Something of Myself
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Ghosts
How do you keep ghosts away? Real ones, not the scary ones. Murdered ghosts. Creeping up from everywhere. Watching you. Looking over you, at you and through you.
As a child I was never afraid of them. But now I am, as they re-appear and re-surface in my closet, bathroom, kitchen, socks, handkerchiefs, scarves, coffee cups, pens, pillows, desktop screen and even on the scroll button on the mouse.
They mock at me. They question me. They pity me. They laugh at me with scornful looks.
The ghosts of the dead. One, two, three, four…so many of them. They arrive in a group. They have formed their own coterie.
Can we drive them away? Can we scare them?
What does it take to ensure that ghosts do not revisit? They are a tricky bunch you see, un-harmful yet piercing through you, questioning your identity.
Are we simply ghosts of the present – living in a different world from the others? Are we ghosts to-be?
Ghosts. They do not even let me write. Creeping up here, now, standing and walking in a swaggering manner, swaying their hands, gesticulating their presence. Numbness fills me. I am cold. Cold as I could be.
It’s almost like the kiss of death. Of yet another ‘me’ – leaving no trails behind, no footprints, save a tinge or a hint of a feeling.
How do you keep ghosts away? Real ones, not the scary ones. Murdered ghosts. Creeping up from everywhere. Watching you. Looking over you, at you and through you.
As a child I was never afraid of them. But now I am, as they re-appear and re-surface in my closet, bathroom, kitchen, socks, handkerchiefs, scarves, coffee cups, pens, pillows, desktop screen and even on the scroll button on the mouse.
They mock at me. They question me. They pity me. They laugh at me with scornful looks.
The ghosts of the dead. One, two, three, four…so many of them. They arrive in a group. They have formed their own coterie.
Can we drive them away? Can we scare them?
What does it take to ensure that ghosts do not revisit? They are a tricky bunch you see, un-harmful yet piercing through you, questioning your identity.
Are we simply ghosts of the present – living in a different world from the others? Are we ghosts to-be?
Ghosts. They do not even let me write. Creeping up here, now, standing and walking in a swaggering manner, swaying their hands, gesticulating their presence. Numbness fills me. I am cold. Cold as I could be.
It’s almost like the kiss of death. Of yet another ‘me’ – leaving no trails behind, no footprints, save a tinge or a hint of a feeling.
2 Comments:
Very poignant and evocative Pele. This has so many different levels and leaves me with questions that I want to ask...but in a way should not be asked...
What kind of ghosts haunt us? Sometimes the ghosts can be living as well as dead. Ghosts can be memories as well.
I wonder if those thoughts were going through your mind as you wrote?
Sometimes the ghosts stay with us forever and sometimes they pass away and on into the night. That is when the pain eases.
Thanks for your thoughts Molly. Some of the things that you mention were EXACTLY the kind of stuff that I was deliberating while writing this. Creepy...:)
How have you been? Long time no hear...
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