Apparitions are Different

     

    The part I never quite understood about the spirit world was the way it seemed to operate under simultaneous forces pulling in opposite directions. The best example I can give is a kite—floating high above, caught in that delicate balance. The wind pushes it up, filling its wings and lifting it into the sky, while the string tugs it back toward the earth, anchoring it to the life below. Two opposing forces, completely different in nature, working in harmony to keep it aloft.

    I think spirits exist in a similar tension. Their ties to this world—memories, unfinished business, love—pull them inward, toward the realm of the living. At the same time, there are vast, mysterious forces beyond comprehension that draw them outward, into a space far past what we can see or explain. It’s not that they’re lost, it’s that they’re living between here and just beyond. Held in a state of spiritual suspension.

    Apparitions are different. They are not tethered. No strings hold them, no winds lift them—they drift, free-floating between layers of reality. They come and go not by need, but by nuance. You’re just as likely to see one perched silently in the arched curve of a stained-glass window as you are to catch a glimpse of one balanced atop a bale of hay on the back of a horse-drawn cart disappearing around a corner.

    They don’t haunt, exactly. They pass through. Maybe they’re reminders. Maybe they’re echoes. Maybe they’re nothing more than spiritual momentum trying to once again experience the lift of the kite.