if the mirror can show you the future can it also show you the past?
So I took the mirror in my bedroom and sat it on the night table and lit a candle and placed it in front of the mirror.
I had my brother Ralph’s Emeny organ on my lap and as I played an eerie piece of music I had written I looked fixedly on the flame of the candle while concentrating on the image beyond it in the mirror.
Now understand I know these days this is called "Scrying" but understand this is just something I just knew to do then.
In fact my term for it then and now is "Calling into the mirror."
As I repeatedly played the tune I said aloud "Show me my past, show me my past."
To my amazement the face that was mine became that of a Pilgrim a Native American and then an African and then returned to my face.
Astounded at what I had just witnessed I jumped up and turned on the light blew out the candle and went to my mother.
"Mother" I asked "do we have Indians blood in us?"
"You do,” she said not turning away from her work in the kitchen.
"Its from your fathers side your Grandma Roy was Cherokee."
"You don't have any Indian blood in you?"
"No," she said "Your Grandpa Posey "Her Father my namesake " was half white though."
She went onto tell the story of how my great grand father had to take my grandfather and run for his life but it fell on unlistening ears for my mind was now filling with what other things could be done with mirrors.
My next "Calling Into The Mirror " was to be my last.
I had been thinking about what I had done and said to myself well you were looking into the flame of the candle so your vision was off and of course being of mixed bloods you would have features of all the bloods with in you, you may have just focused on each of these features as you were looking in the mirror that's all.
So I decided I would try something so different the next time as to leave no room for questioning.
The next time I did not use the candle but put a green Christmas light bulb into the Emeny and turned it so that the light would shine upon my face.
Like this I would not have my vision of the mirror obscured by the flame of the candle.
I again darkened the room and began to play the organ but this time saying only,
"Come to me, come to me, come to me..."
I deliberately did not put any image in my mind for I thought it might taint what I saw if I was to see anything at all.
I was swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, mainly because of the glare of the light in my face "Calling... Come to me... Come to me..."
When suddenly something banged the window, we lived on the tenth floor.
Then fell behind my brother Ralph’s bed and then in the closet across and to the left of me.
"They're here!" I thought as I sat up alert to what had just happened.
Then I thought, "Who's here?"
I looked to the mirror.
There outlined in green light was a face not my own.
It had one large glaring eye over a wide flat pointed nose over a down turned gapping mouth.
I screamed and threw the organ up into the air as I race for the door.
I pulled it open only to have it spring from my hands and slam shut.
"It's trying to get you!" I said to myself as I again grasped the doorknob and pulled the door but again it tried to spring out of my hand and shut but this time I would not let go.
As I stood there having this tug o war with the door it dawned on me, "Maybe if you got your foot out of the way of the door, it would open. Stupid!"
I looked down and it was my own foot that the door was hitting that caused it to rebound and slam shut.
That was the last time I called into the mirror.
It was to be in the early eighties that as I was reading the book called, "The Wounded Healer Shaman" that I came across a description of the creature I had seen in the mirror its name is Burgestez-Udagan.
The following definition is taken directly from the book "The Wounded Healer."
It is not my intention to infringe on any copy writes and I hope this does not cause me trouble.
I only use it to impress on any who may read this "the why" this should not be done by fools such as I was.
This wondrous creature places her charge in an iron cradle, rocks him, tends him, and brings him up on pieces of coagulated blood.
When he has attained proper age, his shaman mother turns him over to three horrific black and gaunt spirits who hack his flesh to pieces, place his head on a pole and scatter his flesh in all directions.
In my panic I had not " Closed the mirror " as I call it after that, that bedroom became a hot spot of activity in the house.
So much so that I demanded to be moved into another bedroom, which I was, but the activity followed me.
My bed would shake and tilt up on one leg, and swing about.
Thumping would come from with in the concrete wall by the window.
The six separate panes of the windows in the room would suddenly bang all at once in a way that can not be done physically with out breaking them.
Screwed on bottle tops would just start popping off like corks.
This continued for years and my mother just called it Butch's "my nickname" Ghost.
My father did not believe it until one night he went raging into the room because I was slamming the dresser draws, only to his amazement and terror find that I was not there.
In fact, that night I was staying at my Godfather Wilson's home in Queens.
This continued until I moved out some years later.
When my parents moved to Virginia I took over the apartment for a short time and heard it once or twice but would not sleep in the room.
I moved a month later and do not know if it is still there.
I do know that the paint on the wall where the knocking came from started to peel off it all the way down to the plaster.
To this day I still deal with poltergeist, and paranormal activity.
What I am to talk about here is not a game or something to be played around with to this day I feel I am still suffering repercussions from these very actions.
Maybe if I was raised in another culture I would have been able to realize the full potential of what I was allowed to experience but I was raised in this culture and can not understand why any would choose this as a path to walk.
I walked this one in ignorance and maybe what saved me was that I had no idea of what I was doing.
If however you choose to do this now after hearing of my experience then you do it willingly and your fate is of your own doing/undoing.
I submit it with hopes that their may have been others out there that may have had a similar encounter and will after reading this get in contact with me.
When I was about a year old I awoke to find myself alone in the house.
I know I was one at that time for my brother Ralph had not been born yet.
Finding myself alone in the house I decided I wanted to finally see what I looked like.
So I took off all my clothing and was jumping up and down on my parents’ bed trying to see what I looked like in the big mirror on the dresser across from their bed.
I had just made my third bound when I saw something in the mirror that confused me, and it was at that point I heard. "Muumuu you nasty little boy you stop that and put your clothes on!"
It was Mrs. Jones an old lady that lived across the way from us she had been watching me.
I did not know at that time that my mother had been called to school for an emergency and had asked her to watch me for she did not want to awaken me.
The combination of what I had seen in the mirror and Mrs. Jones scolding me from across the yard frightened me and I remember trying to put my clothes back on and having a hell of a time doing it being so young.
Thank goodness for that for it was my intention to leave the house and go in search of my mother.
But buttoning a shirt that was on inside out was more of a task than I thought it would be not to mention trying to tie the strings of shoes that were on the wrong feet.
Half zipped half buttoned I headed for the front door as I reached it, it opened and my mother came in.
I was so happy to see her that I forgot about what I had seen in the mirror.
It would be fifteen years later that I would again see that image that so frightened and confused me.
It was as I stepped from the shower I was sixteen and had pubic hair.
Now understand I had seen myself naked before then but it was just the way I looked at that one time that I recognized the image I had seen and I flashed back to that little boy bouncing on Mom and Pops bed.
Then as I thought about it I said, "Well if the mirror can show you the future can it also show you the past?
So I took the mirror in my bedroom and sat it on the night table and lit a candle and placed it in front of the mirror.
I had my brother Ralph’s Emeny organ on my lap and as I played an eerie piece of music I had written I looked fixedly on the flame of the candle while concentrating on the image beyond it in the mirror.
Now understand I know these days this is called "Scrying" but understand this is just something I just knew to do then.
In fact my term for it then and now is "Calling into the mirror."
As I repeatedly played the tune I said aloud "Show me my past, show me my past."
To my amazement the face that was mine became that of a Pilgrim a Native American and then an African and then returned to my face.
Astounded at what I had just witnessed I jumped up and turned on the light blew out the candle and went to my mother.
"Mother" I asked "do we have Indians blood in us?"
"You do,” she said not turning away from her work in the kitchen.
"Its from your fathers side your Grandma Roy was Cherokee."
"You don't have any Indian blood in you?"
"No," she said "Your Grandpa Posey "Her Father my namesake " was half white though."
She went onto tell the story of how my great grand father had to take my grandfather and run for his life but it fell on unlistening ears for my mind was now filling with what other things could be done with mirrors.
My next "Calling Into The Mirror " was to be my last.
I had been thinking about what I had done and said to myself well you were looking into the flame of the candle so your vision was off and of course being of mixed bloods you would have features of all the bloods with in you, you may have just focused on each of these features as you were looking in the mirror that's all.
So I decided I would try something so different the next time as to leave no room for questioning.
The next time I did not use the candle but put a green Christmas light bulb into the Emeny and turned it so that the light would shine upon my face.
Like this I would not have my vision of the mirror obscured by the flame of the candle.
I again darkened the room and began to play the organ but this time saying only,
"Come to me, come to me, come to me..."
I deliberately did not put any image in my mind for I thought it might taint what I saw if I was to see anything at all.
I was swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, mainly because of the glare of the light in my face "Calling... Come to me... Come to me..."
When suddenly something banged the window, we lived on the tenth floor.
Then fell behind my brother Ralph’s bed and then in the closet across and to the left of me.
"They're here!" I thought as I sat up alert to what had just happened.
Then I thought, "Who's here?"
I looked to the mirror.
There outlined in green light was a face not my own.
It had one large glaring eye over a wide flat pointed nose over a down turned gapping mouth.
I screamed and threw the organ up into the air as I race for the door.
I pulled it open only to have it spring from my hands and slam shut.
"It's trying to get you!" I said to myself as I again grasped the doorknob and pulled the door but again it tried to spring out of my hand and shut but this time I would not let go.
As I stood there having this tug o war with the door it dawned on me, "Maybe if you got your foot out of the way of the door, it would open. Stupid!"
I looked down and it was my own foot that the door was hitting that caused it to rebound and slam shut.
That was the last time I called into the mirror.
It was to be in the early eighties that as I was reading the book called, "The Wounded Healer Shaman" that I came across a description of the creature I had seen in the mirror its name is Burgestez-Udagan.
The following definition is taken directly from the book "The Wounded Healer."
It is not my intention to infringe on any copy writes and I hope this does not cause me trouble.
I only use it to impress on any who may read this "the why" this should not be done by fools such as I was.
This wondrous creature places her charge in an iron cradle, rocks him, tends him, and brings him up on pieces of coagulated blood.
When he has attained proper age, his shaman mother turns him over to three horrific black and gaunt spirits who hack his flesh to pieces, place his head on a pole and scatter his flesh in all directions.
In my panic I had not " Closed the mirror " as I call it after that, that bedroom became a hot spot of activity in the house.
So much so that I demanded to be moved into another bedroom, which I was, but the activity followed me.
My bed would shake and tilt up on one leg, and swing about.
Thumping would come from with in the concrete wall by the window.
The six separate panes of the windows in the room would suddenly bang all at once in a way that can not be done physically with out breaking them.
Screwed on bottle tops would just start popping off like corks.
This continued for years and my mother just called it Butch's "my nickname" Ghost.
My father did not believe it until one night he went raging into the room because I was slamming the dresser draws, only to his amazement and terror find that I was not there.
In fact, that night I was staying at my Godfather Wilson's home in Queens.
This continued until I moved out some years later.
When my parents moved to Virginia I took over the apartment for a short time and heard it once or twice but would not sleep in the room.
I moved a month later and do not know if it is still there.
I do know that the paint on the wall where the knocking came from started to peel off it all the way down to the plaster.
To this day I still deal with poltergeist, and paranormal activity.
Thank you for your time.
I don't want to believe. It's much better to know.