In celebration of my favorite time of the year, I’ve decided to take a departure from my regular column format for this month, instead electing each day to write out as many of my creepy ‘spirit visitor’ stories as time allows between now and Samhain. I started writing some of them down a few years ago with the idea of publishing them in a collection at some point. For now I just want to feed the veil.
In early 1999 my partner and I decided it was time to purchase our first home together. We looked primarily in the Raleigh and Cary areas with the aid of our wonderful realtor. One Saturday in particular our realtor had scheduled us to visit more houses than I could have ever imagined possible in the span of about 3 hours. Little did I know how overwhelming that would be for an intuitive!
Going into any unfamiliar space is a bit harsh on the senses for an intuitive, but going into many in a short span of time is almost overkill. I had never had the intimate experience of unabashedly walking through someone else’s personal space without that person present, and that dynamic of energetic intrusion was very odd for me. We went into a couple of houses that felt peculiar, though not for any specific spiritual reason. When a structure is uncomfortable the assumption is often made that there is a spiritual presence causing the unrest. Though there likely are spirits on every square inch of the planet does not discredit such factors as elemental influences, electrical charges, ley lines, random anomalies of physics that we can’t readily account for, etc, as influences over how we feel in a space. For this and other reasons we’ve seen the rise of Feng Shui in the western world as a refined art in creating harmonious living, elementally. My unrest in most of these houses seemed to be just that–born of them not being the right balance for us.
We entered one house in particular, in Cary, that felt a bit odd. There was no alarming sensation, nothing I could put my finger on. It was a nice little split level, though not quite what we are looking for. The three of us meandered through the house going our separate ways. I explored the upper level while my partner was in the lower level, the realtor in the mid-level. As I was checking out the upper guest bathroom I saw a woman in a dark dress walk past the door. Thinking nothing of it, I finished my tour then came down the stairs. I paused at the mid-level, taking in the vantage point of the center of the house. As I did I glanced back up the stairs. I saw a woman in a black dress with fine white polka dots on it step from the hall into the very back bedroom. I marveled over the dress, as it was a rather full skirt, the sort one used to see floating atop a petticoat in 1950s style dresses. In the previous homes we had viewed other realtors were in and out with clients, so besides the odd style of dress, I didn’t really give more thought to this woman being in the house.
After a few minutes we re-convened at the mid-level when the realtor said we could go ahead out and she would lock up behind us. I asked her why she needed to lock up when there was someone else in the house. She looked at me like I was clearly ill and said that there wasn’t anyone else in the house. I told her what I had seen, and being the dutiful realtor she charged up the stairs to sleuth out the stranger. My partner and I looked at each other, shrugging. I genuinely thought there was someone else in the house–I had no indication to think otherwise. I had my feelers on to check out the unseen aspects of the house and had no ill feelings about it at all. The house felt quite light.
The realtor came back downstairs insisting that there was no one in the house, and by that point I believed her. She looked at me like I was completely nuts and brushed past me to open the front door. As she and my partner were walking out of the house I glanced down into the lower level where a toddler–a little
boy–in a walker stood stock still just at the bottom of the stairs. He had a pacifier in his mouth and was looking at me. I don’t recall any particular communication between us, just the mutual acknowledgement that we could behold each other. The realtor called to me again and we left.
We decided against that house on practical grounds, though I wasn’t thrilled with the thought of moving into a place so energetically cluttered that the spirits were already making contact, even if they were benevolent. The house that we ended up buying, also in Cary, was cosmically frenetic, though in a different way. It’s no wonder looking back that I stayed worn out in that house. Generally speaking, Cary has a quartz bluff that runs through part of it, which in my estimation accounts for a lot its chaotic vibes. Because of the quartz veining the area is known for having an inordinate amount of lightning strikes. Our home was about four miles from that core and it influenced my work greatly. I began journeying to the house and the land before we moved into it, allowing it to know me and to get a feel for how we would all merge into the space of Home. From my early journeys to the Nature spirits on the property to the very last ones before we moved from it I had the constant feeling that the land in that area couldn’t heal from some ancient interplanetary wound, which only exacerbated any spiritual unrest, of which there was plenty in our home and surrounding area. The most obvious visitor was the wife of the previous owner. She was living; however, the couple had divorced and some facet of her soul didn’t want to give up the house. I often would walk into the kitchen and find her standing defiantly in front of the stove. After a few talks she was willing to concede my kitchen and I released her to Spirit.
Moving house is a huge energetic transition. Some land functions like static electricity for emotions, thus holds imprints of events, creates vacuums for spirits. Some structures hold so many great memories they can’t help but be places that discarnates want to linger. And much as we wouldn’t leave behind our entertainment center, so should we be aware of not leaving behind aspects of ourselves. Strange as it may seem, sometimes it’s not spirits of the dead peering from the windows of deserted houses, but spirits of the living. Go into spaces with the attitude that what needs to be released can be, that what facilitates compassionate living stays, roots. Whether coming or going, do the healthy thing for all involved and declutter.
