A Mysterious Ghostly Encounter
From My Book I am Rewriting: HALFWAY TO HEAVEN
As stated at the end of the last story, A Powerful Spiritual Encounter With Three Witches Of The Light: The Sisters Of The Pointed Flame, my mind reeled for days as I tried to figure out what had happened. Several possibilities came to my mind. Perhaps I had somehow activated my kundalini serpent fire energy and it shot forth through all of my chakras until it moved through the crown chakra at the top of the head. Some of the eastern teachings state that when this happens one experiences cosmic consciousness and a merging with all of life and the tingling feelings can be so pleasurable as to be almost overwhelming.
Was that perhaps something like experiencing cosmic spiritual sex? Was it a type of soul merging with the self? But it had involved the moon goddess and the Sisters of the Pointed flame. So it was not something I did alone. And what might have happened had I not looked away? Could I have totally merged with the sisters and the moon deity? On the one hand it all sounded like some fabricated fantasy tale or something one would see on the movie screen. I had heard some pretty wild tales from people who had drug induced mystical experiences. Maybe somebody had drugged me? Maybe I had dreamt it all? The questions continued and perhaps always will, but I know in my heart and soul that the experience was real. It did not take place in everyday ordinary awareness, but that makes it no less valid. At least this is what I tell myself when I think I am going loony tunes and need to sign into a nuthouse and tell such stories to the crazies.
From that point on I became more enamored of the goddess feminine energy and began to read everything I could find about it. So I was not at all surprised when an enigmatic lady came to me one day and filled me with yearning and a haunting need and desire to be with her. Before I share that experience I want to talk about my own struggles with the masculine and feminine counterparts of my being and soul and how I learned that wholeness and individuation cannot occur until both sides are in balance. I was to arrive at some harmony and balance but not for a long time and after many years of the inner woman and man battling with each other.
My masculine and feminine characteristics have been at odds with each other at varying degrees over the years. I learned in therapy that I would never be happy until I accepted and expressed both sides of myself. I loved being a jock in college and a member of the track team. I also loved being a member of the choir and performing in musicals and plays. Intellectual debates always appealed to me. But I also loved writing poetry and love songs and I loved flowers and plants. I could be assertive to the point of being considered aggressive. I could also be very maternal and nurturing. Like many men I have had to learn to integrate the more sensitive, intuitive, nurturing qualities into my life.
I have been exploring my feminine, creative, nurturing side for years through my writing and journeys I take in my imagination and even through dreams. Now, I am also enjoying cultivating my sense of “joyful anticipation” by looking forward to watching my plants grow and caring for the mama, daddy, and little boy hamsters that I have had for three months. Just tonight I am going to Meijers and purchasing two new dwarf hamsters which I saw when looking around at Thanksgiving time. I just fell in love with the little critters and knew I had to have a couple. Having life to nurture and care for helps me cope with depression much better.
We all need to be needed and it is such a joy to give our little pets treats and watch them enjoy them. When I prepare the little food dishes for the hamsters, it’s so fun to add different things. Pets certainly are worth having lots of variety in their diets, just as people like a variety of different dishes and food. “Let’s see I will say, Oh, yes, they have never had purple cabbage. Wonder if they will like that? So I cut some up, and yes, they like it. Let’s see if they like raisins. Oh, yes, they like raisins too, and tomatoes, and even olives. And when I have chicken or turkey as I did for the Christmas meal, the babies had to have their Christmas meal too. We all need newness and freshness in our lives, and it is just as fun to provide that for ourselves as well as for others and our beloved pets too. Today I gave the hamsters green peppers for the first time. Now will they spit that out. No, mama hamster went to town on it. They did not like celery. Oh, well, we can’t win em all as the saying goes.
Likewise, are my stories and my writing like my babies, and I need to nurture my art daily as well or I get out of balance and depressed. It is natural for us to need to find the needed balance of our masculine logical left brain activities and our right brain more nurturing, loving and creative pursuits. When we get out of sync and thrown off balance, we are prone to drastic mood shifts and depression. I tell people that depression, moodiness, and restlessness are wake up calls. They are mentors and teachers for us and if we are wise we will listen to these teachers. So when the blahs come a calling, it pays to heed, especially if they do not go away in a short period of time. As I said before there are normal blahs we go through. But when they get to be what I call “whammo blahs” then it is time to check in and do some listening to our soul and devote some time to working on ourselves.
The neat thing about making time for our gentler, nurturing, loving and creative side is that we will begin to notice those synchronicities and token treasures that Life often bestows upon us, whereas we may have ignored them in the past. We become more gentle and sensitive and more capable of appreciating so much more in life. We begin to feel more of a part of life, and feel gratitude for being members of the human race and take more time to relish the simple beauties nature and life offer us, and we dwell on the positive good things about life instead of the negative so called bad things. We become nicer to ourselves and others because our soul and guides are teaching us that the human race is truly one family. We are learning how to love ourselves and others more. We cultivate more patience and diplomacy in dealing with clients, customer and those in the work realm. In essence we become more personal, better and more decent people.
In the past couple of days I have been musing, let me say instead of ponder to honor my muse via a pun, over what the muse is, and the mystery and beauty of the feminine nature and qualities. I would find myself singing a song I wrote, “The mistress of the heart” and thinking, I do need to make the right musical connections so I can record some of the songs the muse has given me. I sometimes still miss my old friend Brian who I worked with some years ago and we created about 12 songs in the short time we worked together.
Talk about the right chemistry being there. We were peas in a pod musically speaking. We could never finish a song because every time we met he would start his usual impromptu playing on my synthesizer, guitar, drums, or flute (the man could play about any instrument) then the lyrics would just pop in my head. We would always say we will begin our next session by working on the latest song, but he would find himself being led by my muse and coming up with new musical combinations and I would then hear new lyrics in my mind and would proceed to sing them as he continued playing. I played the tape of one of our songs, “Soul Cry” to several friends and they said they loved it and felt it had chart potential. Sadly, the intensity of our work scared him, and he dumped me as I refer to it.
Now, I was reminiscing of those wonderful times and wishing they were back again, or that I could have some new ones with someone else. Yes, watch what we ask for, for we do get it.” I am certain that opportunity is coming, again.
One little unexpected treasure that came my way just today was a writing I had written some years ago called “Enigmatic Lady.” It could not have come at a better time. I had just been thinking about the muse, when I happened to run into this other writing I do not even remember ever writing. I have this big pile of scratch paper on a shelf, and I was reaching for some because new ideas were coming to me for another story. To my delightful surprise, I pulled out this sheet, and just happened to see what was written on the one side. There was page two of “Enigmatic Lady.” “Humh,” I said, “where is page one? It could be in that stack or anywhere.” I looked in my poetry book and I had not included it there. This must have been one I just wrote and put away. The fact that I put it in the scrap paper pile must have meant I did not think it good enough to keep. I read page two and liked it. Then I took a chance and started going through that big scratch paper pile, not really expecting to find page one. I first found old pages of my fantasy novel where I had penciled in many editing changes. Then lo and behold I saw several sheets of paper with what I recognized as the print of my old word processor I had before I got a computer two years ago. There was two of the first pages of “Enigmatic Lady” and another writing “The Painter” I had written and tossed in the scrap paper pile.
Janette’s words came back to me like a flash of lightning, “Michael, never destroy your works. Many composers borrow from themselves. They often go back to old pieces from years ago that were never finished, which they might not even like, and suddenly, the piece or parts of it will now appeal to them and turn out to be just the appropriate and needed piece for now.” I nodded and agreed with her but if I did not like something that I happened to write, I sometimes would still toss it in a pile or trash it. I wonder how many other writings are hidden in some pile upstairs, or the trunks of other aspiring writers and composers.
So just today I took out the sheets and thought about the enigmatic lady who I had seen in a vision some years ago then wrote it down. I sat down and reread “Enigmatic Lady.”
In a big old house full of hidden chambers,
amongst memories and soft ghostly whisperings,
with cobwebs around your legs, you walk unhurried.
For the stirrings deep within your soul propel you.
Sheets are draped over furniture, old paintings,
and a baby grand piano that knows a thousand tunes.
So many memories are covered and veiled by the moments,
the days, and the minutes that make up the now.
The smell of death permeates the air.
The smell of life too.
I come to This house everyday and watch you.
I am not easily fooled, enigmatic lady.
I know that life always reposes near death.
They are soul sisters and companions.
Your face twists and turns as you saunter through
different rooms. I wonder what stories they hold
for you, and if you will ever share them with me.
I wonder what answers you seek as your dainty feet
move through the rooms in This old house.
I watch you from a corner, hidden behind an old
dusty black chair, and I am mesmerized and enchanted.
You eyes are lost, somewhere else.
Do you see visions, people, or places not of this world?
Do these visions account for your deep yearnings?
I feel those longings when I’m in this house watching you.
They become my longings.
There is magic here.
Magic borne from another time.
Enigmatic Lady, of the fair countenance, I am lost
when I behold your dreamy, mysterious eyes, and ethereal form.
Soft milky skin that I dream of touching.
Silky, shiny, long hair that I desire to caress.
Enigmatic Lady, you haunt me.
You are here and not here.
Translucent and yet solid.
Real and not real.
Ghostly and not ghostly.
There is so much more of you I have not seen.
So much I would love to explore.
I wonder what lies behind your reflection as you behold
your image in a dusty, oval mirror behind a cedar chest.
Occasionally your dark eyes look my way.
I know that you are somehow aware of me although
you never speak to me or acknowledge my presence.
Soon is the time when we shall approach one another,
touch and be transformed.
But that time is not yet.
I need to observe you more.
Learn of these other secret chambers you frequent.
Amidst the dusty cobwebs and fecund memories that
fill This house, you continually walk and search.
Enigmatic Lady, lead me from the deep, dark, abyss
of my soul.
Let me rest at your breast and listen to
the whisperings of your heart.
Fill my heart with gladness and hope!
Enigmatic lady, won’t you love me?
I shared "the writing" with Leslie and she said she wanted to print it up and study it some before commenting. A few days later she gave what she called “her official interpretation of “Enigmatic Lady. I think you may have contacted some ghostly lady in your vision but I also think that there is more to the 'writing' and it means something else. It is a good metaphor for your muse, Michael. And the fact that you stashed it away for a long time shows again how difficult it has been for you to deal with your muse. Like you have done with many of your creative writings, you get all excited and lose yourself in your moments of creative outbursts. You come up with all kinds of interesting ideas, plans, and projects. Then, they somehow get put back on the shelf and ignored. Then when you get depressed enough you either dig something out from some paper pile, or you dig deep into your own creative juices and create more art. It’s like you love and hate your creativity. Your art seems to fill you with passion and you thrive on it for awhile, then you back off or shut down altogether. This happens again and again.”
“That is all too true,” Leslie. Sometimes it half feels like I am married to my art. Janette once said that “art is a jealous mistress.”
“Well, I certainly agree with her on that. And to take it a step further, remember that Psychology book you have referred to many times?”
“Yes, it’s called Dance of the Selves, Uniting the Male and Female within, subtitled, How a dynamic pairing of logic and intuition can unleash your full creativity and happiness by Psychotherapist, Loretta Ferrier. It talks about how we can never be happy and successful until the male and female, or logical and intuitive components of our selves come together in an inner marriage. That book made a very big impression on me from the very start. Janet told me to pick out a book for my birthday. I wanted to pick out a Goethe novel. I found that novel, but when I stopped at the Self Help/Psychology section, This book literally fell off the shelf and into my hands. I still don’t remember if I accidentally wiggled the shelf or something or if someone had not put the back on the shelf correctly. I just know that it fell into my hands and when I saw the title I knew I had to have it. The second coincidence was when I saw the price $11.99 and I counted my money. I had $12 and some change. Janet said that was a sign for me to get the book.”
“That book helped you to realize and admit that the masculine and feminine or logical and intuitive elements exist within all of us and must be claimed, embraced and balanced.”
“Yes, it showed me how out of balance I had been for years. My masculine and feminine sides had been fighting and hating each other most of my life. So yes, I can admit that this enigmatic lady is no stranger to me.”
“Michael, this enigmatic lady, “she is you, and yet not you. There is much to this part of yourself to discover and explore. As you keep your creative channels open, you will embark upon many more wonderful adventures with your muse. I love the ending. There you are opening up to her wisdom and guidance and asking her to lead you away from the darkness in your own soul. You are wanting to listen to her and ready to do so, where for years you tried to shove her down and repress her. This Enigmatic Lady has much more magic to impart to you and you know this. Yet you need to still watch and observe her. Didn’t you say you often feel This dreamy ghostly mood coming over you when you write?”
“Yes, it is like something comes over me. I get light headed, a little dizzy sometimes and it’s definitely a rush far better than alcohol or chocolate, or perhaps even sex,” I said, chuckling.
“Like 'the writing' says, “she is real and yet not real. Ghostly and not ghostly. There is a realness to This enigmatic lady but yet you cannot touch her physically.”
“That is the sad part, Leslie. I was hoping you’d go less with the metaphor part and how this lady is a part or reflection of my own soul, and tell me she is some grand woman I am going to meet in the physical dimension.”
“Perhaps that is part of it too, Michael. You know the saying “Like attracts like.” Didn’t you say that Mary had many muse, enigmatic qualities that you really love?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. Just to look at Mary for more than a few seconds took me to another dimension and I’d get lost her eyes. It is like my soul would start slipping away and would move towards her eyes. I know it sounds kind of crazy, but that’s how it would feel.”
Leslie read parts of "the writing" to me. “Yes, I know what you mean. You are not crazy. You say her eyes are lost, somewhere else, then go on to add that you, too, are lost when you behold her dreamy mysterious eyes and ethereal form. This sounds like some real fun and cool “soul blending” to me to use one of my friends saying. When that happens you start to lose the sense of where you end and they begin and vice versa. Like you said, you feel her longings when you watch her. They become your longings.”
“I certainly can relate to the part about deep yearnings and longings. I have had them all of my life, so I’d have to definitely agree that she is part of me.”
“Yes, she is, although she is an internal part of you. And Mary was an external real live woman who possessed many of the same qualities of your muse. Is This not true?”
I smiled. “I guess I did succeed in attracting a real live muse.”
“Didn’t you have trouble dealing with her as much as you loved her?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling sad over the failure of my relationship with Mary. “In many ways I shoved Mary away. We had some amazing experiences. I guess some of them freaked me out and eventually became so overwhelming that I just couldn’t take them anymore. So I became temperamental, impatient, and started withdrawing from her. Eventually I drove her away.”
“Yes, just like you supposedly accidentally misplaced this writing. Well, Michael, there is hope yet. The fact that you retrieved it at a time you have been thinking about your muse, should tell you that she has not abandoned you. In one interesting writing you have met a ghostly lady and your muse has made herself known to you once more. Perhaps this ghostly lady is your muse. Perhaps she is someone you loved in another time and place and that is why you are so drawn and compelled to her. Her invisibility has become a little more visible, don’t you think?”
“Maybe now I won’t be so scared of her.”
Leslie read a verse: “Enigmatic Lady, you haunt me.
You are here and not here.
Translucent and yet solid.
Real and not real.
Ghostly and not ghostly.”
I was filled with a glimmer of hope. “So, do you think, Leslie that I might meet another woman in whose eyes I can once more get lost?”
She giggled. “Sure, Michael, why not.“
“I have yet to meet anybody who could compare to Mary. As long as I can get lost in their eyes like I did Mary, I guess I would give love another shot. I just need someone whose hand I can hold sometimes to keep me planted on the earth.”
“Yes, you want to go up, up, and away,” she snickered. “Transcend the earth altogether and float on your dreams.”
“Well, not everyday, but yes, it would be fun to do that once in awhile. I miss those magical times when Mary and I would practically read each other’s minds. I’ll never forget the day I wrote “The Persian Princess” at the very same time Mary was writing a story about a beggar poet who would write poems for the Persian Princess who had rescued him one day and brought him to the court to take walks with her and recite poems he wrote for her. Leslie, that experience was out of this world. It was a type of telepathy except that instead of sending each other direct Thoughts and getting them, we were writing down Thoughts on the same subject instead: The beggar poet and the Persian Princess.” This sounds like something you’d read in a fantasy novel, but I swear it really happened. There were other experiences too.”
“Well if you meet someone else like Mary, and they haul you both to the nuthouse, at least you will have company. And if they lock you on separate wards it won’t matter because you will still be able to communicate.”
We had a good laugh on that comment. I spent the rest of the evening thinking about Mary and missing her.
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