when we have an idea, we first consider it a complete thing because of its ability to be identified. it’s a thing which exists, it’s a thing which is finished, and therefore it’s a thing which is other than myself, which is not finished. in a narrative sense, we position ourselves after it—the self which has identified the idea as other than itself is a self which already contains the idea within itself, so that it can declare: “i have an idea”.
to say the same thing: when we have an idea, we identify it because it can be identified.
an idea comes from within, and yet it’s a part of me that’s not me. it seems to suggest that there’s a part of myself that i don’t have access to. but how did it get there? why is this shadow, this ghost, this representation of myself haunting me?
what is a haunting? it is an internal misalignment, or a rupture within, so that not only can we say, “that man [he/subject] is haunted,” but also, “that house [it/object] is haunted.” it seems to come from within us, to the extent that we understand ourselves as being constituted in part by spirit, and therefore capable of being haunted. but it also seems to exist inside of contexts or structures within which we as spiritual selves aesthetically qualify an instance of spirit as being a haunted one—the haunting always happens inside the house, inside the cornfield, inside the forest, for example.
what we fear most about the haunting is above all that part of our own selves which threatens to succumb to the haunting represented through spirit, which is also in our own selves, before our very eyes. there’s a part of the ghost inside us all.