There was a time when I believed in vampires. And werewolves. Even a time when I gave Godzilla a passing thought of possiblility. I grew up and grew out of those beliefs but I still believe in ghosts.
Occasionally, for some odd reason or another, hubby and I will have a half-assed discussion about the possibility of the existence of spirits. The discussion is usually a short one. He says there are no ghosts, that it's all a load of bunk, and my response is "how do you know?" Then he usually starts laughing at me and this ends the discussion.
I've never seen a ghost but I've always wanted to. I think there are people who are sensitive enough to be able to sense a realm that some of us aren't privy to. I can't see God, but I know he exists so I think the same sort of faith allows for my belief in spiritual entities. Then there was this one time that I had this experience.
Around the age of 10 or so, I think I had an out of body experience. After a somewhat minor injury but one that resulted in pain intense enough that I passed out and fell and hit my head, I sort of went away for a tiny bit of time to a beautiful place with rolling hills and pastures full of blooms. Across the way I saw people, and then from far away I could hear my mother calling my name over and over. I still remember thinking, "I wish she'd go away and leave me alone" right before I came to lying in the floor of my bedroom.
I tried to explain the experience to my mother but she didn't seem to want to hear about it. I've never forgotten it and I truly believe that after death we just go somewhere else in spirit and I don't believe this is just something we make up to ease our minds about dying.
Artist: Alexandria Heather-Vazquez