Given the content of this blog, the title, my affinity for ghost stories, and for watching hours upon hours of ghost hunter shows on the Travel Channel, one would assume the answer is obvious.
But it isn’t.
Did I have paranormal experiences as a kid that shaped my fascination with hauntings? No.
Do I currently see ghosts or truck with demons? No–well, some of the people I work with are kind of sketchy…
Have I ever actually been on a ghost hunt? No, save for some drunken wanderings through Jerome, Arizona.
Have I had any passing encounters with the spirit world at all? No.
Yet, like Fox Mulder from the old X-Files, I want to believe.
Kind of. Maybe?
I’m not sure. Perhaps a better question is DO I want to believe? Do I want incontrovertible proof of whether the spirit world exists? Do I want the metaphorical body of a Bigfoot dropped on my doorstep?
No, because to know for certain, one way or another, takes away the thrill.
I love the eerie atmospheres of broken-down dwellings, of ancient graveyards, of eerie castles and pubs, of gloomy forests that come with ghosts and hauntings. I love the mood, the mystery, the suspense, the tension, the unsettling gothic tones and colors. I love the lore and religiosity behind demons, the truth behind the myths, the details behind the legends. What makes it so exciting and interesting is that it could be real. Knowing that it isn’t would take all those experiences away.
On the other hand, having an actual belief in the paranormal would put me, I think, in somewhat of a moral conundrum.
To believe in the idea that a soul can remain after death makes me feels selfish. To believe means my novelty or enjoyment would be dependent on the suffering of others. For me to scratch that itch and have my warm, cuddly feeling in the shadow of eeriness means that someone is lost, alone, drifting in a world where they no longer belong, locked from whatever may be out in that light, that the terrible things that caused someone to become a ghost actually happened, that people suffered and continue to suffer, not just in this life, but also in whatever comes after.
All that spooky shit doesn’t sound so much fun with that in mind, does it?
Plus, definite incontrovertible scientific proof would totally screw up my head. Some believe the government hides the evidence of extraterrestrial visitors because the general populace couldn’t handle that knowledge. I would agree that we couldn’t. The same is true with the existence of God. Imagine the paradigm shifts that would have to occur, the change in thoughts and processes, that would have to happen if we really did know those things existed. Imagine the mental damage it would cause knowing that we aren’t the center of the universe and, no, it isn’t all about us, etc. I think the same would be true knowing that there is an afterlife.
Maybe the fact that there couldn’t be any solid, unquestionable proof of the paranormal makes it so attractive to people. The magic of possibility would never fade; it’s a thing we can pursue while always knowing we have the safety of the status quo to return to because all evidence of the paranormal is questionable at best.
So I think that’s the better question then–not do I believe, but instead, do I want to believe?
It seems as if I don’t.
It’s the hunt I enjoy, not the kill.
Ghost with Lantern and Ghost in Field Photo: by Monstera Production: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-wearing-a-ghost-costume-with-a-lantern-5635101/
Ghost on Bench: Photo by Lisa Fotios: https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-in-ghost-costume-sitting-on-a-bench-10082740/
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