Ghosts are not for me. I see you nodding your head, knowing what this wino loves to do, but I’m not talking about hard tack. I’m talking about real ghosts; the translucent kind that can walk through doors and crash at night. I’m talking about ghosts – and I have one in my house. Roll your eyes as much as you like: I’ve seen him. The first time I saw him, he was walking from my room to Daughter’s. I wondered what Son was doing in her room and went to see – only her door was closed. Daughter saw him slumped in an easy chair and…
Ghosts are not for me. I see you nodding your head, knowing what this wino loves to do, but I’m not talking about hard tack.
I’m talking about real ghosts; the translucent kind that can walk through doors and crash at night. I’m talking about ghosts – and I have one in my house. Roll your eyes as much as you like: I’ve seen him.
The first time I saw him, he was walking from my room to Daughter’s. I wondered what Son was doing in her room and went to see – only her door was closed.
Daughter saw him slumped in an armchair and stopped to greet who she thought was brother – but it wasn’t. He just disappeared. We are used to ghosts in our House of Spirits.
When we moved in, we had a little girl who played peek-a-boo and who got really mad at infidels by whirling around like crazy anything near them. She’s moved on with a little help, but I know she wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Not this one. He’s black – getting blacker by the day.
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And more naughty, flipping switches in broad daylight, tossing around the balsa wood cat that’s stood still in a corner for years and never moves. But wait and see, Son got a big blow on the back. Difficult. He lost his balance. Then I decided it was him or us. He has to go.
And then I learned what many cynics believe. They will question the existence of a higher power, but they do not argue with ghosts. I got holy water from an agnostic – I’m not kidding – an evil eye to wear from an atheist, herbal recipes and even a bag filled with dill “to wear over your heart”.
I’ll stick to my usual, thank you. I know the exercise and it works for me. We throw away everything – and I mean everything – that belonged to a distant relative who passed away a year ago.
Swap a chair and sofa to change the energy and then my weapon of vaporization: good old mpepi. I’ve already rolled up my tight bundle of mostly sage, ready to smear any room.
“Don’t forget to chant while doing it,” my Mother Earth friend reminds me. Chanting is not necessary, thank you. I smoked him out.