Editor’s note: Today’s offering mentions drug abuse, animals in distress, and the loss of a child.
It is a human failing that so many of us engage in behaviors that inflict pain and suffering on others. Some of us understand that the fallout from those actions extends to other humans and animal companions. Others may not know about collateral damage or would not care if they did.
That lack of awareness and empathy usually carries over to the damage done to the earth’s body, physical entities that are part of or pass through a location, the genius loci, and other spirits and energies that reside where those behaviors occur. Those wounds can create a haunting as readily as a violent or tragic death might. Sensitive beings who experience the haunt might hold the heavy burden of that memory or even carry residual energy from that disturbance with them when they leave.
A south view of the garden at Bear Path Cottage [B. Rhodes]
Before my youngest daughter passed away, she journeyed through and occupied many wounded and haunted places, and I sometimes traveled with her. Those memories and ghosts have been sorrowful baggage for a long time, and I generally avoid going to the physical areas where they first came into existence. Multiple layers of grief, pain, and sorrow make it difficult to breathe in those spaces. Geographical trauma is real, and property boundaries and ownership can make it difficult to process.
While living with Bear Path Cottage, I have learned that it is possible to help a piece of land and its natural extensions and resident spirits heal from human-caused trauma. Gentle encouragement from this land and her spirits have enabled me to work magically and physically on that endeavor, and I hold gratitude and love for the opportunity to experience the results of that work.
Part of the mystical package I was born with is the ability to recognize when land is haunted or scarred by trauma. Engaging with my life and spiritual practice amid such intimate renewal and regeneration has deepened and enriched that awareness. It now includes an ability to recognize the layers of transformation woven together by positive energy, compassion, love, and healing.
I have been at ease, satisfied even, with this “Metaphysical Upgrade V2.0” while staying within the safe and comforting boundaries of home and land. But the few adventures that took me anywhere near old hauntings were unpleasant; the upgrade also allows me to see the uglier side of things more clearly than ever. I continued to avoid specific physical locations and memories right up until the day I met the latest incarnation of Jimmy Diamond.
I first saw this Jimmy when it was lying face-up in the rain between the house and some glass windows being saved for a greenhouse project. Face-up is not a standard playing possum position, so I believed the poor little guy might be dead. But hey, I am not an opossum expert. I wrangled a worried and curious puppy into the house and called the wildlife rescue I usually work with. Their voicemail recording said they were only accepting fawns at that time. Ouch. I understand this, but it hurts my heart when even the helpers are too overwhelmed to help.
I remembered that no matter what, opossum mamas do not come back for lost babies, but I could not remember any other details. I read to refresh my memory on when to help seemingly orphaned opossums and when to leave them alone. What size should they be to make it on their own? What if they have an apparent injury? What physiologically happens when they play possum?
When my spouse, Rhodes, went out to check on the opossum, it had not moved. But it wiggled his tail and curled it around Rhodes’s gloved hand when he picked it up. The opossum seemed big enough to be on its own, so Rhodes carried it to the fence line and watched as it wandered off, waddling like a drunken sailor. I was worried about this Jimmy – they are all called Jimmy Diamond – like I worry about every stray that wanders through my life, but I thought I should give it some time to recover from the shock of the death play before I checked on it.
I went back outside an hour later, and the puppy rushed ahead. He immediately ran to the gate and started barking. His gaze was focused on a fixed place on the ground. Clearly, he was worried.
I saw a shivering, tiny gray and white body on the walkway as I approached the gate. This time it was not even trying to play possum. Jimmy was in trouble. I wrangled the pup inside once more and started looking up other rescue agencies while Rhodes grabbed towels and a box and went to wrap Jimmy up and bring it inside.
I had heard good things about another rescue, so they were the first call I made this time around. I knew they were located on the haunted side of the county, but rescues do not publish their addresses around here. I had to leave a voice mail and hope for a callback, which sometimes can take hours during the busy baby wildlife season.
It surprised me when my phone rang in less than two minutes. By the time Rhodes handed me the box with a shivering Jimmy inside, the phone was on speaker, and I was getting instructions for the drop-off appointment. Rhodes was standing near me when the caller recited the address.
I heard the number, then the street name, and something inside me clicked. That old skeleton key on a blue velvet ribbon, turning against the wards. The caller started to explain how complicated the road was, and I heard myself say, “I know the road.” I looked up at Rhodes, saw my emotions mirrored on his face, and knew he remembered. Neither of us said anything; there are some ghosts we do not discuss.
After a moment’s conversation, we agreed that Rhodes would make the trip to the rescue. While he searched the yard for more babies, I spoke love and a blessing over wee Jimmy. A few moments later, they left in the Bear Path Cottage ambulance.
They left, and I stayed with one foot rooted here in this realm and one in the past, in places and times that are dark and haunted by ghosts and immeasurable griefs. There were times when our lives were absorbed into the struggle for our daughter’s life, and during one of those times, she was stayin’ at the address I had just heard over the phone. Stayin’ at. Not living.
Jimmy Diamond #4, a baby opossum [S. Barker]
Back then, I learned that is a thing houseless people and lost people say because they believe they have no claim to belonging. Our Beth was stayin’ at this place that was supposedly a family home with a mom and dad who claimed to be helping young people who had addiction, family, or housing issues.
In reality, both parents were drug dealers and were involved in an organized theft ring. Their sons had criminal records related to violence, and far too many people were in and out of that unfinished double-wide. And our child was stayin’ there while she worked to make a deal with agents on a special task force because she was terrified of the people she was stayin’ with but could not seem to leave.
The task force offered to clear her record and place her in a rehab center if she could accomplish certain things for them, and she would not give up her dream for a new chance at life. She also could not give up that dream because the entire scenario played into one of the other selves that lived within the shadows of her borderline personality disorder.
I know this all to be true because Rhodes attended every meeting she had with those agents. And it was Rhodes they finally told that they could not keep working with her because she was too unstable. Even after she gave them valuable information that cleared up some major crimes, they could not or would not help her.
It was more than just our daughter doing that work. Rhodes and I did it too. She was somehow managing to hold a job on that side of town, which just so happened to be in an area near a group of hotels and restaurants where all kinds of shady stuff went down. We drove her to and from work; we tracked down information to give to the agency she was working with and spent countless hours trying to keep her safe and earn whatever brownie points might shift the system in her favor.
One night she called me, terrified because a very bad person had shown up at her work and reminded her that she used to work for him, and if he wanted her to, she would again. Rhodes and I were only two parking lots away, but she did not know that. We had to search with flashlights to find where she was hidden, sobbing, shaking, and shivering in the dark behind a dumpster. And she still would not go home with us or let us take her to a shelter. Even on that night, we had to drive her back to that address.
Every trip up that driveway was a harrowing experience. The land had a cursed and dead feeling; the spirits were restless, constantly agitated, and angry. The things those people did on that property broke that land, just like they added to the fragmentation of my daughter’s mind and spirit. We always made that drive on high alert because we knew terrible things could happen there. It was worse at night, taking her “home” and leaving her there. I hated it and hated myself for being unable to stop it because the alternative was losing contact with her.
Eventually, something happened in that place that she would not share with us. One day, without explanation, she asked us to help her get into a local women’s shelter, and she went from that haunted, distressed land to a shelter and from there to her first actual stint in rehab. That all seems so long ago and far away until it no longer is.
Jimmy Diamond #2, a baby opossum [B. Rhodes]
My phone chimed, shaking me away from those memories and the old, haunted place. Rhodes called to tell me that the rescue folks thought Jimmy would be okay after receiving tender, loving care.
Then he said, “You know this place, right?” I said yes, I know.
Then he told me how much it had changed. The rescue agency now owned the house and the surrounding land, and the old darkness was gone. Even a non-sensitive person could feel the change in the environment. He was relieved, and after taking time to process what he shared with me, so was I.
A couple of weeks later, I experienced those changes for myself when I drove another injured wildling to the place that might be able to save it. The road was still physically challenging, but the land and energy surrounding it were beautiful. The house and land have become a place of real hope and healing where trauma is met with love and compassion and where the intentional actions of humans restore and heal wildlife with the collateral results of healing the earth and its spirits.
Tiny Jimmy Diamond left my backyard, then crawled 30 feet through cold, wet grass to get back into the yard, seeking help in a place that offers sanctuary to living creatures that pass through or want to stay awhile. I believe the land spirits guided Jimmy to safety. I am grateful for that.
That little wet and bedraggled baby shone his light onto a deep, haunted wound and showed me that my part of that haunted space could heal now because the rest is healing, too. It is a big release to let a ghost go. To let that much darkness go. To cleanse a haunting.
And it feels good. It is heavy, but it feels good to see the strength in the lines that connect the magic of Bear Path Cottage to the healing energy of the earth and the way those lines run without boundaries.
When I began to create my gardens four years ago, my thought was to bring a dream to life while seeking escape from grief. But my relationship with the land and land spirits developed over time, and my magical connection to the land grew as we got to know each other. She became my sanctuary, and through her, I have gained knowledge and experiences that led me deeper into understanding and explorations that I once would have thought impossible.
And still, I never dreamed it would bring me to a state of being where the magic I create and work with could let me know when my haunted past and the haunted places that hold space there are healing. Nor did I ever realize that the depths of healing held within the power of selfless acts of compassion and love reach into the body and spirit of the very earth with whom we live.
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