Saying Thanks To My Ghosts 向.doc

Saying Thanks To My Ghosts 向“鬼”致谢I didnt used to believe in ghosts, but I was trained to talk to them. My mother reminded me many times that I had the gift. It all 1)stemmed from a lie I told when I was four. The way my mother remembered it, I refused to get ready for bed one night, claiming there was a ghost in the bathroom. She was delighted to learn I was a spirit medium. Thereafter, she questioned anything unusual: a sudden gust of wind, a vase that fell and shattered. She would ask me, “She here?” She meant my grandmother. When I was a child my mother told me that my grandmother died in great 2)agony after she accidentally ate too much opium. My mother was nine years old when she watched this happen. When I was 14, my older brother was 3)stricken with a brain tumor. My mother begged me to ask my grandmother to save him. When he died, she asked me to talk to him, as well. “I dont know how,” I protested. When my father died of a brain tumor six months after my brother, she made me use an 4)Ouija board. She wanted to know if they still loved her. I spelled out the answer I knew she wanted to hear, “Yes, always.” When I became a fiction writer in my 30s, I wrote a story about a woman who killed herself eating too much opium. After my mother read a draft of that story, she had tears in her eyes. Now she had proof: my grandmother had talked to me and told me her true story. How else could I have known my grandmother had not died by accident, but with the fury of suicide? She asked me, “She here now?” I answered honestly, “I dont know.” Over the years I have included other details in my writing I could not possibly have known on my own: a place, a character, a song. I have come to feel differently about my ghostwriters. Sometimes their clues have come so plentifully theyve made me laugh like a child who cant open birthday presents fast enough. I must say thanks, not to blind luck, but to my ghosts. Ten years ago I clearly saw a ghost. And she talked to me. It was my mother. She had died just 24 hours before. Her face was ten times larger than life, in the form of a moving 5)pulsing 6)hologram of sparkling lights. My mother was laughing at my surprise. She drew closer. And when she reached me, I felt as if I had been physically punched in the chest. It took my breath away and filled me with something absolutelove, but also joy and peaceand with that, understanding that love and joy and peace are all the same thing. Joy comes from love. Peace comes from love. “Now you know,” my mother said. I believe in ghosts. Whenever I want, they will always be there: my mother, my grandmother, my ghosts. 过去，我并不相信“鬼”的存在，但我被训练成能与其交谈。我母亲多次提醒我：我有那种天赋。这一切全起因于我四岁时撒的一个谎。我母亲回忆道，一天晚上，我不愿意上床睡觉，声称浴室里有只鬼。得知我是个通灵者，她那时很高兴。此后，任何不同寻常的事情发生，她都会疑神疑鬼突然而至的一阵风，摔个粉碎的花瓶。她会问我：“她在这儿吗？”她指的是我外婆。我还小的时候，母亲告诉我，我外婆是意外吃下太多鸦片后痛苦地死去的。目睹这一切发生时，我母亲只有九岁。我十四岁的时候，我哥哥患了脑瘤。母亲让我求外婆救救他。哥哥死后，她让我跟哥哥交谈。“我不知该怎么做，”我抗议道。我父亲在我哥哥去世后六个月也因脑瘤去世了，母亲让我使用显灵板。她想知道他们是否依然爱她。我写出了她想听到的回答：“当然，永远爱你。”在我三十多岁时，我开始写小说。我写了篇短篇小说，讲一个女人因进食过量鸦片而致死的故事。我母亲看了小说的草稿后，眼里泛起了泪花。现在，她有证据了：我外婆跟我有交流，给我讲过她的真实故事。不然我怎么知道外婆不是死于意外，而是满腔愤恨自杀而死的呢？她问我：“她现在在这儿吗？”我老实地回答说：“我不知道。”过去这些年里，我在写作中加入了其他一些本来我自己不太可能会知道的某个故事细节：某个地点、某个人物、某首歌。我开始对我的“鬼作家”有了不同的感受。有的时候，它们提供的线索如此丰富，使得我像个迫不及待地打开生日礼物的孩子那般傻笑。我必须对我的那些“鬼”表示感谢，而非归功于走大运。十年前，我清楚无误地看见了一只“鬼”，她还和我说话。那是我母亲。她一天前刚去世。她出现时，面孔比生前要大上十倍，就像是一幅在运动中闪闪发亮的动态全息图。对于我的惊讶，我母亲报以嘲笑。她靠近我，当她触碰到我时，我感到像是被人往胸口打了一拳。我惊呆了，同时，使我全身心都感觉到爱，还有喜悦和平静因此，我理解到爱、喜悦和平静是同样的东西。喜悦源自爱，平静源自爱。“现在，你明白了吧，”我母亲说道。我相信“鬼”的存在。只要