CAN YOU FEEL YOUR ROOTS

Sorry there was no blog last week.  We were sick with a virus!  Well . . . my computer was, and had to go “in hospital” for several days.  As when that happens, there is always rehabilitation needed at home afterwards.  My “favorites bar” was missing.  The pages I go to for two extra email accounts that I use were not in evidence.  It took several days to get everything back to normal.  We are now recuperating nicely, thank you very much.

Can you Feel Your Root s ?

I am a believer in psychic energy.  I believe that there are all kinds of information “out there” in the universe, floating around, just waiting on us to pick up on it.  A long time ago, for many years, I was a member of a wonderfully interesting group of people who met each week to explore the many phases of ESP, what is now called “the paranormal.”  Now there are scads of programs on TV delving into the realms of paranormal diversities.  Today the paranormal is almost normal.  But back then, we were the “outcasts”, the oddballs; people rolled their eyes when we talked about what we had experienced.  We ignored them and went right on having a marvelous time exploring the edges of “normal.”

But during that time, I experienced things, saw things, was involved in things that made me KNOW what I KNOW.  I am uniquivitely not intimidated by skeptics who wish to argue about things which they have neither seen nor experienced.  After all, it would be the same thing as me arguing with a nuclear physicist about nuclear fission which I know nothing about!  And I know that there is a lot more in this world than our mind lets us see.  There is more to reality than our conscious brain wants us to know.

But, getting to GENEALOGY, my open mindedness on this subject makes me wonder sometimes if we really feel things, know things, hear the faint whispers which are all around us.  As if our ancestors are reaching out to us, steering us to information we are searching for.  Is it psychological or physical?  I don’t know.  But it happened when I just knew that Catherine Wentz was my Catherine (see blog Butterfly Whispers from the Past  dated June 28th.)  And I always felt that my great, great grandfather, Josiah Haywood (who never came home from the Civil War and none of the family knew why) was leading me on to find him on the bloody battlefield of Bentonville. 

I have had these feelings over and over again through the years.  Before I discovered my great grandfather, Benton Haywood, my extended family did not know anything beyond 1850 Union-/Mecklenburg Counties as our HAYWOOD origins.  Then I found Benton across the Catawba River in Lincoln County in 1830.  “Who knew!”  This is really my “main” line, the only one that does not go back into the sixteen or seventeen hundreds.  It is my “brick wall,” and really needs researching.  When I decided to retire and return to North Carolina, where did I settle down?  Down on the coast where I grew up, where my sister still lives?  On the east side of Charlotte where all my lines of relatives still live?  NO!  Something led me to the west side of Charlotte where I was right next door to Lincoln County.  It made for easy researching this part of the state when I am trying to take Benton back further to possibly link him with SAMUEL HAYWARD, Anson Co, 1755.  Where Samuel received four land grants is now right in what became Lincolnton, Lincoln Co, NC, on the south side of the South Fork (of the Catawba River) on a creek called Fisher’s Creek before Samuel arrived, and Howard’s Creek ever after.  (As you know Haywood, Hayward, and Howard were completely interchangeable back then.  I believe the creek was named for Samuel, and towards 1800 some people were even calling it Haywood’s Creek.)  I have the same feeling about Samuel that I had about Catherine.  I just know he is mine.  I just have to prove it.

I had these same feelings the first time I arrived in Paris.  I have always been fascinated by all things French.  I have no explanation for this.  There is no French in my family, no connections of any kind.  However my whole family knows that when presented with something French  I become completely unglued.  It can be home décor, food, theater, history – WHATEVER – completely unglued.  I began teaching myself French years before I was finally able to go to the Sorbonne in Paris for a “summer” class in French Language and Culture.  I have seen Les Miz 6 or 7 times.  When it comes time in the production for those students (rebels) who are getting ready for the great battle on the next day to march across the stage, waving that huge red flag, the tears just roll down my face, and I am completely undone.  No matter how many times I see it, I know it is coming, it still happens.  I feel like I have a personal connection with those people demonstrating against the unfeeling monarchy, and about to die.  The first time I arrived in Paris, on a bus with a tour group, just off the ferry in Calais, we came into town on the Peripherique, the auto route encircling Paris.  We were slightly higher up than the city which sits in a small bowl.  I was looking down on Paris.  It looked familiar.  I felt as if I knew it.  I felt as if I were coming home.  I knew the city.  I have no explanation.  It just WAS! 

It leads me to believe that at some time in the past, I was French, I lived in Paris, I knew those people.  Another little bit of “knowing” sifting through time and space.  A connection.  A connection to Catherine.  A connection to Josiah.  A connection to Samuel.  When you get those little nudges, a feeling of “knowing” that overtakes you, don’t turn it off.  Don’t disregard it.  If you do that long enough, they will stop sending you whispers.  Butterfly whispers from the past.

Remember

I would like to know what you think about all this.  Please send me a Comment telling me about your experiences with the whispers!

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