Of Ghosts and Antinodes.

Invisible supports can lift you into the air. I've heard that it feels like a force is pushing up; I've heard it feels like nothing. And all of the sudden, you're off the floor and there is space between your feet and the ground and you're closer to Heaven than you've ever been.

Some of us fall on our faces. Some of us struggle to stay up. Some of us believe with 100 hearts, and some of us believe with somebody else's heart.

I once had a conversation in a haunted garden about the little faith I had in my heart, and a woman I admire lent me her faith. It stayed with me all this time, and grew. Then just two months ago, she told me she lost most of her faith but a few shreds she had scratched at as it slipped away. They were little pieces; I gave her back some of the faith she'd given me, and now we both have lots and lots.

What happens now that ghosts come back? I've recently heard something familiar--something I hadn't heard in 6 or 7 years. Disembodied voices that encouraged me when I was a young sprout in a world I thought I understood. The voices resurfaced unaltered, as if they had been hibernating or lying dormant in some dusty corner of my brain --like my Physical Science flashcards preserve with crusting rubber bands from 8th grade which resurfaced in time for my college senior year Physics midterm and actually helped me. In my 8th grade handwriting, I scrawled in marker on the yellow folder, "Maybe I'll Need These Someday." The dust made me sneeze, but the note cards were brilliant. "Antinodes." "Vector Quality." Saved me a lot of googling.

I suppose we store up our nuts for winter, as they say. (As squirrels say.) We can take a seed, bury it, forget all about it, and find it later when it's grown some kind of fruit tree, and then we can be like, "Awesome. Peaches!" I wonder how many invisible seeds and voices and pieces of faith have sunk into the ground right below our feet, where they wait to randomly sprout up and surprise us.