Sometimes I wonder if haters tell themselves I’m seeing skeletons or ghouls when I see ghosts. And that’s tragic.
…I see lots of things.
I see demons on occasion. I rebuke them in Jesus’ name.
I see shadows, black dots that look like bugs until I focus on them and I rebuke them too in Jesus’ name. The other night I was so close to one I almost felt like I could catch it with my hand.
I see transparent figures.
I see shadows.
I see lights.
I see mists.
I’ve seen full-bodied apparitions.
When I interact with ghosts I’ve heard their voices and later confirmed the sound of their voice in recordings I found online. I’ve seen their faces when I close my eyes.
“That’s heresy!!” yells a hater.
“How is it heresy?” asks Lacey.
They can’t explain without intellectually losing. And they’re convinced I can’t be experiencing ghosts. It’s a terrifying concept theologically if I am. Because it’s so nuanced if it’s true…it scares them. If I’m not conjuring ghosts…what does that mean?! That Catholics are right? What?! That all evil isn’t evil?! That what? It’s…terrifying. It feels like a dangerous slope to them. …For me it hasn’t been at all.
I simply shrug my shoulders, refuse to let it affect any of my previously held beliefs, with the exception of not having some physical evidence of the supernatural now…and let it go at that. It’s too unexplainable and I apologize to God for it daily.
…When I kissed Lem it was like kissing a man who is alive but without lips. Like my brain literally informed me of his physical presence in a similarly experienced way to when you “feel” someone staring at you and they’re actually there. Like somehow my brain almost involuntarily acknowledges/acknowledged whatever he is as him…and then…it was and is as if my actual lips touched his lips. But not quite with the sensation of physical living touch.
The air around Lacey’s right hand goes suddenly ice cold.
My brain almost seems to be between two realms.
“Who did this to you?!” asks a Christian, most likely.
Lacey smiles. “If it isn’t evil God will hopefully use it for everyone’s good. But really, it’s unclear. Even if the real Illuminati opened some portal in my brain for the purposes of their activities…it seems to have altered me possibly until my death. Against my will.” *laugh* “But the sad irony is that God really is real love. And if He created Eros…I’m, again, not convinced He isn’t using it for everyone’s good. …But also, if my father was born in 1894…what was going on in my brain already? Right? I’m not schizophrenic. But…I’ve said it before and I still wonder if my brain is genuinely missing some element that functions to keep living people more present than I often am in time and space. Like as a father ages does he take his sperm closer to the grave with him? So considering my father’s age…I was already in transition to the afterlife when I got…pulled into the 21st Century, so to speak?” *laugh* “And I’m glad I was created but…in that case…was I thinking I’d be born in Heaven? And then…”
A ghost almost materializes by her window. It doesn’t scare her. She just feels bad it can’t be less translucent, should it be a ghost. He seems to be Elliott.
“I just physically heard what I can only imagine was a psychic man calling out to Jack. Because he thought I was and am still Jack.” says Lacey.
“But Jack does help you?” says Elliott?
“I know. But I can feel his presence, yet I know that’s not actually me.” says Lacey. “It’s more like a part of my being doesn’t want to live and God’s had to use his spirit to calm me down.”
“What would you have done if he wasn’t there talking you through things?” asks Elliott.
“I don’t know. Would I have died of a seizure?” asks Lacey.
“He knows you hate getting help.” Jack says.
“Oh! That’s masculine! Are you a man?” asks Elliott of Lacey.
“No. Not at all.” says Lacey. “It hurts that that psychic rejected me so brutally. Should that not have been a hallucination.”
“I know who your actual spirit is. I’ve had you look in the mirror and see yourself.” says Elliott.
“I’m not a man? Am I?” she asks Elliott, feeling terrified, like she’s being smothered to death by a psychopathic parent at the thought that she could be a man or ever was one.
“Yes!! You were! You were a man!!!!” yells Satan, lying.
“No.” says Elliott. “Like in a well? Like you’re being drowned?” he asks, humorously.
“Why do they have to make me Jack? Or a lesbian? Or a homophobe? Why?” asks Lacey.
“Because someone they’re all controlled by hates the truth. I know you. You were never Jack.” He calms her down. “Nor a man.” He laughs at the silliness of the idea.
Michael smiles. Calmly.
“I can do the same thing Jack does. But you’d not breath as well. And I’m in love with you, so you’ll sense that.” says Lem. Her nose stuffs up temporarily. She feels loved though by some sense of something.
Her nose clears up suddenly when Michael does it. She feels more clear headed. Like mint…
Louis does it and she recognizes the origin of the shift in her personality over the last few years. He’s such a strong person.
Elliott flicks water at her teasingly from her water bottle.
“Demonic!” yells a Christian ex-psychic, who unfortunately might be being influenced by the demonic realm to assume that.
“It’s Satanic in her mind to use water in that way.” admits someone to explain the ex-psychic.
“But that’s not what I’m doing. That wasn’t it. It’s just an inside joke between Elliott and me.”says Lacey. “He likes to tease me.”
Jack can’t keep from laughing.
Time for herbal tea.
…Lacey did have PTSD. Years ago. It’s entirely possible some part of her struggles far more than she knows. And it’s funny. It’s like her physical body is merely an expression of her actual being. Like a drawing of her created by God for a fallen world. And also a puppet. Animated by God. …Possibly capable of being affected by ghosts…if the pilot is too shocked to move to save her life at times.
“It’s obvious you’re a dualist!” says Faye.
The thing is…”This is really happening!” is something she may have heard God say. As in, “Take this more seriously.” But Lacey doesn’t want to get her hopes up.
Hate is something one can get used to feeling from other people. It’s like the prison walls of Shawshank. And it’s hard to believe God would let me experience real ghosts and my only consequence would be having to actually deal with the reality of it all for eternity. If they’re not demons…they’re lovely people.