One of Nelson Farley’s hobbies is ghostbusting. There have probably been more ghosts in his house than in any haunted house; but most of them weren’t haunting, just visiting. This hobby inspired the license plates on his two Cadillac Sevilles: GOSBUSTR on the yellow ’83, and GSTBSTR on the blue ’85.
In the early 1990’s, my girlfriend’s son, Eric, taped a documentary on ghosts for me. One incident involved the Cabot, an American pocket carrier during World War II.
After the war, San Diego used the Cabot as a floating museum. One young woman, after touring this museum, reported that it was haunted by a young American sailor.
During a battle in 1942, the Cabot was hit by a kamikaze. The Cabot returned to service after repairs and finished out the war. It appeared the museum’s ghost died in the kamikaze attack.
By the time I got Eric’s tape, I had been educated by owners of haunted houses: leave their ghosts undisturbed. But I could still sit in my Hilton home on Hopkins Street and do what needed doing. The procedure is simple: I pray and then alter my state of consciousness by meditation. I ask my guides to bring me the haunting soul so I can talk to him. The talk is based on the summary of the law which Jesus cited as the two greatest commandments: You are to love God with all your heart, mind, strength, and soul and to love your neighbor as yourself. Those are three requirements really: love God, neighbor and self, I then explain why haunting is a hindrance to each of the three. It is important to first acknowledge the soul’s predicament, as best you know it. It is also helpful to remind them this is an invitation, and not a command. At the end, I ask them to look around for whomever they want as a guide and to go to the light with them, and then I bless them on their way.
As I finished my discourse, I saw the starboard side of a carrier with about two hundred men looking over the side at me. Many of these men were manning antiaircraft guns. They were smiling, but I was offended. ‘”Why were you hiding? I would have been there for you, too!” They didn’t reply, although I believe they understood. I did not understand: They were not hiding but welcoming their friend home from the war.
As I came out of meditation to the awareness of my room, I saw another man standing in the doorway to my small room. He was about 5′ 10″, and might have weighed 145 pounds if dripping wet. He wore a pilots’ uniform, complete with goggles, but no parachute. Only one country in World War II did not equip their pilots with parachutes, “Would you-please do for me what you just did for him?” He was shy and polite; not a warrior on a deadly mission, but a likable young man. I would, but first I asked my guides to see if there were any more like him. When I finished this second séance, I saw a second pilot. This one was short, stocky, confident, and seemed very much in charge of the situation. Certainly, this was the guide. He had three Zeros, in the early-war gray; and a second young pilot just as tall and skinny as the first. The slim one opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth: he was speechless. The message was clear though, and I liked it. The last thing I saw was the three warbirds flying off to their spiritual destination.