Walking With Ghosts
We live in a world of ghosts. I've seen them. One minute, I'll be driving along, and suddenly, there's a younger me pushing the stroller and walking into town on some errand. It happens in a flash, and then it's gone, faded back into the past. These spots are all over the area. Every place I've been has a bit of me attached, and these bits reappear in a flash when I pass a point with a strong impression. Sure, they're only memories, but it always strikes me odd how vivid they can be, especially when they are the most ordinary moments. We all expect to remember the big things- a catastrophe, love at first sight, a wedding or the birth of a child. All these things leave their ghosts because we recognize their importance and press them into our minds for later, or else the emotion is strong enough to burn them in without thought. But it's funny how some absolutely inconsequential pieces etch themselves on your memory without the slightest reason or intent. Here, the sound of the ice on a suddenly frigid day. Here, the way a bold shadow cut across the grass or the smell of hot pavement. I pass a certain spot, and I'm in the back seat of Grandma's car on our way to the A & P to buy groceries. I can feel the piping on the rough upholstery. I smell the dust on the back window ledge, and I know my feet are settled in among the plastic jugs of water we carried because the car was prone to overheat. Just a little fragment of one day. Just a few seconds of who and how I was when I was there before.
Places have their ghosts, too. That A & P hasn't been there for decades, but it's still there every time I go by, and I know what's like to stand in front of the milk case in that particular store. There may have been several occupants in a given spot, but I'll likely still feel it's one specific ghost. I may even give directions based on it, so beware. Again, there's little reason behind which images get stamped bolder than the others.
I imagine this happens to anybody who has lived in the same area for a while. There is a whole phantom landscape beneath what we see and it's populated with all our ghosts. We all have our ghosts where we go. We all lay down traces of ourselves and our world, and then we read them later when all of that has been swept away.
People who move around a lot don't have that, I guess. Can they feel the layers of the world, the thickness of place, without being able to run over those connections again? It's not that a person wouldn't set their ghosts if they were inclined to move. They just wouldn't have the powerful tool of place to raise them up again. I expect there is a toddler me looking for bugs in the tall grass on an Arkansas ranch somewhere (even if it might be a ghost ranch by now,) but I've never seen her. We lived there briefly, and I haven't been back to trigger the memory.
Or, maybe, when there's little attachment to place, the memories get attached to other things. Maybe every "me" gets hitched to a sound or scent or the way the light is falling. I haven't stood in our Wisconsin yard in almost 40 years, but I can still clearly feel the tickle of grass on my legs and smell the bitter dandelion heads in the big metal mixing bowl I carried when Mom sent us out to gather flowers for dandelion wine. All it takes is one glimpse of a dandelion to be there.
So, I guess we all build our libraries of image and senses. They may be hooked to places, or they may be hooked to other things. We can raise our ghosts with intent, or they may rise up unbidden. However the experience comes, though, it's important to honour them. Take the time to see your ghosts. You may think the moment that replays is nothing special, but there's a reason it stayed with you, and even a humble moment was your moment.
Places have their ghosts, too. That A & P hasn't been there for decades, but it's still there every time I go by, and I know what's like to stand in front of the milk case in that particular store. There may have been several occupants in a given spot, but I'll likely still feel it's one specific ghost. I may even give directions based on it, so beware. Again, there's little reason behind which images get stamped bolder than the others.
I imagine this happens to anybody who has lived in the same area for a while. There is a whole phantom landscape beneath what we see and it's populated with all our ghosts. We all have our ghosts where we go. We all lay down traces of ourselves and our world, and then we read them later when all of that has been swept away.
People who move around a lot don't have that, I guess. Can they feel the layers of the world, the thickness of place, without being able to run over those connections again? It's not that a person wouldn't set their ghosts if they were inclined to move. They just wouldn't have the powerful tool of place to raise them up again. I expect there is a toddler me looking for bugs in the tall grass on an Arkansas ranch somewhere (even if it might be a ghost ranch by now,) but I've never seen her. We lived there briefly, and I haven't been back to trigger the memory.
Or, maybe, when there's little attachment to place, the memories get attached to other things. Maybe every "me" gets hitched to a sound or scent or the way the light is falling. I haven't stood in our Wisconsin yard in almost 40 years, but I can still clearly feel the tickle of grass on my legs and smell the bitter dandelion heads in the big metal mixing bowl I carried when Mom sent us out to gather flowers for dandelion wine. All it takes is one glimpse of a dandelion to be there.
So, I guess we all build our libraries of image and senses. They may be hooked to places, or they may be hooked to other things. We can raise our ghosts with intent, or they may rise up unbidden. However the experience comes, though, it's important to honour them. Take the time to see your ghosts. You may think the moment that replays is nothing special, but there's a reason it stayed with you, and even a humble moment was your moment.
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