No Object Can Be a Thing Without Your First Believing It Is One

I’m pretty sure that dark rooms don’t have it in for us. They have no way of possessing us, though I suppose you could possess yourself in such a way and not realize that, or perhaps deny that, in which case you’d probably perceive the room or something in it was haunting or trying to take you.

Actually, I’m pretty sure we are the ones who haunt us, pretty sure demons don’t exist, the way my father was pretty sure I hadn’t seen a giant egg walking around the house at night when he said to me at the kitchen table when I was 5 “It was probably just me going to the bathroom.”

But I’m also pretty sure it’s my face that keeps looking for answers in my living room, whenever I hear the wind moving through the crawlspace and pushing against the walls until they appear to breathe. They don’t, I’m pretty sure, at least not reasonably or rationally speaking.

But I’m not even sure that matters, since, when you come right down to it, no object can be a thing without ultimately believing first that it can be, and then limiting one’s thinking about it to a set of principles one’s already decided to be “right,” which in many cases just means convenient, more comfortable to live with.

For example, last night I was pretty sure it was me who kept repeating to himself the mantra “Don’t be afraid to fear,” while I kept glancing at my coat hanging on the back of the bedroom door, just in case it decided to turn into something sinister and slowly drift toward the edge of the bed with its hands clasped out in front of it, and I’d need to run toward it, screaming with crazy courage, and try to subdue it and make it tell me why it tortures me the way that it does.

In fact, before letting it back up I think I’d ask it if it wanted me to make it a drink or maybe a snack first, the way my grandmother used to ask me “Do you want me to butter your bread?” and if I wanted powdered sugar on my strawberries, and, upon seeing my bruised and swollen face and, being pretty sure I’d had a horrifically unfair and terrifying night, drifted over to the kitchen table with her hands clasped out in front of her and said “You eat as much as you want.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s