The Mysterious Stranger

Many of us assume that spirits — if we are inclined to think in these terms at all — visit only after the bodies they once inhabited have died. We usually ascribe unexplained phenomena, such as doors opening and closing of their own will or footprints and handprints appearing when no one is there to make them, to those who, in death, have been unable to find peace or rest. But what if these things are a manifestation of our own fear, anguish, longing, or restlessness — here, now, in this life?

It seems a reasonable question to ask. Just moments ago, I was thinking about the old shed behind the house where I grew up, its dark corners full of spiders and yellow jacket nests, and the many things the shed once contained — the worn out hoes, shovels, and pitchforks, the heavy lengths of rope, the spare parts, tools, work table, and grape-stained picking boxes — and could almost feel myself wandering about in the hushed, dimly lit atmosphere.

It made me wonder: Is it possible that, if the present owner happened to be in the shed at that moment, he sensed my presence — felt something, was somehow made to pause?

Where do we really go
when we think and dream?

Where have we been,
without knowing?

Whom have we greeted there?

And where are we now?
Who is that stranger, waiting beside us?

March 30, 2006

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The Mysterious Stranger
Also by William Michaelian

Winter Poems

ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco

Signed copies available

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