Reading upside down on bed one night, my attention was somehow directed to a "blotch" somwhere above the cabinet on my apple green bedroom wall. Curiously, I stared at the blotch which looked more and more to me like a woman's face (not kidding!). I even viewed it from different angles and from different distances thinking there was no way this face had suddenly appeared without me realizing it. While Logic was trying to keep a grip, Imagination was running through my mind namely:-
1) Was it a ghost in the wall?
2) Was it a reflection of a ghost in the wall?
3) Did someone die on that plot of land we built our house on?
4) Was someone buried in the ground directly under my bed (I sleep on the ground floor)?
5) Was it a sign?
6) Did the ghost want me to find her?
7) This is like something out of BONES...
8) Where is Seeley Booth when you need him?
I even started taking pictures of the blotch and through the camera lens, it still looked like a woman's face, complete with the shadow that falls across one's cheek when you have a particularly nice nose. Considering that the wall was immediately before my bed, I did not like the feeling of someone watching me as I slept which led me to other mad ideas:-
1) Was the ghost angry at me?
2) Did I do something wrong?
3) Was it really a water ghost I heard the other night?
4) Is there something under my bed?
By then I had whether rightly or wrongly, persuaded myself that there was something definitely fishy about this blotch in my wall. This strange woman's face must tell a story of some sort. Maybe she was a resident ghost and pointed to a brutal murder of some kind (overload of Midsummer Murders). In half panic, half excitement, I reached for my glasses and....
Where was she?
As if by magic, the blotch on the wall disappeared (or appeared) into what it really was: a blotch on the wall.
I was comforted somewhat and not simply by the fact that I no longer housed a resident ghost. In the greater picture of angels and demons, especially given that this month belongs to Hungry Ghost in the Lunar Calender where traditional Chinese and Buddhists venerate the dead to protect themselves from harm, I am reminded that the lifeline thrown by frantic offerings, chants, charms and stricken appeasements is all but an illusion, a blotch, the importance of which will fade away as smoke from joss sticks once the glasses are put on and focus redirected.