House of Darkness House of Light (72 page)

No one in the family knew quite how to react to what they had witnessed; how to express the dismay, having played a natural part in such an obviously supernatural event as well as its inexplicable aftermath. Returning to his easy chair, Roger made no further reference to the anomaly, pretending it didn’t happen, but his dis/ease was evident to all. For the rest of that day the house remained quiet; its occupants subdued. Once voracious cravings for oranges abruptly subsided, a dramatic loss of appetite occurred, extending through an inordinately quiet dinner. Not one of them lifts an orange to their lips without remembering the Sunday afternoon one bled to death in their mother’s hands.

Unlike most of the incidents and experiences they shared during that rather unusual decade, there are conflicting accounts among the family regarding this particular event. Carolyn recalls her reaction to it a certain way; the rest of the clan, quite another. Describing her behavior in far more benign terms than her five children do, each revisits the episode with identical detail and clarity. As far as her family is concerned, their mother’s response was more bizarre than the actual incident. Even at her worst moment, this was entirely unlike her. They all recall her acute anger and frustration bubbling up like the blood itself…from within. At once accepting and rejecting the concept of an occurrence which defied any logical explanation, Carolyn’s outburst of pure disdain was shocking for all. Her belligerence; a defiance of and resentment for whatever was causing the orange to bleed, was palpable, entirely contrary to her nature. But then to deliberately ingest the remains of the vile substance was transformative. With purpose; beyond reason: an act of war…taking no prisoners. An impulsive and equally repulsive act instantly impaled the mind and the memories of every witness. The animalistic tearing away at the flesh of the fruit: as symbolism, reflected on Carolyn as an altered entity in those moments; out-of-character…as if out of her mind, as if someone wicked had taken her place. An internal conflict: the struggle to retain control of her own life force. Heaving the carcass onto a funeral pyre bears its own significance. An incidental ordeal functions as multi-faceted metaphor: as a firm refusal to relinquish control to the living
or
the dead. The conquering of a demon: the battle of a lifetime. The drawing of a proverbial line in the sands of time then daring an evil presence to cross over it: there was much to extrapolate from a solitary event. A time to pause and reflect on the physical manifestation these spirits were capable of creating and manipulating, seemingly from thin air. A bloody orange spilling its contents on the intended victim; damage done was minimal, but the ominous message received was quite another spirit matter.

“The torment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause,

is the knowledge that the self is in prism, its vital force and

‘mangled mind’ leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.”

Elizabeth Drew

 
shared space

“A home is not a mere transient shelter:

its essence lies in the personalities of the people who live in it.”

H. L. Mencken

Children are naturally selfish at birth; imbued with instincts geared toward self-preservation: basic survival techniques instilled prior to seeing the light. They frequently hoard, covet and claim as their own all objects and spaces they perceive to be personal in nature. In this way, children begin asserting themselves; establishing boundaries and developing an intrinsic sense of self. They are not prone to sharing and, in most situations, must be taught by their elders to be kind and conscientious, sensitive to others…as if they were the others. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. There are some children who seem to come by these traits naturally without any prompting necessary.

Cindy was momentarily resentful of the little girl wandering her bedroom, touching and moving her toys. It was a harshness born of feeling threatened and did not persist for long. April did not appreciate having her things toyed with either. She was aggravated by the constant upheaval and rearrangements made in her absence. Andrea was a deeply disgruntled youngster, with good reason as her prized chalkboard was repeatedly tampered with then destroyed and Nancy was certain
someone
was reading her diary! Their precious and in some cases, irreplaceable things were being stolen or broken; misplaced and sometimes disappeared entirely. Theirs was not an environment conducive to an assumption of security for a child. It caused suspicions to brew; tempers to flare amongst the children from the start, within a few days of moving to the farm. There was always a sense of impending intrusion; odd perceptions of space being invaded, personalities being imposed upon; mutually claimed by a presence sensed but impossible to discern. As their disquieting existence became increasingly disruptive, they all made a choice: accept it or reject it. Deny it or acknowledge it. Without formulating any specific strategy (except for Cindy), each child gradually came to terms with her circumstances; each made an implicit decision based upon who they were as individuals, albeit young ones. Carolyn never had to tell her girls how to
be
; she marveled at who they were and, in time and space, what they would become. She did not have to tell them to “play nice”…they
were
nice…as a matter of character.

Cindy knew the little girl was sad and sickly. She likewise knew this spirit was the one playing with her toys, moving them all about the place when she was away from her bedroom. Having touched another child’s tender heart with her mournful cries for a mother who never did come when called, Cindy soon began relinquishing her space to the little one whenever she appeared. Removing herself gave this spirit free reign. Cindy never left because she felt threatened and sometimes felt as if
she
was the intrusive presence. Leaving was a natural act; not fear-based. On the contrary, it was based in love; as a sympathetic gesture, kindness extended to a pitiful soul. Her exit had purpose and reason: she would want someone to do the same for her.

Their deference became habitual. Whenever Cindy entered her bedroom, if she was presented with evidence of a presence, some extrasensory indication the space was being shared, she’d immediately retreat; relinquishing a room to whomever rearranged an entire farmyard over the span of a few minutes. It was when she stepped back, giving another child a chance to play with toys. Cindy’s natural persuasion was to give the wee little one time, whatever it was that
time
meant to her. These children were unfamiliar with the notion of boredom; there was always something else to do, someplace else to go and someone else to see, whereas the dispirited ghosts seemed trapped; no place to go but a memory. If they were capable of reaching through the cosmos, manipulating objects, Cindy considered her intentional act of kindness as an accommodation, a favor; an act of respect for the dead. It was obvious to her; their existence was an extraordinary occurrence which could and should be acknowledged with reverence. Her uniquely generous spirit was, in itself, a form of contact; like pouring seeds for wild birds then withdrawing into the shadows, at a safe distance, to watch them feast in morning light. There was something special, intrinsically satisfying about the practice of sharing for one too young to yet realize or appreciate the concept of good character she exemplified: an excellent trait. This escaped her; the good she had done as a child…for a child. Practicing the presence was essentially something sacred.

Of course, two adults had to adjust as well, particularly difficult when one of them refused to believe his eyes. Carolyn was frequently confronted with images constantly reassuring her that she was not alone…never alone. Many times she experienced identical sensations as those reported and complained about by her children; it was that distinct impression of being watched. Even when the spirits did not manifest in the corporeal realm of visual reality, they remained nonetheless real. A scent. A chill. Footsteps from where no mortal dared to tread. At times it felt downright crowded. Their constant barrage of sensations began as a confrontation, evolved into a distraction and eventually became a way of life: the new paranormal. In fact, it was only a matter of time before each of them discovered the space they supposedly owned was being shared with apparitions and entities which seemed to belong there as well; they did. Selfishness served no purpose and in the case of a child who cried too often, kindness extended seemed her only respite, her only glimpse of a childhood lost in the ether when left at play, even if the time was spent in solitary confinement while wandering the cosmos alone. The thought of it was too much to bear for a mortal soul who knew she had plenty to spare and time to share her belongings; perfectly willing to forfeit all of it on behalf of one far less fortunate than she. Little wonder then, when these treasured toys disappeared due to the generous act of a sibling, Cindy felt deeply conflicted and resentful of the offending sister. Yes, there were living children who had nothing, but she didn’t
know
them! Cynthia had struggled with a loss on two fronts. The trinkets of childhood measured her time. An ethereal connection had been abruptly severed as the little girl stopped coming to play. From then on she only cried; the heartbreaking ramifications of one well-intended act. If she could have only stopped Nancy; counting the losses…regrets all around.

Bonds form in close quarters. Familiarity does not always breed contempt. Attachments between mortals and spirits are difficult to comprehend and will undoubtedly prompt much debate. In defense of relationship initially born of necessity, truth be told,
strangers
can be stranger than fiction and so can the truth. If a proper introduction is made and a positive attitude is maintained, the more crowded a neighborhood becomes, the more peaceful it will remain; one big happy family. If souls involved will simply try to get along, disputes can be amicably settled; working together in unity could result in a mutually beneficial conflict resolution. Down in the trenches, the gray space between black and white, the darkness and light of life and death, there is a light at the end of the tunnel: a pathway to heaven from hell. Reaching common ground requires uncommon valor. A truce declared in the midst of war brings respite for all involved. Space claimed can be space shared: Peace be with you, my friend. In death as in life, it only takes one bad apple: Bathsheba. As with the torches incident, she spoiled the bunch. A house divided will not stand for such nonsense. It does not matter who arrived first or lingered longest. What matters is the intention. Do no harm. Do only good. Do unto others as though they were the others…because it’s the right thing to do. One needs no other reason to fulfill a purpose. Then say a prayer and give peace a chance. Amen.

“Change the changeable, accept the unchangeable,

and remove yourself from the unacceptable.”

Denis Waitley

~ something sacred ~

 
Metamorphosis

“How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares,

were there a danger of their coming true!”

Logan Pearsall Smith

Natural conversion: the transforming of this into that in the space and time required, according to all established laws of Nature. How long does it take a leaf to decompose in autumn; what variables exist which could conceivably impact or alter this process? How to factor the elements into these equations? Simple: “To every thing there is a season and a time for every purpose under Heaven.” As beings in perpetual motion, ever-changing, consciously or not, in death we change yet again, morphing into something else: as pure energy, soul and spirit dispersed into the Cosmos. Metamorphosis is not an event but is instead an ongoing co-creative process which we remain actively involved in during each moment of existence. We are; always have been, always will be, in some form or another. Best we come to terms with Infinity and our own immortality. Accept it and move on across the Universe…at light speed.

No one could have predicted the outcome thus far; the consequences for mortal and immortal alike…bound together and bound to get worse before it got better. Something had drawn them to the home of their dreams, there to experience the nightmare of Reality. It was true. Whether being thrust across the threshold, pushed from behind or dragged in from the cold to the colder, Carolyn had been compelled to dwell within its walls; a sacred place in the country. As if the house itself functioned as a stern old schoolmarm ringing the bell, calling its students into class, it beckoned their assembly. Dutifully bringing everyone else along, soon the classroom was full to overflowing, all of them
present
and accounted for, there to learn their lessons well: “Here!” (
Geography Lesson #1:
On the existential map of life…we are here!) Even if one belligerent, non-complaint student refused to acknowledge the fact he was
in school
, frequently bunking the classes he had insisted did not exist, ultimately he absorbed by osmosis. Initially, no one was open to instruction, unwilling to accept a formal education they had specifically come to receive; disenchanted with the format in which it was presented. Eventually each one of them would learn to listen up! No syllabus had been provided for their complicated curriculum. Difficult to assess multiple messages coming all at once: as impossible to determine precisely who these multiple
personalities
were, appearing like so many guest lecturers on a busy convoluted campus. Carolyn was, by far, the most studious; the one who did all of the research:
home
/work
. She had paid attention in class; took notes, followed directions, remained observant and kept a journal throughout this course as part of her reference materials for use later in life. At times it was utterly overwhelming, everyone teaching them something new simultaneously; challenging them to discern who had something of importance to impart and who was present merely to disrupt the class. In retrospect, it was
all
important: relevant and intense. At other times, the school/house appeared entirely vacant; students would sit there alone to worry, wondering which teacher was next destined to waltz in the classroom unannounced at any given moment in time and space. Such quiet time was welcome; a pause for reflection, like study hall. Best to be prepared for class; the test always came before the lesson. Some absorbed information with five senses; some relied on the sixth, while others depended on repetition; all learned their lessons well. One way or another, all teaching methodology required an element of memorization skills which qualified for credit toward completion of a course with no end. The student who had come to class most eager to learn was the one summarily dismissed; culminating in a rather odd combination of detention and attempted expulsion: punishment time. No apple for the teacher? Graduating to levels of higher learning; it was an unorthodox approach to education, one destined to terrorize and inspire in equal measure, quite like Catholic school!