Ghosts of Seattle

Ghosts in Room 421

 I won't say where the hotel was because I loved it so much, and some people are really afraid to go where there 'might come a ghost,'  but it was near the water.  Who needs ghost hunting apparatus when you have me sitting on top of some running water?  

  I was so excited about my arrival at the hotel I started snapping iPhone pictures all over the place.  I didn't look at the pictures untill  two days later when I came back from the Olympic Mountains. When I did, I saw this:

-- A woman holding a baby in her arms with clear white eyes glowing from the sockets, peers from the center of the picture.  There was no portrait inside of this picture--it was only trees.  The round image is simply a relfection of a cosmetic mirror on the otherside of the room.  When we studied this photo closer, other ghostly figures of children can be seen in the background.

  I feel this woman's spirit was waiting for her husband to come home accross waters and he never made it alive.

To the right, I caught a man in a cap forming out of the lamp, reaching out with his hand.  Perhaps he is the missing fellow lost at sea?  Every photo I took in this bathroom had a deformity.  I'm only posting these two, however.  I wanted some time away from the shop, but I was surprised my ghostly people.

  I wrote to some ghost societies in Washington and asked if they knew of any legends about these people.  I went down to the manager's desk of the hotel and they said they'd not  heard of any hauntings in the hotel.  I told them they have some pretty gnarly spooks up there and someone should sage, pray, reunite them...something.  They were astounded but they took me very seriously.  

  The next day I went out on a boat to Tillicum Village and seen this carving:

 A woman holding a baby with expressionless eyes--a haunting image of my apparition.  I asked the Indians, but they didn't seem to know what the statue really stood for.  

  After I returned from my trip I received numerous calls on my cell phone with a Seattle number in which calls could not be returned.  I even received a voice mail with eerie white noise.  

  I had an extraordinary and magical journey there.  Even though these ghosts were unsettling and difficult for me to comprehend why I had seen them, they added to the atmosphere of things and I think I would have been nearly disappointed had something very extraordinary not occurred on this trip. Seattle was full with spirits and all kind of energies.  I loved it, but I feel sad I could not really help these souls or know what they wanted from me.  Everyone else I know felt they merely came up to have a look and were bothered by my being there.  I believe they wanted something from me.  I will return to room 421 some day for another visit.  I would like to learn more about the Indians that live in the area and explore some of the legends.

  I didn't see any vampires or werewolves while in Seattle or Forks, I am sad to report.  I had to come back to Texas for these guyswink.

  But....there really is a meadow of purple flowers in Forks:

  Pretty cool, folks.




Below is an article I wrote about my trip:

                   A Journey To Seattle:  A Life Changing Trip Remembered

  I was not going to die after all.  This was all I could think as a watched the Washington landscape emerge below the white, jutting wing of the plane as it approached the runway.

  I had been diagnosed with malignancies and cancer announced to me in a certified letter November of 2011.  The report had been wrong, discovered on the second time around with doctors reviewing lab results, shaking their heads, not certain how they had made such error.  My elevated white blood cell count had been the result of emotional stress on the job, and the small cysts were merely benign bubbles due to my severe endocrinological disorder.  When I learned this, I immediately began planning a trip to a place I had been eyeing online for three years: Seattle, Washington.

  Clouds gave birth to the ground below as I peered out the plane window, and the first thing I noted were the story-book fir trees spotting the modest hills, some places dense with them, other patches sparse.

  The sun streamed over the ground and played a strobe-light effect on my eyes when the plane touched down with a thud, and I felt the elation of accomplishing a goal even though my trip had only started.  I’d never been to the west coast before, but had always wanted to visit.  I received an e-mail ad from XXXXX Resorts because I’d made an inquiry about Little Palm Island.  The ads just kept coming—it was a funny thing—for XXXXX Hotel.  Each ad displayed these cozy rooms with fireplaces, elegant yet rustic décor.  Logwood beds with plaid comforters and Native American design carpeted floors, natural stone showers in contrast with crystal chandeliers in parts of the hotel made this a unique and alluring place to stay.  The hotel is built on a pier and sprawls out atop the pacific bay.

  I’d scheduled many adventures within my adventure, meticulously planned and organized over my six day stay, but the most life altering one was the fifteen hour tour of the Olympic Peninsula. I boarded a min-bus with eight other souls plus the tour guide.  I had an idea what I would see, but didn’t know how it would transport me to a reality of beauty, mystery, secrets and spiritual evolution.

  The revelation unfolded when the bus parked on the ferry, which then started across the bay toward the Olympic Mountains.  I went on deck and kept snapping photographs as the mountains became closer, more visible.  The banks were populated with the fir trees I had seen earlier, along with quaint little stone cottages that might have belonged in the story “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.” Later I learned there had been many Dutch involved in developing this area, and that is precisely what these structures reflected—an old world European charm. They were all in neutral, modest color tones with high peaked gables and chimneys. 

  The air was moist, damp, chilly, and very oddly ‘spongy.’ I felt like the atmosphere around me was soaked with moisture, about to drip at any moment.  Later on my tour of the Hoh rainforest I learned that to be true by virtue that the forest was designed by nature to pull the water down out of the clouds.

  Ancient mountains were closer now; no longer just on the horizon, but towering before me like cold, stone gods of a long forgotten world, caps of fresh night snow on their omniscient heads. My spirit drank in all their power and strength as they greeted me on arrival at the banks of the peninsula.  It was at this time I was changed within from a person battered by threats of the Reaper to a person regenerated, evolved.

  Clouds were expected in this part of the country, but there were none that day.  Sunlight and clear blue skies gave way to the scenic atmosphere of mountains and forests, and I put away my raincoat when once we landed on the other side of the banks.  A vast green countryside with an occasional farmhouse stretched out from the bus’ window view.  Scottish broom plants of bright yellow were imported to give the otherwise emerald land spots of spring color, and a few rhododendrons in fuchsia, white and purple lit up the two lane road which constantly snaked around the mountainous terrain.  Going deeper into the headland, larger farms with fat, shiny horses grazing or robust cattle herding in meadows offered tranquil displays of life in this region.  Tiny towns at cross roads came up from time to time along the way as the route headed for Crescent Lake. 

  My soul awakened to a brief stop at an intersection and I quickly snapped a photo with my iPhone.  Something about that brief spot drew out this long quieted memory of truth and beauty which can be expressed only in a moment of great inspiration or dreams.  The broom plants nodded their heads along a meager hilltop, tiny white flowers skirted the roadside and their blooms praised a cloudless, bright sky above.  The road split and trailed off to the left where each side was bookended by the two small hills, making what seemed to be a beckoning entry to another world.  Off in the distance the god-mountains stood, only this time their white capped heads could not be clearly defined; they were dressed in majestic, dark purple. 

  In that single moment I reflected on so many inspirations I had held dear to me and had forgotten during the daily struggles of my feverish life.  Silenced muses yawned and awakened from the graves of my mind, all resurrected, revived, refreshed and ready to bring creative influences back into my life again.  Somehow, a great part of my spirit was healed from the drudgery of commonness of daily life. 

  I experienced much more on my journey than merely these short samples, but these were the beginnings of a life changing experience.  Thereafter, I have been reminded to take time to contemplate the simplest joys of life: A sunny day, a perfect bloom, a calm, moonlit night.  

 This material and photographs are under copyright 2012.