Here

After a while, the surprising closeness of the dead one. Here, quite close, but not here. Here, but removed, as though under water, or made into another body – but still close. Almost integrated into life. The Ancestor, who is close as other ancestoral spirits might be close (but I did not know them, the others). And close – in me. As though I was witnessed from within myself. As though another saw me, and it was your seeing, dead one.

So do I see myself, with your seeing in me. Sight? But that is not the word. A way of speaking, of thinking, of being. That speaks in my speech, thinks with my thoughts, and is as I am. Quiet but there, as you were in life. Odd that it is that you seem comfortable there, on the other side. Not like Hamlet’s father. No haunting, only a gentle, I am here. Or a fainter, here. But who is there?