The Swan Center for Intuitive Living
A bridge from where you are in life to where you want to be.
Spiritual Discourses
by
Master Rose Ashley
A complimentary spiritual discourse recording is available on the first day of each month from 9am to 9pm Eastern Time.
Next recording available
July 1, 2026
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Spiritual Tidbits are bits of wisdom from Master Rose.
A new tidbit is posted on the first of every month.
JUNE 2026 SPIRITUAL TIDBIT
PENNYPACK PARK
I grew up in an area of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, filled with red-brick row houses. The homes on each city block were all connected and shared a common wall with a neighbor on the right and on the left, unless you were fortunate enough to have a corner house. The corner houses were larger and often had shops or a doctor’s office below, with a street-level entrance. The corner house on our block had a children’s clothing store, and the one across the street housed a beauty parlor.
Each row house had a front stoop that two houses would share, a common set of steps leading to a concrete walkway, then a few steps down to a sidewalk. There was a tiny lawn next to the walkway, with a little hill next to the sidewalk steps that was perfect for endless games of “King on the Mountain”, a classic game where one player takes position at the top of a hill while others try to push them off and take their place.
The sidewalk in front of the houses had a thin strip of grass alongside it, dotted with a few trees. A driveway ran behind the row of houses, so our backyard consisted of a place to park your car or to enter your one-car garage. The lawn and the trees were the only hints of nature in an otherwise concrete universe. Our saving grace was our proximity to Pennypack Park. Pennypack, a Lenni Lenape word for slow-moving water, was home to the Pennypack Creek and a beautiful waterfall.
I was first introduced to the park as a very young child by a relative who babysat me while my mother was at work. We entered the park near the waterfall and were immediately greeted by a group of enormous boulders that towered above us. I loved caressing their smooth, cold surfaces, hugging their mass, and feeling their power. I envisioned them as giant yet gentle creatures that were always there, loving and laughing. They were the setting for endless games of hide-and-seek and led the imagination on many wondrous adventures. The spirit of the rocks seemed to permeate
the entire park. It was ever-present and always willing to nurture me, comfort me, and speak to me in my times of need. When I was 7 years old, my parents purchased a row house that, to my delight, also offered access to Pennypack.
The end of World War II triggered many changes in housing development. The city was rapidly growing, and it was hungry. It lumbered towards the countryside like a fat little caterpillar eating everything in its path. Before long, it had gobbled up most of the small family farmland, leaving only buildings and concrete in its wake. Here and there, a little patch of green escaped its appetite, and you could see a lone field tucked behind a line of row houses. These scattered fields enjoyed only a brief reprieve before the caterpillar returned and gobbled them up, too, replacing them with a bowling alley or a new restaurant. Nothing was safe, and nothing was held sacred by the city except the park.
The park lay lower than the rest of the land and was thick with trees, 150 species of nesting and migrating birds, and a large variety of animals and plant life. Our neighborhood was also teeming with life but was seldom quiet. Horns honked out in the day and night, and buses hissed as they rolled to a stop. Children roller-skated, biked, yelled, laughed, and cried. Neighbors called out to each other. Men whistled while working, and women usually hummed while housekeeping and cooking. A variety of delicious smells drifted lazily out of open windows as Italian, Jewish, Hungarian, Irish,
Polish, and American dishes were all being prepared at the same time.
It felt as if the city above the park was restless, anxious, and concerned with getting ahead or going somewhere. The park was only concerned with being the park. The descent into the park was always the same. No matter where you entered, there would be a rocky hill heading downward. Each step took you deeper and deeper into the heart and soul of the park as a wonderful transformation began. The jarring sounds of the city became muffled and then were replaced entirely by the soothing sounds of singing birds, rustling leaves, and tumbling water. The aromas of the food and the smell of the fumes from the traffic exhaust were left above in exchange for the sweet smell of the creek and its moss-covered rocks. The air was moist and cool, and it always kissed your face and welcomed you.
I had many psychic experiences when I was a child, and I would often see images from the past when I would be in the park. I never thought it was unusual because at that age, I thought everybody saw exactly what I saw. It was only much later in my life that I realized that viewing auras, seeing spirits, and glimpses of the past were not the norm for many people.
The park was one of the main routes that Native Americans traveled for trading and hunting. The oldest surviving stone bridge still in use in the United States today was built over Pennypack Park in 1697. The road on top of the bridge was called Kings Highway. It was built to connect William Penn’s mansion to the city. Anyone traveling to the city by horseback or coach traveled on Kings Highway. George Washington crossed the bridge on his way to his first presidential inauguration, and it was frequented by John Adams and members of Congress as well.
I was madly in love with horses from an early age. I didn't own a horse, but I often saw people riding horses in the park, and I longed to be one of them. I discovered a riding stable that offered trail rides to the park. I begged my mother to allow me to go. She agreed, and I teamed up with one of my schoolmates, Marion, who was equally obsessed with horses. We spent several years riding horses together at Pennypack, and when we didn’t have the money to ride actual horses, we rode imaginary horses, galloping for hours on end through the park, whinnying and jumping over rocks and logs.
The King’s Highway changed names many times over the years. I knew it as the Pennypack Bridge. It served as a dividing line between sections of the park. The section that Marion and I rode and played in felt as if it were alive, happy, and teeming with life. The section on the other side of the bridge was a mystery to us. We had been cautioned not to go there on our own for safety reasons, and the stable owner had told us we were not permitted to ride horses there, ever. So, it was sort of a no-man’s land to us, but at the same time, it piqued our curiosity. One day, we decided to ignore all advice to the contrary and explore “the other side”. We found it to be a stark contrast to our happy side. It felt heavier and desolate, scary even. It wasn’t as green as the happy side, and we didn’t see any other people. We did some imaginary galloping and jumped over a new logs, but it got really boring really fast, so we decided to leave. Suddenly, we noticed a young boy walking in the opposite direction from where we were headed. He looked as if he was deep in thought, head down, and walking at a determined pace. There was something familiar about him, so I looked more closely and realized he was one of our classmates, Eddy P. Eddy was a gentle, quiet, steady soul and was well thought of. He was a good distance away from us, so I called out his name, and without breaking his stride, he looked our way, waved, and continued walking. We were stumped. What was Eddy doing here? He didn’t live nearby. There weren’t any buses or neighborhoods where he was headed. It struck us as so unusual that we quickened our steps back to the other side.
We had been on a school break for some time, and when we returned to school, we learned that Eddy had experienced a sudden, rare illness and died within 24 hours of the onset. Marion and I looked at each other in shock as we were reminded of our strange encounter with Eddy. We never asked but always wondered if Eddy had passed away before or after we saw him. The bridge became a stronger dividing line for us, separating happiness from the unknown, and we decided we would never cross it again.
Today, at age 79, I live in California, many years and thousands of miles away from Pennypack, but I visit it often through childhood photos, memories, and online updates. I will always cherish Pennypack. It was a peaceful, loving world within my world. One that encouraged me to be who I really am, a beloved child of God who has been given the birthright of happiness. If you ever visit Pennypack Park, look for me, and I am sure that you will find me. I will be filled with joy and laughter while galloping along on my imaginary horse.
Copyright©2015, 2026 by Master Rose Ashley
All rights reserved
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