Legend of the Wren
Installment #10 Dealing with Donavon and Meeting Ben Garran
This is the free version of A Mystic’s Journal. Thanks for reading! I am so fortunate to have you in my posts. It would mean a lot if you’d share it on social media or recommend it to a friend! We also depend on paid/premium subscriptions! (My Inner Circle readers get bonuses and deeper information!) See button below!
Dealing with Donavon Clarence
“Johnson’s Sundries,” was the sign hanging from the front of the store, well-worn and in need of fresh paint. But the folks at Laurel Run paid no attention. It was a special place in the heart of many people in that area. The store had been there for at least 60 years and most coal miner’s families did business there. Mr. Johnson, and his father before him, owned the establishment and was proud to be an integral part of the businesses downtown.
Joseph was able to help once in a while for certain store needs. Sometimes sweeping the back room where the storage was. Sometimes opening boxes or stocking canned foods. Although it was not a grocery, Mr. Johnson stocked some non-perishable foods, along with work clothes, kitchen supplies and just about anything you might need. Sometimes Joseph got paid with crackers and peanut butter, or a pair of socks, or perhaps a little loose change.
Occasionally, Mr. Johnson stayed late and shared his carry-in supper. His wife always packed a little extra, knowing that Joseph might be there too.
One day Mrs. Johnson invited him to the house for a sandwich. She told him that years earlier they had a baby boy. But he caught pneumonia and died at the age of 14 months. She was so pleased that Joseph came into their lives to fill that lonesome space in their hearts.
Over time, Mrs. Johnson left the side door to the house unlocked, especially in colder weather. This door opened into an enclosed porch. She did not use it, but put a small bed, extra blankets and a few non-perishable snacks in a basket near the bed. She made it known to Joseph that it was available to him just in case he needed a space. She never made him feel obligated to her for the use of it, but just let him know it was not used for anything.
As time went on, Joseph worked other odd jobs around town and the countryside. That provided him spending money. He liked bartering for whatever he needed.
On one day in particular, Joseph had not scoped out the area as well as usual. There was a boy about his same age that had been taunting him. Joseph always kept an eye out and could turn down the nearest alley if he saw Donavan coming towards him. But today, there he was, coming straight for him.
Donavon chased him into the store. Joseph had enough of a head start to go to the one counter he knew had a loose panel. He opened it and dived in. He replaced the panel just in time to conceal himself from the torment of Donavon. Mr. Johnson acted like he did not see anything.
The cubby hole under the counter was very dark. Joseph was crouched down tightly, pulling his knees to his chest with his arms, clasping his hands firmly. There were glimpses of light penetrating though cracks here and there. He tried to focus on the light. He was breathing so hard — from the long run away from Donavon, but also from the fear. He wanted to breakout in a scream but kept the focus and his silence.
A memory arose of another time when he was this scared and it was hard to breath. The smell of smoke came to him and he almost chocked. But he caught himself in time.
Donavon was in the store giving the owner a hard time. After a few minutes he became bored and finally stormed out and crossed the street.
An hour or so went by. Joseph sat still that whole time. The store was quiet, nearing 5:00pm, which was closing time. His eyes had adjusted to the dimness. He put his hand down to adjust his position, and his hand landed on a velvet bag. He picked it up and opened it. There were his marbles. He had stashed them there several weeks before.
The memory of the last time he played with them came to him: He could barely make out the living room furniture. Smoke was everywhere. He was huddled in the same position, scared then like he was scared now. His mother was yelling to him to run. “Joseph! Run! Run outside!”
These flashbacks were symptoms of the trauma Joseph experienced during the fire, his house destroyed, his parents killed in the fire, and sustaining several head injuries. Children usually can talk to others about the experience and possibly move through the difficult memories. But Joseph had taken a silence vow. He did not express the traumatic visions that haunted him. They were intrusive and he never knew when they would show themselves.
By not being able to counsel with anyone or talk it out when it happened, these symptoms go deep in his mind and memory. It has expanded enough to be clinically called Post Traumatic Stress Disease (PTSD).
Joseph knows nothing of the clinical findings of such things, only that he is haunted with the memories.
As he remembered, his breathing got heavier again, just as he was reliving the whole memory. And he heard his mother coughing and choking as she called to him again to run.
Finally, he realized where he really was and burst out of the hiding place, leaving the panel on the floor behind him. He ran and ran.
Donavon saw him running and just laughed, throwing his hand out as if to say, “never mind,” having found another child to harass.
After Joseph found himself in a safe place, he had a strange feeling come over him. Donovan felt familiar to him, like he should know him, like a long-ago dream.
Ben Garran
The pounding of Joseph’s shoes hitting the wooden sidewalk as he ran from an alleyway into an empty lot seemed to be the only sound heard midafternoon on Friday. He was running wildly and looking behind his shoulder. He was breathing hard and sweating so much his hair was wet. He was quick enough to find a place to hide behind a bush at the end of the lot.
“Donavon won’t see me here,” Joseph said as he froze still so the branches of the bush would settle down.
As he found his hiding place, he noticed a rather stout, dark-haired man loading a wagon behind his truck. It was full of old wood, some tree branches and brush from the clean-up job he had just finished. The man acted like he did not see Joseph and indifferently just kept on working.
Donavon came running into the lot about a minute later, waving his fist and bellowing Joseph’s name like it was a bad thing.
“I told you to stay away from my alley!” Donavon yelled in an angry voice. Just then he stopped short in bewilderment and looked around for a second or two. He was sure that little punk ducked into this lot. But he was nowhere. Just old Ben working an odd job.
Donavon spun around on his heel and headed in another direction still looking for Joseph. He did not want to get into a confrontation with Ben. He did that once before and it did not end well.
Ben draped a tarp over most of the load in his wagon. He left a section towards the end of the load empty and only partially covered, glancing in Joseph’s direction. He waited a moment as if to gesture a safe opening to get away. And then took his time to place his tools in the back of his truck.
When he got into the truck and started it up, he did not take off immediately. He just sat there leaving the gear in park. His eyes were fixed on the side view mirror. The small boy slipped out from behind the bush and slid into the back of the wagon. He gently pulled the end of the tarp partially over him. Joseph was still sweaty hot and needed some air flowing to cool down.
The truck and wagon slowly moved out of the empty lot. Ben pulled around the next street and stopped for a second. A busy store owner came over to the truck and thanked him for clearing the lot, while handing him some cash and (eggs or something in kind). Then he pulled out into the street, passing by Donavon, who was swinging his fist and fussing out loud.
Ben drove out of town a few miles and stopped. He got out of the truck, and Joseph peeked out of the tarp cover.
“You’re safe now,” was Ben’s only remark.
Joseph carefully jumped out. Ben drove off.
The road was not paved, but the dirt was soft and made walking easier than Joseph thought it would. He had walked about four or five miles when he saw a nondescript lane lead back to a clearing. It looked like someone was there and Ben’s truck and wagon were in the back of the property near an overgrown fence line.
“Is this where Ben lives, I wonder?”
Joseph continued to walk, slower than before, hesitating occasionally to observe what was going on. Eventually, he made his way to Ben’s camp area.
Just standing on the edge of view, Joseph waited for Ben to acknowledge him. But none was given. Ben kept on preparing his open fire and setting up to warm some food.
The longer Joseph stood there, the more observant he was. The camp area was something that looked long standing. It was a permanent encampment. A few tables were set up for preparing wild greens and plants, onions, potatoes and other vegetables. Another area was used for washing clothes and drying on a clothesline. Alongside of that was a strange machine that puzzled him, and barely resembled the sewing machine his mother had.
In the center there was a rather sturdy tent with an extension on the side. It was designed to open on the western side of the tent and allow air flow to go through and out the east side to keep the tent cool. Metal screening was rigged to suffice for windows or entrances on those ends so to ensure there would not be flies inside.
Joseph was intrigued by the setup. He knew from his past travels with migrants that this camp was permanent.
Joseph felt comfortable with Ben and kept moving closer until he was right up in front of him. He noticed the black hair with spirts of silver shining through, it had a soft wave to it and was very thick. His skin was rather wind and sun worn and had an olive shade to it. Mostly looked like a suntan. He stood at regular height for a grown man but had a heft to his torso.
Ben nodded his head finally acknowledging him. Joseph lowered his head in a sign of respect, then raised his eyes to see what Ben was doing.
“You and Donavon don’t seem to get along, eh?”
Joseph shook his head slightly and lowered his head again.
“Mrs. Gardner says you spend much of your time in the library.”
Joseph felt relieved that he knew the librarian, and immediately signed the words for ‘book, reading.’
Ben nodded. “Yes, books are important, but so is experience.”
Joseph looked him straight in the eyes. “This is going to be a special conversation.” Ben motioned for him to sit down at the meal table.
“I am only a gypsy man. I look at people differently than most. If you are with me, I will tell you of the things I know and see. It is good for people to tell of the things they know. Then everyone can have something to base their life beliefs on.
“Let me tell you about myself and how I came to live here in Laurel Run.”
Joseph got comfortable, ears alert and eyes wide. He pulled his knees up and anchored himself with his hands on the bench he was sitting on.
Ben began. “My people, some call us Gypsy, came here from western Ohio two generations ago. We were a people – a large family, most related in some way. The leader of our clan passed into Spirit when he was 90 years. Some say he was much older, but those records were lost.
“We lived there on a thousand acres of land. Some was wooded and some was cropland. It rolled into hills, green and swaying, and was a beautiful thing to see. But after the king and his wife both passed into Spirit, our relatives decided to move to a new place. My father was only a small child then and had no say in it.”
Ben stopped for a minute and served up two plates of food. Not flat plates, but larger, soup bowl type plates made of a thin metal of some kind. One for himself and one for Joseph. There were slow simmered beans and onions along with cooked tomatoes and something else Joseph did not recognize. He later found out it was asparagus.
The food had a different taste than anything Joseph had eaten before. It was fresh and old at the same time. There was an inner warmth it gave to his spirit and tingle to his taste buds. Very pleasing and filling.
“It was the saying from the group of elders,” Ben started back into the story. “The celestial elders directed them to move east – in the direction of the morning sun.”
Joseph sat up with a start. “The sun! They followed the morning sun, just like I did.”
Ben noticed that Joseph responded to the story. He continued.
“Some of the relatives settled in land just into the western edge of the state of Pennsylvania. My father lived there many years. After he married, he, his wife and brother continued to this place. It was the mountainous area here known as Giant’s Despair that captured their hearts.
“Many people around here did not want to buy property here because it was steep and overgrown with trees and bushes and such. They had trouble figuring out how to use this land. They were looking for farmable land. And this is not that.”
Ben stopped a minute to finish his plate of beans. He reared back a minute and stretched his back, trying to find room in his stomach for the last bites.
“I, on the other hand, I see this land as god’s tender space. It must be tended to in delicate ways. And I know those ways. Part of our ancient customs teaches us about the special sacraments to honor Nature. It allows us to work with that power of earth energy and elementals here. This is part of my Romani customs.”
Joseph remembered the term Romani instead of using the name Gypsy that Mrs. Gardner spoke of. But Ben pronounced it differently. He said <rah’man-i> instead of <ro-mani>. There were other words Ben used that sounded a little different. But it was an interesting change. One that Joseph liked.
Ben continued, “There is an old account of Roma’ belief. It borders on myth according to the Euro-people. But my people know it to be true. I have seen it happen when I was a young one.”
Joseph sat up and looked directly at Ben in a manner to stop him for a minute. Joseph put his hands up and then tapped the skin on his forearm. Then he patted his chest with his right hand.
“When you say Euro-people, do you mean white folks like me?”
Ben noted the symbols immediately, “Yes Joseph, I mean white folks. Our people, the Romani people, came from Europe ages ago and still call the other folks from that land Euro-people.”
Joseph nodded to let him know he understood.
“This legend is of the old wren. The wren is an exceedingly small bird, sometimes unnoticed by common people. It is humble and straight forward as it goes about its daily work—much like the Roma’ folk. But there is also a mystery with this small bird, as known by the gypsies and forest people.
“The Roma could see this wren as an elf-life creature, easily moving in and out of dark spaces, shadows and small openings in tree trunks. As soon as it walked into a shaded spot, it disappeared. No one could tell where.
“They knew it to be a mysterious being and sometimes showed up as a human to perform a special deed. Usually something important that needed to be did. Some Euro-people believe that Gypsies can slip in and out of dimensions that way. They are sometimes fearful of us because they do not understand. People always fear what they do not understand. They believe we can become invisible.”
Joseph was fascinated with Ben’s story. But one thing captured is thoughts after he had a moment to digest the words along with the food.
“Ben mentioned the elders, the celestial elders. Are these the same beings that I dream about, I wonder?”
The flames from the campfire began to smolder and glow. Joseph could hear small cracks and pops. The sunset seemed to creep on them so quickly and leave a heavy crimson and burgundy glow on the camp. The shadows moved in a strange and eerie way, stealing visions and taking thoughts. All seemed protected in this valley encampment, but it was unusual to see this strange movement. Being in Ben’s presence made him feel sure things were fine.
Ben had moved behind the tented area and was taking care of something that needed to be tended to. Joseph had been thinking of how beautiful that time of the day was. His mind floated for a moment to the story Ben had just told him about the wren.
He looked around and did not see Ben anywhere. Then he showed up in a different part of the camp. It seemed unusual and normal at the same time. Joseph decided his eyes must be tired and blinked a couple of times.
It all reminded him that it was getting late. His eyes began to droop, and he shook his head in such a way trying to wake himself and be attentive. He wanted so badly to stay awake and listen all night to Ben tell of his experiences.
Ben knew Joseph was sleepy. He took out a blanket from his tent and handed it to the boy. There was plenty of time to talk and get to know each other later. Joseph knew it was an invitation to stay the night and he was very thankful to the new friend for his kindness.
As Ben went into the tent again, Joseph wrapped himself in the blanket and stretched out on the bench he had been sitting on. Ben took a few minutes to clear the table, wash out the plates and pot and prep the camp for night. After smoking from a pipe for a few minutes, he fell asleep in the big wooden chair nearest the fire.
The next day Joseph spent much time with Ben. He learned about the origin of gypsies.
My Inner Circle - Receive more in-depth intuitive class and workshop content, More specific articles to expand your consciousness, Podcasts with exercises, techniques and my personal spin on certain topics, Sometimes I just rant about something psychic! Always deeper insight and teachings. Thank you gift about Ancient Shamans with paid subscription!
Melissa Leath writes A Mystics Journal on Substack. She supplies outrageous metaphysical babble/rant from a modern-day mystic's viewpoint and provides workshops about empowerment and psychic/metaphysical development. Her books Psychic Integrity, The Respected Practice of Modern-Day Mystics (Balboa Press, division of Hay House Publishing) and Does Your Child See Sparkles? are available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Melissa’s long-term study includes years of group development, platform mediumship, meditation, becoming a spiritual medium and minister and a BA in Metaphysical Counseling. She has worked with 10s of thousands of clients in USA and other countries, taught development classes for 12 years and settled into online workshops.
Please contact Melissa at melisssaleath@gmail.com.