Soul Fire

When I was a little cloudtalker, I didn't have very many friends. There was the girl down the street but she was a little bit weird and her family always smelled like salmon. I did like her dog though. He was a big white malamute and would pull me around the neighborhood in a laundry basket. I was thrilled about it and he didn't seem to mind. He got tired easily though..being a big dog and all.
It's amazing what made me happy when I was nine. Give me a gray laundry basket and a dog and I was happy for hours. My white trash royal chariot.
I remember riding in the car on the way home from anywhere. I would pray that my friend would be home for me to kidnap her dog to pull me around again. Being the good catholic I was, I reasoned if I prayed extra hard in the car and said ten Our Fathers, God would look kindly on me and grant my wish. It didn't always happen that way and that confused me. I wasn't entirely sure what I had done wrong. Perhaps I hadn't repented enough to warrant my chariot that day. Or maybe I needed to throw in a few Hail Mary's. I wasn't sure. Either way I didn't like being in the dark and this made me question my salvation.
I mean, I had been going to Catholic schools for years and I was told this was "the way".
You pray- you're saved. Done and done.
You lead a good life, turn the other cheek, abide by the golden rule and the world is your oyster.
Well let me tell you...there were no oysters where I lived.

I didn't like the street we lived on. At the time I didn't know it (it would be years before I understood "energy") but suffice it to say, it was always dark there. The people were dark, the houses were dark, the light was dark. Evil lurked there..and that's not even me being dramatic. It really did. Bad things happened in my house. You could tell as soon as you crossed over the threshold. Rumor had it satanic rituals were held there before we bought the house at auction. I wouldn't be surprised. I had feelings about bad spirits and recurring nightmares of dying. It made me wonder if that's what ultimately drove my father insane.
The house burned to the ground when I was 12 and with it all of the "badness". Throw in some sage and you'd have one great big smudging.
Shit- I wish I'd been woo woo back then.

I remember walking up to the house the day after the fire and seeing a giant pit in the middle of the floor. It stretched up through the ceiling, out the attic and into to the sky. It dropped through the floor all the way to the cement basement below. Like a giant cavity.

Standing before the charred remains of the house, there was a feeling of sadness but it was fleeting. Sure I''d miss all of my stuffed animals and my books, and for sure I'd never find another laundry basket like the grey one.

But moving on is always better than looking back and when we do, we're usually smarter for it.

I took comfort in the fact the house and the soul grippers in it had perished...like spirts reaching for the sky they were free. And in a sense I suppose, so was I.