This story is dedicated to the lives and spirit of those who inhabited the land
on which I live, the slaves of the Wornall House in Kansas City, MO.
Thank you for my spiritual “wake-up” call.

PART ONE – SOUL AND SOIL

Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn;
that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another
dawn risen on the mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Essays, First and Second Stories

I AM A WHITE GIRL WITH A BLACK GIRL'S HEART. For those of you who are confounded that a 55-year-old Caucasian female could use these terms in reference to herself, be prepared to be surprised. As I reflect on the course of my journey, I remain grateful and humble as I was/am simply the instrument of healing, a role all of us are called to perform while we inhabit this body at this time. In another body at another time, I was the victim.

In our world today, there is a great deal of healing that needs to take place around the issue of slavery. As an observer of human rights, I see us, as a species, perpetuating what Riane Eisler in her book, The Chalice and the Blade calls the “Dominator” model, in which some members of society must control, police and monitor others. There is no better description of this behavior than slavery where one or more persons cause others to involuntarily serve them. I have always understood this injustice at a “head” level. I now understand this injustice at a “heart” level, as well.

This story is about my journey. I do not pretend to understand what it means to be an African-American in today’s society. I wish only to honor the land inhabited by our ancestors and the souls that lived upon it. I do not wish to “take away” from your story but rather, to support it. I believe that life and death in the human experience have to do with the coming together of the four directions – North, South, East and West, and the four colors of humankind – red, yellow, black and white. As a Caucasian, I am aware that “white” is the last one on the list, not the first, as many of my fellow Caucasians believe.

Is my journey fiction, fantasy or fact? The decision is yours. However, the outcome is the same – healing on this land and in the souls of the many that served here. I am done, for now. With the same battle occurring all over the lands of Mother Earth, I am surprised that we are not crippled by the pain of the soil and the pain of the soul. But, then, after all, the “Dominator” model continues to drive the choices our culture makes as we require the land to involuntarily serve us.

I invite you to walk your land and

• listen to the animals
• watch the plants and flowers
• look for the patterns.

I invite you to walk your soul and
• listen to the whispers
• watch the events unfold behind you
• look for the patterns.

Perhaps you and the land for which you act as guardian also have some healing to do together, for there is no better place to “ground” yourself than on Mother Earth. I have come home, both on my soil and in my soul. Please join me in this time of universal trouble. The more of us that are healed, the more of us that exist to help others, for if we understand healing within ourselves, we can support others in their process. Our survival as a species may depend on it…

PART TWO - SYMPTOMS

All that matters is what you love
and what you love is who you are
and who you are is where you are
and where you are is where you will be
when death takes you across the river.

You can't avoid the journey but you can wake up... now
and see where you've been and where you are going.
- John Squadra,
This Ecstasy

I was born and raised in Minnesota. Yah, sure, we talk funny, except to others from Minnesota. We carry this secret badge of pride, quietly knowing that the purest spoken English language comes out of the mouths of those of us that were born and raised in the Red River Valley of Southwestern Minnesota (according to the linguists, or is that folklore passed on to make us feel better about ourselves?).

My grandparents were predominantly German (“Ubben” with a ü [u-umlaut] over the “U”) and Swedish (“Swanson,” a surname ending in “…son,” like at least half of the population of the state). Where in that mix of ethnicity is there African-American blood? None (that we know of…).

I hated my freckles as a child and frequently told others that if I stayed out in the sun long enough, my freckles would all merge, enabling me to “cross the color barrier” (what racist language we used in the 1950s!) I also repeatedly threatened to dye my naturally curly red hair black, which, most certainly in my mind, would have enabled me to complete “the crossing” without incident.

As a 4th-grader at summer church camp, I once had an assignment to go out in the woods and ask for divine guidance to help me determine my life’s work. I received a direct message - be a missionary. As a young child of that era, the only definition that occurred to me was that of a missionary working with indigenous (black) tribes in Africa. And so it began…

From that point to the mid-1980s, I went “unconscious” about my mission. That is not to say that life did not present me with the pain and challenges required to help me “grow up.” I experienced significant sexism in the Corporate World, not unlike the racism experienced by non-Caucasians. However, I remained unaware of my spiritual challenge; that of discovering the black heart within.

Perhaps I should mention that in this context, a “black” heart, to me, does not imply the “doer of dastardly deeds,” but rather, the possessor of an African-American soul, or a part of the soul, or an affinity for the African American soul. (Isn’t it interesting that, once again, the possibility exists of implicating African-Americans through our language?)

I began to “wake-up” upon moving to Kansas City in 1984, the first place I had ever lived that was south of the Mason-Dixon line. Boy, did that become apparent here quickly! I live in one of the few remaining cities that have a court-ordered desegregation plan for our public schools!

When I first arrived, I lived in an apartment just on the other side of a street called, “Troost.” Until I saw that word in print, I believed the street name to be, “Truce,” because residents called it the “dividing line” between black and white housing. My apartment was two blocks from Troost and my Caucasian friends cried, “Too close! Too close!”

During my employment with the company I had moved here to join, I was invited to become a part of an advisory board for a not-for-profit art gallery with a multi-cultural focus. I ultimately became Board President and, over the course of several years, assisted in procuring many African exhibits.

Following another nine years of what I call, “semi-consciousness,” about my mission, I married. My husband and I bought a house, unsuspecting, as always, of the gifts and challenges it would present. We immediately began renovating this property, which, to all intents and purposes, had not been attended to for many years. I called it, “the land that had not been loved.”

The first indication that all was not what it appeared to be came when we discovered that we had inherited a “black” cat. Previous renters of the property had abandoned this cat and the neighbors had fed and cared for it during the year that the house had been empty.

Black cats have many meanings in folklore –
• As a symbol, the black cat has historically been associated with witchcraft, ill omens, and death.
• In Edgar Allan Poe’s The Black Cat, this animal serves as a reminder for all of us that the capacity for violence and horror lays within each of us, no matter how docile and humane our disposition might appear.
• It's bad luck to have a black cat cross your path.
• Black cats became a Halloween symbol as it was believed spirits could return in the body of an animal and black cats were certainly one of the most ominous.
• Cats are an image of wholeness - a merging of the physical and spiritual, the psychic and the sensual.
• There is such a thing as a vicious circle and a black cat lying curled up represents this unpleasant aspect of its symbolism.
• Cats embody the Spirits of Place because of their attachment to their homes.

Regardless of which meaning you select, our black cat represented them all.

We began to notice a pattern of what I called, “wild growth” on the property. Our house faces a church to the North and that side of the land was the only side that did not suffer from excessive and prickly weed growth. I chalked that up to the “lay of the land.” We also began to experience weird and bizarre things in the house.

There was an entrance on the East side of our house that consisted of an outside and inside door. At night, we would lock up before retiring. The inside door had a deadbolt and the outside door, a handle lock. We would lock the outside door handle and wake up to it banging in the wind. We then tried locking it as well as tying it shut with rope, only to wake up to it again banging in the wind. We then locked it as well as tying it shut with wire, only to wake up to it banging in the wind. We then nailed it shut, only to wake up to it banging in the wind. There was never any evidence of an attempt to break in, only to “get in.”

Additionally, things in the house were “moved” without human involvement. And our dogs would frequently howl for no known reason. Clearly, there was something strange going on with this land and property.

PART THREE – SUSPICIONS

I have awaited a storm that should deliver me or pluck me away,
and now it has come softly, even without my knowledge.
But it is here. While I was despairing, thinking everything was lost,
it was quietly growing… And now I know that all life is a process of getting
ready, of ferment… If the cells and channels but take up and carry the onward
surging sap, there will emerge at last rustling, leafy branches
– a crown of sunlight and freedom.
- Erich Maria Remarque,
The Crucible of Struggle

As these occurrences mounted, I began to wonder whether there was any explanation, normal or otherwise. So, I began to do research. I had recently joined a women’s group that focused on the paranormal and brought my experience to them. They suggested that “the house may be haunted.” My husband, ever the skeptic, laughed at the thought. However, when I brought the psychic with house-clearing experience into the house, it was my husband who recounted all the strange happenings, without explanation. As the psychic “worked” the house, she explained that there were at least two souls “stuck” here and she “facilitated their crossing to the light.” She also made a very strange statement that had no meaning at the time – “Your property was the site of heavy commerce in the mid-1800s.”

Not certain that I believed any of what had just happened, I went to a local bookstore to meet one of my favorite authors, Ted Andrews, a full-time author, student and teacher in the metaphysical and spiritual fields. After briefly explaining the happenings on the land we occupy, he asked two questions:

1. Are you remodeling?
2. Are you or is anyone in your home starting her menses or entering menopause?

Weird questions, I thought, until I answered, “Yes,” to both.

Mr. Andrews then proceeded to tell me that spirits hang around on this plane after death for many reasons. When they occupy a property, they are very disturbed whenever the structure is changed and frequently “act out” (my words, not his). We were, in fact, remodeling our home, going down to the studs and moving/changing both interior and exterior walls. Additionally, women who are beginning menses or entering menopause have energy surges, to which disembodied spirits are attracted.

Hmmmm, interesting and plausible but I was not yet a believer.

Several months later, I took my mother who was visiting from Minnesota to a local historical house very close to our home for a tour. This house is called, The John Wornall Museum. During the tour, we learned of the original owners, their role in the Civil War (remember, I now live in what was a “slave” state) and more information about how the property was worked. While standing in the kitchen, the tour guide was asked to define the physical size of the original estate. We live on the very outside edge. She then went on to explain that the slaves who worked the plantation and fields were housed ON OUR PROPERTY during the early and mid-1800’s! Something inside me moved, as if life had fallen into place. Clearly, the land on which we live had been the site of heavy commerce during the mid 1800’s!

I returned home that day, sick at heart. I walked the land and saw, again, the twisted and thorny vegetation, the poison oak, the misshapen trees, the invasion of weeds. We may, and I repeat, may have cleared the house of its spiritual occupants but what about the land? Could there be another reason for this seemingly unnatural occurrence?

The following week I had lunch with a friend of mine who had recently returned from a trip to Africa. She told me that she believed everyone ought to go to Africa at some point in his or her life. I realized that Africa had been calling me from the time I went to church camp in the fourth grade. Suspicious of the timing of this conversation and aware of all the things that were happening at home, I listened intently. Still, I took no action.

PART FOUR – SOURCE

Face to face with the stranger within
as I ponder how long it has been
since I’ve started this journey of mine
shadowed inside the seasons of time.

Incredible odds invade my life;
internal obstacles made of strife
contrasting the beauty that I find
is it all real or just in my mind?

Oh, these feelings that wash over me
opening my heart for me to see,
but everything that I can perceive
all seems filtered by what I believe.
- Jeff Pipitone

The following Sunday as I read the Kansas City Star, I accidentally turned to the Travel Section. I say “accidentally,” because I had never read this section before. An inside story caught my eye. It was about an organization called Cross-Cultural Solutions that hosted volunteers on a three-week trip to Ghana, West Africa, to assist in any number of projects. Without thinking, I signed up.

Two months later, I found myself in Ghana, West Africa. Among a myriad of cultural opportunities, my sponsor asked me if I would like to visit his “spiritual healer.” Eager for the experience, I traveled three hours in a crowded, hot and dirty bus to meet “Felix,” a local healer who had been born in Ghana and had never left. Upon arrival and without provocation, Felix asked me to write down the address of my home on a piece of paper. I did so and he rubbed his thumb over the address. Out of his mouth came the following statement, “Your property was the site of heavy commerce in the mid-1800.” I almost passed out! He had used the exact words the woman who cleared my house had used to describe the land on which I live!

He then suggested that I visit the slave forts on the other side of the country, as there was something for me there.

The following weekend, I visited Elmina and Cape Coast, former slave forts in Ghana. Ghana was one of the chief exporters of human capital during the time of slavery in the United States, all with the permission and onsite blessing of the church. As the tour progressed, the guide described the living conditions and experiences of those who were held there prior to their voyage crossing the ocean in unimaginable filth and deprivation. The stories about the women, their rape and abuse caused a damn to burst inside my heart. I had to excuse myself from the tour as wracking sobs disabled me. I realized the circular nature of this voyage, from my land, to my land. Only now did I know what I needed to do to complete this trip and fulfill my mission.

Using an empty film canister, I knelt down and scooped up some of the earth from the slave quarters. I returned home to complete my work, to bring “home” to the spirits of those who had lived and worked and died on this land. I sprinkled some of the Ghanaian soil on the land in Missouri and felt the joy of those who had been unwillingly brought here as they were united with their homeland.

The weeds, no longer the foe…
The flowers whispered, “Hello!”
The trees signed, “Let it be so…”
And the spirits, ah the spirits, were free to go…

Since that day, the spirits that share the land with us bring only joy and light. Had our inherited “black cat”:

My experience in Ghana enabled me, as a tool, to heal the pain and suffering of the many who have shared this land. What does the land beneath your feet tell you? Can you commune with its soil/soul?

My belief system has changed since this began. I am now a shamanic practitioner. Shamans are defined as “wounded healers” and I know this wounding was about me. I found peace in this mission. I was both the source and led to the source, Africa, the land that a majority of slaves called home, as did I, in another time. For you see, this is not the first time I have lived on this Missouri land…

© Jari Holland Buck, 2005

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jari Holland Buck - Majestic Wolf - is an Organizational Consultant and Shamanic Practitioner. Her business life revolves around leadership and organizational development, team-based interventions, employee involvement strategies in traditionally non-employee involved activities, executive coaching, career consulting and labor/management partnerships.

In 1994, she and her husband purchased a house on land with incredible history and spirit. Her journey on this land led her to the practice of shamanism and the recognition of the many forms of energy, both in this life as well as those that have preceded and will follow. The connections between these worlds are the basis for her journeys.

One of her journeys in 2000 – 2001 took her to the edge of her husband’s death. As a part of her belief in never giving up, she will shortly publish her journey through the healthcare system in a book entitled, 24/7 or Dead, A Handbook for Families with A Loved One in the Hospital. For information on availability, please contact Jari through her website, www.majesticwolf.com.

Jari has been recognized in the International Who’s Who of Entrepreneurs, Who’s Who in America, Who’s Who of Business Executives, Who's Who of American Women and Who's Who of Emerging Leaders. When she is not consulting she can be found working the land that she shares with her husband, three canine “children” - 2 cocker spaniels and a mutt found wandering - and
the spirits that came before…