UA-52565790-16 Ghosts - Saga Kraft

Episode 14

full
Published on:

11th Nov 2020

Ghosts

Welcome to Saga Kraft: myths, fairytales, legends stories, comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us. As we share stories, both old and new, more than anything, we're open to the story and it's unfolding at times. It may be one story told by one person at times it's the same story told through three different voices.

In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm Sea, a writer, artist, and storyteller.

I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. I'm

Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. We are magical fairy godmothers

in training.

I invoked sacred ground: 

with thanks to Saga.

For the inspirations that you offer to Saga Kraft and to us. And I'm very grateful for this thin time of the year for all that this thin time has to offer the fin time offers opportunity for ghosts to be more present than usual, which can be a good thing or not a good thing, but it's always interesting.

And I look forward to hearing your stories. Sea, thank you.

What do you also think everyone?  And I think particularly am some students not, well, I'm not quite to exclude physical ancestors, but also all the people from the past, since I've written about some of them.

It is Halloween, 1978, and all my friends are coming over to get costumed up for the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I have noticed, but not contemplated. The fact that every house I've lived in has been haunted one by one. My friends arrive in t-shirts and jeans, carrying bags of satin sequence, feather, boas, and theatrical makeup. Our only living room furniture is a single reclining chair that resembles an upholster boat on a sea of orange and Brown.

In my memory, it bobs as if drifting on the waves of shag carpet under the sun of a bizarrely placed chandelier. In my mind, my brother is always in the chair and I wonder if, in his, I am. My best friend has brought in our single stool and is sitting on it, painting the white pumps she just brought it the salvation army, black.

I loved her then. I wonder if some part of me always will, I will call her Daphne because it is so wrong,.

My neighbor Ted is there. I'm assigning him that name because years later, when I see Keanu Reeves in bill and Ted. I will think that's who Ted would have been if he hadn't been so damaged, definitely.

Who was selling the attractive in that Nordic way has an unfortunate crush on Ted who was gay. The boy I have a crush on, we'll be meeting us at the theater. Thank God. He isn't going to see my house. There are three or four others there, but they're hazy in my memory was soft. Malleable features, David like ghost.

I wish them well, as I wonder how they became a backdrop in my life, my mom who rarely visits the house has heard that my friends are coming over. So it was making her sole attempt at being parental. She offers dates stuffed with peanut butter because that's what seventies, teenagers month in her mind.

There's a realm declines, then she scuttles back to her room to hide until they'd gone. And she can flee the house again after a few requests for things I don't know, like mirrors and cares. The conversation turns to Halloween. I love ghosts. I say, and as I do, so the chandelier begins to flash on and off.

How did you do that? Tell us what, what I said, make the lights flash. Ghosts I say, and the lights flash again, Ted starts to look around. When I walk around at night, the street lights turn off deaf name remarks. Ted looks distressed. It's true. I verify every time, just like me and ghosts I add. And the chandelier flashes again.

Ted has begun to look like a caged animal as he searches the room is usually how did you do it? He asked his voice raising in pitch. Really I say, I just said, ghost, the shadow confirms I didn't do anything. That's like me with the streetlights. Right. She freaked out her white blonde hair and she has her foot in now black pumps on the stool, displaying the inside of her bear and very long leg.

She applies bright red lipstick and kisses. The air for coverage. Yeah, I agree. Wires, Ted concludes. There's first starting about then focusing on a place where the chandelier meets the ceiling. Where are the wires? Every time definitely continues. It's such a pain to always have to walk in the dark because streetlights just won't stay on.

She rolls her eyes before checking to see the impression she's made on Ted. Nothing. He's busy walking around the edges of the room. Now, checking for switches. They have to be here. He murmurs as the translucent friends who have skipped the concrete of my memory, encourage him to let it go do it again. He commands me and stares as if he can see through me.

Oh, I say to flickering lights definitely rolls her eyes size and puts both feet on the floor. Deflated, then Hawks and spits on the floor. As my mom returns, having worked up the courage to offer more peanut butter dates. Someone says, Stephanie, I'm sorry. She responds blushing. As my mom looks on and distress, Ted runs over to me and begins to fondle the thick shag by my feet, following some invisible line.

He is willed into being to the wall where he begins to pry up the carpet. My mom watches for a moment altering pooping. He will stop. When he does not. And a few inches have been peeled back. She clears her throat before tentatively suggesting, please don't rip up the carpet. This is a rental tabs. This is the carpet uninstalling, and begins to feel around the baseboards.

As the final touches of makeup. Go on the grill. There has to be a wire. He explains, but you don't have to find it. A voice comes from behind the veil reluctantly. He abandons his mission and we all pile into the station wagon where I think the very first time that is not my house is haunted.

I really want to be part of this entourage going out to see the Rocky horror picture

show.

I know, I feel like I have been part of that entourage. So that was a great memory. Thank you.

It's a great story. And I love that the ghost is present as a ghost of unknown origin, but also that all the people in it are somewhat ghost because it's a memory of what happened yet. Everything's a little shifted and it's like a snapshot in time, which often ghosts capture that they appear as snapshots in time.

Right. They were alive to me. Then that was what was notable to me writing it. They were so alive to me then, but they're not anymore. If they did, they get faded, just like a ghost. I don't even know their names anymore

and don't know the features on their faces,

but once they really mattered to me,

So, what is that about the street lights going off?

Yeah, it really did happen every time she walked under a street light, it went off. I don't know why it was just like me and goes, yeah, I don't know. She had a street light thing.

I think we've all had that friend. I'm not the person that the lights happen with, but I've had a friend or two in my life that it really did happen.

I've had it happen for me when I was a certain age. And then with a certain friend, it happens a lot. We speculated that we were light so that the light didn't need to be on, but that was also just a hope, I think, too. Who knows? Hmm. Well, I love your characterization of everyone in this story. And even the ghost, I liked that very much.

I wonder if the mom is a ghost and how nice she is to the kids. I cannot imagine my mother being nice to kids.

Everyone terrifies me. It was surprising that she came out of her room.

The thing about some kind of an event like that is that it's a confluence so often. Of the particular energies that host or allow those kinds of events to occur too.

Sometimes they're for everyone, but sometimes there may be just for one person or another, but in this instance, I could just feel all those forces and all those personalities and energies coming together. So you did a great job of conveying that.

Yes. Thank you. I really enjoyed the story. It made me smile.

And it really honored this time of the year and just the excitement that Halloween or Sal and brings of like-minded people, seeking adventure and mystery,

the fun being able to for a night, present yourself as something completely different or reveal something different about yourself, which really maybe got it so happen here.

I think that that was a gift of Rocky horror.

Indeed. Don't dream it. Be it.

Thank you.

Thank you, Betsy.

So a little bit later than so, and in the year, but still in the dark time of year. Laila homeless for longer than she could remember walked through the city neighborhood in search of something, nourishing the rod December when blue trash and a few snowflakes in swirls around her. She could smell the snow on its way.

She felt empty unbothered by the cold lost in her thoughts. And yet somehow hopeful. Sometimes in her travels, she had the sensation of walking towards something important yet, nearly forgotten. She felt that way. Now the icy wind sweeping up from the Thames buffeted Laila, as she trailed a group of well-dressed Londoners chattering amongst themselves, they headed towards the large hotel complex from which complicated culinary sense emerged.

The cold night and the brisk when sharpened her faculty of smell inexplicably because the hotel appeared very English since from her home country, we're emanating out into the night. She imagined them wafting out of the hotel restaurant like smoke from Aladdin's lamp, smiling and Blahnik little smile at the thought of the lamp.

Following an unexplainable urge, Laila followed the group into the hotel and out of the wind, she entered the foyer of the hotel. The ceilings were high and arched the beige carpet thick beneath her feet. The immediate feeling of warmth was a little stunning causing her to pause, looking around in this way.

She found herself in the middle of a small group of people flowing around her. And heading towards a banqueting room, an anticipatory throng of people waited to be let through the doorway into the banquet hall. She let herself be part of the group carried along with them into the dimly lit room, much larger than a restaurant and made her do was directing people to large round tables, draped in white linen.

Moving waiters, uniformed in black and white guided her and the small group. She lingered near to a table midway back, whenever any one of the small group looked in her direction. She smiled shyly half concealing her face. She adjusted her long scarf over her hair, straightened her back sliding from the unseen to the scene.

Allowing her movements to become graceful, subtly proud around her. People were dressed for an evening of entertainment and food. The women in flashy, sequined, or silky evening wear and the men more somber, but smelling strongly of cologne. She subtly shifted herself again, her head scarf now gleamed with metallic threads.

She laughed internally. If she smelled unclean, she knew the strong cologne would cover it up in front of the room was a raised stage set up for a large band of some sort. There were no chairs, merely cushions in an array of instruments set up in front of microphones. There was to be entertainment. This promise to be a better evening than she anticipated.

The room filled and waiters moved around with trays of drinks and bottles of wine. Accepting a glass of crisp white wine. She enjoyed the suns, but left it on tasted a large group of musicians and singers entered the room, all dressed in white, except the apparently revered lead singer. Is the short, older and stout man in a long dark gray coat entered the majority of the people in the room.

Rose honoring him a group of black haired men and evening dress helped him solicitously to his seat on the stage musicians, rearrange the tableaus and harmoniums to suit themselves like a flock of birds fluttering into their natural pecking order. The pattern they eventually settled into seem to be one of long establishment and I'm stood between the guests and the stage asking for a warm welcome for new Strat fatter Ali Khan, and spoke briefly about this well-known singer achieving the pinnacle of koala, a form of Sufi, Islamic, devotional music.

He spoken both Urdu and English. Mr Khan had won an award for his music, a notoriously bad boy of rock music was invited up to present the award. This man in suit jacket, and brocaded vest came nimbly to the stage and offered the golden album just to the older man accepting it gracefully the quality singer class fit briefly to his heart and then passed it off to another.

Closing his eyes in prayer. He nodded to his group and the music began soon. The entire room was clapping, swaying and layer. Upon layer of voices were singing the ancient songs of spiritual poets. Linda looked around the room, noting an international array of guests from the Northern Indian sub-continent, as well as many Londoners born and bred.

She noticed to her side, just out of reach for her to look comfortably a beautiful young man with dark lash, soulful eyes, not a Londoner. When she dared, she looked again at him, noting the waving black hair, the live body, less like a dancer and more like a tiger. So he sat, swinging and timed to the music as gracefully as a gazelle.

He caught her, looking at him and smiled, showing sharp teeth, his eyes glinting orange for a second before restoring to a melting chocolate Brown. When the lead singer began to sing something indefinable shifted in the music, rollicking, Mary and joyful before now, pathos, and something akin to a halo of light entered into the song.

As the names of saints were invoked and prayer. Some Laila saw spirals of light forming on the stage. No one else seemed to be aware of them. Well, except the beautiful young man, he was caught just as she was by what was trying to form by what was emerging out of the swing singers and the passionate voice of the lead singer.

The music invoked the Saint whose prayer. This was. Amir, it called up the Saint to rework the prayer centuries later, bullet Shaw, the layers within the music were complex. And so were her memories. Amir, Amir. She thought I wanted you to save me, but you were caught up in this prayer for which you are now long remembered.

The spiral of light on the stage before her was building forming, her gaze was pulled to the young man. His mouth was open, his eyes were closed. Listening body taught against the palpable and magnetic pull of the sentiment and the melody of the music. What appeared to be a grimace was forming on his face.

Another soundtrack could be heard in the room. Where was it coming from? Jen, Jen, your power is useless here. Laughter and insidious grace. I'm not so sure about that. The gin was inciting desire now in the room, dancing couples caught the edge of that desire and began to dance more centrally with each other, to the hissing of older Indian women, trying to school, their sons, the sun dance with sex.

Guilt and the divine inextricably tied together, the intently listening rockstar known for getting no satisfaction, felt that very dissatisfaction mounting within him, hearing the ecstatic vocals and feeling the sensation of gateways opening in the room. How do you do that? He thought, but I ever be able to do that.

The participants who were focused on him were swept along with his frustration rockstars model wife, untouchable in her beauty incited, the jealousy of the young and older women in the crowd, the tension in the room mounted as the singer wailed his voice, allowing Amir to become more fully present. Myla felt pinned, exposed, frightened, and joyful all at once.

She felt the bonds that had been deep within her revealed now and shining deli in the spectral and liminal light release me never was the reply. The eyes of the quality singer were open, but unfocused so lost. Was he in the prayer? He was singing, standing on him. Anchored in him was Amir. The words he's saying came from the singer's mouth, but from the Saint's heart Lilah, come to me, commanded a mere can I, she asked breathless, Oh yes.

Spirals of light reach for her coiled around her. The spectral light reached for her too. If never been with me forever, she cried with her mind, not trying to slip out of the gins bindings, but wrapping them more completely around her. Amir cried, beloved and pulled her to him. The gin flew forwards from the back of the room.

And the second portal held by bullish Shaw opened for the gin. The crowd roared as they were taken up by the mounting ecstasy as a singer's voice spiraled higher Amir, she cried as she went into his arms, beloved cried, Amir, love it, cried bullish Shaw as the graceful Virgin flew into his arms through him and was gone.

Can we hear more please? That was amazing. That was absolutely profound and full of magic and full of liberation. It was a liberation love ghost story,

but there was a lot of beauty in as well as a feeling of

nakedness. Yeah. The sense of Laila's travels through a time and across continents to this moment, we're very much a part of it for me.

The question is who are the ghosts?

Right?

There's certainly more than

one.

And it was to me, their intent of still shrouded, if not,

well, it makes me wonder if the living and possibly the dead who witnessed that event, if it was not their time to go, if they. Had set in their mind, the level at which they would agree to go.

That would be as beautiful as this one. I love the multilayered presence of the saints and the devote T who by rewriting the song or infusing the song with his own devotion, brought another strength in it. So another portal could be opened. I think that was just brilliant.

Thank you.

What was it like for you Betsy, to spend this time with Laila, but also with the saints and the power of those songs?

I've always particularly, they'd love this song and the story was inspired by a video that one can see on YouTube. And some of the players that I mentioned in the story were definitely on the scene, but to be with Lyla was very interesting because there was power with her. There was irony with her.

There was sort of, uh, being acclimated to her. Fate was the sense of it. But also almost a world wariness about, even when she felt that feeling like something important was going to happen, she would go with it, but it felt like this journey had been so long for her that it was hard for her to even invest in it.

And so would it felt in this banqueting hall? That there was just a very favorable confluence of events that occurred that required a lot to come together and makes me want to know more of her story, but I'm also happy for her release as well.

I think that was conveyed beautifully the way it was set up from the beginning.

Just her sense of feeling lost and feeling thrown away and forgotten. And when that smell opened up, it's almost like it just drew her to her own destiny. Her reluctance was not important because it was already on its way.

I think that's very true. I liked the chin. Also.

I liked the gin also too.

I'm happy.

He was there as well. I feel like the dimension he gave and offered to that world and all the people in it living and beyond, I think he just added a spice that was really needed without which maybe none of this could have happened.

That was probably very true again, that sort of all these different threads coming together and also...

Show artwork for Saga Kraft

About the Podcast

Saga Kraft
Myths, stories, and how to use them.
Welcome to Saga Kraft.

Myths, fairy tales, legends: Stories comfort us, inspire us, and heal us. Please join us as we share stories, both old and new.

More than anything, we are open to the story and its unfolding. At times, it may be one story told by one person. At times, it’s the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go were the story takes us . . . and we invite you to follow.

We are:
Sea, a writer artist and storyteller.
Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions.
Gabriela, an artist and practitioner of folk magic.
We’re magical fairy godmothers in training.

May our stories meet yours.