What is Contacting Departed Souls?
It’s rare to hear a ghost story that isn’t considered horror. As I battled to introduce this post, bone-chilling scenes from my favorite scary movies took possession of my mind, reminding me how terrifying contact with the other side can be. It felt like I was a Ouija board away from hauntings like I’ve never seen, from breaching the delicate barrier between the living and the dead. In typical What’s in a Name? fashion, these ghastly visions took me back…
It began on a family trip to Disney World when I was 9. After a traumatizing ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter, I wasn’t looking for any more contact—from aliens, ghosts, or otherwise. Unfortunately, the Haunted Mansion was still on our list of must-see stops, and in my youthful FOMO, I refused to let the opportunity pass me by. This was my chance! Those familiar with the attraction will remember standing at the dead center of the waiting room while portraits on the descending walls displayed the tragic deaths of those haunting the mansion. I stared up in fear considering the horrific demise of our spiritual hosts, quickly losing my resolve to face the 999 ghosts waiting for me throughout the house. As soon as I nestled into the middle spot on the Omnimover, I closed my eyes tight and didn’t open till we were departing for the next ride. The Haunted Mansion passed by without me making contact with a single ghost. And I was good with that.
Fast forward to 2009: following the debauchery of Gasparilla with my then boyfriend, we stopped by the Magic Kingdom for a blast from the past; though we were dreadfully hungover, I was determined to revisit the Haunted Mansion and prove I’m not afraid of no ghosts. As I watched the kid-friendly scenes play out while omnimoving room to room, my eyes finally opened to the horror of my grim reality: living the life of a closeted gay man, holding someone’s heart hostage but too in denial to be fully present, squeezing my eyes closed when confronted by any truth…Though I was able to withstand the Disney ride, the ghosts of the past possessed me and subsequently haunted every space I entered, giving loved ones, roommates, and colleagues quite a fright. I was the walking dead—departed from my soul, greedily feeding off others’ energies—but I couldn’t bear making contact with any unfinished business to move on to a better life.
Whatever force is guiding my fingers to “random” pages in The 72 Names of God and deciding these topics has a f*cked sense of humor. Or maybe it’s just bad luck. Regardless, death monopolizes my view; each day is a reminder of tragedy and loss, and by revealing this gruesome gem—Contacting Departed Souls—I’m once again staring down the Grim Reaper, awaiting the next brutal departure as loved ones are torn away from my soul. Fear of contact outweighs FOMO, and I’m barely keeping my head above the dirt to avoid adding any more horror to this already verbose story…”The human soul continues to rise to higher levels of existence after it leaves this plane of existence. This ascension can sometimes be difficult if a soul has accumulated undesirable baggage as the result of reactive behavior during his or her lifetime” (185). It’s like Yehuda Berg is stalking in the shadows; does he see how much baggage I’ve got? How reactive my behavior is? It doesn’t make me feel any better about my eventual departure; Berg’s cursed me to forever haunt and be haunted.
Matt, it isn’t about you; this is why you have all this baggage!! But where to begin making contact with departed souls? I’d be damned if I brought a Ouija board home and unknowingly opened some portal to hell. And even if I believe I reach someone, who’s to say the experience is real? The ideomotor effect already debunked contact with the other side via Ouija; why should I think this supernatural safari exists anywhere outside my subconscious? “Evoke the memories of loved ones who have passed on. Surround them with the Light of this Name. Meditate to elevate their souls to ever higher levels in the spiritual worlds” (185). Ok, ok, Berg…I hear you from the shadows: to depart from this baggage, I need to make contact.
Cloud Bound
There is a stillness in the house late at night. Especially the basement. It bends the ear as shadows whisper. Is that you, ghost?! Sitting, waiting for a soul to make its presence known plays tricks with your mind. Lights out, eyes closed. Every sound leads you to believe you’re getting closer to making contact. Then, WOOSH!! The blaring HVAC system rearranges your skeleton. I must be expecting a malevolent spirit or else my eyelids wouldn’t be closed so tight; the darkness is overtaking my resolve. There has to be another way…
Considering the number of words dedicated to him through this Web Unspun journey, it makes sense to surround my grandfather, who passed away when I was 12, with the “Light of this Name.” I’ve made contact with his memory before, highlighting key moments in our relationship leading up to his death; however, much of this history is lost in the confines of my mind, locked away till it converts into baggage. Instead of sitting and waiting, I made my way out of the house to wander through the forest, listening for a sign my grandpa might be there. Growing impatient with the silence, I gazed up at the sky and thought about the times we floated through the clouds together. Life felt so clear then; he rescued me from ground-level issues, showing me how to spread my wings and fly. Then everything crashed down, and he was gone.
I’m stuck without this god-like figure who raised me up and held me above all creation so I could get a glimpse of heaven, from heaven. When I think about him now, he’s inaccessible; his memory lives on in the clouds, but I can’t see who he really is/was. Returning to the darkness of the basement to meditate, per Berg, it’s clear now why my vision is dimmed. In Farewell to Arms, I discovered my heart was protected by guarded walls, blocking my inner light from shining through. By evoking his memory while walking in the forest, I also saw how my grandpa exists behind a guarded wall in my mind, his image protected by my subconscious. Then, I recognized how I was following the landscapes he painted in real time, trying to navigate the bread crumbs he left behind, snapping photos whenever I felt his presence. I was making contact with his soul for years without seeing it, and I didn’t even need a Ouija board to do it!
Grounded
A nightmarish thing happens when you demystify your mind: the truth haunts you. It popped up in dreams first; ghosts floating through the guarded walls with reminders of damning baggage waiting on the other side. It made for a lot of restless nights, so I started sleeping with a sound machine to help drone out the whispers. The terror that came with thinking about these nightmares becoming real—protected secrets coming to light—held me in a persistent state of anxiety after waking. It’s going to get me…
Then, the ghosts moved to the mirror. Each shining reflection was overshadowed by some ghoulish figure. There was no escaping it. The truth was written all over my face even if I tried burying or guarding it.
Everyone has secrets, though; we all battle silently in some capacity, with our own or others, whether we want to accept the truth or not. And we keep moving on in life regardless of our haunts. The problem: when loved ones depart, we grieve for more meaningful contact. This can torment us, especially if the departed soul accumulated baggage also. As a result, we subconsciously protect our well-being by placing guarded walls around the deceased, as well as ourselves. We would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those pesky secrets. This is a mess…I think I’m the Scooby gang. I’m being pulled into some hellish vortex as I reveal the truth and see how it relates to those living and dead. How our souls are bound to be tortured from one plane of existence to the next. Maybe a Ouija board would have been a better option.
SunShine
“Don’t try this at home,” has never hit closer to…a haunted mansion. I tried. With so many reactive memories and secrets crowding me, it’s no wonder I’m avoiding facing the truth at all costs for my well-being. Or is it to my well-being? Because the longer I don’t confront it, the more it will haunt me day and night till I’m the one doing the haunting. That doesn’t read very elevated. I bet Berg’s ascension won’t be as free-wheeling either given his baggage outside the pages of his blasted book; the one that pulls me into the darkest corners of my subconscious and shines a light with ease, exposing me without any decent guidance. These experiences possess my body, take control of what I say and do, then leave me to justify it as anything but the truth.
Then, it hit me. Or rather, held my hand. I was sitting in my car, reflecting on a walkabout, preparing to go inside but looking at the house like I did the Haunted Mansion when I was 9 years old. After making contact by channeling the clouds in the forest, I struggled to come to terms with what it meant; I was losing a desperate battle to put up walls around my subconscious before the truth came crashing through. As the sun shone down on the driveway, and tears poured down my face, I felt a presence next to me. Then, a dearly departed soul grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight, reminding me what contact truly means across all planes of existence.
Ok, ok…I was holding my own hand; however, the energy was undeniable. That car is full of memories between me and a loving friend who passed away earlier this year from COVID; we shared so many hidden truths, guarded secrets in that space before she departed. Mostly, we laughed till we cried, bringing much needed levity to this plane of existence, though on several occasions, we were moved to tears by grief. When that happened, we would hold hands and impart all the strength we could through contact, shining a light on the path for the other.
It was no different that day in the driveway; she was there, supporting me through a trying moment, reassuring me that the truth is a guide, not some ghost I need to run away from in fear. If I ever need sunshine to show the way, her soul will always be an arms-length away. That’s contact I can count on whenever I’m feeling haunted. Well, I got my proof—evoking is believing—and finally, I’m not afraid of no ghosts!