Children of Sight: We Have Always Known

By Candace Caro

Children of Sight

traces my experiences in association with a belief that I may have been blessed with a gift which involves interaction with a world beyond the everyday. I primarily target the individual who might share my sense of communion with the spirit world and may feel confused or misunderstood as a result. Children of Sight also sketches a portrayal of a Midwestern family life and the challenges I faced while moving to maturation. I designed this book not only to mark phases of my own process, but to enlighten, inspire and to provoke thought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 16, 2003
• ISBN: 9781477175965

Candace Caro

Candace K. Caro was born in Iowa, and raised in three small rural towns of Clarinda, Red Oak, and Shenandoah. In 1969 she relocated to Phoenix, Arizona where she presently resides with her husband of twenty years, Billy and their special kitty Ernie and all the special people who surround her.

Book preview

CHILDREN

OF SIGHT

We Have Always Known

Candace Caro

Copyright © 2003 by Candace Caro.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1: KAZIAH FRANCES DUNCAN

CHAPTER 2: THE VISITS

CHAPTER 3: THE ATTIC

CHAPTER 4: TWO HOUSES TO SOON

CHAPTER 5: THE WATCHER

CHAPTER 6: THE POND LADY

CHAPTER 7: THE UN-HAPPY HOME

CHAPTER 8: A STRANGE PLACE TO LIVE

CHAPTER 9: NOT WHAT IS SEEMS

CHAPTER 10: THE LOST SOULS

CHAPTER 11: THE SUMMER JOB

CHAPTER 12: AND THEN THERE WAS NONE

CHAPTER 13: THE VISITOR ARRIVES

CHAPTER 14: COMING WITH YOU

CHAPTER 15: TRANSITION

CHAPTER 16: ROAD TRIP

CHAPTER 17: LIFE LESSON 101

CHAPTER 18: THE FINITE PHYSICAL BODY

CHAPTER 19: DIGESTING INFORMATION

CHAPTER 20: BILLY

CHAPTER 21: JOHN AND THE CLOSET PEOPLE

CHAPTER 22: BOB, ASHLEM , AND THE AKASHIC RECORDS

CHAPTER 23: DIVAS

CHAPTER 24: NEW GUESTS

CHAPTER 25: MICHELLE

CHAPTER 26: TRANSITIONS GREAT AND SMALL

CHAPTER 27: ROUND THREE

CHAPTER 28: MORE ODD STUFF

CHAPTER 29: STIGMATA

CHAPTER 30: AND IN CLOSING

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

DEDICATION

Dedications and Acknowledgements

To Theresa,

thank-you for your beloved son,

I love you, and I love the gift you gave to me.

To Robert Copeland

and his channeled Tibetan Master Ashlam.

To my sister Michelle.

Thank-you for your courage

and the message that you sent to me.

To my Ernie, Bowie, Petey, Shelly,

animals that have taught me the lesson of love.

You are forever etched into my heart, and never will be replaced.

Introduction

As a very small child, I came to a realization that I had the ability to see things. I also realized that other people did not. This made the situation a little tough when a little four year old wanted to ask mommy about the people in the closet. My mothers’ response was the normal one, It’s your imagination, go outside and play. What was I to do? Mothers then, and hopefully now are the ultimate know all, see all, do all, am all, should have been all and could have been all. I minded my mother and went outside to play wondering just what an imagination was. It was not long after that that I came to the conclusion that what I saw may be real to me, but not to mom. At this point in time I decided not to bother her anymore with my imagination.

I wrote this book for all the little kids who grew up and are still wondering about strange things that they might have seen or heard. Were they real? Maybe you only have one event that happened , maybe many, or if you are like me, you spent a lot of time outdoors playing because of you imagination. I am saying to you, trust in what you experienced, it was real. Many of you have closed your mind to your gift, you let it go away, as for me, I chose to expand my gift. Even as a small child I realized how important it was. The secret was safe with me, mom didn’t need to know everything!

Chapter 1

KAZIAH FRANCES DUNCAN

My great-grandmothers name was Kaziah Frances Duncan. She was my fathers’ grandmother. She was of Scot-Irish decent, a Mennonite in religious conviction, and one of the last surviving Civil War widows in the State of Iowa in the late sixties. When I knew her she could have been in her late eighties to early nineties, no one really knew her age. She wasn’t very tall, maybe four foot eight inches, she had snow white hair, what was left of it, no teeth, almost deaf, but she still had pretty good eye-sight and her mental state was sharp as a tack. Dad and I didn’t visit her often, but when we did it was quite and experience.

When I talked with her, I had to sit right in front of her so she could see what I was saying. The funny thing is that during the conversation she would be mouthing the next word that I was going to say before I even said it, this would also include the start of the next conversation. She was a scary old broad. My mother did not care for grandma Duncan; she thought she was a scary old broad too. Mom told me that she had seen grandma make tables shake and rise and that she could make objects move on their own.

She said that grandma was hill people, and hill people are different. My mother thought that I did not know what she meant, well mom, I knew a lot. I had always presumed that everyone sees strange objects, hazy outlines of people, shadows, and to hear whispers and footsteps and to be touched by unseen hands. Hill people saw those things and were considered socially unacceptable, you do not associate with hill people and what is probably the worse thing is to have blood relatives that are hill people. I had a great uncle who really did live in the hills; my father took me to meet him once. The house he lived in was a one room shack, big enough for a small cot, small table, there was no inside plumbing, heat or central air. He did have a small wood-burning stove. The outside of the house was surrounded my soft rolling hills, and bramble bushes.

As we got out of the car, a small, old wizened man appeared in the doorway of the house. His name was Dick. He acknowledged my father, and looked at me, I was introduced and he just nodded at me. The man had long hair, an unkempt beard and an old pair of overalls on that had seen better days. I had no idea how this old man survived in these conditions. He and my father visited for about an hour, I was never spoken to, but he did look me straight in the eyes and I returned his stare, what a silent meeting of the minds, his eyes spoke volumes to me. I truly wish I could have known him, to sit and talk with him, to gain his wisdom on many things. He passed away the next spring; the knowledge was now back in the universe. I assumed that the county buried him in a paupers grave, his family really didn’t have much to do with him, even in their standards he was just a little bit too different to be considered part of