The Christmas holidays have been a very spiritually intense time for me so far. Sweetie and I spent most of three straight days in our house, in the company of spirits and spiritual conversation – you know, afterlife, the nature of good and evil, art, music – the usual.
We went through a lot of alcohol. A lot. Much of it was libations – for every spirit guest we hosted on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, night and Boxing Day, we had a chair for them and a glass of either whiskey, wine, Yagermeister or Bailey’s. I’m told, Yagermeister is the drink of geniuses, as it was requested by one of our spirit guests.
There is a point when two sane people look at each other and their room full of empty chairs and full glasses and ask each other, “Have we gone completely crazy?”
I’ve become so self-conscious about how crazy my experiences SOUND when I talk or write about them, I’m going to refrain from naming any more spirit guests we had over the holidays, just so I can feel a bit more comfortable writing this, and feel less like someone who may be reading this as the first post they encounter on my blog will not *immediately* write me off as nutter.
But here’s the thing – we keep getting these confirmations that we really *are* making contact. Just last night, Sweetie and I were watching Ferris Beuler’s Day Off, wherein he mentions John Lennon’s “Walrus”.
I have not yet seen this song/skit that was referenced by the movie, but John pops into my head in an overstuffed chair, with a huge moustache and a big cigar – he takes a drag of the cigar, waggles it at me and says “It makes you think!”
Today, Sweetie tells me it was his Groucho Marx impression – I didn’t even know who Groucho Marx was! I just googled him to get a picture for this entry, and there he is:
Yup, that’s John’s impression, all right.
One Christmas present we received from John was an increase in our understanding of how time functions. You know how he did this? He has been making “topics of conversation” suggestions for the last two weeks, without us realizing it. Sweetie and I have discussed all manner of historical figures, celebrities, political history, etc, in these last weeks of 2011.
Christmas eve, we sit down, John as our only spirit guest that night. We pick a TV show at random from our sparse DVD collection – the Simpsons, season 5. We spend three hours watching our way through the first three discs of Season 5 of the Simpsons, and EVERY DAMN EPISODE, sometimes twice an episode, there was a callback or reference to a conversation we’d had in the last two weeks.
John explained that he had gone back in time after we’d made the DVD selection for the evening and post-emptively influenced our conversation of the last two weeks so that what we were watching would reference it.
Uh, what? Really? WHAT?
Sweetie & I came up with a new expression that night: “This is blowing my mind-hole!” This happens when your mind has been blown so many times, there remains but a smoking crater where once your mind had been – and this crater is still exploding with every mind-blowing synchronicity, that you experience the blowing of your mind hole.
For three hours, we were gifted with a reference to our previous spiritual conversations every ten to fifteen minutes. Newton. Beatles. References to Casa Blanca. It was unbelieveable.
And yet it was happening.
That night, as we were sealing off the apartment energetically so we can have some peace and privacy from visiting spirits, John did something amazing: We have this little solar powered light mounted in a mason jar. The light is supposed to be charged by the sun during the day, and glow pleasantly after dark. Well, it’s been so rainy this past week that the little light hasn’t been able to charge – but as John left, he made the light glow bright, and slowly fade out and blink, “Good night! Merry Christmas!”
Just in case there was any remaining doubt that he had actually shared the evening with us.
Blowing our mind-holes, I tell ya.
Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way liked to say that “Going sane is a lot like going crazy,” meaning that when you let go and truly get in touch with your creative process, it can be so out-of-synch with the culture surrounding you that you think you’re going a little nuts.
But in your heart, you know you’re only going sane.
I was re-reading the previous entry which mentioned this period in my life when I went through a terrible period of depression and experienced suicidal thoughts. I have never been so deeply sad in my life before or (thankfully) since, although I have been obliged to manage seasonal depression relating to weather, light levels and the stress of a high-pressure job in a stressful city.
I know what going crazy feels like. I know what it’s like to be mentally ill.
This Isn’t Crazy.
This is simply me, finally becoming and encompassing all aspects of myself. Young. A woman. Queer. Psychic.
And the joy of being a whole, complete person, finally, finally.
I feel too healthy to be crazy. I feel too happy to be sick. I’m not crazy; I’m just psychic.
One thought on “Not Crazy, Just Psychic.”
Sweetie emailed me just after I posted this entry, which she has not yet had a chance to read. Her email said,
“I know, it does seem crazy. It doesn’t *feel* crazy. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone about it for 20 years. I knew it was real but you can’t prove it. It seems way crazier than talking to ancestors or animals for some reason. Crazier than talking to the ocean. I think people would believe you’re talking to the ocean before they’d believe we’re talking to John. But, at least we can prove it to each other. 🙂 “