Circle of Five 

Chapter One: The Howling Wheel 

Like most people, I have an incredible story to tell, and although it will seem quite

impossible to believe, it is ceremoniously cloaked in the medium of fiction. You may enjoy a

little personal alteration, in just the right amounts, as you take in the experiences I will share in

these pages. A most intimate look into the nature of what makes us human, seen through my

eyes. It was after my bitter divorce that my life began to return pieces of me to myself, my

origins, and ultimately my destruction and my rebuilding. Some would think of this as a spiritual

calling, or even a hero’s journey. But by humanity's standards, I’m most definitely a nobody. Not

fabulous, famous, wealthy or even particularly kind-hearted. So how could I have been chosen

for greatness? How is a lowly ant, or lonely sparrow important in the grand scheme of things? In

this world of media generated, enhanced human superheroes for people to look up to, where

would I possibly fit in? If you want to know the answer, keep reading. Otherwise, there are

plenty of other tales available to suit the tastes of the modern content consumer.

The story begins with me, a single mom with nowhere to go, no family and no job. I got a

call one day from someone working for the government that hated deadbeat dads, informing me

that I qualified for lump sum benefits. I had always believed miracles existed but I had never

been a lucky recipient until then. I packed everyone into our minivan, which someone had

observed at one point was the “anti-soccer mom” model, and drove to Arizona. I had a storage

room full of things I had left behind when I left a violent and traumatic situation in a hurry, and I

was anxious to resolve that issue.

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We drove the fifteen hundred miles in a little under a week. “We” consisted of myself,

my two kids and our family cats, four of them if you must know. This made it difficult to stay

anywhere for a long time. Feeling a bit like a favored child, I prayed for another miracle but this

time I actually expected a result. Not because I felt entitled, but because I had cash. In a few

days, we had narrowed our search to a couple of houses, focusing on something with a little bit

of land versus a cookie cutter house with little privacy that were so common in the area. It just so

happened that money did beget miracles, and I felt an empowerment that I don’t think I had ever

felt, even when we were flush during the high points of my marriage. At the end of a long

driveway that was easily missed from the main road stood our humble white rental house. It was

situated on a large parcel of land situated at the base of the Phoenix state preserve, sharing space

with one of the few horse properties within city limits. It was a low-end1950’s minimal style

square house with bedrooms the size of walk-in closets, but we were free and starting a new life,

so the imperfections didn’t matter. It also helped that it was easy to get into, with none of the

typical hoops to jump through since I had enough money to pay several months in advance. The

only snag came up right before I signed the lease.

“Why did you change your mind when I said I wouldn’t check references?” The landlord,

Pam, asked me point blank. This was her blunt response to my mention of looking at other

houses in the area before committing to hers. I had already explained to her that we had lived in

Arizona a few years ago when she questioned why we moved here from out of state. The truth

was, I didn’t have a good reason for coming back, I just felt compelled to deal with unfinished

business.
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“You’ve given me the advantage of a quick move-in,which helps since I have everything

we own in a moving van and we’re tired of staying in hotels with our cats.” That equally blunt

answer seemed to satisfy Pam, and we started moving in the next day. I really didn’t like her or

the property, but our options were limited and I was exhausted from the fifteen hundred mile trip

from Washington.

It tended to be my habit to gravitate towards those who didn’t feel blindly compelled to

let the rules of society override their own sense of the rightness of things. I would later

understand that in this case, my landlord was simply being used by something with a greater

purpose to bring me to this place. When my experience had been completed, she promptly began

to hate me, like other people had in the past when it was time to move on. That was always my

cue that the Devil was set loose on me, challenging me to a duel I should never be able to win,

but always somehow managed to.

The property was obviously well-loved many years prior, the evidence of which were the

remnants of meticulous desert landscaping that were only noticeable if you looked hard enough.

The real focal point of the property was the horse barn and arena, always neat and clean with

perfect landscaping, vastly unlike the rest of the property. This kind of attention to detail was

typical for a high-priced horse boarding operation, but it only added to the sense of discordancy

the place seemed to emanate. To the back of the arena was a dome-shaped home, which would

have been much more quaint if it wasn’t for the chipping, bright-white heat-resistant paint that

almost hurt to look at. It was near this structure that my daughter first mentioned seeing an old

lady walking around at night, sometimes taking cover in the scrub brush in the raveen at the base
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of the home. With her history of sensing departed spirits, I quietly accepted this as a part of the

deal.

We moved during the mid-summer swelter, and I started to seriously question my haste

in choosing the easiest path after trying out the late model swamp coolers provided for us. I

reminded myself that this is how it works -- if there is minimal resistance in a situation that’s

important to you, it’s usually meant to be. Not that I was wary of a challenge, in fact, I had lived

on the thrill of challenges for most of my life. I had done this so much that I had forgotten to

recognize the spiritual undercurrents of life, where the real magic happens. To hear that low

rumbling of the source of everything in the endless clamor of voices in the ordinary world vying

for our attention takes skill and effort, just like anything else worth having.

The summer was almost unbearable since we hadn’t been back long enough to fully

acclimate, and it wasn’t until late Fall that we could start hiking during the day again. We came

across many strange and interesting objects; one day we might stumble across cannon artillery

and the next some petrified wood,each representing some of the story of that land. My son was

happy then, with his camera and his ability to single in on the visual haiku’s of nature or its

elements. My daughter scurried up those hills and rock faces with wild bursts of the energy of a

flock of birds. We never knew if we would find a bit of turquoise or petrified wood, or maybe a

small pile of junk from the hobo that stole from the Goodwill in the strip mall that was next to

the property. It was essentially our own private mountain range, humble and unimpressive as it

was.

My daughter had been talking about the “Indian” ghost lady again, so I thought it would

be fun to climb to one of the flatter peaks and make a medicine wheel out on sticks and rocks.
Circle of Five 

Like most people, I was aware of the imagery, but unlike most, I also felt an affinity for the

meaning behind the form. She loved to pick the ones that were “alive”, something I didn’t

respect until years later when she was too old to care anymore. The sun was getting ready to set

by the time we were done, the light bouncing off the quartz of the medicine wheel was subtle,

but somehow gave me the impression of a bonfire set on a deserted island. The fire from that

wheel must have been howling as it sat alone in the night, collecting the strange energy from that

place, and in a few days I would begin to understand the impact of this playful gesture.

“Mom, do you see that?” My daughter pointed to a patch of brush next to the house.

“It’s her again”, she got up and scooted inside before I could answer. Dusk was fading into night,

so I wasn’t sure if the light was playing tricks on her, but I knew better than to deny her abilities.

“What was she doing this time?” I casually asked, not wanting to make a big deal since

she really hated that.

“She was just hiding again, looking at us -- I don’t like that.” She was only seven years

old, but Andy had seen ghosts for as long as we could remember. It was no surprise, since it ran

in the family like a genetic anomaly, but she had a double dose since her Dad had the ability too.

I had decided a while ago that I should teach her to just accept it, but I knew it still scared her. I

wondered if the Indian had followed us to to top of the hill. I hoped that this gesture would bring

her some peace, but I didn’t know much about Native culture so I hoped that I hadn’t offended

either.

“Maybe she was coming by to thank you, for helping with the medicine wheel”, I said,

hoping she would drop it.

“Yeah, maybe” Andy replied, unconvinced.

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“Well, she never comes inside, so let’s just forget it for now.” I closed the curtains since

she was convinced the ghosts and the wild animals watched us through the windows at night.

Andy accepted her abilities, but she was still a little girl with fears that had to be quenched, so I

did whatever made her feel safe.

“Do you want me to go talk to her?”, I asked as an afterthought.

“Okay, but how can you if you can’t see her?” Andy directed her mild objection my way

without looking at me. She was playing with her horse figurines, something that always calmed

her when she was uneasy.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way” I said, knowing it was the truth. I hadn’t given up on my

own abilities, but life had cast a dull shadow over my senses. She always knew when I wasn’t

fully present, she was like an animal that way too. She looked at me to see if I was humoring her,

but my own resolution to tap into the experience convinced her and she gave her blessing by

getting back to her horse play.

I sat at the old iron patio table, which was situated between the house and the brush, and

lit a candle. I considered for a moment why this place might attract restless spirits. The scent of

dry brush and mesquite, the stars against the glowing hills, and the distant sounds of horses

settling in for the night provided the connection I needed. I closed my eyes and asked, “Is there a

message you’d like to give my daughter?”. I kept them closed and listened to the jumbled,

discordant symphony of man and nature, hoping for something to come through. I looked up at

the stars again, feeling small like everyone else who was looking at the exact same moment, and

my mind kept wandering along those lines until I saw my daughter peeking out of the curtain.
Circle of Five 

Taking my cue, I started towards the door, when I heard something faintly tinkling, like

an otherworldly wind chime or dried-up wishing well with its contents being disturbed. I decided

I would check it out in the morning, since I got the distinct feeling that something was there, and

I didn’t want it to be that hobo and his junk falling out of his pockets.

The magic of the previous night was now a puff of smoke that had faded with the harsh

light of the day, fragile and obscure compared to other pressing matters, but the uneasiness it left

behind was enough for me to attempt to do something about the the situation.

“Did you know that there is a homeless person living out here?”, I asked the landlord,

who peered at methought the screen door on her porch. “Yeah, I know about it,” she said with a

look that let me know she didn’t really care, “but law enforcement can’t do anything about it

since it’s technically public land.” She stayed behind the door, alluding that I wasn’t welcome.

“Just like the coyote pack that no-one can do anything about, right?” I was getting sick of

her attitude, but I reminded myself that this was the flip-side of dealing with someone who was

lax about rules. It was strange though, because this was the kind of woman that seemed to know

the law, even claimed to be a legal researcher. She sat alone day after day in her broken down

mobile home, letting her husband do all the work on the property. She most likely had health

problems, since she always looked pale and greasy, like someone from the middle ages that

didn’t eat enough vegetables. I tried to be kind, and offer advice on healthy living, but that made

her dislike me even more.

“Well, just let my husband know if you actually see him by your house, then we can do

something.” I left with the situation unresolved, mostly because I couldn’t stand the smell

anymore, but I also had a feeling that it wasn’t really him who had visited me. I didn’t think of it
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at the time, but the motion detector lights never turned back on after I had sat motionless for a

good ten minutes.

I walked the dusty path back to our house, feeling stuck between two worlds and not able

to make myself felt in either. “Hey Andy,” I greeted her halfheartedly after I noticed her sitting

on the patio step fingering some small objects, “did you find some cool rocks?” She pointed to a

pile of what appeared to be a jumble of coins and metal charms next to her, and said “this wasn’t

here yesterday.”

I knelt down spread the contents out to get a better look. “This looks like someone’s coin

collection, maybe even the person that lived here before us”.

“No, I know it wasn’t here before Mom”, Andy’s tenacity in situations like this tended to

wear me out, but she was usually right about things like this too. I had never known a more

observant person in all of my life, and for her handful of years she was also one of the strongest.

“Well, let’s take a closer look then”, I was all-in by this point, no longer distracted by

feelings of futility and distaste for the mundane affairs of life. The coins were a variety of cheap

alloys and discolored brass, most with odd inscriptions and images, which meant they obviously

held no monetary value. I poked at one that resembled a rosary charm which read “Pray For Us”,

next to an image of an archangel.

“Can I see the one in your hand too?” I said as I noticed Andy was digging some of the

dirt off of the face of a larger coin. The coin was a more substantial brass material, with a

blackened face that served as a background for five raised stars positioned in a semicircle. The

back was plain, except for a geometric symbol barely etched into the metal. I handed it back to

her, but she gently pushed my hand back, insisting ”No, this one is for you.”
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“Well then,” I said, sensing that the point was one coin was a fair trade for the lot, “why

don’t you take the rest and add them to your found objects collection”. Andy agreed to the terms

and gave the little smile that looked like an anime cat or the Mona Lisa that always meant she

was fully satisfied with whatever it was that caused the expression to occur.

I knew better than to question her too much, since she had a hard time finding the right

words to describe her abilities. “Andy, why did you come outside by yourself?” I asked after her

expression had faded, not wanting to disturb her inner calm.

“I didn’t really want to,” she said, her hesitation signaling a need for more prompting. I

reached for her hand, and waited for her to continue. “I heard a pretty tinkling sound, like

fairies.” I could tell she was embarrassed by this admission, since she was very practical for

someone her age. She wasn’t the type to play pretend games and she didn’t need a forced

education in imagination building. This quality would surely become her guide later in life.

“You know what?” I squeezed her hand so she would make eye contact, “I heard it too --

last night”. We sat in silence, each of us with our small tether to the mysterious unknown,

enjoying the fact that we weren’t alone in our uneasiness at the prospect. The sun began to set,

the sky filled with vibrant oranges and pinks. A lone coyote began to howl, punctuating the

intensity of the silence and the knowing. The rest of the pack followed, yipping themselves into a

frenzy. It reminded me again of the clamor, and I wished for the lone howl again.

The old woman moved towards the home where the warm lighting from the windows

poured over her, rendering an image that would have been perfectly clear if anyone had been

looking. She was about four feet ten inches hunched over, with long white hair fixed neatly into a

ponytail that was tied with deerskin leather. She had a small pouch affixed to another piece of
Circle of Five 

leather around her neck, but this one was decorated with coils of copper and bits of small

gemstone beads piled onto each other and weighing down the necklace. She began chanting

softly, and almost imperceptibly bobbing up and down to her own rhythm. The chant was low

and rough, and she closed her eyes and listened to the drumbeats at the top of the hills, where a

different tribe must have lived. All drumming connected to the one spirit, even if the families

were unrelated. But here was her distant relation Eva, and her children, living in a box when

they should be in a circle.

The old woman held their images in her mind as clearly as she could while she continued

bobbing and chanting, breaking down the veils of perception as the medicine men of her youth

had taught her. She moved out of the light, and became invisible in Eva’s world again but stayed

vigilant in her work throughout the night. When the sky lit up the tips of the hills and the stars

began to fade she resumed her work at the medicine wheel, noticing how she never seemed to

tire of work any more. She did not remember her name or how she got here, but she knew Eva

would help her in return for saving her family.