Saving Souls for a Rainy Day

It takes a long time to say good-bye to the spirit of one who dies with a strong addiction or from suicide.

Ghosts from those who cannot let go of their attachments to worldly things will hang around for centuries if no one takes the time or cares enough to tell them they have actually died and its time to move on.

Watch out when those spirits learn that you can sense them. An entire posse of addicts suffering from unimaginable withdrawal symptoms will call upon you to fulfill their every need like they did to me when my third eye popped opened and I was left hanging in the third dimension without any formal training.

The light—what is it about the light that frightens so many, yet others seem to walk right into it?

What is the light exactly?

The light is the miracle of life and is the gateway to the eternity we are already a part of. It is a process, the light-- as natural as childbirth and death. It is where we squeeze ourselves back inside something as small as a sperm yet as large as the universe itself.

Sure there is no guarantee we will be the winner of the great race again this time, but what other options are there?

I have led many spirits with strong attachments to that light. Call me Rita Miller if it seems appropriate and far fetched, but who you gonna call when you find yourself walking around like Sam, from the movie ‘Ghost’?

There are psychic readers everywhere in town these days. “Special Reading $5” their sings tempt passers by and tourists. I laugh, especially at those crystal balls.

It’s all a big scam in my opinion. Don’t waste your cash. Anyone with the real gift will explain that there is no guaranteed way to predict the future and those voices that some hear from the other side know nothing more than you or I.

“Well what are those voices telling you?” Dr. Redd asked sarcastically before admitting me.

“They are not actually voices. They are intuitions,” I responded.

“Well, do you want to harm yourself?”

“No! Why would I want to do that?”

“What is it that you want exactly?”

“I want them to leave me alone for a while.”

“Alright,” she said, “We can manage that.”

The antidepressants made it worse. I was like a sponge for those in suffering while flying high on those drugs. Never in my life have I experienced the pleasure I experienced when those drugs first started working.

I knew something was very wrong with the dosage when I picked up a sketch pad in the ward and starting sketching.

I could not believe those images were coming from my hands. How beautiful they were, especially the drawings of the things around me.

It all looked so perfect, so real. It seemed that those from the other side were giving me a little something for what I had shown them about the light or perhaps I had accidentally robbed them of a few things.

They came to me like infants crying for their mother searching for a way out and found themselves trapped inside my imagination.

“Stay for a while,” I insisted as my artistic skills improved day by day, I can get accustomed to this."

Then I heard the first real imaginary voice in my head, “Fuck-off. Leave us alone. We don’t want to live inside the mind of a fag!” they shouted in terror.

“Too bad,” I responded. “You should have headed into the light when I first told you to. Now you will forever be married to me.”