This is not a haunting. It's a reunion.

Gregg M. Pasterick

Jul 30

My nights spent beneath the stars are more than a spiritual communion with the infinite, they are populated with ghosts. Not the 'boo,' scary, kind. These ghosts are the spectral memories of fellow sojourners; old friends, acquaintances, and strangers who, at some point in my travels among the stars, went along for the ride. Whenever I look up into the night sky, they swim into focus.

My space-faring co-pilots changed over the years as I stumbled uncertainly through life, wandering off in a different direction, which I did more often than most. Others wandered off in their own direction, or simply stayed put. But their ghosts linger.

I love these people. We shared something ineffable. Something utterly cosmic. Something which connected us forever. How many can say that?

Some folks sat in the co-pilot's chair but once, while others journeyed with me often.

The strangers who come to mind crossed my path along a dark road beneath the Perseid meteor shower many years ago. They got out of their car and grooved with a friend and me in the depths of the night. A close encounter.

After a brief, once around the dance floor, "oo"-ing and "ah"-ing and good old-fashioned fellowshipping, they returned to their car and drove off, disappearing forever. But they return, their happy laughter dancing merrily among the stars.

I think the Music of the Spheres must arise from such moments for my spirit sings out with joy, the disembodied voices of my ghosts joining in. We are a Heavenly choir.

Pink Floyd and Steve Roach were never so cosmic.

This is not a haunting. It's a reunion.