Saturday, February 19, 2011

The Death Diary of: Troy Burroughs

The Death Diary
Of Troy Burroughs

Extract #2
Day Three and Four of Troy Burroughs

Day Three

Being dead is going to take some getting used to. According to earth time this would be day three of my so called, death. I keep looking down on North America, I guess it's still home to me for the moment anyhow. A few hours ago, I caught a comet, the tail end of it and I noticed it was quite slow compared to my form of travel, that is, I think I was going as fast as 200,000-thousand miles an hour, and it somehow zigzagged, and jumped off or out of its orbit and fell back into it somehow— sort of speaking, it was by an asteroid belt, that is where I was, I'd estimate somewhere around twenty to fifty million miles from earth, who can say, surely not me for certain.
I therefore have learned something in this new development of mine, that being, traveling in space in what I call shape-shifting, and traveling, for that is all I am, a simple shape with some kind of energy source to me, one could even call it residue, soul deposits, or whatever they wish, a part of another dimension with substance: I have used the thrust of a comet, the velocity—I’ve used it somehow, not quite knowing how, allowing it to push me—and pull me, and still at that times, more likened to throwing me, or hurdling me I would guess, out into the empty space, the black airless cold space...I actually felt something to my shape: I sensed something also, something like gravity drawing on me, with all these planets surrounding me; I wonder if they do have other forms of life on them, ghosts maybe, demonic beings trying to escape earth's hell, other aliens looking down through their portholes, through layers of time and space and echoes, and so forth. I’m feeling like a new born baby learning everything all over, I do think I have some source of natural feelings to my movements, should I want to use them, up to now its been more on the order of the elements in space moving me you might say. I, at this point cannot name it but I'd like to kick it, to see how much control I have here in this new environment.
Nevertheless, what I was going to say, had on my mind to say, before I got into what I just mentioned, was—here, here I am, back where I started from, the day I died, overlooking earth, but again, here I am, in this asteroid belt—if you get what I mean; if you think the word travel, zoom, there you are, a new kind of really, simple as it my seem those big fat rocks everywhere in space are nothing to fear, other than it’s a dull color, compared to earth, which believe it or not is the exception, very colorful from out here.
Well, to make a diary note shorter, once seen, now written, is enough, and so it is a good visit, but I must learn how to control everything, who wants to stay stationary for a billion years. It is like going to the Rocky Mountains here in this Asteroid Belt, or possibly I could qualify this as area as an equal to the Badlands in South Dakota; to update you some, I’m like a yoyo, going back and forth here. But again, once seen, that is enough, unless this kind of thing is your thing, and it is not my thing by far: I mean, I'm only on day three of my death, and this is what you get. I think that area is best for campers, not me. I'd prefer hotels, but I suppose you don't need them out here. The more I think of it, something is missing. Oh well, I'll investigate. Now it's becoming evening time over Minnesota (St. Paul, is my hometown, where my wife lives, Rosa, unless she’s in Lima, we have a home there also…), the sun is going down, wish I had something to read, I’m a big reader, maybe Exploring Tosca, that Magazine, that’s colorful enough for my eyes, keep me busy for a day.

Day Four

Morning time in Minnesota, the sun is coming up, I got an inkling, I got to go back to see how my little wife is doing, Rosa. I know for a few hours after I died, she was upset, crying, hysterical. I didn't know what to do for her, she couldn't see me, and I did not know how to communicate with her other than trying to set a mood, by way of producing calmness around her immediate space: prayer helps—but it saps all the energy out of you.
She got me to the hospital, and I know I was getting better, a heart attach I heard them say. Then she stayed overnight, and I died in the middle of the night, she had fallen to sleep—to be frank, she can fall to sleep standing on her feet, she’s a good sleeper. I was happy about that, happy because she was so tired: everyone thought I was in a coma, but I was really between life and death, a new kind of order they didn't anticipate, one that is dreamy like, a stage before death, one you can see about you, hear sounds and sense people, but cannot talk, it is not a coma-coma, although folks think it is, or could be, it is in-between where you touch the hand of Christ, but cannot feel it, only see it, and where your pours are filled with the light of God—it’s really an out of this world sensation, —hard to explain. Then I died, and got sent here, or ended up here, not sure where here is, other than, here, if I give it a thought who knows where I’ll end up, someplace over there, wherever there is.
For the longest moment, I hovered over the bed when I died, looking at her—Rosa, but I had no power to say or do anything—that was of course after the in-between period, where I was in a dream like world. Now that I think of it, I was in shock—kind of a shock mode, a disbelief that dead is really dead, not a sleep, nor will I wake up, I mean you wake up, but not where you expected to.
After the in-between stage, pure death came of course, then she woke up, and as I was saying I was hovering over her, looking down, I didn't feel the grief as she was feeling, but a separation from my body—got out of that old suite case sort of speaking—and to be honest, it feels kind of good; I don’t have to eat, or to put it bluntly, the bear don’t have to guard the beehive any longer; so many experiences at once. Somehow I have to learn not to let my mind know what my thoughts are—lest I end up on Jupiter.
That little Inca wife of mine just cried and cried, and hugged me, I wanted to comfort her, but she'll have to go through it like me someday, if the Lord’s willing I'll be there to comfort her.

Anyways I am now in my old house, hovering about. She's got my urn next to my mother's, she had me cremated today. I missed the funeral; I guess they had a small one at the cremation area. No one showed up from my side of the family, as expected, no problem; it was all grieved out long ago, and better for it, I prefer quite times. I think Rosa is going to take my urn, and my mother's and put it into the Huancayo, Peru Cemetery, in one of those vaults, she was a good wife.
She's crying again. I wonder if I can somehow let her know I'm here, and all is fine, maybe work on her dreams—sneak into them and say “Baby, everything’s just find and dandy!” I should pray, matter of fact, I thought I would get to see the Lord by now, Jesus Christ, but first things first I guess, I heard a voice say that, it was, I think it was Serr'el, my guardian angel, he had a hell of a job with taking care of me all those years, guarding me while on earth, I hope I don't get a job like his, too much grief and wondering, way too stressful. I get the chills just thinking of his name, and him recommending me for that kind of duty, although I want to thank him a thousand times over. I also get the feeling I have to polish myself up a tinge here and there, before meeting the Lord, you know, kind of take care of business, Elvis used to say something like that. I know he is not far away—not Elvis, I mean the Lord, who knows where Elvis is, I don’t hear his Rock and Roll up here anyhow, like they think down on earth, everybody’s going to Hillbilly Heaven who makes a Golden Record or is on the top ten Billboard Charts, no such thing, but I got patience.
Now back to my little Rosa, she is sitting in my big sofa chair in the living room, tears are still coming down. Let's see if I can do something to let her know I'm present (I told her once, a long time ago, we all get a grieving period—like it or not, especially if you loved the person it is called sadness, not depression, sadness says, those times were all worth while, I hope she remembers that).
As I said, and I shall repeat myself for the diary’s sake, there she is, sitting in the sofa chair, I know what I'll do, I'll make noise like walking on the floor, footsteps, not too creepy, just light enough for her to know I am with her. But how do I do that, I don't weigh anything? Too many questions for simple things; but you know I felt the thrust of the comet; yaw, yaw, that's it, create energy from energy. As I step one foot in front of the other, you can hear my footsteps, and see the rug impressions of my feet, it is taking all my energy to produce these footsteps, she's looking up, now she looking around: look down, down little wife, look down. She doesn't look down. She's getting a little scared, I better stop. Now she rests back into the chair, she's thinking though.
She got up to check the hallway, now the window. I can't do that again, I got to practice; I guess a spirit can even loose energy. She went back to the chair; it's dark outside, the TV is on, it is drowning out my footsteps. For her the day is young, for me, now sure, I guess down here it's as it would be, forever long, just a day but with light and darkness, I don't feel the heat or cold. I'm going to try something else. I'm going to stand in the archway to the living room and try to make my configuration, my spirit form light up, just a bit, just a slight emotion, if I darken it, it might scare her. I noticed I had one in outer-space.

[A long pause]

It's morning now, very early morning a dark morning yet perhaps 4:00 A.M., she is cleaning the house, getting ready to face the day—she likes cleaning, she notices my chair, the dinning room light is off so is the kitchen light, she turns it on and a little electric heater emitting heat she turns it off in the bedroom, she is facing the mirror in the bathroom. This will be my best try, a think-try, if only she focuses hard on the mirror; I'll try to reflect my shape.
Here I go, MMMMMMMM-Materializing. Light starts to fill the mirror a faded light, dull but pronounced nonetheless in a spiritual form. She's looking at me, rubbing her eyes, I'm loosing my energy source, and it is like holding your breath trying to get this light out; she's leaning forward and squinting her eyes…

[Middle of the Next Night]

Got a new idea, I'll enter her dreams, slowly, if this is possible, and I heard the nightmare demon can do it all the time, unless you pray for them not to. Therefore, why cannot a good spirit like me do it? That of course is a new question for me, one I'll answer by trying to do, what I'm not sure I can do, what the nightmare demon seems able to do.
I'm not sure how you do it, but I got a sense of how it will come—I'll sit by her and just whisper in her ears, and try to create a sense of me, and she will picture me, and I will let her know all is well: "Rosa, Rosa, Rosa, Rosa, Rosa..., all is well, I love you, always have, it is me, me, me, I'm all dressed in fogy white, I'll be waiting for you and we'll travel around space, once we reconnect, better yet, around and into new galaxies. She knows I like to travel, I’ve got to clear this with the Big Guy first of course."
She sees me, visualizing me says, in her dream world (I hope she remembers and writes it down; she used to write things down, because she forgets so often, then she forgets where she left her notes that she wrote down, it’s a Catch-22 for her sometimes…): "...yes, yes, I DO see you," she says.
"I'm fine Rosa, I'm doing A-okay, I miss you and I'll be around should you need me, just call on me. Like my mother used to do, remember how she kept us from the fire?"
She's crying in her sleep, says, ", no don't go,” she’s saying, but she knows I have to. I say, “Dear, I can't stay too long; it takes too much whatever it is, energy and like the bee, remember the bee in the bottle (she shakes her head yes), he lost his energy to fly, then he could hardly walk trying to climb out of that glass bottle, then I set him free and he nourished himself in the grass, and he regained his power and flight, that’s me right now; but I’ll return, I’ll always be around, just ask."
She went back to sleep, she's stop crying, I knew she would, she’s a good sleeper, when God gave out gifts, she got the sleeping gift, and to be quite frank, it is a beautiful gift to be able to sleep, and get up and stretch your body. She's breathing better now. I think she'll remember this dream as more realistic than non-fiction, I hope.

Originally written, 7-3-2006
10-22-2008 (Revised and reedited) Revised again 2-2011