My house in Bermuda is called Ardsheal. She is old, at least 300 years, and sits on top of a hill overlooking Hamilton, the main city in Bermuda, on one side and the Atlantic stretching down into the Bermuda triangle on the other. The Hamilton side is constantly changing, the town growing into a small city, evidence of the times we live in, never enough, never enough, got to have more, more concrete, more cars, more noise, more money…. The view from the other side of the house is timeless and this is where the ghosts gather, where the view has never changed, the ghosts are clustered in thick pockets and running into them is like getting tangled in the fine filaments of a spiders web. Not unpleasant, but a little sticky, noticeable for sure.
So , What does this all mean?
I have no idea.
There may really be ghosts or they may be the fancy of my imagination. Everyone is free to believe whatever he or she chooses. But for me, they are there, and the stereo turns on by itself and so does the air conditioning, floors creak, and when the house is empty I hear them whisper. The culmination of all this is that I feel I am constantly living in the presence of layers and layers of human time. It reminds me of the continuum of existence. And how one step leads into the next. And how decisions made 100 years ago shape how we live today. And how it’s important to be aware of our thoughts and our actions and keep growing, otherwise we may stay fixed in time, ethereal and not quite of this world but simply floating through. And yet, I feel protected by the ghosts in my house. Swept into the understanding that there is no end of time, only time periods, as we understand it.
This past week my friends Lee and Mee came with their children to do a workshop in Bermuda and stayed at Ardsheal. ( Mee, knows something about ghosts and has a fascinating theory about ghosts and memories by the way, which I hope she writes about on her blog.) On Sunday night, Lee put on a dinner party to honor the spirits of the place. We sat at the big dining room table, 11 Bermudians and Lee and Mee and Jerry and I. We made a toast to the ghosts and they came out to play. There we were, the visitors, (that’s how I count myself) and the Bermudians that carry the last five hundred years of memories for their ancestors in their genes, and then the ones from the other side, who joined us, for the party. The ghosts swirled around the dinner and through the house that night, like the apparitions in Disneyland’s haunted house. One in particular came to Mee to say to me that she was worried about all the change. That the house is her house. And I had to concede. It seems she’s been there for at least a hundred years and I have only been there for fifteen years! Anyway, she is worried about what is going to become of the house and I had to gently explain that I had to move on, I couldn’t stop time. I am not willing to really become of this place where the living memory is impossible to decipher from the memory of the ancestors. That I was not stopping here in time but going forward. The change that is rumbling in the world seems to be reverberating through all levels of reality, even the world of spirit and memory. You can get stuck and hang on or you can go with it and move forward. See what’s around the next corner. I'm going with peering around the corner and moving on.
Anyway. Last year with these same thoughts and imaginings, I took photos and here they are. But before that
Mee’s blog www.princessknowitall.blogspot.com
Lee’s blog www.spiritrecovery.blogspot.com
Anyway. Last year with these same thoughts and imaginings, I took photos and here they are. But before that
Mee’s blog www.princessknowitall.blogspot.com
Lee’s blog www.spiritrecovery.blogspot.com
What an adventure is what i know for sure.
xxx
