Well I hate to admit it, but I do believe in ghosts. However rather than giving you some bizarre story about how I was in a cemetery, or an abandoned mental hospital or the like, mine all take place within my home(s).
My only encounters with ghosts have been with relatives that have died. I don't remember this first one, but I've heard about it numerous times from my mother. I was really young, and my great-grandmother had just died the night before. The following morning I came out and told my mom that a woman had come and sat at the end of my bed last night. She asked what she did and I told her that she just smiled at me. So my mom got out the family album and told me to point to who it was, and I pointed to the same great-grandmother who had died. Now, there are several things wrong with this. First of all, I have no idea whether they had already told me that Grandma Gigi died. Second, she took out a family album - there are only so many people in those pics, so odds are I'd pick the right one, however, its not the only story.
When I was in fifth or sixth grade, my great-great-grandmother died. (On my father's side - the other one was my great-grandmother on my mother's). The night she died my parents were out and we had a babysitter. My sister and I shared the whole upstairs of the house - it was all one room (about 35 ft long), and she had a bed on one end, and I had a bed on the other by the stairs. That night, or maybe the next (its been 15 yrs+ now) I heard footsteps headed toward the stairs in the middle of the night. I figured they were Kellie, and told her to get back into bed. They kept going, and when I sat up to tell her again, I didn't see anyone, but the footsteps continued and went down the stairs. I told my dad about it the next morning and he said he had heard them too, and had stopped outside their bedroom.
The final one was when my grandfather (dad's side) died. (This one didn't happen to me, but to my mom - kinda). Anyways, again, about a day or so after his death, my mother awoke to find the candle moved from her bedside table (her room was right next to the kitchen), and all the cabinets and the refrigerator were left open. She then told me about how he would always check the fridge and the pantry when he came over, and if he wasn't satisfied with what he saw, would take them to the store and buy them more groceries.
All of these can be explained away - however they do all take place in the same time period - about a day or two after a death. My mother used to hold the belief that your soul was on earth for a few days before you went on. With her newly found zealousness, I don't know if she still believes it. Whether they were ghosts, or just our overactive imaginations, I suppose they brought us comfort after the loss. To think that you are so dear to someone that they visit you after death is - OK probably heart-warming and sappy, but pretty cool too.
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4 comments:
So, points on which I generally diverge from the authors:
a) gun control
b) ghosts
Interesting combo.
I think the decision to "believe" or not comes is basically a matter of taste and personal style. Unfortunately, many believers who like to think of themselves as open minded or "sensitive" are actually just desperately credulous and/or woefully ignorant about how reality is actually supposed to work. On the other hand, quite a few "skeptics" are just smug assholes with no imaginations who like to go around using materialist positivism to poke holes in other people's balloons. I think both these extremes are unhealthy and ugly.
Probably most stories like the ones in this post can be explained away, but why would anyone want to? The idea that our dead loved ones can somehow make contact with us (in a strange and limited way) even after they die is beautiful. Sure, if they're telling you to sell the house and invest all the money in junk bonds or berating you horribly for stuff that you don't deserve to feel guilty about, then maybe a dose of hard-nosed realism is in order. But if they're showing you they love you, or even just reinacting charming old habits, then I think it's good to believe.
When I was 12, my mom, aunt, cousin and I went on a trip to Ireland, where we visited relatives. We spent a couple of days in Galway... where we stayed in the house of Great Aunt Barbara, who had just died. (There were relatives across the street, who seemed to figure that putting us up in the uninhabited but furnished house was a great idea.) I lucked out and got to sleep in Barbara's bedroom. WHERE SHE DIED. I was totally freaked out the whole time - especially the evening that my mom, aunt and cousin went out, leaving me alone in the house. I was convinced that I would have an encounter with Barbara's ghost. I never felt anything spooky or ghostly... but I certainly managed to creep myself out all the same.
I think a lot of skeptics come off as smug or overly aggressive because they're frustrated with the huge proportion of the population that willingly and knowingly inserts blind spots into their perspective.
But why is it any of the skeptic's business? Why should a skeptic care if someone believes in ghosts, pyramid power, God or any other self-delusion? I would agree to this if we lived in isolation from each other.
As it is, we live in a democracy. Other people's opinions and decisions influence our lives. People into self-delusion can (and generally do) have sway over important decisions that affect millions of people. This isn't beautiful. It's dangerous. Lying to oneself opens the door to a variety of terrible outcomes.
How far is the gap between feeling something funny in the woods that one thinks is a ghost and believing that, say, Saddam had WMD laying around everywhere? I don't think it's very close, and it can't be quantified. In both cases, though, I think the suspension of disbelief is the key element.
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