A ramble about ghosts.
How does one begin to discuss the indefinable world of the ghosts? When you die, Death comes to cut your umbilical life cord. After which you open your new eyes in your ethereal body. Then they come for you. The Ancestors, and you get to see all who have passed before you. But no tears of joy do you shed. Tears manifest as energy, because emotions cross over with you, for they are the gateway to your soul. You also don’t have a physical body any more.
You say your hello’s and give warm embraces. They begin to fill you in on the greater mysteries of the underworld. They show you to a door, only you can open. And what lays on the other side is determined by a multiplicity of factors. Some ranging from your spiritual beliefs in life, what your heart felt was your true path, your fears play huge into this part, and many other factors to numerous to write out.
For some there is a pearly white gate with St. Michael sitting at it and for others it’s Anubis, who weighs your heart against a feather. I believe we are still dreaming at this point. I feel you just cross over and get trapped in yet another illusion.
For we are nothing more than pieces of The Source, who is still dreaming us all into existence. We are his play toys, cast aside when he is done. Our pain is spread out like a dinner party at his feet. Tasting each emotion and experiencing it as he chomps down. Laughing at the inappropriate and crying like a baby, for all of the suffering he has consumed.
Our lives are the ultimate reality tv show of all time. Every channel filled with drama, sex, violence and tears. With a slice of Rock ’n’ Roll, thrown in there. Any good show always has a theme song and music. With The Source as actor, director, producer, and the camera and props them selves. The very air that we breath is just micro pieces of The Source.
When I look at you, All I see is The Source. I see him yelling at me, and I have kissed him. He is my mother and father. He is the mailman's baby. He is the stripper down the street at the sex club.
He is every piece of me and I of him.