Growing up haunted
It's funny. There are two, extremely different parts of me. One part of me reads science books for fun, is extremely skeptical, believes firmly in the power of rational thought, and takes comfort in the knowledge that when I die my body will do nothing more than fertilize the ground it resides in (no formaldehyde for me, thankyouverymuch!).
And then there's the other part of me. The part of me that believes in past lives, that believes in ghosts, believes very deeply in the absolute power of will and intention, and believes that power can be formed and shaped, can be manipulated. That part of me would have been burned at the stake a couple hundred years ago. That part of me acknowledges the fact that I'm a witch (I'm not a witch, I'm your wife!), believes that I can pluck rosemary from my garden and use it to help me shape my life. It believes in the power other people can hold over me. Believes that the life I live now is a stone skipping the surface of a vast sea, with currents and struggles occurring underneath me that I'm just barely aware of. This part of me is mostly an animist, believing that I can dip my toe into a cold mountain stream and feel the life and death it carries with it.
The two parts of me are kind of ashamed of each other. I don't know that they'll ever truly get along. I'd like them to. The "rational" part of me revels in the spotlight right now. The witch rarely gets to make a public showing, and then only amongst people she knows are kin. Yet the witch is stronger. She is. I believe absolutely in the power of science in reason, but I don't believe that animism and witchcraft precludes that. I'm agnostic in every part of my life, not just when it comes to religion. I don't believe we understand NEARLY enough about the natural world and how things work yet to make many definite statements. Believing otherwise is the most human of sins, arrogance.
But I wonder, sometimes, where these two disparate parts came from.
I grew up in the 250 year old farmhouse that used to be on the corner of Glisan and Main Dunstable Rd, in Nashua NH. There was a cemetery about a 3 minute walk from my backyard. Our house was owned by the Tamposi family when we lived there, but according to our research it used to be a posting inn at one point or another. It was an intensely haunted old place, mostly benign remnants of old energy. There was a woman who walked from the courtyard created by the U shape of the house into the big old red barn along the side of our driveway. I’d see her on winter nights sometimes while looking out our kitchen window and washing dishes, walking a straight line into the barn and always wearing the same sleeveless white dress that sparkled in the moonlight.
The woods surrounding the house were a strange mix of welcoming and extremely frightening. I spent my childhood, from 4 till about 19, playing in those woods with my siblings and friends. The sandpit in the middle of the woods, with the swamp on the outskirts of it, was kind of a perfect playground for kids who had updated tetanus shots and a complete lack of fear.
But some of the most vivid memories of my childhood revolve around wandering through those woods alone, absolutely terrified because something was following me, watching me. The pine forest surrounding 3 sides of the Glisan Rd cemetery ran back to the field beyond our backyard. In the winter, it was a wonderland, perfect for playing hide and go seek in. In fact, it was pretty amazing during every season. But there was always a sense of constant activity in those woods. I’d climb the pine trees and sit in the branches, silent, and I’d hear people moving through the woods when I was pretty damn sure I was alone.
The cemetery was a sort of testing ground for us, a way to prove our bravery to ourselves. It was a scary place to be, even in the middle of the day, but it was also beautiful and mysterious and fun. The ground was covered in a combination of soft moss and tough old grass. The gravestones were some of the oldest in the region, some dating back from the 1700s. It's a very small graveyard, but there are entire families buried together. There are also quite a few childrens headstones, which I used to obsess over. I'd wonder how they died, what they looked like... I was a morbid kid, I guess.
The whole cemetery had a sense of... life. Well, ok, not life. But activity. The most vivid impression of activity, and the most reliable one, was from the bottom left corner of the cemetery. At the brick wall, and well into the forest beyond it, we often got a sense of a large group of people moving towards you while you were standing in the cemetery, or away from you if you were in the woods. It was like closing your eyes while in a crowded room and feeling the ebb and flow of the crowd. As far as I know, I was the only one of us who ever actually saw anything. On a number of occasions, I saw Indian women and children trudging through the trees towards the cemetery, at different times of the day. On one, rather memorable occasion, I saw a group of men rushing towards me, and felt their energy surging in front of them. It was terrifying, but old. All of this happened in that bottom left corner.
Other parts of the cemetery, particularly in front of an old mans grave whose name I don’t remember now, felt extremely unwelcoming. Like a cranky old curmudgeon glaring malevolently at you as you walk around his grave.
That cemetery, and those woods, created a child who was willing to believe in anything. Add in an extremely religious background, and you've got me. I no longer believe in the God of my youth, that bearded, conflicted old white man who alternately loved and hated us. But I still believe in ghosts. I still get a chill when I feel eyes on me that I can't see. I still believe in malevolent energy, in the power of memories to take shape and recreate themselves, in the vast power of will and intent.
I also believe humans are tiny creatures in a vast ecosystem (tiny, destructive, selfish little creatures), I believe in the beauty of science, in the power of questioning and searching, the power of figuring out our physical world using rational thought and reasoning. I believe most religions are destructive, selfish tools we use to rationalize away our weaknesses and fears. I don't think they have to be, but I think that's what they've become.
Bah. I believe in conflicting things. It's annoying to me, but it also gives me strength and adaptability. I'm grateful for it.
And then there's the other part of me. The part of me that believes in past lives, that believes in ghosts, believes very deeply in the absolute power of will and intention, and believes that power can be formed and shaped, can be manipulated. That part of me would have been burned at the stake a couple hundred years ago. That part of me acknowledges the fact that I'm a witch (I'm not a witch, I'm your wife!), believes that I can pluck rosemary from my garden and use it to help me shape my life. It believes in the power other people can hold over me. Believes that the life I live now is a stone skipping the surface of a vast sea, with currents and struggles occurring underneath me that I'm just barely aware of. This part of me is mostly an animist, believing that I can dip my toe into a cold mountain stream and feel the life and death it carries with it.
The two parts of me are kind of ashamed of each other. I don't know that they'll ever truly get along. I'd like them to. The "rational" part of me revels in the spotlight right now. The witch rarely gets to make a public showing, and then only amongst people she knows are kin. Yet the witch is stronger. She is. I believe absolutely in the power of science in reason, but I don't believe that animism and witchcraft precludes that. I'm agnostic in every part of my life, not just when it comes to religion. I don't believe we understand NEARLY enough about the natural world and how things work yet to make many definite statements. Believing otherwise is the most human of sins, arrogance.
But I wonder, sometimes, where these two disparate parts came from.
I grew up in the 250 year old farmhouse that used to be on the corner of Glisan and Main Dunstable Rd, in Nashua NH. There was a cemetery about a 3 minute walk from my backyard. Our house was owned by the Tamposi family when we lived there, but according to our research it used to be a posting inn at one point or another. It was an intensely haunted old place, mostly benign remnants of old energy. There was a woman who walked from the courtyard created by the U shape of the house into the big old red barn along the side of our driveway. I’d see her on winter nights sometimes while looking out our kitchen window and washing dishes, walking a straight line into the barn and always wearing the same sleeveless white dress that sparkled in the moonlight.
The woods surrounding the house were a strange mix of welcoming and extremely frightening. I spent my childhood, from 4 till about 19, playing in those woods with my siblings and friends. The sandpit in the middle of the woods, with the swamp on the outskirts of it, was kind of a perfect playground for kids who had updated tetanus shots and a complete lack of fear.
But some of the most vivid memories of my childhood revolve around wandering through those woods alone, absolutely terrified because something was following me, watching me. The pine forest surrounding 3 sides of the Glisan Rd cemetery ran back to the field beyond our backyard. In the winter, it was a wonderland, perfect for playing hide and go seek in. In fact, it was pretty amazing during every season. But there was always a sense of constant activity in those woods. I’d climb the pine trees and sit in the branches, silent, and I’d hear people moving through the woods when I was pretty damn sure I was alone.
The cemetery was a sort of testing ground for us, a way to prove our bravery to ourselves. It was a scary place to be, even in the middle of the day, but it was also beautiful and mysterious and fun. The ground was covered in a combination of soft moss and tough old grass. The gravestones were some of the oldest in the region, some dating back from the 1700s. It's a very small graveyard, but there are entire families buried together. There are also quite a few childrens headstones, which I used to obsess over. I'd wonder how they died, what they looked like... I was a morbid kid, I guess.
The whole cemetery had a sense of... life. Well, ok, not life. But activity. The most vivid impression of activity, and the most reliable one, was from the bottom left corner of the cemetery. At the brick wall, and well into the forest beyond it, we often got a sense of a large group of people moving towards you while you were standing in the cemetery, or away from you if you were in the woods. It was like closing your eyes while in a crowded room and feeling the ebb and flow of the crowd. As far as I know, I was the only one of us who ever actually saw anything. On a number of occasions, I saw Indian women and children trudging through the trees towards the cemetery, at different times of the day. On one, rather memorable occasion, I saw a group of men rushing towards me, and felt their energy surging in front of them. It was terrifying, but old. All of this happened in that bottom left corner.
Other parts of the cemetery, particularly in front of an old mans grave whose name I don’t remember now, felt extremely unwelcoming. Like a cranky old curmudgeon glaring malevolently at you as you walk around his grave.
That cemetery, and those woods, created a child who was willing to believe in anything. Add in an extremely religious background, and you've got me. I no longer believe in the God of my youth, that bearded, conflicted old white man who alternately loved and hated us. But I still believe in ghosts. I still get a chill when I feel eyes on me that I can't see. I still believe in malevolent energy, in the power of memories to take shape and recreate themselves, in the vast power of will and intent.
I also believe humans are tiny creatures in a vast ecosystem (tiny, destructive, selfish little creatures), I believe in the beauty of science, in the power of questioning and searching, the power of figuring out our physical world using rational thought and reasoning. I believe most religions are destructive, selfish tools we use to rationalize away our weaknesses and fears. I don't think they have to be, but I think that's what they've become.
Bah. I believe in conflicting things. It's annoying to me, but it also gives me strength and adaptability. I'm grateful for it.
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