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Saga Kraft - Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft EPISODE 14, 11th November 2020
Ghosts
00:00:00 00:46:31

Ghosts

Welcome to Saga Kraft: myths, fairytales, legends stories, comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us. As we share stories, both old and new, more than anything, we're open to the story and it's unfolding at times. It may be one story told by one person at times it's the same story told through three different voices.

In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm Sea, a writer, artist, and storyteller.

I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. I'm

Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. We are magical fairy godmothers

in training.

I invoked sacred ground: 

with thanks to Saga.

For the inspirations that you offer to Saga Kraft and to us. And I'm very grateful for this thin time of the year for all that this thin time has to offer the fin time offers opportunity for ghosts to be more present than usual, which can be a good thing or not a good thing, but it's always interesting.

And I look forward to hearing your stories. Sea, thank you.

What do you also think everyone?  And I think particularly am some students not, well, I'm not quite to exclude physical ancestors, but also all the people from the past, since I've written about some of them.

It is Halloween, 1978, and all my friends are coming over to get costumed up for the midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I have noticed, but not contemplated. The fact that every house I've lived in has been haunted one by one. My friends arrive in t-shirts and jeans, carrying bags of satin sequence, feather, boas, and theatrical makeup. Our only living room furniture is a single reclining chair that resembles an upholster boat on a sea of orange and Brown.

In my memory, it bobs as if drifting on the waves of shag carpet under the sun of a bizarrely placed chandelier. In my mind, my brother is always in the chair and I wonder if, in his, I am. My best friend has brought in our single stool and is sitting on it, painting the white pumps she just brought it the salvation army, black.

I loved her then. I wonder if some part of me always will, I will call her Daphne because it is so wrong,.

My neighbor Ted is there. I'm assigning him that name because years later, when I see Keanu Reeves in bill and Ted. I will think that's who Ted would have been if he hadn't been so damaged, definitely.

Who was selling the attractive in that Nordic way has an unfortunate crush on Ted who was gay. The boy I have a crush on, we'll be meeting us at the theater. Thank God. He isn't going to see my house. There are three or four others there, but they're hazy in my memory was soft. Malleable features, David like ghost.

I wish them well, as I wonder how they became a backdrop in my life, my mom who rarely visits the house has heard that my friends are coming over. So it was making her sole attempt at being parental. She offers dates stuffed with peanut butter because that's what seventies, teenagers month in her mind.

There's a realm declines, then she scuttles back to her room to hide until they'd gone. And she can flee the house again after a few requests for things I don't know, like mirrors and cares. The conversation turns to Halloween. I love ghosts. I say, and as I do, so the chandelier begins to flash on and off.

How did you do that? Tell us what, what I said, make the lights flash. Ghosts I say, and the lights flash again, Ted starts to look around. When I walk around at night, the street lights turn off deaf name remarks. Ted looks distressed. It's true. I verify every time, just like me and ghosts I add. And the chandelier flashes again.

Ted has begun to look like a caged animal as he searches the room is usually how did you do it? He asked his voice raising in pitch. Really I say, I just said, ghost, the shadow confirms I didn't do anything. That's like me with the streetlights. Right. She freaked out her white blonde hair and she has her foot in now black pumps on the stool, displaying the inside of her bear and very long leg.

She applies bright red lipstick and kisses. The air for coverage. Yeah, I agree. Wires, Ted concludes. There's first starting about then focusing on a place where the chandelier meets the ceiling. Where are the wires? Every time definitely continues. It's such a pain to always have to walk in the dark because streetlights just won't stay on.

She rolls her eyes before checking to see the impression she's made on Ted. Nothing. He's busy walking around the edges of the room. Now, checking for switches. They have to be here. He murmurs as the translucent friends who have skipped the concrete of my memory, encourage him to let it go do it again. He commands me and stares as if he can see through me.

Oh, I say to flickering lights definitely rolls her eyes size and puts both feet on the floor. Deflated, then Hawks and spits on the floor. As my mom returns, having worked up the courage to offer more peanut butter dates. Someone says, Stephanie, I'm sorry. She responds blushing. As my mom looks on and distress, Ted runs over to me and begins to fondle the thick shag by my feet, following some invisible line.

He is willed into being to the wall where he begins to pry up the carpet. My mom watches for a moment altering pooping. He will stop. When he does not. And a few inches have been peeled back. She clears her throat before tentatively suggesting, please don't rip up the carpet. This is a rental tabs. This is the carpet uninstalling, and begins to feel around the baseboards.

As the final touches of makeup. Go on the grill. There has to be a wire. He explains, but you don't have to find it. A voice comes from behind the veil reluctantly. He abandons his mission and we all pile into the station wagon where I think the very first time that is not my house is haunted.

I really want to be part of this entourage going out to see the Rocky horror picture

show.

I know, I feel like I have been part of that entourage. So that was a great memory. Thank you.

It's a great story. And I love that the ghost is present as a ghost of unknown origin, but also that all the people in it are somewhat ghost because it's a memory of what happened yet. Everything's a little shifted and it's like a snapshot in time, which often ghosts capture that they appear as snapshots in time.

Right. They were alive to me. Then that was what was notable to me writing it. They were so alive to me then, but they're not anymore. If they did, they get faded, just like a ghost. I don't even know their names anymore

and don't know the features on their faces,

but once they really mattered to me,

So, what is that about the street lights going off?

Yeah, it really did happen every time she walked under a street light, it went off. I don't know why it was just like me and goes, yeah, I don't know. She had a street light thing.

I think we've all had that friend. I'm not the person that the lights happen with, but I've had a friend or two in my life that it really did happen.

I've had it happen for me when I was a certain age. And then with a certain friend, it happens a lot. We speculated that we were light so that the light didn't need to be on, but that was also just a hope, I think, too. Who knows? Hmm. Well, I love your characterization of everyone in this story. And even the ghost, I liked that very much.

I wonder if the mom is a ghost and how nice she is to the kids. I cannot imagine my mother being nice to kids.

Everyone terrifies me. It was surprising that she came out of her room.

The thing about some kind of an event like that is that it's a confluence so often. Of the particular energies that host or allow those kinds of events to occur too.

Sometimes they're for everyone, but sometimes there may be just for one person or another, but in this instance, I could just feel all those forces and all those personalities and energies coming together. So you did a great job of conveying that.

Yes. Thank you. I really enjoyed the story. It made me smile.

And it really honored this time of the year and just the excitement that Halloween or Sal and brings of like-minded people, seeking adventure and mystery,

the fun being able to for a night, present yourself as something completely different or reveal something different about yourself, which really maybe got it so happen here.

I think that that was a gift of Rocky horror.

Indeed. Don't dream it. Be it.

Thank you.

Thank you, Betsy.

So a little bit later than so, and in the year, but still in the dark time of year. Laila homeless for longer than she could remember walked through the city neighborhood in search of something, nourishing the rod December when blue trash and a few snowflakes in swirls around her. She could smell the snow on its way.

She felt empty unbothered by the cold lost in her thoughts. And yet somehow hopeful. Sometimes in her travels, she had the sensation of walking towards something important yet, nearly forgotten. She felt that way. Now the icy wind sweeping up from the Thames buffeted Laila, as she trailed a group of well-dressed Londoners chattering amongst themselves, they headed towards the large hotel complex from which complicated culinary sense emerged.

The cold night and the brisk when sharpened her faculty of smell inexplicably because the hotel appeared very English since from her home country, we're emanating out into the night. She imagined them wafting out of the hotel restaurant like smoke from Aladdin's lamp, smiling and Blahnik little smile at the thought of the lamp.

Following an unexplainable urge, Laila followed the group into the hotel and out of the wind, she entered the foyer of the hotel. The ceilings were high and arched the beige carpet thick beneath her feet. The immediate feeling of warmth was a little stunning causing her to pause, looking around in this way.

She found herself in the middle of a small group of people flowing around her. And heading towards a banqueting room, an anticipatory throng of people waited to be let through the doorway into the banquet hall. She let herself be part of the group carried along with them into the dimly lit room, much larger than a restaurant and made her do was directing people to large round tables, draped in white linen.

Moving waiters, uniformed in black and white guided her and the small group. She lingered near to a table midway back, whenever any one of the small group looked in her direction. She smiled shyly half concealing her face. She adjusted her long scarf over her hair, straightened her back sliding from the unseen to the scene.

Allowing her movements to become graceful, subtly proud around her. People were dressed for an evening of entertainment and food. The women in flashy, sequined, or silky evening wear and the men more somber, but smelling strongly of cologne. She subtly shifted herself again, her head scarf now gleamed with metallic threads.

She laughed internally. If she smelled unclean, she knew the strong cologne would cover it up in front of the room was a raised stage set up for a large band of some sort. There were no chairs, merely cushions in an array of instruments set up in front of microphones. There was to be entertainment. This promise to be a better evening than she anticipated.

The room filled and waiters moved around with trays of drinks and bottles of wine. Accepting a glass of crisp white wine. She enjoyed the suns, but left it on tasted a large group of musicians and singers entered the room, all dressed in white, except the apparently revered lead singer. Is the short, older and stout man in a long dark gray coat entered the majority of the people in the room.

Rose honoring him a group of black haired men and evening dress helped him solicitously to his seat on the stage musicians, rearrange the tableaus and harmoniums to suit themselves like a flock of birds fluttering into their natural pecking order. The pattern they eventually settled into seem to be one of long establishment and I'm stood between the guests and the stage asking for a warm welcome for new Strat fatter Ali Khan, and spoke briefly about this well-known singer achieving the pinnacle of koala, a form of Sufi, Islamic, devotional music.

He spoken both Urdu and English. Mr Khan had won an award for his music, a notoriously bad boy of rock music was invited up to present the award. This man in suit jacket, and brocaded vest came nimbly to the stage and offered the golden album just to the older man accepting it gracefully the quality singer class fit briefly to his heart and then passed it off to another.

Closing his eyes in prayer. He nodded to his group and the music began soon. The entire room was clapping, swaying and layer. Upon layer of voices were singing the ancient songs of spiritual poets. Linda looked around the room, noting an international array of guests from the Northern Indian sub-continent, as well as many Londoners born and bred.

She noticed to her side, just out of reach for her to look comfortably a beautiful young man with dark lash, soulful eyes, not a Londoner. When she dared, she looked again at him, noting the waving black hair, the live body, less like a dancer and more like a tiger. So he sat, swinging and timed to the music as gracefully as a gazelle.

He caught her, looking at him and smiled, showing sharp teeth, his eyes glinting orange for a second before restoring to a melting chocolate Brown. When the lead singer began to sing something indefinable shifted in the music, rollicking, Mary and joyful before now, pathos, and something akin to a halo of light entered into the song.

As the names of saints were invoked and prayer. Some Laila saw spirals of light forming on the stage. No one else seemed to be aware of them. Well, except the beautiful young man, he was caught just as she was by what was trying to form by what was emerging out of the swing singers and the passionate voice of the lead singer.

The music invoked the Saint whose prayer. This was. Amir, it called up the Saint to rework the prayer centuries later, bullet Shaw, the layers within the music were complex. And so were her memories. Amir, Amir. She thought I wanted you to save me, but you were caught up in this prayer for which you are now long remembered.

The spiral of light on the stage before her was building forming, her gaze was pulled to the young man. His mouth was open, his eyes were closed. Listening body taught against the palpable and magnetic pull of the sentiment and the melody of the music. What appeared to be a grimace was forming on his face.

Another soundtrack could be heard in the room. Where was it coming from? Jen, Jen, your power is useless here. Laughter and insidious grace. I'm not so sure about that. The gin was inciting desire now in the room, dancing couples caught the edge of that desire and began to dance more centrally with each other, to the hissing of older Indian women, trying to school, their sons, the sun dance with sex.

Guilt and the divine inextricably tied together, the intently listening rockstar known for getting no satisfaction, felt that very dissatisfaction mounting within him, hearing the ecstatic vocals and feeling the sensation of gateways opening in the room. How do you do that? He thought, but I ever be able to do that.

The participants who were focused on him were swept along with his frustration rockstars model wife, untouchable in her beauty incited, the jealousy of the young and older women in the crowd, the tension in the room mounted as the singer wailed his voice, allowing Amir to become more fully present. Myla felt pinned, exposed, frightened, and joyful all at once.

She felt the bonds that had been deep within her revealed now and shining deli in the spectral and liminal light release me never was the reply. The eyes of the quality singer were open, but unfocused so lost. Was he in the prayer? He was singing, standing on him. Anchored in him was Amir. The words he's saying came from the singer's mouth, but from the Saint's heart Lilah, come to me, commanded a mere can I, she asked breathless, Oh yes.

Spirals of light reach for her coiled around her. The spectral light reached for her too. If never been with me forever, she cried with her mind, not trying to slip out of the gins bindings, but wrapping them more completely around her. Amir cried, beloved and pulled her to him. The gin flew forwards from the back of the room.

And the second portal held by bullish Shaw opened for the gin. The crowd roared as they were taken up by the mounting ecstasy as a singer's voice spiraled higher Amir, she cried as she went into his arms, beloved cried, Amir, love it, cried bullish Shaw as the graceful Virgin flew into his arms through him and was gone.

Can we hear more please? That was amazing. That was absolutely profound and full of magic and full of liberation. It was a liberation love ghost story,

but there was a lot of beauty in as well as a feeling of

nakedness. Yeah. The sense of Laila's travels through a time and across continents to this moment, we're very much a part of it for me.

The question is who are the ghosts?

Right?

There's certainly more than

one.

And it was to me, their intent of still shrouded, if not,

well, it makes me wonder if the living and possibly the dead who witnessed that event, if it was not their time to go, if they. Had set in their mind, the level at which they would agree to go.

That would be as beautiful as this one. I love the multilayered presence of the saints and the devote T who by rewriting the song or infusing the song with his own devotion, brought another strength in it. So another portal could be opened. I think that was just brilliant.

Thank you.

What was it like for you Betsy, to spend this time with Laila, but also with the saints and the power of those songs?

I've always particularly, they'd love this song and the story was inspired by a video that one can see on YouTube. And some of the players that I mentioned in the story were definitely on the scene, but to be with Lyla was very interesting because there was power with her. There was irony with her.

There was sort of, uh, being acclimated to her. Fate was the sense of it. But also almost a world wariness about, even when she felt that feeling like something important was going to happen, she would go with it, but it felt like this journey had been so long for her that it was hard for her to even invest in it.

And so would it felt in this banqueting hall? That there was just a very favorable confluence of events that occurred that required a lot to come together and makes me want to know more of her story, but I'm also happy for her release as well.

I think that was conveyed beautifully the way it was set up from the beginning.

Just her sense of feeling lost and feeling thrown away and forgotten. And when that smell opened up, it's almost like it just drew her to her own destiny. Her reluctance was not important because it was already on its way.

I think that's very true. I liked the chin. Also.

I liked the gin also too.

I'm happy.

He was there as well. I feel like the dimension he gave and offered to that world and all the people in it living and beyond, I think he just added a spice that was really needed without which maybe none of this could have happened.

That was probably very true again, that sort of all these different threads coming together and also very much the power of the saints and the power of the singer and that ability to take things up into those ICTs, static spirals at the same time, all of this other, you know, it's inciting all of these other things within people.

That's very enjoyable some way,

right? Because those are the things that if they are hidden in any way, under certain circumstances, they just come out, they overwhelm, they overpower and they make their own way to the horror of whoever they're coming out of or later, maybe. But in the moment they must, they must be free.

Well, thank you very much for listening.

Thank you. That was lovely. My story is a little different and this is one of the many ghost stories that I grew up with. It's more of a love story from a long time ago, from the beautiful town of pizza on like Gorsh then in Poland, near the check border. When I was five, my family and I went to that region.

We took a boat ride along the river, and the river guide shared this legend with us and me being the ghost loving child. I still remember that journey, that trip and the story a long, long time ago, there lived a handsome Prince named Boko suave, who was the heir of Nikita castle. Yeah, Jitsu is a town located in the Southeast of Poland that sits on top of a cliff overlooking church, the Lake surrounded by pinion and mountains, Prince boggle, suave frilled fairly.

And with kindness, he took care of his people and they honored and loved him and return. But the love of his people was not enough for him. And he felt lonely longing for partnership and his own family. He decided it was time to find a wife that could rule by a side and overlook the beautiful land. He set out to travel to nearby countries in search of a bride.

While in Germany, he was a guest at a ball where he met the young and beautiful princess Brunhilda. He fell in love with her immediately. They danced for the whole night and they spent the next few days together, deepening their connection. The Prince felt that he couldn't spend another day without the beautiful Brunhilda and asked her parents for her hand in marriage, they saw how their daughter looked at the handsome Prince feeling just as in love with him as he was with her.

And they agreed to the marriage focus, suave and Bruna, Hilda, departed, Germany, and headed for Poland to get married. The wedding was a fabulous and festive affair. Guests from many countries attended with gifts and good wishes for the young couple. They admired the glamorous Brunhilda and her fine gowns and jewelry, her graceful dancing and her generous laughter principal bog was Slav glowed with pride and love for his new wife.

Looking forward to many, many years together. Bern Hilda fell in love with the remote mountain land, the Lake and the people. She in bulk was swapped, spent hours walking around the castle through the lush gardens or riding horses, hunting with Hawks through the wild landscape, the peasants and servants love their new princess and thought that she and bug was suave were made for each other.

She loved them as well and encouraged him the Prince to pay them more. So they worked more, could buy more sheep, tend to the fields and gardens better. And in turn, the whole kingdom lived in great health and abundance for a long time. After some time for Hilda who was used to large cities night tournaments and parties started to grow a little restless.

She had elegant gowns and jewelry, but with no events and fancy balls to attend to, she had no reason to wear them. She pleaded with bogus suave to throw a party or better at night tournament with a huge ball afterwards, with dancing their wife, we cannot allow such an event. There's simply not enough room here at Nikita castle for Knights and horses and all the guests.

Don't you like our life here in the mountains. It's so peaceful and spacious the Prince reasoned, but I'm bored and I want different kinds of adventures and guests and dancing. I have so many beautiful gowns and jewels gifts from our wedding and nowhere to wear them. Who am I supposed to wear them for?

The servants? The princess argued cumbersome, Hilda vain, Bagua left said maybe unfairly worried that his love for her might not be enough. All of a sudden he didn't understand why parties and dresses were so different. Important to her. His whole kingdom was hers. Why wasn't that enough? But the princess grew more and more restless and felt that bug was slob.

Didn't understand her. She wasn't Fein. She was a princess young and beautiful one day she would grow old and her dresses might not fit anymore. Or her shoes, what a waste. She thought sadly. She started to complain more and more about her life, about the castle, the servants and the food she even made the cook flee the castle because the poor woman couldn't keep up with the extravagant demands of the princess.

Daily fights became common for the couple yelling, escalating name calling even the servants were scared, so much turmoil. Ed Nikita castle. They couldn't recognize what had become of the kind bogus suave. And the laughter loving Brunhilda. They longed for the good old days. One night bird Hilda saw a mouse in her quarters.

She panicked and jumped up onto the table, near the window and started yelling at the top of her lungs. Mouth smells. These filthy creatures are everywhere in this dirty castle. She shouted. Alarmed by the shouting bug was swab, ran into our chambers to see what was going on, realizing that she had made all this commotion over a mouse.

He tried to reason with her impatiently wife, my ser common in all castles don't make such a fuss. You scared me. He said striation and rage Brunhilda through one of her expensive perfume bottles that are husband and came at him with fists. Rays beating him in the chest. This was too much bogus, weft thought and enraged.

He grabbed her by her raised fist and pushed her back to stop her from beating him further. When he pushed her, she stumbled backwards towards the open window. As he watched in horror, she lost her balance and fell out of the window, falling down, down, down into the old, well, that was built long ago, right under the castle wall.

Bogus SWAT stood frozen in place. Unable to speak or cry or shout. After a moment of shock, he came to a census and ran as fast as he could to get help to rescue the princess from the well he and the servants worked vigorously all night long, draining the well calling, looking for the unfortunate princess, but to no success, she was forever lost in the deep water below her body was never recovered.

All of Bagua, sloughs cries for Brunhilda into the depths of the well we're only met with the echo of his own voice, meeting the Whetstone and water below the Prince, along with the whole town was crushed with grief. What a tragedy, what a loss bug Swift grew weak and weary. He wouldn't eat. He wondered around the castle at night and around the wild, like a ghost.

He could not forgive himself for what happened. His heart was forever broken. One night as he was sitting at the well, his head leaning against the cold stones of the opening. He called out sobbing. Forgive me, my dear Brunhilda. Forgive me. And from the depths of the, well, the princess, his voice was heard.

I forgive you. Bug was suave. I forgive you. Bug was suave, the bald. The Prince deeply relieved by his wife's forgiveness, went to bed and fell into a restful sleep for the first time, since the terrible accident as he was falling asleep, though, he wondered why his wife would refer to him as bugga swab the bald.

So strange. He had such thick, long black hair. Why would she call him that he must have misheard her? The answer to his pondering. However, came to light at Dawn for when he woke up, he had no hair left on his head from that day on, he was known as Prince boggled Slav the bald. Then you'd use a castle stands to this day, surrounded by mountains and a beautiful Lake.

The elders say that some nights when the moon is full, you can see Brunhilda and bogus love walking hand in hand around the grounds, bonded for eternity in love and forgiveness. The Well's still stands to one. Spouse has hurt each other or hide an unfortunate secret. They go to the well to confess of their mistakes and ask for forgiveness.

The always received forgiveness, but most of them wake up at Dawn with no hair on their heads.

Oh, that's excellent.

That's fantastic.

People must really want forgiveness. If they're willing to accept the baldness.

Indeed. I changed the story a little bit, because I didn't want, it's mostly men that ask for this forgiveness, but, you know, I didn't want to, uh, make that a point. So I wanted whoever, whoever it is, but I think Brunhilda had a certain favoring or this favoring of who came at the well, who, who came over to the, well,

what kind of an effect did that have on you when you were a child?

I loved it. I loved it. And, uh, it's a popular story. One of the more well-known legends go stories from that region. So most kids will yell that out, you know, at night to each other. Forgive me Brunhilda. It's this thing that people would do that was associated with ghosts and, and betrayal and love.

And was that, that lonely kind of penance that she exacted from home or are there stories of other things that she imposed on him?

I think one of them, the versions is that he goes mad with grief and kills himself, and then he haunts the castle because that castle people visit and nearby, it's a tourist attraction. So. The story is that he's seen in the castle looking for her that he's never found her. So there are different versions, depending on Bryn Hilda's mood, there are different versions to the story of whether she forgives him or not.

Maybe she who knows who else he did in the afterlife. Who else, you know, who knows what, what else happens? So, uh, she may be mad at him,

the mood of the teller engine, but I should think part, yeah.

I would think so. Yeah. It's definitely more than anything. What I remember about that story is not just that story, but I remember taking that, that ride in the boat with the Highlander type guide and he just had a giant stick that he just huge, huge stick, but he pushed the boat with, as we all kind of sat and stood in it.

And we're going through this really mountainous regions. Beautiful. And there are faces in the mountains. I mean, they look like faces and he was telling us that story, but he was also telling us a story about the Kings of the mountain. And that really made an impression of me, just the wind and how powerful it was and all the stories the people told from that region about the spirits of the place.

I even wondered, I even had to call my mother today and ask. If, because I remembered that story so vividly, I have to even remember how old I was, because I remember it so vividly and I feel like some parts of it I might've made up, but it's stuck with me, like a, like a ghost, like a haunting, but a good one.

Tom things can be good. I feel beautifully haunted by the story and by that river.

And how'd you remembered it pretty accurately? Yes.

Yes.

Oh, it's my pleasure.

I liked it too. I really liked the portrayal of the princess as such a very real young woman. Yeah.

I can certainly sympathize with her and any princess or any woman that swept off her feet by love, by chemistry, with a handsome Prince or a handsome man. I would say yes, and be happy to leave her home, not realizing what that means until everything settles into the new life.

And she's grieving the life she lost that she'll never have. Again, that makes me think of whether or not the mothers prepared their daughters for that. Probably some did. And maybe some didn't,

that's a whole different

kind of ghost

that goes to movie. We used to be.

Exactly. She used to be.

I found myself wondering as you were telling the story, especially if it was an older castle, if some of her disaffection that she was feeling, her dissatisfaction came from other NGOs who were influencing her too.

And in fact, I really wasn't sure which direction that it was going to go, but I, I felt. As though that was a strong possibility in some way that she became maybe possibly in some way, not fully herself.

I think that's absolutely true. That did not occur to me, but yes. And it is a very old castle. I believe it's from 1100.

It's very old.

No. So it makes me wonder about the nature of the well, and. To think that that would be a great thing for us to do some stories on additional, they would be well,

indeed, in

terms of overarching, I have to say, you know what, the theme of

ghosts

I've been so shocked so that we all have very

relationship having stories.

So that makes me ponder ghost only exist in

relationship who

is there a ghost without than the room?

That is an excellent pondering. And I don't know if there is, and if there is probably not as obvious as the ones that are bound by relationship and longing or loss of relationship and longing,

but what a tie guilt makes with the dead.

Yes. A

tie hold an anchor. And revenge too.

That's what I love. I think most about it was the fact that it's such a ludicrous revenge. It's a, it is revenge, but at the same time it is forgiveness,

right?

So sort of a backhanded

and he called her vein vain.

It's quite the perfect revenge for someone who was perhaps a little vain. But having been called vain, got him where it hurts.

Exactly. I think she was pretty ingenious. Yeah.

Excellent.

I know. I mean, I was fully anticipating that there were going to be more things that she imposed on him and that would be a good continuation of what it takes for her to really fully forgive him.

I like that often ghosts or the dead have a really strong sense of judgment and law and exchange and payments that there is a balance that's achieved at the end, whatever the end might be.

Yeah. It's quite easy to believe in the other story that he's haunting the place too.

And maybe they're all true.

How was it to be with that story, that story from your childhood, it was really

nice. It was comforting

as the child who loves ghosts

is the child who loved ghosts. Yes. And this would have been one of these ghosts that I wouldn't be really scared of.

The princess ghosts just were in a scary, there was such a part of the landscape. The castle ghosts were such. Protector is in some way of castles and land that it felt like, you know, if you were a good person, they wouldn't hurt you. Once again, that layer of them being the judge or the executioner, and sometimes somebody who would protect the innocent.

So I felt very comforted by that even as a child with some of these lady goes a princess queen ghosts,

it's a whole genre of NGOs that I never really took into account. So thank you.

Thank you ghosts. Yeah.

Now you

all find what you're

seeking and in the meantime, enjoy enlivening, the landscapes that you're in and having whatever kind of messages you do for those living humans that you encounter.

Thanks to the fantastic Zoe Magik for her phenomenal editing skills.