Yes, it’s also Election Day. But, dang if I have anything to add to the fray. I do know: no one will know who I vote for. It is a freedom I enjoy–the choice to keep my choice to myself if I so choose, which I do. There are very few who know my political innards, and that suits me just fine. Now, I’ll get on my soapbox about The Mountain Land and about health issues and about Earth Beauty, et cetera, but my political views are my own and that’s just how I am.
For Recycle Day, I will talk about "Recycled Humans" – ha. That’s not really what they are, but I’m talking about spirits, ghosts – those who either do not know they are dead, or know it and accept it but do not want to leave, or for whatever reason a spirit will linger. Maybe some linger for just a short while, saying goodbye to loved ones and loved places (I can see my spirit lingering on the mountain) and others stay and stay and stay….long long time. Or at least this is what is believed. Or if not believed, speculated. It is something I have wondered about – do I believe it? I don’t know; I can only go by what is happening around me or the feelings I sometimes get.
I’ve always wondered about spirits, ghosts. But never more so than when I moved to these mountains in my little log house on Killian’s Knob (I suppose we are more on Killian’s Knob than between Killian’s and Walter Bald- as I determined on my walk this morning). I can’t tell you how many photographs I have taken that have orbs and "light shadows" and misty mists and glowy things – and some have shapes, but some do not. Then, my friend Angie Ledbetter took a photo of me sitting on the couch, with her camera, and it sure looks like there are ghosts all around me! I sent the photo to two different people and both say they see a little girl and another shape and some orbs. One said, "I’ve never seen so many spirits around one person before…" Now, the weird part about these two saying they see a little girl is that Angie woke up here her first or second morning and asked me this: "Kat, do you have a little girl ghost here? I dreamed about her last night; she weaved in and out of my dreams, from one to the next." I shrugged – Dunno, Angie – I just saw that Shadow Man and sometimes I sense things and sometimes I hear laughter, shouts, talking, names called – right between sleep and wake usually – and when I happens, I immediately think "someone is around." When I lived in Baton Rouge, I was sure I heard little girl giggling, then a shadow on the door of a girl in a bonnet – did she follow me? Who knows.
Last night I was about to slip into sleep when it happened and I tried to recall the words I heard — it was a man shouting to someone to go faster, to hurry, and there was urgency. I had the sense it was a long time ago and there was something the man and his companion needed to get away from quickly – or go to. Then I shrugged it off…is it only the imaginings of my brain? Who knows.
I do know the Shadow man I saw was a "solid" thing – a solid shadow. He was there. And not for the first time.
I wonder sometimes if the Sweetie novel comes from a little girl who once lived around here in these mountains. She is the first character I’ve ever had that has come to me almost whole – meaning, I could see her very clearly except her face is a bit blurry. And she said, "you ain’t got it right, this here’s what happened….listen up…" And I wrote that draft novel, 75,000 words, in thirty days. It was cool – and it all started on Muse Trail One (I grieve for Muse Trail one that the bastard out of state developers mutilated – not one lot sold – GOOD!).
Here is a link about I wrote about Shadow Man, etc.
And this I found in my archives, quite interesting-I’d forgottten about this:
I had a dream New Years night that a man came from the shadows, and I feel I must tell this dream, for I wonder what it means–not only to me, but to others unnamed or unknown. The man comes from the shadows and his eyes are aflame, flaming fiery eyes! And his head is encircled by flames, as well, as if he wears a helmet of fire. With his blazing eyes, and blazing head, he opens his arms out, his hands not quite accepting, but neither rejecting, and I almost feel as if he is admonishing, and he is speaking, flaming, speaking, on fire, speaking, blazing, speaking, but I can not understand his words, and if I did understand, I can not remember what he tried to impart. I feel as if he was quite an important messenger, but I am lacking; I can not articulate his message. I am awed that he is not screaming in agony, for it becomes clear to me that he has stepped out of an inferno–one caused by another. His message is lost in the blaze
Recyle Tip of the Day: Recycling Resources from Oberlin College
Now for your health tip and your writer’s Editor’s Tip – just scroll below – I’ve said enough. Time for me to go Vote.