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Jane of Thought: Thinker in the twilight zone
by Jane Eagle
2006-10-12 10:07:01
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I was thinking of an ugly dream I saw the other day and my mind traveled associatively through brain-valleys carrying nothing but a cup of coffee. It stood still in a most curious recollection.

I remembered a story that a friend narrated to me in the courtyard of our school. Lacking the mood for game, we sat in a shady corner and she began to recount to me various tales from her weird collection – very weird, man, and spooky, and my hairs couldn’t just lie down, but were always looking up like they were praying to some God begging for her to stop talking. Anyway. She took an oath (to fall dead and break into a thousand little pieces, if she’s lying) that those were genuine stories. One of them moved me a little in a romantic plus ghoulish-filmed by Tim Burton (in the years of the '80s) - way:

"A young man was resting on the bench of a beautiful park. It was one of those summer evenings that it breaks your heart to stay home. Out of the blue, a girl approached the bench and sat with him. She was as beautiful as the night, cool charms and smelled like evening flowers. She looked merely transparent like the feathers of a butterfly and her eyes sparkled in the dark. The man did not lose time and started a conversation.

After they spoke about all matters that two strangers can discuss, they headed off for a walk in the streets of the quiet city. He, as a gentleman, took off his jacket, unzipped his pants and asked her to kneel there in the middle of the street so that…" Hahahahaha, yeah, ok, sorry, that story will be narrated after midnight (when ghosts raise from the grave). "He, as a gentleman, took off his jacket and hung it around her shoulders. When they reached her front door, he softly kissed her on the lips and the smiling girl entered the house. Without giving him back the jacket otherwise he wouldn’t have an excuse for visiting her house the next day.

So, the next day he was standing there where he left her, ringing the bell and waiting to see if she’d look just as pretty in the daylight. Instead a really old woman opened the door. Three thoughts crossed his mind instantly: 1. Shit, she really looked good under the freaking moonlight, 2. did she mention she’s living with her mother? Arghh, we’ll do it in my house only, 3. Perhaps she’s a maid; my girl is too delicate after all to have physical contact with a mop. Yet the old lady gave him the fourth alternative. She explained to him how the girl died two years ago in a bad car accident.

Tangled, he walked away, moseyed for a couple of hours till he realized his steps had led him to the cemetery. He stood with terror at the entrance and finally entered. In one second his eyes fell on his jacket, which hung on a tombstone. He ran there, pulled his jacket off and saw her name engraved upon the stone."

The end.

Well, now my poetic and flowery side of me is really happy for allowing her to participate in writing an article. But I’ll continue in a more serious (and sexy-what?): Haunted by this fiction story for lots of days, not so much because my little friend digged giving the creeps to a bunch of 10-year-olds, but for the reflection that it placed. The idea of death occupies all brains sooner or later, more or less.

Some people, sometimes - as it appears - try to rationalize the fear of death by devising the after death life. The soul that does not die, just deserts the body, “the existence that does not cease to exist” is reported in religions, mythologies, in legends and traditions, fairy tales, etc., etc. The Dead Man, (have you seen the Jim Jarmusch film by the way, dead man, Johnny Depp, Neil Young’s music, a movie-miracle also called classic! Must see…) in any case, (either he’s walking in heavenly gardens, flying in another dimension, or hanging around with us the living) maintains his mind by thinking actively. “I think, hence I exist.” Deckard namely stated, “Cogito ergo sum,” in Latin…Yes, I’m demonstrating my fine knowledge…hahaha.

All for the sense of existence! The faith in these perceptions salvages the persons from the soul-burning thought: How it becomes that I am over thinking, speaking to myself, and communicating with my guts for God's sake? Naturally, these concerns - 'phobias' would be a more accurate word - trouble, sometimes to death, all of us. Datum line: the human being is the only-known creature on planet that thinks constantly and feels present, his inner voice having spirited off pretty much-completely (cool word combination “pretty much-completely”) the animal instinct, the way to take decisions and execute them involuntarily.

The force of habitual functions is here, also unbelievably, unpredictably powerful. We fear death because we are used to the presence of our existence. Hmm. Reasonable?

(How much, however, does faith and occupation with the after-death life help us to reconcile with (eventually) Mr. Grim Reaper’s visit and suppress the supreme threat? To be continued…)

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Sand2006-10-11 10:47:05
What makes me curious about ghosts is the way they smoothly walk through walls but dont fall through the floor.

Alan2006-10-11 10:53:39
I thought I've seen one once!

fantina2006-10-15 22:38:31
I don't believe in ghosts but your story was thrilling.

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