letter to Renae....

 
Oh dearest Renae, this is a beautiful crazy story that happened t’day and its just for you....
I should preface this e-mail by telling you that in my mid-twenties I lived a very poetic and peripatetic lifestyle (uhm, still do) and ended up crashing with this this older sage who was a Psychic (he was kinda Gandolf  to my
emotionally fretted Frodo if that makes any sense, best way I can explicate the nature of our rapport) His name was Mike Truskey and he was fairly well known in the local psychic community and he actually used to give readings to a very well known psychic who lived in Delevan named Greta Alexander who was always on the news (informing police where they could locate the corpse or whatever) back in the day.
Uncle Mike died a few years back and I was with him as he passed but hanging out with him for so long I was introduced to the world of metaphysics and light, ie, I have what might be classified as weird encounters, seeing what might be classified as ghosts and spirits and other shit that is weird and just hard to explain and that (except for those closest to me ) I don’t promulgate or talk about in public much at all.
So my old friend from high school now you know where I am coming from here is what happened t’day:


At five o’clock tonight I was sifting through my attic rummaging through old manuscripts for one of my novels when I came across a folder I had not seen in a couple of years. I took the folder to my writing desk downstairs ( I have the coolest writing desk ever) when what fell from the folder was a Xeroxed obituary of your father’s death. One thing Uncle Mike always taught was to say this prayer for the departed which I did. I then went back to writing and looked at read your father’s obituary and realized, as I was reading it, that (ironically??/mystically) it was the anniversary of his demise.
What happen next was one of those weird things I don’t talk about much but it happen.
I was situated at my writing desk reading the Xeroxed copy of your father’s obituary that I randomly found in the attic when it tumbled out of a folder I picked up when I hear a mans voice vividly resonating through my chest. The voice was middle age, semi gruff and he was happy and laughing.
Then the voice said this:

“Tell my daughter that I love her and that I am so proud of her.”
After that the room just flooded in a sheet of white light and I felt this warm presence and everything around me (what some psychics call vibratory levels) just echoed in peace.
Old friend I don’t mean to fuck with you at all, but that is what I heard today in my writing chamber in West Peoria.
I hope life finds you well and this message ferries forth perhaps closure and the peace I felt this afternoon. Your father was a good man Renae. And he loves you and is never far away….
DVB