AS THE SUNPORCH GREW darker and chillier, I waited for a dead woman to tell me a story. What you believe to be real is real, I reminded myself, in part to keep me from running out of the room in fear for my sanity and in part because it was true. I believed Christine was real, therefore she was. I dragged the ottoman from the other end of the room to where she sat rocking and settled down. “My tale may seem rather dull,” she began, “but I’d appreciate it if you would listen to the end. Some of life’s lessons are meted out slowly, one morsel at a time, spanning generations, not through high drama.”
I nodded, eager for her to relate what she knew, a woman who had passed to the other side and didn’t talk in riddles. Why couldn’t my mother do that?
“In 1920 my parents, David and Charlotte Hart, still newlyweds, decided to build the house of their dreams. They wanted a safe haven for their future children, a place where the little ones could grow and play free from the discomforts and evils of the outside world. In a way, they were attempting to do what the good Christian people of Pacific Grove had once tried to do, isolate themselves in an ideal world.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I said.
Christine nodded. “My parents, like the early residents of Pacific Grove, wanted to create a slice of heaven here on earth. In the early 1880’s, Pacific Grove was a retreat rather than a town, a safe haven for the gentle, refined, cultured, and pious. Community leaders banned cards and dice and intoxicating beverages. They also forbade dancing. They set a curfew to keep people under eighteen indoors and out of mischief after nine in the evening. And then, to keep out those who might contaminate their community, they erected a fence encircling nearly the entire retreat grounds.”
“Only to become insular and secluded,” I ventured.
“I gather you see where this is leading.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said.
“When my parents built this house, they made certain every nail, shingle, and pane of glass, contributed to the whole, all the while praying for guidance from on high.”
“In a way, they succeeded,” I said, remembering how tranquil the house had made me feel when we’d first arrived, promising peace and protection, as if welcoming me home.
“Beyond their hopes and dreams,” Christine agreed. “My sister, Karen, and I loved this house. In fact, we were obsessed by it. We became fitful and restless whenever we were forced to leave, be it to attend a church social, visit an amusement park, or visit a friend.”
“Like precious doves in a gilded cage.”
Christine paused from her story while my words hung in the air. Then she shook her head and continued. “Karen and I regressed mentally and physically each time we left the house, so we were home schooled by our mother. The only way she could get us to mingle with outsiders was to host parties and sleepovers with the neighborhood children.”
“It’s hard to imagine,” I said.
“Too late, my parents realized their mistake. Karen and I had become incapable of functioning when it came to the unfamiliar and unknown. We were in heaven, all right, content with our little world. But we were also in hell.”
The drawn-out coo WHO-o coo, coo, coos of doves filled the quiet that followed as though lamenting Christine’s words.
“You couldn’t sing,” I said. “Like the female doves.”
Christine paused her rocking and looked out the window. The growing darkness created a curtain of sorts between the house and the street. “Those who’ve found love don’t need to sing.” She sighed, then continued. “When Karen and I reached our teens and still showed no interest in exploring the outside world, our parents resorted to counseling.”
“To no avail.”
Christine looked at me as though she’d forgotten I was there. “At which point, they gave up and became our caretakers.”
I gasped.
“Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t invalids by any means,” Christine assured me. “Karen and I fed and clothed ourselves, and we kept each other amused. We cooked lavish meals for our parents and their guests, and we polished and cleaned until the house sparkled from top to bottom. All was well. As long as we didn’t have to leave.”
“Which worked out okay until your parents died.” It was all so predictable. And sad.
“That’s when we were forced to change or die.” Christine stopped rocking and looked at me with eyes that suddenly appeared as dead as she was. “I changed. Karen died.”
“Dear God,” I whispered.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Christine said with a shake of her head. “Out of necessity, I became my sister’s as well as my own connection to the outside world. For one thing, I had to plan our parents’ funeral, with the help of the family lawyer, of course. Then there were bills to pay and all those necessary trips to town. I ventured to the post office, the bank, the grocery store, and to the doctor when Karen became ill. For the first time, I was forced to step into the flow of life.”
“And when Karen passed away, you were all alone.”
Christine looked at me and smiled. “Actually, no. After Karen’s funeral, our lawyer informed me that I still had family on my mother’s side, two orphaned cousins once or twice removed, alive and well, but even lonelier than I. He asked if I would take them in.”
“Anne and Shane,” I guessed.
Christine nodded. “And they saved my life.”
As I waited for the story to continue, I wondered at life’s uncertainties—and miracles.
“Yes, Marjorie. They were indeed miracles. Anne was seven and Shane five. They were so cute and well mannered, thank the Lord. Anne was the social butterfly. She loved people and couldn’t wait to go to school. She wanted to become a nurse. Shane was quieter, more intense. His dream was to become a surgeon. To my relief, both children were not only prepared to face the world, but eager to help those in it.
“Needless to say, life changed after that. My once constricted world burst open, everyday a new discovery. I became a room mother, a teacher’s aide, even a soccer mom. And with the money willed by my parents, I put both Anne and Shane through medical school.”
“But all didn’t run smoothly for Anne,” I said, having discovered this during our time together in Pfeiffer State Park. At Christine’s raised brow, I explained. “She told me things while we camped in Big Sur.”
Christine sighed. “That’s just it. By allowing them to go out into the world and join the flow of life, I couldn’t protect them from other forms of pain and suffering. However, if asked to choose between the way I and they were raised, which do you think they would prefer?”
“The life of freedom. Without fences and cages.”
My ghostly friend nodded.
I heard the whistle of dove wings from behind me and turned to watch the doves fly unimpeded. “Christine. You and the birds are dead, so why are you still here?”
When she didn’t answer, I looked back to where she sat. The rocker was still, her eyes closed, her liver-spotted hands folded on her lap, then, “The house still has us under its spell.”
“You can’t move on?”
“Not without Karen.”
“But Karen’s not here,” I said.
“Oh, yes she is, my dear, but she won’t show herself while you and Veronica are around. She’s afraid, you see.”
Fear, such a debilitating force. “My mother’s having a hard time leaving this world, too, so I guess we’re in the same boat. We’re both trying to help someone move on. What I don’t understand is why I can see you while others can’t.”
“Your mother and I exist in a realm beyond space, time, and matter, my dear, and you’ve found a way to visit us there. Veronica could too if she tried, but that’s another matter.”
“How?” I asked.
Christine shook her head. “Language can’t explain it so you would understand. Any attempt would be inaccurate.”
“Try anyway,” I pleaded.
She considered me for a moment before proceeding. “Nothing really changes when we die, at least not in the way you think. We aren’t separate beings, but one. Most of us, in an attempt to gain control over our lives, develop ego, which helps us in the material realm of the body, but hinders us in the spiritual realm of consciousness. You, for instance, strive for order. You want everything in its place. You fret. You plan. You look for answers. It would work better if, instead of asking who you are and wondering in what direction your path ought to go, you learned to live the questions. Maya, for example, has learned to ignore her ego-mind and listen to the One Mind. She’s not looking for how to get where she’s going. She’s already there.”
Learn to live with the questions. Easier said than done. “The lesson being?” I asked, wondering how Christine knew all this about me and about Maya, whose visit had been short.
“That you learn to live the rich experiences the world has to offer, instead of trying to get back to where you came from.”
“How about Shane?”
“Shane hasn’t let go of his ego and possibly never will. His desire to control is too strong.”
“And how will Maya’s ability to ignore her ego-mind and listen to the One Mind help save her?”
“She doesn’t need saving, Marjorie. She has learned not only to let go of her ego, but also of herself. She is free from the bonds of space and time.”
“Unlike the rest of us.”
“Yes,” Christine said. “Unlike the rest of us.”
I looked at the woman who had transported from another realm and understood the mystery of our oneness, but still hadn’t learned to let go.
How difficult that must be.
So, how had Maya freed herself from the restrictions of ego while thriving in the material world? Her birthmark, was my guess. Her deformity had restrained her ego enough to help her discover her deepest strength and weakness. Love.
“Look at love long enough and you will become lovely,” Christine said.
There wasn’t anything left to say, so I bent forward to take Christine’s hand. She shook her head, no. “I’m denied the comfort of physical touch in the walkway between worlds, but that doesn’t prevent me from taking pleasure in the way you’ve touched my soul.”
I stood, intending to head to the kitchen for dinner, but felt the urgency to add, “Your parents meant well.”
Christine smiled. “Yes they did, my dear. But they would not allow us our divine right to bring something better into our lives. They loved us into a living death.”