PARANORMAL AND PSYCHIC HAPPENINGS: May 2017

Thursday 18 May 2017

REAL ANGELS FLYING OVER ENGLAND PHOTOGRAPH

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REAL ANGEL TAKES SOUL AT CAR CRASH SCENE USA PHOTO

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REAL GHOST OF A BUDDHIST MONK NEPAL

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REAL LIFE ANGELS USA PHOTOGRAPH

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THE GHOSTS OF TURKEY

Paranormal and psychic happeningsHome » Reference and Education » Paranormal Join Sign in EzineArticles - Expert Authors Sharing Their Best Original Articles Custom Search Search Trent Rockwood Basic Author | 3 Articles Joined: June 21, 2006 United States Greek Ghosts of Turkey By Trent Rockwood | Submitted On June 21, 2006 Recommend Article Article Comments Print Article Few times in my life have I so physically felt the collective void of a people vanished, the expectant silence that hangs over the empty houses of a missing population. Once was while wandering through the empty barracks at the Dachau concentration camp in Germany, and the other, walking through the largest and best preserved ghost town in all of Asia minor – Kayakoy, Turkey. Once a thriving Greek village, this town of over one thousand houses, two churches, fourteen chapels, and two schools, was completely deserted in 1923 when the 25,000 Greek inhabitants living there, along with more than a million other Greeks living throughout Turkey were repatriated to Greece through a massive government mandated population exchange between the two countries following the Greek war of independence. Since then, the village of Kayakoy, as it is called in Turkish, or Karmylassos, as it was called in Greek, which had been continually inhabited since at least the 13th century, has stood empty and crumbling, with only the breeze from the mountains and mist from the sea blowing through it's empty houses and streets. Historically, Turks and Greeks had lived together in this region for centuries, the Turks as farmers in the Kaya valley and the Greeks living on the hillside dealing in crafts and trades. A Greek presence in this region goes back for centuries. The ancient Greek historian Stravon (66 BC - 23 AD) mentioned this region when he stated that "one reaches a steep and difficult place; karmylessos is located here along a narrow and deep river...". I visited Kayakoy as a part of a cruise on a small Turkish yacht called a 'gullet', which is usually chartered from between one day to a few weeks for a very reasonable price, to sail along the Turkish Mediterranean coast, carrying tourists to all of the prominent archaeological sites, villages, and beaches along the way. Members of my extended family and I this year had undertaken a ten day-long family trip heading east out of the Southern Turkish town of Fetiye, and had been sailing and sleeping on the gullet for about 3 days, alternately playing in the water, wandering small fishing villages, and posing for pictures by ancient Greek statues. On one particular bright and sunny morning, we awoke to learn that we were anchored in a small bay just outside of the tourist beach town of Oludeniz. After breakfast, we all went on a minibus tour of the surrounding Lycian tombs, amphitheaters, and other ancient ruins in the area (Lycia was an ancient people, language, country, and province of the Roman Empire that lies today in the Antalya Province on the southern coast of Turkey.) Our tour guide then asked us if we had enough energy (and lira) to visit a nearby Greek ghost town. A small, curious, energetic number of us volunteered, and we piled into the minivan again to head up a mountain, and down the other side into a small, steep, green valley overlooking the sea. Upon entering the valley, I immediately noted the small, gray-stone houses and chapels with faded white roofs spread out over the hillsides against the backdrop of a large dark mountain. The houses were similar in architecture to those I had seen on many previous trips to the Mediterranean, picturesquely clinging to the hillsides of the Greek isles. They were laid out like a hand of cards, with each house strategically placed so that one didn't obstruct the view of the other, and the vast valley unfolded below them with two large dome-roofed churches and clusters of smaller one-story dwellings. The village was larger than I had expected, only having the small mining ghost-towns of my native western U.S. to compare it to, and I immediately pictured the hundreds of empty rock-lined yards filled with colorful clothes hung out to dry, the empty streets lined with old mustachioed Greek men with cigarette's in their wildly waving hands pausing only to drink a cup of thick black coffee. I couldn't wait to see more, and stepping out of the minivan my brother and I started up into the hillside to explore. We passed by side streets with empty shops, the windows long since broken or looted, where merchants must have once bartered, bought and sold their wares, and housewives argued over the price of eggs or tomatoes. There were old faded street signs in Greek and in Turkish, and small open-doored chapel's with walls laid bare of any iconography, and only a hint here and there of a bowed saint or a winged cherub that hadn't either faded or washed away. We headed first towards one of the two large cathedrals in the main square, its dome towering over everything else, and found the inside as sparse as the rest of the village. Most of the walls were a pale blue, with the faint outline of a few old frescoes in the upper reaches of the dome, and a beautiful but faded and crumbling mosaic in the entrance-way like a half-finished jigsaw puzzle. The stained glass windows were all either broken or entirely missing, and in the echoes of our footsteps, I couldn't help but picture dozens of little old Greek ladies dressed in black, shuffling across the floor through clouds of incense to light their candles beneath the icon of a saint. Moving back out onto the main plaza, we looked above the city at the upper reaches of the hillside, where a lone windmill tower, its arms long since fallen off, stood out against the sky. We made this our goal, and started picking our way through the narrow streets, peeking in here and there at the houses on our way up. Most of the them were one or two stories, each level having only one or two rooms, where the ground floor was often without windows, and seemed to have been used as storage space. There were empty cisterns at the entrances to most of the houses, where the villagers must have collected rainwater to supplement water from the valley. Since we saw no pipes, it also must have served as an aid to women who would have otherwise had to walk all the way down the hill and back up again to get fresh water. It appeared that the top of the cisterns in some of the houses were also used as living areas or patios where there were remains of a few small fire-pits, and kleftiko's (Greek clay ovens). The roofs had been made out of wood that had had long since decayed and fallen in, so that light streamed through the whole house, and almost a century of the elements had washed away almost any traces of human life. Once at the top of the hill, we climbed up onto the windmill, and looked out to our left, to the mountainside running down to the sea, and to our right, to the village running down the hillsides to the green valley with our minivan below. The spectacle made me catch my breath, as I felt a physical weight of the absence of the people who had once lived there. The houses stood out against the mountain like large tombstones in an oversize graveyard, and an empty, expectant feeling hovered over the village, as if it was waiting for something to happen – for someone to sing a song, for some music to start, or for someone to begin dancing. I couldn't help but think of the thousands of people who had lived in the village for generations, all of them uprooted in a matter of months and sent off to a homeland that they had never set foot in. I found out later that most of the people who had been transferred from this region of Turkey had ended up in refugee housing in a small, poor suburb of Athens, and had remained part of the poorer class of Greece to this day. The Turks who were transferred from Northern Greece into this part of Turkey were so unaccustomed to its climate and living conditions, that they abandoned Kayakoy within the first year and migrated to other parts of Turkey. My brother and I started the long walk back down to the valley in response to the honking minivan and waving relatives that signaled it was time for us to leave. On our way down, near the bottom of the valley, we quickly stopped at the second large cathedral, and saw some recent renovation work, which from the sign out front, indicated that it was being undertaken by the Turkish tourism authority as a part of a "peace and friendship" initiative between Turkey and Greece. Once again, the walls were empty of frescoes except in the highest reaches, where the plaster hadn’t yet fallen away, and the mosaics on the floor were being re-assembled into their original Alpha and Omega shapes. Before leaving, I stood in front of the cathedral in a grassy square with the ruins of Kayakoy all about me, listening. The silence was eerie, almost palpable, and somehow different from the quiet one hears while visiting ancient Greek, Roman, or Lycian archaeological ruins. The voices of the dead were not as distant, and I felt as if the moment we left, the inhabitants might come out of their hiding, and a woman with a water-jug or a boy with a donkey would suddenly appear on the streets, about their daily business. We packed back into the van and started heading back up the winding mountain road through the pine trees, and as the village was passing out of sight I asked our driver if he knew whether the Greek descendants of the people from this village ever came back to visit. "From time to time" he said "we will get a small group of tourists from Levissi" (the town outside of Athens where most Greeks from this region were re-located to), "but for the most part, the older people have all died, and no-one remembers it." Although most of what I saw during this trip to Turkey has long since faded into a blur of almost indistinguishable beaches, ruins, and fishing villages, frequently confused with others I’ve seen in Greece, Jordan, or Italy, I know that I, for one, will always remember the Greek ghost town of Kayakoy. If going to Kayakoy, you can find local tours from the town of Fetiye, Oludeniz, Kash or any of the surrounding tourist areas. [http://www.kayakoy.net/kayakoyeng.html] http://www.pbase.com/dosseman/fethiye [http://www.echotrips.com/international/turquoise-coast.html] [http://www.kayakoy.net/kayakoyeng.html] Trent Rockwood lives and works in the DC area as a researcher in Arabic linguistics. He loves to travel, especially in the middle east. Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Trent_Rockwood/38032 0 Comments | Leave a Comment Did you find this article helpful? Happy Face0 Sad Face0 Viewed 273 times Word count: 1,774 Article Tools EzinePublisher Report this article Cite this article Stay Informed Subscribe to New Article Alerts: Reference and Education: Paranormal Trent Rockwood Email Address Subscribe We will never sell or rent your email address. Paranormal Article Feed Paranormal Article Feed Find More Articles Search Similar Articles The Mind of a Paranormal Investigator Against The Grain: An Alternative History: An Outline What is a Hollow Earth Theory? Hyperborea - Atlantis Beyond the North Wind? Psychic Healing - Miracle Cure or Dungeons & Dragons? Come Fly With Me On Mythological Wings Psychic Sexual Supercharges A Special Beginning Hypothesis of Supernatural Phenomena How I Discovered It's Possible To Photograph The Far-Past - Trans-Time Photography Recent Articles Are Love Spells Real? The Mysterious Pyramids Discovered in Antarctica Things That Go Bump in the Dark The Summit and Sedona Psychic Sexual Supercharges Understanding Phyllis' Children Alien Technology and Government Cover Ups Living In Our Psychic Reality Multi Cultural Beliefs Day of the Witch, 2017 EzineArticles.com About Us FAQ Contact Us Member Benefits Privacy Policy Shop Site Map Blog Training Video Library Advertising Affiliates Cartoons Authors Submit Articles Members Login Premium Membership Expert Authors Endorsements Editorial Guidelines Terms of Service Publishers Terms Of Service Ezines / Email Alerts Manage Subscriptions EzineArticles RSS © 2017 EzineArticles All Rights Reserved Worldwide

Sunday 14 May 2017

REAL UFO FLORIDA

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REAL UFO WEIRD SHAPE ENGLAND PHOTOGRAPH

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THE UFOS OF EASTWIND

Thursday 11 May 2017

REAL GHOST OF DEAD DAD IN PHOTO

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REAL UFO OVER INDIA HUGE

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REAL GHOST OF DEAD DOG SHOWS UP IN NEGATIVES OF FAMILY PHOTOS

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Monday 8 May 2017

REAL HAUNTINGS IN DARTMOOR

Paranormal and psychic happeningsHome » Reference and Education » Paranormal Join Sign in EzineArticles - Expert Authors Sharing Their Best Original Articles Custom Search Search Angela Tempest Diamond Quality Author Diamond Author | 167 Articles Joined: February 11, 2014 United Kingdom Hauntings of Dartmoor, Devon By Angela Tempest | Submitted On April 15, 2014 Recommend Article Article Comments Print Article Expert Author Angela Tempest There are many exposed granite hilltops which are called tors and are home to a variety of wildlife and the entire area has a rich history as well as archaeology. The area is named for the River Dart, which leaves the moor at Buckfastleigh and enters the sea at Dartmouth. Cranmere Pool Cranmere Pool is a shallow pool on the eastern side of Hangingstone Hill near the source of the West Okement River and the East Dart River. It now lies within Okehampton Artillery range, operated by the Ministry of Defence. It is famous for being the location of the very first letterbox which was placed there by James Perrott in 1854. He was a guide across the moors and placed a bottle there for visitors to leave cards. The pool features in the legend of Benjamin Gear, who was mayor of the town of Okehampton on five different occasions. He was accused of stealing sheep and as punishment ordered to drain Cranmere Pool with a sieve. Being a bit of a crafty sort, he stole another sheep and lined the sieve with its skin to accomplish his task. But it didn't do him any good as he was hung on nearby Hangingstone Hill for this misdemeanour. His spirit was condemned to spin the sand in the empty pool into ropes and since has been unable to do this, is still trying... There is also said to be a figure who haunts the pool and can change his form into that of a black horse, though his identity is unknown. There were rumours of an exorcism performed on the pool, but that it failed. Dartmoor Prison I remember visiting Dartmoor Prison as a kid when our family lived in Devon, and I don't think I have seen a more desolate and forbidding spot since. The prison was built from 1806-09 using local labourers for prisoners from the Napoleonic Wars as well as from the War of 1812 with the Americans. In fact, though the war ended in 1814, by March 1815 there were still 6500 American sailors imprisoned in Dartmoor, but their discipline created the model prison. They created their own governance and courts who dealt out punishment to any who misbehaved. They also had a market, theatre and a gambling room. The prison was opened as a civilian prison in 1851 but closed in 1917 and became a Work Centre for conscientious objectors granted release from prison; cells were unlocked, and prisoners wore normal clothes as well as being able to visit the village. But by 1920, the prison became home to some of the worst offenders in the country. It is now a category C men's prison which is owned by the Duchy of Cornwall and operated by HM Prison Service. One of the most commonly reported hauntings on the prison grounds comes from the graves of the French prisoners at the rear of the prison. Here a short man with long dark hair is often seen gliding along without touching the ground in the middle of the night. Even a now retired governor admitted seeing him one night while doing his rounds. He may or may not be one of the French PoW's who are said to haunt the prison itself. Another ghost is a former prisoner called David Davis. He was imprisoned in 1869 and stayed there for 50 years, during which time he was given the duty of looking after the sheep. When his sentence was finished, he begged to be kept on as he didn't want to leave his sheep. The governor refused but joked he would keep the job open. Sure enough, Davis was back in prison two weeks later and died there in 1929. However, his spirit continues to tend his flock of sheep and has been seen many times following them around. Jay's Grave Jay's Grave is the supposed grave of a suicide victim from the 18th century around 1 mile north-west of Hound Tor and at the entrance to a lane which heads to Natsworthy. The story was given in the North Devon Journal on 23rd January 1851 that one James Bryant had been removing some soil near his home of Hedge Barton when he discovered a grave. A skeleton was found to be inside, and it was said to be that of a woman named Ann Jay who had hanged herself around 70 years previously and was buried at the crossroads, as was the custom at the time. The folklore of the grave is that is always has fresh flowers on it, and sometimes other items including coins, candles, shells and even toys. Some locals, including author Beatrice Chase, is one person who admitted often leaving an item on the grave. But this does not explain the sightings by motorists of a dark, hooded figure kneeling at the grave in the night, glimpsed in their headlights as they approach. Perhaps this is the spirit of the man who caused Ann Jay to kill herself still suffering guilt for his part? Other hauntings A place as bleak and beautiful as Dartmoor is bound to acquire stories and folklore, and there are plenty. Some of the less detailed ones include: Wonson Manor - the manor is in the village of Wonson and parts date from the 13th century. It was owned by the Nothmore family and is haunted by four Cavaliers who are seen sitting around a table, playing cards. One of them is identified as William Nothmore. Wistman's Wood - the woods are home to Wish Hounds, who appear in the winter during bad storms and hunt lone wayfarers into mires and bogs under orders from the Devil. There are also reports of a group of figures dressed in white walking a path through the woods which was used for funerals. Newhouse Inn - the inn stood on Widecombe Hill and was constructed by the Woodley family on the site of an earlier inn and was known as Culver House. It was destroyed by a mysterious fire 150 years ago and since then, a horseman in military garb has been seen galloping nearby as well as a coach and horses which slows at the ruins then takes off again at speed. Bennett's Cross - the cross stands by the road from Moretonhampstead to Two Bridges, north-west of the Warren House Inn. The cross is thought to be a boundary marker between parishes, but it is judged to be of considerable age. Even the name is uncertain, either due to it being erected by the Benedictine Order or for William Bennet, a miner from the local area in the 16th century. Large phantom dogs are said to hunt the area and on one occasion, even killed the son of a farmer. If you would like to read more on the hauntings of Dartmoor, please check out my blog post http://angelatempestwriter.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/haunted-devon-postbridge-and-the-hairy-hands-2/ Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/expert/Angela_Tempest/1824822 0 Comments | Leave a Comment Did you find this article helpful? Happy Face0 Sad Face0 Viewed 37 times Word count: 1,130 Article Tools EzinePublisher Report this article Cite this article Stay Informed Subscribe to New Article Alerts: Reference and Education: Paranormal Angela Tempest Email Address Subscribe We will never sell or rent your email address. Paranormal Article Feed Paranormal Article Feed Find More Articles Search Similar Articles Hunt in Graveyards? The Mind of a Paranormal Investigator Occultism in Dartmoor Alcatraz Haunting - Exposing the Ghosts of a Haunted Prison Is the Human Gene Pool Being Invaded? The Scariest Places on Earth - Most Haunted Prisons Beware the Barghest! Black Dog Legends of Yorkshire and Beyond Bad Lord Soulis - The Warlock of Hermitage Castle Hampton Lillibridge: Savannah's Amityville Six Impossible Physical Actions Recent Articles Are Love Spells Real? The Mysterious Pyramids Discovered in Antarctica Things That Go Bump in the Dark The Summit and Sedona Psychic Sexual Supercharges Understanding Phyllis' Children Alien Technology and Government Cover Ups Living In Our Psychic Reality Multi Cultural Beliefs Day of the Witch, 2017 EzineArticles.com About Us FAQ Contact Us Member Benefits Privacy Policy Shop Site Map Blog Training Video Library Advertising Affiliates Cartoons Authors Submit Articles Members Login Premium Membership Expert Authors Endorsements Editorial Guidelines Terms of Service Publishers Terms Of Service Ezines / Email Alerts Manage Subscriptions EzineArticles RSS © 2017 EzineArticles All Rights Reserved Worldwide