Revisiting Johnny
Written by Margot McMahon
Installation by Margot McMahon & Kenneth Gerleve
John lightly held the reins with his left hand while Betsy snuggled under his right arm. They were worn ragged after losing Johnny. Weighing flour, oats, and tea at the grocery brought her some distraction. John had not found peace. His agitation flared when she convinced him to attend this tomfoolery. In a misty fog, Sugar Maple leaves of smoky orange, ochre, and burgundy fluttered as they tethered their horse in front of The Hall. Silhouettes of huddled neighbors murmured greetings. John couldn’t believe Hugh and Archibald had come.
“Aye, we miss him too,” Hugh said. John rolled his eyes. How had he gotten to this place of needing relief from his deep grief. Betsy gave Elle and Annabelle a warm hug. There, he noticed a slight wink from Mary Jean and a twitch of a nod from Betsy. They divined this hocus pocus. The three couples swirled in the descending fog as they entered the candlelit cabin ashamed their sorrow had led them here. A solemn column of neighbors and visitors climbed the stairs where they worshipped on Sundays. All six greeted their sister Mary Jean at the door. Now known at the culprit, John thought. They sat in rows of two by two braced for what lie ahead, afraid if it didn’t work.
Assuredly, Mary Jean introduced Frances Haines Movey, the infamous speaker and guide who journeyed from nearby Lilydale, New York. “Be at ease as we are each going on a journey without leaving our chairs.” Jesus, Mary and Joseph, must I travel again, John thought. “It is safer than feeding chickens in the morning. Our esteemed guide will show us into a realm, a vision, an experience and bring us safely back to this gathering. Allow yourself this journey for your own peace of mind and soul. I am honored to introduce Francis Haines Movey.” Hesitant clapping followed.
“Good Evening,” Francis began in a quiet voice. “We will take a moment as I read a poem to allow you time to fix your intentions to this meeting.” John smelled an unusual mixture of rosemary, thyme, and maybe primrose incense. “Each of you has your unique loss, your own need to connect with another. While you may share a loved one with your intention, this is your journey.” John squeezed Betsy’s hand and let go. “If you feel the need to draw or write, there are tables along the walls with paper. A person on the other side of the thin veil may want to reach you. They may have tapped you and want to be remembered. Make your intention crystal clear with a visualization while I read from William Blake.”
He scents thy footsteps in the snow,
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro' the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
“Are you sitting comfortably with your feet placed firmly on the floor?” Francis Movey said. “Bring your hands together with pressed palms to focus your attention inward. We will begin our journey, which will be your journey alone.” What socery, John thought.
He took a moment’s pause as the rustling of boots and clothing settled. John and Betsy looked to each other for support. On top of losing Johnny, this shenanigan was too much.
“Together recite the seasons, beginning with autumn backwards.” The room hummed.
As the congregation traveled back through the seasons, Francis began. “Relax the skin around your skull, feel its warmth, a slight tingle. This relaxation will go deeper as we progress. Relax your forehead and feel the heat and tingle, then your eyes, your face, your throat, chest, and abdomen. Relax the organs in your stomach. Feel the warmth and tingle by your focus on your thighs, calves, shins, toes, bottom of your feet and heels.” Francis said slowly and rhythmically. He gave them a moment to relax into their calm warmth. John welcomed the peaceful feeling that washed over him. “Out loud, say the days of the week forward beginning with today, Monday.”
Then, he asked them to picture a place in nature with birds singing, trees rustling, and the smells of plants and trees. John chose the brook and the wind-blown field. After a pause for an image to float into their consciousness, “Beginning at ten, count down as you will go deeper and deeper into relaxation. Feel your chest and shoulders go deeper into a calm. Any sound you hear will aid you in deeper relaxation.”
A neighbor slipped from his chair after having fallen asleep. Attendants helped him up while John, and perhaps Betsy, stayed in their Alpha state, a state of wakeful relaxation. Alert, calmed and hands pressed together at their solar plexus, they remained focused on their place in nature.
“Say your name out loud three times.” Francis directed. John hesitantly followed his guide. Yet, the quietude was welcome after sleepless nights. Betsy quietly snored next to him. I might as well go deeper, the rest will be helpful.
“John, John, John,” he whispered softly while he heard the comfort of her voice by his.
“Betsy, Betsy, Betsy” she breathed beside him. Deeper in Delta state, the slowest brain waves, John joined her with closed eyes in meditation.
“Visualize a flat plane and imagine moving it twenty degrees above the horizon. Bring the face of the individual you want to summon into the screen, turn the face to the left, see the back of the head and turn the face of your person to the right and look at them straight on. Bring them closer and be with them.” It was easy to see Johnny’s face. John welcomed the vision.
A few people shuffled to the tables to draw images that presented themselves. John saw Johnny’s young and beardless face. The gravity of an old man comes from the eyes of his son’s wise look. He was shocked to see him older than his years. Johnny expressed through his eyes his sorrow for what he had brought upon his father. The comfort of being with his son flowed through John like a fragrance of being together. Then Johnny’s expression showed his sorrow for all he would miss in the family; Margaret’s First Communion, Dannie’s first steps, Andrew and Patrick learning to hunt—Uncle Archibald would show them. Another unspoken feeling of acceptance emanated from the spectral vision as if to say it would have been worse if I had not joined the war. John felt his own regret of not fighting for the freedom they relished. John felt a new feeling as wispy as mist above water that expressed, “I have no pain or sorrow or hunger.”
Johnny’s image faded away as quickly as he had come. John was overwhelmed with forgiveness and relief as he took Betsy’s hand beside him again. When Francis counted to five and asked them to open their eyes, they joined each other with a new peace. A resolution had been reached. John could feel Betsy’s calm in their handhold.
“If you joined with your intention today, praise yourself for the connection, and please, go in peace. Write your treasure of this connection in your diary if you received a message. Congratulate yourself if you made a connection,” whispered Francis Haines Movey.
Had he communicated with Johnny, or was it his imagination? It didn’t matter. He felt his son. He had offered his forgiveness for running away and gratitude for his courage. John had given his ultimate sacrifice, his own son, to this country for his and his family’s freedoms. They had reached a communion.