House of Darkness House of Light: The True Story Volume Three

By Andrea Perron

Roger and Carolyn Perron purchased the home of their dreams and eventual nightmares in December of 1970. The Arnold Estate, located just beyond the village of Harrisville, Rhode Island seemed the idyllic setting in which to raise a family. The couple unwittingly moved their five young daughters into the ancient and mysterious farmhouse. Secrets were kept and then revealed within a space shared by mortal and immortal alike. Time suddenly became irrelevant; fractured by spirits making their presence known then dispersing into the ether. The house is a portal to the past and a passage to the future. This is a sacred story of spiritual enlightenment, told some thirty years hence. The family is now somewhat less reticent to divulge a closely-guarded experience. Their odyssey is chronicled by the eldest sibling and is an unabridged account of a supernatural excursion. Ed and Lorraine Warren investigated this haunting in a futile attempt to intervene on their behalf. They consider the Perron family saga to be one of the most compelling and significant of a famously ghost-storied career as paranormal researchers. During a seance gone horribly wrong, they unleashed an unholy hostess; the spirit called Bathsheba; a God-forsaken soul. Perceiving herself to be the mistress of the house, she did not appreciate the competition. Carolyn had long been under siege; overt threats issued in the form of firea mother's greatest fear. It transformed the woman in unimaginable ways. After nearly a decade the family left a once beloved home behind though it will never leave them, as each remains haunted by a memory. This tale is an inspiring testament to the resilience of the human spirit on a pathway of discovery: an eternal journey for the living and the dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491829882

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House of Darkness

House of Light

The True Story

Volume Three

Andrea Perron

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2014 Andrea Perron. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

The Blue Horse Copyright 1955 by the Beloit Poetry Journal. Copyright © reassigned,

1959, to the author. Reprinted here with Permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/08/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2990-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2989-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2988-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011903407

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Volume Three

Transformation

IX. Rock On with your Bad Self

* elemental reflections

* windsong

* broken record

* pine forest portal

* cracking up

* season of the witch

* feel free

* if these rocks could talk

* good vibrations

* along came a spider

* journey

* wonders never cease

* to soothe the savage beast

* perfect harmony

* starlight

* a fish tale

* harvest home

* solitude

* welcome home

* stairway to heaven

* highway to hell

* wisdom

X. A Fly on the Wall

* the new paranormal

* right of way

* go in peace

* rites of passage

* terms of endearment

* keep the faith

* manifest destiny

* fond farewell

* carpe diem

* no turning back

* homecoming

* what a relief

* grand slam

* smoke signals

* soul searching

* master of his domain

* escaping unscathed

* ancients and horribles

* photographs and memories

* revisiting the past

* touched by an angel

* mistress of her domain

* darkness and light

* to lift the spirits

* truth be told

* long ago and far away

* collective memoirs

* Carolyn

* Roger

* Andrea

* Nancy

* Christine

* Cynthia

* April

* revelation

* Confluence

Epilogue in Epitaph

Acknowledgements

For my Sisters

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

Charles Dickens

A Tale of Two Cities

House of Darkness ~ House of Light

The Trilogy

Prologue in Prayer

A Proper Introduction

I. A Place in the Country

*let there be light *frozen stiff *sounds of silence

*a matter of time *contact *a chill in the air

*creature discomforts *the devil’s pets *safety in numbers

*sword of Damocles *a very fine how do you do

*familiarity breeds contempt *cold as stone *dusk ‘til dawn

II. Fire in the Hole

*bless this mess *close that door *smoke and mirrors

*spirit matters *scorched offerings *apple blossom time

*kiss of death *omens *from frying pan into the fire

*blue light special *an old torch carries a flame

*fire and brimstone *trial by fire *lady bug

*burnin’ down the house *feet to the fire *bats!

III. Wicked Woman…Evil Ways

*demon doors *knock knock knock *blown away

*Bathsheba *a stitch in time *from insult to injury

*is this the party to whom I am speaking? *a pain in the neck

*message received *twisted sister *solitary confinement

*as the crow flies *off the hook *no rest for the wicked

*sink or swim *a rude awakening *a fate worse than death

IV. Spooked

*going for a ride *bed knobs *broomsticks *boo! who?

*kindred spirits *clarion call *things that go bump in the day

*things that go bump in the night *reality *Baker boys

*go away little girls *told you so *bloodbath *shared space Metamorphosis

V. Ghostly Cries and Whispers

*secrets and lies *make yourself at home *comes and goes

*timely manners *for crying out loud *rearing its ugly head

*history *all fun and games until someone gets hurt *insight

*listen up in smoke *staking a claim *making matters worse

*in the closet *poetry and prose *chants and incantations

VI. Down the Hatch

*ye olde cellar hole *beneath the bell stone *the big dig *eureka!

*a sense of direction *fountain of youth *release the hounds!

*knocked back *buyer’s remorse *black hole *dead in the water

*all’s well that ends well *holy hell *leave well enough alone

*teardrops *a woman’s touch will get a man’s attention *tug of war

VII. Warren Peace

*inquest *divine intervention *promises…promises

*tempting fate *twilight *hippies, freaks and misfits

*blessings and curses *darkest before the dawn *death becomes her

*inner sanctum *fear the living…not the dead *continuum

*eye of the beholder *a little knowledge *all things considered

*more harm than good *wrack and ruin *this too shall pass

VIII. Bless Me Father

*a turn for the worse *a wing and a prayer *all in good time

*comfort zone *common sense *act of god *hallelujah

*something sacred *guess who’s coming to dinner? *joy

*leap of faith *doubt *abandon all hope ye who enter here

*clearing the air *epiphany *the foreseeable future *amen Transformation

IX. Rock On with your Bad Self

*elemental reflections *windsong *broken record

*pine forest portal *cracking up *season of the witch

*feel free *if these rocks could talk *good vibrations

*along came a spider *journey *wonders never cease

*to soothe the savage beast *perfect harmony *starlight

*a fish tale *harvest home *solitude *welcome home

*stairway to heaven *highway to hell *wisdom

X. A Fly on the Wall

*the new paranormal *right of way *go in peace

*rites of passage *terms of endearment *keep the faith

*manifest destiny *fond farewell *carpe diem *no turning back

*homecoming *what a relief *grand slam *smoke signals

*soul searching *master of his domain *escaping unscathed

*ancients and horribles *photographs and memories

*revisiting the past *touched by an angel *mistress of her domain

*darkness and light *to lift the spirits *truth be told

*long ago and far away *collective memoirs *revelation Confluence

Epilogue in Epitaph

In Gratitude

The Blue Horse

That summer we saw the Blue Horse.

We tamed him. His sky-splashed mane

Hummed with the current of surcharged hoofs

That flowed into our stony lane.

His love for us was infinite:

The head held high; the tender mouth

That never knew a bit; the eyes

Compassionate as rain that follows drouth.

We loved him; loved, but not because

He was blue and blue horses are rare—

He taught us love; he tamed us, too—

Our wild minds learned new meanings for care.

Winter: the Blue Horse was with us still;

The mane now ragged; the eyes still bright

But brightness now admixed with pain;

We taught him hate; we showed him fright.

21TheHorse.tif32TheBarn.tif

For Christmas found us listening in the church

To cruel stories; worshiping the star of war;

Our fear forgot his love—forgot

His grief at the sickly fear we bore.

We fought among ourselves: we killed;

The more we fought, the more we feared;

The Blue Horse cried often; you struck me

One day and the Blue Horse disappeared.

We found him when the snow had melted—

Rotted eyes; the mouth become a leer—

He tamed us with his eager love—

We killed him with our feeble fear.

Melvin Walker La Follette

FROM THE AUTHOR

The journey is the reward.

Chinese Proverb

As we approach the end of this journey together, it is important to note that it is merely the culmination of the story as told in written word. Truth be told, the saga continues as subsequent visits to the farm have yielded some rather fascinating encounters over the decades since our departure. Moments of recognition have occurred. No doubt about it. As long as there is an intermingling of mortal and immortal souls and those who experience it remain Earth-bound long enough to disclose it, this story has no end. In the end so is my beginning. So said T.S. Eliot as well as poets, philosophers, historians, metaphysicians, theologians and scientists have in one way or another throughout recorded history. In a variety of ways we have spent millennia attempting to discern the nature of our existence, a noble cause. Still, no one has yet to offer empirical evidence, any definitive proof of the origin of the soul we sense within. Instead, we’re charged with the power of conjecture, sheer speculation our only ally on an eternal quest for answers to age-old questions. It is as if the truth is being deliberately withheld, kept secret, to keep our minds quick and nimble, ever-expanding in a universal search for discovery. In spite of concerted effort and considerable thought, the mystery remains.

The last leap of faith is the most difficult to take, where the chasm is at its widest. It requires your blind trust, a belief that our family is telling the truth. Extricating ourselves from the farm required a quantum leap. It was just as traumatic leaving as it had been to arrive a decade before.

Transformation is a conceptual word, easier said than done. Muddled emotions of many souls were involved in the transition. Bitter tears were shed. Resentment was born then harbored as a result of a decision made to go far, far away…from home. It was painful, awkward and disastrous for a clan that would never again be together beneath one roof. That was the end. Nancy remained behind and by the time she arrived in Georgia to reunite with her family, all her sisters had already dispersed into the ether of the Atlanta metropolitan area. Everyone felt suddenly separate and distinct, no longer a unified front from which to do battle. The war was over. The troops went to new places of their own, finding their way in the dark, marching toward the Light, the promise of a different life.

This volume is dedicated to my sisters. Though much time has passed we remain united in heart, having shared a childhood wrought with peril, ties that bind. Each a force to be reckoned with, as occasional skirmishes erupt within the ranks, we are still the first line of defense when it comes to protecting one another. Cindy will dare an adversary to cross that line. Disputes arise, but on one point we all agree: someday some great minds will integrate, merging in a loving embrace. Science will find its magical spark in spirituality, switching on the Light for all to see. Be not afraid. Poised upon the precipice of this dark chasm, I always reach out. Here, take my hand. From deep within ancient memory, I know the way home.

Yours in spirit ~ Andrea

"The more you understand, the more your world expands.

Feel at ease with all the wonderful changes that occur in this

incredible school of life. Always sit in the front of the class!"

Gigi Galluzzo

TRANSFORMATION

"Once you make a decision,

the universe conspires to make it happen."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

In retrospect, it appears as a conspiracy, a deliberate convergence of cosmic events. Carolyn made her decision. She wanted a place in the country. Having focused her mental energy on a singular desire, essentially placing an order with the Universe, she then moved on in mind, attending to family while silently nurturing the dreamscape along as her vision, no further words on the matter necessary. During fleeting moments, her mind free to wander, she would allow herself a passing reflection, imagining a future free of worry and torments from mortal souls surrounding them in the suburb she reluctantly called home. She knew better. She knew there was a place for her family elsewhere, though she had no idea how far away elsewhere might prove to be. Carolyn allowed herself the luxury of looking ahead, peering into the future at that point in her life, still young and energetic, clinging to a hope that they would find their way home. Trusting her own sense of direction, she followed it all the way to Harrisville, Rhode Island, to the home of her dreams.

Too good to be true? Apparently so. Yet, it was also too true not to be good. As far as Carolyn is concerned, their farm robbed her of youth; her beauty was transfigured as a place depleted her of natural resources in every conceivable way. Supernatural subterfuge. It all seemed cruel and unusual punishment for a mother who had wanted nothing but the best for her girls, especially a fine education. Few children have ever received a kind of education hers ultimately did. However, omnipresent, underlying currents of hostility charged the atmosphere with dark, negative energy. She found nothing remotely restorative regarding their tenure. Instead, it became an oppressive weight, a burden Carolyn carried for that decade and beyond. There was nothing enchanting about it, nothing uplifting…not anymore. A spell cast was born of the blackest magic.

Fear consumed like flames, ravaging the minds of those who had come when called, those who had come to the Light but then had to learn to find their way in the dark hallowed halls of a portal. Fear of fire was the torment, a mother’s greatest fear, what one spirit used as its weaponry. Carolyn lowered her standards and expectations over time. Her priorities drastically changed. Rather than daring to long for a future free of worry, the sensation she’d once hoped the farm would provide as liberation from anguish, from those mortal souls encountered in Cumberland, now she hoped only for a place free of immortal souls and the riff raff they attracted. She once felt trapped, stuck in a suburb. Those emotions reemerged when she sensed her own captivity, imprisoned by a haunted farmhouse in Harrisville. No way out and about to face her nemesis in the trenches, engaged in a competition she could never win, she invoked the spirit of God.

Far more than a tale of two souls who remained locked in a most ferocious battle, this was mortal combat waged against an immortal soul. It was about staking a rightful claim to the position of mistress of the house. As their conflict escalated, the body count kept rising. Collateral damage was done. Five children lost their innocence but gained a new perspective as their father was confronted by the truth. Over time, they would all learn their lessons well and none would be permitted to leave the ethereal classroom until they’d passed the test. Each member of the family was forced to learn about life and death the hard way, compelled to stare into Light emerging from their dark encounters. As such, each gradually transformed, touched by mutual and multiple exposures within shared space, experiencing the shock, the wonder of it all as witnesses and participants in a decade-long duel to the death on two distinct fronts. Carolyn began to become what she loathed. Her transformation took its toll as complications ensued. The séance gone wrong revealed the imminent danger of an evil presence. There was nothing left to salvage from the spoils of a war waged in the Netherworld. It wasn’t a fair fight. Withdrawing into a cocoon-like existence, she would have to heal from the inside, where she felt safely cosseted; knowing better than most, there was no safe place left. The deepest wounds bled from within her soul.

They were always in harm’s way. Some tempted fate as a matter of course in a Universe riddled with collisions and near misses. Carolyn took a direct hit then crawled off the battlefield for a time, to heal wounds sustained in conflict, to restore and reclaim her soul. When she outgrew a cocoon, it ruptured. She emerged profoundly changed, almost unrecognizable. It was the most fearful time of all. The irony of her transformation was undeniable, spawned by another encounter with spirit. No one escaped unscathed. A life sentence was imposed upon them as memories seared into their collective consciousness.

Life and subsequent deaths on the farm seemed to be a series of trials and tribulations as crimes committed or punishment dispensed. Penance or purgatory, it hardly mattered when it came to these spirit matters, as the spirits called all the shots. Best to stick to one’s guns. Would their family get let off the hook with only time served? From the moment they stepped on the property, across a threshold, through a portal disguised as a farmhouse, it was simply too late to turn back. Recalling the words of warning by Paulo Coelho, Don’t allow your wounds to transform you into someone you are not. There were times it appeared they had no choice in the matter. Transmutation seemed the natural course of things in a supernatural environment; Carolyn’s adaptation of identity, a clear case in point. They became entrenched in an ethereal process of spiritual evolution as revolution, a fight to the finish they could not avoid. Surrender came in going on to yet another place in the country…so long ago and far away.

Epiphany is painful. Enlightenment is a difficult process. When all one has ever known is three-dimensional, as if black and white, introduction of a fourth dimension displayed in dazzling Technicolor is terribly hard on the eyes, all three of them. What was once bright and beautiful at a glance became more of a shock to the system when stared at for an extended period of time…too much to take in. H.P. Lovecraft wrote about this kind of conversion. The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the ability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. How does a family so stunned by the sight absorb so many images, messages received? What mercy bestowed? We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. As their journey became truly treacherous, it became a call to arms, but why? Coming to terms with one’s immortality requires a quantum leap in consciousness, no easy feat, culminating in the biggest chill of all.

It was surreal estate with a cosmic twist, the black hole to infinity and beyond. Nobody expected to have to travel quite so far to get elsewhere and it seemed a high price to pay to arrive at the intended destination, a placid place in the country. Lovecraft forewarned of it: …but someday the piercing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age. Peace. Forewarned is forearmed and yet, they were actually outnumbered in their own home. Plunged into a new dark age, they marched forward hopefully into each new moment of it, as advancing their position seemed the only option. Meanwhile, they all learned the truth: reality is much more than meets the eye of the beholder. Humanity dwells in a multidimensional Universe.

Time is of the essence. In retrospect, the timing was impeccable, as everything happens with purpose and reason — right and properly. They came home blind to the possibilities that lay before them, departing a decade later as seers who had all been over-exposed to a negative energy that eventually yielded a positive outcome. It took a long time to absorb it, to process these events. Thirty years to tell a sordid, equally enlightening tale of mystery and discovery. To do so, it required courage, a leap of faith, the acquisition of a belief system that fit the construct as guidepost. Awakening within a new dark age, they’d ventured past the point of no return. Truth be told, if there is no turning back in life, looking back on it, mortal souls may observe only in conscious memory with the mind’s eye. Sparse introspection is essential, but most learn as they go. Otherwise, the journey yields nothing but time spent and sometimes wasted in fruitless pursuit of meaning which refuses to reveal itself. This was a time-consuming, painstaking process that couldn’t be avoided but must be endured by those who’ve seen too much, enough to know that there is something beyond mortal existence.

Human beings begin evolving at a cellular level due to a collision as the cosmic secrecy of seed is released. From a point of conception we continue evolving through life onto death and beyond. A proper sense of direction is helpful but not intrinsic to these excursions on Earth. If we all knew where we were going from the inception, life would be a boring ride. Instead, it is this incessantly shifting intrepid journey through time and space allotted which offers much more in the way of adventure. Carolyn discovered how remarkable it was to remain alive in the wake of spiritual death, then to regenerate, rising from the fiery ashes. Fran was not the only one who knew how to fly away; they were birds of a feather. Once expelled from the chrysalis, both are to be commended for the valiant efforts made in battle, for the fight of their lives, for their lives. Fran’s transition was war won in the end, freedom from pain as the spoils. Each made the trek her way, a rebirth from surrender, crossing the bridge over the river and through the eternal woods. Mother Nature embraced her young with loving arms disguised as limbs. Carolyn healed her wounds, a sticky pine pitch on her fingers as balm for the soul. Battle scars remain, yet Carolyn feels blessed. She survived that onslaught, outliving her adversary, a predatory attacker whose presence cannot be denied, as multiple attempts to pull her down the hatch into a black hole failed. Is it not miraculous to remain alive in spite of and in light of spiritual death? Perhaps her observant children had been right all along. The spirits are the Light in the darkness.

Together, as one, the merely mortal Perron family intermingled with immortality and each was transformed by the experience. They would emerge from this engagement profoundly changed, spiritually stirred, shaken and awakened by personal encounters they will never forget. Together they’d entered a new dark age. To see its Light was the challenge, the message and the lesson. Their tests always came first. When they emerged it was with a truly life-altering realization. There is no death. There is only transformation.

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be

called the children of God."

Matthew 5:9

Simple Gifts

Traditional Shaker Hymn

‘Tis the gift to be simple,

‘tis the gift to be free,

‘tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

It will be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed.

To turn, turn will be our delight,

‘Til by turning, turning we come round right.

‘Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,

‘Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,

And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,

Then we’ll all live together and we’ll all learn to say,

‘Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be,

‘Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of ‘me’,

And when we hear what others really think and really feel,

Then we’ll all live together with a love that is real.

Shaker Elder Joseph Brackett, Jr.

1848

41TheStoneWall.tif

"Look deep into nature,

and then you will understand everything better."

Albert Einstein

IX.

ROCK ON WITH YOUR BAD SELF

"Be not overcome of evil,

but overcome evil with good."

Romans xii. 21

Stone walls rock and roll across the New England countryside as a fixture within pastoral views. When born and raised in bucolic New England, these remarkable structures are nothing unusual, rather, a normal part of life as the ancient markers that separate farmland, establish boundaries and decorate the landscape. If good fences make for good neighbors, then stone walls make the very best fences, impervious to the elements. They create a patch-worked landscape with slabs of stone the land yielded, remnants of the last Ice Age. Of course, they’ve served a purpose as a means of keeping cows in pastures while providing the necessary barrier for other creatures as well. Still, when one examines any well-planned well-built stone wall it’s a wonder to behold, something to admire. Students of this Colonial Era know the backbreaking history. They know slaves and indentured servants built the majority of these labor-intensive lines in the sand, one stone at a time, every edifice erected with far more than a few drops of blood, sweat and tears. Within the broad strokes of human creativity, stone walls are those fine lines of history etched upon the Earth. They have a story to tell. They’ve left a mark on the planet. To be sure, they are a normal part of everyday life in rural New England but the walls enclosing the backyard at the farm were supernatural in nature. If only these rocks could talk…but they did. Talking rocks did more than that. They sang and played like the children, as an instrument accompanying wind song within a magical valley. Stone walls were an integral part of the whole big picture, a gift, as an elemental reflection, grand relics with a telltale past.

"The primary beauty of silence becomes audible

in the elemental music of the earth."

John O’Donohue

Inclined to venture forth out onto the massive property, this family soon learned the intricacies of a framework of art, following the walls to sacred spots, walking with them into the woods. There is a place behind the house which yields a magic all its own, a spot that reveals the true power of nature, intermingling as it does with its walls of stone whenever they perform an interlude, in concert with the wind. The children heard it first and wondered about the origin, unable to identify a source of the sound. No one recognized it. As foreign as it was enticing, it produced a trance-inducing tune when the land was laden with fresh fallen snow. During their first winter at the farm, one storm after another blew through, gale force winds ushering snow along at light speed. Once the birds were stunned into silence, their tranquil valley lined with granite issued its blanket invitation to the wind. Let’s play. With that, stones would begin creating their own haunting melodies, a miraculous kind of rock music in its purest form. Slabs of granite sang elemental songs. This cacophony of vibrating air was heard lashing against encrusted crystals, causing eerie echoes throughout the valley, cries and whispers of unforgiving wind. Every gust revealing secrets kept for centuries, its depth and resonance fluctuating wildly with the brisk breeze, it was sublime, symphonic in nature. Hypnotic by divine design…a spell cast by the Mother.

Sleds and flying saucers in tow, the children began their long journey at the top of the hill, just beyond the kitchen door. It was during one of these sledding sessions they’d first noticed music playing in their own back yard. Surrounded by trees, interplay with exposed limbs and thick, lush evergreens was the likeliest cause and the wind itself was noisy, after all. Still, the sound seemed to come from a lower position, closer to the ground. By the time they arrived at the bottom of the treacherous hill they realized it was stone walls serenading them. Depending on velocity and direction of prevailing wind, it whined or whistled, cooing as it crept. Or, if thrashing through gaps of space between compressed rocks, in its mad dash to the muse, the wind became wedged among slabs, caught up in then spun around, crashing into itself in collision and collusion. Turning to come ‘round right back from whence it came, pushing into then out of crevices, it impacted an impenetrable force of nature: granite. Pivoting in place, freeing itself from the confines of the black holes tucked between stacked stone, it rushed back through narrow passages, out the doorway it entered, passing itself in the process, in frantic friction. To this extent the laws of physics apply. It seemed a natural phenomenon with a few supernatural undertones. Its rapid, repetitive motion is its creative force; releasing energy, creating synergy as it intersects with the stones, producing a synthesis of sound unlike anything the girls had encountered before: wind and rock playing together in perfect harmony. They went to get their mother. It was something she had to hear! Tuning into this circuitous frequency was joyful, a message delivered directly from Mother Nature, received by all who possessed fortitude to brave the elements. Curiosity casts its own astounding light. She bundled up to join them at the foot of the hill, leaning in, listening closely to what was being revealed…the cosmic secrecy of stone.

The Earth has music for those who listen.

George Santayana

Once they realized the source of the sounds, dark and stormy nights were not so scary anymore. The girls welcomed this natural lullaby as they drifted off to sleep. It was beautiful. On particularly windy nights it drowned out the other sounds they heard in the house, pretending not to notice. Nature was an escape, their destination. It was a grand part of what many would objectively describe as an idyllic childhood. Truth be told, it was a place to go, their way to get away. However, land surrounding the farmhouse was equally dark and mysterious. It was home to the spirits inhabiting the dwelling. This had been their land and they knew it better than anyone else because they had worked the land in life. They’d built stone walls and cleared pastures and knew every square inch of the property. Supernatural episodes routinely occurred there. A veritable variety show of scenarios played out on its expansive stage, on a patch of sacred ground, the parcel of Earth known as the old Arnold Estate. There were life lessons to be learned at every turn in those woods, primarily that the woods certainly did not qualify as escape from supernatural activity occurring inside the house. Outside was merely a change of venue.

There is something to be said for broadening one’s horizons, peering into the cosmos with the mind’s eye, though none of them was remotely prepared for what they’d see. No one could have anticipated to what extent this would occur over time. An entirely new ‘cast of characters’ was destined to emerge, introduced in the woods, by the woods, like the native children who’d come home to play in the pine grove that did not exist when they were alive. They did not belong to the farmhouse. These children belonged to that land. It was their home long before the house was ever built, eons before those pine trees were supplanted into their memories of a past place on a planet revisited.

***

Even though stone walls on the property remained dead silent when the wind was calm, they still possessed an elemental vibration which was easily, eerily detectible to those who knew who how to listen, how to feel. One need only lay the body down, to rest upon the altar and sense the Earth beneath. It was the sensation of a mighty river rumbling through the planet hundreds of feet below the surface. It was the most incredible discovery, phenomenal in Nature. One need only be still long enough to look with new eyes, to see and touch, to feel and listen to perceive God in all things of the Mother…Earth.

"Touch the earth and listen to the rocks

for they remember.

They know and remember

all that has come to pass here."

Lee Henderson

elemental reflections

"To find the Universal elements enough,

to find the air and the water exhilarating;

to be refreshed by a morning walk or an

evening saunter; to be thrilled by the stars at night;

to be elated over a bird’s nest or a wildflower in spring

– these are some of the rewards of the simple life."

John Burroughs

From the moment the Perron family began exploring the sacred grounds of one of the original Providence Plantations, everything changed. They were already deeply rooted there; they already belonged to the place in the country long before it belonged to them. A mysterious connection occurred. Perhaps it was more a matter of reconnection. From the instant Carolyn saw a listing in the newspaper she had bought on a whim, the process began as a series of events that would ultimately transport seven mortal souls through time and space, where they’d engage or re-engage with spirits in an inextricable bond, perhaps one formed long ago. Life and death intermingled as one at the farm, as everyone involved was on the same wavelength of an alternate reality: an inter-dimensional excursion where they could ride the astral plane: existence. It was important, more than a field trip deep into a bountiful countryside, its wonders to behold. It was a journey which would prove to last a lifetime. So began an odyssey of epic proportions, an odd, unexpected diversion along an otherwise ordinary path, with profound spiritual implications for all. If it was a curse it was likewise a blessing…the darkness and the light.

***

There was always something stunning to discover — an act of Nature, an act of God around every corner, under every rock, behind every bush — no need to beat around it to raise the dead. This land conspired with the spirits, complicit in their travel affairs. Cavernous aquifers riddled a trembling Earth beneath bare feet hundreds of yards below a quivering surface. They felt the vibrations created underground, as if the perpetual low-level earthquake was shaking or stirring them to the core from a distance, subtly infiltrating a body and mind with a barely detectible frequency of its own. Like a mighty freight train, an ancient canal ran full steam ahead, an invisible river roared through the rocks below. They could sense its tremors, the faintest aftershocks.

"Adopt the pace of nature, her secret is patience."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Carolyn spent a great deal of time in her garden during the three seasons she found tolerable. Yet as the fourth approached, as light began shifting into narrow, slanted shafts spilling across the wooden floors of a farmhouse, her mood descended with the sunlight. Alas, she began receding into its shadows again. As winter set in she’d relegate herself inside, living light deprived, in concert with the angle of a fiery orb. A bleak season, bitter cold and barren, during these months she would become a reclusive writer, as solace, delving into her own space in mind. Sometimes, as an act of protest, channeling her anger onto the pages, she would write about war and peace. The supernatural torment she endured found its way there in another realm, in a life and death intermingling of pain on the battlefields of Earth. Transmutation. The dream had become her nightmare. It was winter again. Cruel cold found its way into her bones, into her thoughts, pouring forth onto the pages of her life.

"I closed my mouth and spoke to you

in a hundred silent ways."

Rumi

For some reason, the death and after-death of Prudence Arnold haunted her most profoundly. It forced her to consider the youngster’s gruesome end, to think of her own girls, to go where no mind should in those darkest hours just before dawn. So many children, too many little lost souls, long gone and often forgotten. Local graveyards were brimming with tiny tombstones one could easily stumble over, buried beneath dense brush, the names all but lost to time or never etched in stone at all. Some went unnamed, likely painful to assign an identity beneath such tragic circumstances. Some lost in childbirth; many more were claimed by the first disease that made its presence known, imposing its harshest sentence upon the innocent. How many souls perished in their home before them? Wondering if she would ever survive the loss of one of her own, Carolyn fought her way out of this mindset whenever it took hold or had the chance to become a morbid preoccupation, but her dreams, her sleep was often disturbed. Bad dreams. Dear Prudence…screaming and screaming through the slash across her throat, drowning in her own blood. At times, closing her eyes felt like a death sentence, impending doom awaiting, lurking in the background, lingering at the darkest corners of a subconscious mind, further burdening a deeply troubled mother. Oh! What a world!

To sleep, perchance to dream…

Late September Song:

winter fear

Time hangs its head in desolation;

through the dusty window

I watch a hedgerow

of wilted hollyhocks

a mocking pile of corpses

fallen brown and broken

stacked against the icy walls

of winter.

Time warps and drifts.

It mimics thought and dream,

distorting beyond recognition.

I seek my bed and ask –

what day is this – what year?

I sleep

I dream and madness crawls,

old terrors come