• alainafeather444

Magnificent John

Sometimes I feel like Charlotte trying to find the right way to describe Wilbur to all the unbelieving humans. Hopefully you've read the book I speak of, 'Charlotte's Web,' a tale about a spider who pens words in intricate web designs in order to save Wilbur the pig from being turned into sausage. Well, John isn't in such dire straights as Wilbur, he's already passed that stage!, but the act of convincing others of his still-present self is akin to asking for a leap of faith. I get it. It's hard to believe. It's impossible to understand. If I were a random fan reading these posts I'd be full-on skeptic. But like Charlotte and Wilbur, the truth is the impossible is possible. And, btw, it isn't any less amazing that a spider can write words in a web, is it? People seem to skip by that part. Which one am I, I wonder? Charlotte, or Wilbur? The web spinner or the one asking for a leap of faith? John's the one everyone wants to hear about and he's the one doing all the work in appearing--I'm just the background person and happy to remain so. I'm the messenger., but is it any less hard to believe that John's spirit is real than it is to believe in the magic that he uses to appear from the other side? I guess both are equal. Both are fantastic. In a way he is both web spinner and magnificent creature. Perhaps that makes me the web.

The truth is, I see John daily. Sometimes, all day. That might freak people out. It's not a ghost thing, as stated before. John is NOT a ghost. He's a spirit. And I just happen to see him. How lucky is that? I'm the web, somehow capturing him in every moment; seeing, knowing he's around. The silvery threads of my psychic abilities catch him in those beautiful moments, and then I present him to you with the utmost of joy.

I love this picture because the way the light comes in has a majestic feel to it. Also, it reminds me of a movie being projected onto a screen. My father used to run movies at our local theater and as a child I'd sometimes sit up high--far above the seats and all the peop[e down below, next to the light beam that shone through the projectionist's window. Perhaps that did something to me. Is that why my perception of everything is so keen? Is that why I can see him, and others can't? I'm quite near-sighted. In a physical sense, I should be obtuse but my psychic eyes know. And when I know, I know.

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