"I want to feel what love is. I want you to show me." - Foreigner

"Fuck Most Haunted. Fuck Supernatural. Fuck Blair Witch Project. Okay? I've been into this before all that shit was even made!"

That's what I say to all the haters. The doubters. My friends who think I'm full of shit. I've endured all the jokes about the Stay Puft Marshmellow man and all that stuff. It's okay. I believe even if they think I'm full of crap.

"Isn't it dangerous," they ask.

Definitely. Running around the dark in old rundown buildings. Rabies. Infections. Running into a dirty ass wall.

"Aren't there better ways to get your jollies?" they probably think to themselves. Judging me. They patronize me by listening to the stories then turn away snickering about how a 27 year old's still knee deep in childish mystery adventures like Encylopedia Brown starring in a 90s slasher flick. But it's not about jollies. Not about jolts.

This is about proof. Evidence that humanity transcends anatomy. That the rudimentary emotions, that we sometimes feel kill us actually, allow us to exist beyond physical life. I'm looking for the metaphysical pathways where our souls roam in eternity.

See.

Right there.

Your eyes rolled. This is where I lose people.

Paranormal investigating? It piques interest. Capturing activity? Naysayers check out the door. But to consider this some spiritual bath? Now here is where most people just consider me nuts. It's apparently divine to talk to a holy spirit and reincarnation if you're praying with beads, but if you mix the same ideas with a digital voice recorder or an EMF* detector then you're foolish loser.

"When do you think you'll stop?" most folks ask if they get past the judgment.

When I find her.

"Who?"

The Sentient. The female spirit who, when encountered, bridges you from our physical scientific plane to an alternate atmosphere where the emotions of the dead remain thriving.

They say that she chooses who she encounters. She's a conscious spirit that finds her haunts. Very, very selectively.

"So, she's just as picky as any other female?" the guys usually snicker.

What can I say? I snicker too.

"How do you know she'll choose you?"

A sign. I was backpacking once. I was about half a day behind my friends so I was trying to catch up. In the middle of the night I ran out of my camp to take a leak, and when I came back I saw a mist. It was a glowing mist and it wasn't static. As I got closer it slowly moved deeper into the trees. I followed it before it floated away over a ridge.

It was her.

Don't shake your head. Believe me.

"Why didn't she stay around to bring you to the emotional plane?"

Why? She's playing hard to get? Making me earn it? Afraid of commitment? Maybe she didn't like my hair when it was messed up like that in the middle of the night.

The smirk tells me you're asking if I really believe that.

I do.

And I'm going to keep chasing her until I can't anymore.

"Like, until your dead?"

Something like that.

The window for her to find me closes when I'm 30.

Now, you're laughing and you think this was all a joke. Like it was some allegory about the fear of not finding love before the magical age of 30.

That's fine. Laugh all you want.

She'll find me sooner than later once she realizes I'm here.

posted by: breakfast boy

Bell's ringing @ 11:18 PM

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