In my early 20's I used to visit cemeteries. I realize now that I was developing my understanding of the world - not just the physical world but the world of spirit, energy and emotion. I've always been sensitive to these things.
I would visit South Brisbane Cemetery (aka Dutton Park). This old cemetery was established in 1866 and it's the second largest cemetery in the state. There are 100, 000 people buried there and historically, it's fascinating. It contains all levels of society from prominent people to prisoners executed on the gallows of Boggo Road Gaol. The older section of the cemetery always attracted me because the headstones are works of art. The ornate graves of the wealthy sit up high on the hill and overlook the river. I've always loved the use of symbolism on the older graves.
One Sunday afternoon I went to Dutton Park Cemetery with a friend. As usual the cemetery was deserted. My friend had wandered about 100 metres away and I was walking along a row of seemingly similar graves until one drew my attention. This old grave was from the early 1900's and physically didn't look any different from the others. It had a tall rounded headstone with a rusted steel fence surrounding it and a small gate, slightly open. The difference with this grave was it had an energy. I knew rooms and houses gave off certain energy. I've walked past chairs and other objects that hold energy, but never a grave. When I feel energy it's coarse and static before it becomes more defined. Like a radio that's out of tune and if you wait, you tune in and get an impression. It touches you - but not physically.
Standing in front of this old grave it became apparent to me that something was standing there. It was very still. In my mind I could see an outline of a person standing there. This invisible being was watching me sidelong. He didn't want to be seen.
The grave was neglected and crumbling. Anyone who cared about its occupant was long dead. I thought it was sad to think that the person standing there might think that nobody cared. The small gate surrounding the grave was partially open and not thinking I wouldn't cause offence, I pushed the little rusty gate shut.
Immediately I heard a stern male voice growl "Don't touch the gate!" The voice came from the grave. Clear as a bell. I was startled. Someone very present was there. I reopened the gate to its original width. In my mind's eye I could see an old man huffing and puffing and shaking his head at my impertinence in touching the gate a second time. I retreated back to the relative safety of the main pathway. I turned to look back. He was still standing there on the grave. 'Grumpy old beggar' I snorted indignantly before retreating down the hill.
This was just a man without a physical form. For whatever reason he was there - he did not want to engage with the living. That experience taught me to trust my instinct. That if I feel something's there - then it's there. I also learned not to touch other people's stuff!
Seriously though, cemeteries are not good places to be. I avoid them these days.
I think about that old man though. It is sad to think that this very conscious soul has been standing there for the past 100 years - just standing on his grave.