GHOST (blessed be)


At nine years of age I saw my first spirit, a gangly woman munching on an ear of corn down near the post office in the valley. Her eyes held different colors, one green, and the other blue. She was dressed old, nothing new, and when her voice came, it rolled in riddles and clues, and she talked of confidences, of what held my feet under me. She moved suddenly and quickly, stretching limb upon limb, and her words, came like a revelator, calming me, calming me… “A question is a shadow, that faith deletes, deeper is what you don’t see, blessed be, blessed be”.

And so I wondered, and I wandered, at night through the field of dreams. It was April, with the Hydra shining down. Smiling at me the large constellation spelling my name, telling me what I might see, and the reasons for my simple insight, that faith locked in a wild sea, within my mind, or maybe I was lost. But I thought of the gangly woman, the spirit, the words, and the revelator, and it seemed that when I looked at Alphard, that heart of the sky beast, it winked. That voice of the spirit with the different eyes, one green, and the other blue, fell upon me, calming me, calming me…”A question is a shadow, that faith deletes, deeper is what you don’t see, blessed be, blessed be”.

At twenty-eight years of age I crossed the tracks at Burlington, and saw the presence of the old man, levitating above the ground, pointing his wishbone of a tree toward the mountains of Colorado. His eyes held need, and they were the tan of a sea of wheat. He wore the dress of the farmer, perhaps the same as my Pappy had. He spoke in syntax, in verbs, words of rolling action that moved me upon my way. He was a water witch, the stick moving, waving through the air, through the window of my heart, and his words, came like a revelator, calming me, calming me… “A question is a shadow, that faith deletes, deeper is what you don’t see, blessed be, blessed be”.

And Meeker Meadow found me like the old ghost claimed it would, brought me kneeling chasing answers when shadows questioned where I stood. For I thought about what’s just beyond the boundary of life’s breath, and how most only settle to see who does what’s best. And the moon above November skies bewitched me till I swooned, made me reach beyond those shadows in the deeper faith of gloom. For beyond the wall of separation, which shows toward the real, were the oceans of electrons, without bodies who still feel. And the old man who led all, held the witches tree of old, waved it unto me, his voice calming me, calming me… “A question is a shadow, that faith deletes, deeper is what you don’t see, blessed be, blessed be”.

At the change of life at forty-six years of age, I saw a ghost of a witch’s child at play, weaving phantom pictures from his mind, sitting bombarded in his special chair, while nefarious dimwits taught him, that life was not fair. *His eyes were brown and shiny like a spectral sea, those thoughts beyond the circumference of what his teachers could hope to be. He looked to me, to be, what I hadn’t seen. Called me daddy, and it was clear why I was me. For genes of fortune handed down, ghost seen, when no one else hears a sound. I understand son, why you would say, say to me between our minds to this day. Your words a revelator, calming me, calming me…”A question is a shadow, that faith deletes, deeper is what you don’t see, blessed be, blessed be”.

*For my son who teaches me silent faith. 07.26.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


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