Chapter 5: Divine Disorder -Part 5

DIVINE DISORDER - Part V

By Alexander Guinevere Kern

CONTACT

I'll record some of my excellent and classic Spirit Contact messages in the next few days. This fellow was soft-spoken and darling. We communicated "live," rather than by a "downloaded Dream Message.'

"Head Like A Hole"

**Entities of the discarnate variety speak telepathically - "mind to mind." For me, it's convenient and effortless. After all this time, I automatically try to communicate in this manner out in public, only to realize, "Oh yeahhh . . . humans won't use telepathy for another hundred years or so.'"

Several weeks ago, at approximately eight of the clock in the evening, I hoisted my petard into bed, stacked up about four pillows, semi-reclined, and began to leaf through a magazine. Harper's Bazaar, actually.

The Spirit drifted in, he was a mere trickle of static - a tickle of tendrils across my face, arms.

"You have left letters to yourself in the cavities," he whispered.

He startled me.  "What do you mean?" I responded, then sharp-tuned my inner hearing, and left a blank screen in my mind's eye, thought nothing, and waited to clairaudiently "hear" his answer.

We  traded thoughts. "In the little dresser, with all the cavities, you have written letters to yourself!"

"No," I beamed back. "Those are mostly legal documents and old letters from other people - I like to save letters and cards from family and friends."

I felt a quiver in the room to my left and he clarified: "In the LITTLE dresser, in the cavities - notes to yourself!"

I thought he meant my large, six-drawer, pistachio and cream colored dresser with a tall, carved wood mirror. Amusingly, I had taped up photos of Edgar Poe, Sylvia Plath, Frida Kahlo, Brandon Lee as "The Crow" and several pics of Alexander the Great statues.

"The LITTLE dresser," he emphasized.

"Ahhhh!" I said, "You mean the armoire! In each tiny tray you are calling a "cavity" I penned descriptive notes for my daughters, so they know who gave me each item, identifying the stones and metals and general value. You know, so there's no fighting over all my articles when *I* become a Spirit."

"Ohhhhh . . . I see." I could nearly feel his gentle smile. "Guinevere, you will not be a Spirit for a long, long time."

I chuckled as he floated away - wondering at his odd choice of words and what sort of energetic cavity our thoughts had filled, while we charged the air with our Incarnate/Discarnate confabulation. And I wondered if our thoughts and expressions carried a distinct, yet invisible vibration, which, to the learned and the skilled, might someday be perceived and read by future occupants of my own, dearly Peculiar, "House of the Spirits."