I have a strange feeling of intimacy with people who, at some point in time live or have lived in my room. As if our spirits alternate each other in a particular body. There are currently two such people.
I believe in spirits. Not as a part of me that will exist even after this body dies. I don’t care about that. For me, spirits are an aspect of this life. An extention of our being in this world. Tentacles into a world connected to the earth, where space and time matter less.
Whenever I inhabit a surface, I tend to reach beyond it. Like a plant reaching with its roots into the ground in which it grows. In all directions. All dimensions. And whenever I move out, I feel like a part of me keeps growing into this space behind the room. A familiarity remains as the room gets inhabited by someone new.
But also when I move into a room, I find an aspect of myself there. As if my spirit had already entered through the back door, long before I lived there. I believe the same happens for others.
So whenever I am about to move, I feel a new spirit approach. A being I can only welcome, as it is about to get home. I feel like somehow, these people and I have an intricate connection in a world we cannot see. Living our loves and fears, thoughts and emotions within the same four walls, we feel like housemates, though technically we never were.