Two Close Encounters

The room was dim, the kind of quiet that sinks into the walls and settles there. Eleanor and I sat close together, fingers moving bead by bead through the rosary. We were on the 39th Hail Mary when the air changed — not slowly, but all at once, like the whole world inhaled and held its breath.

Then she appeared.

A woman hovered above us, suspended in the stillness. Her robe was the color of midnight, so deep it seemed to swallow the light around it. Tiny stars shimmered across the fabric, flickering like a living sky. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She simply existed — silent, immense, undeniable.

Eleanor kept praying, unaware, her voice steady. I pretended not to see the figure, but my heart hammered against my ribs. The moment stretched long and heavy, unreal and unforgettable.

Years later, the memory would return with a strange familiarity — the presence felt like my mother, Medusa, Elizabeth Taylor, woven into something far older and far more mysterious.

But the story didn’t begin there.

Long before I ever saw anything, I heard things — whispers, movements, something just beyond the edge of sight. And then one day, a bright light tore open the air in front of me like a portal. Fear hit me so fast the opening snapped shut, closing like a door slammed by an invisible hand. I told myself that if it ever returned, I wouldn’t run.

And it did.

The second time, I stood my ground. The west wall of our kitchen split open with a soundless force, revealing a vast chamber beyond it — a sanctuary carved from stone, lined with six pillars on each side. Wind rushed out, stirring the room, carrying the scent of something ancient.

A woman hovered inside the chamber, arms outstretched. The tassels beneath her sleeves whipped in an unseen wind. Her hood cast her face in total darkness — not a void, but a presence, deep and unreadable.

Two beings. Both women. Both powerful.

I believed them to be the Holy Ghost and the Holy Spirit. Scripture says no one has seen God, yet what I saw felt real, intimate, overwhelming — something that reached beyond doctrine and into the marrow of my life.

Years later, I came to believe that the abyss itself — the Great Spirit — was my mother Rose. And suddenly, the visions, the portals, the women, the darkness, the light — all of it felt connected, like pieces of a story I had been living without realizing it.

A story still unfolding.