Echoes in a Hollow Space

I was just thinking about how murky the messages we get from the Otherside are. I’m not sure if the murk is on their side—because they don’t have the energy, or whatever, for full and clear disclosure—or if the murk is on our side and our inability to interpret correctly.

I was thinking in particular of the TV show, Celebrity Ghosts Stories. I didn’t watch it regularly when it was still being broadcast because I thought it was pretty dumb, but I noticed one evening not long after the death of David Carradine that there was a new episode featuring him. My morbid curiosity got the better of me, so I watched.

His segment was preceded by a message that said he’d filmed this story four months before he died. The segment was all about how he had married Annie, a widow with three young children. Annie’s husband, Dana, had died tragically at a young age of cancer (I believe). David moved into her house and talked about how much he loved her and the children.

But weird things kept happening. The closet door in their bedroom kept opening and closing and an unnatural cold seeped out of it. When he’d go in the closet, it would be much colder than the bedroom. David got the sense that it was the spirit of Annie’s husband. In particular, one of Dana’s ties was still in the closet, and it kept flipping over to reveal a logo that said, “Grateful Dead.”

David’s interpretation: “It was obviously a joke, that the dead were grateful . . . it was the only way he could communicate [that] he now felt like everything was settled, the kids were taken care of and I was gonna be there for them. And I will be.”

Do you remember how David died? Of autoerotic asphyxiation. Hanging naked in the closet of his hotel room in Thailand.

Could be a horrible coincidence, of course. But in hindsight, it appears Dana had a different message for David. Because we’re human, we tend to interpret things the way we want to, to rationalize and project our needs and desires. I don’t know why the dead are not “allowed” to just come right out with pronouncements like, “Dude, don’t try the whole autoerotic thing. My kids are depending on you.” Like I said, maybe they haven’t got enough energy for clear-cut messages, or maybe that whole free will thing comes into play and they can’t interfere with our own choices that directly.

I don’t know, but it’s creepy as hell.

So today I had this dataconference that I had to coordinate between three cities and it's been freaking me out for months. I duly arranged for helpers in the two other cities and thought I had it under control, but I still dreamed about the damned thing all night long. Just before my alarm went off this morning, I dreamed that I had to rush my mother to the hospital and I'm calling all over creation to get people to pick up the meeting for me.

Like I would really do that if I actually had to rush mom to the hospital--but I'm sure I'd remember the meeting eventually. And it was a dream.

So I came into work and sent off checking in emails to everyone involved and I heard back from all but one person. I kept calling all over the office, but by that time it was lunch time on the East Coast and no one was at their desks. Finally, about a half hour before the meeting I was able to reach someone in that office. She informed me that my helper wasn't in the office that day because she had to rush her mother to the hospital.

I took a few seconds to be creeped out, but didn't really have the time because I had to make more frantic phone calls to line up a new helper. The meeting turned out okay, with just minor hitches.

And now I have time to really be creeped out.

buymeaclue reminded me here [broken link] (however, she should not be held responsible for any use I put it to in this entry) that about two or three weeks ago I went to see the Body Worlds exhibit at the California Science Center. I'd meant to blog about it, but what with malaise and busyness at work and blah blah blah, I didn't get around to it. The exhibit has moved on to Hannah's area now and Body Worlds 2 is up here in L.A. This was an amazing exhibit and if you get a chance to go see it, do.

To see the cotton candy effect of the blood vessels of the body; the flex and strain of muscles in use; the various sprockets and whatsitses in the body is awe-inspiring and, yes—it made me want to schedule a full physical right away. Mostly, the exhibit walks the line between macabre/creepy and fascinating quite well. There are even several poignant moments. My friends and I were so enthralled, so concentrated on what we were seeing, that by the end of our two hours there, we were exhausted. The place was packed, too. It was the most successful exhibit the CSC had ever staged.

But there was one pair of onlookers I was almost as fascinated by as the exhibit. A mother and child. The boy looked to be about seven or eight and his mother apparently had absolutely no problem with him staring at the penises of the various gentlemen on display. But every time they would come to a woman, his little head would snap right up to the breasts and mom's hand would slap down right over his little eyes, then she'd muscle him along to the next display.

I had no idea boobs were so dangerous. And apparently far more corrupting than penises. Who knew?