I was out shopping for Christmas Gifts a few years ago, when I saw a man hiding behind a row of trash cans. That is-until I realized I was looking at a Spectral man, and not a living being.
Taking a closer look at the apparition, I was surprised to see his attire. He was projecting himself-dressed in a Santa Suit! It was clear as a bell. The white fur collar and cuffs, were stained and dirty. The red coat and pants-were covered in debris, and heavily stained in the crotch.
Had he urinated where he lay dying?, Ugh!, I thought to myself. So sad he chose to hang onto that memory! I tried to look natural standing next to the row of trash receptacles, pretending to search through my purse. Of course, one eyeball was on the Ghostly Santa, and I tried to figure out if the apparition was planning to get up any time soon. The holiday crowd wandered past me from both directions.
Trying to be patient, I waited, keeping up the ruse of digging through my bag. He picked up my energy, and dragged himself upright. He started to rock back and forth. He was showing me he had been in great pain prior to dying.
Squatting down to ground level, I hoped no one was watching me, because it was about to look like a person talking to herself. Oh well, it coudn't be helped.
The Santa Image faded for a moment, and I saw the man inside the suit. It didn't last long, but I saw enough. A series of pictures were shown me, and it wasn't good.
He was ashamed to give me his name, but he called himself a pitiful example to human kind. This man had lived on the streets, in this way since leaving the military. Enlisting in the army right after High school, he got out when his time was up, and it was here... On the streets of downtown San Diego, where he lived, and he died.
The time in between?...He can't remember much of it. He was deep into booze, and he drank more than he ate. I saw the last six months of his physical existance, and he was sick, more sick than he realized. The intestinal cancer had spread throughout his system, and the only way he could bear it, was to drink even more. His street buddies gave him the bottles, and someone found the old Santa Suit in the nearby Salavation Army.
At least he was warm at night, but the pain kept him up, and toward the end, all the booze in the world couldn't mask the pain, and he gave in to it. On a cold winters eve, the man in the dirty Santa Suit, he passed away. No friends nearby, no family he could remember... He was all alone.
My heart was aching with his loneliness, and I told him I had to go, but I would be back. I vowed to return after dark to help him, and hopefully, there would be less people around.
I didn't want an audience while I sent this Soul on!. I just hoped he would go. Many times, they refuse. Some punish themselves for an eternal period, and I wonder if this what "Hell" truly is?...A place of self loathing, where punishment is dealt by the way we lived, the way we treated others. I don't know, but what I do know?...I wouldn't want to end up like the Soiled Santa Specter.
Looking at the clock, I got in my car, and drove back to the area I saw the Ghost Santa. He was still there, a wavery mist of suffering. He shivered and shook, and gasped. The body rocking had taken on a panicked state... His memory of the pain,frenetic.
I was alarmed at seeing and feeling this. I could tell he was going to relive his death again!.
" Do you know, you don't have to do this any longer... Do you know you can leave here? " I asked him. He glanced at me, and told me to go away.
I tried again, " You can cross over and find peace, don't you want this for yourself? "
He said, " I don't deserve to be anywhere, but... Right here...now, you go away! I can't be helped! "
He faded away, and the last I saw of him, he was still rocking in place. Sometimes, they just won't go, and you can't make them move on- if they don't want to go. My heart just fell. He was lost, and I couldn't do a thing to change the outcome.
I wish I knew what his story was, but you can't drag that out of them... If they don't want to bare that part of the Soul.
Downtown San Diego has a society of homeless men, women and children. They are the unseen, the ones people look past, and ignore. Many die on the streets, and no one seems to care. They are the drug addicted, the alcoholics, the pained ones with broken spirits. Most of them have nowhere to go, and the city gobbles them up in the concrete jungle.
I see the aftermath. The Spectral leftovers, the ones who continue to be punished and abused, because they think, they deserve it. We need to change things, the way LIVING people see each other. Humanity needs to stop Judging others for circumstances that may be beyond their control. Instead of walking past, people need to get involved and find a program where they can help.
Until that day comes, if ever...myself, and those like me, will try to help the self induced carnage of suffering Souls... The throw aways, the invisible, who continue to "hurt" in the afterlife...