Shadow Souls

“Do you believe in life after death, eternity; going on as you, but in a different form?”

“What would be the point? I’ve never understood the entire concept of leaving the reality of life to embrace the uncertainty of a hereafter. Perhaps I’m too cynical, or perhaps too realistic to believe that we simply exchange one form of essence for another.”

I could see her point. But I could also understand the need to preserve what we know, who we are, even if in a different form. I believe that is why we seek out a place, like this, the Evangelical Lodge.

I am not a particularly religious person. Some would say, I am a skeptic. They would be right in some respects. But then what is a skeptic really, other than someone who weighs the possibility against the probability, and attempts to find a measure of reassurance from each. 

This place is meant to be a place where we examine our own feelings. I personally hate doing that because it requires a presumptive examination of a fact that you yourself have conjured from a whim of the day. 

I would rather have a complete stranger examine me, as they hopefully are without the prejudice that accompanies familiarity and taints the true vision of us. But where do you find a person like that. I would suggest if you were in the need of such reflection, you too visit Evangelical Lodge. Fervent, zealous, intense, all adjectives describing the word Evangelical, but do not explain how it relates to the reality of me, or the world I live in. 

Is it possible to be evangelical about soup, puppies, magpies, blue sky, rainbows, even cockroaches? I suppose it is, as we are all predisposed towards either likes or dislikes that move us to be what we presume to be a better understanding of the world we live in, and how we relate to it.

The word evangelical, scared me; I must admit. It has taken on a conservative religious identity that has managed to isolate itself from the possibilities offered. It was for that reason I decided to take her up on her offer to accompany her to the Evangelical Lodge, where she said the retreat was to be held. I asked her what she believed the intent of the weekend was, and she only laughed and said, “You’ll see.” 

Nebulous answers used to disturb me. It caused me to question the sincerity of the one providing the answer. But in her case, knowing her inclination towards the undefinable, I decided it might be more fun than educational, and at least I would not spend another weekend staring out the window wishing I lived closer to the park.

The trip seemed short, as she drove, and I, in an attempt to ready myself for self-reflection, remained quiet, content to watch the road change from the hardened remains of millions of years of collective algae, to one of rock and dust. As we approached the massive door to the lodge she whispered, “They say this place is metaphysically challenging.”

I don’t know if her intention was to frighten me into the reality of what I had agreed to, or to make me aware there were alternatives to reality, if we only looked for them. 

I decided to reward myself by doing what I would normally avoid, as it challenges my spiritual view that life now, and afterwards, should there be such a thing, is of our own making. Our contrivance to satisfy a fear of what we don’t know, can’t understand, but need to fill the doubtful hole that exists in us, that I refer to as a soul.

The contemplation chambers, she called them, basically small rooms hardly bigger than a walk-in closet, were suitable in that the window looked out upon the expansive grounds of trees and flower beds. The curtains were of a heavy velour material, that when closed, managed to keep out the majority of light. As I lay on the mattress, if you could call it that, I found the room quite enjoyable. Perhaps because it differed substantially from the airy quarters I called home, where curtains are an unnecessary attempt to keep the world at bay, while I lamented not being able to comprehend it.

As the belief that I should disregard my past, and listen only to the instincts brought forth by the new environment, I found myself particularly aware of the differing levels of darkness. Not so much the lack of light, as the amplification of darkness. The usual whimsy of light was absent, and it was not replaced by the morose visions of evil that lurk with every twist of gray and black that jump into our imaginations. I felt quite contrary to what I should have been feeling, given my over abundance of caution, and respect for reality.

As I watched I could see the lack of light created a world I had not observed previously. There was at first what I believed to be tricks of the mind taking hold of my reality, and as I normally do, began to make excuses for my disturbed thoughts. Then I remembered what she said. “They say the place is supernaturally haunted.” She did not say, she thought the place was haunted, or what haunted was meant to imply.

Much of the time we believe what we need to, so we can maintain a semblance of regularity in regard to the rest of the world, and society in general. But being afraid because we are supposed to be, never occurred to me, but it did give me permission in a way to explore what I would otherwise have dismissed as precociousness; looking for and hopefully finding a way to separate suspicion from fear, and go on to examine the possibilities.

I had not realized how isolated I had become from the darkness, that is as much a part of our life as light, and yet, we refuse to give it the respect, rather the admiration it deserves. I had not realized that comfort the dark can provide should we allow it to. 

It was then that I began to notice the images, well not really images, more like apparitions of form without shape. It was as if I was witnessing and participating in the ability to see air. And yet I know realistically it is impossible, nevertheless it was there right before me. I could see and I believe hear, if I listened closely those who had once occupied the time and space I now occupied.

The voices frightened me at first. Pricilla, George, Percy, Penelope, Hortense, all there and not there. Their names bombarding my senses. I reassured myself, that not being able to see something, didn’t mean it didn’t exist. We are limited after all, in our capabilities as humans. I could feel them as if their form had become connected to me, like a wish or a prayer. 

I couldn’t help but wonder if the light was adversarial to their existence. I didn’t know why it would be, but then I had just begun to realize that the dark and its shadowy essence was full of meaning and understanding, if we would only let it be, I would let it be. 

I decided to open the curtains and see what might happen. Not one form objected to my intention, so I pulled myself from the bed and walked to the window. I turned to see if there was any reaction to my experiment. If there was, I did not recognize it. I pulled the curtains back and the light flooded the room.

It was curious. I could still hear the voices of my friends, but like the air, I could not see them. Curious though, I didn’t remember there being bars on the windows. The room also had taken on an austere appearance I had not remembered. Everything was white, floors, walls, ceilings, even the coverings on the bed. The only color in the room was the curtains and they had changed from a luxurious mauve color, to black.

I went to the door to see if I could get her to explain, but the door was locked. I began to feel a sense of dread that accompanies funerals and places like, the House of Mirrors.   I pulled the curtains closed. The darkness drove the light back into its world outside my room. I lay on the bed, and waited to see what might happen next. 

Then like thunder in a distant land I heard it. The softest of raps on the wooden door. The air vibrated with a sense of relief and then the words flowed through the barrier and into my ears. It differed from the voices of the shadow souls. “It is time, Mr. Bellay, it is time.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but then, everything was new to me.

She had also said, I remembered, “The Evangelical Lodge is like the Hotel California, they say. You can check out, but you can never leave.”