A lot of times I feel myself unreal, that in fact,
that in fact I am inhabited by a ghost, that I am a figment of someone else’s imagination,
or that I am channelling some other entity,
who soon leaves me just afterward. The leaving fills me with longing. I don’t feel anything deeply, during this time; it’s just a superficial noticing that comes and goes, as though I am a passenger on an otherwise unmanned boat. A small boat, a rowboat, with no oars. Far out on a vast sea. Knees drawn up, bare feet against the wood, chin on forearms, staring blind across the waves.
Here I finally sit in my tears. My back against the wood. Whatever the tears are for, I know it’s a good thing, the ghost in me is finally crying, that means I can release it, or that it will release me, soon.
Spectral wraith, hungry all the time, barely seeing, barely living. It wants me to see it, to let others see it. Then it can be free.
I forgive myself for publishing.
I understand it now, it’s not me, it’s certainly not narcissism. It’s the releasing of the ghost.
The ghost wants to be seen. The ghost is sitting, watching, inhabiting the passenger of the rowboat. At the end it leaves my body, smiling, takes up the oars that were not there before. And I am free.
Nadine inhales & exhales words & images from current vantage point in Zone of Emptiness, France. Thank you for reading. ❤︎
Edit: removed this last line: “It rows forwards, facing backwards, facing me. And I am smiling on the sea.”