LJI 11 W2: Let Them In
Grandma warned me not to let them in. She knew before I did, saw the way I'd get distracted with nothin' going on. Back then it was like a faint breeze you didn't know where it came from, the buzz of a fly you couldn't find, a sound outside you couldn't identify thru the closed window. She said it'd get stronger and they'd tempt me to listen. But the dead craved what they no longer had, and one moment of weakness would leave me hollowed out for them to possess and ride for their own wants and desires. Best to burn the sage and say the prayers to keep them away.
I obeyed, for a time. For years. But then I was on my own, and I so hated the smell of sage. They really were stronger, more tangible, almost like the tingling static of a storm front built up around me when one got near. I knew, if I just focused and really listened, I could get past the blockage and hear what they had to say. That warning still hung in the back of my mind, whispered and scolded that I would fall in temptation and be lost forever.
Then that fateful night, so quiet and dark. I was finishing dessert, a simple bowl of chocolate ice cream, when the whole world went cold. It was there, someone was there, and I had to know. The sensation of a pressure against me built up, and without really knowing how or what I did I gently pushed back against it. My breath caught in my throat as I made contact, overwhelmed with feeling that were not my own, mixed with thoughts and memories that were voiced by someone I never knew.
Betty was old when she passed, but at that moment she was reliving the memories of years before. The memories were soft and faded, almost memories of memories more than the actual thing. She kew that summer day was hot as they stood under the sun and waited their turn at the ice cream cart, that her feet hurt from the pavement, that soon she'd get a scoop of her favorite ever and relish in delight at it's cool, sweet flavor. She couldn't remember what hot or cold felt like anymore, what hurting meant, what flavor was. All she knew what that it was good for a time.
I let her in. How could I not? Such a simple thing, after all the warnings and fear and resistance there was a chance to share good and I just, stepped aside. The shock of it stunned us both at first, then a flowing warmth of joy as she tasted the ice cream still in my mouth, the cool of the spoon and the heat of the blanket tucked in around me, and I truly experienced those things again with her and wept. For so long I took them for granted, barely paid them a thought and then for a moment, for two of us it was everything. She didn't stay long, no words were exchanged but the feelings flowed strong between us of appreciation and thankfulness and understanding, then she moved on.
Never again did I resist, and in opening myself to them I found myself again, found all the joys of the world that I had lost in commonplace. We watched the ants that summer crawling over the plants in the garden, breathing in the grass and the leaves and the dirt as the sun baked us and we smiled. Sometimes it was a single guest, sometimes dozens as we all delighted at the colors in the kaleidoscope or the rough raspy lick of my cat as she cleaned a spot of something off my finger. They had nothing to offer me, but they gave me everything back again.
I obeyed, for a time. For years. But then I was on my own, and I so hated the smell of sage. They really were stronger, more tangible, almost like the tingling static of a storm front built up around me when one got near. I knew, if I just focused and really listened, I could get past the blockage and hear what they had to say. That warning still hung in the back of my mind, whispered and scolded that I would fall in temptation and be lost forever.
Then that fateful night, so quiet and dark. I was finishing dessert, a simple bowl of chocolate ice cream, when the whole world went cold. It was there, someone was there, and I had to know. The sensation of a pressure against me built up, and without really knowing how or what I did I gently pushed back against it. My breath caught in my throat as I made contact, overwhelmed with feeling that were not my own, mixed with thoughts and memories that were voiced by someone I never knew.
Betty was old when she passed, but at that moment she was reliving the memories of years before. The memories were soft and faded, almost memories of memories more than the actual thing. She kew that summer day was hot as they stood under the sun and waited their turn at the ice cream cart, that her feet hurt from the pavement, that soon she'd get a scoop of her favorite ever and relish in delight at it's cool, sweet flavor. She couldn't remember what hot or cold felt like anymore, what hurting meant, what flavor was. All she knew what that it was good for a time.
I let her in. How could I not? Such a simple thing, after all the warnings and fear and resistance there was a chance to share good and I just, stepped aside. The shock of it stunned us both at first, then a flowing warmth of joy as she tasted the ice cream still in my mouth, the cool of the spoon and the heat of the blanket tucked in around me, and I truly experienced those things again with her and wept. For so long I took them for granted, barely paid them a thought and then for a moment, for two of us it was everything. She didn't stay long, no words were exchanged but the feelings flowed strong between us of appreciation and thankfulness and understanding, then she moved on.
Never again did I resist, and in opening myself to them I found myself again, found all the joys of the world that I had lost in commonplace. We watched the ants that summer crawling over the plants in the garden, breathing in the grass and the leaves and the dirt as the sun baked us and we smiled. Sometimes it was a single guest, sometimes dozens as we all delighted at the colors in the kaleidoscope or the rough raspy lick of my cat as she cleaned a spot of something off my finger. They had nothing to offer me, but they gave me everything back again.