Paranormal or Just Weird?

Mother had a gift.  It was not something she was thrilled to own.  Mom had a way of seeing...seeing the future, foreseeing an event.  She had no name for it, used it when it helped, ignored it for entertainment.  Most people did not know she had it.  Mom claimed it must have come from her Cherokee side. 

I had hoped I inherited something from her other than her allergies.  I surely did not get her beautiful black hair and dark eyes.  I have the cheekbones.  I have the ability to tan.  I thought that was it, oh, and I have her little toes.  Things have happened through the years that make me rethink this.

I visited Savannah, Georgia, which is and shall remain one of my favorite places.  We visited many places but today is about Fort Pulaski.

Rich with history, this fort was our last stop of the day.  We toured the fort, the moats, the captain's quarters, the top of the fort, and the barrack's.  I was in a wonderful mood, with a good friend and having the time of my life. 

Upon entering the barracks, which had served as a prison (did not know this until later), I became filled with despair, starving, scared, cold, wishing I had never come, wanted to go home, any bad feeling you can have hit me like a sledge hammer. I walked slow and touched the walls and the feelings intensified.  What is this?  What is wrong with me? 

I left the area to go top side of the fort wall.  The feelings left!  Went back through again to be sure and these strange emotions hit again.  I said nothing.  On our way out, we could leave by a circular stairwell.  Belinda started down the stairs, I put one foot in and was so overwhelmed that I had to sit. I said I cannot go this way, meet you in the yard.

Later, when reading a book of Savannah history, I discovered these two places had also affected the author the same way. I was not giving any credit to the paranormal, just to my tiredness and desire to go home.  I thought, wow, this was me!  The stairwell had been the place of a suicide and the barracks had been full of Civil War prisoners.

I did not think of this much, just in passing, like the way you would be in awe of a beautiful sunset.

I thought of it again in Fort Smith when I visited Hell On The Border, the infamous jail.  I sat quietly testing my feelings, strange, I know.  I listened to the reenactment over the speakers and felt nothing.  I touched the floor, again, nothing. I walked around laying my hands on beams and walls and still nothing.  The last wall I touched was sensational.  Feelings of despair and deadly anger washed over me.  What is this?  So I touched everything again and the final wall produced the same results.

I toured the whole ground, felt nothing but was emmersed in the history of the place.  The commissary was next.  I walked in and stood where I imagined the people would stand to receive their supplies.  Emotions hit me again, but this time, they were good, hopeful, happy emotions.

I walked and enjoyed the whole park at Fort Smith.  I talked to the park ranger.  I said the jail does not have the original floor.  He asked how do you know?  I said simply, I felt it.  I said only one wall is original and he said which one, I told him and he said I can't believe you know that, nothing is posted.  The floors had to be replaced with the sidewalk stone from the city and the walls were rebuilt to look old during the renovation, only one wall was from the original jail.  He asks if I had been to the commissary and I said yes, it is all original and he confirmed, that was the only building completely original.

I visited the Brothel in Fort Smith too.  No emotional hits, except when I descended the staircase.  I felt very beautiful as if all eyes were on me and very happy.  When talking to the ladies there, I learned the staircase was from the original brothel.

Paranormal?  Sensitive?  Nutcase?  You decide.

I may have something to thank Mama for besides my Cherokee cheekbones.