Ghosts

I wrote this as a posting to a friend's blog. I'm resubmitting here (for posterity? vanity?) with some minor edits.

---

The ghosts in my childhood are not confined to one locale; they follow me on my path, at times standing in my way. There are ghosts in my current home--and they haunt me with regret, they taunt me, and at times they try to mentor me.

I have had to accept my ghosts: I created them. I'm simply tired of creating more, and fearing the creation of yet more. I don't want my ghosts to leave, actually; they're the ancestors of my past, the predecessors of today. I wish they would find peace, though, and offer me guidance and support and not the harsh tongues of criticism and reminders of things gone awry.

Ghosts, spirits, dragons. The numina of buried experience, painful memories, and even ecstasies given life. The sighs too deep for words create these things that are part of our personal spiritual entourage; will they comfort us or cajole? Will they teach or will they terrorize? The goal, I believe, is integration of past and present and future, memory and hope alike.