The Visitor

Several times, after a medical procedure requiring anesthesiology, I have visions. They are probably a combination of Parkinson’s and drug aftermath. On 7/14/15 I posted a poem (Vision) in which I attempted to describe the experience. This time, after my back surgery, I do so in pros.

A faceless diaphanous form stood in the doorway to my room. I lay in bed unafraid, absorbing the way that everything moved in unison. Light from a full moon streamed in through the window.  It cast shadows across the floor; to dance in tune with the essence of the figure in the doorway. As I watched I realized that the presence had no body; that it was a thing comprised solely of sheer drapery, so light, so white, so ethereal that it billowed and swirled. My guest neither advanced nor retreated. I watched, letting nocturnal silence wrap both of us in its arms. Even as I absorbed the peace of the night I became vaguely aware of the sound of a clock ticking somewhere in another room. At times, my visitor raised a long arm and gave a beckoning movement. I contemplated responding to this gesture but just as I was about to rise from my bed a cloud passed across the moon, the room darkened and the clock struck two. I reached out and grabbed a flash light. I flicked it on for I now wished to see my visitor’s face. Instantly the form vanished, in its stead I saw a white door frame.

I turned off the light and dozed off. I awoke when the clock chimed three. My visitor was back but this time a wolf-like face with piercing eyes gazed at me. This bodiless head was so close that I quivered in expectation. I wondered whether the long snout would open for me to see a row of fangs or to allow a long tongue to emerge and lick me. All the while the piercing cold eyes held mine in a fathomless stare which seemed to invite union. I shivered and pulled my comforter up over my shoulders. My movement disturbed my visitor. The head dissolved and I realized that it was an illusion made up of a garment flung over the handlebar of my walker beside my bed.

Sleep eluded me as I contemplated the simple explanations to my visions. I lay on my back with my eyes open looking into the moonlit shadows above me.  I still heard the distant clock ticking the passage of time; its regularity and normalcy reassured me.  After a while I noticed that the air was limpid and teemed with swirls of living light. This time I craved contact and reached upward. One of the swirls wound itself around my hand. A surge of recognition and joy pulsated through my frame. I instantly knew that this thing was my recently deceased friend, Amanda. She conveyed content and happiness as she urged union. I continued to reach upward and experienced a wave of light-headedness mingled with elation. Suddenly the moment was eclipsed by a loud crash and flash of lightning. For a moment, I wondered if this was how one transitioned into the spiritual world but the sound of rain upon the roof brought me back to my world. The rainstorm soothed and I slept.



Vision – A poem

I lie abed and look up,
Into viscous moonlit air,
I see sinuous shapes
The space teems with them
They whirl and twist
Approach and retreat.
No recognizable form, except
One group of pearl droplets.
Dancing on outstretched hand.
My skin feels nothing.
Gently they roll off.
Can these be spirits?
It’s a vision I must keep
As I drift into sleep.

All day I wait for night.
I take to my bed.
I search for my nocturnal vision
I see nothing,
Only dark imprecise forms,
Objects that I recognize by day.
I arise, take out my Magic Eye Book,
Stare at colorful meaningless images.
Put my nose upon the page,
And draw back until they pop.
Three dimensional forms
Clear, luminous, clean.
The air, in their case,
As limpid as my spirit’s place.

Again I lie abed and watch.
I wish the scene to open,
Reveal its secrecies to me
Oh spirits come again
Pop like a Magic Eye picture,
Unveil hidden mysteries
Oh where are you?
Was your visit a one-time revelation?
Nothing, no presence revealed
My eye’s image is fuzzy.
A dark pointillist painting
No clear shape or form
Bewildered, I watch until
I drift  off to sleep.

© Copyright, July 2015, Jane Stansfeld