"Soul Seekers"

 

Soul Seekers
by
Tracy Duran

She was sitting in a dark room with a few candles lit so that she could imagine. Not sure why he never showed up and she couldn’t understand why he went away for so long. Then the sing-songy whistle comes about in the air again.  Then she hears the singing that always follows. It's always the same song when she thinks of him.

♫I follow the Moskva

Down to Gorky Park

Listening to the wind of change...♫

The drone of the notes helps her meditate to where she sees his face. Just his face in the candlelight. She listens for the song again. The song faded away. It feels like it has been 10 maybe 15 minutes, then she hears it again very softly.

♫The future's in the air

Can feel it everywhere

I'm blowing with the wind of change...♫

She can now see him, sitting on the floor just several feet in front of her with the candles around him. He has his eyes closed tightly and he is calling for her.

“Lizzie, can you hear me?” he says in a hushed, nervous tone.

She tries to speak but she feels choked up. She can’t believe that she is hearing his voice. The music fades along with his image.

It feels like an hour has passed. She's concentrating so intently to have him come back. She thinks of him constantly to try to get her into his mind. Suddenly the whistling starts again. She feels very cold yet electric at the same time. She feels like she has more energy to talk. She's not as nervous as she was before.

"Just One More Minute"

Just One More Minute
Photo by Tracy Duran
Tracy Duran Collection

At first, no one notices the woman as she walks into the room. One might think she was one of the many lost spirits in this room; however she is the one who actually speaks to the spirits on behalf of the living. She patiently waits in the line to offer her condolences as she overhears the hushed tones and soft cries of grief. She's always had a hard time in these situations since she can feel everyone's emotions. Being empathetic, she can feel the sadness tenfold and it makes her body hurt. She can also feel the emotions of those whom passed on yet those emotions are equal parts happiness and sadness. Happy that they are not in pain and are able to see loved ones who previously passed away. Sad seeing their living loved ones crying for them.

“It's too bad these people don't realize that going to the other side isn't such a bad thing.” she thinks to herself. She is the only one in the room who knows the truth.

Every time she walks into a funeral parlor, she feels and smells what only certain mediums do. She feels the static energy and smells sulphur, reminding her of a burning Fourth of July sparkler. She rubs her arms to try to dissipate the static feeling. She tries to turn her mind off so she is not distracted by the other spirits trying to get her attention. Sometimes she wears ear buds with Procol Harum blasting to help keep the vibes blocked. Wearing earbuds at a funeral is not a good look however. One might think she could ignore anyone in her path but she can tell the difference between the living and the dead. The dead do not blink. While she waits, she keeps the song, “A Whiter Shade of Pale” in her head but she still hears, “She was so young,” “The doctors have no idea why she died; it was natural, if you can believe that,” “I'll bet that she committed suicide but no one is telling us.” She laughs to herself and some people stare at her for the indiscretion.

She gets closer to the person she is here to see, the young lady's husband Jeff. He is sitting by himself in an oversized chair, looking blankly toward the casket with his wife laying within. Some visitors come to him and place a hand on his shoulder. Some lightly squeeze with genuine affection; others offer an uneasy pat. None say a word but he understands their intent. The woman finally finds her moment to approach him.

“Very nice music. Was it Victoria's favorite?” she asks. Throughout the parlor, a soft, somber operetta is being played. Still staring blankly, Jeff says in a whispered tone as if to not disturb his bride: “Una Furtiva Lagrima.” It was one of her favorite songs.”

She places her hand on his shoulder and looks toward the beauty in the adorned casket. She says softly along to the haunting music, “The beating, the beating of her heart I could feel, to merge my sighs with hers...”

He slowly puts his head in his hands, then absently reply, “They told me not to play this because it's such a sad song. She always told me it was a good song. I never listened and I never cared. It was her thing, not mine. Now it's all gone. She's just...gone.”