Haunted Thoughts

What keeps you up at night?

I’ve been curious about the words haunt and haunted as of late. They literally haunt me. I saw a video where a Swiftie was decoding several of Taylor Swift’s songs to reveal her theory that the singer’s favorite word is haunt. I wouldn’t call myself a Swiftie per se, I mean I probably am. I think she’s brilliant and disruptive and fascinating. The global impact she’s made that's resulted in change has been remarkable. From her demanding artists be paid residuals from music streaming services to quite literally bumping the economy back up because of her Eras tour- there’s no question she’s an influencer.

All that being said, despite my impressive knowledge of her life and music, this revelation piqued my interest. I’ve not explored her earlier music until recently since she’s now re-recording it. I came on board during her 1989 era. Lately, my car speakers have been blasting Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) as I bop down the road. Combined with my love for words and new insight from this Instagram Swiftie, I was not shocked when the song Haunted (Taylor’s Version) flooded my car with its breathtaking beat and masterful lyrics.

Walking a fragile line, she’s known it all this time, but then she says she thought she had him figured out and he’s leaving. Something has gone wrong and it haunts her because she can’t believe he left. So let me get this straight, she knew intuitively that the relationship was unstable, but still believed the tether would not break, and when it did she was surprised? That, in a way, summarizes the very definition of being haunted. Confusion or being in denial from the effect of what felt like a surprising event, when deep down the very outcome you were plagued by but had yet to come true does, in fact, come true. The haunting of the anticipation and then the haunting of the truth is quite a predicament to be in.

We all have the intuitive ability to know and understand when something doesn’t feel right, or when it does. Whether we choose to acknowledge this gift from the Universe is our choice. We can either surrender and feel all the feels, saving us from future pain and heartache, or we can fall prey to our hopeful delusions that we are, in fact wrong, and then act surprised when it happens, ultimately causing us so much more pain in the long run.

I’m not saying Taylor Swift was delusional or stupid for not trusting herself, I’ve done it countless times. And we can’t blame her, this is only her third album, she was so young and just starting to navigate the world as an adult. What I am saying is that intuition, inner knowing, haunts us always. It is our ultimate navigation system for us to follow in order to have a truly free and beautiful life.

The pain in her voice is the pain of a collective human experience. Her ability to put pen to paper in the midst of deep pain with the clarity and insight that she does, time and time again, is the only proof I need that haunt is, in fact, her favorite word.

To say I’ve been haunted my whole life might be an oversimplification. In the spooky sense of the word, I’ve been perpetually curious about the spirit world. I experienced night terrors as a young child and often as an adult too. Since connecting with tarot, the appearances of what always felt like the same vision or ghost have dissipated, maybe because I've moved from terror to curiosity and embrace. Or maybe it's because my tarot practice has allowed me to surrender to the fact that I might not be of this world, or maybe I just have the self-awareness and connection to the liminal at a deeper level than most.

I wrote about my spiritual curiosities in another post. I’ve always known and felt that we are just a small piece of a bigger world that transcends beyond space and time. Our seemingly significant contributions to the world might actually just be a reflection of our ego convincing us we are really that important. But we aren’t. I mean don’t get me wrong, the contributions of people throughout history-the changemakers, the rebels, the revolutionaries– have been remarkable, but when we are tapped into the world beyond us, it becomes pretty apparent that our physical existence may not be real at all.

Ghosts visit us, we have glimpses of vision and miracles that are unexplainable. These moments, if we choose to pay attention, are signs that we’ve either existed all along, continuously taking on new forms, whether of this world or not, or reincarnated as someone else to finish or continue the quest toward the vision we had all along, we just forgot by existing in our finite physical form; or our physical bodies are just our egos separating us as “other” in order to prove our uniqueness and importance to ourselves and others. These separate experiences are universal because we are actually just one entity, or energy manifesting as a hallucination that is the physical body. We get proof of our oneness through vision and intuition. Think about our will to survive; or when an ancestor reveals themselves to us through an action or observation we can’t really explain; or when we meet people that we know we’ve met before despite not having any recollection or experience of it actually happening; or when we make love and lose ourselves completely in the oneness of the very act itself; or when we look at the literal galaxy and the complexities and mirror images of other worlds that exactly match ours; or the foundation of every single spiritual practice out there being rooted in the exact same thing despite our insistence on our beliefs being the only true one- this also reveals itself through literature and art and has so since the beginning of mankind. All of these universal phenomena have been experienced by every single one of us on some level, and when we acknowledge it, we become haunted by the image and knowing of the lack of other and the presence of one.

You know what I’m talking about whether you think you do or not. I bet this idea will haunt you later if it’s not already haunting you now.

I definitely didn’t think I would be going on this tangent when I sat down to write this, but I’m feeling tapped in, so I’m going to go with it and leave it right there.

Through the very notion of curiosity itself, I’ve been called to explore ideas and experiences that led to haunting truths and insights that have plagued me and saved my life. When I was newly sober I dabbled in Ouija board play. I had used a Ouiji board as a child in small doses, and also while in my cups, but they were superficial experiences probably because of my lack of reality blocked by my addition. For the record, I don't recommend messing around with a Ouiji board.

Void of substances influencing my brain, my friends and I had the dumb idea to hike up to this cave about halfway up the main trail on a mountain so many others pass by without noticing or actually exploring. Mount Helena is a central landmark in the town I grew up in. Within the city limits, we are blessed with an escape to nature that is unlike any other. Considered a city park, the mountain offers endless recreation opportunities for any explorer at any skill level. The views are unmatched and with the continued efforts towards the expansion of the trail system by the city and local land trust, the exploration opportunities have grown tenfold, and yet the mountain has never been commercialized.

With only a little effort, almost anyone can trek their way up the most direct route to the top. Winding through trees and rocks you'll be rewarded by views of the city as you make your ascent to the final summit.

The cave sits nestled in the trees, not obvious to the average hiker crossing its path. The entrance requires very little detouring but can be seen from the trail itself. We met around midnight – why midnight as the favored time for witchy and magic-making alike? Who knows. Now I’ve been to the cave many times. Always in the daytime though. There’s something about darkness that leaves a person in a vulnerable position from the vastness of the unknown. Why are scary movies scarier in the dark? Why is walking up the stairs after turning the lights off an absolute invitation for the scary man lurking in the dark to chase you until you are more than halfway up? The most non-threatening spaces transform into haunted places when dark, where sounds are amplified and even the most common household fixtures turn into scary monsters. I felt all of that sitting in the cave.

Despite its lack of depth, I was convinced some Smegal-like character was about to emerge at any moment, from the corner of darkness. I intentionally placed myself in the middle, ensuring myself a protective shield from the monsters. If they were to come, at least they would get one of my friends first and I would have a slim chance of escaping.

I don’t remember much of what we asked, but I do remember one thing. For some odd reason, I asked if I was going to die young. I had always been convinced that, similarly to Devon Sawa in the Final Destination franchise, I had avoided death on many occasions and it lurked in the background waiting for its opportunity to take me. This feeling still haunts me occasionally, but it’s been mostly dormant since I sobered up. Maybe the question was fueled by my premonition of what was to come. The difference between me and Devon was that I was no longer haunted by the demons previously present usually induced by drugs and alcohol.

I was really just setting myself up for future haunting by asking the question, but again, curiosity got the best of me. The board said yes. So I needed more answers- When? How? The board informed me I would die at age 23 and someone named Ben would be involved somehow.

I didn’t know any Bens very well at the time, if at all. And I certainly didn’t have anyone come to mind when the board showed me my grim future. I did lock that information safely in my brain for future protection just in case.

Now I’m a very superstitious person, My grandma was and most of my family is too. We have little rituals we do that make no sense, but they work for us, or at least we believe they do. The most bizarre one is the belief that we can’t tell or hear our dreams before breakfast. Why? Who knows. I’ve never met anyone else who follows this law, but I’ve never deviated from its power because I’m not about to fuck around and find out. Even if someone starts to tell me about a dream they had the night before, I immediately interrupt them with urgency and all seriousness and demand to know if they have eaten something yet. If not, I make them do so before continuing their story. Our belief is that it’s bad luck. Maybe it will come true, or maybe we will die, or maybe nothing will happen, but regardless, I’m not willing to risk it for their sake and mine.

My superstitious nature really amped up when I turned 23. I spent the year in heightened self-awareness and observation. I didn't want to miss any messages being sent to me about my soon-to-be untimely death. I made it out alive, but not without having one experience I barely skirted by.

To be sober is an action. It’s a constant series of actions needing to be taken as a protective measure and insurance policy against future slipping. When I got sober, I was desperate. My life was in shambles and I was unemployable and untrustworthy. My only hope, as disappointing and pathetic as it was, was to sit and listen to a bunch of hoity-toities (or so I thought) tell me what was wrong with me and how I could get better- because it was what was wrong with them too, and they have also gotten better. I was supposed to just do what they did too. That sounds a little culty, but it worked. I have a unique story and a unique experience, but I also have the same universal problem that all alcoholics have. This was actually a relief. As I started to feel better, I realized I could also be potentially helpful to others. My sobering up was a collective effort of me putting in the work while simultaneously watching others lead the way and following them too. My actions in turn became attractive to others, so the cycle continued. This formula has been a game-changer for me. It's transformed my life and my relationships and my spiritual connection.

When I was newly sober, and I laugh at this now, because there are protocols and structures to follow, a friend of mine and I used to visit this group at a local outpatient center and we'd tell our stories. The counselor would call us, usually monthly, and set up a time for us to come speak to the group of court-ordered individuals, who usually spent the hour rolling their eyes or staring at the floor. We loved doing this. It was fun to share our experience in the hopes that maybe someone in the room was suffering as much as we once had. There were occasional instances where we would open it up for questions and one or two people would ask all the questions we remembered asking too. They would often come up to us afterward and ask more questions. I felt helpful. It made me feel like my being sober mattered and by my actions and unrecognizable new life, maybe one more person might not have to suffer.

Since then, the Montana treatment and correctional facilities have become much more organized, or maybe they always were that organized and we were just flying under the radar. They are no longer (that I know of) off the cuff making cold calls to people they hope are still sober and might want to come to talk to their inmates or patients. That's why it's wild my friend and I used to do this on the regular. As far as we know, we, and whomever we decided to bring along, were the only people going to this center over that first year we were all putting our lives back together.

I've still continued to speak at facilities periodically, but not as often anymore. When I was 23, I signed up to speak at a different treatment center about an hour away from where I lived. This process was obviously much more organized. That's not a dig at the counselor who would call us. I love her dearly, and I'm sure the work she did saved a lot of people from a life of misery.

I was instructed to meet at 5 p.m. with another individual to drive the windy road over the pass to the facility. I committed and had every intention of going. That was until I received a call from the facilitator informing me of my partner for the ride. His name was Ben. I knew him, I’d seen him at gatherings and meetings before, but we weren’t close. Our limited time together wasn’t intentional, we just didn’t really cross paths very often. He wasn't a bad person, I never had a spidey sense that he was to be avoided. Now normally a situation like this would be insignificant, but in that moment my alarm bells went off and I was immediately transported back to that frightful night in the cave.

It had been a couple of years since I was informed of the specifics of my demise, but for that entire 23rd year I knew I needed to pay attention. I immediately knew I had to cancel after getting off the phone. I knew I would sound crazy, but I was dealing with forces greater than myself at that moment. I called my sponsor, and thank God she was tapped in the way I was too. I recapped the night in the cave to her and told her my current situation. I had never shared this information with anyone until now. The only people who knew, were those in the cave with me that night. I’m sure they’d long forgotten, but I needed to tell someone. She gave me the permission to cancel. Even if it meant nothing and I would have survived to tell the tale, why risk it?

I canceled without the tiniest bit of guilt. There would be other opportunities to be helpful. After that fateful day, I never experienced another close call during the year of my death. I survived and breathed a sigh of relief on my next birthday. I think of that moment often. It haunts me to this day. But not in a way that is ladened with terror, but rather a confirmation of my psychic gifts.

I continue to let my curious and haunted mind roam freely as it should. It’s never failed me.

There are many technical definitions of the word haunt- ghosts manifesting themselves, an uneasy or lingering feeling, something intruding as a memory or thought stirring a feeling of worry or dread, but the ones that frequent the search engine results the most are all, to a degree, variations of each other- the idea of a persistent occurrence in the consciousness- to go back home- to show up regularly. So I go back to my original point. We are all conscious of our own perceived otherness and experience regular appearances of signs that we are not just these bodies walking around in a physical world plagued by destruction and pain. No, it’s in the moments of joy and connection, whatever that looks like, that embody what we really are- oneness, awakened, holy.

I wrote about my rebellion from the idea of a physical home base- the return to a home that was inside me all along. I explored the need for me to find stability within myself rather than in a physical space.

The idea of enlightenment isn’t something to be attained, it’s a place to return to or as I would say- haunt. It’s the reoccurring knowing, the thought and feeling that’s present even if we spend our whole earthly lives denying its existence. But this notion of psychic consciousness is, by society's standards, labeled witchcraft, woo-woo thinking, or ostracized as a way to perpetuate the comfort of staying in our egos and physical bodies and homes, therefore maintaining the manifestation of ourselves as separate.

What if instead of burning us at the stake, because that physical body will always return in another form, we embraced our own wonder and curiosity and allowed it to consume and haunt us regularly? What might we accomplish in this finite world then? Maybe then and only then we might have a real and significant collective impact.

*Photo taken in July 2021 at White Sands National Park