White Smoke

 

tumblr_m3h0ltkxXt1qbrdf3o1_500It isn’t easy being 13 or any age.  I wonder if years that aren’t awkward and difficult are trapped in moments of sleep.  They, over time, would equal the waking in life in hours and experiences.  At least you can fly, travel to far off place, see dead loved ones in dreams and not pay taxes.  Not yet anyway.  As for me I still feel as of I don’t understand the way I am supposed to be or believe the things I am supposed to accept from the mainstream.  Still 13 was a rough and harrowing year.

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My 13-year-old fresh angst raged against forces great and small.  My mother, at her wit’s end and by suggestion of a friend, took me to a spiritualist.  They differ from Santeros in that they use only positive “magic” and conjuring and don’t kill animals in their rituals.  At least that is what he told my mother.  He did, however, have a life-sized statue of St. Barbara with a golden goblet to leave a donation for his services at the entrance.  It was rather magnificent in its way.

He spoke only Spanish, dressed all in white, sat on a large cushion and from my recollection wore no shoes.  It was all great showmanship.  I hadn’t forgotten him and some his visions clung for many years.  I remembered being told I was a sponge and soaked up energies around me that caused me mental and spiritual anguish.  I was told to bathe in flower petals and perfume to lessen evil influences around me caused largely by a curse placed on someone near me.  The bath failed to dispel the gloom and the petals were heck to clean up.

I had sadly forgotten my spirits.  For years that part seemed to slip from my memory.  Then a few years ago I had a dream about them, well not about them exactly, but a dream that reminded me what he had said.  I only dreamed of these three but it is possible that three was all the ghosts he mentioned.

During the reading he smoked a cigar and blew white smoke in my direction in order to “see” the spirits around me.  One was a belly dancer with a ruby in her bellybutton.  That was an unexpected guardian but she was my ghost and welcomed her to be near.  She wanted to help me dance and be graceful.  I can’t say I’ve lived up to her expectations yet.  While I often dance for no reason it’s not of an exotic nature or graceful.  Though my “hypnotized leg” dance is available upon request for the chosen few.  She may be coming through after all and  I’m terrible filter.
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The other was a woman who had lived in 1920’s and was concerned with fashion and style.  She loved clothes and the arts.   As a spirit she would aid me in all artistic pursuits and help me develop my style and voice.  I need her now.   If she is still here she is silent lately.  Where is it fashionable to go this time of year?  I may have to pack a suitcase and start walking.

The third, and final of my memory, was a scholar.  He was a genius and was keen on me reading and learning and would help me decipher and understand what I read and saw of a cerebral nature.  He seemed to have skipped the whole spelling thing but then spell check came along and made the world right.
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They were positive spirits and teachers from around the world.  If he mentioned any negative ghosties I can’t recall.  He did see a bad influence in the spirit world for my father who wasn’t even there. He saw many more spirits around my mother and not all were helpful.  He said thing that were eerily true and had some sort of otherworldly gift.  I like to think I have three extraordinary souls looking after and instructing me.  They may have gone on vacation but maybe they will return and I’ll dance in beautiful clothes while constructing an amazing diorama that illustrates the complexities of the modern world and the glory of a peanut butter sandwiches during a famine.  Or the glory of peanut butter at any time at all.

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