Ghosts of the Past

Ed used that phrase in his reply haiku to my last post. There is quite some truth to that. For some reason some familiar ghosts of the past have haunted me more than I would expect the last few weeks. Actually, I think it isn't “some reason,” but rather the Olympics. Given that they only happen every so often, if anything happens near the Games, it is inevitably washed back up on the beaches of memory when the games return (and, of course, seeing the Games end is a sad sight by itself).

Perhaps I shall blog more on those beachings later in the week. But I find myself at an odd point; I would really like those ghosts to go away, and yet there is something comfortable, even desirable about them. I don't want them to go away.

A stand off of sorts. “My Immortal” fits well in some senses, if — perhaps — overdramatically.

I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

—Ben Moody

Perhaps that is how pain often is. If something pains us, the pain is frequently the last thing we hold onto. If the pain is lost, so is the last remnant of the thing causing the pain. So, while ghosts of the past are undesirable, they are also highly desirable. I can think of more than one that has been a comfortable traveling companion over years past. The key, which I have not perfected in the least, is to find a way to at least objectify those ghosts — creating the objective correlative — if one can do that, one has completed a key step in transforming them into poetry.

And, that, after all, is one of my goals.