The Ocean Is Full Of Ghosts...

I had a sobering thought today. I hate it when that happens.

The only people who seem even half-interested in reading my story one day are my eldest Son and a nineteen year old girl from Cornwall who I think I've invented in my mind. It's quite a funny story, really, in a sad sort of way, because she probably does exist but is just less interested in my story than I actually think, and merely got sick of my paranoid and deluded confessions and stopped writing back. After all, I haven't known her for very long. Only for about twelve emails.

I met her in an internet forum room, where we were discussing reincarnation; she replied to a post on it that I had made, that I had called Strange Coincidences, in which I posed the supposition that I might be the reincarnation of the Virgin Mary, that my Hubby is the reincarnation of Joseph, and that my eldest Son is the reincarnation of Jesus himself.

I'm Not being blasphemous. I honestly can't be bothered. And I'm Not being religious either- and I'm pretty sure that nobody at the forum took it that way. It's not illegal to speculate is it? It just makes sense to wonder if I might be- after all I'm a Virgo who was a virgin until the night that we met. My Hubby is a Carpenter by trade. We only ended up 'married' because we had a child out of wedlock. Both of our names are Jewish ones and our eldest Son, at only fourteen, is already a bigger person than both of us put together. He's going to be a wonderful man. He's also the kindest person I know. And our little Son's name means gift from god, and I'm sure that Jesus had a younger brother...

Anyway- a girl nick-named Bessie replied to my question, or supposition or whatever it was, saying she was also interested in Biblical times, and thought she might have had a past life connection with Yeshua; whoever they might've been. She didn't think it was very likely that we were the reincarnated family of Jesus', saying that they had no more lessons here on Earth to learn- or something like that, and so their souls were never reincarnated again after that. It was also unlikely, apparently, because I had no memories of being there, in Jerusalem, or Nazereth, or wherever it was that they lived.

I wish I could remember my past lives; Bessie was also sure that in another life she had been a passenger on the Titanic. I don't say that flippantly- I later read her posts on the same topic and could almost feel her young daughter's life slipping away through the freezing water as she described it to me. Either that, or she has really missed her calling in This life as a gifted storyteller.

I Googled the Titanic and found her on the doomed liner's passenger list- in First Class just as she described- and though I suppose she might've just done the same thing to access that unfortunate family's history, it was how she described her longing now, in this life, to visit her then-husband's grave, where he rests now in Canada- in the family crypt, that convinced me she at least truly believed that he was her past life lover and that she still loved and missed him very much in this life.

I love the story of the Titanic. My first memory of it is watching an old movie on the topic, though I don't think it was the famous A Night to Remember. My boat movie had an air bubble that had magically been able to support the lives of all those it had trapped inside since the sinking. The men in the famous orchestra were still very much alive, right there at the bottom of the ocean, playing for the passengers and crew that the people in the world above had long ago presumed to be dead. If there really is a movie like this I sure would like to see it again. But- again- I think I inadvertently made it up one day when I didn't want to believe that so many people could die one night just because their boat ran into an iceberg...

I wonder how Bessie must have felt that night when she realised that there wasn't enough life-boats for her and her family. She told me that, in this Life, she liked going down to the beach near where she lives; it's not a shale beach, but a sandy one- just like the one's that I'm used to. And sometimes she'll just sit there at night and listen to the waves- and I wondered if it was so she could be closer to her dead child, who they never recovered from the ocean- apparently because the child's governess had not acquired the child a life-belt in her haste to reach a boat.

I told her that the ocean is full of ghosts; a fact if you truly consider it; and that I wish I could draw her a picture of what I was thinking about in my head- I only wanted to be able to describe it properly to someone who had already professed to be interested in my mixed up thoughts- but I think I scared her off- somewhat- and made her at least consider that I was not the mild-mannered thirty three year old mother of two that I claimed to be, but was instead a blithering Internet mad-man. Or some sort of weird Stalker-girl; one day someone should interview my Hubby and ask him what it feels like to be relentlessly pursued by Me, and then you, Yourself, might agree that there were certainly reasons enough for her to be concerned and run away into Cyber-Space...

And also because I told her that in my mind there were visions of thousands of corpes; bloated and grotesque. There heads and limbs are seperating from their torsos as their rescuers finally reach them; too late- because most of the damage was done in the first three minutes; it only takes that long to drown.

Nature has done this. Destructive Mother-Fucker, isn't She?

The lucky survivors pile the pieces of bodies on top of each other in mass graves in a vain attempt to steep the wave of disease epidemics that are bound to follow after such a natural disaster- preparing them for mass burials where they may remain unidentified forever. These are the hundreds of rotting bodies that they have found under the million or so tons of vegetable matter and mud and corrugated tin that conceal the many thousand more human-casings; and I wonder briefly if that's how the next generation of fossils will get made- from the bodies that they can't ever recover- at least for the next million years or so until some archaelogist or other chances upon them; the one's buried beneath the toxic sludge.

I'd like to be fossilised one day- if they can do this by the time I'm dead. But if that's not scientifically possible then what I'd really like is to be frozen and buried in an ice-cave in Antarctica so some future explorerer can come aross me- which probably won't happen until the Polar ice-caps have melted and the Earth has turned on it's axis; effectively when the South Pole has become the New East. Funny huh? Can you tell that I've been thinking about this for a while?

I also tell Bessie about my other Tsunami dream, where I am sitting at the beach and I am worrying that my children are wading too far out; and then the ocean quickly starts receding, exposing the floundering fish and weed-covered rocks that are half-embedded in the sand-bar...

I can see the water building higher somewhere near the horizon and can hear the low rumbling as it begins to thunder back in. My kids are oblivious to the noise of the approaching wave, and are inspecting the ocean floor for hidden treasures. Just like those poor fools on Boxing Day.

I always wake up early in this dream- before the wave sweeps them out to sea; thank fuck- but it still has the same effect as any other nightmare. I worry that it will come true one day. And I know I'm going to worry about it every time that I go to the beach- that the image is going to stay with me until it happens right in front of me as it does in my dream.

I tell Bessie this and she thinks it might be because I was also a passenger on the Titanic and the recent Tsunami off Sumatra has just triggered this memory, and I briefly wondered why it had to be the Titanic if indeed I ever had died in a shipping disaster.

And how is it that all the Ancient Egyptian reincarnates' profess to be either Cleopatra or Queen Nefertiti in their past life? Or that Mummy Prince? Why weren't they, at least a few of them, the slaves that built the Pyramids of Giza? Why weren't any of them a rich merchant who sold lantern-oil at the market-place to all of the genies at ridiculous prices?

Then again- who am I to criticise? I only just tried to become a part of the most influential families of all time a few minutes ago.

Bessie hasn't written in a long while. I worry it's because in my last email to her I spewed a torrent of emotive bullshit her way. I told her I thought I was making her up in my mind because the only times she has written has been after the latest manic episode that I've had. When I am quiet so, it seems, is she.

So I must have Googled her into existance when I was drunk or high; maybe I even log on under her pen-name and send emails to Myself. Because she even looks like me, in a bizarre sort of way- and not at all like Bono from U2 as she earlier claimed to fear. It's like she is just like me when I was nineteen and just starting out on my road to Depression. The only differences are that I don't like ballroom dancing or other people's kids and Bessie does. She likes horses, and Egypt, though. See- there are just too many coincidences for my theory not to be true; for me not to have invented her- and I must admit I've had the opportunity to invent her plenty of times- I've been stoned and paranoid every night now for months.

At first she tried to reassure me that she really was real, and told me not to worry about frightening her away with my weirdness. She said that it wasn't going to happen, but it seems that it has. It's a pity really, because I was sort of enjoying having a friend again.

It was kinda nice...