The haunted house – Part III

For reasons I still don’t fully comprehend, I never spoke of these things to anyone else. The battle remained with me and me alone.My siblings and I were born into a very religious family. Throughout our childhood we memorized long passages of the Bible in exchange for gifts.

One night, in the midst of my terror, I began reciting Psalms to myself as I lay there sweating. I focused my mind on their meaning, on my nascent connection with the Divine. I filled my mind with their beauty and praise with iron determination to think of nothing else.

The fear eased. I lay in bliss and freedom, able to rest by turning away from darkness and focusing only on light.

The evil in my bedroom never left. But from that night forward I had a powerful weapon to use against it. Even in my dreams I could call up favorite verses and shield myself with them. When I awoke I glared into the darkness and told it: Every time you come for me, I will praise God.

Eventually we moved away from the farm house. My nightmares evaporated with the change in location. Years later, my family and I got to talking about times we had felt afraid. I shared for the first time my experiences in the attic and said I even knew where the foulness was centered.

“Stop,” Steve told me. Without speaking further, he drew a floor plan of the attic and circled a small area beyond the western curtain wall. Every hair on my body stood up and I couldn’t warm up for a long time that evening.

My novel Sage Courage is an absorbing bit of writing inspired by my early experiences and is available in print and ebook at Amazon.

Nearing the end?

I dreamed destruction, and it was so. I dreamed noxious gasses obliterated the sunlight. And it was so. I dreamed the death of millions of scintillating species of plant and animal. And it was so. I dreamed the hurricanes, the earthquakes, and the rising seawater. And it was so. I dreamed mothers killed their babies, fathers, their little children. And it was so. And the earth became formless and void, and despair roved the face of the toxic waters.
How many ages must pass before the destruction of greed and passivity must be healed? And what will rise in our place, and will it be wiser? Or will it be the child of toxins, rising only to destroy again, no wiser, more evil? 
How could they, even born in corruption, be more stupid or evil than the sentience which destroys today? A sentience born of all the pureness of nature? Cooperation and competition bringing to life a sparkling intelligence, ready to communicate the beauty and complexity of thought. Adding to the walls of the already-perfect caves, standing in the shifting torchlight and enhancing perfection with dreams of perfection.

We are the children of Cain. We are the drunken nakedness of the father, the descendants of the tower babblers, the murderous horde which slaughters man, woman, child, and animal in the name of racial purity. We create God in our own image and salt the fields at His command, the innocent ground no longer bearing fruit after its kind, but screaming the agony of defilement.

Return, O children of spirit. Return to intelligence, and wisdom, and beauty. And if the dream never was before, dream a new dream, a dream of salvation. Now I put before you a choice. Good or evil. Wisdom or foolishness.

Name the animals once again. Embrace the wise and the educated in your ranks. Abhor the politics of exclusion and willful ignorance. For salvation is in your hand. It is very near to you. It is not found in heaven, or across the distant waters, that you may say, “It is too hard for us,” but it is in your own heart, in the development of loving-kindness for each other, for our creatures, for ourselves. And the trees of the forest will sing out for joy.