HISTORY

Hello, I’m
Paul Bizarre

For the last decade, my life has been something of a wandering experience. Before that, I was your average high school student who believed in ghosts. Well, no.. ‘believe’ isn’t quite the right word, because it allows for the possibility of disbelief, so let me clarify. From childhood, I knew for a fact that not only do ghosts exist, but that the Land of the Dead is nothing more than the spirit world around us.

Allow me to explain.

Usually, the Land of the Living – what you and I know as conscious reality – is limited to the physical aspects of the world as we know them by physical sensation, touch, taste, etc. Most are blind to the metaphysical world surrounding that reality, which is why it's easy to dismiss and nearly impossible to "prove" by way of tangible physical evidence. While not a great example, I often compare the Land of the Living/Dead as the difference between own solar system and the vast universe around us. Much as past generations were oblivious to the galaxy far beyond our own Milky Way, the general population is completely unaware of the overlapping supernatural world in which the physical one exists.

A spirit is a spirit. With the obvious exception of form, there is no difference between living and dead. When our bodies fade, the spirit continues to live on, right here on planet Earth, just on a slightly different frequency. However, this reality is not always limited by perception, due to the lack of physical senses. That is not to say the spirit world is void of emotion or sensation. Ghosts are aware of their surroundings and state of being, understand they’ve made a transition, and are therefore far more capable of comprehending the two worlds coexist. Not all do, of course, because of the same conditioned response to life and death that prevented them from experiencing this new world when they were “alive.” Many spirits simply exist in a dream state, well knowing it is not the reality they once knew yet incapable of embracing their new life as a ghost.

RELIGIOUS PEEPS, PLEASE NOTE: While completely true, in no way does this contradict any concept of the “afterlife” of heaven, but rather fills a gap in between. To simplify because I get excited when detailing my knowledge of these things, in addition to being unable to string two sentences together unless I’m completely sleep deprived, thus making my 160WPM rambling even less coherent, here’s a quick historical culture lesson:

Many African societies divide humans into three categories:
1. Those still alive on Earth.
2. Sasha: The living dead. Those recently departed whose time on Earth overlapped with people still alive. You are not wholly dead, for you are still alive in the memories of the living.
3. Zamani: When the last person to have known you dies, you enter into Zamani, which is to become completely dead. A generalized ancestor. No one still alive ever knew you. (ps-Being a celebrity doesn’t count, your physical presence must interact with those who keep you in Sasha state.

Once the spirit reaches Zamani, it no longer exists on Earth.

How do I know all this? The part about Zamani, google search. The rest? It’s a gift.

On my 7th birthday, my grandfather gave me a horse named Candy. She had a gorgeous main twice the size of any I’d seen, with the softest, most luxurious tawny hair I’ve ever looked upon to this day. Candy was, for all intents and purposes, a life-size My Pretty Pony, except with more hair. Her body was a slick of soft chocolate brown, which ended in a deep cinnamon tail. Candy looked sweet enough to eat, or at least consider getting close enough for a taste-testing lick.
* No, I never did. I was 7; I knew what hair tasted like. This came after my older brother chopped off his bangs and suggested we eat them to hide any evidence of his crime, obvious by the misshapen wedge hanging down the middle of his forehead. While it could not be denied his coiffure was fucked up, our theory was that without tangible proof he’d done it himself, neither of us couldn’t get in trouble for playing with scissors. Not to mention, by the time I got close enough to pet Candy's nose for the very first time, it was quite clear licking it would not by yummy, melty, gooey, or chocolaty. Instead, I feared even touching her would rub her ghastly odor off onto my hand permanently. Girl smelled as bad as she looked good, but I loved her anyway, because it wasn’t her fault.

Dozens of horses had died in a fire when Candy’s previous owner decided to sabotage his failing ranch, an act which went wildly out of control and burnt every single inch of his property to ash. Candy was found alone, meandering around the remains of her former living quarters when authorities could safely access the scene. Even then, the area was so thick with smoke several officers mistakenly identified shapes in the massive gray cloud as charred victims still running in panic. When attempting to provide rescue assistance, the phantoms disappeared among dark swirls of carbon. It took several hours to determine there were no survivors aside from Candy, a single animal out of dozens residing at the ranch, and one that also happened to be completely unharmed by the blaze. Though it’s unclear as to how or where, the newly broken calf had escaped a gigantic swell of flame fueled with gas from a diesel tank behind the main house. Local yokel firefighters (G-d bless ‘em for trying) were kept at bay until the fire burned itself out over hundreds of acres of flat Ohio terrain.

Several aspects of the account fascinated me, as odd and unusual things always have. I was most curious about the shared illusion of burnt bodies seen within the smoke. Never shy about questioning authority of elders, I openly wondered (at age 7, mind you, not to brag about my non-conformist thought process or anything) how an optical perception could be shared among several people yet NOT be considered something real. Far as I knew, I could swear an elephant was in the room until blue in the face, but without another witness any large herbivorous mammal sitting on the couch was nothing more than my imagination. While the sightings could be attributed to journalistic adaptation, it was just as easy for anyone to admit those who where there at the time were likely to have little visibility with one another in a concentrated plume of smoke, and were most likely silent with the burden of rather grim duty.

Most never actually did such a thing, however obvious the thought resonated in complex facial expressions. I wanted to know and accept the truth, so I dismissed claims about powers of suggestion. Many conversations were forced to an uncomfortable end by showing newspaper clippings in which firefighters were quoted as saying they had only realized their so-called “shared illusion” afterwards when recounting this detail to others, not among each other while performing their search.

While such debates caused Grandma to scold him for relaying more frightful parts of the story, Pa was fully aware knowledge of truth comes with time. Not wanting me to hear a gruesome or disrespectful recount, Grandpa made it very clear that Candy had survived an extremely traumatic, potentially lethal experience. Without ever being told so in a direct manner, I understood only gentle loving care could calm Candy’s timid, if not generally skittish behavior.

Living in a Midwest cornfield meant even the farthest neighboring counties knew every minute detail of Candy’s story. Often, at the bank or post office with my mother, old farmers felt the need to say my horse was “spooked,” a condition (similar to a vegetative state) that happens to animals that suffer major trauma. They often suggested I have her shot in the head.

Sure, they’d actually said she should be, “put down,” but I knew what that really meant.

I could never understand how this was supposed to be for Candy’s benefit, certain she’d much prefer standing in her usual corner at the fence while I groomed her mane when given the option over taking a bullet to the brain. Of course, I had to use a metal brush on a long stick when doing such grooming; she was far too smelly to stand beside long periods of time. Even so, each and every visit ended by a long held breath while hugging my arms around her neck, blissfully resting my head in her soft, silky hair. She calmly accepted my affection, although refused to wear a bit, didn’t move when prodded, shot off into high speed laps around the fence at the slightest noise. We had an understanding, and attempts to rider her did not seem logical or really even cross my mind.

The rotten stench that hovered around her, however, was becoming an obsessive desire of mine to eliminate. One I repeatedly failed to accomplish via large animal spa treatments that would’ve left a gorilla with dreadlocks smelling like bubble gum for a week. The more focused on the source of the odor I became, the more convinced it wasn’t coming from her ravishing coat but instead clung around her body like an invisible layer of stink. At 10, it finally dawned on me. The smoke from the fire was all around her, constantly, swirling with the smell of burning flesh.

Candy was haunted.

At that point, I became spooked. Visits to my grandparent’s declined over the next two years, time there was often spent thinking of ways to avoid going out to the barn when someone suggested it. Though it felt wrong, a giant fear built up, paralyzing me with inaction. Candy’s condition declined, and she began leaving her usual spot at the corner of the fence to hide behind her stall. Eventually, it became vital for her survival to face my fear of whatever ghosts may (or may not, I tried to reverse psychology myself) be haunting her.

Finally, I went out alone, as I’d done in the past, convinced my special brand of TLC was the only thing capable of saving her life. On previous visits, she’d always heard my footsteps on the grass as I made way around the shed between my grandparent’s house and the stalls. I was accustomed to a gloomy look in my direction as I came around the old outhouse and into her sight. Upon this approach, she was completely unaware of my presence.

Though Candy generally liked to stay in the same corner of her fenced in area that separated her from the other horses, she pranced around her stall like any other horse, moving side to side, walking in circles, four legged stuff like that. It was not an uncommon sight, this time as she moved her head side to side and plowed her feet around my immediate observation was how it appeared as if she were being pulled around and walked out in a circle by an invisible force.

It was a man, to be exact, without a doubt her former owner’s ghost. Though I could not actually see him in any detail, the shape of his outline played off the barn. Pulsing waves of emotion pounded through my body, suddenly the force pulling at Candy stopped. Turning in my direction, a glimmer of something caught my eye as a kick of dust erupted under hooves. Candy suddenly looked at me over the back wall from inside her stall. The door violently shut and latched behind her, with both of the entry barn doors quickly following with swift movement.

Instinct took over as I flung open the doors; inexperience led me to assume the ghost posed no threat to my being. A bag of meal from the rafter fell from above, busting the latch open. The overhead hatch swung around on its hinges, I turned with just enough time to register the momentum behind its impending impact with my face. This did not leave enough time to brace myself, and the next thing I remember I was flat on my back.

Certainly dead, I could not see or feel the slightest trickle of blood.

An undetermined amount of time passed. Someone called my name. Fearing confirmation of my own death, I closed my eyes to avoid helplessly watching them discover my body. My thoughts began to wonder if my physical body was lay somewhere behind me, popping my ghost out on impact. Though now obviously in a prone position, I was no farther from my original spot than before. Light flooded the stall. Grandpa grabbed my arm and shook my eyes open.

A little girl stood behind him, then faded into a shadow. Concentrated on her image, my dazed expression raised panic about a head injury. In a clean sweep of motion my body slid over shoulders, looking back at the stall growing smaller in the distance. Behind the door, the little girl pressed her body against the frame, watching me as I was carted off back to the house.

When faced with my reflection in the mirror soon after, no mark or indication of any kind registered blunt force trauma except for a small bump on the back of my head. Otherwise, I remained scar and blood free. A notable amount of color had faded from my already light eyes. The edges of an off-white cloud feathered around my peripheral vision.

In days following, the edges slowly shifted inwards and normal sight began to cloud, although I could focus sharply enough to deny any unusual impairment. Most of the time it was like wearing sunglasses, except the “lenses” shifted, creating shapes and moving forms. As time went on, the constant presence of shadow like figures in the cloud of my vision became more and more disturbing, and I went insane.

I wasn’t truly mentally disturbed, but thought I was supposed to be. These symptoms, as categorized by a medical professional or therapist, mirrored some of those associated with severe mental illness. The next few years are a little dopey.

At 15, the prescriptions continued but I was no longer medicated. Things become perfectly clear after my roommate in the hospital killed himself, his lifeless body hanging as I played chess with his ghost. I don’t remember who won, but we had a very interesting conversation. Still see him around sometimes.

My only means of escape from various diagnoses was to hide my truth, which meant going through the motions of being “cured” by a combination of therapy I bluffed my way through and drugs flushed down the toilet. It took some effort, but everyone wanted to buy the act, so they did. Officially sane again, everybody was happy, things were great. I turned 18 and left home, never to return.


//my adventures begin..

//childhood ghosts.. [coming soon]