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I want to have visions. I want to see ghosts. But they never visit me. In my first years of meditating, I thought the point was to have visions. No one said anything about that, I made it up.

I’d love to see angels and spirits in my daily life. I’d love to know there’s a guardian angel following me around. Just give me a glimpse of a wing, or the shadow of kind wolf. I want to step through the “tear” in this world. Some claim it isn’t real and promise there’s another one on the other side.

Please, let this world not be it. I want what’s behind the scrim. I imagine a riotous and joyous world, kind of like peeking into a Cirque du Soleil tent during their practice time. Clowns soaring through the air, furry animals somersaulting across the stage, lovely too-tall princesses singing operas. All of that. I’m not fussy about who and what, I just want that imaginary world that some say is real.

And sadly, I hate to read science fiction. I apologize to the extraordinarily talented authors of that genre. And fantasy, I don’t get it.

I want spirits in my living world. Maybe it would be called World Plus, like many things that are given plusses like Economy Plus. World Plus. Fill it with whatever you have. Angels, dancers, spirit animals alike. Hawks and ravens and more angels. I want a world of these creatures where I can spend time.

Daily life where I stand on the earth surveying the dishes that need to be washed and put away, the paperwork that needs to be read, the document I need to write—I dream of angels and the rest.


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