I never thought I'd hire a psychic,
but I've grown increasingly aware
of an unexplained "presence" in the house.
I feel it--the sense that we are not alone,
that the space is occupied by more
than the two of us.
And so I found a woman--
simply calling herself Lucia--
who agreed to "read" the house.
She came on a cold Winter evening.
I welcomed her in,
observing how she was dressed for the part:
long, flowing gown,
(layers of diaphanous fabric),
thick curls, tumbling loosely around her face,
floating above her shoulders.
She looked--in a word--otherworldly.
The living room was warmed by a fire.
We stood before it as she introduced herself.
She asked us to turn out the lights
and handed each of us a candle.
"Such things are more easily accomplished
in the quiet that darkness affords," she said.
"There is less resistance...on both sides."
She invited us into silence.
We stood waiting, feeling awkward.
Lucia closed her eyes.
She inhaled and exhaled deeply several times.
She then turned to me and asked:
"Have you ever felt threatened by this presence?"
"No," I admitted, "just unnerved...puzzled.
Why do you ask?"
"Because I do sense a presence here,
a strong and powerful presence,
but it is not malignant, it is not angry."
She paused.
Then, with a great sigh--
a sigh of release and peace, I thought--
she said,
"I feel great empathy, great compassion."
Again she turned to me:
"And where else in the house
have you felt this presence?"
"Everywhere, actually,
like upstairs, in our bedroom."
She led the way;
we followed in the flickering light of our candles.
I was struck, three steps behind her,
how she seemed to glide up the stairs
rather than climb them.
At the top, I gestured toward the bedroom door.
She entered first and stood at the foot of the bed.
"It is here, too," she said,
"just as strong, just as powerful."
Again she inhaled..
exhaled...
and smiled:
"I sense safety, protection.
Whatever it is, it guards you...
and plays, too, laughs, delights."
We moved on to the study across the hall.
She looked around at the desk, the bookcases,
then closed her eyes and raised both hands to her head,
resting her fingertips on her forehead.
"It is thoughtful, intelligent;
it possesses great knowledge, much wisdom."
She started to sway slightly and reached out for my arm.
"It's a bit overwhelming," she said.
"I've never..."
Her voice trailed off.
I led the way down the hall to our remaining room--
the guest room--
furnished with the past.
She sat on the edge of the old bed,
rested one hand on the smooth wood of the foot board,
looked around the room,
tracking with her eyes, with the turn of her head,
things unseen.
"It is here as well.
It is the holder of memory,
the mender of torn hearts,
rift-joiner, restorer, untangler..."
She trembled.
"...embracer, giver of wonder..."
She teared up.
"...boundary-eraser, pain-redeemer..."
She fell silent.
And the two of us?
Though we did not understand,
we knew we were witnessing something profound,
something beneath and beyond...
A full five minutes passed--
marked by the ticking of the wall clock--
before she stood, and, accepting my arm to steady her,
returned to the first floor.
I had filled out her check before she arrived,
but she refused to take it.
"What I have felt and seen tonight,
is payment enough.
It has changed me."
"And what, after all, is it?" I asked.
"Does it have a name?"
She took our hands in hers.
"It has many names...and none at all.
It is all that I have said...
and it is all.
It is here ever and always
surrounding and holding you.
You and those you love
live immersed in it."
"And...?"
"Yours is a holy haunting.
The presence filling this home
is sacred.
It is the presence of God."
I'm sure you're wondering,
Is this a true story?
This story did not happen,
but it is very, very true.
Text and image © 2018 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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