Sunday, November 6, 2016

Morris's theory of ghosts, but one in a basket full of them.

Bunches and bunches of people die across the world, everyday.  Imagine the scale.  Practically every second, a person dying.

Picture a system in the universe, a process, that separates the soul from the body.

What if there are malfunctions in the system?  Not many, but maybe one percent of deaths, where souls are not stripped away and disposed of properly, that the souls do not fly through the ether freely after, but are trapped in this fallen world of inequity.

I wouldn't be happy, if I was one of those.  And maybe I would be confused.  I will have carried my worldly growth, the strives I had made, into the afterlife, but as for earthly knowledge?  Does that to pass into the ether, or are we like orphans, denied memory?

The penumbra around the earth, superimposed over layers of our atmosphere: piles upon piles of ghosts.  Unreturned and wandering souls, wandering and being without purpose, disconnected from human striving and seemingly unwanted.

Then the orphan term is surprising apt.  I give myself kudos.

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