Though astounded by his dexterity, the eager woman performed her chore with equal finesse, trimming tufts as if she’d done it a thousand times before. Mr. McKeachern would be proud of her initiative. If only her husband would ever take her as seriously. While reminiscing about the spiritual experience it occurred to her how vivid this remains in her mind. Carolyn declares that she can still hear the crack of the wood and the snap of the blade against the bark as she collected that singular piece of nature itself with which to locate the elemental source of life from beneath the crust of the planet. The effort made was mortal. Finding water was purely an act of God… divining intervention! Carolyn found the act inspiring. An enticing adventure was about to begin.
Surveying the lay of the land, Carolyn decided she wanted the well drilled close to the house; less dirt to dig, less line to bury. With grid-like precision, bound and determined to cover every inch of every acre, the woman began to walk. It was a slow, tedious process, to be sure. For the longest time nothing happened at all. She was beginning to doubt if she had done it correctly but suddenly paused, allowing her intuition to take the lead. As if by some subtle magnetism, she was being drawn in toward the mystical place, carrying her magical talisman. Meandering around the front corner of the expansive yard, nearing the site of the old blacksmith shop, the deep-earth explorer made a startling discovery. The divining rod lurched and twisted in her steady hands; she felt the birch rolling between her fingertips! The alder branch began to behave precisely the way Mr. McKeachern predicted it would. Remarkable! Carolyn could feel it happening, leading her along with elemental vibrations. She could sense the existence of an invisible river, rushing silently beneath her, deep below the ground. Mesmerized by the sensation, Carolyn observed the alder branch, tugging impatiently downward toward its Mother source, jumping about, practically yelling at her; pointing her in the right direction. “It’s here! The water is right here!” There was no question about it. No doubt in her mind anymore. “Eureka!”
Satisfied a proper spot had been chosen, Carolyn needed only to convince Roger of its efficacy as a tool, if not her accurate aim as a novice dowser. He knew it was dependable, accepting her conclusion without question or doubt. The scout knew the divining rod as a primitive but wholly effective tool, not some hocus-pocus. Fortunately, he’d had some experience with them and he had faith in the tool and, as a refreshing change, his beloved wife. Believing she picked the right and perfect place, he was equally fascinated, especially after she showed him the reaction a lowly twig had to an inconspicuous plot of land. It was obviously gravitational in nature. No doubt about it. Time to dig a hole in the ground. Call in the heavy equipment and drill, baby… drill!
***
It was a blizzard, all the way from New York to Rhode Island. As harsh wind-driven snow swept the landscape linen white, obscuring an otherwise luminescent vision of twilight, it masked a sunset trying to make its presence known but fading fast. Like kids, eager to please. No time to admire the sky. Dig in! Losing the battle along with the light, they fought on, clearing a path to the general’s quarters that he and his car could occupy. Dig! They had to get the job done and they did! Just in the nick of time a space was cleared. HALT! Who goes there? Going the distance required, pushed from behind by an ill wind, Roger made it home. Emerging from white gauzy haze, a vision: Here he comes! There he goes! He could not see the gaping hole in the snow prepared for him by a family frantically waving as he passed them, bye… bye. As visibility diminished to the point of invisibility, it became clear. He’d missed his turn entirely, careening past them in a blur of wind as swirling snow obscured his vision, too.
Any port in a storm? Spotting them as he passed by, inches away, faces and fingers pressed against the foggy glass startled him out of a snow stupor. In that shocking moment of recognition, the vacancy in his transfixed gaze disappeared. Eyes unlocked as the brakes locked up. He jammed them to the floor board. Daddy simply could not stop it in the time and space allotted, sliding right past the entrance to their barn. A car literally skating on thin ice, he was all over the road, an out-of-control Bonneville with an equally out-of-control father behind the wheel. Jerking it hard to the left, missing the stone wall by mere inches, Roger plowed down the sharp embankment into their circular driveway, untouched by human hands, four feet deep. Buried alive! Swallowed whole by a snowdrift, there he remained as foot soldiers ran to the rescue through the ruts left behind. DIG! Adrenaline surging with the troops, they all had an underlying expectation of disapproval from the general, anticipating a foul scowl or evil grimace from the one ultimately in charge of this fiasco. They had followed his orders, completing the cold and nasty task at hand, in gloves, with shovels, accomplishing a madcap mission… all that was asked of them. This was not their fault. It really wasn’t anybody’s fault. Blame Mother Nature! Or, God forbid, himself! In their haste to dig him out of a hole he dug himself into, brushing away the snow from the ice-encrusted windshield, a sense of relief swept over them like a great gust of winter wind, striking at their in common senses and the heart of the matter. Stranded, literally under the weather; otherwise, dad was fine. Observing their ongoing excavation became a mutual process of discovery. No woe be unto them expression in his tired eyes, a nice surprise, instead they had found the general, a stern soul, still laughing at himself! Exhuming his shaken and stirred, chilled-to-the-bone body, the smile frozen in place on his face, Roger was instantly warmed by the good cheer of his infantry.
Welcome Home, Sir! Looking a bit haggard, more road-weary than usual after a trip, this had been no ordinary road trip. Escaping the intrepid journey unscathed, the grateful eyes of this beholder emerged from within a vehicle still submerged in snow, adrift, but at least in port for the storm. Arriving safely, the biggest dig of the day was done.
“I see you’ve curbed your enthusiasm.” Carolyn’s slightly snide remark could have been a message received with disdain but Roger took her gentle ribbing with good grace under fire. He screwed up and he knew it.
Dutiful snow bound foot soldiers all had frozen feet! Boots on the ground, marching single-file back to the barracks, they had lost the battle but won the war. The only supernatural aspect of this story was the super storm and the fact that the entire family was in high spirits! Even Carolyn had to laugh as she followed Pooh Bear all the way home, over white and drifting snow.
“Help one another, is part of the religion of sisterhood.”
Louisa May Alcott
~ one of the biggest digs ~
“Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity; so that
not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand.”
Henry David Thoreau
eureka!
“If I have ever made any valuable discoveries, it has been
owing more to patient attention, than to any other talent.”
Isaac Newton
That incessant pounding was a mind-numbing ordeal, day after day, week after week, driving an entire family to the brink of madness. How could they, how could anyone do this for a living? That poor man had to stand out there, right beside his rig, feeling it rupturing the Earth as his body took the brunt, strike after strike, traveling up his sternum, in the heart and heat of summer. Digging a hole in the ground was no easy feat. At least the kids were free to flee. Go away little girls, as far away as possible from the offensive, nearly deafening sound effects created by a massive contraption attacking the planet in perfect syncopation. BAM! BAM! BAM! A house and everything inside it vibrated with the commotion of a ruckus raised outside, pushing the drill bit down into the ground one solid strike at a time. Panes of glass rattled in their windows, shattering what peace of mind Carolyn could muster in the midst of it. Dishes trembled on the shelves. Her husband was equally on edge. This force to be reckoned with was forcing them from their home. Though no one spoke of it, everyone was thinking the same thing: maybe a divining rod was not such a good idea after all. Two weeks and counting. Roger rearranged his schedule to
stay home for the duration of the drilling but this well was eating up too much time and money. He had to get back out on the road again.
On the morning he decided to head out, the gentleman drilling their well was still shaking his head. He had never seen anything like it; four-hundred feet and counting… and not a drop. Disgusted, Roger packed his bags then loaded the trunk of the car with sample cases. Time to go. Pouring himself another cup of coffee for the road, he’d stepped out of the kitchen, through the screen door. From that vantage point he could watch the rigging directly in front of him, just about fifty yards away. Roger dropped his mug on the stone steps. Everyone present on the property heard it occur but Roger saw it happen; the gut-wrenching sound of twisting metal, groaning like an injured animal. A pressurized explosion knocked the old man back from his rigging equipment. Run! He bolted. Fearful it would topple onto him, as he began running away, Roger was running toward the scene, his eyes to the skies, overjoyed by the outcome. It was a veritable geyser! Old Faithful would be impressed by the copious amount of water shooting straight up, one hundred feet into the air. Based on Roger’s reaction, anybody watching would have thought they had struck oil. Hallelujah! The sudden outburst of pressure shattered the meter; nothing left of the gauge to accurately measure output as countless gallons of pure water flowed from deep earth into the sky. The pond quickly formed. A cause for celebration: EUREKA! Followed by a moment of stunned silence. Thank you, God. Humbled by the sight, a pause for reflection was called for in that holy moment. Finally! Nectar of the gods. On the verge of giving up, with a drill bit buried hundreds of feet in the ground, they struck liquid gold. The Rhode Island Health Department received its samples and performed the standard analysis, declaring it to be the purest water in New England, sharing identical components of the Lost River of New Hampshire, buried during the last ice age… some of the cleanest water on or in the planet. Awe-inspiring! A blast from Earth’s ancient past. Hope springs eternal.
Artesian wells are standard fare in Rhode Island but this one? It broke the mold and the meter and the equipment and the gauges and the rig. It broke the record. They had a hell of a time capping it. The pressure was so extreme it forced water out from around the seal year round, creating a pool too cold to touch. The state inspector listed the well as “immeasurable” but since he had to, by law, record an estimated figure on a form, he noted the outflow at approximately “110 gallons per minute” and then beside it he noted the well as “an unlimited supply” which makes it, all the more, one exceptional find. Nectar of the gods flowed as a fountain of youth from deep within ancient Earth. It was as if it was alive, as if it had a heartbeat, a pulse pushing it up to the surface once the vein was opened. It did not escape the couple that they’d tapped into something eternal. Rushing upward, anxious to escape that cold, dark place where it had been entombed for millennia, at long last, the long Lost River of New Hampshire could see the light of day again. Sparkling with rainbows dancing in the mist of a wild geyser, it was something sacred.
Vindication! Carolyn was excited and delighted that her divining rod had spoken and it had told the truth! A sturdy alder branch coupled with a steady set of hands and this patient, deliberate dowser located one of the wonders of the world. She’d discovered treasure buried deeply beneath Mother Earth, an elemental source of something mere mortals cannot live without… pure water.
“The most exciting phrase to hear in science,
the one that heralds new discoveries,
is not ‘Eureka!’ (I found it!) but ‘That’s funny . . .”
Isaac Asimov
a sense of direction
“Be tolerant of those who are lost on their path.
Ignorance, conceit, anger, jealousy
and greed stem from a lost soul.
Pray that they will find guidance.”
Cherokee Proverb
Following her instincts, a highly refined internal compass, her uncommon sense of direction, Carolyn knew when it was time to move on. As a fixed destination in mind, elsewhere, she set a course for parts unknown then went to look at a farm in Harrisville, Rhode Island. The moment she saw it, she knew she was home. With a shared sense and a common purpose, they leapt from the precipice and learned how to fly, to navigate the old Arnold Estate with relative ease. Carolyn was not alone in desire for a place in the country. From the instant the family stepped onto the property they all knew precisely where they were coming and going to and from, over time. Drawn to a scent in the air, stone walls, the hayloft, the borning room loft over the woodshed, to the river then over the river then through the woods, they’d been pulled in by an inexplicable gravitational force, sucking them deeply into the vortex, a portal to the past and future alike: homeward bound. Becoming quite lost in its beauty, they found the place they all wanted to be, a place they belonged. Bewitched and transfixed by the sensations of a house unlike anything they had ever seen before, it was unique. Alive. Sipping the nectar, sweetest water touched their lips. Having succumbed to its essential Nature, nobody had to tell these girls to count their lucky stars, though, while inspecting the night sky, they’d found there were clearly too many to count. No one forewarned them of the pernicious presence who did not want Carolyn there, though she was more than willing to accept the rest. A battle for property rights began.
But what of the spirits? What was it which skewed their sense of direction after death? These poor souls were lost where the Perrons had found them, suspended in the ether. Unwilling or unable to move on after life ended, they hung around, as if they had no place to go. Shrouded in darkness, each of the spirits had failed to go to the light. It is often presumed that each should have followed a common sense of direction, traveling toward their cosmic home.
So what stalled their progress? Perhaps they’d committed a cosmic crime. Several of them ended their lives by their own hands. Suicide was the choice made by Mrs. Arnold and Johnny Arnold, a path taken in life to hasten death. There were others who did not seem to know they were dead. Do they have a penance to pay? Are they held there as captives, prisoners in a holy war? The fairest of them all, dear Prudence Arnold was an innocent victim of evil. Her rape and murder, throat cut with a straight razor, surely qualifies her for entrance to Heaven. Evil had a name. Bill. He cut his own throat with the same razor used to end her life. Had he been instructed to rid the planet of himself once the devil’s footwork was done? The mystery remains.
There’s a not-so-fixed point in time and space at the farm. A destination is likewise a destiny for those who dwell within its sacred walls, for those who’d walk the path leading to the great unknown, in spite of the fear of it. A portal cleverly disguised as a farmhouse, it successfully enticed the family to its door. What leads the way? Does intuition exist as an internal compass, pointing all of us in the proper direction, showing us the way to come home? Perhaps the spirits were meant to remain sequestered, awaiting some notice, hoping to be heard by those who learned how to listen up in smoke while mirroring former lives of their own; as holy spirits needing to be known to those with an ability to see in the dark, see the light in their eyes, feel the fire still burning in their souls. Is it all part of some grand master plan?
Mrs. Warren considered it a tragedy that they had been left behind, bound to this Earth for eternity. Cindy believes they are here with purpose and good reason. It was more than a glitch in the system. God does not make mistakes. Word up! Straight to Heaven. Is the GPS recalibrating to accommodate these long lost souls or, in the grand scheme of things, are they where they belong? With a shared sense of destiny and an uncommon purpose, the Perron family launched and landed at that farmhouse for a reason. There is no such thing as a coincidence. They had converged on a place in the country which claimed them all in body, mind, soul and spirit, from the beginning, but was it their beginning? As each became captivated by its magical qualities, they became inextricably linked with spirits who still haunt within those walls and roam the hallowed halls, sharing space with m
ortals in a multi-dimensional portal to the past, a glimpse into the future. But what of the family who cannot shed their images that visit and revisit them in a dreamscape that will never die?
Essentially, they are all going in the same direction, guiding each other on sacred steps along a righteous path. It may be they were meant to make their presence known, there to get a message out, through those perceptive enough to hear the call, receptive to its significance and implications. Whether or not it was well-received is of little relevance. At a fixed point in time and space a convergence occurred and mortal messengers forced by memorable exposure to immortal souls took up the torch for their cause. Like it or not they’d been assigned a task in the cosmic classroom, there to learn their lessons well so to impart their knowledge to others… a different kind of religious instruction. It took thirty years for the message to sink into their collective consciousness as it was a hard lesson to learn, but they’ve been going in the right direction.
House of Darkness House of Light Page 17