Today’s Story From the Field is written by someone who has had a significant influence on my life – my former professor, mentor, and dear friend, Diana Tigerlily. Diana introduced me to the art of Spoken Word, she was the first person to ever hold a lemon verbena leaf under my nose (something I have since done to dozens of people with utmost enthusiasm,) she taught me how to make the best basil hummus, and how telling stories around the kitchen table is an ancient and sacred practice.
Diana is a writer, educator, and holistic practitioner at Blue Heron Holistics.
This story is offered to you today, dear reader, on this new moon in Virgo – for good reason. Enjoy!
– Yvet
Louie Hill – Diana Tigerlily
We found a house for sale on four acres. The roof was caving in, the basement was flooded, rusted junk was heaped in piles all over the property, and the sellers—the surviving relatives of the person who used to live in the house—lived out of state and just wanted to make the sale. Thrilled at our affordable find, we bought the farm, collapsing roof and all.
We bought a dead man’s house. The house was full of stuff left behind, stuff nobody wanted, stuff we had to clear away to make his home our own. It was hard emotional work sifting through the remnants of this old man’s life: closets full of bed pans, underpads, transfer belts, books on pain management. It seemed he had suffered greatly, this poor man, Louie Hill.
After about two months of daily heavy clearings, I fell into a deep sleep, exhausted.
Suddenly my dream was interrupted by the appearance of a man standing at the foot of my bed. He was tall and robust, about fifty years old, and he was wearing this hat.
We looked at each other for a moment and then I said, “Oh, you’re Louie Hill!”
and he said something that made me laugh. Then after a pause I said, “You’re a Virgo!”
The next morning I awoke, overwhelmed by the palpability of this “dream visit.” The energy lingered all around me and I couldn’t shake it. I felt his presence everywhere throughout the day. Was that really the man who used to live in this house? Or was it just a dream? And if it was simply a dream, then why was he fifty and healthy when I’d been picturing him as a fading eighty-five—the age the realtor had told us he was when he’d died? And where did that certainty about him being a Virgo come from? I’d never seen any papers that may have revealed his date of birth, nor had I seen any photos of him, for that matter.
Weeks passed, and his image still had not faded from my mind. I was filled with this insistent desire to find his birthdate, to confirm whether or not he’s a Virgo, to “prove” to myself the “truth” of my dream.
I called the courthouse. But they would not reveal his personal information to me because I’m not a relative. So, I asked them if they could give me the name of the cemetery he’s buried in, and they did. Impulsively, I grabbed my keys, buckled my daughter into her car seat,
and drove straight to the cemetery.
The place was huge. Acres and acres and acres of headstones, and I realized: I have no idea where this man is buried.
So I drove around looking for a grave marker with the name “Hill” and within minutes I saw it! Marveling at my good luck, I jumped out of the car and ran over, but to my surprise, it didn’t say Louie Hill, it was a different Hill. And that’s when it occurred to me: “Hill” is a very common name.
I returned to my car and drove around the cemetery with Raynah riding in the backseat.
Every time I saw a marker labeled Hill, I’d jump out of my car and run over, but none of them said “Louie.” I repeated several times this process, jumping out and back into my car
when suddenly
I was struck
by my absurdity
and wondered
if maybe
I was slightly
losing
my mind
Here I was
driving among acres and acres of headstones
looking for the grave of a dead man I’d never met
to see if he’s a Virgo!
I stopped the car
and from behind my steering wheel I spoke out loud,
“Spirit of Louie Hill! If you can hear me, show me where to go!”
And I found myself driving
toward an area of the cemetery I’d already been
and feeling compelled
to stop there.
“But this is crazy!” I argued with Louie out loud,
“I’ve already looked here!” as I put my car into park.
Grumbling, I dragged myself out of the car, unbuckled Raynah, plopped her not-yet-two-year-old body down by some plastic flowers, and started walking toward no particular destination.
I don’t know how much time lapsed. Suddenly I stopped walking. Raynah was not at my side.
“Raynah!” I turned around. She was in the same place I’d left her! I had just walked a hundred yards in a total daze.
Shaking my head in bewilderment, my eyes fixed directly on the gravestone to my immediate left. I read the carved inscription, gasped loudly and fell to my knees:
Louie Hill
September 16, 1911
“You are a Virgo…” I whispered. “It really was you in my dream…”
And then I understood why I was there, why he called me there. He had something to tell me, and I had something to learn. “What is it you want me to know?” I asked him. “What are you trying to teach me?”
And in a rush it came clear: he wanted to show me he’s not in pain; he doesn’t want me to envision him as a bedridden eighty-five year old; he wants me to remember him as he appeared to me: at his prime, at his peak where he was happiest and most satisfied with his life. He wanted to help me affirm for myself that I am powerful psychically and I really need to trust that. He wanted to teach me how to distinguish between regular dreams and dream visits because he must’ve known I’d been struggling with that distinction my whole life. He wanted to remind me that the spirit world, the dream world, the animal and totem world—these places hold life, and
that if we learn to listen, if we learn to trust, if we pay attention to the signs, then we can sustain connections across these worlds.
Greg and I had been clearing the remains of Louie’s homeplace and making it our own when Louie had come to visit me in that dream. He wanted to thank us for treating the physical remnants of his existence with respect. He wanted to let us know that he helped us to find this land by drawing us there. Through the dream visit I was able to realize that this land wasn’t “his” land, and nor is it now “our” land, but that importantly we are of this land. (We bought the place late fall, when many plants were dormant. To my abundant surprise, that next spring— our first spring on this land—lilies of all kinds burst into bloom.)
I believe Louie told me he was a Virgo because he knew that was the approach that would resonate with me, that was the sign I would read that would give me a way to validate this dream experience. Because evidently, he also knew I’m often a total skeptic. I need ways to affirm these mystical experiences.
“Thank you, Louie Hill,” I whispered.
Sometime later, I was outside on my driveway, and my neighbor Gina came over. She lived next door, which had been her grandma’s house; so, Gina had actually played at the house next door to Louie quite often when she was younger. I did the math in my head and figured out that when she was a kid, Louie would have been about the age he was in my dream. I asked her if she had known the man who used to live in my house.
“Oh Louie? Yeah! I remember Louie. Louie was always outside, working in his yard… I used to follow him around.”
“Really? Tell me about him. What did he look like?”
“Well, he was tall. He was a really big man--not fat, not thin. But strong. Really solid.”
I found myself thinking, robust, remembering my dream.
“Oh…yeah,” said Gina, lost in memory, “and he always wore this hat.”
Later, Greg came in from working outside, saying, “Hey, look what I found in the garage.” He was holding the hat I saw Louie wearing in my dream.
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