Teddy Bears and other manufactured, companion-animals (including one very small Lamb who will play a large part in the following chapter), everyone of them abandoned by children, all lived togetherin an old trunk. The Trunk Animals were mostly not talkers because, for the most part, their mouths were not true mouths but were just painted or sewn on, and so they didn’t talk so much as they mumbled, grumbled, or sometimes hummed … and some hummed most all the time until someone, usually Uncle Threadbear, asked them to please stop. (Go to Story)
I know there are ghosts. It doesn’t matter if I believe in them or not. A perfectly logical and
self-disciplined academic I dated feared them because she made me search my house in every
room when we came home at night together
— for ghosts.
In truth, she only insisted on the search — upstairs, basement and closets — because I was sloppy about locking the door to my house. Or didn’t bother to lock the door. Or left a window open for the cats. If anybody came in through a window, they were in big trouble: I had four cats and none of them liked nobody but me. And I am not someone you want to meet if you broke into my house.
That didn’t ease her fears. (Go to Story)
It was either a Tuesday or a Wednesday afternoon. I was driving north on Rt. 81 from Cortland through Syracuse just a mile or so from the Mattydale-Northern Lights Shopping Center exit. The traffic was light and I was rolling along about five miles above the speed limit. I could see a tractor-trailer a ways up the road, and decided I better start slowing down. My brakes failed me; no brakes at all. The only thought I had was to turn off the ignition, but I pretty well knew that wasn’t going to slow me down in time to not barrel right into the truck in front of me.
(Go to Story)
In the year before my mother died, I began to see ghosts. I had never seen any ghosts before, and I was fairly certain I didn’t believe in them, but I kept an open mind. In fact, I wanted to see them. I wanted my ideas about the world, which were mostly practical and utilitarian and more or less safe, to be blown sideways. I wanted to see something I didn’t understand. This is probably a common feeling. (Go to Story)
It is a Wonderful Life Indeed
By Kris Faso
....... as all thought subsides, I sink deeper into my being and expand outward. Eventually I transcend the space, as my weight merges within the environment. It is at that moment of expanding all my senses, that I notice my Spirit, and I see I am not alone. There, on either side of me, sit two (familiar) Spirit guides.A third Spirit, as I was told, was a Teller - a Teacher Spirit. When I say it was told to me… it is literally more like just knowing. You see: in Spirit, the communication is without words. As Spirit, or consciousness, communication is by thinking and knowing. Imagine communicating with our minds. It feels just like it is already known.When the Spirit guides informed me of the Teller, I let the Spirit know that I could detect itby its luminous body. Yet I was curious to know what the Spirit contained (if anything).I asked the Teller to describe itself.
“I am a discarnate entity, indeed a supernatural force of nature,” replied the Spirit. “Like you are now… I am the animating essence that once inhabited many bodies of men and women alike for the sake of fulfilling my reincarnation cycle. I am still what once was an indivisible part of the human experience of body, mind and spirit. And as Spirit, as this life force, I contain the essence of that which is my Soul.” (Go to Story)
On a windy April day six years ago, I was paddling along the flow between Lake Bonaparte and Mud Lake when I saw two crows flying erratically over the swamp and fighting over (or maybe struggling together to carry) what I recognized as a human hand.
The weird thing - as if that’s not weird enough - is that the hand itself was trying to get away; and succeeded at one point: fell into the cattails; and then the crows snatched it up again and flew on, rising and dipping over the outlet.
I might have concluded that I was only mistaking a fisti-clump of fish entrails for a flailing hand, but I knew better. I knew exactly what hand it was,......though I hadn’t even thought of the Red Hand for many years; had rather put it out of my mind.
Taken way aback, I stopped paddling and let the canoe drift,
until the wind had pushed it into the alders of the far shore.
It was the Red Hand: the hand that, years and years ago, when I was more or less a boy and still new in the Warren household, had taken over my Magic Slate. (Go to story)
The Metaphyical Times
~ Human Of The Year ~
in recognition of her judicious
irreverence, her kindness, her humility,
her journalistic and academic service,
the wisdom and humor of her social
media posts, her identification with
those beyond race, nationality, geography,
and species; especially for her stance
outside political categories,
and her freedom from
dogma and cat fuss.
Now and Then
The Ghost of Christmas Past lives in a closet in
the house next door. My older brother lives
there and he is the old fellow’s guardian. If it
weren’t for Jan’s dedication to the custom of
having a Christmas tree, I might have lost
touch with the old ghost.
(Go to story)
Reiki Part XIII
by Don Brennan
If we are referring to energy healing,
the most appropriate interpretation
for the word “Reiki,” is Soul Energy.
The word now has other associations
in contemporary Japan, having to do
with the ghost world and the occult,
but originally it represented the unity
of heaven, earth and man.
(Go to Story)
How Should I
My Spirit Guides
by Corbie Mitleid
When I talk about Spirit Guides, I talk
about those discarnate beings that help
us move along on our Earthwalk with compassion, wisdom, and often advice.
But there is a big difference, for me,
between spirit guides and angels, and
people can often mix them up.
Here is the formula:
ALL ANGELS ARE SPIRIT GUIDES
NOT ALL SPIRIT GUIDES ARE ANGELS!
(Go to Story)
The latest (and last)
as booklet form5'