It has been sometime since the Day of the Dead, yet I am still thinking about ghosts.  Yesterday, I watched “Bohemian Rhapsody” and woke up asking Alexa to play Queen, a ghost of a legend.

I thought of the “Gone with the Wind” picture the other day about a story of a different time, and I thought about the ghosts caught in film playing a ghost of a history, the ghost of two  time periods linked with mine.

It seems that there is more than just the classic ghost story like the one my mother told me about on how when she was a youth she woke up to a transparent lady in white.  Maybe it’s no different, but just in a different form.  

Then there’s that story my mom told me that seemed like a dream about the people in the jungle foreseeing people sailing in a metal bird or ship from the sky, and I wonder if I am getting the story right because all I hear are stories of ghosts, and I don’t believe in ghost stories like I don’t believe in the Shaman who massaged water from my mother’s skin as it poured off her like water from a rock, and I would remind myself don’t get caught up in the trick. 

Those ghosts are tricky.  They are invisible yet present and whispering in my ear, catching the corner of my eye, and singing in my room.  The ghost story is difficult to imagine because it is hard to see.  It’s like bird flying blind.  

Ghosts are the biproduct of Life and creation.  They make up the holy spirit within the Catholic Trinity, but I am not religious. Faith and doubt are virtues of the same faith for me.  I imagine the ghosts of my ancestors who practiced Catholic dogma for centuries, back to the days of Saints and Castles, would turn in their graves if they heard what I had to say about their belief system.

They may say, “How can her ghost have strayed so far away from the one True God?”

Is their a True God? Or is there a God for every Ghost? Or maybe only the absence of  both Ghost and God exist, and I am alone in this trinity ?  Or maybe it’s the same difference.  

Ghosts. They greet me in the corner of every intersection of my Life until one day I will disappear into them like a point disappears into a cross.