Rosalind Heywood was an author and life-long member of the Society for Psychical Research in London. She was a well-known psychic who recorded many of her experiences in her autobiography, The Infinite Hive, which alas is no longer available on Amazon, but can sometimes be found in library stacks. Here is one of her experiences :

Soon after our arrival at Okehampton [in Devon, England] my husband and I went out to catch the tail-end of the sunset. It was one of those evenings when the whole world holds it breath. The moor towered in shadowed contours between us and the sinking sun, and above it the western sky was green and gold like glacier water. Suddenly, without warning, the incredible beauty swept me through a barrier. I was no longer looking at Nature. Nature was looking at me. And she did not like what she saw. It was a strange and humbling sensation, as if numberless unoffending creatures were shrinking back offended by our invasion, and it struck me like a blow that even the windswept little tree against the skyline seemed to be leaning away from us in disgust. “What shall we do?” I whispered to my husband. “They loathe us. We can’t gatecrash like this.”

He did not laugh at me. He, too, felt an intruder. So I said, should we not stand quite still and explain mentally that we came as friends, with humility, and would be grateful for permission to walk quietly on the moor? I thought, too, of the old days when simple souls linked themselves to wild nature by the ancient magic of oak, ash and thorn.

Writing as experient, not as investigator, there is, thank goodness, no need to invoke sophisticated explanation like autosuggestion for the astonishing experience that followed this gesture of apology. It was as if, like a wheeling flight of dunlin, all those visible and invisible creatures swung round as a unit to inspect us, and I seemed to feel their sigh of relief as they came to a group decision. We were not dangerous or cruel. Our apology was accepted. We might come on ~ and “in”. At the time I did not even think it odd that the little windswept tree was now leaning towards us in a friendly fashion.