The Day I Blissed Out

The Day I Blissed Out

A Story by PamiAnde

“Do you believe in Purgatory?” asked Kimmie.

Kim is one of my dearest friend’s youngest, she was nearly nineteen when she asked me this question.
“No,” was my easy answer. Since the truth is, and was, I’m really not clear on what or where Purgatory is. But always interested in what Kimmie is contemplating I asked, “Why?”
We were sitting at one of those eighties, metal-frame, glass-topped dinette sets in Mireya’s kitchen. (A new agey friend had given me Mireya’s number only weeks before, as we left Colorado for Oregon, knowing we’d become fast friends.) Kimmie was in a wicker backed chair at one end of the oval, her back to the slider; I was on the long side, my back to a flowered, pink-papered wall. Mireya’d gone upstairs to the bathroom. She’d just finished, doing? reading? Kimmie’s numbers. That’s why we were there. Kimmie listened carefully and asked lots of questions. Numerology, to me, was just fun; like handwriting analysis or Tarot cards... or psychic friends, nothing I took too seriously.  
“Do you think Mireya believes in Purgatory?” Kimmie asked, “Because I have a friend, a boy who I went out with in the sixth grade… who committed suicide. And when I went to his funeral, the minister said he would be stuck in Purgatory because he killed himself.” Kimmie’s wide bright eyes teared-up.
“Ohh, Kimmie…”
“Nobody knows this,” Kimmie said, “but I cry for him almost every day. And I can’t stop feeling guilty wondering if there’s something I could have done. Maybe if we hadn’t broken up, or I would’ve stayed in touch, maybe…”
“Kimmie,” I reassured, “I believe with all my heart that nothing bad has happened to your friend, and I’ll bet Mireya feels the same way. Ask her, she’s coming back down.”
A few more creaks from the carpeted stairs and Mireya, fortyish, round, the dark hair and skin of a gypsy-fortuneteller, appeared and stood behind and with her hands on the back of the chair directly across from Kimmie. “Tell her Kimmie,” I urged, “what you just shared with me.” (I didn’t think Mireya had any more insight into this than I did, but because in a days-earlier conversation, I told Kimmie that Mireya said she channeled dead people, I knew Kimmie trusted her.) Instead of looking at Kimmie while she repeated her story, I eyed Mireya.
As Kimmie spoke, Mireya’s eyelashes started to flutter. Then her eyelids began to twitch. I was ready to push from my, chair mad-as-hell, when her brown eyes rolled so far back into her head I could see the whites. I started to say something, but paused when Mireya stepped forward and lowered herself into her chair, “This sure isn’t what I thought I’d be doing today,” she said sounding surprised, but calm.
I thought channeling spirits also sounded like fun, but as I realized that’s what Mireya appeared to be beginning, I was pissed. How dare she pull that crap on my young friend, how dare she! Then, it hit me.
Nothing physical, something… spiritual. Something powerful, instantaneous. I was a marshmallow thrust over a blazing campfire; suddenly warm, bubbling, melting inside. I started sobbing. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t speak. Time stood still. I was enveloped, gloriously on fire, ready to be blown-out and eaten by God. I have never been more in the moment. All I felt, was love.
When my hysteria subsided, I sat dumbfounded and peacefully exhausted. “What the hell was that?” were my tender first words.
Mireya tried to explain:
“The easiest way for me to describe it to you, is…
You have just been visited by two of your angels.
And they are very grateful
to have been given the opportunity…
to show you how much you are loved.”

And it was clear:
Kimmie had just been comforted by a young man who had been dead for over a year.

© 2020 PamiAnde

My Review

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First of all, I think this is intense. Kimmie's concerns over her dead friend strike a chord with me, as I've had similar worries about a couple of people who were close to me. One, very close. A natural thing to have such thoughts, I think, even if one has no religion. I know what the Bible says about suicide, but I also believe God to be a fair judge. People have so many various views and religions--can they all be right? Which ones are wrong? I sure don't know. I could probably blabber on about this subject for a good while, but really shouldn't.
Although mostly well-written, I did see a comma or three out of place, and the last scene was a bit foggy. In all, I did very much enjoy reading it.

Posted 1 Week Ago

Well, I won't get into the metaphysics of the phenomenon described here, so I'd just let you know my experience reading and would share my views on how you have handled this subject.

Overall, i liked the story. This could be a plot for a great novel and the story seems to have an extension into further chapters. The climax is strong. I like how you described the end. The element of paranormal and surreal is well described by how the narrator has experienced it. You can actually define the occult, the horror, the spiritual only by what one feels, so talking in the first person seems but natural.

You tried to create an ambience, gave some lines to the setting, which was passable since the reader was more interested into Kimmy's story of the her dead boyfriend. If the reader has enough good attention span so they read through the first two paragraphs before Kimmy shares her experience, this story would treat them later.

The highest point of this stpry was when you described your own experience of the phenomenon as a narrator. That gave the story a strong climax.

Thanks for sharing

Posted 1 Week Ago

Since I know you will not believe me, and will block me as soon as you read it, I will write unfiltered. Channeling spirits is not from God. None of what you just wrote about is. Dead friends and relatives cannot visit you from beyond the grave. Fortunetellers are sorcerers, and they and you will end up in Hell for what they do. They offer false comfort and tell people what they want to hear for money.

What you felt was not God. It was demons pretending to comfort you. Demons can pose as dead loved ones and friends in our dreams. Speaking to the dead is necromancy, a form of black magic. You will not believe me, and that is fine. No one does, but study for yourself and someday you will learn the truth. I hooe you do.

Posted 1 Week Ago


1 Week Ago

I respect your thoughts Mr. D. Many I love agree with you. I have studied, and have come to the beli.. read more
Mr. D

1 Week Ago

Hmm...not the reply I was expecting. But people have parts to play in their salvation. Even read more
Mr. D

1 Week Ago

Also, are you familiar with a website called Kongregate?

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3 Reviews
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on September 10, 2020
Last Updated on September 10, 2020
Tags: love, spirituality, skeptic, new age, psychic, suicide, comfort, guilt, death, marshmallow, memoir, creative nonfiction




A woman of many names, I am a writer of poetry, prose, short stories, creative nonfiction, and something I call Bedtime Stories for Big Kids. I've been published (many years ago) in Chocolate for a Wo.. more..