A long, long time ago, (in a galaxy not too far from here) I read a book entitled "The Dead Days." It was a large volume, navy blue in colour, and there was a particular theme in the book that has stuck with me in the years since I read it. I don't remember the plot, the characters, the author, or anything really, except the source of the title. In this novel, the days between Christmas Day and New Year's Day were called the Dead Days, the days during which the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead was weakest. I think about that every year around this time.
I'm not quite sure what to make of ghosts and spirits. I have friends who claim they've been in contact with ghosts. Some are usually reliable; some I wouldn't trust with my stuffed cat. (He's a very realistic stuffed cat, though. I call him Marten.) The Bible claims there is no such thing as ghosts, (and then contradicts itself later when some prophet is called back from the grave, not very happy about it!) but the Bible to me is full of metaphors that don't mean what they claim to, and it's also been edited to death thousands of years ago by cranky old men I never met, therefore I'm not going to believe everything that ancient black (mine, being from my childhood, is actually purple) book tells me. Besides, I'm the girl who figures everything in the Bible actually took place on another planet, and that explains the dinosaurs being here.
ANYWAYS, I have better things to do than rant about how religion makes no sense, because I am of the persuasion that there is Something or Someone up there, and they can just keep doing whatever they're doing because I'm just fine here. God could be a giant buttered scone for all we know. I kind of like that idea. Although I'd prefer crumpets.
PS: Since when is children's television composed of food rotting in fast forward?
