Guided in Spirit
by Kristy Robinett
(Article originally published in The Llewellyn Journal.)
With each puff of her cigarette she breathed in desolation and exhaled grand sorrow. Her long and crimson-colored fingers wrung in worry, and the anguished misery and loneliness trickled down her face, aching from a missing that was called grief. The veil was so thick that even her sight had been taken, leaving her in an empty cavern of complete and final darkness.
“The echoes of her dolor sting even a hardened man as myself. I recognize every ache within her soul. With each beat of her heart I feel it as a sharpened sliver under my skin goes deeper and deeper, twisting over and over,” Edgar Allan Poe whispered to me.
I sat on the olive green-colored, carpeted stairwell looking over at my mother—who sat rocking in the chair, and yet the chair itself didn’t rock.
I was only three years old when I began to see and communicate with spirits. My family referred to them as imaginary friends, but to me they were as real as anyone else flesh ...
http://kajama.com/guided-in-spirit/
(Article originally published in The Llewellyn Journal.)
“The echoes of her dolor sting even a hardened man as myself. I recognize every ache within her soul. With each beat of her heart I feel it as a sharpened sliver under my skin goes deeper and deeper, twisting over and over,” Edgar Allan Poe whispered to me.
I sat on the olive green-colored, carpeted stairwell looking over at my mother—who sat rocking in the chair, and yet the chair itself didn’t rock.
I was only three years old when I began to see and communicate with spirits. My family referred to them as imaginary friends, but to me they were as real as anyone else flesh ...
http://kajama.com/guided-in-spirit/