Of Nightmares and Boogeymen – Part One

This is one of those things I wasn’t sure would ever see the light of day in this space mostly because it doesn’t fit my “niche”.

But, while catching up with all of the NanoPoblano participants this morning, I came across this post, to which I replied, 

“We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

This is why I am here…to remember my connection to myself, to my family, to my community, to the earth, and all of the energy on this planet and beyond. It manifests in different ways, but it is the resounding theme of my life. I’ll happily take it 🙂

And it got me thinking about how everything happens for a reason…

About how each person is put in our path for a purpose…

About how our connections, though real and present, may never be actually realized in a tangible way if we don’t put ourselves out there in all of our vulnerable, raw, complicated beauty.

And so, with today being Friday the 13th, I’d contemplated writing about the haunted house we lived in for a bit but then thought I should start at the very beginning if I’m going to put this out there.

So maybe you’re here for NaBloPoMo or for NanoPoblano or because you’re a homesteader or because you’ve just happened upon this space via Facebook or Pinterest, or as if by magic.

Regardless of how you got here, though, I am officially inviting you to peek behind the mask for just a minute in the hope you will find a connection here somewhere.

xoxo,
M

:::

Darkness cannot drive out the darkness; only light can do that. ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

When I was a little girl I used to hide under my bed at night to get away from the ghosts in my room who were sitting with me, talking to me, talking at me…

Although, at the time I didn’t know what to call what I was hiding from, I just knew it was different.

I was scared, and it felt safer down there.

When I would bring it up (which was only a couple of times), my mom would talk to me about surrounding myself in a bubble of “white light” when I felt or saw or heard a spirit or an energy (though I now know that white is not the color to do such work with).  She also kept candles lit all the time, but we never really talked about any of it in depth or how I might protect myself from any of it.  It was just this thing that was acknowledged and validated, but only partially.

There were no skills or tools shared beyond the bubble…maybe because she didn’t know how to talk about it or how to help me…so I remained afraid, and I practiced my bubbles.

As I got older, I’d catch glimpses of shadows, of people who weren’t people anymore…I’d hear whispers…have premonitions…experience phenomena that I couldn’t explain to myself, let alone anyone else.

I felt like a crazy person.

So, I started building walls (and I surely didn’t talk to anyone about it all).

I started ignoring the things, all of the things/feelings/glimpses, in an attempt to block them out…to pretend they weren’t there…and it worked.

Eventually.

Slowly, at first, but after many years I almost felt like a normal person, I almost forgot all that I’d seen/heard/felt before.

I kept candles lit, but I didn’t remember why.

I ignored my intuition when it whispered at me because the distractions I could create around myself were louder and more comfortable to deal with.

Life was normal.  At least, by most people’s standards.

Then, late on February 6th, 2006, I got a call letting me know my mom had been taken to the hospital by an old family friend.  She was sick, weak, and probably had pneumonia.

Our relationship was strained and there was nothing I could do that night, so I tucked my daughter into bed and tried to go to sleep saying to myself that I would go see her in the morning.

There was no sleep, though, on that long night…and there’s really no other way to explain what happened that night than to simply say that I was visited by my mother while she straddled the line between the living and the dead.

I was snapped from a short nap to find that I was not alone in my room.  I could feel her there with me and I was terrified.  Not of her, but of what was happening…of what I was feeling…of what I couldn’t ignore or distract myself from in those dark, cold hours of that February night.

After a very long time laying there, tossing and turning and trying my damnedest to pretend it was all an illusion, I decided to just acknowledge what was happening and to try to have a “conversation” with her.

So I did.

In the quiet hours of the early morning, in the sacred space of my spirit/my intuition/my sixth sense, I sat with my mom in spirit and offered her all that I could…my presence and my truth.

I told her that if it was time for her to go…if she was really just so miserable in her body…that she had my permission to go.  I reassured her that I would be OK, that we would all be OK, and that she could be released from the pain and suffering that she had held onto for so much of her life.

I told her I would miss her and that I loved her, and I told her to go.

When the conversation felt complete, I got up out of bed, showered, made some tea, got myself and my daughter ready for our day and headed for the door.

As I reached for the knob on our way out of the apartment, I felt her leave.

I paused, stopped dead in my tracks, and I felt her slip away from me.

From us.

From this life and into everything beyond.

And I knew in my head what I felt in my spirit but there was still a fog of doubt clouding it all from really ringing true.

I was able to drop my daughter off at school before I got the call from the hospital.  I answered the phone with my heart in my throat and when the doctor on the other end of the line said she was gone, I quietly said, “I know.” because I did.

And the walls fell and the tears came…

I was cracked wide open.

There would be no coming back from this.

No, nothing would ever be the same again.

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” ~Mary Oliver