Do you see what I see?


Do you see what I see?

By Michele Savaunah Zirkle Marcum - Contributing columnist



Interviewing witnesses to ghostly sightings at an office building in southern Ohio this week I was reminded our eyes do not dictate what we see—not at all. Our brains process the input from the squishy round eyeball that seems to have the consistency of a peeled, hard-boiled egg. Each of the employees saw their own unique apparitions even though they were looking into the same physical space. If we all saw the same world, what a bland world it would be.

One saw a black figure streak past, no defined shapes and felt a blast of cold air as if an air conditioner was blowing directly on him. A few others watched shadows of children chasing each other in what looked like a game of tag. Another saw nothing, but heard a chorus of women chanting a prayer.

These witnesses had seen and heard various “unexplainable,” incidents over their twenty-six years working in the building, but one worker who looked into a mirror and saw a figure pass behind her, saw and heard substantially less from the spirit world than did the others. She said this was because she ignored them—just observed and let the situation unfold without focusing her energy on it.

I can relate to her approach because I once had a volatile spirit in my house and the more people who stopped by to experience the haunting, the more energy and interest the people present generated, the more the entity sprayed water inside of my house. My sister and I saw the water form from the air before it sprayed across the room; some present didn’t. My son and my nephew saw dark silhouettes when no one else did. I can’t explain this discrepancy in sight scientifically, other than I know our brain processes the image of light our retinas reflect.

Many a summer day as a girl, I’d lay on the ground, watching the countless faces and shapes in the clouds pass overhead. If a friend happened to be with me, we’d share our visions with each other and try to allow our minds to form the same image that the other was seeing. Sometimes we were able to and sometimes not. At that time, I didn’t conceive that I was practicing for future real-life lessons in perception.

I’d just be so dizzy from watching them, I’d narrowly miss the bees grazing near my bare feet as I stumbled towards the familiar sound of Grandma yelling, “Dinner’s ready!” All I knew was that I enjoyed creating the shapes in my mind and seeing things other people didn’t. I intrinsically knew there was a world I couldn’t see and I wanted desperately to see it.

Since then I haven’t had to conjure up images. They are effortlessly just there—the swirls of lights filling the sky when no sun is shining—the lights that flash around individuals as if an old-fashioned camera has just been snapped—the soft whisper in my ear of heavenly inspiration from angels I can’t see … yet.

I’m grateful for the guidance I receive every day even though I can’t see the Guides. I’m grateful for the individuals who, like me, are willing to share their experiences. By sharing our individual experiences, we learn and illuminate our trajectory toward a higher consciousness. We see possibilities that weren’t visible in the dark cellar in which we took shelter, afraid of what we might see.

Even if you are near-sighted, your eyeball shaped like an oblong egg, you can, if you’re open to it, see so much more than 20/20. You can shape the unexpected, unrecognizable items in your view into a vivid path that inspires you to explore this illusory, mysterious world.

Maybe we are all like Humpty Dumpty and can piece ourselves back together. Wouldn’t it be glorious to be able to see the Divine creator inside ourselves that’s waiting to orchestrate a magical healing? Do you see it? Do you see what I see?

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Do you see what I see?

By Michele Savaunah Zirkle Marcum

Contributing columnist

Michele Zirkle Marcum is a native of Meigs County, author of “Rain No Evil” and host of Life Speaks on AIR radio. Access more at soundcloud.com\lifespeaks.

Michele Zirkle Marcum is a native of Meigs County, author of “Rain No Evil” and host of Life Speaks on AIR radio. Access more at soundcloud.com\lifespeaks.