The figure from the closet

Growing up in Harvey—a Chicago suburb—was as good as it could get for a young girl like myself. My family and I weren't filthy rich nor were we dirt poor. My carpenter father and nurse mother (who worked the night shift and slept during the day) did the best they could to give us a safe and happy life, even in a less than savory neighborhood. But my perspective at the age of 8 was a tad bit different. I loved my town and I adored my friends.

My brother and I played outside often, usually with one another. We loved to ride our bikes but our father was tremendously strict about us riding past a certain point. He definitely didn't permit us to ride around the block and through the alley, even during the day. The bottom line was, he believed it just wasn't safe. Gangs, drug dealers, and constant crime were all the norm out there—which means we needed to be in the house before the street lights came on or we would be in big trouble.

Before my mother and grandfather bought my brother and I our video game, things were incredibly boring. There just wasn't much to do and since I shared a room with my older sister—who had zero interest in toys, make believe, or childlike fun in general—it was usually my brother who would humor my imagination and creativity all in the name of fun. We always had a great time playing and making an unintentional mess until mom called for baths before bed.

On one particular evening, after we had finished our dinner and taken our baths, I found myself cleaning the bedroom my sister and I shared, under duress. A massive black garbage bag occupied the space to the right of me as I, sleepily, packed it with crumpled papers and unwanted objects from the floor. At some point I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I saw halted my breath in my chest.

The entire room was pitch black. The only light emanated from a large glowing figure that appeared to be floating from the darkness of the closet. My eyes grew wide as I attempted to analyze and focus on the figure, trying to determine what it might be. But I could barely hold my eyes open. I struggled to remain alert. The figure was cloaked in a glowing robe that hovered mere inches from the floor. No facial features or other identifying characteristics were distinguishable to me, especially in my half-asleep state.

I observed, incapable of moving (and really having no desire to) as the figure floated slowly across the room and over toward me. Fear never gripped me. Instead, it was curiosity. What are you? Who are you? Where do you come from? And as the figure drew nearer to me, it seemed to be accompanied by the Sandman because my eyes became heavy enough to flutter shut on their own in the moment I felt my body being lifted from the floor and placed gently onto the bed. Sleep wrapped its loving arms around me and the most beautiful slumber was my company for the remainder of the night.

I'd never spoken of this to anyone previous to today. Not my late mother, my dad, my sister, or even my brother (and he and I were as close as two siblings could get, even to this very day). I'm not entirely sure why I never told anyone. Perhaps it's because deep down somewhere inside of me I know Who or What the figure was and why It came to assist me that night; why It allowed me to perceive It and feel It. I believed It to be my Guardian Angel but I also knew the mind of certain people (primarily adults) were ill-equipped to really believe in such things, even if, only for the sake of religion, they claim they do. So, I kept it to myself.

It's liberating to share this story and I'm thankful for having had that experience as a child because, even now, it's a reminder that there are Energy Beings we can see and some we cannot; the only difference in what we see or don't see is our belief or lack thereof of their existence. At that age, I had no resistance to seeing a glowing figure emerge from my closet to tuck me into bed. My mind was open enough to believe it was possible, and so it was. And this experience reminds me that it's possible, even now. Ultimately, it's very refreshing to know that believing is seeing and it's even more comforting to know I have a personal memory as proof of this fact.