The Ghost Canary

Ghost Canary

Some say they hear bumps in the night. When investigated, there’s often nothing, and no one there. Perhaps it’s just the old building settling down after a hard days work. The wooden rafters contracting under their heavy load. Whatever it is, these sounds can be unsettling, unlike the sound of the ghost canary.

Not many hear her over the din of other sounds. The very fact she seems to just sit and sing is a strange phenomenon in itself, not to mention, she isn’t real. Female canaries aren’t even supposed to sing. Then again, if you mentioned either thing – real or sing – perhaps offence, would be the result.

It’s only out of the corner of the eye, can she, be seen. The sound is clear enough. A beautiful song sung, just for the sake of singing, or she hoping to attract a mate, another ghost canary out on the wing? There are a lot of them when you take the time to notice, freed from the black mines, where they died, of our fire.

It’s that thing about being at peace I suppose, when you simply find pleasure, in singing a song. After all, the ghost canary is no more afraid of us, than we are of it, or once we’ve investigate, the nothingness of that bump!

You’ll also see the ghost canaries when you’ve nothing to prove; no hidden agenda, no lonely message, no love to find. It’s that peace of mind that causes you to sing, even when there’s no one there. I sense those people retired from it all, they’ve done their bit, made peace with the world. Never assume it makes them as harmless as a canary… mind.

You might think she sits in a little house, discarded on a kitchen cupboard, amongst pots and pans with unloved mugs sat cold. But no, she’s everywhere, it’s only the symbol that’s static you see. She plays her tune in your left ear, then it’s your right, all because this time you’re listening, no more in a fright.

She doesn’t love you, it isn’t that causing her to sing. It’s her freedom dong that. The ghost of her former self, giving us a sign. Her beauty and gentle sensitivity, used by the gorgons, to save their wretched lives. Carried deep underground, where the poisonous truth filled her lungs, choking out her life, so fast, the gorgons had time.

There are no canaries left, to do this job for us now, we must find a better way, to dispel our poisonous gas. No gentle souls are prepared to give us their time. We’ve used that particular card, way too many times. But bless the little ghost canaries, as we enjoy their song, freed from the hazards, the hazards of mine.



He couldn’t remember a time of ever feeling safe; not ever. He supposed, in a way, it came from the understanding that you couldn’t rely on anything or anyone. The older he got, the more he understood some fundamental assumptions, and here they were: In childhood you should be able to rely on the adults around you. In adulthood, when damaged, you should be able to rely on a welfare state to take care of you. But the thing he’d come to know, was that none of this, were true.

This was the case, especially when those in authority couldn’t, or didn’t want to understand

Because his problems were something he’d been taught to be ashamed of, he’d spent his entire life, trying to hide them. The authorities failed him because they were choosing to remain blind to the truth of his problems. The real problem frightened them. It frightened them because of its scale. Right now, society faced a massive, problem.

If a government wants to take care of its people then it should take full responsibility

When he looked at it through cynical eyes, he saw those within government, as only being in it for themselves. He saw that they didn’t genuinely care about the people at all. Surely if they did, they’d understand that looking after damaged people, is only half their responsibility. And if they really cared about the people, they’d tackle this problem. A part of his mind – he thought of as paranoid – did actually know what the real problem was. The real problem lies in the people themselves. He often wondered if keeping people from the truth had become deliberate? He understood, if you tell people the truth, you hand power to THEM. A power he was beginning to find. His self-diagnosed paranoia, exposed, as a lie. 

As he began to immerse himself in this power – the power of truth – he experienced unfamiliar feelings. All of his past started to become irrelevant

He now understood the unfamiliar. The unfamiliar was a feeling of safety. It was, after all this time, the recognition that true safety is found, not through anything mysterious or otherworldly, but through changing how he used the cleverness of his mind. He realised what he needed to do. He realised that his own worst enemy had been his own mind and his own feelings of insecurity. It was this insecurity that had been driving his illness. It was the cleverness, his mind had been using to find the illusion of security, that had been working against him. A powerful circular pattern of self-fulfilling fear.

His fear had been driving him to seek a security – outside of himself – that never existed. All he needed to do, was see this for what it really was: A grasping to feel loved and needed through some kind of recognition. His lonely soul longed for company and security. The illness was the madness of this driving. This was the disease that cured him. Now he could see, he’d been using the cleverness of his own mind, against himself.

What he also saw now was his own vulnerability; his own disbelief. Another part of his mind had already found a way to create the security he needed, and it was this he’d doubted. Some sought oblivion through the contents of a bottle or syringe. Long ago, he’d denied himself these escape routes. He wanted to face the truth. And it was this that was setting him free.

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