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

Why Do Bad Things Happen?


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


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 spirituality, Spring 2016



The vision of a man chasing a woman with a knife and other people watching, popped into my head one fateful night in the autumn of 2000. The man was totally enraged, he meant to kill her. The woman was terrified, she was scared to death. The others looked surprised. I only saw it for a second, but somehow I knew that some sort of violent domestic assault would occur that night between midnight and dawn, on my street. I shook myself, wishing I hadn’t seen it. What can I do? I asked no one. I was alone that weekend. My children were with their father and an ex-boyfriend on mine kept calling, annoying me. He was drunk. It was the full moon and as I locked the front door before going to bed, I had thought to myself, there’s something in the air tonight. I wonder what else will happen?

It was one of those open ended questions, asked in my head without any expectation of having it answered. Every vision I have ever had was preceded by just such a question. Yet never before or since was a vision so clearly defined in my head as to time and place. If ever there was a moment to put my clairvoyance to use this was it.

Sit on the porch and watch. I heard it clearly in my head. How I wish I had done as I was told. Instead, I shook myself again, thought that’s silly what good would it do for me to spend the night sitting up on a cold porch. There were others in the vision, surely one of them would stand a better chance of saving that woman than I would. If it was true, if I wasn’t crazy, listening to voices in my head. That is what people call crazy. I am sick of being called crazy, etc.

Thus I talked myself out of believing the vision and voice. I climbed the stairs and went to bed. About five the next morning I was awoken by a scream such as I had never heard before. I lay there in the darkness, thinking a dog must have been hit by a car. No human throat could have made such an unearthly sound. A few minutes later the walls of my bedroom danced with the red and white lights of many police cars. At last, I put on a robe and went down to the front porch to see. The street was lined with police cars. A few houses down I could see a group of people near some bushes. There seemed to be something laying on the ground just beyond the bushes.

Things happened very quickly that morning, though at the time it seemed so slow, I wondered if the sun would ever rise. A woman was taken from a house on a stretcher, the white sheet that covered her had long red streaks of blood across it. She moved as they took her. I was confused, if she was alive, who was laying in the front yard?

A young man arrived at the scene on a bike and screamed as he dove at the figure on the ground. That was when a song started playing loudly in my head, over and over, “No one is alone.” (It wasn’t until some days later I realized it was a song from one of my favorite musicals, “Into the Woods.”)

Sometimes people leave you.

Halfway through the wood.

Others may deceive you.

You decide whats good.

You decide alone.

Several police officers held him back and tried to calm him down. After a while he quieted but didn’t leave, he paced back and forth. When he saw me standing on my porch, he asked to use my phone. I led him to it. After calling his family, he told me, “My brother is dead.”

But no one is alone.

Believe me,

No one is alone

Clumsily, I tried to console him, I told him I could hear a voice saying he was not alone. He gave me a funny look and left. Soon a car arrived with what looked to be more of his family, yelling and screaming in anguish. After the still figure, that lay beyond the bushes was taken away, they too left.

You move just a finger,

Say the slightest word,

Somethings bound to linger

Be heard

The police cars departed and the sun rose, but for at least a full day, I could not get the song to stop playing loudly in my head.

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own,

Thinking they’re alone.

The next day I bought a newspaper and read about the stabbing. The woman’s ex-husband had just gotten out of jail. He had lost his custody rights to their children, ( the little girls that just a few days before had played with kittens on my porch and invited my daughter to jump on their trampoline.) The ex-husband had waited in the darkness at her house until she had come home with her young boyfriend. He had tried to kill her but her boyfriend got in the way. Her boyfriend protected her and it cost him his life. She did get stabbed in the neck but her boyfriend had bought enough time for her to get to a neighbors, they called the police and the ex-husband ran off.

One another’s terrible mistakes.

Witches can be right, Giants can be good.

You decide what’s right you decide what’s good

Nobody can ever tell me if it would or wouldn’t have made a difference if I had listened to the voice and spent the night on my front porch. Our street is a dead end, so chances are all three people involved would have passed by my house. Would seeing me sitting there watching, with my big black dog, have made a difference? Would I have suddenly known what to do? I will never know. But those screams will always haunt me, a young mans life cut too short, because I didn’t have the faith to listen.

Things will come out right now.

We can make it so.

Someone is on your side

No one is alone.

(bits of  the lyrics from No One is Alone that still haunt me)

Posted in spirituality, Spring 2016

Snap! He was Dead.


When did I change from thinking my weird dreams were just dreams and I finally believed they were . . . more? It started April 16, 2007.

I was never so aware of the presence of a protective spirit in my astral dreams than I was in the dream I had that morning.

I knew I was on a college campus. The buildings and trees were very much like my local University. There was something going on beyond the trees. I could feel myself being pulled there but for once I could not go where I was pulled. I was held firmly in place by my guardian spirit.

You can’t go there. Stay where you are.

Frustrated, I looked around, there were lots of people. The people were excited. I tried to look in their minds, why were they excited?

No! again my protector would not allow me to look for the truth.

What am I supposed to do then? I asked.

Help her!

I was turned in the direction of a woman, alive and looking right at me. This threw me off, I was used to helping only the dead and dying but this woman was fine. She was full of life. She ran up to me saying “You have to stop him, we’re down by 30.”

I didn’t get it, it sounded like the score at a game.

“Down by 30”, so what? Were they playing football? No, it was spring time. Soccer?

Don’t question do what you are asked, my spirit guide was in a hurry.

I knew it wasn’t soccer, I knew I was being protected from the truth, but the desperation in the woman’s voice as she kept repeating, “Stop him, we’re down by 30,” could not be ignored.

I closed my eyes and took the image of “him” from her mind. I imagined meeting him at a soccer game, blocking him. I spoke right into his mind.

Stop! I will let you go no further,” I commanded with all my will.

“Snap,” he was dead. It felt like he’d shot himself and me too. I didn’t expect it, since I hadn’t known he was carrying a gun. I was still there inside when he did it. The shock was mind blowing, literally. I could feel shreds of him flow into me.

I was immediately pulled back to the woman. She thanked me as I trembled, shaken. I asked her name, but her words were garbled. I thought she said Catherine something, but my guardian was pulling me away. I didn’t fight, I didn’t feel well. I wanted to retch. I had never felt a person kill themselves while I was inside before. 

I woke up and jumped out of bed trembling all over. The clock read 4am. All morning I wondered both at the line, “down by 30” and the question what happened to him after he killed himself. I knew he couldn’t just disappear. Whenever I asked, the answer came.

All that is left of him lives in you.


Ten o’clock that morning, breaking news interrupted television. The images of the campus, were hauntingly familiar, as they showed injured students climbing out of windows. I was shaken but my logical mind insisted there was not enough proof to be certain they were connected. The next day I grabbed the newspaper as soon it arrived. I had to sit down when I saw his picture, Cho. It was the face from the dream. I was chilled by the feeling he was there with me. Still, the “down by 30” continued to be a mystery. The official death count was 32 (or 33 including himself.)

It wasn’t until I read a more detailed account and realized that if you don’t include the first two killings, which occurred before he went to Norris Hall and don’t include his suicide, then you get 30.

Years later I watched a documentary about it.  A number of people wondered “why did he stop when he did? He still had plenty of ammunition. There were still lots of classrooms full of potential victims. No police had moved in yet to stop him. He just stopped and shot himself.”

It was a long time coming but that was it, the moment when with a second “snap” I had to believe.

Posted in Gratitude, spirituality, Spring 2016

Green as the Giving Tree


Green is the color of the heart chakra. It is the center for unconditional love. Nature backs this up with a world full of greenery that makes life possible. From the air we breath and the food we eat to the clothes we wear and the homes we build, greenery is responsible for gift after gift. So it is fitting that we talk now of a “green” revolution, a new way of thinking of our global challenge to save this world, but do not forget that it starts in the heart, in the love of all nature and humanity together.

I wish to be green as the giving tree. In Shel Silverstein’s book, the giving tree is happy to give all it has to the boy. To some it seems a sad story, but I happen to have an apple tree in my back yard and I know there is more to the story. For example, when the boy goes away the trees seems lonely, but real trees talk to each other chemically. In the story the tree gives away all her apples for the boy to sell. In real life you rarely sell all the apples, some of the apples have worms. Most people let the worm eaten apples fall to the ground and there children (other apple trees) spring up and they keep mother tree company. In the story the boy takes all of the trees branches to make a house. It would make much more sense to prune the branches, which makes trees very happy really. Apples growing every year would provide a better income to build a house or boat. The only reason to cut the tree down would be that the tree had died.

And once dead it is lovely to think the trunk could be used to make a boat or home, etc. Lastly the story ends with the boy as an old man sitting on a tree stump. Again even after death the tree gives a place to rest to its friend. I think it is not only beautiful but true. Nature loves to give and give and all it wants back is appreciation and respect. Are we (humans) so different?

Posted in spirituality, Spring 2016


Life is pain, anyone who says otherwise is selling something. -Cary Elwes as Westley/ The Dread Pirate Roberts/ The Man in Black in The Princess Bride.

I woke up with this in my head and it took a good half-hour for me to remember where it was from. I remember feeling like it stuck out in a movie full of the ridiculous, and romantic true love always wins fluff, this kernel of truth spoke to me.

My father taught me to accept pain, not to medicate it or hide it, but to learn from it. If your body hurts, listen. That’s why I love Yoga. I never had a guru but I got Richard Hittleman’s Yoga 28 day exercise plan when I was ten and still cherish each weathered page. Each day had a thought-for-the-day that let me in on a slice of the philosophy. Mostly it focused on thinking of your body as the temple of the soul. It also emphasized the importance of spending time just focusing on your own personal connection with your body.

This quote seemed especially fitting since I finally was able to stop taking my narcotic pain medication last week. I had been taking some most nights since I broke my shoulder last November so I had been worried I might get hooked. I had tried to stop taking it once before but the pain became too much when my therapist insisted I move onto rotations (rotating my shoulder) and not just stick with the up and down stuff my doctor wanted.

I am glad she did, without being able to rotate it I would never be able to throw a ball again, as well as innumerable other tasks. My doctor had been content to say that I might never have full use of my shoulder again, but my therapist and I showed him. It still hurts, but I’d rather this pain than give up on the full use of my shoulder.


Posted in spirituality, Winter 2015 - 2016

Quickening Moon

Quickening Moon

Looking at different names for the full moon of February, I decided the Wiccan Quickening fit best for this year. The Snow moon didn’t work because we just had a lovely weather warm up. Most of our snow has melted. The Hunger moon feels at odds with my sense of being overwhelmed by how much I am trying to do now. But quickening, full of life, full of ideas, that is how I feel.

quicken |ˈkwikən|


1 make or become faster or quicker: [ with obj. ] : she quickened her pace, desperate to escape | [ no obj. ] : I felt my pulse quicken.

2 [ no obj. ] spring to life; become animated: her interest quickened | (as adj. quickening) : he looked with quickening curiosity through the smoke.

[ with obj. ] stimulate: the coroner’s words suddenly quickened his own memories.

[ with obj. ] give or restore life to: on the third day after his death the human body of Jesus was quickened by the Spirit.

archaic (of a woman) reach a stage in pregnancy when movements of the fetus can be felt.

archaic (of a fetus) begin to show signs of life.

[ with obj. ] archaic make (a fire) burn brighter.

-New Oxford American Dictionary

I still have so many stories I want to write, it is a struggle to decide which to do each day. I wish I had more time for research, writing and reading.

The warm weather has me dreaming of my next garden. Now is the time to get started planning. We had a great harvest of tomatoes last year. This year I want to have more squash and beans. Hopefully we can get some decent corn. But there are also the taxes to be done, and spring cleaning to start on too.

Last night the full moon and the pain in my shoulder kept me up most of the night. While my humerus is healed, the physical therapy and stretching exercises keep me hurting most of the time. Today my doctor said I might not get back full mobility of my shoulder, all I could think is, “you don’t know me very well.” I use this arm all the time and I can’t stand not being able to do things for myself. That is why it hurts so much.

To give me more time and increase my groups, I plan on changing my blog categories this spring so that I only do the really long blogs one to three times a week and the other days just do quickies, like five-minute Fridays and quote Mondays.

What about you? Do you have any plans you want to bring to life this month?

Posted in spirituality, Winter 2015 - 2016

Live Simply

Today I had to relight the pilot on our hot water heater. It was no problem once I looked it up online and could see from the pictures that I had the knob in the wrong position. Hot water may not be a necessity but it is pretty high on my list of things I’d hate to live without. But that reminded me that the time is here when the world must take global warning seriously and ask what so we really need and what can we do without.

I was surprised to learn that fracking (hydraulic fracturing) is advertised as environmentally friendly. It is controversial and I hold with the cautious. Increased seismic activity is dangerous. When nuclear power was first introduced, it was believed to be the answer to all our energy problems. But I grew up with The China Syndrome for fiction, Silkwood and Chernobyl for reality. Even without any accidents the question of what to do with the waste is a difficult. Most are not very economical much less practical.

It is like that saying “You get what you pay for.” Only as I see it the cost isn’t just about the quality of the material good you buy, but also about the social and environmental impact of how it is manufactured. Nuclear power and fracking aren’t magic, they have a price, the same as all other sources of energy. Knowing that they have a huge potential only makes them more frightening.

To live simply has to be the ultimate goal for the spiritually aware. In harmony with nature, is the only answer that has true long run potential for our world. The Native Americans knew it and the Amish do too. Hopefully it’s not too late for the rest of the world to learn.