Haunted By Interior Ghosts
Here, Emily Dickinson perfectly captures what it is to be trapped inside the screaming vortex one’s own depression. In the dark chamber of our mind, at once desolate yet teeming with ghouls, all manner of horrors rush back and forth, dragging their chains of bondage across the moonless corridors with such veracity that they’ve been whittled down to the point of breaking. Shackled, ourselves, by our inescapable misery, we cower from those demons, haunted not only by the original fear but also by its shadow, and that shadow’s shadow, a cruel, mocking macabre house of mirrors. And soon we are swallowed into a noisy carousel of braying victory and screeching madness, the furious rise and bob of the ebony horses of hell’s chariot, the blackness spreading until all hope is annihilated.
Yes, it is indeed, far safer to meet an external ghost.
