The spirit guide was not my own. He only showed himself because I had an affinity with someone from the group he was caretaking for. Speaking of caretaking, it is the right word, more correct than any word has ever been, - because the person the spirit guide was watching over was a caretaker of an apartment building. Unfortunately, I could not hear what the spirit guide said because there is not audio in these visions. But, I shall relate the impression and the vision anyhow…
He appeared as his face and hair, possibly shoulders. In film this is called an Italian Length Medium shot. Maybe it has something to do with Italian Neo-Realism and all that. I can’t recall exactly. He was white, with dark eyes and dark hair. Not a sage or shaman, no…nothing like that. Just a normal person. Maybe he was a bit ahead of the ones he was in charge, so to speak, of watching. I think he was just saying hello, - acknowledging that it was seen and heard, - the respect and memory for one of his group.
There was one more thing. He seemed to look down as if at a table and I got the secondary vision of him running his right hand across the table as if to say, Go ahead, continue, and I felt it had to do with writing about the person as sometimes I do. It’s not me that does, - but the muse truly I would think, or some higher form.
Then the spirit guide, as I said, and let me reiterate, not mine, - left. And so again I remember the man the guide is now taking watch on. He was intelligent and kind would be considered cool. In his workshop was a large poster of a group of people in black and white dress, formal dress. Perhaps it was a party from the past. The picture was also in black and white. Maybe his father or grandfather was in the photo. On the bench were tools and small projects.
Leading out from there was a green cement walkway that turned into stairs. The stairs met up with white stucco walls and there were square holes cut out in the walls. I sometimes call these windows without glass. If you looked through the openings you could see the Atlantic Sea and just in from that, the sandy shore where tall palms kept watch.
One time we all went out there into the sea and just sat around in the water. There must have been ten of us. With the sky blue and not a cloud to be seen, with the sound of the lapping whitecaps nearby, with the sandbank we were on cushioning ourselves, with the gulls that flew by talking as we talked, with the big ole ship, rusted, far away nearer the horizon line, going past, with the piers far to the North and the South, with the dusk and the night, full of soft lights and warm sounds if sounds could be warm, waiting, with the light talk of the fish or the waves or of nothing much at all, and with the white boulevards up the way, the small stores, the passersby, the old conch shells both in and out of the vast ocean, with the old bookstore on the other side of the street, with these and a thousand no ten thousand things and more, I shall remember the man that the spirit guide said I could and perhaps should.