Once small talk and instructions had ended… the session began in earnest. Without fanfare or warning, she told me a man had come to visit her two days prior. She had been in her car and when she looked up, he was walking towards her. She made a mental note at the time that she felt he might have something to do with me. Two days earlier she had had a visitation. Two days earlier I had begged Charley to talk to me. Apparently that’s when he had started the conversation. Now two days later, it was all I could do to try and catch up.
The recollection and description she gave me is as follows:
A man came towards me, looking as though he had been sitting in a mossy mess for quite some time. He appeared damp, wet, moldy…
He came to visit two days ago. He was murky looking-as if he was coming through water. His clothing… how to put this? Best description—zombie-ish. He was not a zombie- but appeared zombie-ish. He wanted to find out about his skin. Obsessed and very confused about his skin. He was showing me wounds, lacerations…fixating on his arms. He was rancorous.
I did not know who this person was, but felt that he must have had something to do with the author, TA. He appeared and left without word.
My gut became pinched with bile. Two days ago I had asked for him to make contact. At this point the waiter came by and asked for our order. My stomach lurched at the thought of receiving more acid- even high dollar acid, so I searched the menu for something with fewer octanes. She opted for a specialty hot chocolate. I applauded her choice and echoed a similar selection with caramel. Not more than three minutes into the session, my most auspicious moments thus far had now been interrupted by a waiter, but it was a blessing in disguise. Without electrical outlet at my disposal, I surmised my lap top battery had a shelf life of about 45 minutes. Not nearly long enough to record everything imparted, if infact I was lucky enough to have Charley make an appearance at all. In the wake of our waiter’s departure, I acknowledged my lack of recording device and asked if I might run out to my car and trade my computer back pack in for my writing pad. She agreed and I donned my coat and rushed out the door into the pelting rain to secure. Upon my return, she told me the man with the moldy skin had escorted me back in. I pulled off my coat, sank into my chair and opened my notebook. In silence, I positioned my pen above a blank page of paper and began recording the remainder of what you will now see here… all the while bearing in mind I was in the presence of an entity, I came to believe as Charles Gordon Covington, Julie’s deceased father.
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May 16, 2010 at 12:10 am |
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