We are missed. Missed, thus the departed feels the deep need to communicate with us, to say something so important that the laws of physics and metaphysics are twisted, torn, circumvented, and otherwise ignored.
Yes, all because of us. We want so much to believe that we are just that important to them.
Perhaps we just need to still have that person in our lives, even if on the periphery of our reality… something for the ones left behind to hang on to. Flitting about like shadows just on the edge of consciousness, these ghosts are often the product of our own desire for closure we never got in this world.
By the same token, ghosts do not have to be dead; they can just as easily refer to people who have walked away, disappeared, erasing themselves from our lives. Lovers, friends, even family, gone, shut out.
So, in thinking of them as ghosts we can conjure them us whenever we want and finally can say what we did not have the nerve or opportunity to say. These things can be positive or negative, but we all wish we could have had the time or the courage when we had the chance.
The Ghosts of Relationships past, good and bad, can have an effect on our current life, depending on how hard we hang on to the unsaid words hanging on the air like phantoms. We go over and over those words, carefully chosen words that are so witty, so profound and so perfect and confidently spoken, words that we would never, could never actually say. How would things have been different had we the courage to say them? Would things be different? Would anything actually change? Perhaps not, but we would be left with the closure we so desperately need.
I wonder how many times we see someone muttering to themselves as they walk down the hall, or while in their car… how many of those people are having the conversations they wish they could have had, keeping their past alive and encroaching on their current lives, digging in with tiny sharp claws, like climbing kittens hanging on the curtains of our mind
There is a diffused patch of light on my bedroom ceiling only visible in near complete darkness. It has taken on several different shapes since I noticed it a couple of years ago; a dolphin, a sitting cat, and now, a single outstretched wing. Yeah yeah yeah, I know exactly where it is coming from, but I don’t care. It is my Ghostie. Once the lights are out every single night, I acknowledge that little patch of light. I get upset if it is not there, if the wax warmer on the bureau was somehow moved or its gentle light blocked. No matter how tired I was moments before, I jump out of bed and move it in tiny incremental motions until… there! There she is! My Ghostie. I can breathe and go to bed; all is right with the night.
After my sister’s death last year, it is also my reminder to whisper a goodnight to the gentle soul that now resides beyond the reach of suffering, playing upon the ceiling and dancing among the stars. We have conversations that were never spoken, and I tell her how much I loved her, how much I still love her.
So, my question for the universe is this: do we hang onto our ghosts, talking to lights, talking to the stars, to ourselves in the car to remind ourselves of what we have lost? Do we hang on to old relationship ghosts and gradually loosen our grip as we convince ourselves that our lives have travelled on far enough for us to stop looking in the rear view mirror? Do we select which ghosts we hang onto? Do we consciously hang onto the sweet memories and attempt to unremember the disastrous ones?
I suspect that the very human truth is different for everyone.
And I still say goodnight, every night, to that little patch of reflected light on my ceiling, “Good night, Ghostie… Good night, Barbie.”