Banishing Ghosts
How do you come home to yourself?
“Sometimes all you need to banish your ghosts is for someone to see you and understand your dreams. It’s only when you’re alone that the real haunting begins.”
- Only Murders In The Building
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What is a ghost?
A ghost is a memory, a long held belief, a thought, a specific and vivid fear. The ones you’ve buried more than once in the dark and loamy depths of your mind. But no matter how deep you bury them, your ghosts haunt your days and your nights, showing up when you feel particularly tired or tender. Almost always, they roar and howl and scream in the silence and the stillness.
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“What could be worse than not being at home in our own house? What hope do we have of finding rest outside of ourselves if we cannot be at ease within.”
- St. Teresa of Ávila
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Who could feel safe in a haunted house?
Each night, when I was little, my parents would press play on the cassette tape payer in my room and most nights Raffi would sing me to sleep before you could say Baby Beluga. But some nights I’d hum along until he sang the one about the old woman all skin and bones who lived down by the old graveyard. How I would howl for my parents who had, no doubt, just taken their first deep breaths all day, the sound of my terror an annoyance I now know well.
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To Come Home To Yourself: A blessing by John O’Donohue
May all that is unforgiven in you be released.
May your fears yield to their deepest tranquilities.
May all that is un-lived in you blossom into a future graced with love.
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How then, do you come home to yourself?
I remember the soft whisper of socked feet on carpeted stairs, a hand loosely gripping the railing, warm light sweeping across the room with the opening of the door. Love dressed in flannel pajamas, turning on a light and banishing the ghosts.
Journal Prompts
Pay attention to your ghosts. What do they look like, sound like, feel like? Do they whisper or shout or howl? How do you feel their presence?
Get to know a ghost. Most of the time, our ghosts are trying to tell us something, to keep us safe. They’re scared children shaking in their beds, they’re teenagers burning with shame over their weight, their flaky scalps, their pock marked skin. They’re younger versions of ourselves wrongly accused and unprotected, tired and tender parts. The metaphor isn’t perfect because we don’t actually want to banish those parts, so much as comfort them. It’s kind of like when a shadow looks like a monster until you turn on a light and see that it’s just a jacket on a barstool. You don’t get rid of the barstool or the jacket just because it looked like a monster. We don’t get rid of our younger selves either. We just turn on a night light for them.
How do you turn on the lights? Light a candle, have a snack, tell the truth. Change the song, get quiet, get still. There are a million good ways to soothe those younger parts, to quiet the ghosts, to come home to yourself. But not all the ways are your ways.
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