GHOSTS HAVE VOICES TOO

Years ago when I was a child, I heard many people speaking to me. They weren’t all communicating in the same languages nor were they giving me the same messages but they were all talking. Most of the time the volume of their voices was overwhelming. I learned to close them out much like you do when you listen to white noise broadcasts on a television after the shows have gone off.  For a little while, you can tune it out and, like the white noise, it becomes comforting.

Oh, did I forget to mention that these people were ghosts? Many of them prodded me continuously with their unremitting barrage of information and questions. And these were not all child ghosts. You would expect children to associate with other children, but that was not what happened.  Hoards of ghosts talking to me were constantly changing and contained people I would never meet formally. These strangers knocked on my psychic door incessantly and kept me on my psychic toes. And not just for the reason you would suspect. No, it was because all the adults talking to me taught me one thing for sure; I was never alone. To a child always having the company of adults with you can be reassuring but it can also be a bit of an encumbrance. Think about chaperones twenty-four-seven. It is said that it takes a village to raise a child. That is okay but I had more than my share. And don’t think they didn’t quickly admonish me if they caught me doing something they considered wrong. They didn’t say, “I am going to tell your daddy.” They went to the source. Where most have a single conscious, all the people on other side who visited me were my conscious. I couldn’t hide a thing from them and soon learned not to try.

Never mind the fact that I had a minister father who tried to raise me up in the way that he thought I should go Biblically. I had what looked like a nation on the other side keeping me in line with their voices. The only time they really quit talking, I guess, was when I was asleep with the covers pulled up to my nose so that they couldn’t get close. But I can’t confidently say that was true because in my dreams I saw them and they were talking there too. As I think about it now, what was really strange was that I really didn’t mind them being there. Nor did I mind them correcting me. It was just a fact of life to me. It was my life. The sound of their voices was calming. Hearing them talk to me was as natural to me as breathing.