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The Rug Goes BYEBYE ... April 14, 2006
Today I found out where my ancestors are buried. It's so funny that I could have driven right by them, hundreds of times, and not even known there were so close. Only a few hundred yards from the roadway, six feet under, sure, but right there, watching...watching. When I was living in a city nearby, I kept having the most terrible nightmares, too, featuring these horrible, matte eyed, crackled people, who would watch me, just sit there in folding chairs and watch me as I did all the usual horrible things I do. Eventually, they would stand up, still staring at me with those eyes that had seen infinity, those horrible eyes, and close in. They would move closer and closer until, finally, all I could see were those eyes. Those hungry, dead eyes that would swallow me, suck me in, and then the screaming would start. It was the inarticulate, subconscious screaming of ancestors long expired, people I had never met, people who hadn't even been alive when I was born, but still people who had a vested interest in my life, people who had a right to their outrage over the failure my life was becoming. I knew these people were my ancestors, even back then, although I wouldn't have been able to identify them, even if someone had told me their names. It's funny, because after that day I finally moved away, I never had another one of these nightmares.
Grandpa told me, today, as we were driving back from the store, right past those ancestors buried in some graveyard I hadn't even noticed, where they were. If I had known they were there, I might have been able to understand those dreams a little better. I might have been able to rationalize them by telling myself that I was just psyching myself out.
The urge to visit those graves is really strong, now. I want to go and appologize, explain myself.
Then again...
You know, when I was a kid, I heard that one must always hold one's breath when passing a cemetary in order to prevent the spirits of the dead from entering one's body and wrecking havoc. I was always careful to do this. Sure, I pretended to my brother that it was just a game. Sure, once we had passed, I would giggle with him over how stupid we had been. But it was serious business for me. I believed in spirits then, and still occasionally catch myself hiding superstitious fear of the dead roaming the countryside, free of their earthly forms, ready to slip inside to help and hurt, but mostly hurt.
I haven't held my breath to pass a cemetary in many years, anyways. I realize how odd this would seem if I were to try something like this if I happened to have someone else in the car. It's a bad habit to encourage in oneself.
Maybe my neglect to shore up myself against these angry spirits has allowed them enter and torment me for my many grevious indescretions, or maybe, I just thought writing all this shit would make a more interesting journal entry than complaining about my sad little life. Again.
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