My Aura...

THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE CATS know what I mean when I say that I had the distinct feeling this morning that Milo was staring at my aura. Not at me, but something that may have been surrounding me, or perhaps clinging to me. I stared back and asked, "What"? Like I expect an answer. "What?", again. Hmmm, no answer. I can't get over that, that he knows something and won't tell me.
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I did the best I could, I moved out of the room. Hopefully solved the problem. Must have. Milo went back to playing with some trash. Yes, but what does Milo know, and when did he know it?

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I come from a long line of mystical speculators. In fact I even got around to publishing a book of poetry about a year ago called "Two Ghosts", chock full of poems with spooky undertones.

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Last year I posted the following poem on my blog, sort of a reflection of my very early confrontation with the spectral. Here it is again.

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SOUNDLESS

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Late in the afternoon

as the sun swept its final glow

across the sky,

I sat in the kitchen

with a blue lined pad

arranging my homework for tomorrow.

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No noise was heard

of footsteps approaching.

Then suddenly

my grandmother was at my side.

I gasped

in surprise again,

and wondered why

she made no sound.

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Because, she said,

that's how we were in the village

where I was a child.

People floated when they wished to

and I learned their natural ways.

Not as high as the ceiling,

just inches from the floor.

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I asked if they were ghosts.

She said no, not at all.

Ghosts

are able to do so much more.

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"TWO GHOSTS"/poems/Lyn Rochelle

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Milo and St.Francis..

EACH OCTOBER, INCLUDING THIS YEAR ON OCT. 4, 2009, thousands of people flock to the Episcopal Cathedral of St. John the Divine, in NYC, with a huge array of animals. Pets of all descriptions, birds, rabbits, lizards, cats, dogs, this year even a camel, parade through the Church to be blessed during a celebration of St. Francis of Assisi. Four thousand lined up to enter this spectacle, which has become the largest animal blessing in the world.

Wanting to make things easier for myself, I decided to take advantage of this Episcopal tradition at the Church of the Heavenly Rest, which is so much more convenient to me, being across from the park, just a couple of blocks away from where I live. So I thought how special it would be to pack Milo into his snug carrier, and tote him off for some blessings. I sort of forgot that I would have to battle all nine of his lives to convince him that being zipped up in a claustrophobic chamber was a good idea.

There are docile pets who sweetly cuddle in the arms of loved ones. Under the best of conditions Milo isn't one of them. Not only did this scaredy cat not make it to the church on time, he reminded me what having claws is all about! What was I thinking? Maybe camels can make it to church, but an independent cat? Let it be known that St. Francis, gentle soul and hovering spirit, when summoned by a trembling supplicant (me, not Milo), laid calming hands on both of us. I am grateful to be rid of unreasonable desires, and Milo, happy enough to cough up a hair ball in peace.

A Little Spooky.

THERE ARE SOME ODD SOUNDS, ODD HAPPENINGS IN MY
APARTMENT THIS MORNING. NOT THE FIRST TIME.
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Coming out of the kitchen, balancing my oatmeal bowl
on the small yellow tray, I pay close attention to Milo,
the cat, who is having a flying fit. He generally crosses
my path a few times as I walk to the bedroom,
where I have my breakfast every morning, so
I must pay attention not to stumble. Which I have done,
without oatmeal, and Milo cries when I'm hurt. It is
plaintive and sadder than my tears. His amazing
soul is then thoroughly exposed as my mate.
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We were passing that ordinary corner, before the
bedroom door, where Milo sometimes pauses to stare,
as cats sometimes do, at an empty space. Today he
almost skidded to a stop, looked upwards, because he
too heard the distinct sound of a cello, one note
only, perhaps a "G".
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I stopped for a second, then put my tray down on this
desk, this very place, the center of computerland,
bloggyville, my full life's destination. How the hell did
that happen? Anyway, sitting down, reaching for
the white napkin..it's gone. Compulsive me, back to
the kitchen..has to be there because I use it to pick up
the bowl to place on the tray. Not there. Foolishly think
I'll find it under the desk. Why waste a new one? Cello
corner is neutral. I pass it by. Something says my name.
Milo's on the windowsill, can't be a witness to ectoplasmic
hi jinks. I reassure the air that they'd be better off to
stop hanging out in my apartment and just go to heaven!
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No napkin on the desk or under the desk. I'm not going
to retrace my footsteps again. Some things that fall to
the floor under my desk disappear into another dimension,
stay for about a year. Like the gold earring I dropped,
searched with practically klieg lights shining on the floor.
It popped back into the world about a year later, nestled
near my tapping toe.
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A napkin shouldn't vanish. An earring, maybe.
Could be some wraith wants to play dress up.
But what use is a napkin? Unless to be draped
in ghostly fashion so that the cellist can just say "boo".

Award !

THANK YOU, LINDA S. SOCHA/
PSYCHE CONNECTIONS
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I AM ALMOST AT A LOSS
FOR WORDS !
STUMBLING OUT OF SLEEPY OBLIVION, I TRIED ONCE MORE TO BEAT MILO (CAT)
TO THE COMPUTER, (HE OVERSEES ALL MY MOVES). I SWITCHED ON, SAW FAMILIAR NAME IN MAIL,AND WHAT'S THIS???
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Tucked into comments from the estimable
Linda S. Socha/Psyche Connections is a note
that I, (imagine) have been given
one of the awards for
BEST BLOG THINKER !
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So, two months of stumbling to keep up with
blogging has produced this! Wow!!
I'm more than surprised. And extremely grateful.
We do all know how much we treasure even a nod
of recognition, how it can inform a day, a life.
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So thank you dear Linda, and I apologize for not
knowing how to highlight your Blog.
Obviously, I'll never get an award
for Best Techie.
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