THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF DOWSERS

OCTOBER '25 NEWSLETTER FEATURED ARTICLE

ASD DIGEST
VOLUME 42, NO.2 SPRING  2002

a dowser's ghost story

By Terra Summers

           Opening the tall French doors into the sunlight and walking out onto the third-floor veranda was such a relief after the hustle and bustle of traveling to get to our room at the Crescent Hotel. The ASD conference activities would start in a few hours, and though I looked forward to meeting my fellow dowsers, I also treasured my moment’s peace. As I leaned against the iron railing, I sighed with renewed freshness at the spectacular countryside view of the woodsy rolling hills of Eureka Springs, Arkansas. What a beautiful day at this late-nineteenth century hotel! Spring was definitely in the air along with a hint of a musty smell of something very old. As I lazily gazed down at the neatly trimmed lawn and aged old stone courtyard below, a strange sensation of falling or jumping came across my awareness. I knew enough to know it wasn’t me and opened my mind’s eye to what other sensations were around. 

           Very faintly I thought I heard a band playing and someone singing, “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” when to and behold, to my left sat a slightly transparent, elderly lady dressed in full-length loungewear of ivory and pale green. Her gray hair was piled tight to her head in a bun. Around her neck lay a very long string of pearls that came down almost to knees. With a twinkle in her eye she smiled, “Everything is going to work out wonderfully for you.” I couldn’t help but smile back and think, ‘I didn’t know ghosts were psychic.’ She put her hands together and glipped, “Oh we have our connections.” A quick laugh slipped out from under my breath As I observed her. She seemed to be amused that someone could actually listen to her. 

           Curious I asked her name. Though names seem to come in a bit scrambled telepathically, I believe she said “Mathilda.” She continued, “In 1947, I fell to my death over that very railing. It doesn’t matter whether I slipped or was nudged. The details are too messy to mention. The point is I made a promise. It is to my promise that I am responsible. So, I am here waiting.”

           Something about her shied me from asking details of this promise. Thoughtfully, I excused myself to catch up with my friends. Thinking on the way she was too kind, wise and peaceful, though a bit sad, to be grounded here among some, shall we say, more flamboyant spirits (according to the reputation of this hotel). Definitely not the tampering type of entity I expected to find at this ghost-renowned place. Casually, at dinner, I mentioned her to my partner. He, being a bit bolder that I, suggested we go and find out if there was anything we could do for her. Off we went back to our room on the third floor with a few dowser friends in tow. As usual my partner asked the questions and I just listened and relayed replies both from Mathilda and the place of universal knowledge. As it turned out, the promise was one of true love.

           Fateful night in 1947, Mathilda had agreed to a secret rendezvous outside her room, on the third-floor veranda, at half past nine with her beloved, a gentleman named Walter. Both Walter and Mathilda were widowed and in their sixties. Because their children were very jealous of their inheritances, Walter and Mathilda had kept their meetings private. Joyfully waiting, Mathilda was waltzing around to the music of a band playing off in the distance, “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.” Just as the clock chimed half past nine Mathilda had a mishap, or maybe other spirits interfered and she slipped, flipping over the railing. Seconds later Walter arrived and discovered her pearls strewn everywhere. She had fallen three floors to her death. Devastated he ran. He ran not only for losing his beloved but also fearing he would be accused of murder. He never spoke of the incident and died two years later of a broken heart.

           Mathilda was a bit shocked when she realized Walter had come to her hotel room more than fifty years ago and had actually passed on. She had no concept of time. To her everything was momentary-endlessly momentary. She hadn’t thought to ask, when or if he might come. She only knew he would.

           Mathilda’s stature straightened as my partner began asking the universe what became of Walter. It Seems that Walter had been reborn twice since his death in 1949. The first time, as a little child, he died of a weak heart. However, he is alive now as a five-year old boy with three parents. I could hear Mathilda say, “What!?” I explained his parents were divorced and arguing a lot. Walter was quite upset over the situation and dealing with a lot of despair.

           Since it had been requested, by the hotel not to do clearings, due to the shenanigans of the ghosts being of monetary interest, we decided to ask the ‘powers that be’ if they would bring Walter and even his parents to the Crescent Hotel as soon as appropriate. We dowsed ‘Yes.’ After the dowsing procedure, Mathilda did the silliest thing. She started jumping up and down like a child. Only with her slightly overweight ghostly body it had the added effect of her bosom freely flapping under her smooth-fitting gown. I guess they didn’t wear bras in those days! But she didn’t care. Clapping her hands, she was just happy Walter was coming.

            Later, on the last day of our trip, we found out that for the few ghosts who wished to leave it was OK to clear them, but someone else had already done the clearing. On contacting Mathilda again, she said she found out how much Walter needed her now. So she had gone on to the other side of the veil called death to where she could be of more help to her true love. However, she requested things remain as they are, in that someday Walter and Mathilda would meet at the Crescent Hotel again, so they could keep their promise and share in their veranda at half past nine, with the soft music playing, “By the Light of the Silvery Moon,” they would have the rendezvous they wished for so long ago. 

           One last thing Mathilda had to say about it all, “Beware the mischievous pranks of the two brothers.” She never did say who they were. But then that’s another story- a ghost story- of course.

“Learn to get in touch with silence within yourself and know that everything in this life has a purpose there are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.”

-Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

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