>I will be silent on 9/11

Posted by Jessica Jewett 4 Comments »

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Tomorrow is the ninth anniversary of the worst attack on America in our history. I have been extremely bothered by the amount of hatred and partisan sniping that I have seen in the last few weeks leading up to the anniversary. True, the hatred and partisan sniping has been an undercurrent within our culture since the moment the first plane struck the World Trade Center, but it has become so venomous in the last few weeks that I’m losing hope in the American people. The unity we displayed in the weeks after the attacks is but a distant memory. Us vs Them is the way things are once again.

I was able to tune out most of the negativity until Reverend Terry Jones in Florida decided to hold a rally on 9/11 in which the Qur’an would be burned. My immediate reaction upon hearing that was to say, “I’m ashamed to be a Christian sometimes. Shall we reinstate burning people at the stake? How about passing the Malleus Maleficarum through Congress too! Way to go, America…” A few people spoke to me about taking a stand and how Islam hates America and so forth. I find it horrifying that this alleged modern, enlightened society will so willingly condemn and persecute an entire group of people with the enthusiasm of a Puritan witch hunt for the unspeakable crimes of a small sect. I was told that Islam principles teach that if you are not Islamic, you are condemned because it’s the only way. I find it ironic that Christians are saying that with upturned noses when I was just told by a Christian a few weeks ago that my beliefs aren’t real because, “Jesus Christ is the only true way.” How can so-called Christians hate Islam so much when there are just as many radical Christians willing to commit terrorist acts and kill people for their misguided convictions? What about Christians slaughtering millions of Native Americans and believing it was their God-given right because Native Americans were heathens? Pot, meet kettle.

I have become so weary of people fighting and killing each other over religion because everybody believes their religion is the only right one. The fact of the matter is nobody can prove they’re more right than anyone else when they can’t even prove that God exists at all. I don’t believe anyone is more right than anyone else when it comes to religion and I believe that God weeps for people who kill in His name. God is love. God is not murder. I’m weary. I’m so exhausted by all of the we’re right and they’re wrong attitude. I wouldn’t be so tired and angry about the Christian vs Islam fight if both sides weren’t so dead set in the, “I’m right and you’re wrong,” attitudes. Every religious group on this planet has nut jobs. What about Christians blowing up abortion clinics and killing innocent people? What about Hitler and his henchmen killing six million Jews in World War II? America has always needed bad guys to hunt. Right now the torches and pitchforks are pointed at anybody who looks remotely Arabic even though the vast majority had nothing to do with the 9/11 attacks. But please, by all means, let’s burn the Qur’an and hate all of them because they all look scary now.

I take serious offense to the anti-Islamic movement in this country at the moment. I live with a Muslim and I know many others. Not one of them has a desire to hurt a fly. Don’t judge an entire race or religion until you get to know them personally, understand what they’ve been through, and realize that you’re more alike than you think. Radical Muslims distorting their religion to kill thousands are not the same as normal everyday Muslins, just like radical Christians distorting their religion to kill thousands are not the same as normal everyday Christians.

I’m frustrated by the lack of healing in the nine years since over 2,000 people were killed. Look at the faces in this picture. They should be the focus of tomorrow’s anniversary, not prolonging the human weakness of hatred. I have dedicated my life to helping humanity grow in spirituality, doing my best in the last decade to teach such basic principles of the soul: Generosity, Tolerance, Honesty and Self-Appreciation. These principles are not “religious” but spiritual, which is higher than any divided religion. As much as I’ve worked, as much as I’ve tried to touch as many lives as possible, I look at things like the war still raging over 9/11 and I become disillusioned, thinking the human race really hasn’t made any progress at all. We have the best technology, the best medicine, people are living longer than ever, yet our attitudes about religion and going on these witch hunts are so very medieval that it makes me wonder if we’re ever going to evolve.

I have thought long and hard about how I will spend the ninth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. The majority will be vocal, making a lot of noise about various political agendas. Some will go on about conspiracy theories and try to expose the “truth”. A few radicals will burn the Qur’an as if it will accomplish anything beyond plunging the sword of hatred further into the collective heart. I will do none of these things. I have elected to spend the anniversary in silent contemplation from sunrise until sunset. I will not use Facebook or Twitter. I may not even use the computer at all. I will meditate and I will reflect on what 9/11 has really taught me and I can only do that if I shut out the noise of everyone yelling at everyone else. Not only that but I will use the silence to read and think ahead about how I can further teach people in the way that I have been for years. I want to realize how else I can be of a meaningful addition to this society. Life is not to be wasted. If the victims of 9/11 had their lives back again, how do you think they would be changed by their murders? I suspect they would use the gift of life to make the world a better place.

What really matters? Political agendas or the 2,000+ mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, Christians, Muslims, Jews, etc., who lost their lives that day? If you were going to die tomorrow, what would matter to you? I suspect politics, hatred and bitterness would fall at the wayside. I am an American. I am a Christian. I refuse to perpetuate hate. Any true Christian knows that God teaches love, not hate. Any true Christian knows that it is God’s law to love thy neighbor as thyself and to judge not lest ye be judged. I encourage everyone to consider these ideas tomorrow instead of spewing venom.

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>The Haunting at Oak Alley Plantation

Posted by Jessica Jewett 2 Comments »

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Most people probably recognize Oak Alley Plantation in Vacherie, Louisiana, as the macabre home of Louis du Pointe du Lac in the film Interview with the Vampire. When I was younger, I remember seeing that film for the first time and thinking it was too beautiful to be real. It had to have been a creation of the set designers to fulfill the image that Anne Rice created of Louis and Lestat’s time together on that old eighteenth century plantation. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate Brad Pitt before he got saddled with fourteen kids and Vampiria for a life partner (tongue firmly planted in cheek!).

Still with me? Don’t forget to breathe. There you go. In, out, in, out. Good. On with my story…. Many years later, I found out that the “Pointe du Lac” plantation was not just a place created for a vampire movie. The plantation was real and it had a few ghost stories of its own worthy of Hollywood.

In the earliest days of Louisiana, a man planted two rows of oak trees that led to the Mississippi River. The land changed hands several times over the years until the Roman family purchased it and began building the plantation house in 1837. The Romans came to Louisiana from old French nobility and became very prominent people in the Creole community. Creoles were people born in Louisiana to European parents and they generally looked down on Americans, thinking they had no manners or decorum, and these Creoles tended to stick to each other. They were rather strict with their society rules.

It is said the main source of the ghostly activity at Oak Alley came from these strict Creole society rules. A girl by the name of Louise Roman grew up on the plantation and she was every bit the proper Creole girl who wanted a good Creole husband. One night, a suitor came to call on her but he’d enjoyed too much alcohol before he got there and his drunken condition deeply offended her. There are a couple of versions of this story but she either ordered him out of the house and turned to run back upstairs, or the drunken suitor attempted to kiss her and she turned to run back upstairs. A terrible accident happened. Louise tripped on her long dress on the way up the stairs and either suffered a compound leg fracture or the iron hoops under her skirt left a huge laceration on her leg (that part of the story varies too). She was taken to bed and eventually gangrene set in on her leg and it had to be amputated. After that, she considered herself damaged goods and was so scarred by the accident that she left Oak Alley to become a nun in St. Louis.

Many people over the years have reported seeing a lady in black wander the house. Many believe this is Louise. Other people have reported feeling anxiety and the sensation of falling on the staircase as well. Here are several stories reported by the Oak Alley staff:

Upon closing the house one evening following a private function, Denise Becnel, assistant house manger, her daughter, Kaysha and tour guides Connie Donadieu and Billie Jo Bourgeois, were surprised to notice that the lamp in what is referred to as the lavender room was still on. The four ladies each remembered clearly that all but security system illumination had been turned off prior to their leaving the house and heading toward the parking lot. As they stood looking up in bewilderment at the light shining from the lavender room windows, they saw the shadowy figure of a lady closely resembling photos they had often seen of Mrs. Stewart, last resident owner of Oak Alley, gazing down at them from her pleasant bedroom lookout. Denise had no more asked, “What’s that?”, when the upstairs gallery lamps blinked once. That was enough! All four took off toward their cars and lost no time in exiting the plantation grounds. Not until they were passing by the alley on River Road did they look at the house and saw to their amazement that all windows were dark and everything was as it should be.

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Juliette Temple, tour guide, saw a figure seated on one of the beds in the lavender room and, on another occasion, had an encounter in the kitchen area with a ghostly man in gray wearing boots.

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Helen Dumas and Theresa Harrison, tour guides and family retainers for many years, claimed they often felt and heard “things,” not the least of which was the sight of billowing dust and the clear sound of a horse drawn carriage driving up one of the plantation gravel roads, but nothing ever materialized.

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Louise Borne, office worker, claimed to have seen empty chairs rocking in unison, things moved from table and desk tops, and both she and Peggy Rodrigue, tour guide and restaurant assistant, attest to the phenomena of the clip-clop of an invisible horse drawn carriage, and the sound of crying from somewhere in the mansion.

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Then there was the time that a candlestick flew across the room during a tour conducted by guide, “Petesy” Dugas. This baffling occurrence was witnessed by some 35 Gray Line bus passengers who were visiting Oak Alley.

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This is a video someone put together of the tour the plantation gives. You can see the staircase where Louise Roman fell when the people are all going upstairs and then again where the tour guide talks about the meaning of pineapples to nineteenth century planter etiquette. Please ignore the awful costumes the tour guides are wearing. They are not at all accurate for the nineteenth century period! The tour guide also sounds a little robotic to me too but Oak Alley has so much tourist traffic that the guides must work very hard.

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>The Demise of Claude

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Since I have to teach people methods of self-hypnosis and meditation, I decided to go through a refresher session with myself last night before I went to bed. That’s the only time when the house is quiet enough for me to do that sort of thing. I’m a big believer in practice what you preach and I wanted to be sure I was getting the steps right before I taught more people since I haven’t done self-hypnosis in quite a while. I really didn’t expect anything substantial out of it just because I’m so out of practice. At most, I expected to experience some relaxation and the sensation of being re-energized. That’s the main reason why I engage in self-hypnosis and meditation, not for more past life memories. I have enough of those and I’ve made peace with most of it. These days my work with helping other people make peace with their past troubles keeps me occupied and it actually helped me in making peace with most of the past things that were haunting me. I certainly didn’t expect to go through a new memory from my past through my experimental self-hypnosis last night but I did.

In the eighteenth century, I lived in France. Paris and the surrounding area, to be exact. I have pieced together several events and identified members of my soul group over the years from that life, although my nineteenth century past life has always taken precedence because it’s well-documented. I can’t prove the eighteenth century past life without learning French again and digging through scattered historical French records. A lot of it was lost in the Revolution too. Frankly, I don’t feel the need to go to great lengths to prove a life existed when I already endured that grueling process with Fanny Chamberlain for the last twelve years. I know myself well enough now to recognize when I’m experiencing legitimate past life recall and when I’m not. Proof is for other people. The experiences are for me and the growth of my own soul.

Very rarely do I talk about my life in France because parts of it were so traumatic that they caused phobias in this life; namely, loud crowds, the dark, things around my neck, and most weaponry. Most people only know the basic bare bones story, which is that I was the youngest daughter in a low-ranking noble family and we were all executed among thousands of others in the Reign of Terror. I was executed a few weeks after the Queen, I think, but I’m not sure the time is correct. That’s the thing about past life puzzles. They just don’t come with a time stamp. You can see why I don’t enjoy talking about it openly though. The people who know the details are trusted enough that I know they’re not going to talk about it.

I had a father who worked in what I believe was in the financial department of the French government. I had a mother and an uncle as well, me being closer to my uncle than both of my parents. I had an older sister (waving to said sister who knows who she is!) who spent most of her time that I remember lobbying for her marriage to a man by the name of Claude. I don’t know a lot about him other than the fact that he wore a uniform for something like being a guard or some kind of military associated with the royal residences. They were crazy in love with each other but for whatever reason, our father stalled the engagement for years. Maybe he was hoping she would marry above herself instead. I don’t know. I do know that there was a lot of resentment toward him from her.

So last night when I set myself up for the self-hypnosis, I wasn’t thinking about that lifetime at all. I was actually thinking about trying to relieve some pain I’ve been feeling in my right hip. It was supposed to be just a simple trip in and out of the meditation state and then I was going to send the lesson out to the people who needed it.

Deep into the session, I felt very relaxed and pleased with myself that I managed to talk myself out of feeling so much pain (mind over matter does work). A hazy image started to take shape of a doorway with heavily detailed white molding at the top, and as I looked through the doorway, the images got clearer of a man speaking seriously to my sister and my mother standing off to the side behind her. My sister wore a sort of dark sage green dress. I remember that clearly because I really liked the color. She had a full face and a body like the women you see in Botticelli paintings, meaning she wasn’t a skinny girl like I was but she would have been considered a beauty in those days. I remember her cheeks and lips were plump. Maybe I noticed it because I wanted to look more like her. I don’t know.

I came into the room and I thought her color looked bad like she was sick. The man handed her a document and she started to cry while she read it. She saw me at that point and shouted (in French), “They murdered my Claude!” She fell on her knees and let out this horrifying, guttural scream. I approached her and put my arms around her. I distinctly remember feeling the fabric of her dress in my hand and the way her skin felt when I kissed the side of her face. She was completely rigid and I had to pull her to me because the sound of her crying was difficult to take without trying to pacify her.

The thing that tells me that this was a real past life memory is quite simple: in this present life, I can’t use my hands. I don’t know what the texture of embroidered silk feels like in my hand, nor do I know what curly hair feels like, or another person’s face, or anything like that, yet I experienced those things in the self-hypnosis session as if it was an everyday occurrence. Had it been a flight of fancy or a random dream, I would not have experienced the physical sensations associated with hands because I don’t use my hands at all now. This classifies as evidence of knowledge previously unknown to the person experiencing the past life memory. It is a legitimate form of evidence.

As far as I can surmise, Claude met his end sometime in what’s known as the September Massacres. A lot of other little things pieced together tell me that memory took place close to the end of my life. In September of 1792, I only had about a year left to live. I can’t say it with certainty but I believe Claude was working in or around either Versailles or the Tuileries at the time of his death. I believe hundreds of people were massacred at Versailles on September 9, so that is a contender for the point at which he was killed. My sister spent the last year of her life, as far as I can tell, living like a zombie. I think she wanted to die when her time came, although only she could tell me what was in her mind and heart for certain. I don’t think I knew Claude that well but nobody should have died that way.

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