Lorraine's Ghost Part 3 ...Exorcizing the Past
Lorraine’s gone but her spirit still speaks to me.
I’m staring at the deserted hallway where Lorraine appeared. It’s still imbued with her aura.
What did she mean—I'm just thinking of myself? That I betrayed her by sleeping with her best friend, or that I’m so whacked up with guilt now I’m punishing myself and denying Autumn a mother?
I go round and round, trying to unravel the conundrum, until finally, exhausted and worn out with grief, I fall into a fitful sleep.
I awaken in the gray light of dawn to begin again brooding over the same theme.
At noon, my sister Lainey drops by with homemade soup and babysits for a few hours so I can get out.
She worries about me and shows up each day. Says she loves to see Autumn, and it’s true, but she really wants me to get my life back, whatever that means.
I go downtown—my goal is just to walk the streets, but I eventually end up in a small café across from the park.
I take a window seat, sip coffee and stare at the leaves.
“Hi, Mark.” A familiar voice rouses me from my reverie. I look up into Tessa’s lovely face.
“Can I join you?”
I awkwardly stumble to my feet, “Tessa! Of course, please, have a seat.”
She looks radiant—her blonde hair a bit wind blown, a few strands across her eyes.
I take her coat, holding out a chair as she sits down, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” she smiles. “I often come to relax and clear my head.”
“It is lovely,” I reply, thinking more of her smile, than the crimson Maple leaves outside.
A look of compassion crosses her face. “How are you doing, Mark?” She reaches out her hand to touch mine.
Her touch ignites a fire in me. I want her more than I ever wanted anyone.
I hang my head in shame.
“It’s okay, Mark, I understand—Lorraine was my best friend and I miss her too.”
I nod, feeling miserable. If only she knew what I was feeling inside, but that’s a truth even I can’t face.
“I ran into Lainey at the market the other day—she says you don’t get out. You know that’s not healthy, Mark.”
“I know.”
“There’s the Fall Fair on Saturday—why don’t you come? It’ll get you out of the house. You can bring Autumn, or maybe Lainey will babysit. What do you say?”
“I’d like that,” I smile.
Tessa’s eyes shine and I feel as if I’ve just been caressed.
That night, in the darkened front room, I watch the Moon in its journey across the sky.
I think of Lorraine, our struggles and pain, and it grieves in me a song more dismal than a sparrow’s protest to a freezing rain.
I’m not sure where we derailed, or what might have happened if Lorraine survived.
Would the birth of Autumn have turned it around, or were we fated to live separate lives?
I could go on forever, tormenting myself with questions, when there are no sure answers. I only know Autumn needs me now.
Lorraine is gone. The thought impacts me like a hammer shattering rock.
I’m left with the memory and the guilt of what could have been, should have been, might have been, but was not.
Life is long. Autumn needs a mother, and for all I know Tessa might be God’s plan for us to help us through these days.
I can resist, stubbornly continue the martyrdom, in a self-imposed exile of twisted, misplaced virtue.
But as Lorraine said, I shouldn’t be thinking only of myself.
I stare out the window at the rain of red leaves, and decipher my fate.
It will never end for me now. From now on, I will agonize over consequences—weigh benefits—and forever consider other’s needs.
And somehow, I'll mange to carry on.
...and maybe Autumn will not be that loving or appreciative a daughter, for that is how society is influencing the kids nowadays. Unfortunately, most who make sacrifices for loved ones judge whether it was 'worth it' according to how they were treated or loved in return, they do not see that if you have expectations, then you did not make ANY sacrifices, what you did is make 'investments'.
My next question is, if the ghost of Lorraine was, as most psychiatrists would tell us (do they even have one tiny romantic bone in their body?), just a manifestation of our subconscious - should we listen to it? After all, our subconscious has an agenda of its own, wanting us to live our life according to how it thinks life should be lived. I do not think my subconscious is that intelligent....or that it is any more ethical than I am.
Yes, it raises the whole question of why some have children to begin with and why it's so important to them. Personally, I think children are their own souls and if they return to spend time with you after they're grown then that's a bonus. Obligatory visits and 'duty' to me are things that are sad and quite the miss the point of true love.
With regard to ghosts as projections of the Unconscious mind, you're reminding me of the way some try to demythologize visits from the dead or see them as unnatural. For example, the Ghost of Hamlet Sr. whom some believe was a demon, a familiar spirit intent on luring Hamlet to his destruction. If we listened to the materialists, there would be no literature worth reading. I think we all know the spirit of a person persists long after they're dead and often will visit us in dreams which seems quite natural until we awaken and dismiss it with our common sense.
lol - seeing as to how I have devoted twenty years to writing a history of the Cherinians, with the existence of souls a central part of it, I find it amusing to be thought of as a 'materialist'.
Sorry, my friend, I was just playing with the ideas that came to me, plus I wanted to make clear that I do not wish to allow my subconscious much power over me.
Oh, I didn't mean you, Arthur - I figured you were in my camp siding against the 'unromantic' psychiatrists...but you're right - I do let my subconscious have free rein. I was just discussing this the other night with someone who made a comment about my poem and I remarked that I don't think so much as feel...ha ha, the rejoinder was that I don't think at all, at least not in the logical sequential way most do - I guess I think-feel - there must be some sense in there if only akin to the buzz of a bee in a jar, LOL!!
If I may pursue my thoughts on instincts/subconsciousness and souls.
To illustrate my thought, in my book, they discover a 12 yeear old boy, hiding in a cardboard box, in an alley, who is experiencing nightmare visions of himself killing an angel; tearing it to pieces. On closer examination of what he is seeing, they realise it cannot just be a dream, for as he tears the angel apart, the inner parts are clearly seen and they are organs and so on, which a street kid with no schooling could not imagine.
They take him home and with time, as he grows to love them, they offer to take him back in time. In the void, where we are souls without the 'blocking' caused by our bodies, they discover a past life as an alien of another solar system. That person has wings like an angel. The 'angel' is told of the problems he is causing his future self and he tells the boy not to worry about him, he died young because he was not a good person.
Now the question occurs, which I doubt I thought of when I was writing the original of the above: if he was such a bad person that he deserved to die young, why would he be 'nice' and care about his future self?
I see our souls as holding all the personalities it has been (not just the memories, as many think). Each life is a distinct layer, yet the layers occupy the same 'space' within the entity that makes up our soul (which is us only for now, while we live). The 'angel' has prompted the idea...could it be that there is a certain 'bleeding' across layers, so that they learn from each other, without losing themselves and becoming an amalgamation of all their experiences?
As for our subconsciousness and instincts - are they perhaps created out of that total mess of past lives? Could it be that the most recent, or, the most strongly felt, 'influence' our subconscious and our instincts to the greatest extent?
What if in a previous life I was a sadistic killer and torturer. Should I trust my subconscious when it tries to lead me in the direction it thinks I should grow?
I hope the above provides some material/ideas for new stories, as it has done for me.
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In case you did not know (it makes life easier):
That's intriguing, Arthur, in more ways than one. (I'll explain at the end - it's a case of synchronicity as Jung would say)
A colleague of mine confessed to me once that she was an 'old soul'. I immediately grasped her meaning and I've pondered her words ever since. She was into Yoga and eastern thought so she believed in past lives which I don't. I do, however, believe there is some evidence of generational memory being passed down through a family - I explored that idea in a poem I posted recently called "Spring 1917 …Impossibly In Memory"
But I fully grasp the implications of what you're saying and why you don't trust your subconscious impulses. You have a fully developed philosophy and it's fairly consistent although not without ambiguities, but so too is life and I can live with some paradoxes.
Anyway, while I was writing today's poem, I kept searching for a suitable photo and kept being drawn back to a Paul Cezanne painting called The Kiss of the Muse. It could have been used for tonight's poem but it seemed to have another significance. I passed on the photo because it reminded me too much of another poem I posted a few weeks ago called, Wrestling in the Dark with God about Jacob wrestling with an angel, but the image haunted me and kept recurring, especially today.
When I saw your reply tonight it made me realize I was somehow 'wrestling' with many of the same ideas you were, albeit from a different perspective. You may find this inconsequential, but I don't - this is the way things work for me, in art as in life. Don't know if this helps or muddies the waters, but I had to tell you, Arthur.
This is the first time I have bookmarked a comment.
I had not seen the painting, so thanks.
As for my theory of souls, I just realised that no philosophy I know has spoken of souls having lived on other planets in their previous lives.
I wondered why and I think I have a sort of explanation.
Let me preface my explanation by mentioning another (acceptable) oddity. If souls evolve, why has no retrogression taken anyone to a life before they evolved (as a soul) to inhabiting the bodies of sentient beings?
I think the answer is the same as it is for alien previous lives - they are too different for them to 'merge' with terrestrial/sentient lives.
Maybe I lived three lives as a Martian and had to evolve away from that because there were no more births there, so I came to be born on Earth, and had to live my first lives as a pre-sentient (or partly) man. Therefore the layers in my soul are grouped separately, the three martian ones seeping and identifying with each other, my pre-sentient lives doing the same, though in a less self-aware manner - and the rest are the ones I can more easily contact.
What if a soul is only 'whole' and advanced to the point where it nolonger needs to be reborn, once it can identify with all its previous personalities? But then, maybe there are advances in the physical plane we must also experience before we can 'consider' ourselves complete?
Perhaps my Cherinian mutants are such?
I think certain religions such as Mormonism posit the idea of living an afterlife on other planets but your philosophy is certainly unique. Buddhism teaches that a soul can advance to the point where it no longer needs to be reborn and can thus escape the endless cycle of death and rebirth. But having said all that I personally don't believe in the idea of reincarnation or karma and the related teachings. But in trying to develop a plausible story line for fiction you'd have to try to speculate and work out any major inconsistencies. Some things I hold lightly and am open to but the whole Buddhistic system of reincarnation I absolutely reject. Mind you, I am a born-again Christian but that entire system of eastern thought has never resonated with me.