“I remember.” Carolyn shook her head in disgust.
“What did you do, Cin?” Nancy was still on the line.
“I looked at her and said, ‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.’ She went, all right, straight home and never came back again!”
“That’s not funny… the poor thing. It must have scared her half to death!” Mother was not so amused but everyone else smiled. Mission accomplished, almost a good ghost story. When Cindy left, Carolyn continued to lament the dark days and darker nights they spent in Harrisville; by the time two months had passed she knew they were in trouble. Her original idealism about their family having a place in the country had already begun to be displaced by an equally powerful deep-seeded cynicism she retains to this day. “All I wanted was a safe place to raise my girls. What we got was the opposite. I learned to hate it as much as all of you loved it. You couldn’t even play a simple game without having your lives threatened and your minds cluttered with things no child should ever have to endure. I knew the place was dangerous. I felt it in my gut when you carried Cindy in from the woodshed. What was I thinking? I should have listened to my own instincts and gotten you out of there much sooner.” Tears crept into Carolyn’s voice as she finished a poignant thought. Andrea took over the conversation, punctuating it with a point no one had yet made.
“We all survived it and we’re much wiser for it. Personally, I consider our time at the farm to be the best decade of my life. It was a celestial classroom. I learned everything I needed to know about life and death and because of it I haven’t wasted a minute of my life worrying about death. It was a blessing.”
“Not everyone survived it.” Carolyn was correct; likewise a curse, or so it seemed. She could not forget or discount those who’d come to call, so many friends who met an untimely end, if there is such a thing. For the remorseful mother, there was no good cheer that day. No laughter, no light to dispel the darkness in her heart. No fun and games. Revisiting the past, she found once painful memories had returned with a vengeance and they still hurt like hell. Front and center, present and accounted for… so much for burying your dead. Exhuming them proved painful; she’d been right to fear the process of telling this tale, suspecting that all of it was still very much alive in her mind. Some things one never forgets. Imagery impaled as permanent impressions leave a mark, indentations that do not heal with time. Here they were again, the scars on her heart, all of them dead and buried remarkably close to the surface.
“Idealism is what precedes experience;
cynicism is what follows.”
David T. Wolf
insight
“Instinct is something which transcends knowledge.
We have, undoubtedly, certain finer fibers that enable us
to perceive truths when logical deduction,
or any other willful effort of the brain is futile.”
Nikola Tesla
Always trust your gut! Cindy’s gift was more than meets the eyes. It came from her mother or perhaps the close encounter she had with death’s door at two months of age. Wise beyond her tender years, the child learned quickly to listen to the little voice inside of her head which told her when to be wary. Forewarned is forearmed. All of Carolyn’s kids were either born with or later developed a keen eye, sensory perceptions which guided them along on their treacherous path through childhood. Of course, there were times when they’d choose to deliberately ignore it, for the sake of curiosity, but it was not that they hadn’t heard it. Cindy, always looking inward to reveal then interpret messages manifesting beyond the confines of her mortal mind, in this respect mimicked her mom. Carolyn set an example for her girls. They emulated her, observing when to withhold critical information from their father, keeping secrets to keep the peace, as a matter of necessity. They learned to solve their own problems most of the time, a prime skill put to good use later in life.
Instinct and intuition comes from the gut as well as the mind, that visceral sensation which warns of danger; impending doom. Both are functions of internal constructs mortals cannot entirely comprehend, yet the human race manages to put these important tools to good use, especially its women. All mothers supposedly have eyes in the back of their heads, an interesting, if somewhat gruesome image to conjure up. Even though these two words are often used interchangeably, they each possess a distinct definition. However, they work in tandem in a variety of ways. Instinct is as ancient as intuition, a facet of human development; that which kept safe those with the good sense to listen up. Ancestral in nature… holy smoke signals from beyond the grave, each is a part of that grand strand every soul weaves into the tapestry of life. Some think of it as an unidentifiable, actually invisible element of a strand of DNA. Others assign it a more ephemeral quality, meaning based on the stars. Third eye blind, Roger did not understand, develop or use inborn intuition for some time after moving to the farm, but the girls, including the mistress of the house, relied upon the accuracy of perceptions revealed from within.
There is one aspect of these gifts, also invisible to the naked eye, which is required to activate their functions. Belief is the key. One must have faith, a certain trust in the process for it to work efficiently. Intuition literally means learning from within and the only way to learn a lesson well is to listen up in class. Voltaire espoused a philosophical tenet, captured in the words: “Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.” Faith is, by definition, the lone foundation of all religious thought and doctrine, all magical thinking in its highest form. Based upon previous experience their family had no reason to believe in spirits, to believe their own eyes no matter how keen the senses. At first, it was easier to dismiss the notion. When they were out of sight they were likewise out of mind. Otherwise, mortals would go out of their minds, stressing about so many strange occurrences. Later, as it became clear, the only logical explanation resulted in a natural conclusion drawn of a supernatural dilemma. Roger preferred to reduce everything to its lowest common denominator, the bottom line… if he couldn’t know it with five senses then it didn’t exist in a sixth.
Was it intuition suggesting Nancy look out in the woodshed for a missing sister? Or was it common sense at work? Based on Nancy’s extensive track record it was most likely the former. She seemed the one least endowed with good old fashioned common sense or refined intuition. Yet she was always the one who sensed a problem and ran to the rescue. On the day Cindy got trapped in the wood box, Nancy and Chris searched for her by a process of elimination, as every safe place to hide in the house had been explored while looking for their little sister. Once reunited in the kitchen, Nancy and Chris were stymied by her absence. What voice told Nancy where to seek next? Had she sensed her sibling from afar, from the other side of that massive structure? It cannot be denied. They retain the special bond, nurtured in childhood. Truth be told, Nancy is far more astute than given credit for, often saying “I have a feeling” instead of “I had a thought”. No doubt about it. She was certainly in tune, in time for Cindy. They still spend hours together, every day, hundreds of miles apart. Thick as thieves, they are… birds of a feather. They find each other by a process of illumination. They had both learned a valuable lesson in youth: physical distance is irrelevant to metaphysical relationships.
As for absence noted a more pertinent question asked: why didn’t mom sense it when her children were in supernatural distress? She was the one with finely honed skills, sense and sensibility, yet there were many instances when they came running to her, screaming that they’d been left alone, abandoned in the midst of a crisis. There is only one logical explanation. They were not heard. It is clear to them now. Her senses were obstructed, deliberately blocked in the same way her husband was absent when she needed him most. Instincts disabled, an intense intuition erased from existence, a mother was as much in the bubble as her kids crying upstairs. When a farmhouse is shuddering and children are screaming and falling down stairs, no matter how big th
e house, they’d get heard. That is, unless they cannot be. It was not a matter of being distracted or too distant. When the episodes occurred, it gave new definition to far, far away as a measurement of physical distance. It does not attempt to explain the astral plane. Being a being in two places at once is illuminating as mortal experience goes. Being someone else, someplace else, occupying the same space in a different time reflected the multi-dimensional nature of Carolyn’s place in the country. Something sacred and scary, all at once.
To dismiss one’s own instinct is irresponsible. Roger did precisely that. It was not a matter of him being oblivious. He was fearful. He did not want to be drawn into the house and defied it to affect him. When it did he got angry. His instinct was sound. He chose to ignore it. In fact, the only time he really ever used it was the first time he saw the old Arnold Estate. Believing eyes spoke to his heart. Roger fell in love at first sight… on the spot. He trusted an intuitive longing and followed it all the way to Harrisville, Rhode Island.
Once there, he abandoned his intuition the same way he did his children. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. Gone but not forgotten, even when he was home, he was distant. The house affected a father, too. He was stern, if not cross, much of the time. No point in listening for what he would not hear. According to Roger, five senses were good enough for him, a sixth dismissed as so much hocus pocus. No matter what occurred around him or to him, Roger refused to listen to his gut. Adding insult to injury, he’d often blame it on his wife. He found it easier to find fault with others, rather than looking inward to a family dynamic he was creating and then perpetuating, alienating everyone in the process. How many times did Carolyn forewarn him about a pending partnership she did not trust? Inevitably, she would have the privilege of saying “I told you so” when he ignored her sage advice and went ahead, against her will. It was his marked unwillingness to listen to his family, especially to his wife, which created so much consternation between them. Pick the worst partner on the planet. Go ahead! Do as you please! And so he did. When Carolyn’s intuition was fully functioning, he had no faith in hers and refused to acknowledge his own. He’d never trusted his wife’s word for things he could not comprehend, so his actions always spoke louder than her words. So began the disintegration of a marriage made in hell, as marital bliss turned to blisters, a decade before its actual dissolution.
He had to make her be wrong! Roger hated it when Carolyn was right and she had no qualms about throwing it right in his face. Conflicts between them became commonplace. It put the norm in paranormal. As if he resented gifts bestowed upon her, he did not develop his own until much later in life. When it came time to admit that he was frightened by his lack of control at the farm, Roger had his epiphany. He realized the truth about his lack of self-control, his predisposition to become adversarial without fair warning, not as much as a moment’s notice. A deep-seeded fear had a hold on his soul and it shook him to the core of his being. He’d attempted to control what he could, including his wife. The master of the house felt utterly emasculated, so he fought back. He is a tiger and the stripes he so proudly wears came with him for the ride. No tugging on that tail!
To pause then reflect on one’s life is no easy feat. It requires an enormous reservoir of self-awareness and mental discipline; nothing hocus pocus about it. Roger finds it difficult to gaze back into the image. In retrospect, the most highly refined intellect can be tested by an entity from parts unknown and it is no match for the manifestation. During his more contemplative moments it occurs to him that he’s made mistakes; he is only human, after all. However, in spite of this, he remains as defensive as ever, and will still try to absolve himself of responsibility by blaming his behavior on the spirits! No excuse!
It was cosmically challenging to live on the farm: a holy spiritual journey. Time and space, both suspect. Very little made sense and common sense was little help when it came to a scenario unfolding which deliberately interfered with a loving mother’s intuition, her innate ability to sense what was coming on before it even happened, let alone rescue her own while it was happening. Carolyn’s gifts were inborn but frequently overshadowed by something more powerful than her capacity to sense a presence with a purpose, its intention to disrupt, to be known by her young. She couldn’t stop what was happening to them because she didn’t sense it; never saw it coming… none of them did.
The most fascinating aspect of the journey revealed itself years later as an intriguing story of darkness and light. Introspective moments spent dredging up the past have proved noteworthy. Instinct and intuition come into play as a vital part of the equation, riddled with mystery. This process has caused all of them to look back but their faith has compelled them to seek answers from within. As Lillian Smith so succinctly expressed, “No journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.” For the past thirty years this family closed their eyes to an intense, frequently disturbing vision they’d once been forced to behold with unprepared eyes. They rarely spoke about the ordeal, even with one another. What they endured left scars on their hearts and minds. It isn’t easy to revisit the past, to re-examine old wounds, to see if they’ve healed. Exposing them to open air is what they have needed all along. It has caused a great healing, one long overdue. A growing awareness of “what one seeks lies within” has compelled all of them to dig deeply into their own dusty archives, to clear all the cobwebs from the darkest recesses of memory. Much remains a mystery; many questions, few answers. It has been a fruitful endeavor for all involved, shedding new light on a dark matter… blackest hole in the firmament.
Roger has struggled the most with it, Carolyn the least. She has faith that it will help others to tell this tale in its entirety, no matter how difficult. Even though Roger developed his innate skill set rather late in life, he remains reticent to discuss his insights with anyone. It pains the father of five in ways he cannot give voice to, as it breaks with the natural outpouring of emotions he would rather not express. Carolyn’s insights flow with relative ease, as naturally as they always did. In words uttered and in deeds done, she remains generous in spirit. Together, they are a study in darkness and light, forever juxtaposed as opposing forces to be reckoned with but never reconciled.
Forthcoming in a manner no one expected, Roger shared generously, too. Some things occurred in the house that no one will ever know about and it is their prerogative to withhold certain details from this public record of events. Suffice to say, enough of the saga has seen the light of day. Never again will it be relegated to dwell in dark shadows. It is time to tell the truth. The world is ready. Insights abound. Acceptance of the existence of spirits is no longer an issue. In unison, the family has opened the door and crossed the threshold, again. Faith is pivotal to the process. Thirty years have passed. Knowledge is gleaned from hindsight as well as insight. “If there are any answers to be had they will come from within.” A wise sage said it best. Carolyn pried open the door to her soul, cleaning house, sharing secrets with the world; no easy feat.
With maturity comes a willingness to confront the demons haunting mere mortals, coming to terms with the history and mystery of life’s experiences. It is impossible to reflect upon this time and dismiss the significance of an incredibly spiritual journey. Through a process of elimination Carolyn was determined to discover the identity of the souls with whom she shared space. Doing so became a process of illumination. Though most of her memories are dark, Carolyn admits it was a meant-to-be moment when she found the farm… her destiny. She readily acknowledges it. The Universe doesn’t make mistakes. Her philosophy of life is simple: what will be, will be. Let it be.
“The path of love and the path of insight lead
into the same garden.”
Stephen Mitchell
listen up in smoke
“It is the province of knowledge to speak and it is
the privilege of wisdom to listen.”
Oliver
Wendell Holmes
Her bedroom would be silent, lights dimmed, whenever the smoke came. From those early days during their first winter in the house, a pale, thin mist began to seep into Andrea’s room, infiltrating beneath the door to the middle bedroom. Sometimes this presence was noted as a hazy, lazy film of swirling fog gathering at a window shared by both rooms. Sometimes she would look up from her work and find herself surrounded by the light translucent smoke. Because glass in the ancient panes was so raw and rippled, the phenomenon first appeared as an optical illusion, as a reflection or a shadow on the glass. Within moments it began to dissipate, receding from window to floorboards, as if it was peering through the panes to see if anyone was home. Certain she was there to spook, as if it had eyes, the bluish-gray vapor crept through the cracks of the door (there is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in) and her initial reaction was panic: FIRE! Where there is smoke… but no. She checked. It was just a spirit in rebellion. A strange sensation: to be relieved when what one witnesses is only a supernatural manifestation and not something much worse. Carolyn knows this feeling well. So does her eldest daughter, having come close to witnessing the farmhouse going up in flames on more than one occasion during the decade. The threat emerged as a theme.
Though it always arrived with little fanfare, this apparition was so beautiful; enticing to mortal eyes. It was fascinating, a serene presence, mesmerizing as a hypnotic trance dance; its form, casting the spell. As if wrapped in Salome’s veils, delicate tendrils of wispy smoke swirled around her on the bed. Andrea believes she was chosen to be the observer, as a vague, almost imperceptible voice would always instruct her to look up and away from her homework, to watch what was happening instead. Heads up, kid. This play had a show off! Her bedroom was perpetually active, though this type of manifestation was, by far, the most frequent visit she experienced there. Whether working at her desk or reading on the bed, in rapt attention, a total focus could and would be interrupted by a certain something, a gentle tug on her intuition, a change in the light. It caught her notice, spoke to her. It told her to look up… a startling reminder that none of them were ever alone in the farmhouse. What Andrea best recalls of this recurring incident is the sameness of it. Her senses were not assaulted and were rather soothed by a presence. With an exception made of the one time she thought the smoke signaled fire, Andrea never felt fearful of the apparition. Once she became familiar with a seemingly harmless entity she welcomed it, received as a gift. There was something loving in its nature. Nothing wicked; no need to beware… no harm done.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 8