Continued from previous post: Where Do Lost Soul Parts Go?
“Become the Person Your Vision Requires.” Monica Kenton
It takes courage, patience, and action to grow a dream and answer the call of our bigger visions. Often there are twists and turns along the way, and when you stick with it, your life is transformed. This is the story of how a Haunted House liberated my soul and showed me my gifts in ways I could only know years later.
For years, I have had visions and dreams of writing, creating and sharing my spiritual work with others in a bigger way. It is spring in Asheville, North Carolina and I am restless. Whatever I have come to learn here is over and I begin searching for something new. I have been experiencing an amazing few weeks of wild synchronicity and signs and now my husband and I are headed to upstate New York to live for three months. I found a big house for rent with an artist loft, gallery below, beautiful gardens with sculptures and close to the water. I know with every fiber of my being that this is the place we need to be. It feels like a dream come true and the perfect place to begin my creative ventures.
We are overjoyed. Our two cars are packed with everything we need for three months. Extra blankets, dog beds, books for research, computers, a few pots and pans, clothes, a printer, and my spiritual tools. Our excitement is off the charts and we travel 700 miles with few breaks.
We have arrived at our destination, exhausted, yet happy. The houses, architecture, coffee shops and river nearby piques our curiosity and we are thrilled.
Denise, the owner, greets us in the parking lot and we are ready for our tour. We enter, and immediately my heart begins to fall. The photos I had seen are nothing like where we are now. The artist gallery is in shambles with boxes and odd sculptures here and there. Each room smells faintly like cat urine and decay. The garden patio is filled with rotting wood, piles of rolled up chicken wire, broken glass, and plants in disarray. The rod iron furniture and red awning from the photos are gone. All that remain are plants growing wildly with paths starting to become overgrown.
Our tour is complete and my husband, little dog, and I head upstairs to take stock of our new place for three months. We climb the creaking steps with the old burgundy carpet from decades ago. The staircase is dimly lit with an odor of old cigarette smoke, dirt and grime. The dark paneling holds cheaply framed reproductions of Salvador Dali, one of my favorite artists.
I grasp onto that as a sign we are in the right place. Yet I continue to sense that something is out of alignment. I really don’t want to admit it though. After all, I had brought all of us 700 miles to be here because I knew it was right.
As we enter the little artist loft, we see what we were missing before. The smell of dirt and grime becomes intolerable. The windows are bare with a thick residue, and it’s difficult to see out. Pots and pans are covered in dust so thick I can write my name on them with my finger. The kitchen floor is sticky and littered with beer bottle caps. There is a smell of death to it, and rotting things. The furniture that seemed chic and artistic looking is in decay and wearing out in places. Dirt is embedded in the cloth and I don’t dare sit down.
I take the extra blankets we brought with us and cover the furniture to hide the dirt underneath.
I’m crying as I sit on a chair and look at my husband, Brad. “I’m sorry”, I say. “Everything pointed me in this direction and now I have brought you hundreds of miles to be here. I don’t even know what to say. I made a big mistake.”
“We’ll figure something out. We’re here now, so need to make the best out of it.” he says.
I can tell he is upset as well and doesn’t want to upset me more. We make a plan to get cleaning supplies the next day and clean this place up.
It has been days now of complete exhaustion, incessant noise from all sides, restless nights, horrible nightmares, constant cleaning, and I don’t know what to do. We have cleaned the whole apartment so it is brighter and more enjoyable. Yet, I can’t find any peace. As a shamanic practitioner I have seen a lot of crazy situations, yet now I am actually living in one. I feel such a deep despair and heaviness that scares me. I’m hearing voices. I begin to question what is real and at times wonder if I’m going crazy.
I see Denise outside.
“How are things for you?” she asks.
“I’m miserable. I can’t sleep. I’m sensing crazy energy everywhere. The nightmares won’t quit. I can deal with a lot, but this is too much.”
“Oh” she exclaims with surprise. “You did now that this used to be a funeral home 15 years ago, didn’t you?”
I feel a heavy thud in my gut. “No. How would I know that? I’m not from here. I thought it was an art gallery.”
My mind flashes to the first day we arrived, and Denise showing us the big garage for the limousines in the past. Now it clicks. That’s where the hearses parked.
I’m disillusioned, and search to find the bright side of this situation. After all, there must be some learning here for me.
In a moment of lightning clarity at midday I am guided to go to the garden with my rattle and rose petals.
I wind my way down the overgrown garden path, and consciously take notice of the wild yet beautiful plants and vines crawling up the brick wall. I’m grasping at any small pieces of beauty that still exist here. I sit on the rod iron bench at the back of the garden.
“Why am I here? What am I being called to do?”, I silently wonder.
I sense there is a clearing to be done and unsure how to do it. Since I was never taught this, I connect in with the land and listen deeply. It’s sad, confused, in turmoil and rips at my heart. The heaviness is suffocating.
Years ago I learned I can feel the pain as well as the wisdom of the earth, and it can be overwhelming if I’m not careful. There is so much heaviness in this converted funeral home. However, other things happened here before that as well. This was a place where people didn’t quite live, or hid part of themselves. It was filled with sorrow, and spirits desperately wanting to be heard. They wanted to feel that their life wasn’t lived in vain and they made a difference. Looking back on this years later, I realize it was a depiction of myself as well.
I’m alone now, although surrounded with hundreds of spirits. I begin to rattle and call in the energy of the four directions, earth and sky. The wind picks up and the energy builds. Vivid images flash through my awareness of spiritual gatherings gone wrong, depression, shame, suicide, hidden secrets and lost souls.
As I continue to rattle, I see the earth reveal layer upon layer of history. Some of it makes no sense, and some does. I invite in power animals and spiritual guardians to help with this space as the energy intensifies. The rattling grows louder as I scatter rose petals on the ground.
The desperation of the spirits here on this land are palpable and desperately want to cross over and leave. They have been held prisoner in some way that I yet cannot explain. Many traveled long distances to be in this place where the caretaker of lost souls resides.
One by one I see them cross over and the atmosphere lightens. The dense energy begins to dissipate as if it were a bad dream. I start singing the soul songs that seem to come out of nowhere bringing the energy of light and love. I’m now tapping into the wisdom, instead of the pain. I’m left profoundly grateful for the gift of what just happened. The breeze picks up yet again as the rose petals scatter and do their magic.
It’s the next day, and Denise catches me outside. “Did you do any energy work on me?”
“No. I don’t do that without permission. I cleared the land yesterday. The spirits here told me they came here to be with you, the caretaker of spirits.” I can tell by her quizzical expression she doesn’t quite understand it all, yet is intrigued.
“Well I have to say that I feel the lightest I have felt in 10 years. It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted and I can breathe again.” she says with gratitude and tears in her eyes.
I’m left alone again and in complete amazement at how clearing the land actually cleared her as the owner of that piece of property. I’m seeing my newfound abilities simply because my hand has been forced to make sense out of a crazy nightmare of a daytime reality.
Sometimes, we will be guided to places to find our new gifts and use them without fully knowing why. This was just the first lesson I would learn from the Haunted House. Over the coming weeks, I would be awakened many more times. What was my responsibility? Why else was I here? Where is the light?
As always…the answers eluded me. But not for long.
To be continued.
