a still life is the last I will see of you
I have a ghost. I think. Not a mean ghost. But it is affecting my constitution. I don’t want to sage my home, because what if it’s my mom, just kind of making a little visit now and then?
Then again… Probably not. My mom didn’t like to “visit people” when she was alive. Her very idea of hell would be having to do it even after death’s {supposed} sweet release.
This ghost has been giving me strange dreams; my sense of its presence always coincides with them. They are sometimes really good dreams, the kind that make you want to stay asleep forever. But the overwhelming feeling I have upon waking is… unsettled. Not scared exactly. It’s murkier, more fluid, than fear.
I can’t remember the details of the dreams, these are lost to the blue ether. But when I wake, I know something has been there. Dipping its white-tipped fingers into my sleep, messy and tangled.
It’s like looking at a picture hanging on a wall, and you stare and stare, not because of the contents, but because something is off. It’s not crooked, but it’s not straight either.
I was not opposed to this ghost. I’ve never felt afraid or angry. But the ripples in my reality are increasing in frequency, duration and depth and so maybe I need to sage. Release and cleanse.
Maybe at least I’ll be able to fall asleep before 3am.