I’m a bit low today, I went to sleep late and got up very late, after midday. I think winter comes and makes things worse, I don’t thrive in the cold.
I began thinking of ghosts.
Now I’m a fairly logical person, I don’t believe in a lot of hocus pocus, although I went through my crystal wearing hippy phase years ago and dabbled with natural medicines which turned out to be worthless.
I’m an athiest.
However, all that said and got out the way, I’m not certain that ghosts aren’t real. I have met people who have shared ghost stories and swore they were real, perfectly sane and sober people who would not strike you as the kind who would have these kinds of stories tucked down deep inside of themselves.
When I was in hospital, I swore there were ghosts there, yes, perhaps it was the drugs. My bed was pushed from the end one night and on another night, my IV stand moved rocked slightly, as if it had been checked by a ghostly nurse.
If anywhere was haunted, It would have to be Auschwitz Concentration Camp, a truely terrible place, and I wondered what I’d do if I ever had the nerve to visit it. I’ve heard that many people who tried to go on the tour simply had to leave, Probably because the idea that one person could be so awful to another is a very bitter pill to swallow.
And then I thought about the kids, and if, tragically, their spirits remain in that place, what does one do for them, if anyone can do anything at all anyway.
It might sound silly, but I thought that I’d find somewhere quiet, out in the open, and sit, and read a story to the children, to the little, lonely spirits.
Perhaps in some way, it might start something, a healing perhaps.
Maybe it’s just a silly idea, bought on by how I’m feeling lately, and it’s true that there are living people who are suffering today.
But I thought I’d share this thought in my mind as I warm a chicken pie for myself.