Category: dying

Been Here Before

July 27th, 2019

July 17, 2019

8:26 am

We are citizens of the Universe. Feeling like we’ve been here before.

Energy waves. Vibration. Attracting and repelling other energy.

It’s difficult to remain connected—centered, but even more challenging to rediscover connection once it’s been lost because this existence requires a measured amount of disconnect to function.

The great trick is learning how to disconnect without becoming desensitized. To take that leap of faith that propels you beyond what you know.

Maybe it’s a new job.

Taking a different route to work.

Or forcing yourself into an uncomfortable situation.

Whatever it is, you’re never sure in the moment, but recognize it once it has passed because you feel regret for not letting go and allowing the Universe to take control.

Why are we so afraid of giving up?

So content with comfort?

Stuck in this perpetual return. Die. Come back. Die. Come back. We die again and again and again. So tied to the fears of this physical world that we’re unable to break free and simply be.

And so, we are left with fleeting instances of déjà vu.

~ KJ
ghosts on a walk

November 15th, 2016

My wife and I and the kids were walking down Washington Avenue the other night. It was one of those nights, full up with energy. The air was just right, the moon was putting on a show, and there was no denying we were part of something bigger.

“Is that house haunted?” my wife asked, as she looked up at the giant three-story Victorian.

“Yep,” I said.

“Oh no, really?”

“Not in a bad way,” I said, though I wasn’t really sure.

What I sensed first and foremost was a little girl on the very top floor looking out the window at us. I stared for a moment as we passed. She didn’t seem happy. Pouting, like little girls do.

“What do you sense?”

“The place has plenty of spirits,” I said. “I wouldn’t doubt it if that front room there was a funeral parlor of some sort at one time or another.”

And we walked on, with the kids far ahead out of earshot, and I felt thankful that we lived in such an historic town with big old houses and spirits and energy everywhere. And I was thankful that my wife let me be crazy like this and just as we were about to turn toward Third and head for home, I saw the old man on the porch across the street as I had so many times before. There wasn’t much to get–or as my wife would say–I wasn’t putting forth the effort, but it was comforting seeing him there. Out on the porch, smiling, waving, smoking a cigarette. Enjoying his home still today even though he’d left the physical world long ago.

I sped up to catch up to my son and daughter. They each held a hand.

“Time to go home?” My son asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

The big moon lit the hazy sky. I listened to my kids’ little feet on the concrete. I felt my wife’s warmth just two steps behind me. And I tried to do my best not to neglect all those spirits–in windows, on porches, on front lawns and sidewalks–because I knew that one day I would be there too. Waiting for someone on this side to talk to.
wondering when it will end

February 23rd, 2015

I wonder when it will end.

I think sometimes it’ll come suddenly, while running after my son with a Nerf gun. Both of us laughing, ducking behind furniture, peeking around corners. And finally, a bit of fat will break loose to clog an artery. Down I’ll go with a great thud and the kids will scream and my wife will hover over me as she dials 911.

Or it’ll happen slowly. Splitting wood with the axe while my daughter sings from the swings in the first wave of spring. We’ll want just one more fire because the temperature is supposed to drop as the sun falls down and as I’m daydreaming about winter leaving us for good, I’ll swing and miss the mighty oak and chop my foot in half and bleed and bleed and bleed.

Or maybe my wife and I will string together enough time and money to finally get away. Just the two of us. And as we’re taking a morning swim in the ocean, rediscovering the love that brought us together, I’ll drift into the path of a jellyfish.

I wonder all the time how it will end, but I think that’s part of this gift. This blessing. This life. Knowing that it’s out there moving toward me without fail or fear or feeling makes me more aware. More in tune and thankful. Happy and brave.

Death isn’t meant to make us afraid. It’s meant to give life its meaning.

~ K.J.

Category: dying

Been Here Before

ghosts on a walk

wondering when it will end