Before my dad died, I asked and he agreed to visit me after death; nothing yet. I’ve heard tale of the day dreamed sight of such things, sometimes enhanced by the use of psychedelics; if you use psychedelics regularly you don’t dream and get used to seeing ghosts, both in the mirror and elsewhere. So, perhaps he’s stopped by and even been there for dinner but having forgotten he died I merely asked him to pass the sweet tea rather than spill it on what lies beyond.
Now as I listen to Beethoven; within the flutter and chaos, my brain latches on to the notes and suddenly each thought has a place to be and a reason to be there. My dad liked Beethoven, so we sit together outside of space or reason.
I do believe in spooks.