PEOPLE IN THE SKY
As a child I often heard my grandmother telling stories of the people in the sky, stories that were passed on to her by her elders in her youth. She often spoke of them to my mother and explained of how they lived and interacted with each other and of how their interaction played a key role in our existence. Not understanding the value of her stories, I would sit patiently, listening, and would dream a picture in my mind, of how things could have been. Sometimes the pictures were colorful and the scenes were pleasant. And then there were those stories that would churn my stomach. And the picture that was once colorful would suddenly turn gray to dark. My visits with her were often and the stories were plenty, some were during the day, others were at dusk, but the scary ones were always saved for thundering weather, provoking sleepless nights. According to the season, and the change of the elements, the stories were told and interestingly enough, they were never repeated twice, unless they were asked for, by an elder. There were stories of the sun, the day, the wind, the clouds, the rain, and its rainbows. The beach, its sand, the waves, the ocean, and its inhabitants. The moon, the night, the firmament and its stars, and some, of their counter-parts, the traveling stars. And then there were those, of the peoples that resided in the sky, but in a nether worlds. Regardless of the story, there was always a picture portrayed in my mind, of the way things could have been.
It was in my youth, that as a gifted child I would stare at the sky, looking. Sometimes for strength and sometimes for answers to questions I did not have. Somehow, I knew that the answers were there hidden in the midst, but to my avail, nothing. Not a peek from them, and certainly, not a glimpse. Only a cloud passing by and behind it a small breeze. Nothing was working, I would tell myself, as if I was trying to do anything. And so one day, I ventured over to go see her, by myself.
As I walked into her backyard, I could see her kneeling at the edge of her garden that lay underneath a huge pecan tree. Where upon she had turned her hat into a basket filled with hot peppers, yellow squash, okra, and tomatoes. Startled she was to see a boy standing next to her at the edge of her garden unattended. And as she looked around to see where my mother was, I asked why nothing was working, why the people in the sky were not answering? To which she replied chuckling, as she hugged me. "The people in the sky live there," as she pointed to a cloud passing by, "but they seldom show themselves to anyone." It was then, in that instant, that as the cloud was passing by, a drizzle happened. Curious it was to see that like many a time before, a single cloud had passed by, but this one had just rained on me, to which my grandmother took me in her arms with joy, as she thanked someone in the heavens in what seemed to be a verse of a different language. A blessing, accepted, had occured. And when it was over, behind the cloud, again, there was a small breeze, that blew through as she waved at the lord passing by.
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Like this one, there are many anecdotes of the people in the sky and it's middle kingdom, that were shared unto me. Both as a boy in my youth and in my shrine as a spiritualist and curandero, and it is through this forum, that I will continue to share them with the public. As a practioner I have learned to communicate with the spiritual entities that reside in the heavens. And it is through my shrine that these entities will descend, dictating anecdotes to enrich humanities way of existence, to build a self efficient sense of will, to share answers to life and receive anecdotes of future fortellings.
My name is Bobby Estrada, join me on this venture Shadows in the Light, as I keep blogging in for the people in the sky, through ancedotes or narratives. Until then stay in the light for a true you and a better tomorrow.
