Louie Hill

The following is a tribute to the man who lived in the house and land before us. Though I never had the opportunity to meet him, I appreciate him through our mutual connection to the land. As spring approaches and I turn to the soil, I see the tips of green poking through--bulbs planted long ago by Louie Hill. We have lived in this house now for nearly thirteen years, and I still find reminders of Louie.  The story below is a true story and my way of saying Thank You.

Louie Hill

We bought a dead man’s house,

and the house was full of stuff

left behind, stuff nobody wanted,

stuff we had to clear away

to make his home our own. 

It was hard emotional work

sifting through the remnants

of this old man’s life: closets

full of bed pans, underpads, transfer belts,

books on pain management. 

It seemed he had suffered greatly,

this poor man, Louie Hill,

and it made me feel sad. 

After about two months of daily heavy clearings,

I fell into a deep sleep, exhausted.

Suddenly my dream was interrupted

by the appearance of a man standing at the foot of my bed.

He was tall and robust,

about fifty years old,

and he was wearing this

hat     (gesture my hands to frame my head)

 We looked at each other for a moment

and then I said, “Oh, you’re Louie Hill!” 

and he said something that made me laugh.

Then after a pause I said, “You’re a Virgo!”  

The next morning I awoke,

overwhelmed by the palpability of this “dream visit.”

The energy lingered all around me and I couldn’t shake it. 

I felt his presence everywhere throughout the day.

Was that really the man who used to live in this house? 

Or was this just a dream? And if it was simply a dream,

then why was he fifty and healthy

when I’d been picturing him as a fading eighty-five--

--the age the realtor had told us he was when he’d died?

And where did that certainty about him being a Virgo come from?

I’d never seen any papers that may have revealed his date of birth,

nor had I seen any photos of him, for that matter. 

Weeks passed, and his image had still not faded from my mind.

I was filled with this insistent desire to find his birthdate

to confirm whether or not he’s a Virgo,

to “prove” to myself the “truth” of my dream. 

I called the courthouse.

But they would not reveal his personal information to me because I’m not a relative. So,

I asked them if they could give me the name of the cemetery he’s buried in, and they did.  Impulsively, I grabbed my keys, gathered up Raynah, and drove straight to the cemetery. 

The place was huge.

Acres and acres and acres of headstones, and I realized:

I have no idea where this man is buried.

So I drove around looking for a grave marker with the name “Hill”

and within minutes I saw it! Marveling at my good luck,

I jumped out of the car and ran over, but to my surprise, it didn’t say Louie Hill,

it was a different Hill. And that’s when it occurred to me:

“Hill” is a very common name.

I returned to my car and drove around the cemetery, Raynah riding in the backseat.

Every time I saw a marker labeled Hill, I’d jump out of my car and run over,

but none of them said “Louie.” 

I repeated several times this process of jumping out and back into my car,

when suddenly         

         I was struck 

                    by my absurdity

                           and wondered

                                if maybe 

                                      I was slightly

                                            losing

                                                my mind

Here I was

          driving among acres of headstones

                       looking for the grave of a dead man I’d never met to see if he’s a Virgo

I stopped the car

and from behind my steering wheel I spoke out loud,

“Spirit of Louie Hill!  If you can hear me, show me where to go!” 

And I found myself driving toward an area of the cemetery I’d already been,

and feeling compelled to stop there. 

“But this is crazy!” I argued with Louie out loud

“I’ve already looked here!” as I put my car in park.

Grumbling, I dragged myself out of the car,

unbuckled Raynah, plopped her not-yet-two-year-old body down by some plastic flowers, and started walking toward no particular destination.

I don’t know how much time lapsed, but suddenly I stopped walking.

Raynah was not at my side.

“Raynah!” I turned around.  

She was in the same place I’d left her! 

I had just walked a hundred yards in a total daze. 

Shaking my head in bewilderment, my eyes

fixed directly on the gravestone to my immediate left.

I read the carved inscription,

gasped loudly and fell to my knees:

  

        Louie Hill  

September 16, 1911

“You are a Virgo…”

I whispered.

“It really was you in my dream…”

And then I understood why I was there, 

why he called me there.

He had something to tell me,

and I had something to learn.

“What is it you want me to know?” I asked him.

“What are you trying to teach me?”

And in a rush it was clear to me: 

he wanted to show me he’s not in pain;

he doesn’t want me to envision him as a bedridden eighty-five year old;

he wants me to remember him as he appeared to me:

at his prime, at his peak where he was happiest and most satisfied with his life; 

He wanted to help me affirm for myself that

I am powerful psychically and I really need to trust that. 

He wanted to teach me how to distinguish between

regular dreams and dream visits

because he must’ve known I’ve been struggling with that distinction my whole life.

He wanted to remind me that possibilities for communication and alliance are not limited to the sphere of living, enfleshed bodies. The spirit world, the dream world, the animal and totem world—these places hold life and his dream visit reminded me (in an even more personal way than Harjo, Silko, Gunn Allen, LaDuke and Awiakta remind me) of the importance to honor the mutuality we share with the beings living in these places.  If we learn to listen, if we learn to trust, if we pay attention to the signs,

we can sustain connections across these worlds through vulnerable resistance.We can create homeplace through our relationships and alliances with the living beings that surround us in our immediate worlds.

Greg and I had been clearing the remains of Louie’s homeplace and

making it our own when Louie had come to visit me in that dream.

He wanted to thank us

for treating the physical remnants of his existence with respect.

He wanted to let us know that he helped us to find this land by drawing us there.

Through the dream visit I was able to realize that this land

wasn’t “his” land, and nor is it now “our” land, but that importantly we are of this land.  (We bought the place late fall, when many plants were dormant.

To my abundant surprise, that next spring— our first spring on this land—

lilies of all kinds burst into bloom.)

I realized Louie told me he was a Virgo because he knew

 that was the approach that would resonate with me, that was the sign I would read

that would give me a way to validate this dream experience.

Because evidently,

he also knew that despite all my performances of “ommm”  

I’m often a total skeptic. I need ways to affirm these mystical experiences. 

“Thank you, Louie Hill,” I whispered.

            Some time later, I was outside on my driveway, and my neighbor Gina came over. She lived in the house next door, which had been her grandma’s house; so Gina had actually played at that house quite often when she was younger.  I did the math in my head and figured out that when she was a kid, Louie would have been about the age he was in my dream. So, I casually asked her if she had known the man who used to live in my house.

            “Oh Louie? Yeah! I remember Louie. Louie was always outside, working in his yard… I used to follow him around.” 

            “Really? Tell me about him. What did he look like?”

            “Well, he was tall. He was a really big man--not fat, not thin. But strong. Really solid.” 

            I found myself thinking, robust, remembering my dream.

“Oh…yeah,” said Gina, lost in memory, “and he always wore this…hat,” and she gestured with her hands toward her head.       

Later, Greg came in from working outside, saying,

“Hey, look what I found in the garage.”

He was holding the hat I saw Louie wearing in my dream.

--Diana Tigerlily