Invasion

Each day I struggle to find reason to continue

To find some shard of beauty within the ruins of my life

To find hidden in the destruction a reason to believe

All the while the vampires laugh and gloat

As they continue to covet

What they believe they have stolen from me

They revel in my devastation

Thrill at my ruin

Believing me destroyed

The sorrow will be theirs

When I rise again

And they are left with nothing

But the smoke and mirrors they used to try and deceive me

Into giving up my hopes and dreams for this life

They will never have that which is truly mine

Dreamed last night that I was going into this strange restaurant with my ex husband and my son. We pulled up in an old luxury car with pock marks marring all of the windows. My ex husband insisted on parking across from the restaurant by an old ware house although there was plenty of parking near the restaurant. I was so upset that I started to cry, because I was handicapped and needed to walk using these special motorized stilts--which to my amusement now looked to be a couple of Hokey floor sweepers.

In the restaurant, which looked like an Indian diner that had seen better days, we met with my late father. I needed to go to the bathroom so I left my purse with the others. When I came back, these two women were looking in my purse for a photograph. When I told them to get out of my purse, they acted as if I was the one in the wrong.

"Don't you ever go looking in anyone's purse again without their permission!" I scolded.

"Well, I don't know what the big deal is," one of them said. "It was right on top. Besides, at work we can all look in the nursing bag."

"I don't give a flying fuck what you can do at work!" I said angrily. "The nursing bag is public property. Any of the employees can use it. This is my god damn purse and I don't want you touching it!"

The two walked away whispering about what a crazy bitch I was. I didn't care. They were invading something that was mine.

I think this may represent the belief on the part of certain people that what is mine should also be theirs. 

What I've written and published belongs to anyone to read. And you can talk to whomever you want, whether that person be living in spirit, so long as that person is willing to talk to you. But attempting to usurp a special connection between two people, whether those people are living or in spirit is wrong. Attempting to destroy someone's inspiration out of jealousy is wrong. And belittling a person just because they're different is wrong. 

The vampires may have temporarily weakened me and may have invaded something very personal, but they cannot take from me that which is mine. And they cannot take my soul.

I will never be like you. I will never be one of you. And that is indeed a blessing.

(By vampires, I do not mean undead supernatural creatures. I am referring to psychic vampires--those individuals who drain energy from others. Those are plenty real.)

Spirit Dream: Rose

I asked Kai if it would be all right if I put this here even though the dream was mine. It seemed to fit better here than on my blog, where I rant about this, that, and the other. 

I have been looking very hard for signs from my father, who died two months ago. I may have had one, but then again the light may have been playing tricks on my eyes. I am not a completely credulous ghost whisperer. I'm actually an open minded skeptic who proceeds "as if." What I generally find is that I'm right more often than not. 

Being psychic doesn't mean having perfect knowledge. I'm not a perfect psychic. I wish I could see ghosts. I generally cannot. I have seen flashes and images but only rarely have I seen full apparitions. One of them seemed aware of me, the other did not. I believe that one was actually a spirit, the other a residual, like a security tape loop. There wasn't any consciousness there.

At any rate, I didn't come here to talk to you about my abilities to see or not to see spirits. That is not the question.

What I came here to talk to you about was...

Lily's writing partner!

Lily's writing partner was in my dream when I lay down to sleep today. Even though the feeling I got when I asked him to visit me when I initially took over this project was positive, I've always had some doubt but went ahead "as if." For a time he was also accompanied by another of the spirits that contributed to the book, but this spirit was mostly content to let his friend talk.

In the dream, the spirit in question was doing an interview. This person was described as being rather a quiet person, and in the one brief live video (as opposed to still photograph) that I have seen of him, he seemed rather unsure of himself, uncomfortable in his own body. He was quite tall, and I sensed that he wasn't entirely comfortable with that because it made him stand out. He used it to his advantage when performing, creating an imposing stage presence, but in real life his stance indicated to me that he didn't like standing out that way.

He had a nice speaking voice, but it was understated. In the dream (or astral journey) he was being interviewed about the writing project. He spoke clearly and with an understated enthusiasm. He's not the "jumping on the couch" type but it was clear to me that he believed in the project. He smiled and laughed a fair bit and was quick to answer questions and confident in his answers. 

After the interview I went walking with him in a wooded area. We came to a clearing where there was a large but dilapidated house. I don't know if this exists anywhere in waking life. The leaves were red and gold, and many were on the ground, indicating that the time was fall, closing in on winter. I'm not entirely clear about the significance of the place. The forest area could either have been Colorado where I live, or somewhere in Scandinavia, where he was from. I'm not even sure that it matters.

This fellow who was so unhappy in his life was full of joy and vitality. He put a companionable hand on my shoulder and we walked away from the old, falling house. 

The only thing I specifically remember him saying was "thank you for your help in this project and for keeping it alive. There is still so much to do."

I sensed from him that he still regretted his decision of nearly 20 years ago although he understood his own reasons. It's almost like the person now and the person who made the decision then are two different people. 

There is a line from Stephen King's Duma Key which expresses this very well.

“Do I regret what I did? Sometimes si, sometimes no. When its si, I remind myself I wasn’t the same man then that I am now, and that I have to cut the old me some slack. That man was so hurt and lost he really wasn’t responsible. This is my other life, and I try to look at my problems in it as…well…birth defects.”

--“Wireman” from Stephen King’s Duma Key, regarding the suicide attempt that left a bullet in his brain.

I think that this experience offers great hope for those who lost someone to suicide, although of course the person cannot be brought back. The soul does continue to heal. A person once full of pain and self-loathing is now confident and hopeful, although I still sense sorrow on his soul. 

I wish to express my gratitude to this spirit for his support and encouragement. It means a great deal to the rest of us! After all, without him, it wouldn't even be.

Rose