When we think of ghosts, hauntings, and things that
terrify us when we are alone in the dark, the things that makes us race to the
light switch at the end of the hall, the things that make out hearts race or
pulse quicken.
A common theme is the poor soul who has gone through
something so violent, so terrible that they cannot move on; they cannot go into
the light and reach their full potential. What a terribly sad forlorn idea, it
is melancholic because it is darkly beautiful; the idea of some jilted lover
killing her adulterous husband and now the spirits locked together, forever in
a dark dance playing out the heart ache. Over and over it plays, lost souls
trying to find their way out, or home.
Every day we see this with the living as well, some
poor girl having her innocence robbed too young, now plagued with eating
disorders and confusing affection with love. The young boy beaten by an
alcoholic mother and neglected by an absent father, and now he punches holes
into the walls and his lovers. On and on it goes; the soldier whose war
followed him home and is now hyper-vigilant, the cop drowning himself in
whiskey every night, the exotic dancer watching herself in the mirror. These clichés
are tragic, melancholic, and far too often the norm. We are haunted in our lives
and we haunt after our deaths.
Trauma is such a powerful thing, it is as powerful
as hate, as powerful as love, it transcends all language, culture, and even
death.
