Speaking with a ghost

I have to admit this: I have been speaking with a ghost, or ghosts (number is hard to ascertain) here in New York. I am not sure if this spirit came with me (being in me) or if it resides in the same space I occupy. At first I tried to banish it, now as I prepare to leave, I am sensing that I am going to miss it. Strange things. Strange man, that I am. 

There have been so many nights that I feel terribly alone, especially during the past five months here in New York. Alone in the sense that I have difficulty in sharing what I think of is valuable and is precious in the practice of art as chosen existence. It seems the only resonant voice comes from distant, far distant lands and times. I heard this voice, first as  whispers of ghosts in my room. I hear words from the very depth of silence, speaking in verses. Then it happened when I started talking back, to the emptiness. Believe it or not, I hear replies. I am not afraid of these voices, but often I am in fear that when I get back home, I will not be he same person. Having heard and having spoken with the unseen, the distant, changes you. Completely. 

Many times have feelings of death have come over me, in my sleep and in my near-wakefulness. They made me think of mortality, over and over, as if it was something that would come soon, very soon. I was driven to plan working on many plans for projects, thinking I will never have enough time for these. I am not sure if the voices tell me this, but I do feel something follows me, something dark. My heart would give in, often in small episodes of dull pain and my left arm would go numb. It happens often now, especially when I work very late at night. A dark angel perhaps? The last time I saw a dark being was six years ago and that changed me very profoundly. I can feel the same shadows are near. I do not now why.

I fervently hope that I can understand why these happen to me. And why I receive replies from beyond, and why do I sense this pall coming down on me. (I feel as though my head was cut off). It is mysterious, but it is after all, me.