Grandma

This is a true story.

As mentioned in a previous post the Teacher Recruitment Center was a unique environment for me. After working there for a few months I began to learn more about the location. Prior, how much prior I don’t know, to our moving in, the offices were used as a medical clinic. To be blunt, people died there; at least one in the area that became my office. Two doors down from us as a…hmmm… “Public Official’s” campaign office. They didn’t stay long. I thought that their moving was odd as it was during the campaign season, but they moved anyway. I ran into a staffer at a function some time later ask asked about the move. He told me that strange things happened in the office and that the candidate’s mother refused to visit the office after only one visit. He told me that things moved over night and that some things disappeared and reappeared days later in a location that, as he stated “…was not probable.” I had noticed things moving around as well, but I’m sure it was our cleaning staff. They didn’t have a cleaner.

I felt the presence of another person on more than one occasion when I know I was alone, and I felt like I was being watched over when I worked late, which was almost every night. As mentioned, we had enemies. And when they would try to break into our offices, I would see shadows in the hallway outside of my office. The interesting thing is that the only light was coming from my office. One night I heard keys in the front door. As we had re-keyed the joint as soon as we moved in I thought it was the boss, and that he need something. As I approached the door I could see it was nobody from the office. I recognize the person and they saw me as well and ran away.

I ran to the back of the office to cut them off and I nearly ran over my Grandmother, she died in 1984. As I came around the corner to go out the backdoor, she was standing in the middle of the hallway.  She was wearing her gloves, hat and coat; her hands were clasped together in front of her chest and her purse was hanging from her left arm, just as she was when I last saw her in 1969. She was not transparent, or floating or etherical. She was as solid as I am. If I had not tried to step around her, I would have run her over. I wanted to go out the back door, but I was confused at her being there. As long as I want to go to door she stood there and stared at me. I heard a car start and peel out of the parking lot of the offices behind our building. I looked out the door and back at Grandma and thought to myself she didn’t want me to go after that person. Just then she smiled, turned and walked around the corner and was gone. After that, I knew that when Grandma was around, one of two people was looking to do me harm.

Grandma was known for her bread. The woman could make piecrust out of saw dust. She would bake bread every other week and folks – mostly kin – would come from miles around to get some. Grandma’s bread is still the best I have ever had. From time to time my assistant or intern would look up and ask if anybody else smelt fresh bread. It was a fleeting wisp of sent, but it told me that my enemies were on the way over…it was never wrong. Within ten-minutes one or both would walk in.

The Storm

The storm was coming, of that there was no doubt. The hurricane winds coming in off the coast were being funneled into the valley and the rains would surely follow. The leading edge of the storm was still nearly thirty-miles away and yet we could feel the winds careening down the valley. In two hours the rains will reach the valley and start to over-fill the lake. The spring thaw had already filled the lake to capacity, and the stream that normally flowed from it was close to becoming a river again, as it did every spring; the hurricane rains will make it a torrent. If we don’t cross the valley in the next three-hours, we won’t cross at all for several days.

I would have preferred snow. You can walk on snow; use it as an insulator for your tents and as a source of fresh water. Rain, well rain is just wet, it doesn’t’ help anything; a valley full of snow can be crossed and won’t wash you away. Rain turns ground into mud, and if you don’t capture it, you can’t drink it. Rain makes you wet and steals your body heat. Mud sticks to your boots when you try and walk in it and take all of your energy to move a few feet. And mud will not hold the stakes and supports needed for a tent. Rain is good for farmers, not hunters. Hunters hate rain.

Day would become night when the storm moved through, so we needed to do something soon. We needed to be someplace to weather the storm in relative safety. Ned’s ankle wasn’t going to let us move fast, so trying to cross the valley was going to be dangerous. We didn’t know when the lake would crest and start to flood the valley. We needed to get to higher ground and find a cave on the leeward side of the mountain. It sounded easier than it was. Four men with gear, food and weapons for a two-day hunting trip, one had a nearly broken ankle and one is trying to carry him while the other two carried the gear and weapons for all four. With more than our body-weight in our packs we weren’t going to move fast anyway, add to that the ground was still soft from the spring thaw and we need to move up-hill and you get a pace that was barely a crawl.

We carried an emergency beacon so we could call for help if we really needed it. Our families would notify the ranger’s station that we were late after the storm passed and wait a couple more days before requesting search and rescue. We had no life threatening or life altering injuries, so we didn’t use the beacon. We had food, water, experience and too much pride to ask for help. Besides, this wasn’t our first two-day trip that turned into a week long adventure. We knew that if we spent that much time out there, we had better kill something to put in the freezer.

Shadows, Silence and Self

A lone candle, nearly gone, sat flickering silently on the table. It was the only light in the room. The shadows danced on the wall from its light. Nothing moved but the shadows; nothing stirred but the flame. The silence was intense. Nothing in the room made a sound. In an hour, maybe two, the candle would burn out and then there would be nothing but the darkness and even the shadows would rest until dawn.

I sat in the corner on my zubaton, my breath slow and steady, my focus on the dancing flame of the candle. I was still new at this and my attention wondered from time to time; from the flame to the shadows and back to my breadth; back to nothing. In my deepest state I could hear my heart beat; I could feel my blood flowing through my veins. As I focused on the moment, and what I was experiencing; I could feel the sweat rolling down my cheek, I could feel my robe sticking to my skin.

As a novice, this is the perfect time to meditate; before dawn, when the entire city was asleep. This is when there are fewer potential distractions; fewer cars on the road, nobody in the house is awake and even the cats are asleep, perfect stillness. I know that it will take years, but I have had moments of pure bliss. Fleeting moments of connection, with what I am still not entirely clear, my deepest self, the universal source – perhaps they are the same. I know what meditation has done for me. It has taught me how to control my “Self”. After all these long years I am now learning to master my emotions so that they no longer master me.

During the day, I can return to this quiet place; quickly, briefly. It is rather like shorting out a capacitor – POP – then it’s done, and I am no longer over whelmed and can focus on the issue at hand. The only energy I let carry me away is positive, happy, ambitious. I know that sometimes I look foolish, but that is ok. I am foolish when I am happy.

The negative energy is still there, but it is no longer caged, controlled or feared. It has its place and its use. I am a protector, and it is my gift.