Ghost

Many cultures believe that a soul remains in the area of its life for three days after death, sometimes longer, finishing the details of its life, checking on the loved ones it left behind. During that time, you must do everything in your power to appease that spirit, or confuse it in some traditions so that it doesn't wreak havoc upon you from the other side. In many cultures, that handful of days is a narrow window to communicate with the dead, to wish them well before they begin their journey, to say the things you forgot to say while they were still a part of your world.
But in most folklore, especially Eastern European folklore, ghosts and spirits are cunning and opportunistic. They attend the times when our eyes most deceive us, the shadowy light of dawn and dusk. They can appear as corporeal beings, creatures that interact and seem real in every sense of the word. That is part of their disguise and deception. You must be careful as you never know what spirit you're dealing with. A spirit you think may be a loved one could in truth be a local godling or demon wanting to ingratiate itself to you for its own purposes. Desire and a willingness to believe what you see are what make you vulnerable.
Karen and I went out to the lake in the park to watch the sunset tonight. In the twilight on our way home, a black cat sat astride our path, one we'd never seen before. He watched us, unfazed by our approach. His eyes almost glowed against the dark fur of his narrow face like topaz jewels backlit in a stained-glass panel, like the one Karen made me of Smoke many years ago.
As we got nearer, he started to leave, then stopped and looked at us again. And cried, like an infant, or a Siamese. We squatted down and held out our hands to show we were harmless as we know to do with strange cats. He approached cautiously, sensing we were safe, still crying intermittently. He sniffed our hands. Karen petted him. I gently stroked his side. He was a young, unneutered male with well-groomed fur that wasn't coarse like it gets when a cat lives its life outside. Not thin like he was wild, but no sign of a collar. Definitely comfortable with people.
But was he real, or a ghost? Perhaps he was a messenger carrying news from the other side, or relaying what he saw the other way. Karen is convinced he was real, that he had substance. I'm not as certain. My people believe that spirits inhabit every stone and tree, every mountain and river. Animals can be omens, good or bad, couriers from another world to remind us of things we've forgotten, or to warn us of things we have not yet seen. Sometimes these things are only revealed in time. Maybe he was just a construct of my own desire. Or just a friendly black cat with a few white guard hairs that coincidentally lived nearby. It's hard to know.
We all see the world in different ways. Most days, I'm not quite sure if I should completely believe my eyes. And, some days, I wish I could.


© 2008 Edward P. Morgan III