Spiritual Warfare in Harlem

I've sensed for years that there's a presence or ghost in my apartment. I've written on this topic before, but feel I must readdress because I'm more determined to rid my living and creative spaces of the unwelcome boarder. I sense that it's an older African American/Hispanic (blatino) male, in his mid to late 50's, that committed suicide in or near the bathroom or kitchen window. There are times when I feel a gravitational pull when I'm near the bathroom window more so than the kitchen, as if I'm floating or leaning over the windowsill. I don't want to relive what he, heretofore unnamed, Gustavo, experienced during the last moments of his life. Did he actually commit suicide or was he pushed to his death? Did he commit suicide in the alley below or met with some other end at the hands of an angry assailant?

It matters not how Gustavo met his end. It's time for me to evict him, and send him into the light. He's not malevolent. He's lonely and distracting when it's most inconvenient for me. I've numerous creative snippets, opening paragraphs, and titles simmering in my idea journal that he's been preventing me from completing. Not one for navel-gazing, my mind wanders, and off I go cleaning or rearranging something. This isn't avoidance or typical creative procrastination. I've felt a weight descend upon me. During those moments, I've been able to step outside of my body and see myself in suspended, distracted animation.

Gustavo's a puppeteer, and I've been his unwitting doll that he's manipulated far too long. It's time to call on fellow faith/spiritual warriors to exorcise and evict him.

My mistake has been downgrading him all these years. He's not evil, just lonely. He's not evil, just finds ways to distract. Well, enough of that nonsense. If it's not helping me, it's definitely hurting me. Gustavo, I'm calling you out. Be gone!

I've made excuses for myself, and those, too, must stop. I know Gustavo's real, and not a euphemism or thinly-veiled rationale for fear of success, of which I know I don't suffer. I've thought this through over the years. Probably too much. I've given it and him energy that should've fueled my writing, working out, living, rather than feeling trapped in my home office.

I need to figure this out soon because I'm not getting any younger, and I've circled this fork in the road too many times. What could this/he represent in my life?

There's a marked difference when I'm not in the apartment. Outside, I feel free, weightless, and oftentimes don't want to return home. I know what I feel is real, and not something I've manufactured from my writer's toolkit.

I've felt the presence of evil sitting on the edge of my bed that made me bolt upright and command it to leave. That was a one-time occurrence. Maybe I've been wrong all this time, and it was Gustavo who sat on the edge of my bed, but then has since changed his complexion so that I think he's innocent and not focused daily on getting rid of him. Angels and demons, from what I've read and been told, are masters of illusion.

Act Three: time for me call upon all of my faith, strength, and determination and send him into the light. Gustavo, I send you forth into the light, or the into the bowels of hell, if you prefer. Just get thee behind me!