A Collection of Metaphysical Experiences: Experiences Which We All Have but Are Afraid to Speak or Tell Others About.

By Franchot Peter Moore Sr.

A collection of personal experiences that falls outside the scope of normal logical explanation regarding the experiences that we all have but are usually afraid to speak about or reveal publicly. The true stories recorded in this book offer an insight in an amusing way into events and experiences currently unexplainable by conventional logic yet have its basis in human reality and experience. It suggests communication between various units of consciousness not based within the camouflage structure of physical reality or native to the environment of earth. It offers validation of the experiences native to many individuals who would normally be afraid or ashamed to publicly disclose many of their own similar experiences for fear of being ridiculed, embarrassed, or stigmatized.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524501471

Franchot Peter Moore Sr.

Franchot Peter Moore Sr. was born on the island of Trinidad, in the city of San Fernando, on September 25, 1954. He lived his adolescent life in the villages of Penal, Siparia, La Brea, San Fernando, and Diego Martin until the age of fourteen, when he migrated to the United States to join his parents and sisters. Over the past forty-six years, Mr. Moore has used his poetry in his discussions and lectures as a motivational medium and as a contribution to improving the quality of all life. Franchot is a disabled Vietnam-era veteran and feels especially inspired by his past work on behalf of veterans at the US Department of Veterans Affairs in New York City and Florida. He is also a former member of the Nevada State Athletic Commission, Florida, and Washington State Boxing Association in the capacity of a professional boxing inspector, referee, and judge. He also takes great pride in his contribution in shaping the lives of young people over the past forty-plus years through his efforts in the USA Boxing Inc. Amateur boxing program as a senior (grandfather III), referee, and judge. Fulfilling a dream of returning to Trinidad to live in 2004, after an absence of thirty-six years, Mr. Moore became involved with the Trinidad and Tobago Amateur boxing program as a senior referee/judge. He was the founder and head coach of the Pleasantville Amateur Boxing (and life skills) Academy and also functioned as the technical officer / bout supervisor of the Trinidad and Tobago Boxing Board of Control and former president of Friends of Boxing of Trinidad and Tobago. Over the past three years, Franchot fulfilled another lifelong dream of relocating from Trinidad to the Island of Tobago, where he lived for one year in the Village of Plymouth to edit several books he wrote since returning to Trinidad. Franchot returned to the United States in May 2014 and now lives in Miami, Florida, and is also the author of Understanding the Power of the Sub-Conscious Mind, Hypnosis, and other effective Healing Options and A Collection of Metaphysical Experiences. He is a certified clinical hypnotherapist trained by Dr. Gerald Kien of the Omni Hypnosis Institute in De Land, Florida, and feels inspired when utilizing the medium of clinical hypnotherapy in assisting others in bringing about meaningful changes to their health and quality of life.

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THE MIDGETS OF SAN-FERNANDO STREET

The house we lived in on San-Fernando Street in the South of Trinidad was an old wooden structure way over eighty years old. It was owned by an East Indian man by the name of Mr. Mohammed who charged my parents six dollars a month rent. The yard was home to five individual families and we all existed as an extended family. My neighbors Elaine and Phyllis Bowen who were much older girls would constantly tell my elder sister Judy and I stories about Douens, la-Jabless, Spirits, Soucouyant and other entities which they claimed to have seen in the yard at some time or another. They were particularly intrigued with a slave-man who they claimed patrolled the yard at nights and usually stood under the hog plum tree. I never saw any of these individuals or creatures except the slave-man at a future encounter.

When I was about six years of age my two sisters and I shared a bunk bed in a little space just slightly longer and wider than the bunk bed itself. In the beginning I used to think that I was having dreams about little short men in the bedroom by my bedside and hearing them walking around brazenly in the living room. The apparent dreams became so consuming that I would find myself waking up and finding the strength to peep from under the blankets only to see nothing. One night I went to sleep consumed by the thoughts of the inhumanity of a national criminal by the name of Mano Benjamin towards two sisters. Mano had raped and sewed up the vagina of these two sisters and held them against their will for practically years. That particular night I felt the sheet which I was covering with, being pulled up to my throat area. I was scared shitless as I felt the sheet coming up to my face. When I forced myself to peep I saw two midget men with slightly barrel bellies with round Chinese-looking faces pulling up the sheets, one of them had a stick in their hands waving around over me. I instantly closed my eyes and waited for the feeling of no movements before opening my eyes again. After a while, I bolted from my bed below and climbed up unto the upper bunk and went past my big sister Judy in front, to the extreme rear of the bed behind my little sister Michelle.

This became a sort of ritual with these two and sometimes three midgets appearing to like to take care of me, primarily pulling the sheets up to my neck, fanning me, making sure I was secure and brazenly walking around the living room. Every morning my sisters Judy and Michelle would wake up to find me squeezed up in the corner behind them sweating. My sister Judy complained a lot and my mother kept admonishing me about all of this nonsense going on in my head. When I went to school and told my partners about my experience, I realized that I was not the only one being visited by these short men. My friend Hanson Malcolm had his regular nocturnal visits with these midgets where he lived by the Library’s Corner and at one point I told Hanson that I believed that they followed him to my house. Hanson invented waywardness and roaming the city at nights when everybody slept and I became a serious student of his.

At about eight and nine years of age, we would sometimes climb through the window of our parents’ house about ten o’clock at night when we were sure everyone was sleeping, to roam around the streets of downtown San-Fernando, observing the night life in the Arcade, the Library Corner, the Car park in-between hiding from the police squad cars. We both had a fascination about seeing San-Fernando late at night when nobody else was on the streets except homeless people, watchmen, lovers seeking secret places, stray dogs and the police. Hanson would normally come into my sister’s and my bedroom by climbing up one of the posts supporting the house to enter through the window then climb back down. One night when I was expecting Hanson, I fell asleep and was awakened by what I thought was Hanson’s giggling and jumped up from my bed thinking it was Hanson and went to the window. When I looked out, there were two midget men climbing up the posts in the same manner as Hanson would. I pulled the stick which supported the open window and allowed it to slam back down and bolted for my parents room.

On the nights when my Father went to Mr. Prime’s Club to play wappie, my mother would allow me to sleep with her (in the corner) as my safe haven from the midgets until my Father came home from the Club. That particular night my mother lambasted me about being so coward and seeing things that were not there. I tried to believe her when she told me that I was only hallucinating but the experiences kept piling up. These fellas would wake me up touching my feet and playing games with me up to the point where I would find the courage to dart up to my sister’s bed and my number one safe haven. It was no use keeping the windows closed since they showed up in the house late at night as if Mr. Mohamed, the Landlord, gave them their own set of spare keys.

One night in particular on my ninth birthday, I was asleep when I felt the covers being pulled up to my throat once again. Scared shitless I kept my eyes shut and could feel the intense warm breath of someone close to my face. I just knew in my heart that this was the breadth of the midgets and this was the closest they had ever gotten to my face. My heart was pounding and I was shaking like a guava leaf from the tree whose branches and leaves extended onto the galvanize roof which covered the house. My heart almost bolted out of my chest and I felt like I was on the verge of fainting when I felt a kiss on my cheek simultaneous to a very quiet but gentle voice saying happy birthday Franchot! With my jaw locked tight, my two arms in the fetal position and shaking, I thought about making a run for it –straight to my parent’s bed but couldn’t summon the energy. I finally mustered enough strength to open my eyes, as I did; I was stunned yet relieved at the same time to see that it was my mother wishing me a happy ninth birthday. Later on that month I had a near death experience after which the midget men aborted their visits to me.

MY ENCOUNTER WITH THE SLAVE MAN IN THE LIVING ROOM

(62A. San-Fernando Street, South, Trinidad, 1963)

Living on San-Fernando Street in the south of Trinidad, everybody had a spirit-story to tell. Somebody always knew someone who got sucked by a soucouyant and had the gaping red suction area on their arms, thighs or legs to prove it. From Siparia to La-Brea, Diego Martin to San-Fernando it was the same, everywhere I went. Soucouyant, dwens, la-jobless and the like roamed free and had people at their mercy. Back then I always had the belief that these so-called spirits had no options or control over me and I possessed no fear of them. My only fear was for the midget men who appeared to have keys to the house and I felt no need to encounter any of these fellas again.

Elaine and Phyllis had previously told me about seeing this spiritman who told them that he was a Slaveman. I had believed them and my neighbor and best friend Steve Edwards and I were always on the look-out for him but we never encountered the slave man. Back then I had taken up the responsibility of opening the door for my father when he came home from the club usually at twelve o’clock. One particular night after hearing the usual knock on the door when my father came home, I instinctively woke up and went to open the door. As I made my way across the living room to open the door something caught my attention by the window. It was a moon-lit night and as I looked towards the window which was open, I had the shock of seeing this sprit/slave/man standing next to the cabinet by the window with a walking stick silhouetted by the full moon. I almost defecated on myself. I froze and had serious problems moving myself from the center of the living room to the door amidst my Father’s constant bawling "Franchot…Franchot…open de damm door, with me responding Daddy ah can’t move

I was frozen stiff and unable to move from the middle of the room with the Slaveman standing stoically by the window appearing to be looking directly at me. My Father continued calling my name until my mother came out from the bedroom. My mother saw me standing in the middle of the living room and asked me Franchot what really happening to you boy! I tried to explain Mom look de man dey, Mom looked at me disappointedly, stupes (sucked her teeth) and proceeded to open the door telling me "ah tired of yuh dam stupidness yuh noe." My Father slipped in his two cents I don’t knoe how you want to be Regiment or Police and so damm coward Back then on account of the midgets and sleeping between my mother and sisters for protection, I was branded a total coward. Most of my family made me a "laughing stock" on account of my stories. That night I felt really bad, my consolation came the next morning when my neighbor Victoria, Elaine and Phyllis told me that they heard the commotion that night and laughed their bellyful at me. It also consoled me to know that they believed me. This same Slaveman also appeared as a spectator on my death journey The Day I died.

THE DAY I DIED

When we lived on San-Fernando Street our neighbor an East Indian lady by the name of Ms. Lynn, her husband Mr. Parson and their family lived upstairs of the Codington’s family, Mr. Lio, his wife Ms. Virtue and their four children. At times I would practically live upstairs by Ms. Lynn always playing with her two young sons Chester and Tony. When both were old enough and started attending San-Fernando Boy’s R. C, I had responsibility of taking them to school and bringing them back home from their very first day and considered myself like a big brother to them. Like clockwork every fortnight on a Friday evening, I had to go down San-Fernando Street by a particular Bar and bring Mr. Parson home. On these occasions Mr. Parson would be drunk as a peacock, holding onto me for dear life while we staggered and drifted the length and breadth up San-Fernando Street to our tenement yard. Up to that point of my life, I never uttered one single word of hostility or disrespect towards an East Indian person.

MY INITIAL EXPERIMENT WITH PREDJUDICE

A Carnival Monday in 1964, there was free bus rides going to Skinner Park from the San-Fernando Warf area where all the Carnival Bands gathered. My cousin Selwyn and I having made our way down to the Warf, decided to take the free bus ride to Skinner Park. While waiting for the bus driver to come on board the bus, Selwyn and I were looking out the window when four Indian fellas were walking past in the distance. I initially thought that I was seeing Ram and Beharry, my East Indian friends from the village of Debe, so I called out Ram…Ram. All of a sudden the fellas turned around and started to approach the bus cursing and saying something as they approached. By that time they came closer Selwyn and I recognized that these were different fellas and somehow we had pissed them off!

Three of the fellas entered the bus and immediately started to curse and pelt some slaps at both Selwyn and I. One of the fellas spit in my face and that pissed me off! The boxer in me came out and both Selwyn and I started swinging and connecting, backing them out of the bus. The driver came and supported us and they ended up cursing and mouthing off some dem nigga racial gibberish and left. This was my very first encounter with racism and it affected me greatly and brought about a surge of anger within me that I never experienced before in my life. This was mainly because I did not expect, based upon my previous good relationships with Indian people, to experience discrimination from my East Indian brothers. After all, I thought, they should have known that I was more Indian than most Indians; -I practically grew up in a Mandir as a child living on Penal Rock Road in the Village of Penal.

Ash Wednesday morning, a day after the Carnival, I went down on San-Fernando Street by my cousin Arthur who lived next door to a small mechanic’s garage. While I was there, I noticed a slim Indian fella whom I had never seen before moving around the garage in a sort of silent keep-to-himself kind of way unlike the talkative type of individuals who normally frequented the garage. The Indian fella presented himself as a study or curious person to me so I decided to approach him and attempt a conversation. No matter what I said to him he did not answer nor offer a response and I felt myself becoming angrier, with the thoughts of carnival Monday still fresh in my mind. After a while of trying to get him to respond I heard myself blurt out yuh coolie bitch…yuh madras coolie, yuh tink yuh better dan people repeating racial assumptions I heard before and left cursing him, all the while trying to understand why I was uttering those words. In a way, while I was saying those things I sort of didn’t feel as if the words were coming from me, the person I knew. I left and went home feeling really guilty and it occupied my mind,

I couldn’t tell my Mother or Father because that would have meant an automatic cut-ass. The next day was a replay of the same thing. I came down to the garage especially to see if he would respond to me and it was the same, the Indian fella refused to answer. Once again the words blurted out my mouth yuh coolie bitch…yuh madras coolie yuh stink mouth. The Friday was especially vulgar because by now I had a lot of animosity penned up inside me, mainly because he would not answer. This same day, the Indian fella was taking off a transmission from a Volkswagen Van and had it practically lying on his chest as he lay beneath the Van. He was depending on pushing off the roller board on which he lay, when the wheels became stuck in the asphalt which had become soft and melted around the wheels because of the heat. I took advantage of that situation and came closer to him as he lay under the van and lambasted the Indian fella with more cuss words.

In a particular corner of my mind, I felt I was appeasing myself for the actions of those other Indian fellas, particularly the one who slapped me and spat in my face on the bus carnival Monday morning. I went home that day feeling particularly remorseful and went and told my neighbor Ms. Julian, who was about eighty years of age and was one of my existing mentors. Ms. Julian sternly admonished me, told me that I was "damm wrong" and told me to kneel down right there on the old wooden steps and say twelve our father and twelve hail Mary prayers and The Lord will forgive you. I dearly wanted dat forgiveness and followed Ms. Julian instructions without hesitation, to the T.

The next day was the climax to the entire week in a way that affected my entire life for the rest of my life. Uncle Paul, my Father’s younger brother had traveled to the state of Maryland in the United States to an insurance convention and bought back a pair of brand new green swimming trunks for my father with a clearly pronounced gold buckle on the front of the waist band. All of us Boy’s in the Scout Troop was accustomed to swimming bare pants or with an old khaki or blue duc pants with larger than life holes in the back exposing half of our "bamcies." Some of the fellas swam naked but I for one ruled out swimming bare pants a long time ago since there was a much older fella who never swam but used to sit remotely by the jetty with his legs crossed and stretched over the water always seeming to be gaping at my tool as if he wanted to borrow it to fix a truck. As I became older, I was to get know this brother as Heinz who was to later become a notorious homosexual fella from San-Fernando who went on to achieve fame and notoriety with his partner Constantz, amongst the American servicemen community on the Warf.

This one Saturday morning, I decided that I was going to pretend that I was somebody whom I was not and secretly borrowed my Father’s new swim trunks and went down to the jetty for our regular Saturday morning Boy’s Scout meeting. My cousin Selwyn, friends Clyde and Bonnie Gomez and myself met and started our trip down to Flat Rock beachfront joking all the way with me showing off the new fancy trunks. At that point in in my life, I did not have the full confidence and skill to swim in the deep without holding on to something. On flatrock, I paraded the new trunks and splashed like a big shot in the shallow water and refused all requests for a borrow. After my body and trunks was totally wet by flat rock we all decided to go to our scout troop meeting on the Jetty for me to show off amongst the fellas from the scout troop. There were about thirty-six individuals swimming, with others fishing on both sides of the jetty and everyone having a good time, as we normally did on Saturday morning’s scout troop jetty-lime. The idea of my body being wet was to create the impression that I was already swimming in jetty and by extension could swim in the deep. I came and quietly mingled with the crowd and it wasn’t long before my swim trunks was the subject of everyone’s attention. After all the accolades and more request for a borrow I decided to go and sit by the edge of the jetty to profile myself and gape.

There was a game being played that was called push in, If you were standing idly by inattentive or about to come or had just came up the ladder from the water, usually breathless, someone would push you in back into the ocean. I had never played that game before since I had never swam in the jetty without the supervision of our scoutmaster Admiral. If you were standing or seated at the edge then you were a prime candidate to be pushed in. I was seated at the edge with my feet hanging over the water with my body wet "mammaguying" myself as if I had just come out of the water. All of a sudden I felt a thud and push on my left shoulder and felt myself land bellyfirst into the sea. In that very second and in what seemed like an eternity the world as I knew it changed forever. Instantly, I panicked and started to sink at the same time struggling to get back to the top, the more I struggled the more water I drank and the further I sank. As my struggled continued, I began feeling weaker then finally began moving in a slow motion process and felt myself separating from my physical body. As the separation began, I desperately tried to hold onto my physical body but the arms that I saw kept going thru and thru my physical body and I was becoming more weaker. At that point I began to experience a certain sense of peace and calmness and began to wonder if I had actually died but why was I still alive. I floated up to the surface over the water and saw everyone in a panic mode looking for me within every trickle of the water’s movements. Shouts such as look him dey, boy da man drown, o gawd, lewwe go from here boy sounded as if it were on a loudspeaker. I acknowledged a separation within myself and drifted away from my physical body and watched as it bumped around on the ground of the ocean in a fetal position. As I floated up, I tried shouting to the top of my voice telling them look meh here, ah ent dead. yet nobody appeared to hear me or even acknowledge my presence. It was precisely at that point; I realized that I had bitten off more that I could chew. In a fleeting funny moment, I thought that if I drowned that I was still sure to get a cut-ass from my mother.

THE UNVEILING OF ME

All throughout this experience, floating upwards I felt myself navigate through all the phases of my life thus far including my actual birth process from the first person point of view. I also saw glimpses of some prior lives and made an astonishing discovery to the relationship of my skills and future milestones in this present life. My drifting continued as I floated up for what appeared to be an eternity seeing every little island in the Caribbean as little green dots. All of a sudden, I felt myself perform a somersault into a pathway of light and ended up in a location which was overwhelmed by a very high level of emotional serenity. I felt myself moving along almost like being on a moving flat-escalator similar to the ones found in modern airports. I moved slowly towards three individuals who appeared to be waiting for me, with white veils around their faces. Two of the individuals were of the same height and one was a little shorter. All along the way, I kept seeing faces, some I had known others who were dead and some with a resemblance to members of my family whom I had never seen or knew before.

My beloved grandmother Drucilla helped me to put a name and context to many of the faces I saw including that of her grandfather from the island of Carriacou who passed on some thirty-five years before. She was also the one who helped me to understand the entire phenomena. I was also surprised to see the Slave Man whom I bounced up in our living room one night and almost made me shit my pants when I went to open the door for my father. Now this same slave man appeared as a spectator on my death journey. The more I moved towards the three individuals the more familiar faces I saw on my left and right. Some of them from the community but all of them individuals who had already passed away, finally, I came to the top of the light where the three people stood. Although they wore veils on their faces, I recognized the shortest one as my friend Ian Alexander whose family lived next door to us on San-Fernando Street until Ian drowned by Flat Rock one Saturday morning, about two years before.

Altogether all three individuals started to bombard my mind with thoughts which I desperately was trying to make sense of. Ian kept mentally coaxing me to find the reasons to live, find the reasons to live, find the reasons to live repeating the thought in my mind over and over. At the same time both women were telling me such things as; death in not an accident…it is a choice there is no such thing as an accident there is only divine order, you have much work to do, your writing heals and makes well the thoughts of mankind, "death is a choice, The soul survives death, you have lived before and will live again, you live in one existence but there are many existences." The echo of the voices was coming from all sides when finally I began focusing on Ian whose voice now emphasized a certain sense of urgency. I began thinking that if I died there wouldn’t be anybody to defrost the fridge, clean the fowl coob, take care of my dog Wendy, babysit my little sister Michelle or go to the market with Mom -and the basket will be too heavy for her to carry. I finally came to the conclusion that if I allowed myself to die that it would have been a total disaster for my mother.

Based on Ian’s insistence, I suddenly felt like I had a choice! As I was negotiating these thoughts I felt that I had pleased Ian and the ladies, since the vocal bombardment was fading and I felt myself beginning to move backwards. As I did so, I realized that I was reversing the process of my trip backwards. I found myself back over the Islands and heading back to Trinidad and Tobago which I could see as close green specks then becoming larger as my turbo’s blasted towards that spot on the jetty and life again. As I approached the water over the Jetty, I could see that almost all the fellas on the Jetty was gone, believing that I had drowned. Only four persons were left: my cousin Selwyn, my friends Bonnie and Clyde Gomez and a slim Indian fella with thick black hair who appeared to be just standing in a daze gazing nonchalantly towards the oil refinery in Pointe-a-Pierre. As I was making my re-entry and passing the group in mid-air Selwyn, Clyde and Bunny, kept running back and forth to the various sides of the jetty with every ripple of the water and would point and say look him dey, look him dey. except the fella with the dark hair. As I passed them heading towards the water, I was again yelling at the top of my voice look meh here…look meh here! simultaneous to my spiritual body splashing into the water. When I felt my ethereal form enter the water I saw my physical body floating with both of my arms between my legs still in the fetal position with a small red-snapper fish nibbling at my right ear, racing off then coming back again. My spiritual body zoomed into my physical body with the red-snapper taking off in a speed and my physical body jetting up to the surface with a great force. Throughout this process, I felt warm water coming out of my mouth, nose and ears and from every open cavity in my body, all at the same time under water. When I re-appeared on the surface from the bottom of the water Selwyn, Bonnie and Clyde resonated at the same time look him dey, look him dey while running around to the western side where I was.

Upon breaking the surface of the water I felt a sense of newness and difference about everything. As these thoughts careened around my mind, I suddenly felt myself beginning to undergo the same initial drowning process all over again! This time, it was moving more swiftly, I drank a big gulp of sea water and began sinking, struggling to get back to the surface. As I came back up, I again swallowed another gulp and once again began to sink back down under the water. In the midst of desperately trying to keep myself from going back down again, I caught the image of the same individual, who just stood staring towards Point-a-Pierre, dive into the water with his hair flying with a Tarzan-like appearance.

From his dive he came up right underneath me, pushed me upwards then came over and locked my neck. At that point, I instantly remembered the words of our scoutmaster Admiral who taught us that "if you was ever drowning and someone was trying to save yuh life, you must just relax yuh body and allow de person to take control." I did exactly that, I allowed my body to automatically follow Admiral\s suggestion as I felt the secure grip of the individual pulling me towards the steel ladder which stood against the jetty. When we reached the ladder; Selwyn, Clyde and Bonnie were waiting for me with outstretched arms. As I moved up the ladder, I felt