Su casa es...

Not mi casa es su casa —- I never say that because it's in Spanish or Mexican and turns out too kitsch when it’s inserted into a conversation in English. It's as if they think the user were showing off his or her Spanish, all five words of it. With only five words, you're going to reveal far more than you can hide. But if you want to go at it, to discuss big things in a big way, let's go out in the parking lot. We'll see then who knows the most Spanish!

This story I’m going to tell you is serious, though. By calling it serious, I mean it actually happened, or almost did. You must decide whether you believe me or not. I can accept what you think. It's a very divisive topic.

The fact is, I live with ghosts and am not afraid to admit it upfront.Yes, I'm saying that ghosts live, especially the ones I’ve known, that there is such a thing as a ghost. Or ghosts. They have to be real, because I know they move about and occasionally speak.

We've read and seen all that exists on the topic from probably prehistoric art to this very day. We know the doubters aren't likely to change theur minds unless they change their definition of 'ghost'. Also of: dead, gone, buried, somewhere, home, here 

They stand out from the wall, but not for long. That one of the characteristics of my ghosts. They don't stand out. They aren't loud, They smile, if I catch a glimpse of their faces. You can tell I'm not generally afraid of them, as they show no agressiveness in any of their body language. Also, as long as I see them, as long as I am alive, they are alive, so I can't fear their presence.

My ghosts are most often my parents. This is not unusual, of course, especially given the description I just provided. I’m glad I don’t have to deal much with all the grandparents I had practically no attachment to. Somehow I feel there’s probably not much to learn from them. From my parents, yes, there’s a lot left to learn. But if our conversations in life were limited to one or two words from them, then a startled reaction from me, it’s not very productive, either. 

It may be I need to learn another language. Maybe the great greats from other countries would communicate better. Those ghosts I'd love the have visit and stay as long as they wanted. We could trade recipes and tales about crossing the Atlantic. But they haven't come yet.

Then others I mentioned earlier, the unidentifiable ghosts? They come the closest to scaring me, because I don’t know what they want. I know the great greats or even the great great greats wouldn't frighten me like that because we're the same blood (or were the same blood) and they don't threaten me like a tribe from over the hill. We'd stand together. But I'm getting distracted. I tend to do the when gabbing about ghosts.

Then other ghosts I never knew nor could have ever known, like three generations before mine and from somewhere far off, beyond Gog and Magog. These ghosts stand in back of the ones that are more recent, like Mom and Dad. It would be so nice to get to know all the really old ghosts, but perhaps they've become brittle, like the pages in ancient books. They might not survive the trip back to the land of the living. I don't want to be responsible for their suffering. It would be enough to hear their wisdom at a distance, but I’ve given up hoping for even that to happen.

Then the ghosts of characters of books insist on passing through as well, not usually at they same time. I tend to keep my real ghosts and my fictional ghosts separate..

Definitely ghosts of pets appear near me. Those don’t frighten me, but they do cause a lot of pain. The longest dream I had about my first and only dog is still clear in my mind. Just so you know. I see the photo where I’m five and the puppy has just arrived. I adore her already, it’s obvious in my expression. The only dog ever; she lives in my memory like the day we met. I am more of a ghost than she is, because she is still a mucch-loved puppy and I am not.

So, good ghosts and bad. There isn't just one sort, and there could be a few less defined.

Real ghosts and invented ones, that are only based on made-up characters. Is that a legitimate qualification? When you're talking about ghosts, you're in murky waters. If I invent or say I have conact with my ghosts parents, is that any crazier than the ghosts in all the Gothic novels and Poe's followers? Are the ghosts of Shirley Jackson better than mine because they're fictional characters?

Can a house or a dish (or the food served on it) be a ghost? Or are those just memories? We don’t seem to be able to avoid that question, do we? Can’t a memory be a ghost? We say a memory haunts us sometimes. So something that haunts must be a ghost. A ghost that is memory, too. Distilled. Silenced?

Are ghosts memories, though, or the opposite? Dies it matter, if both are elements from the past that enter our present and create changes or require adaptations that aren't always comfortable.

Am perhaps I only a vessel of ghosts, a ghost-holder?

Do I choose where I put my ghosts? You might find that worth knowing.

My bedroom, mostly we’re alone. I mean, nobody appears when there's another person in the room. Also, oddly enough, the room stretches outward to provide space for them. They don't request or need it, but seem to appreciate the gesture. I almost forgot that part, the way the room changes in size. Maybe that's because I always saw my parents in a big space and they don't look natural in my smalll house.

Maybe you have questions or would like more details about my life with ghosts.

Do I talk, listen, or just sense, you ask? Do I see them? (Didn't we just cover that?)

Do I hear them or just think I do? I believe I indicated this, but I do hear them, although the sound is so muffled and I can't tell if there's any emotion.

Do they look like humans or puffs of smoke, do they breathe in the cold?

I confess. I always believed in ghosts and wasn’t afraid. Other kids thought I was strange because of it. I say If they make me afraid, they’re not ghosts at all; they’ve become monsters. Also, I'm not afraid of witches, but that's a whole other story.

What do we talk about when my house is occupied by a ghost or two? When do we hold our conversations? 

Sometimes it’s an exchange of just one syllable, which I’ve decided is intended to make me talk to myself and stop doubting them. But I don’t doubt them. They could have just asked…

The time and place of the exchange tends to be the evening in my room, but can vary. I need to give that some thought to see if I can do a better job at conversing. One can't share a lot of every exchange is limited to three words an hour. I need to develop more fluency in this type of communication. Not sure how to go about that.

Oh, this is doing anybody any good, this one-sided conversation. (I can see the look on your face.)

Maybe I’m obsessed with ghosts. I can accept that, but there needs to be a reason.

Maybe I am a ghost. It's one possibility.

Maybe, it's something different. Maybe, like the brilliant writer José Bergamin said of himself with a devilish grin, I am posthumous. Not completely funny, because it means that you think you’re reading this. It also indicates that you actually believe you read it. 

In other words, face it, you believe I’m telling you this story. 

You and I both know means you’re communicating with me. 

That has to mean only one thing: that you believe in ghosts because, after all, you are talking to me, not walking by with your head turned away.