And Oh, About That Thing

I suppose the question I ask myself is do I believe? Do I believe in the afterlife?
Do I believe in the spirit?
Do I believe that perhaps there’s energy out there, somewhere, and that this energy surrounds or protects me and somehow, do I believe that there is a connection between me and those who have passed away?

I always go back to what Einstein said about how energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only change forms.
I can understand this.
I can see it this way because life is energy. So is memory. So are the ideas and thoughts and feelings we have, and so, I can see how we keep our friends and loved ones alive in our hearts.

I don’t know about the people who supposedly speak to the dead, and I don’t know what I believe about the so-called clairvoyant or the mediums who speak to afterlife.

I remember being young when Mom tried to explain death to me. I remember her telling me that dying is part of living. She also told me that we do not weep for those who passed away. We weep for ourselves because of how we miss someone after they are gone.
Mom would always say these things after hearing about someone who passed away. I suppose I remembered this the most after Mom passed away.

I am not sure what I believe.
I don’t know what I think about when people ask if I believe in ghosts.

However, there was a night when I was just a boy. I was away at camp and the bunkhouse was cold. I remember swaddling the blankets and sheets around my feet because they were so cold.
I opened my eyes to notice a dark figure by the doorway.
I could see them clearly too. I could see but there were no details to their face or anything like that. The figure was completely black.
I could see the moonlight creeping in from the seams around the front door. I can see the moonshine filtering in from the covered windows, and there it was, standing by the doorway, a black figure of a man.

I was scared. I ducked my head beneath the blankets because whomever it was, the person did not look like either of the counselors, and there were stories about people from the town, breaking into the bunkhouses and scaring the campers.
I kept my head tucked under the blankets. I remember it being cold. I remember being afraid. When I looked to see if the figure was gone and peeked from the blankets, the figure was right by my bunk, bending down to look at me.
I ducked my head beneath the blankets again, quickly, and afraid.
And that’s all I remember.

I never thought much about it. I never told anyone or said anything. I didn’t think much either, other than I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want the other kids to know that I was afraid —because if they knew, this would cause them to pick on me more than they already did.

Years later, I watched a show about ghost sightings. Again, I didn’t think much about this.
However, the description I gave you was the same description that other witnesses talked about on the show.

Do I believe them?
Do I believe me?
Did I see a ghost?
My answer is I don’t know.

The intellectual side of me says this was just a dream or something else, but as for ghosts, the intellectual side of me says there are no such things as ghosts.
We have been taught this since we were kids.
Am I right?
The emotional side is more inquisitive. And yes, the child in me would like to believe. And the immature side of me hopes that if there are ghosts, I hope that they don’t see everything because some things are embarrassing, and some things are intimately personal.
I don’t need anyone seeing EVERYTHING, if you know what I mean.

I admit that I have always wanted to go to see a medium. I’ve always wanted to see if I can speak to someone about this. At the same time, I’m afraid of what I might hear.
I’m afraid I might find out that whoever is around me is not proud or ashamed of me.
Maybe . . .
Who knows?

Out of nowhere, the television turned on last night. I was sleeping too, and I woke up, went to the bathroom and while sitting on the toilet, thinking about whatever insignificant things we think about whenever we sit on toilets, out of nowhere, I heard noise.
For no reason, the television turned on.

I have been told that this is a sign.
I don’t know if I believe in signs like this.
At the same time, I’m not sure that I don’t believe in them either.

I can be hopeful though.
And I am.

So, whoever you are, up there, and if, just in case, you are watching me—

Let’s try not to turn on the news in the middle of the night.
I think the news on television is more frightening to me than ghosts.

And please, don’t judge me.
(You know?)
I talk to myself a lot . . .
amongst other things too.

Just sayin’ , , ,