First Days Outside the Monastery #6 – A Ghostly Encounter


Do you like visiting quaint old English villages?

The United Kingdom is full of such little towns… beautiful and picturesque old market towns, still with their original buildings often dating back as much as 500 years.

Full of character and history, these villages make up a part of the rich heritage of the UK. The old traditional buildings give a glimpse into the past, of how the way of life was back in those days. For most people it is a delightful experience to walk among the ancient streets and narrow alleyways of these charming towns.

Not so for me! At least not the first time I went out for a walk through the old Market Town where I was was staying with my mother.

This town is like any other typical old English town with its black and white oak-beam houses crookedly overhanging the cobbled streets. But instead of seeing just picturesque old buildings I was sensing a rather frightening mix of ghoulish energies from the past.

The same heightened sensitivity that made me so fascinated with the paintings in my mothers house, now left me wide open to hundreds of years of the comings and goings of so many strange characters from the history of this town.

It started with my first walk as I decided to go out for a stroll through the town centre. My mother’s house is a 15 minute walk to the centre, and the first curious thing I noticed were the scars in the pavements left behind by previous roadworks. There were different shapes and changes in the colour of concrete where the pavements had been dug up, probably to repair pipes or cables, and later re-sealed. I noticed that when I gave my attention to these details I instantly had recollections of the work men and machinery that had carried out these works. The incredible thing is that I wasn’t there at the time, and yet I still had what seems like a memory of it. I could almost see the work men in their florescent jackets, I could hear them talking and shouting, and I could hear the sound of the machinery, and feel the pounding of the road-drills.

Well that was curious, I thought, as I continued towards the town centre. But then I passed by the first of the old historic buildings in the center and I had quite a shock. I was approaching a very old building which I believe dates back to around the 1600’s. It was a single story cottage that stretched out along the length of the high street maybe about 200 or 300 meters long. Externally it looked quite pretty with it’s ancient red-tiled roof, slightly warped from hundreds of years of weather. The walls were of the original red bricks, now somewhat discoloured, looking like a mottled mosaic of browns, oranges and reds. In the middle of the building was a low archway leading through to a cloister within, of which only a little could be glimpsed from the road. Small white-framed windows were interspersed along the front face of the cottage. I don’t know much about the building… I think it is today a pensioners’ residence, but perhaps in the past may have been a monastic cloister.

As I approached the building from afar I innocently glanced up at it and immediately had an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding. Walking closer and closer, a growing feeling of despair began to creep over me. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I wanted to stop and not go any closer, but with the other passers by on the street I thought I would attract attention and look like a crazy guy. So I just continued, half thinking that I must be imagining things.

As I drew up level with the building I had the impression that I was walking into a thick bubble of gelatinous energy surrounding this ancient structure. The air here seemed heavy and cold. I had to make an extra effort to move against the resistance, almost like walking through water.

Now I could see and hear things as if I were recollecting some vague memory. I could feel, almost “remember”, a lot of people coming and going. I could hear a clamour of voices as people passed in and out of the cloister through the archway. At first it was just a mix of noise and impressions, not particularly pleasant, but fairly harmless as they went about their business.

In spite of the uncomfortable feeling I was intrigued by why I was experiencing and decided to take a closer look at the building. Now I was right in front of the main entrance, only a low brick wall separating me from the archway. I laid my hand on the brick of the wall, which seemed also to be an original part of the structure.

In that moment of physical contact the gates of my perception were suddenly thrown wide open. A rush of energy in the form of intense emotions crashed over me. Shouting out at me from the past came all the anger, resentment, bitterness, frustrations, and malicious intentions of numerous souls that had obviously had a terrible life in that place. I could not distinguish individual words or faces, but I could feel so much negative intent… like someone intending to commit a murder, or suicide. I could feel the fear and anger of more than one person that had died in that place, and their bitterness was so strong it seemed to be holding them to that building like a chain. It seemed that they would never leave that place until they had exacted their revenge or at least had obtained some sort of justice for what they had suffered. I shuddered at the touch of all this depressing energy being generated by these tormented and fettered souls.

I snatched my hand away from the brick wall, and quickly walked away from that place. Now I desperately needed to switch on my protection against those vibrations. I did this by bringing to mind my destination, my objective of where I wanted to go… which in this case was the main shops in the centre. By doing this I found that my sensitivity was withdrawn from my external surroundings, and with a sort of “tunnel vision” I could block out all those crazy impressions swirling around this town.

As I proceeded through the town centre I could feel more of those vibrations associated with other old buildings, and I could feel that they were equally unpleasant. But this time I kept them locked out of my tunnel vision as I headed purposefully towards the shops.

How remarkable it was that this was the town I grew up in, playing in the streets here as a child, totally oblivious to the kinds of energies that lived here. Only now after more than a decade of training my senses had I become aware of what kind of ghostly things lurk around ancient buildings.

I wonder how much these vibrations affect the people that live and work in these places, unaware of what is swirling around them all the time. Well with this experience I had improved with my skill of blocking out those energies and protecting myself from being drained by all that depressing feeling.

If you want to read the previous posts in this series about leaving the monastery CLICK HERE.

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Photo credit: Whitby Abbey in the Mist© by Darren Flinders






2 responses to “First Days Outside the Monastery #6 – A Ghostly Encounter”

  1. Hi Jamie,

    I’ve just read your article, and it’s great to discover that somebody else has had similar experiences concerning phantom presences.

    I’ve always been hypersensitive to old buildings, places. I use clairsentience to understand what as happened in particular places through time and space.
    I love museums and art galleries, however, there are not many that I would willingly enter, because of the hypersensitivity.

    It’d be interesting to hear more about your experiences sometime.

    1. Hey there Anamsound,

      Yes, I suspect that this type of experience is more common than one might think. Possibly people are somewhat reluctant to talk about such things for fear of others not believing them. I’ve never heard of the term “clairsentience” although I can imagine what it means in relation to clairvoyance and clairaudience, etc. Thank you for sharing your thoughts here.

      For sure it would be great to have a dialogue with you about these matters. If you get in touch with me via the “Contact” page we can exchange email.

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