Monthly Archives: October 2013

Gallows Hill, Salem, Massachusetts

There is a small, heart-shaped rock deposited by nature on a mossy hillock along the top of the original Gallows Hill in Salem. The actual place where Salem hanged their “witches” in 1692, according to the research of historian Sidney Perley. His 1921 maps positively identify the locale with all the surviving eyewitness accounts of the time, including the facts that the hill was accessible by water, was just outside the town limits over the town bridge, and could be easily seen from certain houses and locations. There is only one location that fits perfectly and it still exists today, though only partially intact. For years I have driven by the site on nearby Boston street and felt strangely afraid and a little sick to my stomach at the juncture of Proctor street. It would happen mostly when I was headed west, and I would wonder if there was some dark depravity occurring in the neighborhood up the hill beyond? The Walgreens and its parking lot gave me the creeps the few times I stopped in. I did not feel safe, and now I know why. Finding the stone heart tells me I have come to the right spot and for good reason. I sit and open my own heart to the earth.

It was cruel and ugly what took place on this small hill. Yes, the victims were carted here from the town gaol and hanged from the branches of trees. The hill looked out over what was at that time the North river, a branch of which ran right along the hill’s base, before later being filled in. In the 19th century a train track was blasted through the gentle eastern slope of this hill, leaving a steep cliff face which overlooks the Walgreen’s parking lot. The parking lot today is easily 12 feet above the original surface of the river. There is still sadness in the soil and rock of the hill. Thin and stony it gives rise to twisted and crossed trees and branches, witch-like in appearance. I sit quietly in presence with the energy here. The foliage is green and gold and there are silken threads of spider’s web glistening in the morning sunlight. The sky through the leaves is a clear, cloudless blue. I am guided to Ho’ oponopono, the ancient Hawaiian art of forgiveness. I am sorry, I love you, please forgive me. The words start out awkwardly and slow, but as I repeat them, connecting down into the earth, I am surprised. There is an essence of joy that begins to arise up and through me, and it keeps building and strengthening. Love is bolstering me, exuding from the earth. It feels warm and comforting. It was a nasty business here, but we can love and forgive. We do not see the big picture. But we do know, as real as it seems, this physical world is an energetic illusion, 99.9 % space. Scientists don’t understand how we can’t walk right through walls.

I feel at peace. I can now move on knowing I have done my part for whatever reason. One odd thing is that as soon as I learned the history of the site I no longer felt that old “sick” feeling passing it anymore. It no longer needed to call out to me. But what is even stranger is an experience I had months before learning of the site on a day I was heading east. As my car flowed with the traffic down the slight hill towards what once was the town bridge, I glanced to my left over a body of water misty in the morning light of the sunrise, gulls wheeling over it. I remember breathing “Ahhh!” and thinking the tide must be high that’s why I can see the water today. I also wondered why I had never really looked at this lovely view other mornings. Perhaps the tide had always been out– it’s not too often that I pass this way. I was mystified to learn that this view has actually not existed for quite a long time. All that remains of the North river is a narrow canal, and not particularly close to Boston street at all. To have seen the river how it used to look at some point in the past was a gift. The place was clueing me in, briefing me so I would understand the accuracy of the surviving record. Today upon leaving the real Gallows Hill behind, I only feel well-being and a softness in my heart. All is well; the universe has always been, and always will be, unfolding as it should.

Heart-shaped rock in the moss atop Gallows Hill

The heart-shaped rock

Writhing trees at the top of the hill

The witches graves were likely blasted with dynamite when the train track was cut through.

Perley map showing lines of documented viewing of the hill

Perley map showing lines of documented viewing of the actual hill. Ledgy Hill blocks sight line of modern day Gallows Hill Park area.

Peace reigns

Bauneg Beg Mountain continued . . .

It is a beautiful day in October and the leaves are peaking. Sunspots of brilliant crimson, violet, and magenta swirl before my eyes as I sit upon the stone seat by the pond. My goldfish echo that flaming red, rising to the warmer surface in a cistern of green. Here and there a remaining frog peeks out its head. Soon they will be hibernating for the winter. Autumn smells, pungent and sweet bathe me. The sun is oh, so warm. I relax and breathe, be present, and fill my senses with this delight. The surrounding trees are blazing gold, orange, yellow and crimson. Insects have resurrected for an encore with the splash and gurgle of the pond. I sit in silence and ask my heart: Let me venture into the realm where this is all me. I begin to feel a matrix of fullness, of connection that just Is and where my heart feels full to bursting with love. Here everything’s ok–even the chemtrails slashing the sky overhead with their blatant marks. As my friend, Panache Desai says, “There is nothing on the planet right now that is not for the ultimate benefit of human beings.” I trust, let go, and merge again, to the consciousness where I can make the most difference. The place where all of us can. The chirp of a nearby cricket reverberates my heartstrings and the cool sensation of the light air across my skin wakes me. I sway with the plants and leaves in a dance called oneness. A leaf of wild sorrel upon my tongue, and my black cat, Noché greeting my back with repeated rubs.

A Bauneg Beg farm

The Summit of Mt. Chocorua

These are ancient mountains, the White Mountains of New Hampshire. They are the oldest on earth and wise beyond measure, having counted down the ages. It is cold and cloudy on top of Chocorua today–not much of a view to be had. Yet one can feel the silent resonance of eternity within these granite rocks. The powerful love and support of the old man in the mountain, the kindly old grandfather energy who has seen it all and loves unconditionally. The White mountains teach patience, understanding, and wisdom to those who will listen, to those who will open their awareness and their hearts. The powerful, listening spirit of the rock here would like humanity to spend more time sitting upon it in silence, absorbing its strength and wise, peaceful counsel. This will help balance and raise humanity’s vibration, and create happier, joy-filled lives for us all. The rock wants us to know that it, too, is alive and conscious in its own special way, and its invitation is open and waiting.