Have you ever encountered someone just in passing or with whom you have had a brief encounter, that left an indelible impression on your soul?

For me, the question would not be so strange if I were asking about a family member, friend, or mentor. I am talking about someone who is a complete stranger – one who you don’t even know their name. It is possible that you have not even had a conversation with this person. This has happened to me a few times so far in my life and these experiences have marked me and left me with memories that I can never forget.

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The first experience of this sort that I can remember happened about 15 years ago in Tampa, Florida. I was in West Tampa at an architectural salvage yard looking for a door and some trim work that I needed to complete a historic home restoration. The salvage yard was huge and seemed abandoned, except for the man behind the counter of the antique shop that it was connected to.

As I was fumbling around, getting dirty and looking for my treasures, I saw something out of the corner of my eye that caught my attention. It was an old, beat up, termite eaten, upright piano. Having learned to play the piano by ear from my granny, I wandered over, found a stump that I used as a stool, and sat down. I began picking out an old tune that my granny had taught me called ‘South’.

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I was getting my groove on when out of no where a tall, skinny, old, black lady wandered up to the piano and asked me if she could play. She was stunning in a ‘frozen in time’ kind of way. She was a ghostly image out of the old South, dressed in denim overalls, white undershirt, and tattered black work boots.

Her hair was long and mostly grey and wiry. She had it wrapped in two buns on the back side of her head in sort of a Princess Leia style. Her face was soft and kind with deep set eyes, high cheek bones, thin lips, and a pronounced jaw line. Even though she was old, thin, and dressed like a field hand, she had a soft grace and elegance about her.

I obliged and offered her my stump at the piano. I wanted to ask her if she would play something soulful for me, but I felt like a small child standing before God and I could not find the words to ask.

I stood up, she took the stump, plucked at a few keys and tested the pedals. Once she was ready, she began to play and hum in a low, deep voice. All I can tell you is that there was a spirit and energy there in that moment that still makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I think about it.

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She played a few old slave songs like ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ and a vibrant, New Orleans jazz rendition of ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’. She tickled the ivories of that old ‘seen better days’ piano with her long, thin fingers as she maneuvered the pedals with her right foot and kept time with her left, tapping out the rhythm on the gravel floor.

She sang in a low, gruff, emotional voice that only comes with age and life experience. I could feel she was not just singing the words but that she really felt them, reliving parts of her life through the songs. When she finished, I thanked her for lifting my spirit and feeding my soul.

I went on with my search for materials and she vanished. I returned to the salvage yard several times, trying to find my soul sister, but no one seemed to know who I was talking about. Without a name, my search was in vain.

Another such woman lives here in Atenas, Costa Rica. From the first time I saw her, her image was burned into my mind. To this day, I feel an overwhelming joy inside me when I see her, but I really cannot explain why. She makes me smile. I refer to her as the ‘These Old Bones’ woman or my ‘Mountain Angel’, a reference to two of my favorite songs written by Dolly Parton.

Mountain Angel is of a very small stature and frame. She is all of 5 feet tall and if she weights a hundred pounds wet, it would be a miracle. Looking at her, her face is like a road map of her life, deeply marked and wrinkled by the intense Costa Rican sun. Her skin looks like fine, hand tooled leather that has been slowly worn by the elements.

She has long, curly, black and grey hair that she wears down but always covered by a scarf. She has one or two dresses that she changes from time to time, often accessorized with a belt fashioned out of an old piece of red cloth or strips from a croaker sack. Her feet look hard and calloused from years of walking the hills of Atenas, completely barefooted.

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Mountain Angel is in her own little world, carrying on full conversations with herself while walking around Atenas. Anyone passing her on the street would automatically say she was a crazy woman. The truth is, I am not sure she is any more crazy than you or I.

As I go about my daily errands, I have seen Mountain Angel fence side, talking with neighbors in what looks like to be a logical manner. All the locals in town seem to know her and no one speaks poorly of her, only referring to her with terms of endearment.

I don’t know much about her other than that she lived with her parents until they died and she now lives alone. Mountain Angel still lives in the old house where she grew up. Most people refer to her house as a ‘shack’.

Someone said that the local Catholic church wanted to give her a new house, but she refused, saying she had a home, but there were others who were not so lucky. Mountain Angel allegedly told the priest that she already had a home, so it would better to give the new house to someone who did not have one.

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I guess the moral of this story, if there is one, is to never judge a book by its cover. Anyone, at anytime, can cross your path even if ever so briefly and leave a lasting impression. Their energy can strike a chord within you that will leave you smiling and cherishing the experience for the rest of your life.

So far, two strangers in the form of old ladies, from different cultures and countries have touched my life in a profound way. I can’t wait to see who else crosses my path and leaves me just a little more ‘enlightened’. Stay tuned, for I am going to find out the true story behind Atenas’ very own ‘Mountain Angel’.

When I see Mountain Angel, the words of Dolly Parton’s ‘These Old Bones’, play in my head:

“These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
What you can’t see with your eye
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And it’s all in where they scatter
Tells you what the future holds

Oh, she lived up on the mountain
Eleven miles or so from town
With a one-eyed cat named Wink,
A billy goat and a blue tick hound
Her graying hair was braided
And wrapped around her head
And her dress was long and faded
And her home a rusty shed

In a little pouch of burlap
Tied with a piece of twine
There were bones all shapes and sizes
Gathered through the course of time
She’d throw them out before you
She swore that she could see
The present, past and future
She could ready your destiny

Everybody knew about her
Came to get their fortune read
Concerning health and wealth and power
Who to love and when to wed
Well, I just like helpin’ people
I’m just glad that I could help
Why, I know everybody’s secrets
But I keep it to myself

These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
What you can’t see with your eye
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And it’s all in where they scatter
Tells you what the future holds

Some called her witchy woman
Some said she was insane
Some said she was a prophet
Still everybody came
Just because a body’s different
Well, that don’t make ’em mad
Well, they’ve crucified a many
For the special gifts they’ve had

I had often heard about her,
Dreamed about her now and then
For I, too, was clairvoyant,
Came about when I was ten
I was fascinated with her
And the things I’d heard about
And I knew some day I’d meet her,
And one day it came about

Well, I know’d that you ‘uz a’comin’
I could feel it in my bones
These old bones have also told me
That I won’t be here for long
Did you know that you ‘uz adopted?
Did you know you once’t was mine?
But the county took you from me,
Said I wasn’t right in mind

But I just know’d I had to see you
‘Fore these bones was laid to rest
So I conjured up a message
It must’a worked, I guess
This gift runs in the family
I know you also know
And I passed this gift on to you
These old bones, they’re just for show

These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
How to live and when you’ll die
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And it’s all in where they scatter
Tells you what the future holds

I held her hand while she was dyin’
And with the funeral through
I headed on back up the mountain
For Billy, Wink and Blue
And that little pouch of burlap
With those bones so worn and old
She give me somethin’ special
Now every time I throw

These old bones will tell your story
These old bones will never lie
These old bones will tell you surely
What you can’t see with your eye
These old bones, I shake and rattle
These old bones, I toss and roll
And it’s all in how they scatter
Tells you what the future holds

Now I can’t tell you what you want to hear
I just tell you what I see
It’s these old bones a’talkin’
Blame it on them”

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Mountain Angel or Crazy Woman? You can’t judge a book by the cover.

Article/Property ID Number 4647

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