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Halloween: An I Is A Roiling Stew Of Somebodies

photo-1 copyHalloween has always been my favorite holiday because I love candy and dead people. And the dark. The dark especially, and the moon and the stars and the way I feel at night. I feel different, odd, strange, and uncertain. There’s a deep ignorance that accompanies the dark, a tenacious not-knowing that resists all of our attempts to see and understand. This resistance to our inquiry arouses fear, awe, and wonder. Because what can’t be known strives toward the more honorable distinction of being imagined.

What was that? The furnace? The cat? A door? A footstep? A man with a big silver knife and unresolved abandonment issues obeying intrusive voices that demand our heads? A mere bump in the night has a life all its own. It’s a little world that wants to unfold and erupt into stories for anyone willing to listen with dreams. Did you hear it? Be wary of what poses as only the wind. Nothing is ever just anything.

Especially you. And me. We are more than who we are. Slivers of personalities. Fragments of identities. Memories. Fictions. Masks. Houses spooked by the dead. Bizarre thoughts. Strange voices. Inklings. Intuitions. Dreams. Constellations of complexes. Gangs of shadows. Choirs of ghosts. Reflections. In mirrors. On lakes, dirty windows, and tears. An I is a roiling stew of somebodies. A house of locked rooms. An attic filled with forgotten, unread and dusty books with a few pages missing.

Know thyself? Which one?

We live these lives for the most part on the island of our ego, doing what we can to ignore our vast blue oceans of goofy fish and wily squids and all the nameless big-eyed creatures in our deeps. Gives us the creeps. Until they roam free in the riot of our dreams and one day of the year: on Halloween. When we dress up. Wear masks. Become someone else. Explore the geography of our otherness. I am a zombie, a policeman, the devil, a nurse, a vampire, a mechanic, the family secret locked in the basement. A garden, a song, a fireman, the fire, all the things we forgot on the cusp of rash decisions. I’m the next town. The next day. A cup of coffee and a friendly face. I’m the empty place where all these things arrive and come to pass.

Happy Halloween, friends, enemies, used car salesmen. May your hopes be made of bones and your fears all turned to candy. Set fire to your homes – get out, get out, get out!
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Read more from me at Black Hockey Jesus.

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