Overload is hard to describe to somebody who doesn’t experience it, because it’s not simply the physical pain from something being, say, too loud. Its effects run much deeper.Read more
Day 15 of 30 Days of Poetry
Perception is a strange phenomenon. Seeing is not really believing, and while the truth may be out there, there’s no guarantee it’s standing up and waving its metaphorical arms to be noticed. I don’t believe in ghosts, but…
I was about 8 or 9 at the time, lying in my bed that was up against one corner of my bedroom, the long left side against an outside wall. Beyond the foot of my bed in the same wall was the window, a large 6′ x 4′ single pane. Closed. I was waking up although it was still dark — I don’t recall what time of year it was.
All was still and quiet, no sounds from the rest of the single-story house. Not from my brother’s room next to mine, nor from my parents across the hallway. It was as if I was alone in the world.
But then I became aware that I was not alone. There was somebody else in the room with me. Standing next to my bed, looking over and down on me was a figure. Standing to my left, where the wall should have been. A young woman with dark hair, wearing a simple long white dress.
I guess I ought to have been scared by her impossible nature but she was a comforting presence, radiating calm and peace. She never moved or spoke, and I could not describe her face to you at all, but she had a beauty and elegance to rival any fairytale princess.
I hadn’t noticed her arrival, nor did I notice when she vanished never to be seen again. I’ve never forgotten her. I wonder sometimes who she was. Was she some figment of my imagination? Was she perhaps an angel watching over me? Or was I seeing my future self, the person I am inside?
I don’t know, will never know the “truth” of this experience. It was mine alone, and I must make of it what I will. But I still don’t believe in ghosts.