© 2009 YouTube, LLC
901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066
 Here are two odd news stories that I just had to share:
First, is a story about a Turkey on the NJ Turnpike. I wrote a short story when I was in grade school about a runaway turkey. I think, if I remember correctly, that it was trying to escape being eaten for Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe, that's what this turkey in the news is trying to do as well. If so, it's not the best escape plan, though, since it's too easy to become road-kill playing on the NJ Turnpike.
Secondly, here's a story about some homeless people in Moscow who sold a corpse to a kebab house after eating their fill. Yikes! Were they so hungry and desperate for money that they would do something so terrible and disgusting? Hopefully, no one ate the human kebabs. Hey, if the corpse's name was Robert, then would he be a Bob Kebab? Ugggh, bad joke, Kami! Well, I'll stick with eating the turkey.
Here are the complete stories: ============================================================
Yahoo! News
http://news.yahoo.com/ Until I type again, Kami
This morning I felt like reading some poetry by Emily Dickinson. I've always considered her one of my favorite poets, and when I read some of her poems this morning, I was reminded why I like her work so much. There is such charm and an almost child-like awe of life in her work, which I really admire. She celebrates the world, appreciates loss, and enjoys its many beautiful wonders. She produced a massive quantity of poetry, and I particularly enjoy the poems she wrote about nature. Here are some pieces that I wanted to share: "TWO butterflies went out at noonAnd waltzed above a stream,
Then stepped straight through the firmament
And rested on a beam;
And then together bore away
Upon a shining sea,—
Though never yet, in any port,
Their coming mentioned be.
If spoken by the distant bird,
If met in ether sea
By frigate or by merchantman,
Report was not to me."
"BESIDES the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.
A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eves,—
Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves.
Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.
Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!"
 "THE MOON was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe, The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue."
 Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/*** Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, below are the links to do so.
For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html For Part Three go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html For Part Four go to:http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-four-education-in.html For Part Five go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/10/wide-awake-part-five-thomas-story.html ***
WIDE AWAKE Part Six: Curse Of The Ring "Thomas' Story -- Continued"
My proposal to Angelique had been impulsive, so I had yet to get her a ring. After she agreed to marry me, my search for the perfect ring began. Beautiful and expensive were requirements, but Angelique and I also wanted a ring that was unique in someway. Using my connections at the art and antiquities dealership, I came across the largest and most gorgeous diamond ring I had ever seen. It had been crafted in Europe in the early 17th century for a family of French nobles. Only recently, it had come back on the market as part of an estate sale in London. It was beautiful, but it was more than that. The moment I saw it, I was transfixed, as if a spell had been caste upon me. Who knows? Maybe it had. Knowing the ring's history, and what happened to me after I bought it, I have wondered if dark magic may have been at work. I would never have believed such a thing when I was alive, but death has made me more open minded.
The executor of the estate, a pale, gloomy man named Martin Dobbs, told me the ring's history before I bought it. He said that he couldn't allow anyone to buy it without full disclosure. He'd never forgive himself otherwise. I remember thinking, at the time, that he was a superstitious old fool when he told me that he believed that the ring was cursed. Cursed! How ridiculous that sounded! Who could believe such nonsense? Certainly, not I.
Mr. Dobbs believed in it wholeheartedly. He sat at his scuffed up desk, in his small, cluttered London office, and I could see his hands tremble. Martin Dobbs was afraid of the ring. He would not touch it directly, only the outside of its box. He would hardly look at it. The entire time he told me what he knew of the ring's history, there was terror in his eyes.
He told me that the ring was crafted in the 17th century for a wealthy French noblewoman by her husband. Legend says that he had the ring made in an attempt to appease her anger after she'd learned of his latest mistress in a long line of extra-marital affairs. The story goes that he presented it to her while in an upper hallway of their large manor house, just before they were to descend the stairs for dinner. She took a long look at the ring, smiled, and, in a gesture of rejection, threw it past her husband, onto one of the steps of the staircase.
She told him, "I curse you, and I curse your ring."
Appalled, he stared at her in shock for a long moment, before he turned to retrieve the costly ring from the stair upon which it had landed. Just as he was bending over to pick it up, he lost balance. I was unexplainable. One moment, he was bending over, feet firm on the floor, the next he was falling down the steps. Down, down the remaining steps he fell. He landed headfirst at the bottom of the staircase. Shocked to witness her husband's sudden fall, the noblewoman rushed to his side, but it was already too late. He'd broken his neck, and the beautiful ring was clutched in his dead hand.
The French noblewoman had loved her husband, despite his infidelities, and his death sent her into a deep despair. She kept to her rooms after that night. Visitors would come and go, but each left disappointed in their desire to see her. Food and drink were also sent away, barely touched by the lady of the house, if they were touched at all. Only a favorite ladies' maid was allowed to keep her company, and even those occasions grew less and less often.
One day, two or three months after her husband's tragic fall, the noblewoman was discovered missing from her rooms when her favored ladies' maid went to check on her. Since she'd not left those rooms in so long, this was an immediate cause for concern. A search was begun, but it did not last long. The noblewoman was found at the bottom of a high tower, which was the oldest part of the manor house. She was quite obviously dead from having jumped from the top of the tower. It was discovered that she was wearing the same ring her husband had been trying to give to her when he died. Her fingers were so broken in her fall that it was difficult to pry the ring off her hand, but, nevertheless, someone managed to remove it and add it to the rest of her vast jewelry collection.
The diamond ring was then passed on to the couple's eldest son and heir as part of the family's estate. By this time, the ring was thought to be cursed, and this belief was furthered by the many years of misfortunes that took place. There were accidents, suicides, and even murders surrounding the family and friends of all who owned it. During the French Revolution, the ring was sold by its owner, a distant cousin, and last living heir to the original owners. This lady had no choice, except to sell the valuable family heirloom. Her escape from France to England had left her with little to support herself in her new life abroad. In fact, she felt fortunate to have made it to London at all, since the rest of her family had already lost their heads to Madame Guillotine. Some have said that it was unfortunate that she did not sell the ring sooner, perhaps then she could have escaped the curse before it had left its mark on her too. Only a day after she sold it, she drowned in a boating accident on the Thames.
I was told that all future owners of the ring were equally effected by the curse, and that this tragic pattern continued until I was the one presented with the opportunity (if you can call it that) to buy it. I found the ring's history to be a fascinating story, but not one that I believed to be true. To me, it was an impressive, valuable piece of jewelry, and I was sure Angelique would want it as her engagement ring. She would not believe it was cursed, anymore than I did. So, I bought it; bought it without hesitation, even as the estate's executor looked clearly relieved to see it go.
After buying the ring, I flew with it back to Seattle right away. I remember the day I arrived back was a Tuesday, mostly because I had a dinner reservation for Angelique and myself just three days later, on Friday night. It was then that I planned to give her the ring. In the meantime, I kept the ring in my office. I had a wall safe there, and it was common for me to use this as a temporary stash for some of the smaller valuables while they were transitioning in and out of the dealership. I was sure the ring would be secure there for a few days until I gave it to my new fiancee.
As was my habit, I was the last to leave my office on Friday evening. Before I left, I took the ring out of the safe and put it in my inner coat pocket. My plan was to hurry home to change, and then to pick up Angelique for our big dinner date. I worked in a large office building where there were several tenants leasing office space, besides the company that I worked for. Frequently, I encountered unfamiliar faces in the elevator, the lobby and the hallways. My dinner date with Angelique was scheduled late in the evening. Usually, the building was fairly empty by this time on most Fridays, and this day was no exception.
I ran into no one on my way to the elevator, which wasn't at all surprising, but something happened that I did think was strange. When I pushed the elevator button, I could see that one of the two elevators went up to the third floor, and then it stopped and stayed there, two floors below mine. I pushed the button again, could see the second elevator move up from the lobby, and then it, too, reached the third floor, and stopped. Like the other elevator, rather than continuing up to me, it seemed to be stuck. Growing impatient, thinking that I would be late getting Angelique if I didn't leave soon, I pushed the button several more times. Nothing happened. Neither elevator moved from the third floor. Frustrated, and knowing my fiancee would yell at me if I were even a few minutes late, I took one last look at my watch before deciding to take the stairs.
I headed down the stairway at a jog. It was as I turned down the second of the five flights of stairs, to the entryway to the third floor, that I saw a figure in front of me, dressed in black clothing and wearing a ski mask. Before my brain could really register what it was seeing, a gun was pointed my way, and I was hit by the first of several bullets, fired in rapid succession. I tumbled the rest of the way down the flight of steps, landing in a sprawled heap at the gunman's feet, as he stood in front of the third floor exit. In pain and shock, I tried to cry out, but I could only manage a low gurgling sound. My pockets were quickly searched by the shooter, and, although I wanted to struggle, to fight him, I couldn't seem to move. He took my wallet, my watch, and the infamous diamond ring, and, after obtaining these valuables, he shot me a final time before running off. I lay there, I don't know how long. I remember feeling the wetness of my own blood pooling around me. My vision began to fade. It didn't take long before everything sank into total blackness. ***To Be Continued***
Until I type again,
Kami
 |
help center e-mail options report spam |
kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube:
I took a class in high school called just "Musicals". It was co-taught by the music & drama teachers. I enjoy most musicals, and I remember the classes' drama teacher saying that idea behind a musical is that the characters become so filled with emotional energy that they can no longer just speak their thoughts and feelings - they must sing them! I think this sums up musicals very well, and I've thought how funny it would be if we all did that in our everyday lives! This improv group has this same idea, it seems. It's soooooo funny! Grocery Store Musical HQ 2009 official video download
new music video 10/2009 |
© 2009 YouTube, LLC
901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066
Until I type again,
Kami |
This CNN news article speaks of both economic despair and the horrible objectification of women. I wish that, especially in this day and age, I could say that there aren't still human beings buying and selling others, as if they are nothing except property. Sadly, it is still going on. Our world is deeply divided between the haves and the have-nots. Often, women and children are those most victimized by these highly unequal socio-economic systems. In the climb up the ladder of social and economic mobility, those lowest on the totem pole are also those most easily stood upon. So, while I believe we all have the basic human right to try to improve the quality of our lives and the lives of our families, I also believe that we should never stop looking down when we do so. We need to see clearly where we stand, and we need make whatever hard choices that will be required to prevent the crushing of others. In our struggles to survive and thrive, we should attempt to limit our "us and them" thinking. Instead, we should try to recognize that there really is just "us". For the full CNN news article go to: http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/10/22/india.farmers.selling.wives/index.html
Until I type again, Kami
Photo courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/
*** Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, below are the links to do so.
For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html For Part Three go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-three-new-believer.html For Part Four go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html***
WIDE AWAKE
Part Five: Thomas' Story Begins
"Murdered?" I repeated the word back to Thomas as if I questioned whether I had heard him correctly. That wasn't actually the case. I knew that I hadn't misheard him when he said that he had become a ghost because he'd been murdered. It was just that I was having trouble accepting such a terrible event had happened to someone as nice as Thomas.
"I'm afraid so." Thomas, ghostly and invisible, replied. "After all these years, I still have difficulty with the concept myself. Yet, I know it's true. I remember too much of what happened to think otherwise."
Stephanie interrupted. "Do you know how many years ago this happened? You said it's been years. Do you know how long ago you were killed?"
"Yes, I've been able to keep track of the time. It's been eighteen years since my death."
"Wow!" Stephanie exclaimed. "That's two years before I was born."
"That's right, and Lily, you would have been only five years old, just a little girl."
"How old were you when it happened?" I asked.
"Twenty-seven. Doesn't it sound strange to think that I've actually been twenty-seven for the last eighteen years? It's as old as I'll ever be."
"Yeah, it does." I agreed. "You died when you were only four years older than I am now. It's not fair that you didn't get to live so much longer than that."
Thomas sighed. "I've found life isn't always fair, and death is rarely, if ever, so."
There was sadness in his voice. It made me long to put my arms around him and give him a hug. Of course, this wasn't possible. I couldn't even see Thomas, yet alone touch him. I had only a general idea that he stood nearby, and to the left of me, since his voice came from that direction. This was also assuming ghosts aren't skilled ventriloquists, and that he really stood as near me as he seemed.
It was odd to me that I should have any feelings towards Thomas. I had just met him, and he was, after all, a ghost. Why should I have this desire to comfort him? Was this a normal reaction for someone to have in such an abnormal situation? I didn't know.
I spoke softly, hoping he'd feel some comfort from my tone. "Thomas, if it's too difficult to talk about what happened, then you don't have to. You don't have to tell us about it."
"No, I don't have to tell you, but I want you to hear my story. I feel you are. . . my friends."
Friends? I thought about this. Like my sister, I had become friends with a ghost. Yet, my friendship with Thomas wasn't the same as his friendship with Stephanie. He'd expressed having feelings for me that were more than friendly. Our relationship had begun with both of us aware of his attraction towards me.
Try as I might, I doubted very much that I could think of him as solely a friend. This confused me. If he was more than my friend, then what was he? I barely knew him, had only heard his voice and never even seen him, but, I wondered about my feelings. How long does it take to develop an infatuation?
"Lily?" Thomas sounded concerned. "Are you alright? You have the strangest expression on your face."
"Oh, yes. I'm fine. Just deep in thought." I realized I needed to stay focused on the conversation. "Please, go on, Thomas. Continue with what you've been wanting to say. Tell us your story."
"O.K., then." Thomas agreed, and he began to tell us about his life and his death.
"Thomas' Story" Thomas Malcolm Davenport III is my full name. I was born forty-five years ago, the only child of wealthy parents. Unfortunately, both my parents were more interested in the idea of having a child than in actually raising one. When I was quite young, they sent me away to boarding school, and I regret to say, this only further damaged our relationship. Throughout my life, my parents were cold and distant, nearly strangers to me. Once I became an adult, I had very little contact with them. It was easier, on all of us, not to try to pretend affection that just didn't exist between us. As an adult, I went to an Ivy League College, but instead of getting into a profession acceptable amongst my family's social circle, such as law or business, I became fascinated with art. I dabbled in painting and sculpture, with limited results. Eventually, I discovered that my talents lay elsewhere. I became quite knowledgeable in art history, and, after completing my degree, I went to work for an art and antiquities dealership with an office based in Seattle. My supervisor was a brilliant art historian, twenty or so years older than myself, named Professor Christine Harper.
In those days, Christine divided her time up between working for the art and antiquities dealership and teaching locally at the University of Washington. This changed, after my death. She told me it was too hard to work there without me able to work by her side, and she decided to quit the dealership altogether and focus on academics alone. You see, when we started working together, she and I became very close friends, really more like mother and son. I think that since neither of us were married or had children, we quickly adopted one another as our only recognized family.
Under Christine's supervision, my career flourished. I didn't need to work for the money, since I had a trust fund that supplied me with more than ample funds, but I enjoyed my job. I was also good at it. I'd been seeing a woman, romantically, I mean, for quite awhile. Her name was Angelique, and she was very beautiful. I wish I could say she had many other good qualities, but she didn't. Angelique was beautiful, but she wasn't a nice person. I believe my money was her main reason for being with me. I think that I was aware of this, even back then, yet it wasn't something I was willing to acknowledge. The fact that my requirements in a woman were so shallow didn't say a lot in favor of my maturity and judgement. Sadly, it seems that only after my death has my taste in women improved.
We all make mistakes, and my immaturity led me to make most of mine. I could blame my parents for not giving me a suitable role model in forming a health relationship, but long ago, I came to realize that blame gets me nowhere. I know that I must accept responsibility for my own choices. Dating a woman like Angelique was the first of those mistakes. Becoming so infatuated with her beauty that I proposed to her, was my second mistake. Yet, it was the third mistake that ultimately had the worst consequences. Although, I suppose it was the whole combination of errors, working together as a whole, that led to the final outcome.
***To Be Continued***
Until I type again,
Kami
| | help center | e-mail options | report spam | | kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: About a month ago, I saw the movie "Love Happens" in a local theater. I very much enjoyed it, very sweet movie. It was immediately after seeing the film, that I decided I wanted to hear one of the songs in the movie again. This song really sparks my emotions, and I am glad I'm finally getting around to sharing the Youtube video. Until I type again, Kami Another Live HALFIM - imagine what would happen if he skipped this one - just once - and did eg. "Love Like Blood" instead - would walls come down ? Would the Earth stop rotating ? | © 2009 YouTube, LLC
901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066 |
 Photo credit: http://www.freedigitalphoto.net***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, below are the links to do so. WIDE AWAKE Part Four: Education In The Supernatural After my late night, I slept in the next morning, so that I awoke much, much later than usual. Stephanie was always a late riser, but this morning, for once, I even managed to sleep in longer than her. She was already at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal when I walked in the room. I immediately headed to the coffee maker and started brewing a pot. Still very groggy, my "Good morning" to her was punctuated by a wide yawn.
"Good morning." Stephanie replied. She studied me a moment. "Still tired?"
"Yeah, I was up late."
"Trouble sleeping?"
I couldn't help the silly grin on my face. "Yes, but that turned out to be a good thing." I told her about my meeting, the night before, with Thomas, including our conversation about why he'd been reluctant to start talking to me. She was as shocked as I was to hear his reason.
"He likes you?" She asked. "Do you mean that he likes you? Or that he likes you likes you?"
"He likes me likes me."
"Wow!"
"Yeah. Wow!" I agreed.
"So, how do you feel about him?"
I was caught off guard by the question, and it instantly deflated the cheerful mood my conversation with Thomas had created. "Me? Well, I just met him last night." I knew I was squirming. "Besides, there's the small fact that he's a ghost."
My sister rolled her eyes. "Oh, puhleeez!"
"What? Don't you think that's a problem?"
"Sometimes I can't even believe we're related. Thomas is a nice guy. I'm sure that he'd be the first boyfriend you've ever had who wasn't a loser."
"Hey! That's not true! I've dated some great guys."
She made a face. "Yeah, sure you have. Name one."
Once she put me on the spot like that, I was surprised to find I was struggling for an example. "I. . . um. . . well, there was Dale."
"Dale!" Stephanie almost choked on the bite of cereal she'd just taken.
"What? What was wrong with Dale?"
"Borr-rring. Didn't you break up with him because he never wanted to do anything other than watch sports on ESPN?"
"There's nothing wrong with liking sports." I replied. I was feeling defensive, although Stephanie was right about the reason I'd stopped dating Dale.
"Watching sports is all that he liked. He wouldn't talk about anything else either, if I remember correctly. Why did you even date him to begin with?"
"I met him in one of my business classes. He wants to open up his own sporting goods store, and I really like how he put together his business plan."
"His business plan? Oooo, so sexy. You're such a nerd, Lily."
"I am not!"
My sister snickered. "Do you know what's worse? Dale wasn't as bad as John."
Now, I was the one making a face. I couldn't help feeling disgusted at the mention of my ex-boyfriend, John. He and I hadn't dated long. The first fight we'd had, he'd slapped me. It was a hard smack, right across my face. No had ever been violent with me before, and the shock and emotional anguish it caused had been worse than the physical pain. I broke up with him because of the incident. I felt I'd been lucky to get out of that relationship in one piece.
"You're right about John. He was a jerk. I still say the other guys weren't that bad. Maybe, they weren't the most exciting guys in the world, but how can you compare them with a ghost? At least, they were all alive."
"Barely." Stephanie gulped down some orange juice. "Like I said before, sometimes I can't believe were even related. Why does everything have to be so serious with you? What about just having some fun?"
"Well. . . I admit, that last night I probably would have agreed with you. I enjoyed talking to Thomas. I've been wanting to have fun this summer, and I was surprised to realize that it's fun to talk to him."
"Good. So, what's the problem?"
"I guess, I've started feeling different about things this morning. It sounds crazy to even think about. . . liking him back. Doesn't it?"
Stephanie began to laugh. "You wouldn't be wondering that unless it was already too late." She broke into song:
"Lily and Thomas,
Sittin' in a tree.
K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
First, comes love.
Then, comes marriage.
Then, comes Lily,
Pushing a baby carriage."
I started laughing too. "You're ridiculous, Steph! He's a ghost!"
"Hey," she shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."
Shaking my head at my sister's silliness, I asked her, "Speaking of Thomas, have you heard from him yet today?"
"Nope. You kept him up late. Maybe, he's napping."
"Ha, ha. Ghosts don't sleep. At least, I don't imagine that they do."
Stephanie grinned. "Maybe, he's been listening to our conversation, and it hurt his feelings when you said you don't like him back."
"I never said that I don't like him. I said that I just met him, and that liking him or not doesn't really matter since he's a ghost."
"I'm sure it matters to him."
That stopped me. It was a good point, and something I hadn't considered. Had I hurt Thomas' feelings? I'd only just started believing in ghosts last night, and I'd already discovered that a ghost could develop romantic feelings. Couldn't I also assume that a ghost could get his or her heart broken as easily as anyone else? Did that also mean that a heartbroken ghost could also heal? Or were they doomed to carry around their heartache for eternity? That was a terrible thought, but it made me realize that there was a lot about Thomas, and ghosts in general, that I didn't know. It was time for me to further my education in the supernatural. "Thomas? Thomas, are you here?"
When I heard his voice, it was so close to my ear it made me jump. "Good morning, Lily. Good morning, Stephanie. How are you both today?"
"Great!" Stephanie answered. She was smiling at my still startled expression.
"Have you been here, listening to us, this whole time?" I heard the irritability in my voice, but I couldn't seem to help it.
Thomas laughed that warm, rich laugh of his. I suddenly felt unaccountably flushed. This irritated me more. I didn't like being laughed at. Worse than that, though, was the uncomfortable realization that it mattered what he thought of me. He'd told me that he likes me, and it was important to me not to lose his positive regard. Why this should be the case, I was afraid to acknowledge, even to myself.
"Don't worry." He murmured into my left ear. I felt the touch of his invisible fingers as they brushed a strand of my hair off my cheek. Louder he said, "I wasn't listening in on your conversation. I just stayed nearby, in case either of you called for me."
"That's cool." Stephanie responded while I was still trying to get my dry mouth to work.
"Um, yes." I agreed. "I appreciate you giving us some privacy."
"No problem at all. So, was there a particular reason that you called out to me, Lily? Not that I wouldn't mind if you had no reason, other than wanting to enjoy my company, but I'm betting that you have another reason?"
"Well, yes." I answered as I added milk and sugar to the cup of coffee I'd just poured. "I'm hoping you'll tell me more about ghosts. Why, for instance, are you one? I mean, I assume that there's some alternative afterlife other than becoming a ghost?"
"Yes, there is. Most souls move on to something else. I don't know where they go exactly, but it's more desirable than becoming what I am. Only a smaller percentage of souls continue to exist among the living, and we consider ourselves to be trapped here."
"Do you know why only some become ghosts and all the others don't? For instance, do you know why you became a ghost after you. . . died?"
"I've met others like me, and the general agreement is that we become stuck here either due to trauma or some kind of unfinished business. Some of us ghosts remember more of our lives, and our deaths, than others. Remembering helps us make sense of why we might still be tied to our old lives. In my case, I've a pretty good idea why I'm still here."
Stephanie looked surprised. "Really? I didn't know that. Since you've not said anything about it, I assumed that you didn't remember your life or why you became a ghost. At least, you've always given me that impression."
Thomas sighed. "Yes, I'm sure that I've led you to believe that. I'm sorry, Stephanie. Your so young and enthusiastic about life. I suppose that I've been reluctant to expose you to the darker side of things."
"I'm not a child." My sister crossed her arms and her bottom lip was sticking out in a pout. It made her appear two years old instead of sixteen, and it was in comic juxtaposition to her words. "I know that." Thomas replied gravely. He realized that he'd hurt my sister's pride. "I apologize for implying otherwise. I'm afraid I seem to fall too easily into the overprotective big brother role."
His words were just the thing to sooth her ego. Stephanie visibility relaxed. "Oh, O.K. It's just that I get enough of all that from my parents and Lily."
"Hey! Wait a minute!" I disagreed. "If you're trying to blame me for them grounding you don't bother. That was all because of your choices. Besides, you've not been grounded at all since you've been staying with me."
"Fine. Sorry. You're the best big sister in the whole wide world." Stephanie smirked. "You ought to win a Nobel prize and be written up in history books."
"Ha, Ha. Very funny." I responded in turn to my sister's sarcasm. "Getting back to the original subject. . . Thomas, you we're telling us that you know why you became a ghost?"
"Yes," He replied. "I remember enough about my death to know that it was the sort of sudden trauma that can sometimes trap a soul among the living."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Well, in a nutshell, I was murdered."
*** To Be Continued ***
Until I type again,
Kami
It's a beautiful autumn day here today. The sky and water are blue, the trees are a mixture of green evergreens and many others whose leaves are changing and beginning to fall. The breeze is pleasantly cool and the sun is comfortably warm. I feel very peaceful. I realize how grateful I am for the simple gift of these moments. Last week was very busy and stressful, but this weekend has revitalized me. I've taken time to rest and to play and to laugh and to talk and to sing. Whenever I am not careful to keep my life balanced, I find that, if I pay close attention, life brings me the opportunities that I seek to regain my center. These opportunities will stand before me waving their arms, saying "Pick me! Pick me! You know I'm just what you need right now." If I'm not paying attention, not doing what I need to take care of myself, these opportunities become more aggressive. They will pout and cry and scream and finally, if I'm still ignoring them, they'll hit me over the head. Ow! O.K. There's no ignoring them now. Autumn is my favorite season because it is a season of transitions. It is a time to harvest all that we have grown in our lives, and it is also a time to let go of what has served us in the past, but is now no longer useful. We let go of what we no longer need to hold on to, so that there is room within us for what new things we now need. It is all O.K. It is alright. Life moves on. Life changes, just as the seasons change, and we can harvest what we need and release the rest. I've been grieving these past many months for losses in my life, for things I can not change, for the witnessing of a loved one's tragic self-destruction. These things have left their mark on me. I have been through fire. I have been burned. Yet, I am a success story. It is not because I have obtained fame or fortune. Not at all. Really, I find those things hold but fleeting joy. My success lies in my survival. It lies in my continual striving for growth. I consider myself a fearful person, but I'm working at facing those fears rather than hiding from them. I have good days and bad days, just as we all do, but I feel my life is getting better and better everyday. I'm becoming a better at planting the seeds of change within myself, at nuturing those seeds, and at harvesting what comes out of them. Sometimes I get what I expect from them. At other times, I am surprised to discover what has grown. It is not a clear and easy path that life gives any of us. Yet, if we pay attention, there are always new opportunites to learn, to love, to grow and to appreciate. I see the cycles of our lives mirror the cycles of nature in that there is a time and place for everything. Sometimes we feel the need for change, for movement. Sometimes we feel the need to stay still and enjoy the beauty of the moment. At all times, I find, it serves us best to pay attention to what we need. No matter how busy we might be, each day holds moments when we can nourish ourselves. There are always moments when we can ask ourselves "What do I need right now?" It might take us time to find the answer sometimes, but that is perfectly fine. If we are seeking to find the answer than we are on the right road. The most important thing is to keep asking the question. Until I type again,
Kami
Photo courtesy of http://freedigitalphotos.net/
***Author's note: "Wide Awake" is an original, previously unpublished, fictional story that I wrote. It will be told in multiple parts. If you've yet to read any of the prior parts, here are the links to do so. For Part One go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-one-crazy-talk.html For Part Two go to: http://kamikae5.blogspot.com/2009/09/wide-awake-part-two-haunted-house.html ***
WIDE AWAKE
Part Three: New Believer I've always been fascinated by the fact that a single incident can forever alter the course of ones life. This happens all the time. Often those events are obviously life-altering, such as a birth, death, marriage or divorce, for instance. At other times, we are not able to recognize what impact an incident will have upon our future. We may feel that something has changed, but all too easily this can be considered to be of less than life-altering significance. After being saved from a fall off a chair by unseen hands and being warned to be careful by an invisible source, I had the feeling that some things would be different. A brush with the supernatural had turned me from non-believer into believer. This was not a natural leap for me. I'm the sort of person who is comfortable with the concrete and logical. A belief in ghosts was neither of these. My coming to hold such a belief required a shift in myself. The old Lily Wilson could no longer exist under these circumstances. A new Lily Wilson was forced to begin her existence. This creation of a new me was not something readily apparent. I didn't realize that I was forever altered until the transformation was fully under way. One day I was a business grad. student on summer vacation, and the next day I was a woman who communicates with a ghost. Yet, at the time, I was so caught up in these bizarre new circumstances that I had no thought about how my life might be changed by them. I had the obsession of a new believer so caught up in the practice of their faith that they can not seen the world beyond it. My focus became centered upon a ghost. In particular, I was locked upon trying to communicate with Professor Harper's resident ghost, Thomas. My sister had been in contact with him for a couple of weeks, but his rescue of me was the first time I'd had contact with him. Oh, that doesn't mean he hadn't been around me. The night he'd rescued me from falling off the chair, I'd puzzled over the cold drafts and the sensation of being watched. I hadn't wanted to conclude that there was a spectral origin for these. Now, I was sure that Thomas had been there with me all that night after my sister, Stephanie, had gone to bed. He'd been near me, hovering about. Had he been planning to make contact with me that night? Stephanie had said that he'd told her he was planning to speak to me soon, but that he'd been putting it off because it was hard for him to do so for some reason he'd been unwilling to explain. Could a ghost be nervous about speaking to someone? Had he been hanging around me, trying to build up enough courage to say something? It was an odd idea. Why would Thomas be nervous about speaking to me? He couldn't have known that I'd nearly fall off a chair in the pantry. He'd prevented me from injury although, in doing so, he'd suddenly put himself in position to make the contact with me that he'd been reluctant to initiate. After my near-accident, I sat in the kitchen drinking my tea. Although I'd originally made the tea to help me sleep, I doubted I'd be able to relax anytime soon. My eyes scanned the room over and over, but I saw nothing. I put down my cup, held my breath, and listened as hard as I could. Silence. I might have thought that I was alone if it weren't for the on-going chill in the room and the continuing sense of another's presence. No, I wasn't alone at all. Alright. Enough is enough. I wasn't just going to sit there all night. I could passively wait for Thomas to contact me again, or I could take action. I decided on the latter. "Thomas?" I whispered into the icy kitchen. I paused, and then I whispered again. "Thomas?" No answer. "Thomas? If you're there, then answer me." Still no answer. Standing in the brightly lit, silent kitchen, in the middle of the night, it occurred to me how foolish I must look. Maybe it was this house. Could poison vapors coming through the floor boards lead us to hallucinate? I'd been perfectly fine before I'd begun house-sitting here, a couple of weeks ago. Although, it had only been Stephanie who was in contact with him until tonight. If I could have continued thinking of Thomas as her imaginary friend, it would have been so much easier. Then, I wouldn't be feeling like an idiot, talking to myself. These thoughts made me angry. Why should I be spending time trying to get a ghost to talk to me? I never asked for this drama. I was here to house-sit, not to ghost-sit. Other than house- sitting, I was on vacation. I should be having fun, and this was not my idea of a good time. I poured the rest of the tea down the sink. I was too angry to drink it now. Tired and grouchy, I ranted aloud as I paced around the room. "Fine. Don't answer me. Don't talk to me at all. Apparently, that's how you want it. Why is that? Huh? Why is it that you'll talk to both Stephanie and Professor Harper, but you don't want to talk to me?" Silence. Silence and more silence. "Forget it! I don't care if you talk to me or not." I stopped pacing. "Oh, this is ridiculous. Reality check, Lily. You're having a one-sided argument with a silent ghost. Not your brightest moment." I nearly jumped out of my slippers when these comments at last elicited a response. "No, really?" An invisible, amused man spoke right next to me. "I was enjoying this one-sided argument of yours. It's a shame to interrupt it, but I suppose I should start talking to you before you go back to believing that I don't exist." "Not much chance of that now." I replied. "I assume that I'm speaking to Thomas?" "Yes, you assume correctly, and you're Lily." I nodded, although it had been a statement rather than a question. Now that Thomas was speaking to me, my anger had drained away. Jagged frustration had become smooth relief. I couldn't understand it. Once I believed in Thomas' existence, it became important to me that we start talking. His reluctance to get to know me in return only increased my interest in him. "Are you going to tell me why you've not wanted to speak to me?" He laughed. It startled me that his laugh sounded so warm, so rich, so alive. A ghost surely shouldn't sound like that, I thought. Although, I really couldn't claim to be an expert on ghosts. My only knowledge of the supernatural came from t.v. and movies. So, all of what I knew could be purely invention. Maybe all ghosts have laughs that make them sound as if they are still alive. Thomas finished laughing and asked, "That really bothers you, doesn't it? Do you hate not knowing why?" I would have glared at him if I could have seen him. I settled for eye rolling and shaking my head. "Will you just answer the question?" "I've been watching you, Lily. Ever since the first time that you entered this house, I've watched you, and I've listened." He paused, and I asked, "You've been spying on me? Don't you think I deserve any privacy?" "Yes, to both questions. Don't worry. I don't watch you all the time. I've not seen anything you'd be embarrassed to show a stranger." I blushed. It hadn't occurred to me that as a ghost he could watch me anywhere, at any time. Hopefully, he was telling me the truth about giving me privacy at those times when I'd most want it. Oddly enough, I believed he was being honest about it. For some reason I couldn't explain, I didn't feel that Thomas was a liar. I did, however, see that he was trying to distract me as a way to avoid my original question. "I'm not going to bed until you tell me what I want to know." I crossed my arms. Thomas laughed again. "It's not wise for the living to try to out wait us ghosts. Time doesn't mean the same to me as it does to you. If I choose not to answer you, then you could stand there until you collapse." I didn't budge. My family has called me "stubborn". I've never disagreed with this assessment. It was foolish, in this case. I was already tired. I wonder, in retrospect, if I would have actually stood there until I collapsed? Was I stubborn enough for that? I think that I might be. Fortunately, it never went to that point. Sounding exasperated, Thomas finally answered my question. "Alright, alright. Fine. I'll tell you. Jeez, you're stubborn, Lily. . . Well, as Stephanie told you, it has been hard for me to speak to you. It's not that I haven't wanted to talk to you. I have. Since you moved in, I've been trying to work up the courage to say something. It's been. . . difficult. I've been too nervous." "Nervous? Why?" "It's because I like you, Lily. I like you in a way that a ghost has no business liking the living. It's not right, not natural. If I were a regular man, it would be different. That's why I've been reluctant to start talking to you. Usually, I'll look at you, and I'll think how beautiful you are, and then the words will just stick inside me." My head was spinning. I couldn't process what he was saying. "You like me? You think I'm beautiful?" "Of course. You're beautiful woman. I've listened to you, Lily, and you're also smart and interesting. That's why it's been so hard for me to be comfortable speaking with you." "Yet, you're doing it. I mean, you're speaking to me now." "Yes, I wasn't sure I would have if you hadn't almost fallen off that chair." "Well, thanks for saving me from falling." "You're welcome. I couldn't let you get hurt. Until then, I know you didn't believe in ghosts. I'd considered letting it stay that way, but then that was no longer possible. You started talking to me, and I finally found I couldn't resist answering you." "I've never been liked by a ghost before. At least, I don't think I have." I smiled. "Actually, I could have had a whole supernatural fan club, and I'd never know it." Thomas groaned. "I shouldn't have told you how I felt. This is can only cause trouble for us both." My smile grew wider. I'd worried that I wasn't having any fun on my vacation. Yet, suddenly, I was having a good time. In fact, my life, usually very practical and well-planned, had suddenly become very unpredictable. It surprised me that I didn't mind the change. I'd never wanted trouble more. ***To Be Continued***
Until I type again, Kami
| | help center | e-mail options | report spam | | kamikae5 has shared a video with you on YouTube: I'm posting again from my cell phone. My internet access at home is so poor these days that it's nearly non-existent. Yet, I am not going to let that stop me from posting! Today, I'm in the mood to post some comedy. This bit is from the comedian Lewis Black on creationism and evolution. I'm not someone who believes that it makes sense to take any religious text literally, including the Bible. I find more meaning in taking religious text as I would other books, as cultural tales and metaphors. I find I value the stories more when I treat them as I do other stories, and there can be a lot of meaning to be found within any story. This is why I find that I can fit science and religion together very well in my own life. Of course, this isn't the case for a lot of people. Science and religion are in opposition for many. I think this allows for some prime comical material. Until I type again, Kami | © 2009 YouTube, LLC
901 Cherry Ave, San Bruno, CA 94066 |
I was taking a walk at dawn before work this morning (I go to work quite early), and I took these photos on my new cell phone (a purple LG Lotus - - which I love). It was so quiet and peaceful this morning, and I was able to watch the sunrise over the water. I captured a tree just beginning to change colors, some interesting pretty flowers just peeking out of the near darkness, and plenty of shots of sky, clouds, sun and sea. 
 Photo courtesy of http://www.freefoto.com/index.jsp
WIDE AWAKE
Part Two: Haunted House
Goosebumps covered my arms. I shivered. My sixteen year old sister, Stephanie, had just told me that she'd been communicating with a ghost for the past two weeks. She said this ghost was named Thomas, and he lived -- no, wait, lived is surely the wrong term to describe it -- he resided in Professor Harper's large house in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood. I was house-sitting for the professor while she was on in Europe on sabbatical, and my sister was staying with me for the summer. I'd thought things had been going very well in the those two weeks, since we'd moved in, but I questioned this after Stephanie's announcement that the house was haunted.
My name is Lily Wilson. I'm twenty-three, and I have to admit that living in a haunted house was a frightening idea. It gave me the chills. At the same time, I was sure I didn't even believe in ghosts. I thought it likely that my sister had things wrong. After toying with several ideas, possible drug use or physical or mental illness, I'd decided that Stephanie was just imagining her conversations with Thomas. This so-called ghost had to be the product of the overactive mind of a lonely, excitable, troubled teenage girl. If it was O.K. for little kids to have imaginary friends, then it was possible, and even O.K., for a teenager to have one too.
Alright, alright. If I'm being honest, then I'll have to say that a child's imaginary friend and my sister's so-called ghost aren't really the same thing. Comparing the two was only designed to make myself feel better about the situation. Stephanie, not surprisingly, had no problems with any of it. She thought it was cool that she could talk with a ghost. She said Thomas was very nice and friendly to her. I couldn't fathom how the words "nice" and "friendly" could apply to a ghost, but my sister had her own way of looking at things. It was never easy for me to understand her point of view.
I did try to understand. After she told me about her imaginary ghost friend, I reached the just-play-along-and-humor-her stage. I tried to learn more about Thomas.
I asked her, "Do you see him? Or do you only hear him?"
Stephanie said Thomas chose to talk to her most of the time while invisible. He had made himself visible to her, but that was only twice. He told her that any contact with "the living", as he called us non-ghost people, wasn't easy. Making contact required both concentration and practice. For years, Professor Harper had been the only one among the living to whom he'd spoken. He'd managed to appear to the professor several times.
It was at this point that I interrupted Stephanie. "Thomas told you that he's also communicated with Professor Harper?"
She nodded. "Yeah, he says she's a great lady. He knew he'd miss her during her sabbatical, so he's glad to have us here."
"Whatever makes the ghost happy." I muttered to myself too softly for my sister to hear. Louder, I asked her, "If he's so glad to have us here, then why has he chosen to only communicate with you and not with both of us? Isn't he going to be pretty lonely when you go back to Portland for school in the fall?"
"Um, well," Stephanie seemed reluctant to reply. "I've asked him those same questions, and I told him that he needs to start talking to you too. He. . . he said that it's hard for him to talk to you, Lily."
"What do you mean? Why would talking to me be any different than talking to you or to Professor Harper?"
"I wondered the same thing, but he won't explain it. All I could get him to tell me is that it's hard for him to talk to you, but he does plan to try it soon."
"He does?"
I felt chilled, as Stephanie nodded her reply. The goosebumps returned to cover my arms again. Even though I'd only been pretending to believe in a ghost, the thought of hearing a dead person speak to me creeped me out. I didn't make sense. How could I be afraid of something I didn't believe to be real?
Fear and logic are not comfortable companions. I thought of myself as a logical person, not someone who is afraid of things that go bump in the night. Stephanie was the one with the overactive imagination, while I was the one with a cool head for business. That's why I felt getting my master's degree in business was logical. I was investing in my future, and I was keeping things practical. It wasn't practical to be afraid for what couldn't possibly be real.
Later than night, I was reminding myself of this as I tossed and turned in bed; the bed that was mine for the year I was to spend in Professor Harper's house. I told myself that it was illogical to be afraid. I wasn't Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol". Ghosts weren't coming to visit me at bedtime. Only my sister, sleeping in a room down the hall, was in the house with me. No one else. There was no reason I should have the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.
I'd already gotten up once to make sure the window blinds were tightly closed. They were. I was quite sure no one could see into the dark room. I hadn't really believed that anyone could. Even before I'd gotten up, I'd doubted the possibility, but I was looking for some kind of rational explanation for why I felt the way I did.
Huddled in bed beneath a quilt, I puzzled at the chill in the room. I could see my breath floating out of my mouth in small clouds. When I'd made my sleepy way to bed, the room had felt hot and stuffy. It was a warm summer night, and, after I'd brushed my teeth, I'd planned to turn on a fan to cool down the room. However, this odd feeling that I was being watched came to me when I returned from the bathroom. A draft of cold air came along with it. I'd pulled a thick bathrobe over my light, summery pajamas before climbing into bed. Yet, as tired as I was, I was quickly too cold and too anxious to fall asleep. Neither of these feeling made any sense, and I dislike it when things don't make sense.
My feelings drifted from fear into anger. I was angry with myself for being afraid. It was unacceptable. I blamed Stephanie's stories for sparking my imagination although I'd previously thought my imagination nearly non-existent. My sister's attempts to convince me the house was haunted hadn't been the best conversation to have right before bedtime. I found it ironic that, while she no doubt slept peacefully down the hall, to my frustration, I was wide awake.
Getting out of bed, I decided to head to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of chamomile herbal tea would help me relax. Wrapping and tying the long, thick robe tighter around me, I slipped on a pair of slippers and went downstairs. As I went through the house, I checked the doors and all the windows. They were closed and locked. Of course, they were. It was too much to hope that there would be a sensible reason for the chill breeze or for the feeling of being watched. Both sensations came along with me into the kitchen.
I heated a mug of water in the microwave, pulled it out, and added a tea bag. While my tea seeped, I dug through the cupboard looking for some honey to put in my tea. I remembered seeing some in the house, and, after a few moments, I recalled seeing a jar on a shelf in the pantry. Sure enough, there was a jar of honey on the highest shelf, out of reach of someone as petite as myself.
Grabbing a chair, I pulled it into the pantry and climbed up onto it. I could barely brush my fingers against the edge of the jar, not quite enough to grab hold of it. Raising myself onto my toes, I stretched up as far as I could. Just as my fingers wrapped around the jar, I felt the chair sway and start to rock to the side. In a split second, I became certain I was going to fall. The thought had barely registered itself when I felt the sensation of the chair suddenly stabilizing itself, as well as the touch of someone firmly grasping onto my left arm. Thankfully, both of these movements prevent my fall.
"Be careful." A masculine voice said near me.
If the grasp on my arm and on the chair hadn't been so firm, the sound of that voice might have startled me enough to start falling again. I jerked my arm away from the hand and quickly jumped off the chair. Frantically, my eyes darted around the room. I was looking for the man who had first broken into the house, and then had prevented me from falling. I was breathing hard, lost in the grip of panic for a short while. I remained this way until my rattled brain registered what I was looking at - - empty room.
I could see no one in the pantry, and I knew that no one had broken into the house. Everything was locked up, and I would have heard someone if they had tried to break in. Nevertheless, I knew, deep within myself, that I wasn't alone. There was a man in the pantry with me; a man who had saved me from a fall off the chair. I was certain that I had felt his hand on my arm and heard him warning me to be careful. I was also certain that I could no longer claim that I didn't believe in ghosts.
***To Be Continued***
Until I type again,
Kami
|
Posts
