How To Create & Live With A Ghost II

Okay, let me welcome you to the second part of the how to create and live with a ghost series. Remember where we stopped at the last post? Well, let me take up what happened next with ‘my’ ghosts.

But, first, what causes the ghost syndrome? What causes a being, a person, who, having lived in a body for some years and abandoned it, only to become a ghost, forgetting that ‘it’ could have another body and return to physical ‘life’? I have always asked of myself this question. Of course, I dared not pose such question to another.

"Why are you interested in ghosts?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Where did you see a ghost?"

These are a few of the rhetoric questions I’m likely be bombarded with, all tailoring to "are you normal?" color, you know.

I discovered, searching surreptitiously, that the ghost syndrome may result from a sudden, instant, violent, unexpected and overwhelming death of a person's body.

You know, boom, crash, death! Preceded with zero idea, zero perception, no desire, no warning, nothing.

I learnt that a kind of spiritual standing wave results from such sudden death of a person's body. This is akin to the standing waves of injured nerves in the body; a situation that caused chronic conditions.

In the case of the sudden and violent death of a person, the mind just freezes, solid, in whatever it was computing. (You know the mind is a computing machine, among other fantastic functions, right?)

Anyway, the person (soul) operating the mind simply turns to whatever the mind was computing, albeit irrational and unreal, and continues to 'live' by these computations, mindless of the fixed or fixated nature of the computation. Mind the fact that the last set of computation of the mind was a body-related computation, as usual.

Thus, ghost.

(That’s my conclusion on this subject. Do you have an alternate conclusion? Do you care to share?)

Continuing with my situation at home, my two ghosts started to speak to my understanding. I said that in my last post. It took me quite a long number of days to start making sense of their ‘stories'. At first, they weren't sensible stories, I assure you. But when they started making sense to me, the black-red monster, fear, that I had managed to cage in chains and brands busted loose from its bondage!

The ‘first’ of ‘my’ ghost claimed ‘she’ was my wife in some not so distance past. ‘She’ had screeched in whinny whispers that I had murdered ‘her’! The words ‘she’ had been muttering, then spoke with clarity and eloquence, were "you loved me to my death".

‘She’ screeched this phrase on and on and on in singular and persistent whinny whispers that are fatal to eardrums. ‘She’ spoke it for weeks until it was clear to both my conscience and soldered into the ridges of my reactive mind. Both conscience and the reactive mind are terrible weapons against self, sanity, wellbeing and peace of mind when availed the license to rule one’s sentience.

I wanted more details. Maybe her computer/mind will clear up to give illumination to the dark chaos in my mind as I attempt to understand how I could "love...to death" another human, a beloved for that matter. This was one of the millions of my random thoughts as soon as ‘her’ words became clear to me.

“You loved me... to death! Strangled me in the throes of loving me! Do not forget that! Remember!” The whinny whispers screeched into my eardrum, the left one. I jumped off my work desk at the suddenness and intensity of the screech.

I thought I whispered something on the order of “Okay, I’m sorry” or something of the sort. ‘She’ went livid with rage at my apologetic response!

A fearful response in reaction to a most terrible carrier of message, whinny whispers of screeches, led me into the most horrific storm of screeches and wailing, noises that are capable of escaping only an inhuman soul or a psychotic human soul.

”I want it!” was the meaningful sound that I could assimilate in the deafening terror she unleashed at me.

After what seemed like a decade in the storm, it relented in a shocking instant. Then, this came through to me where I was folded on the floor, behind by work chair: “How could you leave me alone, cold, absent your love? How could you?” Came as a whisper, smooth, cooing, cold.

I refused to respond, fearing another bad reaction.

I remained on the floor, folded, yet busy in the whirling storm of my mind, at another task; attempting to hunt down my black-red monster and return it to its chains and cage before it gets out of total control.

While at this honorable task, something incredulous happened.

I managed to look up to see two glamorous, shadowy women. They float a couple of inches above the floor, leaning over me. They look different, yet the same.

My black-red monster went berserk.

I swiftly draped my protecting veil, the one I wrap myself in at any of the major psychotic breaks of my black-red monster, and welcomed blankness, nothing.

Babatunde signing off (For now? Or never more?)