Do you believe in ghosts???
Ya see, out in the Wild, Wild West, there once was a wild-as-the-wind wonderful American Indian Artist who lived a bountiful life. He worked in all mediums and there was never a dull moment when he was in a person's presence. One night when the Full Moon was a sassy saucer in the sky, Lorie and I ventured out to The Artist's Gallery, his handcrafted Gallery, to visit his not-so-final resting place.
We drove up to his rustic wood fence and parked our car. All the while Lorie was chanting "I don't believe in ghosts, but I would like to see his Chapel and Gallery under the Full Moon.” With a touch of trepidation, we slowly drifted down the powdery dirt pathway to his grave. Now, this wasn't and still isn't, just any kind of ordinary grave site. The Artist's grave is covered in large and rugged turquoise stones with a four-foot-high wooden cross that is molded with enormous amber glass beads. Two of the beads protrude from the circular metal cross that hangs on the top of the cross.
Lorie was brandishing her laser bright flash light around the grounds, through the Chapel windows, and along The Gallery's sturdy adobe wall. She continued searching for signs of The Artist's Spirit and, in haste, she shined her light upon the circular cross. Like the liquid light of a dozen shooting stars, the two amber beads on his grave shot four-foot beams around her. Lightning had struck! She had finally met The Artist!
Lorie gasped and I swear she jumped two feet off the ground. She ran so fast she left a small tornado of dust in her trail to the car like you see in those old-time cartoons. I said, "Lorie, it is just The Artist!" She replied: "And he is freaking me out so let's get out of here!" I must admit I did have the shivers as I ever-so-bravely stood before his grave and yelled: "D.G., you're forever alive!"
I called The Artist's wife the next day and told her he had scared me and my friend. In her dry wit she replied: “So what's new? He scared you when he was alive in The Gallery and why should last night be any different." My friend Lorie now believes in ghosts and said she would not return to The Gallery without me even if it was bold daylight.
The moral of this ghost story and our meeting up with The Artist is: One does not mess around with an Apache Shaman Medicine Man Artist. No wool was ever pulled over his eyes and never will be. The Artist in is The Light with his Elder Angels. He still walks around his Chapel and Gallery and if someone is looking for a blessing, they will get a jumpin' jolt of electric white light from his heart and soul. If someone is looking for him, they will find him!
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