24 Soho

By Gilbert Cartier

A buoyant memoir featuring strange phenomena, bullying and assault, ghosts and spirits, sexuality, mysticism and the supernatural. 24 Soho showcases the author's experiences from boyhood well into adulthood. Enduring the near-unendurable, the narrator encounters an array of diverse gifted people, dead and alive, who come to his rescue, guide and counsel. During self-discovery, he befriends a Polish ghost while living in a haunted house, as life becomes anything but normal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gilbert Cartier
• Release date: Jul 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311267085

Gilbert Cartier

Métis (half French half Native American Indian); Muse; Chef; Mystic, Time Traveler, Diverse Psychic, International Banker, Loving.

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24 SOHO

GILBERT CARTIER

Published by Gilbert Cartier at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Gilbert Cartier

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

1

DEDICATION

I dedicate this memoir in memory of my parents, Cécile and Domina Cartier. Without you, I never would have been reincarnated.

To the ghosts and spirits who came to my salvation, and so much more.

To the extraordinary gifted people I met during my coming of age, for opening my eyes to the realm of unknown phenomena, abilities, possibilities and believability.

To Bill: May the next twenty years be as exciting and fulfilling as the previous twenty years.

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE - Impuissance

CHAPTER TWO - High School of Torment

CHAPTER THREE - 24 Soho

CHAPTER FOUR - Love for Sale

CHAPTER FIVE - Open the Door and Let Me In

CHAPTER SIX - The Great Canadian Art Fraud

CHAPTER SEVEN - The Epiphany

CHAPTER EIGHT - The Family of Families

CHAPTER NINE - Prophetic Friends

CHAPTER TEN - Portal to the Future

CHAPTER ELEVEN - The Mortal Practitioner

CHAPTER TWELVE - The Magic of Meditation

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

HOW TO CONTACT AUTHOR GILBERT CARTIER

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank the following people who helped enormously in putting this book together:

Thanks to Photographer Christopher Kamyszek for the cover shot, taken at 24 Soho Street, Toronto, right in front of the haunted house where I lived for six years.

Thanks to Graphic Designer Brent Meske for the cover art work. This includes the splendid graphics as well as the mysterious ghost in the window!

For my picture on the back cover, I owe thanks to my colleague www.milenemiranda.com

To Bruce Merrin - Celebrity Speakers & Entertainment Bureau, Las Vegas, NV, thanks for his help and support.

And thanks to my great editor, Author Jeanne Rejaunier.

INTRODUCTION

I was only three and a half years old when a strange phenomenon, an apparition of sorts, manifested in front of me. Because of my tender age, I didn't know what it was or what to make of it. It would be quite a while before I understood that seeing ghosts and spirits would always be an important part of my life.

It was the summer of '57. I was playing marbles outside my house, when suddenly, looking into the cellar through the screened window, I saw a pair of glowing pure white pants pass directly in front of me. I was the sole witness to the apparition. This was my very first spirit manifestation; however, it would not be the last; many were to follow, as a variety of strange unknown phenomena continued to manifest throughout my childhood, adolescence and adulthood.

As if these phenomena were not disturbing and confusing enough, during my blossoming years, unfortunately, I was constantly bullied and assaulted on a daily basis by my peers both inside and outside the classroom. I became a magnet for bullies. I was attacked unmercifully, enduring thirteen years of constant physical abuse, terrorism, blatant taunts, homophobic slurs, humiliation and embarrassment. My only refuge was the safety of my home or at my parents' cottage during summer weekends and vacations. The deep woods next to the school yard and the forest surrounding our cottage were treasured sources of fantasy and enlightenment, places of safety that allowed me to spiritually meditate, reinforcing my empathy towards humanity, and finally revealing the clairvoyance and other psychic abilities and phenomena which I had been repressing.

For fear of having my sexuality exposed at such an early age and feeling alone with no one to turn to, throughout those oppressive years and well into my anguished adulthood – for that matter, I was truly blessed to have had the comfort, support and life saving experiences from the ghost of my Métis Indian grandmother Clara Cartier, and Innu/Montagnais Indian great-grandfather Paul Cartier; the ghost of a Polish man who had committed suicide named Mr. Panawa; the holy spirit of a distant cousin, Brother André, a reputed miraculous healer who was beatified and canonized; world renowned Ojibwa Indian artist and shaman Norval Morrisseau; the sacred teachings of modern day healer Gisèle Baril; and last but not least, Leonard (surname unknown), a private medium who took me in as apprentice in order to further expose my consciousness and reveal inner secrets hidden in my being.

You see, I am the re-incarnation of my mother's second born son. I am the sixth seed from my father and the eighth pregnancy from my mother.

Before Mother married Father, Mother had had two earlier pregnancies at the age of fifteen and sixteen by two different suitors, each which produced a boy. Because of her young age and other circumstances, both babies were unfortunately taken away from Mother by the Children's Aid Society.

After marrying Father, Mother's first pregnancy by Father produced another boy, who died immediately after birth. On the next pregnancy, Mother produced yet another boy, who died three days later. On Mother's third pregnancy by Father, my sister Jeannette was born, then sister Pauline, followed by my brother Edouard. By the time Mother's sixth pregnancy by Father came along, she apparently wanted an abortion, but after months of procrastination, the pregnancy was too far advanced and the abortion was canceled. Henceforth – my reincarnation.

Mother's name was Cécilia Cousineau. She was a heavy smoker and quite the tippler, a beautiful, petite, green eyed, blond haired woman, a cross between Lucille Ball and Rita Hayworth. Father's name was Domina Cartier. He was a Métis (half French half Innu/Montagnais Indian) with dark complexion and jet black hair, the spitting image of Hollywood star Clark Gable. Unlike my sisters and brother, who had my father's Indian complexion and dark hair, I retained mother's porcelain complexion, blond hair and green eyes. It was years later that I finally understood the reasons why Mother said I was born 'special.'

Years of bullying and assault eventually took a tremendous toll on my being, which affected my identity as a whole. The road to healing was long and winding. I was young, naïve, gullible and promiscuous. I searched long and hard for true love in all the wrong places. The journey to find myself was adventurous, to say the least. I mean, unlike most people out there who can't say that for years they've had ongoing relationships with ghosts and spirits, I can say that my karma allowed me to meet a diversified array of psychically gifted people who had a tremendous effect on my life.

And so; in late '78, at the age of twenty five, I was paid one thousand five hundred dollars (plus+) per week for a period of four months in exchange for posing nude, while inspiring one of Canada's world renowned and foremost gifted artists. I inadvertently got involved with Canada's notorious Family of the Families in an attempted kidnapping where I was threatened that should I continue writing my book, titled The Great Canadian Art Fraud, I would end up at the bottom of Lake Ontario with cement shoes.

Fearing for my life, I quit my job, sold everything I owned and moved to the United States in a matter of four weeks; and literally was able to transport my soul via a mirror into another time and place, while other spirits effortlessly hovered about – all this is but a taste of what life has been for me.

Throughout my experiences and travels, my inherent journey was not limited to my sexual difference or acceptance, but also was one of self discovery and unfolding the diverse psychic, spiritual and unknown phenomena bestowed upon me.

And so I can unequivocally say that life may be the beginning, but death is not the end.

CHAPTER ONE - IMPUISSANCE

Under mitigating circumstances and with little enthusiasm, I am in my bedroom, patiently packing my personal belongings, in anticipation of leaving home for college, for which I have no interest whatsoever. However, to appease Mother, I have decided to undertake the study of journalism, for the simple reason that it includes radio and television. I'm not quite sure if the subjects will pique any of my interests; however, I try to psych myself on the positive and hopeful possibilities. As I continue packing, my mind wandering distractingly on my anticipated academic journey, I hear a faint knock on the bedroom door. It is Mother, asking permission to enter.

The door's unlocked, I said.

Mother came in and closed the door. As I turned to face her with curiosity, she stared at me with a slight smirk. I know you desperately want to get into theatre and study voice and drama, she began, but I feel I have to tell you that you have no talent in that area, and you'd be horrible at it. What's best for you in college is to actually learn something worthwhile, so you'll be able to get a good paying job in the near future.

Puzzled and hurt, I looked at Mother attentively. I said, Per your insistence, Mother, I'm going to college. May I ask why you would come into my room to insult me by telling me I have no talent?

I just wanted to let you know you'd be making a big mistake if you thought you had any talent, Mother shrugged.

How would you know? I demanded. You've never seen me act, and anyway, I think I have a beautiful voice. You've heard me sing. You know I was chosen out of the whole school choir to sing a solo on television when I was only twelve years old. Surely that must amount to something, even to you!

Mother stared at me in disbelief. I just know, that's all, she answered, and with a grin, opened the door and left.

Dumbfounded, stoic but absolutely heartbroken, I sank down on the edge of the bed. How could Mother be so cruel? It was no wonder my self esteem and confidence descended to all time lows.

I started reflecting down memory lane... It was as if it were yesterday...

Excited, I woke up earlier than normal, knowing this was my first day in kindergarten. Even better, I was so proud of myself for not peeing in bed while asleep. (I was a bed wetter for a short period).

I jumped out of bed, ran downstairs and took my seat at the kitchen table, waiting for my maman to prepare my usual breakfast. I heard Maman's familiar footsteps coming down the L-shaped stairs. Arriving in the kitchen in her olive green flannel nightgown, she uttered a bonjour to my sisters and brother, then directed her attention to me.

With a big smile on her face, she looked into my eyes and said, Gilbert, you're starting school today, so, beginning this morning, you're going to prepare your own breakfast. You're a big boy now. You know where the cereal and milk are, you know where to find the bread. If you can't reach something, just ask your sisters Jeannette and Pauline or your brother Edouard, and they'll help you. You're a big boy now! she repeated, then turned, left the kitchen and went back upstairs.

Feeling quite grown up, I fetched myself a bowl of cereal. My sister Jeannette poured milk into my bowl and gave me a piece of toast. Life was good.

Kindergarten was boring. There were lots of games and creative artsy things to do. However, I always wondered, when it came time to take a mid-afternoon nap, why the teacher would only give candy to those kids who napped on a blanket on the floor, and not to the other kids, including me, who had to sit at their desks in hard wooden chairs, lowering their heads onto the hard table surface. I didn't think this was right, and it really made me feel envious and jealous. I don't remember the teacher explaining any reason for this set up. Perhaps parents were the only ones privy to that information, and Maman had neglected to inform me?

After enduring this deprivation a few times, I finally asked, Maman, would you please give me a blanket for my school mid-morning nap? I explained in my customary sweet, innocent manner that the teacher was only giving candy to those who had a blanket. Bless my maman, for that day she took from the linen closet a large blood red wool blanket with black stripes, folded it in half and sewed it together for thickness and comfort.

Next morning, I took my blanket to school, and when the time came for that mid-morning nap, I proudly laid my blanket on the floor, got comfortable, and come my turn, the teacher came over, and giving me a surprised look, handed me a piece of candy. I remember one of my classmates who was sitting on his hard chair looking at me enviously as I was putting the candy in my mouth. I truly felt bad for him.

My parents always taught us to share with family and friends, which is the reason I didn't understand why the kindergarten teacher wouldn't give candy to all the students, regardless of accommodation; after all, there was plenty of candy to go around. It didn't take me long to realize that this teacher didn't teach by good example.

Inasmuch as Maman had told me I was now a big boy and had to fend for myself at breakfast, I decided one morning to go down to the cellar to get a jar of homemade marmalade. I walked over to the open closet underneath the staircase, bent down under all the hanging coats and jackets and entered a hidden wall opening. This opening was a family secret which led directly to the cellar door. I opened the trapdoor and latched it against the wall. As I started going down the cellar stairs, I abruptly stopped dead in my tracks, feeling afraid as I peered down into the pitch dark cellar, wondering if it was wise to continue my search for that precious homemade jam.

As I extended my arms on either side of the trapdoor to have a better view, the trapdoor suddenly fell over both my hands and knocked me down the stairs into oblivion. With extreme fright and excruciating pain, frightened out of my wits, I started screaming at the top of my lungs and crying uncontrollably. It seemed like an eternity before I finally perceived a dim light above the trapdoor and saw my maman come rushing down the stairs. Maman quickly scooped me up in her arms and carried me back upstairs.

Still crying in pain, I showed Maman my hands. She looked at me in horror, and without putting me down, carried me to the car, lay me on the passenger seat and drove me to the hospital emergency room. I kept my arms outstretched, with eyes fixated on my crippled hands. For the life of me, I couldn't stop crying, even when Maman carried me into the ER.

Luckily, a doctor was on hand to examine me right away. They took x-rays to judge the severity of my injuries and I was given a shot for pain. The doctor wrapped each of my fingers individually in gauze, then wrapped each hand with more gauze, which made it look like I had boxing gloves on. The doctor told Maman that all fingers of both my hands were broken, sauf my thumbs. As my sobs finally subsided, I overheard the doctor tell Maman that since I was still growing, my fingers should heal properly.

My hands were to remain bandaged for at least three months, which made my life miserable. I had to be fed and bathed; day-to-day activities were nil; and worse yet, Maman assisted with bathroom duties, which was embarrassing – after all, per Maman, I was a big boy now. But the worst thing of all was I couldn't go to school, which I sorely missed.

During those months, I would quietly go into the secret closet opening in total darkness to sit on the trapdoor and meditate, all the while asking the spirits to heal my hands perfectly. As young as I was, not understanding the apparitions I was seeing, something inside my being was instructing me to meditate. This was, as far as I can recall, the first time I saw all of these ghosts and spirits appearing at different times throughout those three months. I knew instinctively that I was being well cared for and had nothing to worry about. In fact, other than when I first went to the ER and was given the shot, not once after that did I take any pain pills. The spirits had come to my aid, removing all pain.

Eventually, the bandages came off. I healed perfectly and completely. It was a few years later that I finally understood the role of each ghost and spirit during my time of need. Whether it was for support, consolation, assurance or healing, they were there for me. I am and will always be grateful for their acts of mercy and compassion.

It seems like I was always running into mishaps and/or annoying my siblings along the way. I was curious in nature, mischievous, full of energy and unpredictable. I remember when I was about three years old, my sister Pauline, who was eight, had climbed on top of the kitchen counter to reach for a cereal bowl that was placed high on a shelf in one of the cupboards. As she was kneeling on the counter, I had innocently opened the bottom cupboard door directly below to get some sugar for my cereal, and had neglected to close it.

Poor Pauline. Once she had her bowl, she never looked below to make sure everything was alright, so that when she jumped suddenly backwards, both legs were left dangling on the cupboard door. She screamed in pain. I could see her holding on for dear life with both feet swinging about. She managed to get down and went straight upstairs – probably to tell Mother about what I had done.

Since she ran upstairs abruptly and there was no one else to prepare my breakfast, I went outside in my pajamas to play in the yard. Minutes later, I saw Father assisting Pauline into the car, and as he was backing up to leave, Pauline pointed her finger at me and gave me a dirty look – meaning, Boy, are your going to get it!

I sensed something was wrong and ran back into the house. Mother was in the kitchen waiting for me.

She said, Pauline got hurt because you didn't close the cupboard door. Gilbert, you must learn to always remember to close cupboard doors when you're done. If you don't, someone could get hurt – just like Pauline did.

I understood the lesson and said I was sorry.

About an hour later when Pauline and Father returned, I heard Father say to Mother that Pauline's wahoo had bled a little, but the ER doctor was able to stop it. Pauline would be alright, just a bit swollen for a while. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt much better.

That same day, late in the afternoon, Mother was making egg custard pies, and went upstairs to go to the bathroom. I noticed a large round cardboard container that had been left unattended at the edge of the counter. Curious, I wanted to see what kind of goodies were hidden in this container. I was standing on my tippy toes trying to lift the container off the shelf, when suddenly the whole thing dropped over my head and shoulders. I was unable to breathe or move my arms.

Flour, the contents of the container, was filling my mouth and nostrils. I was gasping for air and crying. Momentarily, I felt the container being lifted off my body. Still unable to breathe, I felt someone furiously shaking my head and body and wiping my face with a cloth.

Gilbert, Gilbert, take a deep breath from your mouth and blow out your nose! I heard Mother's voice yelling, Come on now, blow!

As Mother continued shaking me to my senses, I took a deep breath from my mouth, blew some of the flour out of my nose and opened my eyes. I was still sobbing as Mother grabbed me, held me tight against her bosom and comforted me. It was only later that I found out the container held ten pounds of flour. Had Mother not come down from the bathroom on time, I would have surely suffocated and died.

First grade came pretty soon after that. There had to be at least thirty boys and girls in my class, each of us having our own one piece wood vintage type desk with bolted chair. One day around mid morning, when the teacher had her back to us while writing the day's lesson on the blackboard, a nice little girl with long wavy red hair who was seated to my left smiled coyly, and handed me a note.

With some hesitation I took the note, looked at it and saw that she had written je t'aime.

Gilbert, the teacher called out in a loud voice, what is it you have in your hand?

Startled, I replied, Nothing, hoping the teacher hadn't noticed the transaction.

Stand up, the teacher ordered.

Having to obey, I stood to attention, my eyes focused on the teacher. The classroom was dead silent and all eyes glared in my direction.

I repeat, the teacher said. What do you have in your hand?

Just a piece of paper, I replied in a small voice.

Come here, Gilbert.

Nervous, scared, I slowly made my way to the teacher's desk.

Open both your hands, the teacher commanded.

I did as I was told, opened both hands, and there in my right palm was the note.

With her glaring eyes transfixed upon mine, the teacher yanked the note from me.

Unexpectedly, the recess bell rang. Teacher glanced at the note, then dismissed everyone for recess except the girl with the long wavy red hair.

I ran out of the classroom with the rest of my classmates. I instinctively knew something bad was going to happen. Since my classroom was the first room next to the entrance, I went over to the outside corner window, where I noticed that there was a big rock conveniently located next to the corner window. I quickly mounted it, stood on my tippy toes, and in horror, saw the teacher wiping the blackboard with the girl's long wavy red hair.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I felt so bad for that girl that my heart just sank into my stomach. I jumped down from the big rock and just