Maybe this post should have a warning; “The following post may contain scenes of depression and gloomy language… viewer discretion is advise.”
Today is starting out to be a very sad day. It’s not just the GD today. My post about ghosts was only part one, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I did hint at the existence of some less benevolent spirits. Today the malcontents want to be heard. Maybe if I put some of their story down, and send it out, they will leave me in peace.
Through my lifetime at war with myself, there have been lots of casualties. The maimed and dying have mostly moved on. Some are still in my life (amazingly) but most are just ghosts. Many of my visitations come from folks along the way who would have been treated much better if only they had been allowed to know the real person who has been stuck away all of her life in the prison called me.
We all have histories that provide us with multiple excuses for our deficiencies. What good are excuses?. You cannot build the rest of your life on them. A chorus of ghostly voices as one says to me, “it is o.k. to say goodbye to us, we said goodbye to you years ago”.
Like a badly worn old 78 rpm record, my mind keeps running over that same old scratchy tune, then clicking and hopping back to play it again. Time for a new tune. Time for a new way of playing the new tune.
Véronique wrote eloquently on Mother’s Day about her attempts to stay connected, then to re-establish a connection with her mother. The fantasies she has written about resonate with me. My relationship with my father has been up and down (now mostly down) all of my life.
Many of you I know, are worried, as I am, about losing people because you tell them about the reality of your existence. You are worried about the ill effects of being open and honest. We are all correct in the belief that we will lose people. I am going to make a prediction however, based on my exalted position as one who has lost people through being closed and dishonest. If you truly believe in yourself, and do what you must do, you might suffer casualties, but they will have less reason to haunt you.
No good reflection on ghosts would be complete without reference to Dickens:
“Spirit!” he cried, tight clutching at its robe, “hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!”