The Ghost
Running in the Proverbial Dark
Shorter days. Longer nights. We live in more shadows. See more shadows, real or imagined.
Our eyes will not help, as they rely on the brain to keep track of past patterns to make out what’s in front of us. But the light is long gone. And we, supposed king of the mammals, have crappy sight, smell, and instinct in the dark. We cannot function as well within it. Instead, seeking fire and light to keep us safe.
So when we face the darkest of nights, an uneasiness creeps in. The velvety darkness and swirling wind give cover to the rustling leaves. Or was it a crunch underfoot of something or someone in the night? An odd howl. Or was it a final yelp of a life suddenly gasping away?
The imagination tugs at our deepest fears, conjuring up the ghosts from within.
It’s no wonder we see them more this time of year. As the seasons turn, the bony, grim fingers of the elements chill our world. A subtle reminder of how easily we can be extinguished or forgotten in the inky blackness. Mother Nature indiscriminate of the creatures within her fickle sights.
Yet we also celebrate the concept of ghosts. From the comical white sheets and eyeholes, to the horror movies that embolden the darkest fleeting thoughts among us. Our violent nature and fears as a species, flashed in front of us with scary tales, lifelike blood and gore. Box-office boogiemen for a thrill and a laugh.
But where does a ghost come from? What defines their shape?
In the molten layers of self, our memories and past emotions roil seeking meaning. Frantically grasping for an order to past wrongs, tragically foisted on us by others out of cruelty, madness, or oblivious mistakes. Or self-inflicted over time and bad habits; or a sharp, stabbing, horrible decision.
We carry all, in the unconsciousness, the bad dreams, the uneasy emotions, the triggered reminder of a scar, barely healed. The dark shadows, we cannot see within ourselves. We know they are there. But again, we lack to clarity to see the damage and dark patterns that lace throughout.
Our ghosts do not live in a place and time. They are alive and well within our darkness, shaping the who within.
Others may see them. As they interact with the creature they know as us on the outside. But always colored by their internal stew of perceptions. Thus, we may experience intimate moments of truth from others, or we may hear only the howling in the wind. Mingled and muzzled interpersonal communications that complicates our world, for better or for worse.
These are the ghosts we carry. The ones we love. The ones we hate. The ones that fly out when we cannot stop ourselves. The ones we run from. The ones we run to in times of stress. The ones we constantly try to extinguish relentlessly. The ones that haunt us from the dark.
These are the real ghosts.
The yogis say that one needs to do their own shadow work, and no one else’s. The internal act of standing next to your darkness and seeking to understand it. How we carry it and how it works within us. It is a deeply uncomfortable practice that presents a soul with an opportunity to seek balance of its demons. When and how to lessen harm from them. When to accept the pain and move on. Defining the shape of the ghosts in the machine; while keeping the light and its comfort as a beacon for where to go next.
As Midnight creeps in, new moon cold and deep, relearn how to see in the dark.
Listen in the dark.
Rekindle an ancient instinct to show something deeply personal and unexpected.
From the darkness, outside and within, a ghost.
