Still, The Ghosts Are There

At this time, being focused on monitoring what has become an increasingly volatile situation in my country, I’ve been desperately trying not to think about past lives and I must admit, it’s been at the back of my mind most of the time.

Still, I feel that it’s seldom far from my mind.

Little things that come up.  Stray remarks.  An icon in someone’s profile.  They twist a little at those memories, threatening to bring them to the surface.  I now feel like there is something more lurking there, threatening to come out in the right circumstances and I can feel it there, stuck, like a tonsil stone or a wad of phlegm at the back of my nose, or a belch that just won’t come loose.  After a while, when it’s nagging to be let out, one starts to find comfort in expelling odious things.

Sunday, I came upon a right-wing troll on Twitter.  Generally I’m not bothered by right-wing trolls, and I can’t even remember what the obnoxious little fucker said, but his icon…

It was the goddamned Kaiser.

I felt my blood pressure spike so bad it made my head hurt and my neck feel stiff.  I lost my shit and basically told him my great-grandfather had fought the Germans in 1918 and I still have the flag he captured (100% true by the way).

It’s not like me to say ANYTHING to a right-wing troll before simply blocking them, or to lose it when seeing WWI German stuff.  But couple that with obvious antagonism and it shook me. This reaction caught me off-guard and I felt sick and wrong for a few hours.

There was another tweet, this time from someone I actually sympathized with, but it didn’t do me any good.  The guy made a remark about how at least we’d be in better shape after all this marching.

Sounds innocent doesn’t it?  But I had a hard time seeing or even writing about it.  I can only guess I must have caught a remark like that somewhere in Flanders and part of me still remembers.

A civil war, which has the potential to devolve very quickly into a world war in which innumerable proxy wars become a single conflict between Russia, China, the US, and whatever’s left of NATO in Europe, seems to be looming.  We hear all the time about the danger of a big war between, say, the US and China but we don’t hear as much about the possible outbreak of hundreds of regional conflicts that collectively destabilize the entire world.  That’s what I’m really afraid of because that’s what warfare looks like in the 21st century.

I don’t want another war on my doorstep.  102 years and two lifetimes on and I’m still hurting from the last one.  I’ll fight if I have to but I’m not eager about it.  If I ever seem eager to fight it’s only because at least there’s some cold comfort in knowing that the battle is on and it’s too late to back out.

I’m terrified, and the ghosts of so many years past are compounding that terror.


I’ve decided to reconsider my position on Donald Trump somewhat.

First let me state that I still view him as a threat to himself and to this country.  But I am now starting to believe that he is a threat not out of malfeasance but out of an undiagnosed and neglected mental illness.

I do not make this remark flippantly.  I’m dead serious.  I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety/PTSD for most of my life, and I’ve known a number of people with schizophrenic/schizoaffective/bipolar disorders, so I know what these conditions do to a person.  I’ve seen it far too many times.  They start looking disheveled, tired, baggy-eyed, and moving erratically.  Thoughts, words, and actions become confused and muddled.  If the condition is severe enough, delusional thoughts can begin to creep in and take over.

I saw a recent interview with him over the alleged voter fraud.  He looked bad.  His hair was mussed, his suit was rumpled, he had heavy bags under his eyes that had been hastily slathered over with pancake makeup, and he was displaying what appeared to me, as a layperson with a lot of practical knowledge of psychology, to be cognitive rigidity, repeatedly rebuffing every reasonable thing he was told about his conspiracy theories being debunked with nonsensical answers.  This is one of the defining traits of a delusional personality.

I no longer think he should be taken to prison after being promptly removed from office. I now believe he should taken to a hospital and evaluated by doctors before he is allowed to continue to serve as President of the United States of America.  He’s showing worrying signs of a man either on the brink of a total psychotic break or of someone already undergoing one and we need to get him to a professional who can make a solid determination on whether or not he is mentally competent for the role of commander in chief.  I say this with the same grim sincerity I would if my own father was behaving this way.

Came The Thaw

I’ll probably post more in depth another time, but here’s the short version for now.

I’m not leaving the church.  I may be forced into a hiatus from it but I have no intention of quitting.

It’s true that I’m weary of focusing on reincarnation and past lives, but when I think seriously about it, I’m faced with a lot of things that I have a hard time dismissing out of hand.  It is still inconvenient to think of reincarnation as a possibility- it always has been- but the whole point of this blog was to make sense of having that can of worms opened up in the first place and try as I might, I can’t weld it shut again.

The future of this blog is still uncertain and updates may be sparse but I’m leaving it open.  At any rate I suspect something cosmic is going very wrong and it may be useful to have a space here where I can explore that without staking my reputation on it as a writer or historian or anything else.  This blog has always been where I posted my wildest, maddest ideas and I guess I need that in a time when the maddest, wildest things are happening on a daily basis.

Watch this space.

Screw It

Probably going to abandon this blog in the near future, if this isn’t my last post.

I was never comfortable with the idea of reincarnation to begin with; I recognized how problematic it would be before I ever had the thought I might have lived before.  I find now that I am so uncomfortable with the idea of having to return to this world of suffering after I die that I can’t bear thinking of living another life.

I’d rather go back to believing that our lives are mercifully short and death is a one-way door to oblivion.  In lieu of an absurd belief in heaven as described in most Abrahamic traditions (which I haven’t sincerely believed in since I was in my teens), oblivion the most desirable outcome.  This is not an epiphany but something I have always known.

I’ve stopped writing fiction, by the way.  I can’t bring myself to tell amusing little stories when the world stopped being amusing ages ago.  Likewise I’m probably going to use my upcoming job as a trucker to quietly bow out of the church and stop all this gnostic nonsense.

Unless I have some real epiphany, I’m done here.  Waiting to be killed by a despotic government or by roving gangs of fascist thugs seems to be the only thing left to do in my life so I might as well embrace a belief system that is positive toward death as a release from suffering.

I’m Here For A Reason

I do not know the reason I am called to be here, in this life, in this present year of 2017.

All I know is that I am here, for whatever reason, to witness the truth of orthogonal time.

It’s happening again, folks.  I’ve been there before.  I’ve seen this whole business, in another life, in another body.

I do not know why. But I am listening.  Show me a sign, Lord. I am at your command.


For the first and hopefully the last time in my current life, I just married the man I’ve been seeing for nearly 12 years and living with for 9 years.

He’s a visual artist, as well as a singer-songwriter who plays keys for a local Portland prog rock band and whose comedy music has been featured on Dr. Demento’s radio show multiple times.

We actually met via the Internet while I was still in the UK, stumbling through the wreckage of past lives feeling just a bit stunned and helpless.

He’s the reason I stayed in the US.  No regrets.

We married in a small private ceremony at our little church.  Even though it was raining earlier in the day, by the time we got married the sun was out and a bright shaft of light came through the windows of our chapel as we exchanged vows.

A few friends were there including two witnesses, but we’ve decided to save the big ceremony for when we can afford it.  This was us making it official for legal reasons.

It still felt really amazing though, knowing I just married a guy who’s been with me through so much.  My love, my husband, my muse, the guy who’s actually put up with all my eccentricities.  The guy who’s been there to hold me when the guns of the Western Front start thundering through my memories again.  The guy who’s given me a second chance at love after my last, luckless, hapless life as a six-time divorcee.  The guy who stayed with me through my gender transition, a risky move to the West Coast, and in times of hardship and poverty that would put the screws to any relationship.

I’m able to feel joy again today, after being pretty much numb to all emotions since November.  I’m in love with a wonderful man who has made my present life, for all its hardships and setbacks, that much easier to cope with.

Thank you, my love.  For the rest of my life I will be yours.