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If you’ve followed along my journey for some time, you’ll know that I have a lifelong tendency to attract and communicate with spirits. As I’ve been exploring my own spirituality more in-depth of late, and noticing that my beliefs are evolving, my curiosity about this connection has been deepening as well. I’ve lived with spirits in houses since I was a child, and as I’ve mentioned before, this gift (for it is a gift) that we call “the shine” runs in the women in my family. Based on her own self-knowledge and desire to feel in control, my Mother denied it in her 20s, but told me about it as she noticed that I had it, and gave me warnings that I have heeded. We won’t go into those now. While my company tends to be benevolent spirits, that has not always been the case – yet another story for another time. And since I like to walk the edge a bit with this gift, those city ghost tours tend to be exceptionally interesting for me and the others on the tours that I attend (Boulder, Cripple Creek Jail, and Portland, Oregon, to name a few.)

The bungalow has, I have discovered, an exceptionally quirky history, and along with it, some spirits. I think they were here when I moved in – in fact, I am certain of it, as I recall sitting in a corner of the empty kitchen in tears and feeling them shifting curiously around me. Once they realized I was a kindred spirit, so to speak, they showed no reticence to make their presence known. Objects mysteriously moved – generally sparkly things like jewelry, set in the center of the doorways. Items that would vanish and then reappear in places that I had looked a dozen times. The occasional mysterious loud thump that even startles Mr. Man. A pinch on the ass when I’m standing at the sink washing dishes. For a while, a cat was visiting, courtesy of Cousin Tam, curling up in a lump on my feet when Mr. Man was up by my shoulder. And always, that fleeting glimpse of something just out of the corner of my eye, passing by the doorway.

I’ve been struggling physically lately with what I originally thought was a pinched nerve, but which has been getting progressively worse, and so am now taking some mega-dose of steroids, which aren’t suiting my system and are messing with my already disastrous sleep patterns. Tonight, on a whim, in lieu of sleep (partly because the spirits have hidden my book), I decided to see if I could have a little dialogue with them.

Now, I don’t hear voices, because I know that’s a bad thing on almost all counts. But there are tools that paranormal professionals (hmm) use to communicate with spirits and I’ve had some success with dousing rods. Do you know what they are? Not the water-seeking kind, although I do seem to recall using those one summer in Arkansas. They’re these, laid out in this image on a handmade quilt that I bought at auction four years ago:


I have learned that you have to ask your questions and tell the spirits how to move the rods to communicate their answers. So when I establish a baseline, it’s something like “find me” or “find Mr. Man” or “if your answer if yes, point to the chicken”. Tonight, I learned through our dialogue that there are more than two, they currently are most comfortably in the small back hallway between the bedrooms, but they’d like to have a light there, they are young adults, and they are happy where they are. They are neutral about my staying, but they do get along with me. And there was apparently one young man and one young lady, though they had a difficult time understanding the concept of gender given their current state of affairs.

It was powerful and interesting. It felt safe communicating with them, and I will probably do it again, especially if I find myself awake in that hour betwixt and between when it seems all things of heaven and earth are in a drowsy state of active receptiveness.

Quote of the day: “The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, specter, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding? We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here or there, stand ajar?” — Louis L’Amour

Daily gratitudes:
MKL’s true love and support
Flocks of pigeons
A reduction in my nerve issues (from the steroid mega-dose)
My Victorian nightdress
Seeing old friends in dreams

Today’s guest poet: Emily Bronte


I die but when the grave shall press
The heart so long endeared to thee
When earthy cares no more distress
And earthy joys are nought to me.

Weep not, but think that I have past
Before thee o’er the sea of gloom.
Have anchored safe and rest at last
Where tears and mourning can not come.

‘Tis I should weep to leave thee here
On that dark ocean sailing drear
With storms around and fears before
And no kind light to point the shore.

But long or short though life may be
‘Tis nothing to eternity.
We part below to meet on high
Where blissful ages never die.


I have no beach to walk on
like Lucy did
but I have as many ghosts
or perhaps more.

my feet leave invisible prints
on waves of pavement
at the edge of a concrete sea.

the passage of time
and the healing of hearts
follows the same course
despite disparate shores.

And the ghosts –
the companions of a solitary soul –
they just

only they
can see.

It really pisses me off how the “ghosthunters” on The Travel Channel’s Haunted shows act like such bullies to the ghosts – yelling at them, insulting them, taunting them, having absolutely no respect for the spirit’s intelligence and sensibilities.  I mean, these guys (or overly made-up girls) come into the spirit’s house and try to disturb them, make them show themselves, make them communicate.  Please!  The ghosts are just minding their own business.  How rude.

Trust me, I understand about haunted places and this is NOT the right approach.  And besides, it’s all so fake – it’s like watching pro wrestling!  Disembodied voices, dust motes, and of course you’re going to find cold spots in the basement – it’s a BASEMENT.

I generally believe that most spirits are good – just as I generally believe most people are good.  One of my favorite movie line quotes is from Silverado:  “Might as well think everyone is your friend or no one is – don’t make much difference.”  I know that some are not.  I’ve experienced them myself (like Sam at the White Eagle Tavern in Portland, Oregon, a story I’ll relate one day). I also know that not all of them need – or want – to move on.  If I were a spirit, I’d be pretty darn annoyed by someone coming into house, when I hadn’t asked them for help, and trying to make me change.  (Gee, sounds a little like what we did in Iraq, doesn’t it?)  Then again, I’d also be rather amused – and I suspect I’d mess with them, just to give a good show.  Or I’d completely ignore them, just to make them look bad in front of the cameras – but then they’d just make something up, which is what half of them seem to do anyway.

So, in conclusion, if I decide to hang around instead of going straight off to the afterlife, do NOT mess with me – unless you are invited.

May 2022


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