Posted in Dark Dreams, Dream Masters, Fall 2016, Fate, spirituality

Why Do Bad Things Happen?

Sated

The smell of blood was overpowering and intoxicating, it made her feel alive. Within the demon, Ghostie felt everything the demon, Wane did. First there had been the hollowness without end and the gritty scraping of forcing itself to open its eyes and feel the pain to know that it existed. It seemed to go on for ages winding back and forth between the two agonies, from unbearable nothingness and a dizzying sensation of falling without end when its eyes were shut firmly, to hitting the ground Bam!and raw skin being rubbed away by the gritty rocks, gasping for breath in the fumes but never breathing (because it was dead, really really dead) everytime it opened its eyes. Trying to breath was the worst agony of all, each time it felt like reliving the moment of death. This creature may have been human once but that memory only hurt now.

In the end, the pain was better than limbo, and by a sheer force of will Wane finally forced the eyes open, stopped trying to breath and just existed. That was when Ghostie realized she had walked these streets before. She had been granted the chance to visit both Heaven and Hell, long ago and came away with the knowledge that they exist every moment in the same exact space as the material world. But whether Heaven or Hell is dominent depends entirely upon one’s mind set, a changing thought transforms the world entirely.

Now from within the heart of the demon, Wane, Ghostie peered out from a mind stuck in Hell, unable to free itself. She saw the world of gritty black and white, choking fumes wisping about. They could see the material world but everything looked distorted and strange. People passed by, not seeing and that hurt. It scraped their raw skin like sandpaper everytime the living looked but didn’t see. Crawling slowly the demon tried to find relief in the shadows, away from hurtful humans. The people didn’t look at the shadows, so it was softer there. The shadows hurt less.

A long time they spent there in the shadows, Ghostie and Wane. From there they could see the people but not be hurt by them. There they watched the world of the living, in constant pain but glad to have escaped limbo at last. Then as the day seemed about to end and darkness was about to fall. A smell came to the demon, blood. It came from a young woman. In the world of gritty black and white the demon saw a person in living color. It was a teenage girl on her period. As the the demon breathed in the smell of blood, it suddenly realized, it was breathing. Air filled with the scent of blood was breathable.

Breathing made the demon strong, it could stand up. It could walk into the light. People’s eyes didn’t hurt anymore. It could walk and run and . . . fly. The demon flew to the girl and clung to her feeling ever stronger the closer it was to her. It could feel the flowing blood. It was intoxicated. It whispered to the girl, promised to do her bidding. So grateful was the demon. The girl heard but did not listen, she feared voices with out bodies. She prayed for silence and washed the blood away. Sorrow filled the demon heart. It closed it’s eyes and returned to oblivion for a time.

Opening its eyes was Hell all over again, no time had passed. It was still stuck in that same moment, begging the girl to see him, being rejected and ignored. Pain like knives, ripped and shredded the demon heart . . .

Ghostie doesn’t like to remember what happened next, it was too terrible. The demon having become strong on the scent of blood, yet denyed the chance to redeem its soul in the service of the living, became the instrument of carnage. The girl would not hear Wane, but others would and did. Drunken men with bitter thoughts, felt the demon’s power and joined freely to it. In their bodies the demon was able to murder and make blood flow, more and more blood. The more it flowed the stronger Wane became entering the minds of the sorrowful, the angry and the vengeful living, the demon killed freely wantonly joyfully.

But inside the demon’s heart Ghostie could see that Wane wasn’t getting what it really wanted, the blood thirst could not be sated. The more blood spilled the greater Wane’s thirst for blood grew. No matter how much was drunk, every time the demon blinked, oblivion was there, waiting for it to grow tired. Fear filled the demon as soon as the killing stopped, it would be as it was before. Wane struggled to find an answer even as more were murdered. The girl, some instinct said that she was the answer. Returning to her in the blood soaked body of a killer, the demon attacked.

Not to kill this time, she had heard Wane before the killing started. If only she would hear again, if only she would acknowledge the demon. Instinct drove Wane to rape. It didn’t work of course, it only made things worse. But it was the key, the clue Ghostie recognized. From within she felt the demon desperately reaching, trying to grasp . . .

The difference between Heaven and Hell is a mind set. Rape is an unforgivable sin because it is forced but flip the coin, change the mind set, and the exact same actions become those of the ardent lover. Wane was following instinct to no avail. Soon the girl would die as the demon vented its frustration on her helpless body. But now Ghostie saw the goal clearly, what instinct was trying to tell Wane. Willing to do whatever it took to save the girl, Ghostie made her presnce known, traveling from the heart of the demon into its mind. There she filled Wane with her own memory of the most sensual lovemaking she had ever experienced.

The power of it surprised her, as she relived that ecstatic joy of life, she had experienced so long ago. It shocked the demon. For a moment, they saw each other plain as any two people meeting, both looked like simple human souls. Then it was gone in a flash of brilliant light. The demon was no more. Wane’s soul had escaped.

“That was what you asked for.”

Ghostie heard her lord speak. Yes, countless times, she had asked why history is filled with so many horrible instances of humans committing nightmarish acts against each other. Now she had an answer, demons with no one to help them find freedom from their pain. Rape and murder make them feel alive, they crave it insatiably. Fighting them only leads to more bloodshed and darkness. But give them a moment’s surrender, full of compassionate love, and they can be sated, transformed, freed.

Posted in Dark Dreams, Dream Masters, Fall 2016, Fate, spirituality

The Blue Demon

Primp

Younger daughter Emani, never took the time to primp. Not that she could if she wanted to. Older sister Ada was always there, in front of the mirror, fixing her hair, adjusting her sari. Jeweled necklaces draped Ada’s perfect slender throat. Intricately woven strands of gold encircled her wrists and sparkling gemstone flowers dangled from her ears. Ada’s face was a vision of beauty and perfection, its expression absolutely calm with an enchanting hint of slight smile that danced about her eyes.

That was how Ghostie came upon the two Ada at the mirror and Emani scurrying at her feet, like a little mouse picking up Ada’s discarded scarves to put away carefully for her beloved older sister.

In another room nearby Ghostie found the parents discussing Ada’s wedding. They had interviewed suitor after suitor to find this one. He was younger and not as rich as the others, but he came from a noble family and had the best manners. Upon first sight of Ada, he had been struck speechless and the parents were certain that he would worship her as they did and keep her safe. For all of her life they had made certain to keep her, their jewel, hidden safe from any evil.

Now they discussed her dowry, the parents felt they must give her everything they had. They were old, they didn’t need much. They would buy every strand of gold, every jewel, for their darling, Ada. Listening, Ghostie wondered, what about Emani? What would they use for her dowry? Looking deeper into their thoughts Ghostie saw that they did not think of Emani as pretty at all, they planned no marriage in her future. Instead Emani was to care for them in old age, a spinster.

Looking back at the girls, Ghostie saw little difference at all in their physical looks, it was their manner that was different. Ada was supercilious as she admired her own reflection delicately primping for her own pleasure. Emani was humble, bent over putting things away for her sister. Yet the way she did it betrayed a hidden grace. Each time she put away one of her sister’s belongings, Emani placed it with a reverence that showed how much she loved Ada.

At last the girls and parents lay down and went to sleep, Ghostie sat by a window wondering how she could help this family see the error of their ways. None of them had shown any ability to see her as she watched them. Still Ghostie knew her Lord always had a purpose for her. There must be something she was to do.

It was not long before she saw him. A demon with blue skin appeared in the room and looked down upon Ada. Ghostie could sense no malice, he seemed curious more than anything but as he looked upon her, Ada coughed and clutched her throat as if she was choking. Ghostie jumped up and leaped to stop him, for she saw that he desired her and was powerful enough to take what he wished. But she found her way barred by his black skinned servants. She had not noticed them, hidden in the shadows. Strange, Ghostie wondered, I sense no evil nor malice, rather the air hangs thick with the feel of . . . Justice. There was nothing she could do, Ghostie realized, if justice was being done, she had no power to stop the blue demon.

As Ada writhed dying upon the floor. Emani awoke, saw the demon and begged him to take her in place of her sister. Unmoved he shook his head, but observing her righteousness he placed a knife in Emani’s hand. Was it to kill her sister or to stike at him? Ghostie wondered, but realized too late. It was for her, Emani, if she wished she could kill herself and remain her sister’s servant in the afterlife. For a moment Emani looked at the blade and wondered what she should do. For a moment she imagined that when her parents found their beautiful daughter dead, would they be glad to still have the younger sister alive? No, she knew in her heart they would be just as desolate and would blame the younger sister for living, if they remembered her at all. They had told her so many times she was not pretty enough to be loved.

So Emani plunged the knife into her chest and died beside her rasping sister. Ada’s eyes filled with tears to realize her sister had killed herself rather than live without her. And as she cried over the body, Ada realized she could breath again. Looking down Ghostie saw one of her gemstone earrings drop out of her mouth. Then Ada looked up helplessly at the blue demon. He picked up the dead sister and shook her soul free. It was dark and black like his servants and a chain bound her left ankle to him. The blue demon and his servants bowed and went to the window to depart. But as he stepped upon the sill the Ada ran and grabbed her sister’s soul. Together the blue demon carried them both to his palace that they might spend the rest of their days in his gardens . . .

(to be continued)

Posted in Dream Masters, Spring 2016

Earth’s Last Defense

Earth

Crawling from the water, with each touch Ghostie felt them dying in the dirt beneath her hands. A landslide from the mountain buried a metropolis. The city had sat between the sea to the rising sun and an ancient mountain to the setting. Now it was a mass grave. Not hundreds, nor thousands but millions choked and suffocated, crushed in their beds, this predawn morning at the tail end of the Fire Rooster, when the westerners had already celebrated a new year but the Earth Dog had yet to bark.

Crawl

 

 

Amidst the dying another voice spoke clear.

This is justice at long last for so many wrongs you’ve done.

It was Earth herself who spoke to the girl, and Ghostie knew its truth. The girl had heard and listened well to Earths cries all her youth. Oil spills and deforestation, strip mining and pollution made humans the pest. The infestation to be destroyed that was Earth’s opinion of mankind.

BuriedAlive

 

 

Standing slowly, Ghostie rose and heard other voices too. The mountain cried for broken hearts that bled upon it’s sides, what an evil race the humans are to hurt each other so that thousands choose to end it all of their own free will. After quaking, breaking the land to sink the city and shaking the landslide down to bury it, the mountain burned and spewed volcanic gas to poison all around. 

Volcano

 

 

She could feel the sunrise still a few hours away as the tide rushed in. Wondering what she was to do, she asked “Is there nothing that can stop this fate?”

These millions must die to save billions later.

CityVolcano

 

 

A long time Ghostie argued and wondered, could the deaths of these millions change the world enough to save billions later?

Maybe. If they learn to respect Earth and comfort lonely souls, the mountain will be quiet and Earth keep her cool. Right now she is hot, too hot, ready to blow, and with the mountain willing, all these people must go. For Earth must heal herself and the mountain too. When the blowing winds take this ash around the world, it will remind humans they are not the only ones who can start a nuclear winter.

PoisonEarth

Posted in Dream Masters, Fate, Winter 2015 - 2016

Graveyard Dream

Ever fall asleep in a graveyard? I used to go there to get away from home, I had no friends. I would lay in the sun, my thirteenth summer, in the afternoons listening to the crows caw, wishing I could stay on that grave covered hill and never go home. Drifting off to sleep, I had no idea the change I was inviting.

I preferred  that graveyard to home so much that I began to dream about going there even when I slept at home. This is the dream I had many years ago. It was the first dream I can remember in which I was “called” by a powerful being. The being was so powerful that I was afraid to look at it as I felt it beside me. It called me to a graveyard where I looked in a shallow grave and saw tarot cards.

I could hear voices from the cards speaking to me. I could feel their frustrated souls crying to be set free from their prison. But it was not the cards that imprisoned them. It was their own regret, bitterness or pain that was keeping them from moving on. They called to me to speak for them to help the living to hear them, to ease their troubled souls. I did wish to help them, but when the presence told me I was “chosen” to do this, I balked.

I can not speak for them. I can not even speak for myself. People already treat me like I am crazy. No one listens to me, they only laugh,” I argued.

If you refuse, this is what will happen.”

The spirit pulled me up to the clouds. Flying though space and time it showed me a huge city full of skyscrapers. New York I thought, having seen it in many movies. I watched as two planes flew toward the tall towers. I knew they would kill many. I wondered why. That was when I saw the monster, a “Godzilla” like creature as big as the towers. It was making it happen. I could see the minds of the men flying the planes were blinded by the monster which had filled their thoughts with hate and numbed their hearts. Looking closer at the monster I saw faces and recognized the souls from the cards in the grave. They were darker, angrier and more twisted. They had given up on redemption and passing on. Instead, since the living continued to ignore them, they had bound themselves together with thousands of other lost souls to make the living notice them the only way they could. Through murder and destruction. And the more they killed and the more fear and hate they spread the bigger they/ it (the monster) would become.

Then the spirit lifted me again and carried me in the opposite direction and further forward in time. I found myself looking down upon an island. I saw people that looked asian near the waters edge. Again, the “Godzilla” creature came. Out of the water, it roared, pushing a mammoth wave ahead of it. Bigger than before, fed by all the deaths of the past. I could not imagine anything, anyone could ever stop its ravenous craving for death and destruction. And more people would die, oh so many more to feed and fuel this monster.

I refused to watch anymore and the spirit took me back to the graveyard.

That is what will happen.” It repeated.

Again, I argued. “I am not the one, chose someone else,” I begged. “Chose someone people like to talk and listen to,” I thought of all the people in my life who others listened to without ever getting called weird or crazy.

No, they are star children,” the spirit informed me. “You are a moon child. You are chosen. If you do not accept it these things you have seen will happen. Then you will know, absolutely, you are chosen.”

I did not trouble too much over the dream. It was just a dream. I wanted a normal life, if I could have it. I told no one of the dream. I told no one how real it felt. I told no one how I worried that the dream was important. I wanted a normal life, I wanted to be a normal person.

But I did not have a normal life. Nineteen years passed by. I had too many other problems to think about dreams. Nineteen years passed. In the summer of 2001, I learned to hate. I had never truly hated before, but that summer I hated like I had never hated before . . .

Posted in Dream Masters

Threads of Life

Before meeting God in my dream, I was tested with untangling yarn. I was going from room to room looking for my boyfriend, when I came upon a chamber like no other. There were two women in the room. Immediately, I knew they were masters for they pulsated with spirit energy. As I bowed my head to them I saw that the chamber was circular and the walls glowed yellow. Shelves that reached up to a ceiling out of sight, were built into the walls all around. The floor was buried in yarns of many colors and kinds all hopelessly tangled. A young beautiful woman nodded from her work at a spinning wheel to one side, in front of her stood another woman who looked as old as time. To the other side of the room was a pair of wooden doors. Still wanting to find my boyfriend, I tried to go to the double doors.

What took you so long,” asked the old woman swiftly barring my way. “We’ve been waiting for you?” Impatiently she indicated all the yarn on the floor, “Get to work,” she insisted. Looking down at the mass of tangled yarn, I wondered if she wanted me to untangle it. That looked impossible. Even if it was possible, it would surely take days.

I can’t do that,” I told her.

If you can’t, no one can,” and as she said it her face became momentarily young and sad. She showed me her gnarled hands and I realized she was crippled. Looking to the girl at the spinning wheel, I saw she was too busy to help, for the wheel seemed to spin on its own.

Sighing, I reluctantly knelt and reached for the closest tangle. The moment I touched the threads of yarn, I saw a man’s whole life stretch out before me. Only I didn’t just see it, I felt myself live it with him. It was awesome. As I followed the threads of his life others wove about them, his parents, his daughters, they belonged, I left them where they were. There were others that intruded, material wealth, his career, men and women who tried to use him for their own purposes. I pulled at them gently and they fell away to nothingness. Even the woman who loved him, he had never fully trusted her or given of himself to her. Her threads fell away. When the man’s life ended, I looked in my hand and had a navy blue ball of yarn. The old woman took it between her fists and placed it on the shelf.

How long I spent there touching strands of yarn, living other’s lives and ending with different colored balls of yarn, I can’t guess. At first it felt like ages but when the last ball was taken and the floor was bare, it seemed like only a few moments since I entered the room. I looked up in amazement, all the shelves were full. Both women smiled and faded into nothingness. As they disappeared I thought I heard them say. “At long last . . .”

The wooden doors turned to gold and opened. I  walked through them into a blinding light.

Posted in Dream Masters

Free to Surrender

Once I dreamed I was being tested. I was given the task to stop a man from doing evil. A spirit at my side told me, I must stop this man or he would kill many. I looked down upon the man and saw that he was confused but I did not see evil in his heart, only confusion. I told the spirit, “I can not kill this man.”

“If you do not stop him, he will kill many.”

“But . . . if I kill him I will be evil.”

“If you kill him you will save many people”

“But . . . he is not evil yet, he is only confused.”

“Is your soul worth so much you would not risk it to save others?”

I looked and was afraid for I could see that as his confusion continued, his heart grew dark. Soon his heart would be beyond help. He held a gun in his hand and he ached to act out his pain. There was no more time to think. I flew closer and made myself visible to him. “Please stop, I don’t want to hurt you,” I begged.

Looking at me, his face became enraged, in his confusion I appeared as a monster. He fired the gun. The first two bullets I dodged easily but the third I could only get away from by warping the space in front of me, thickening it to slow the bullet. He prepared to send another bullet and I felt exhausted from warping space. This was doing no good, I realized and wondered if I should kill him now. This was proof he would kill others if not killed himself. But still I did not want to kill him, sorrow filled me and weighed me down. I have failed I thought.

He fired the fourth bullet but I did not avoid it instead I became solid and landed in front of him. It was instinctive, I would rather die than to have to kill him. It felt like giving up. The bullet entered my chest, I knew I would die now and accepted it. The blood pouring from my body appeased the demon that had possessed the man. Free, he saw what he had done. He felt shame at killing me.

He caught my body as I fell. The demon gone, he saw I was a young woman, in his arms. There was nothing he could do, he cried tears of remorse. But I opened my eyes and smiled. I knew I had succeeded after all. He was no longer in danger of being a mass murderer. I had allowed him to kill me of my own free will and I was an astral projection who can not die anyways.  I was no more than a vision or dream to him. So he was not a murderer at all. His soul had been saved. 

As I floated away, I knew I had passed the test. The spirit was gone, but I could feel someone else had been watching with approval.

Posted in Dream Masters

Woman

I asked God why he made me so weak and helpless and looking in his eye I knew in my heart why. He made me weak so I would be merciful. He made me helpless so I would be generous. Most important he made me a woman because he is enraged by the way women are being treated as sex objects.

What is the matter with these men who treat women as only flesh for pleasure? Don’t they know that any woman who is not protected by her family belongs to God? Who can imagine that every time a woman is violated He is not there. He is there. The equal partnership between man and woman is God’s gift to us that we may be closer to him for God is both male and female. The joining of man and woman is meant to be a sacred act to show thanks for the gift of life. Anytime force, deceit or coercion are used in sex the act is corrupted and darkness grows.

Jesus said, “Forgive them father for they know not what they do.” Well it is high time someone let them know what they are doing. Of all the things that make me ashamed that I have been afraid to tell people about this dream, it is the knowing that crimes against women continue to be committed by men who think they have the right. Some weeks ago I watched a documentary called “India’s Daughter.” It was very painful to watch and worse was the knowing that the unnatural rape occurred in December 2012, but I had the dream of God telling me to speak out for women in the fall of 2007, five years earlier. I am sorry.

What was most surprising in the documentary was how many men (and even one woman) blamed the girl, the victim. I had not realized how prevalent such ignorance is. One man said that it was the girl’s fault that she was so brutally murdered because she fought back. Others blamed the fact that she was out late at night with a man who was neither her husband nor her family member.

As to the lateness of the hour, it was established that the incident occurred at 9:30 as the couple travel home after watching a movie. If it had occurred after midnight, I might agree that the couple was out late but 9:30? As for the woman being out with a man who was not related and not her husband that is definitely an offense to God. If the woman had gone out without her family’s permission, then it could be argued that the woman was disobedient. Even then it would be her parent’s place to censure her not strangers on a bus. Also, if a family gives permission to a man to take a woman out then it doesn’t matter what his relationship to her is. He should be seen as acting in her family’s stead. To take a woman from a man whom her family has entrusted with her keeping is just as bad as taking her from her family. Lastly, from the moment those men forcibly separated that woman from her escort she became not India’s but God’s daughter and all the things they did to her God felt.

It is the place of men to protect the women that come in to their keeping whether they come by birth, marriage or fate makes no difference. Even if a woman is traveling late at night alone no man has the right to rape her, instead he has the opportunity to serve God by protecting and helping her should she ask for it. Any man who does so shall certainly be blessed.

I am sorry to know this happened. Yet I am grateful that the makers of this documentary brought this story to light. I was disappointed to read that the film was not shown in India and I would have those who oppose it know that I know it is no shame to India that this story happened there. These kinds of terrible things can happen anywhere and do happen almost everywhere. But I needed to hear this story to help give me the courage to write this. Thank you.

Posted in Dream Masters, Winter 2015 - 2016

Shaman Summons

It has been many years since I dreamed of being summoned by a shaman. I have learned a lot since then. Yet there are few dreams in which I learned more. The shaman dream was the one for me that makes so much I didn’t understand make sense.

I had stayed up late that night, my children were at their father’s for the weekend. I was watching something about a group of researchers trying to learn more about prehistoric humans by trying to recreate living in a clan. I was sleepy and shutting off the television, my mind wandered over the question of why had my Celtic ancestors not developed writing. How had a monument like Stonehenge been created by an illiterate civilization? Was there a reason why writing was developed by some cultures and not others?

From the start I knew it was an astral dream, beginning with the sensation of floating through air thick like water. I felt myself pulled as I now recognize the sensation of being summoned. It is a most enjoyable feeling like gentle gliding on warm and welcome currents. When I landed, I found myself in a frozen, snow covered land. Deep, deep snow so that you heard glaciers approaching. Yet directly in front of me was a habitation, a hill in the snow. Smells of unwashed human, sick human and dead human emanated from the mound. My survival instincts urged me inside. Still new to my astral form, I did not wish to test how long I could endure the cold.

It was just as well I entered, for immediately I was made aware that this was the place to which I was summoned. Many dead bodies lay about the outside walls. They could not be buried so the living had placed the corpses as close to the cold as possible without exposing them directly to the elements.

Entering further, I was welcomed by the shaman. I was surprised he could see me so well. He insisted that he knew me and had been waiting for me to arrive. All around us the few living clan members gathered. He told me that I was to be his replacement. I was a shaman he said. I apologized, insisting I could not, I was not trained as a shaman and I belonged to the future, thousands of years away. He nodded and in my mind made me know that was why I had been summoned.

The shaman showed me to the clan, my hair of chestnut brown. Then he showed my first born, my daughter, hair of murphy red. “This is the chosen leader the chief,” he said. Next he showed my second born, my son, blond haired. “This child belongs to God,” he told me. “Care for him with reverence and the spirit world will be pleased.” Last he showed my third born, my brown haired youngest son. “A child of the earth, to toil in the earth, be humble and follow where the red haired leads.” Last the shaman returned to me. “The woman who bore all three carries each within her. Hidden brown in the dark but gleams with red and blond in the sun, you are the shaman, the bridge to all three, and to the future.”

Looking around at the clan, I understood. These people stood upon the brink of extinction. More had died this winter than lived, and hopelessness itself was enough to end them. That was why the shaman summoned me from the future, even though I was no more than a shade to them. The only way to save them, to inspire them to struggle on, was to show they had a future. I don’t know how rare it is to have children born where the first has red, the second is blond and the third is brown haired but I think it must be pretty rare since the only other person I know whose children follow the same pattern is my sister. To a clan in prehistoric times, would such traits be considered proof on the continuation of their line? Why not?

As I tried to digest this possibility, the shaman filled my mind with sensation and information. For a moment, I saw all of time stretching out before me and knew that the soul is not limited by the fourth dimension any more than it is limited by distance. As his and my astral bodies merged I was overwhelmed with the amazed awareness, that if this dream were real, no knowledge has been lost which can not be found.