The Vigil of Doors

     I have Knocked. She has Answered. Now, He stirs. Waiting from me. I have tread these years of my life as a path. It was chosen by God. He has been there. Always. Driving me towards something, ever gently, ever so patiently. Watching me. Proving it to me. And, all the time, waiting.
 What follows in these further lines is not fantasy, not some avant-garde zeitgeist, it is an affliction. This is the tale of a boy who became a man who has lived too long without making his Choice. Now, The Choice has grown impatient. It whispers like a dragon and follows him like a giant, trembling his steps. As he faces the Metatron, he asks, “Who are you?” The Metatron replies…
      “What you have ignored. Now, you must acknowledge me. For I am your voice. And now…You Must Speak. You are the wayfarer. I am your boat, your clothes, you breath, your shoes. I was the wind upon your back. But now I am a hurricane. Move, or I shall move you. Walk, or I shall drag you. Eat of The Fruit by choice and be made whole, or I will make you eat the earth by force and you will be made naught.”
     “Your poltergeist. You, The Drop; I, The Wave; He, The Ocean. We are Water. We are The Same.”
 I know now, her answer did not wake him. It woke me. He has been following me for days…A third of Me, A third of Him.

       I was borne unto a family who has seen ghosts and heard God. My great grandmother spoke to them. My grandmother has heard angels & God. My aunts have hid in their rooms from your family’s ghosts. The family that lived there after knew about the spirits. Me, I’ve seen ghosts since I was young and began getting premonitions in the ninth grade. And I have heard the Metatron and God.
      You can choose not to believe me, because you don’t know me. Those who have, know better.
      I wished I was normal. I wished The Dead would leave me alone. But now, I have made The Choice to Work the Deadtime. If I must be the wayfarer of lost souls, a Shinigami, to unload these bricks from my back, I will. I will use these sundered, blackened wings to this end. I when they reconstitute I will finally be whole again, reborn by fire as a six winged Grigori. I must remember I deserve to fly. That I was destined to soar.
     Years ago, my friend had a tarot deck. Missing one card, it had a spare of another. To him it was I pastime. He lost interest in the deck when they were no longer new. I having never liked such things (and I still don’t) was attracted to the deck. It’s artwork compelled me to ask for it. He gave it to me without a second thought.
      I never did a tarot reading, until I was asked to for fun. Despite knowing nothing, I watched my friends do theirs. How they read the cards, to me felt wrong. I felt them crawl away them. My friends spoke lies, the cards resonated to me.
 When it was my turn, I did everything differently. I could not remember how they did any if it. I had been too focused on the cards. My friends said my layout was ‘unique’. That my interpretations were ‘not what the cards mean’. All the while, the cards were like a vapor to me. The longer I stared at them, the more the vapors opened pathways in my mind, inclining me to speak one way more than the other, choose one word for another. In the end, we laughed it all off.
      My readings are uncanny and gravely true. My readings do not tell the future. They show obstacles, choices, and the results of choosing one path over another. 
      I told one person three jobs will call you. Take the job that pays the least you will be happier. You will have to move and it will be hard for the first six months but then a new job will open for you and you will make more money than the current better choice will offer. In three months, you will run into a past man who you now know and if you choose him you will suffer. Leave him be or the job will not be there when you need it.
       What really happened?
       She chose the cheap job moved to Pittsburgh and lived in a shitty apartment scraping by. In exactly three months after she moved she was at a club and ran into her schizophrenic ex-boyfriend. She ignored him and he left angry. She didn’t want to, she said. She didn’t like hurting him like that, and she still loved him. But she listened to me. Two weeks later, he stopped taking his medication and pulled a gun on his father, then tried to commit suicide. She later got a job that offered her three times as much as she made living here.
      She still has like $700 dollars worth of my movies. That fucking bitch. She “lost” them. Karma will catch her eventually.
      Another reading I did, I told a girl, in two weeks you will meet a ‘nice guy’. “Don’t fuck him,” I said, “If you do, he’ll never talk to you again.” I told her to wait and in three months you will meet a guy who is even better and you will have a long happy relationship. She asked me if it would last. I said I can only read ‘til a year from now, but it would at least last that long.
      What happened?
       She meet a guy two weeks later at a party. She got drunk and fucked him. He blocked her number. Three months later she met this “really great guy”. They went to a party just after they met and she realized he was best friends with the guy she had fucked! He said he doesn’t date beer sluts. And she kept wanting me to give her a reading every time she came to my house! Can you say greedy?
      The curiosity of my tarot pattern goaded me until I drew it and sent the picture to someone I could not call less than a sensei or sage. “It fascinates me,” she said. She told me it resembles a thing called a “veve of Legba”, which is seems to match the word “Sigil,” in my lexicon. This sigil allows spirits of The Dead to speak to me through it.
     That is what made me give up my resistance. It seems even my “parlor trick” was Workin’ The Dead. So now I admit it. I was born to be a Necromancer. Apparently, I am some type of prodigious sorcerer. Not rare, but not common.
      It seems some of the things I can do are rarer than others. I can collapse the layers to make it impossible for lesser spirits to enter an area. I can do it as long as I want, or until I have to sleep. It doesn’t work on anchored souls. I’m doubting it would work on The Unborn. This closes Hellesponts, (“Gateways”, or whatever you want to call them) as well. This, by the way, draws ghosts like moths to a bonfire. Not cool.
     I can push ghosts away from me. I can prevent them from touching me and do the same for those that stand near me. This actually requires a lot of energy. It gives me migraines, makes my heart race, and my lungs burn. Sometimes it gives me vertigo for a moment or two.
      Truthfully, most of the time, ghosts can’t touch me anyway. And sometimes, it seems to hurt them and leave me feeling invigorated. Don’t get that one at all. But I can never tell, one way or the other, what will happen. So, I ignore ghosts so they don’t try. (Most ghosts can’t see you. But if you can see them, they can sense something is wrong and start looking around. If you make eye contact they know you see them. They get really pissed off, or upset, that I can’t hear them. Poor bastards. The only person that can see them, is deaf, from their standpoint.)