The Victorian House was on Illinois Avenue. The Old Man was five. A fireplace in every room. A coal furnace in the basement. Sounds throughout the night. Scampering of little feet. Life changed from Chicago. A sealed well in the backyard that sounded like someone was in it.

It was the first day of school. Walking with cousin Brenda. She was beginning eighth grade. Neva J and Bill were having marital trouble. Was the Victorian House haunted, or did the haunting come with the family?

‘I swear that is a big rat,’ Chet said as he looked at the dead rat in the bathtub. ‘Neva J found the rat in the tub, you say?’ Chet said. ‘Have you noticed the shadows when the High School Football Lights are on? They’re spooky,’ Chet continued. ‘This year we shall have the Halloween Party at the Old Vic,’ Chet winked. ‘We do things a bit differently in the south,’ Chet smiled. ‘We will explore what is behind the locked door on top of the well,’ Chet mused.

‘Come into my web said the spider to the fly,’ Neva J said to the first graders. ‘I have punch and Merlot and scary surprises,’ Neva J said, smiling a devilish smile. ‘We will bob for apples and drink cider, but before that we are going out back to the well to knock three times on the lid,’ Neva J winked. ‘It is said that if you enter the well, you never leave,’ Neva J danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Look, there is a winding staircase,’ Jane said. ‘At the bottom is a man and woman eating dinner,’ Jane continued. ‘They look like they are from the 1940s,’ Jane mentioned. ‘I wonder if they climbed down the winding stairs as we did,’ Jane asked.

‘Well, I’ll be, Fred, we have company,’ Sybil said. ‘No one has visited us in some time,’ Sybil continued. ‘I wonder if they are worried about the bomb as we were,’ Sybil asked. ‘They are dressed for Halloween and have Merlot and cider,’ Sybil exclaimed.

‘Welcome, all,’ Fred said with a broad smile. ‘We built this bomb shelter when the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki,’ Fred explained. ‘We have been reluctant to come above ground and have become quite satisfied with our community of underground dwellers,’ Fred noted. ‘We have stores and a theatre, churches and spas,’ Fred laughed. ‘There are miles of liminal space, but we miss knowing what year it is,’ Fred said quizzically.

‘It is October 1962, and there is fear of nuclear weapons being used due to a crisis with Cuba,’ Chet said. ‘President Kennedy has given Premier Kruscheve an ultimatum,’ Chet said, fearfully. ‘If a Nuclear War begins, it will be the end of all of us,’ Chet observed.

‘Truman is no longer President,’ Sybil asked. ‘We have only been down here a few months,’ Sybil said. ‘The world we knew has changed, and we were not a part of it; due to our infatuation with the liminal space of the underground, we have been under a spell,’ Sybil exclaimed. ‘Time has fooled us,’ Sybil said.

The air is a bit cooler. Our memories are clear. Out of loss comes strength. Our days are full of nights we reflect. I watched the workmen, first responders, and people from all over the country and the world come to where the World Trade Center was and dig to find survivors. Floodlights cast eerie shadows of the ruin. We waited for news of a survivor being found. Not many were. The pain, fear, ashen faces streaked with tears. A taste of Apocalypse.

The Queen’s Band at Buckingham Palace played the Star-Spangled Banner. America’s sorrow was felt worldwide. We did not know who we were, as the song says.

Members of Congress sang God Bless America on the steps of the Capitol. No division or backbiting that day. We understood we needed each other. We needed our enemies to be our friends and our friends to love us.

So it goes 25 years later, and still looking for the devil in all the wrong places. We are a nation of immigrants. If immigrants are the problem, we must raise our hands. Not naive emotion, but practical examination. We must not fight the peaceful. We must not wage war with our friends. We are not always right. God loves the world.

Former President Reagan asked whether, if we were suddenly under attack from an alien force, we would unite to defeat it. The scripture admonishes us not to seek the mote in our neighbor’s eye when we have a beam in our own.

‘If the blind lead the blind, will we not all go into the ditch?

A Peaceable Kingdom is within our grasp. To have it, we shall lay down our preconceived bias and prejudice and learn of each other our humanity. The lion and the lamb did not begin laying down together…they were inspired.

The day is locked in our memory: 9/11. What a horrible day. We did not know what was happening. We knew someone was attacking us and wondered what was coming next. Where would it stop, or would it? Life changed for us. Terrorists had brought destruction to our shores. Many alive today were not born when 9/11 happened. It is difficult to describe the fear and dread. I worked at the University. Was terrorism coming there? Attacked? In the years following, we had threat-level color codes. They were difficult to keep up with. Flying was an exercise in everyone assessing each other. Who was the next plotter? I stayed on one of the top floors of a hotel in Tampa in January 2002 for a University meeting and regularly looked out of the window at the sky. We were told If you see something, say something. What does that mean? The President told us to go to Disney World and live our lives, but our lives had been altered. Hate found a place in our lives. Hate never solves anything.

How have 25 years gone by so quickly? Now domestic terrorism is a significant problem. The politics of fear. Some call for America for Americans. Who is that…are you speaking of the indigenous people of our land? Healing is hard; hate is easy.

‘It appears a small plane has hit one of the World Trade Center Towers,’ Katie said. ‘We are working on getting more information,’ Katie continued.

One Tower collapsed. A jet aimed for and hit the second Tower. The scene was surreal. We were all in a shared nightmare. The second Tower collapsed. People were running, covered in white dust. Covered in the ashes of others. The look on their faces: Dante’s Inferno. The White House was evacuated; a jet was on its way to hit it.

Thousands of photos of missing people were posted outside the World Trade Center thousands who would not be found. People came to help. Dig. Breathe the toxic, pervasive white ashen dust. We did not know.

So, what do we do 25 years later? Hate has not worked. There are terrorists within and without. The job of terrorists is to cause terror. When we are afraid, we think poorly. Ethnicity, religion, and country of origin are not the answer to Terror. Perhaps we should talk together. Be honest with each other. Pray for each other.

Consider others’ feelings. Find the numerous similarities, not the few differences. Be quiet and watch, listen, and think before we speak. What if God tells us we all failed the test?

It started small. An indentation in the earth. When the grass was tall, you barely noticed it as you walked over it. Something must have given way underneath the valley in the yard. It seemed to get a little deeper each day.

‘The Hole has taken a life of its own,’ Chet said. ‘It makes an excellent foxhole,’ Chet continued. ‘I wonder what is causing the subsidence,’ Chet mused. ‘The yards of our neighbors do not seem to be affected,’ Chet commented. ‘It is as if someone was digging upwards,’ Chet winked. ‘I am going to sell tickets to see the ever-deepening hole,’ Chet laughed. ‘Neva J told me that all of our homes are built over former underground coal mines; perhaps we will soon see coal,’ Chet noted.

‘Hello…Hello…is anyone out there?’ the Voice asked. ‘My name is Tom, and I have been lost next door for a while,’ the Voice said. ‘I was playing pool with Herb, and when it was time to leave, I lost my twine and could not find my way out of his humongous basement,’ the Voice said. ‘I could hear Herb and someone he called Fats laughing and the pool balls clacking, but I could not find them; the basement went on and on with mostly liminal space,’ the Voice said. ‘I did encounter some Alien Hunters who were as lost as I was; they had not found any Aliens nor the door out of the basement,’ the Voice said. ‘Matilda called my name many times, but she was so far away,’ the Voice said. ‘All of the houses on Seventh Street are three-storied or more, but you only see the tops of them at street level; the rest is underground,’ Tom lamented. ‘An Old Man told me that they had been built during World War II as Atomic Bomb Bunkers,’ Tom continued.

Yes, I was one of the original builders of the Seventh Street Houses, the Old Man said. ‘The idea for them was sound, but something happened,’ the Old Man reflected. ‘They kept growing in dimension with no visible ending to the expansion,’ the Old Man noted. ‘Many folks have entered the front door of the little row houses and never came out,’ the Old Man mused. ‘As near as I can tell, the halls and rooms go on forever,’ the Old Man explained. ‘I entered one of the front porch doors in World War II and never left,’ the Old Man winked. ‘There is no time in the expanse, no clocks, no watches, only endless liminal space,’ the Old Man whispered.

Neighbors once borrowed from each other. Everyone knew one another and spent many evenings on their front porches, visiting and swapping tales. You might not be familiar with the inside of their houses, but you had a lived experience with their front porch. The cool of the evening chat was welcome. Little was thought about what the neighbor’s house looked like on the inside. Coal mining towns had similar houses built by the Coal Company for the workers. A kitchen, living room, bedroom or two, and if lucky, a little restroom. The roofs were all alike. Built side by side, you could smell what was for dinner next door. You could also hear conversations not meant for your ears without trying. Life was shared outside; inside were secrets.

‘Go next door and borrow a cup of sugar,’ Neva J said to Billy B. ‘Here is the cup,’ Neva J noted with a smile. ‘Wait on the porch while Matilda gets the sugar,’ Neva J noted.

‘Come in, Billy B. I don’t think you have been inside before,’ Matilda said. ‘Do you like to play pool? There is a pool table downstairs in the basement,’ Matilda said, grinning. ‘Herbert is down there now playing; I hear the balls cracking,’ Matilda said, laughing.

‘I did not know Matilda and Herb had a basement,’ Billy B thought. ‘These appear to be the stairs to the basement; I hear the pool balls striking each other,’ Billy B mused as he climbed down the steps.

‘Welcome, Billy B. Come on down. I bet you did not realize our house was so big it appears very small from the outside,’ Herb winked. ‘In fact, the inside dimensions are different than the outside dimensions,’ Herb smiled. ‘A neat architectural trick,’ Herb laughed. ‘I got lost in here for a month once; now I trail twine to find my way back to Matilda,’ Herb said softly. ‘The Snider family, who owned your family’s house before you came, lost their son here; we looked and looked but never found him. Sometimes I think I hear him crying,’ Herb said with a gleam in his eye. ‘So I hear you are a pool player as good as Minnesota Fats in his heyday,’ Herb said. ‘Fats played here many times; I think he is still here…somewhere,’ Herb mused. ‘Before you go, Matilda will take you to the third floor so you can admire all you can see of our little village,’ Herb said.

‘Hi, Neva. Billy B is downstairs with Herb playing pool. Would you like to go to the third floor with me and see the view of our village?’ Matilda asked. ‘Take this twine with you so we can find our way back,’ Matilda said, laughing.

There is joy in the journey. The Old Man admired the changing leaves this morning. What a gift life is. The experience of being and a sense of place is special. Poems do not describe the beauty. Words fall short. It is a shame to go through life with the Gift and not realize the treasure. September is a week old. The holidays are coming. Life begins anew in the fall. The crispness of the air, the lightness of being, time to reflect and renew. We live in our heads, but our eyes look out onto our surroundings. Wisdom waits for us.

Others watch. Noise is not progress. Euphoria may lead to unwise decisions. The leaves crackled under the Old Man’s feet. Yesterday they were green; tomorrow they will be snow-covered. Today we are here. The animals played while the Old Man watched. They understand much more than we know.

‘I am excited about our picnic,’ Chet said. ‘We will have the Deer family join us Salameats and Oscar Mayer Wieners for lunch,’ Chet said, laughing. ‘There is much that is right with the world,’ Chet noted. ‘September Picnic is one of those things,’ Chet winked. ‘We shall invite our friends and make friends with those who are not,’ Chet continued. ‘There is room for all in the woods,’ Chet proclaimed! ‘We must invite Mr. Badger and Mr. Mole and Ratty and Mr. Toad to the festivities,’ Chet danced on one foot and then the other.

‘I say, there, old chap, have you seen my spectacles?’ Mole asked Badger. ‘I seem to lose them more than I find them,’ Mr. Mole laughed despite himself. ‘I have been cleaning all morning and lost them when I lost my feather duster,’ Mole squinted. ‘Oh, how I love the fall,’ Mole said with gusto as his spectacles fell back on his nose from their resting place on his head. ‘We must ask the weasels to eat with us; they are a secretive group,’ Mole noted. ‘They have been looking into opening a dialogue with Badger, Toad, Ratty and I how to make the Woods better,’ Mole grinned broadly with his spectacles firmly in place.

Feeling good. Or, as Kramer said in a Seinfeld episode, ‘Here’s to feeling good all the time.’ We humans are euphoria seekers. ‘A mood of contentment and well-being.’ ‘A state of great happiness, well-being, and excitement.’

Euphoria is sought in many ways. People look to drugs for a sense of well-being. There are biological weapons that have a euphoric component to them, which causes the victim to socialize after being infected. Deindividuation: ‘A psychological state where a person loses their self-awareness and individual identity in a group, aligning completely with the group’s collective behavior and mood.’ This happened in Nazi Germany.

‘Come and visit our church; we will treat you like family,’ Catherine Cult said with a winning smile. ‘We are the set apart, the chosen, the Ones God loves,’ CC continued. ‘Do you want to be part of something greater than you? We will tell you how to live, how to spend your money, who to love and who to hate,’ Catherine Cult said with passion. ‘Soon you will not have to think; just obey; we will show you the way,’ CC laughed. ‘Our music will transport you to heaven on earth. We sing choruses over and over until they get into our hearts, often over an hour in our church service,’ CC noted. ‘You will forget your worries when you immerse yourself in the spirit flowing,’ CC promised. ‘We will get to know you totally; you will have no secrets from your brothers and sisters; we are one,’ Catherine Cult danced. ‘You will feel ecstasy, well-being, and purpose in our church,’ CC said with tears in her eyes. ‘We are different; Jesus was different. We are in the world but not of the world, set apart and special among humanity,’ CC whispered.

‘Trust me,’ He said. ‘I know what you need better than anyone,’ He continued. ‘Affordability is fake; I alone decide what is real,’ He continued. ‘At night I have visions, dreams, premonitions; I consult myself,’ He laughed. ‘My followers and I are special on Earth,’ He proclaimed. ‘Do not believe your eyes or your ears; believe me alone; I will tell you the truth,’ He promised. ‘I am a bit like Jesus, King David, and Superman,’ He laughed with delight.

This is the day we have been waiting for. We gather at the sound of the silent whistle. Listening for what the noisy do not hear. We look for becoming. There is a Secret we want to learn. Our fathers and mothers told us of the Secret. We are a part of the Secret yet do not understand its dimensions. The Secret is behind the clouds. Not how to live, but why. Our purpose is greater than our parts. Our role is dynamic. There is a coming together. Days of Peace, a Peacable Kingdom, are just beyond the horizon.

‘Well, today is the day; tomorrow may be too late,’ Billy B said. ‘Sunday, today we will extol the grandeur of summer and visit the State Fair,’ Billy B continued. ‘There is a solemnity after the fire,’ Billy B observed. ‘It is not the same, but we soldier on,’ Billy B remarked. ‘The Clouds are strange today; they portend change,’ Billy B explained. ‘I heard a Voice from the majestic clouds today saying, ‘You are not forgotten.’

‘The Clouds looked strange wonderful when was a teenager during World War II,’ Neva J said. ‘None of us knew what tomorrow would bring first the Great Depression then Pearl Harbor,’ Neva J mused. ‘We looked to the sky just like our ancestors for answers,’ Neva J noted. ‘Many feared the end of the world was soon to be,’ Neva J said softly. ‘Grandma A was watching the Clouds one day when a voice said, ‘Not Yet.’

‘So we wait watch ponder the truth in our hearts,’ Jane said. ‘The Secret will be revealed it is close enough to touch,’ Jane laughed. ‘The Mystery will be sovled or perhaps the Mystery is contained in a larger Mystery,’ Jane danced. ‘Who brought us here and when will they pick us up,’ Jane giggled.

Something is happening near Brooks Pond. The clouds have an ethereal glow. An owl hoots. Mylo barks. Change is coming. September will soon be a week old, yet it’s 100 degrees. Could we be in Dante’s Inferno? Too hot for man or beast. No hot apple cider; too hot. No campfires swapping ghost stories; too hot. The cloud is watching.

The Old Ones speak of such a Cloud in their day. It hovered between earth and sky. Many feared the Cloud, while others believed it spoke of future events. ‘I saw angels in the Cloud,’ Ethel said. ‘They were looking right at me. I decided to do better, be better,’ Ethel continued. ‘The Cloud was in the sky at night with a light of candles in the middle of it that radiated,’ Ethel noted. ‘The night had a spectral glow from the Cloud with the mysterious light in it,’ Ethel whispered.

As the President spoke in the Rose Garden, the Cloud appeared behind him. Many in the audience became distracted as the light from the inner glow was like nothing they had ever seen. The President spoke of revenge on his enemies, getting even by inflicting more pain on them than they had inflicted on him. The Cloud grew increasingly dark. Lightning lit up the sky. The outdoor event ended.

A Voice came from the Majestic Cloud that spoke one word, Peace.’ The fighting stopped. The President bowed his head and sat down.

Everything was normal. Halloween was coming. First midterm elections. The hallmark of democracy. Let the people decide the rule of the people. It has been thus since our founding. You may not agree with the winner, but he or she played by the rules; acceptance was the rule. All adults get a vote. It took a long time for everyone to have a vote. Elections are a good thing. People watch with respect as power transfers peacefully. If we do not like the policies of our politicans we vote. A beautiful thing. No fear or favor democracy. Politicans campaign, tell us their plan; we decide if we want it. Then the hunger crept in. Quiet at first. Invisible at first. Imperceptible at first.

Money is power. The people had no money. Their elected leader spoke for them. ‘A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage,’ Hoover told us. The Depression came. People were hungry. People were sad. The President’s words were hollow. Business learned they could purchase influence. The elite learned they could have things their way. Lobbyists discovered many politicians had little money; they wanted more. The Hunger lurked in the shadows.

‘I must take care of my constituency,’ Mr. Politician said. ‘They are the ones who put me in office; I must heed their call,’ Mr. P said. ‘The Man in the Shadows does have some good ideas; it would not hurt to try some. I will think about it on my holiday to Bermuda,’ Mr. P mused. ‘My wife and kids deserve a good vacation; they suffer so that I can hold my high office,’ Mr. P laughed. ‘I need to move to the good gated community to ensure that I can reach the big donors. ‘ If you have no money, you have no power,’ Mr. P danced on one leg and then the other.

‘Religion mixed with politics is the answer, the TV Preacher extolled. ‘We must turn our government into a theocrachy,’ TP continued. ‘When our people are the decision makers christianity will be paramount and evil doers will shudder for their sins,’ TP laughed. ‘The saints of God have money a lot of money we will put it to good use electing those who believe like we do, ‘To all our friends we wish them well and all the rest can go to hell,’ TP said as he rocked and rolled on stage.

‘Trick or Treat the familiar looking Ghost said,’ the Old Man recounted. ‘I have been on Holiday but I am back,’ Familiar Ghost said. ‘I am the Familiar Ghost of Christmas Present,’ Familiar Ghost continued. ‘I have weilded much power and yet do from my hiding place,’ FG laughed. ‘My words hurt the Republic some say while others call me a Hero of the Cause,’ FG blinked.