The day I became a haunted house

Some people believe houses are haunted; and it could be.

Though there’s more evidence for humans being haunted.

Humans like me, for instance.

Sometimes I declare myself worried. ‘I am so worried,’ I say and believe it to be so.

My worry is the most reasonable thing in the world. Surely I have every reason to be anxious because of so-and-so?

Like a dark cloud across the sun, this worry clouds my psyche and I begin to hallucinate, imagining the worry to be me.

Yes, I now seem somehow defined by it.

I move from a noticing a concern passing through me to the strong sense that this is who I am: I am this worry! And to hell with everything else!

Is there any way back?

I am not this worry, of course. That’s where I begin. It isn’t who I am at all.

Like most distressing emotions, it is a distant memory acting up, a parasite leaching off the now, a child-like panic resurrected.

My present circumstances jangle old bells and stir old ghosts into life.

Behold the haunting – as spirits from the past, with clammy hands, take hold of my life again.

Until I remember I am not worry; until I remember that peace is who I am.

While old ghosts trespass on land that isn’t theirs…

I am peace.

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