more on unseen presences

Model of a Brookes slave ship, (c) Bristol Museums, Galleries and Archives

I just remembered that after my experience with a "presence," I had two other experiences that precipitated a decision. Both had to do with slaves. As disturbing as this is to me, perhaps sharing it will be of some help.

When I returned from the retreat, I became interested in how people who work with ghosts/presences do their work. I was reading The Unquiet Dead, by Edith Fiore. As I lay on my bed early one evening, reading the book, I noticed a presence in the room. How did I notice it? I'm not sure, but I think it was a vibration in my chest that alerted me. As I turned my awareness toward what seemed to be the source of the disturbance, I saw a black man. (When I say "saw," I don't mean that this was a presence visible to my physical eyes. This is another kind of seeing.) He was not old, not young. He was wearing a work shirt and cotton pants that were not quite long enough. I knew that he was a slave, and I knew that he wanted my help.

At that moment, I was fearful. Not of this man, who clearly meant me no harm and only wanted help, but of whatever had been unleashed in myself. I thought, "No. I am sorry. I cannot help you." I just knew that this was something I did not want to do. Not that I didn't want to help; I didn't want this to take over part of my life, this assisting in transition.

A few weeks later, I was camping at Edisto Island, SC, with my dog. The campground there is pretty crowded, but it's just over the dunes from the beach and is pretty peaceful. One evening, around dusk, I became aware of a group of presences. Maybe 15 or 20. All were slaves. Men, women, boys, girls. All were dressed in modest 19th century clothing. I couldn't--didn't want to--see them individually, just as a group. They didn't appear injured, but I knew they were not alive as I was. I could feel them looking at me. They didn't show emotion, but the felt message was that they wanted my help. Again, I said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

The next day, I learned that Edisto Island had been home to a large slave population--upwards of 5,000--that worked the cotton fields starting in the late 1700s. In 1861, when Confederate forces decided they couldn't protect the sea islands, the white planters left, and Edisto became a refuge for a large population of effectively freed slaves. Until then, I hadn't known of the presence of slaves on Edisto, although of course I could have guessed.

These two experiences, as painful as they were, constituted a turning away. When the group showed up on Edisto, I thought, "This would be a huge commitment. First one slave, now a group. The need is probably immense. Is this what I am suited to do? Or are there other paths I need to follow?" I decided to follow other paths. Was this the right choice? I don't know. I do feel regret, but I also thought there were others who could help these souls. I wasn't the only one. Since then, I haven't had any more experiences with slave presences. Occasionally, I will sense a presence of some kind, but I never turn to them anymore.

These memories were triggered by reading Leslie Kean's book, Surviving Death. I have much more to say about that book, which has affected me deeply.