Topic: Blog Tours
As promised, today we get to look inside Confessions of a Feng Shui Ghostbuster, the latest book by Anna Maria Prezio. Please come back tomorrow when we get to talk with Anna Maria!!!
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Table of Contents
About the Author................................................... 9
About the Book.................................................... 11
Forward............................................................... 13
Introduction......................................................... 19
PART ONE: My Journey....................................... 25
Chapter 1: Spirits ................................................. 27
Chapter 2: Ancestors............................................ 35
Chapter 3: See-ers ................................................ 37
Chapter 4: Body Language................................... 41
Chapter 5: Honor Thy Intuition ........................... 45
Chapter 6: Metaphysician .................................... 49
Photo Album ....................................................... 53
PART TWO: Basics of Feng Shui and Ghosts........ 65
Chapter 7: Art or Science ..................................... 67
Chapter 8: Earth Energy and Chi ......................... 73
Traditional or Classical Feng Shui..................... 76
Black Hat or Black Sect Feng Shui .................... 78
Color ................................................................ 78
The Five Elements .............................................82
Number Symbology...........................................85
Eight Aspirations ...............................................86
Evil Lines (Kong Wang) ....................................87
Chapter 9: Remedies.............................................91
Talismans, Amulets and Cures ..........................92
Rock Salt ...........................................................92
Xiong Huang Wine............................................93
Cinnabar Powder...............................................94
Coins .................................................................94
Sword of Coins ..................................................96
Crystals and Rocks ............................................96
Rocks and Stones...............................................99
Sound and Light ..............................................100
Chapter 10: Animals ...........................................103
Mythical Animals ............................................103
Real Animals ...................................................105
Zodiac Animals ...............................................108
Deities .............................................................109
PART THREE: Ghost-Busting .............................111
Chapter 11: Confused Entities ............................113
Chapter 12: Feng Shui and Spirits ...................... 117
Chapter 13: Intense Energies.............................. 121
Chapter 14: Space Clearing ................................ 125
Clutter............................................................. 127
Chapter 15: Earthly Disturbances....................... 129
Chapter 16: Feng Shui Experts – Yin and Yang . 131
Chapter 17: Yin Houses ..................................... 135
The Yin and Yang Areas of a House ............... 139
Chapter 18: Cultural Traditions and Beliefs........ 143
Chapter 19: Five Ghosts Carry Money............... 147
Chapter 20: Ghostly Houses and Feng Shui ....... 149
Walter............................................................. 149
Carla............................................................... 155
Chapter 21: Mamma .......................................... 161
Epilogue............................................................165
Appendices .......................................................171
Factors That Influence Our Success! .................. 173
10 Rules to a Serene & Ghost-Free Environment 175
Glossary of Terms.............................................. 177
Notes ...............................................................186
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Chapter 1 : Spi ri t s
I felt my warm blanket being pulled off me and, suddenly, a hurtful slap on my behind. It startled me awake. I was a terrified 6-year-old. It was All Saint’s Eve in a small village town in Italy. Everyone invited the spirits of their dead relatives to visit them. Glasses of wine and plates of food were left for visiting spirits. My small bed was placed in the dining room where my family members thought the spirits would enter. They even left the front door open for them, as this was the custom. I was afraid, but told no one. I remained very still, but my heart was racing and the seemingly large, cold hand that struck me with only one blow never returned.
It was not a dream and it was not imagined. To this day, I have told only a few people. They wanted to comfort me, so they made excuses. They would say, “It was a prank” or “Maybe it was a joke by your siblings.” One person even said, “You may have had a very active imagination then.” After all, it was Halloween night. As a young child remembers things in their past, some things are unforgettable. This was one of those incidents. Why would I repeat anything that may have been mocked or misconstrued by the people who loved me? I never mentioned it again … until now. It was a spirit.My grandfather used to tell me ghost stories when I was a little girl. Story telling was the only entertainment there was in that small village in southern Italy. No television. No radio. And hardly any books to read to keep our active minds occupied. At the end of the day, we would gather around the brasciere, a large container made from brass or copper, filled with coal for warmth and heat during cold winter months. It was the only heater, except for our rustic fireplace. We would gather around the brasciere and listen to the stories being told. Some were folklore and others were thought to be real. Very scary for a young imagination to absorb. My grandfather, Vincenzo, was the best at telling spooky stories. Every sound was amplified. He became animated. At the end of the story it was hard to fall asleep.
Our house was a large two-story. It was built by my grandparents, Mamma’s mother and father. They lived downstairs. This is where I slept, because it was too crowded on the second floor. We were a large family of seven. I actually enjoyed having the entire dining room to myself and I didn’t have to share a bed with any of my sisters. I felt like a princess. My grandparents gave me lots of attention. Can’t say I didn’t like it.
This was the house where I was born, and grew up in until almost age 8 when my family left Italy to travel to the US. It belonged to my mother and father. They bought the house from Momma’s parents. In the Italian tradition, parents left their houses to their daughters. The two daughters, my mother Maria and her sister Filippina, would have possession of the house and keep it in the family unless one sister would sell to the other. My mother bought her sister’s share at a time when her sister was having financial difficulty. My aunt was grateful that my mother offered to buy her share. The money my father earned was always placed directly in my mother’s hands. Mamma was frugal. She knew how to stretch a lira. She set aside a small amount from their earnings. She had saved enough to make the purchase. She paid 250,000 lire for the house. In 1939, that amount was equal to approximately $2,500 US.One day my father came home from a long day working at the annual carnival miles away from home. He was the only photographer in the region. He photographed couples, children, even priests and nuns. He would travel on his bicycle, sometimes 80 miles, to bordering towns to set up his camera equipment at the fiera annuale. Each day, when he came home, he gave my mother the day’s earnings, as usual.She sat him down as if something very important was going to be said and told him that the house now belonged to them. She showed him the deed. He got very excited! He jumped up and said, “Maria, you made me the happiest man alive. How did you do it?”
Every time Mamma told the story, she would get very animated and you could see from her face how much love she had for my papa. She spoke about how he picked her up and swung her in the air and twirled her around. My mom was almost five feet tall, if that, and my father was almost six feet tall. She felt like she was on top of the world. The way he lifted her, as she told it, was as if she was crowned queen. He placed her on that pedestal that women crave. She felt his love, his respect, his devotion and affection in one fell swoop. She told me that she felt so much love from her husband that day that nothing could compare to it. I can still hear her tell that story. Any of my sisters or brother will tell you this story in the exact same way.
My grandfather, Vincenzo, was a gentle soul. He spoke softly. He seemed very tall to me. He had white hair, blue eyes and was light skinned like my Mamma. He taught me how to count in English. He had been to America, but frowned upon any one of his immediate family members moving there, because of the hardship he endured. He knew that no matter what he said, someday, we would follow in his footsteps.In Roggiano Gravina everyone knew each other. Everyone told ghost stories, even my father. They called him Maestro Angiolino. He served in the Italian army during World War II as bandleader for his battalion in Tripoli. Even though my father had made a name for himself as the only photographer, and the only music teacher of his time, in this small village, he wanted to journey to America to make a better life for his family.
My uncle Salvatore, my father’s brother, was a successful man in America, or so we thought. Uncle Sal was one of the reasons why my father left Italy for Philadelphia. As it turned out, Uncle Sal was a cabinetmaker foreman, and had a house with a white picket fence in an Irish neighborhood, much like everyone else on the block. When papa left for the US, we missed his ghost stories. That’s when my grandfather took over and embellished on the scariest of stories, especially when told in the dimness of night.
I wanted to stay up and listen to all of them and hear every small detail. I did not want him to skip a beat. Nonno did not like interruptions, and so he commanded a silent audience.One night in front of the fire when I would not listen to my mother’s request to go to bed, my slumber took over. Slowly but surely as I was sitting straight up in my chair, I fell right into the fire, palms up, into the burning hot coal. The palms of my small hands were severely burned. The pain was excruciating. It felt like a million stab wounds. The skin was charred and ready to fall off. My screams woke everyone out of their sleep.
My mother, our neighbors, and even my Zia Mara, heard my screams and rushed right over. Auntie lived two houses away. No sooner did she show up, than she ran right back out to pluck several large leaves from a nearby large plant called cento nervi, which means one hundred nerves. She dampened and placed these large green leaves over my palms.
She knew immediately what to do. She wrapped my hands with gauze to keep the leaves in place and told me to be still. Mamma brewed a cup of chamomile tea to calm me down. Shosha Annita, our next door neighbor sat with me to make sure I was OK. She was like a mother to all of us. The very next day the burning was gone, and so was the pain. No scars were left on either palm.
From that point on, Nonno was not going to allow me to stay up late. He liked having an audience, but had to modify his schedule … and mine. Needless to say I was sadly disappointed.
