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The Night I Invited Edgar Allan Poe to the Villa Montezuma

  • Bonnie Vent
  • Aug 10
  • 3 min read

By Medium Bonnie Vent

Digital painting of Edgar Allan Poe in refined 19th-century attire, standing before the ornate Victorian architecture of the Villa Montezuma under a moody, twilight sky.
Edgar Allan Poe, reimagined with dignity, stands before the historic Villa Montezuma — a meeting of literary legacy and timeless artistry.

Some encounters begin in the most unexpected of ways—through a simple image, a moment of focus, and the opening of a bridge between worlds. On this night, the bridge was steady and well-guarded. The Connection surrounded us in calm light, while Nikola Tesla anchored the structure of the space itself—quietly stabilizing the energy, his presence like a crystalline framework holding the moment in perfect balance.


Into that space stepped a man whose work has haunted and fascinated generations: Edgar Allan Poe.


He arrived cautious, a little disoriented, still carrying the weight of the life he had left behind. There was an air of melancholy about him, the residue of misunderstandings and judgments from his time among the living. Yet beneath it all, a creative fire still glowed, waiting for the right conditions to burn steady again.


Wanting to ease his discomfort, I told him he could appear however he wished. At that, his clothing transformed—fine fabrics, a perfectly tailored coat, an air of dignity restored. Jesse Shepard, who had joined us in this space, smiled warmly and added that Poe was welcome to dress “as a man of his station.” It was both a time-period reference and a quiet reassurance—an unspoken you belong here. The two men, though from different eras, shared the unshakable bond of those who knew what it was to be misjudged.


🌿

Then Jesse extended his creative gift: a meeting room, entirely of his own making, began to materialize around us.


It was a high-ceilinged salon, bathed in soft amber light, the walls adorned with rich damask in deep burgundy. Tall windows, draped in velvet, opened onto a view of a moonlit garden that existed only in this in-between place. A polished grand piano stood in one corner, its surface reflecting the glow of a crystal chandelier overhead. Plush armchairs, arranged in a semi-circle, invited conversation. The air felt warm, safe, and steeped in quiet refinement—the kind of room where ideas could be spoken freely without fear of judgment.


Jesse placed a hand on Poe’s shoulder.

“I will host you, but you must do the work yourself.”

There was no condescension in his tone—only the respect of one artist to another, offering guidance without erasing autonomy.


💡

It was then that Poe shared something I will not forget:

“I understand the difference between those who come with lanterns and those who arrive with torches.”

The room seemed to still, holding the weight of the truth in his words. Lanterns bring light to guide the way. Torches, in his time, often meant pursuit, judgment, and danger.


🏛️

Before we closed the bridge, I extended an invitation. There would soon be a performance of Poe’s work at the Villa Montezuma—a historic home dear to Jesse. Would they attend together? Jesse nodded, already knowing the way. We set an energetic marker so the moment would be easy for them to find.


Two men, separated by decades in life but united in spirit, stood together in a space designed for healing—while Nikola Tesla’s steady presence ensured that every word, every shift in the air, was held in harmony.


And I—lantern in hand—was simply honored to witness it.


✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧ :・゚✧:・゚✧


💬 I welcome your thoughts. If this story resonates with you, I’d love to hear from you. You can share your reflections, ask questions, or simply say hello.


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✧・゚: ✧・゚: ✧ :・゚✧:・゚✧

Until we meet again, stay in your frequency.

Medium Bonnie Vent

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Bonnie Vent
Aug 14
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

After reading Poe’s original obituary, I was struck by how closely it mirrored the way he presented himself during our meeting. The account describes his disoriented state, his simple yet worn clothing, and the deep melancholy that surrounded him in his final days. In life, he had been orphaned at just two years old, endured public misunderstanding, and was often seen speaking to himself — signs of a mind both brilliant and burdened.


When we encountered him, these qualities were still present, as if time had not eased the weight he carried. It makes me even more grateful for Jesse Shepard’s role in creating a space for him — a room filled with dignity, safety, and creative possibility. Jesse’s gentle…

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Bonnie Vent
Aug 11
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.
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