And there he sat. Perched at the end of my bed. Disrupting my sleep. Entering my twilight. That place between time and space, between awake and asleep, alert and rooted in reality or engaged in subconscious fantasy. Half awake, I thought I was dreaming. Maybe hallucinating. Lost in between worlds, in between keenly attentive and wrapped in imagination.
He was spewing. Firing words in my direction. I had no time to get my bearings. No time to deflect. To respond or comprehend.
Funny. I knew this voice. So, familiar. This voice belonged to someone who no longer walked this Earth. I suppose things change once you die. Because, he talked more in death than in life. As if the after life had turned him into a prophet and I his pupil.
He talked about sacrifice and about pain.
About being lost.
About how some souls can’t be rescued and you have to let them go, know the ones to save.
How some souls choose to get lost.
How some souls have to remember, their purpose, their cause, their mission.
How some sacrifice being filled with hate to remind others to love. That those souls teach lessons. That those souls lose themselves to hated, guilt and shame. They get caught up in mass consciousness. In the undercurrents of the psyche. That they outwardly display the shadows of man, to force man to deal with what they suppress. What others deny. These souls play in the hypocrisy of life. They sacrifice to force the rest of us to confront our demons. To face our fears. Because they have agreed to become what we perceive as evil. That they throw themselves into the cause, regardless of how cruel or inhuman it may seem.
They are teachers.
And many of us fail to see the lessons.
We get caught up in what we think is right and condemn those we do not understand or think differently than we do. We fail to see their purpose, we judge and condemn. We fail to love them. To try and look past their actions and words. It’s sad, he says. How much hate there is.
For a moment, he seems remorseful for the path he choose. For in life, he prompted hate. He believed certain people where better than others. He was lost.
He tells me, that’s the saddest part, that we all become lost. That we come with lessons to learn and to teach. And some of us, get lost in the process. That the current of the sea pulls us out into the vast waters and we never find a way back to shore.
That is why he is here. Because even after death, you can swim back. He giggles, it’s much easier once you are dead, to swim back, there is less current, less bodies and souls to grab ahold of you and keep you drifting. That in death, you are so much lighter. That you have this perspective. It’s brilliant and humbling. How it all fits, each role, each soul, each life. And debilitatingly heartbreaking, how lost we are from our truths. That we lose the light. And the light bringers forget that they are the light. That they through love and compassion and empathy, and nonjudgement, help those reach the light.
He’s full of light. He’s different. He’s funny. He doesn’t shut up. And I can’t accept him, because I knew the pain, the hate, the soul that fell, got lost, found purpose in violence and hate. And he says that’s the lesson, why can’t I see that. That’s the lesson. He got lost to safe others. That the lost, push other souls to grow and change, to expand.
He reminds me that I tried to save him. He was too lost. But that’s okay. Because you can’t save everyone. See, he says, “how it works? We all teach other.”
And I am glad that he is free. That he sacrificed. I am reminded. I hope you are too.
Go and save the world, one hug, one hand, one smile, one person at a time.