The Lives of Fairy Godmothers, Angels and Witches Catherine Dubois’ Odyssey to Enchantment

 

 

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Catherine Dubois’ Odyssey To Enchantment

By Bonnie Jennings

 

Within 150,000 words weaves a story involving an edgy woman who is either psychotic or is as the townsfolk believe eldritch. They, in Glory Town, a charming picture-perfect town, nestled in The Appalachians, call her a witch. For Cat Dubois, decades passed and she becomes more isolated from her accusers. Jealousy and scorn for a child who was fey with sapience, the  community of pretentious righteous, mocked her. The quaint town was not so “charming” after all and quickly ran sinners away. While alone for years, Cat began to see and hear voices. Visitors seldom came; however, her lonesome manor was haunted. However, little Cat prayed a prayer when only a child. That prayer was answered when she turned forty-five. An angel or fairy godmother named Eleanor came riding on the wind. Traveling with Eleanor was Tadhg, who was of the same order and virtue, and a little black dog named, Lovey.

“A scream was heard that summer day. A four-year-old little Catherine moaned into the mystical wind. She told the wind to find Thomas. Bellowing, into the breeze, her little heart begged, with vigorous might. The current carried her voice. It never ceased, until one day, “I heard it,” and that was when, Eleanor came riding in on the wind.” 

 

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My Little late JoJo as “Lovey”

 

 



 

 

The model in the photo is my daughter, the photographer was my son, and the digital artist is my dear friend Ky Mason. The picture has a copyright so I ask you, please don’t use it as it might be the cover of my novel … Thank you…  All Rights Reserved

 

Ky Ellen Mason artist/editor/graphics designer/publishing/printing

https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=ky%20ellen%20mason

 

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You may reach me (BoJenn) the novelist/poetess via email at :

Jennings.bonnie1952@gmail.com

Bonniegjennings@gmail.com

or on FB @

https://www.facebook.com/bonnie.jenningd

 

 

May you have a wonderful day and thank you for stopping in and reading 🌺

Poetess Jo Dowling, A Psychiatric Nurse Who Writes Poetry of The Dark Side

 

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to a fellow poetess who is also a psychiatric nurse, like myself.

 

 

It is because the mind of a mental health nurse sees the world, reported by others, from a down to earth approach and also from a surreal sublime often bizarre experience,  that I’m thrilled with Jo Dowling’s poetry. In a way, because we are so down to earth, we are also somewhat of skeptics, realists and also expect the weird from the world, at the same time.

We may write about “fairies” and fables, but under that fantasy is dirt truth… You must read between the lines that often have allegories, metaphors, parables and messages hidden in the gray areas of life, and from that we express the unexplainable in poetry.

If you live and move in these areas, then  you too, understand the minds of psychiatric nurses… We are the eyes of doctors and therapists. We watch and never have to listen because we see and understand the unspoken language of the human spirit.

We are the Watchers, not exactly the listeners of words, because body language speaks louder volumes than spoken conversations, and psychiatric nurses see and realize the unspoken and that is why I love Jo’s poetry. She sees the reflections of the dark side of life and explains some secrets found inside closets and under beds in her poetry. The child that hurts, the person that still experiences the “boogyman” syndrome, Jo understands.

It is the human psyche and the sixth dimension that her poetry reflects. The empathetic observer that she is, who feels and deeply understands fears, horrors, paranoias and the sadness’ of many who experience mental illness or just simple fears and depression. Jo writes from their persona or perhaps she writes from her own experiences.

I love your poetry Jo. I understand and I relate to well. I know those demons thwarting our living day to day … So often those tormentors get away with robbing innocent victims.

I appreciate your poetry because you are truthful about what you’ve witnessed, and you have come to tell others, to alert them, and to touch them in away, through your poetry. Those whom read your lines, verse and choices of words, know that you do understand because you hit the demon on the head (just an expression) and expose those dark forces, so well.

Jo’s poetry is heartfelt spiritualality, but is not pie in the sky fairies and pixies, but it is about real life forces that have wounded many, and affect many daily;

So, thank you Jo.

Here is one of many of Jo’s poems.

 

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Jo’s Bio

Childhood was spent in China, Korea, and Baghdad. Attended college at the University of Arkansas, Henderson State University, and Texarkana College, obtaining a degree in Nursing. Became Specialized and Certified in Psychiatry and worked as a Registered Nurse at Baptist Health and Pinnacle Pointe Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. Served in the United States Marine Corps, Intelligence Division. Retired early and returned to hometown of Foreman, Arkansas to write full time.
jodowling514

 

 


 

 

Poem 1

Sometimes we turn from the fire so quickly we stumble and fall in the flames and are burned
And sometimes we medicate painful mistakes with elixers of poison or  promises made
We watch as the children grow taller and stronger and cover our eyes when they break down the door
We are of thunder and rainbows, and cyclones, and northeastern winds without warning or form
We are of time and celestial planets, and volatile poisons and critical mass
We explain meaning without understanding- our senses perceive only what we believe
Humanity, fling back the sheet from the mirror–
Focus your sight and define what you see
Quiet your mind and acknowledge your senses
Cry for humanity, tend to the bleed

jodowling514



Poem 2

Gold turns to blackness like fossil rock veins- meanings ingrained and embedded 

Sadness strikes suddenly, point piercing through, wickedly splitting existance in two 

Shaking from force of the violent blow- the meaning burns inward and down to the bone  

The sound lasts for only one second of time, but the echo will last for an entire life


jodowling514



Poem 3


Biddable river shines bright in the Autumn

Dance with me under the river rock cliffs

Voluptuous evergreen lips kiss the sky

Come to the river

Swim through your mind

Grape vines entwine, hiding footprints behind us

Time cannot find this oasis

Tedious urgency does not exist

Prisms refract where the river falls spray

Wade in the wonder

Bathe and create

jodowling514


You can find Jo Dowling on FB. She has several poetry groups and you might want to follow her and learn more about the dark side of our mind….

I live there at times and relate to the closets hidden from the world of facade and often irreverent.

https://www.facebook.com/jo.dowling.37?fref=ts


Thank you Jo for sharing your poetry and a part of yourself. Thank you for the work that you  do and write about.  It is because you relate so well to the human spirit.

Jo is a realist.

Thank you deeply and sincerely.

 

 

Remembering Robert Frost

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Investigating the road noticed

A set of tracks singularly left

Perhaps a motorcycle or a sled

The icy coverage maybe slick

Deciding if the path needed me

To venture the trail leading where

I’d never been but seemed foreboding

Oh but the brush and thickets held

Could be rabbits or deers or who knows what

The road invited me ~ so I pondered 

Remembering Robert Frost, I questioned

Is this the way, or perhaps not

It looked so innocent in the beginning part

Considering the icy surface and a mishap

But the other way held no assurances either

And each would take me to where I belong

Just different routes to meander through life

Standing looked as far as my sight grasped

The other way, was not envisioned 

So, I decided to keep moving through

Neigh the other would be traveled blindly 

Thus I went where I could vaguely see

And perhaps, I ask myself ~

 Did this decision make the difference

Is this the road, I should have travelled

 

 


 

BJ K♣️©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

Image from Pinterest

Never Argue Your Point, Simply BE Your Point

 

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I was almost drawn into an argument

And it was pointless

Narrow mindedness and tunnel vision

Steal from others the light

That is, if it is allowed that chance

 

The best warfare

Walk away and leave them yelling 

No one can win where ears are hard as stones

No one wins when brains are in-prisoned 

 

Leave and get far away

Trust the Spirit of Truth is always working

Even on yourself

 

There are some battles that belong to timing

Some of those battles belong to the right voice

Lessons learned take lifetimes

 

And we are not God

So ~

Walk away

 

A Gentleman Silhouette

 

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Damp leaves fallen everywhere 
Silently he who stands in prayer
Somewhere ~ pondering, “Elsewhere?
Could I have come from?” In despair,
He looks thinking, “is this a nightmare?”
Unrecognizing the odors and the auras
Alone, by the park bench now worn
Etched in wood were cursive initials
Swollen wet wood had but erased them
And there he stands, once debonaire
Only now, merely a ghost carrying an umbrella
The parallel alliance, the romantic bond
Passed into independent realms
Perhaps, time and measurements
Will lock into the same grid
But, until then, he just stands
Silently pondering the else-wheres.
Haunting the bench 
Amidst fallen wet leaves
Stands a gentleman silhouette

 

 

BJ K♣️©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

Image from A Poets Haven

Our Super Moon cell pics NOTICE THE ORB artifact

The orange morning pics were on 11/15/16 and the night shots were 11/16/16. The 11/16/16 is where the round artifact flies around.

 

I put some lenses on a couple of pics to clarify the size and density (if possible with a cell phone).

 

 

Haven Dreaming

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Drifting weightlessly awhile dreaming lucidly seeing

Floating through halls of granite having huge columns 

Touching cold stone walls filled with ancient lights

Knew momentarily, I was transported somewhere else

I studied the writings and carved pictures on the walls

Reading a story of humans caught within an earthen warp

But, here a palatial ruin, not foreboding, and oddly grand

Felt pleasure and comfort, felt familiarly, as if, I was home

The temple held temples, spirits ~ awaiting souls

A ride through the cosmos in order to find their own

And meanwhile awaiting the catalyst who transports

Watched myself drifting in this palatial mausoleum space

Recognizing old ~ old character beings, I’ve known

In another place for certain; however, this was our womb

Until the time of birthing thus taking flight combusting into life

Here we gathered, quietly awaiting, until our mother said

And this cold monumental temple is our place

I recognized the carvings and the silent grace

And one day, will return and unite with my family

A peaceful dream experienced, finding my haven 

©2016 Bonnie jennings All Rights Reserved

She’s a Spy

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She is a spy

Wearing pearls that speak of innocence 

And extremely educated diligent citizen

Wearing cocktail black and a hat to hide 

A face diversified, she’s been worldwide

Her eyes that watch and see, matched with 

Her keen sense of intuitive deductions and myths

How polished and demure she appears

A graduate of the finest finishing school of cavaliers

And she sips like a lady from the china tea cup

However, underneath is a stealth spy dressed up

To play he game of cat and mouse and await

The counter spy who articulates secrets of misappropriate

Coming from her home ~ The Department of State 

 

 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Gathering with Angel Barbiel

 

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Gathering  with Barbiel ~

 

And she was venturing in the forest

Going to fetch the fungi and moss

The girl searched the strathy floor

In the mystic Highlands of Scotland

Alone searching, seeking for notions

Prayerfully seeking wise advise

And there she sought wise Barbiel 

The Angel of October, and asked ~

Where do the toadstools grow here

Amid the dankness of the leaves?

It is in October they prosper trees

Barbiel took his dousing rod to lead

Come this way girl, don’t meander

I’ll teach you of autumn’s alchemy 

And some other things, he spoke

He pointed to the medicinal fungi

Found under  the wet decayed log

He held up an yellow October leaf

Saying, just wait until it turns orange

And on their path of only mystics

Who wander into a dark forest

Finding Fagus BeechTree standing alone

He cracked the triangular nut offering

She ate the sweet fruits he gave her

Filling her basket with the kernels

They slowly continued onward 

Old Barbiel taught as they passed

And she spent the day learning

From the tall burly angel telling

When will I see you again? 

“I’m afraid, not until next October.”

I’ll be here on the first next year!

And saying goodbyes ~ He departed.

 

 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights reserved

 

I want to thank the wonderful artist who donate their work so that poets may write to their images. Thank you PIXABAY artists.

Time with George H Bush

The year was approximately 1978. I was flight attendant employed for Eastern Airlines and was working on a leg from Atlanta Ga. to San Jaun, PR. The first class cabin served one person that leg which is roughly 3.5 hours. The passenger was George H Bush, then The Director of The CIA and soon to be the USA republican candidate.

The aircraft was a Lockead L-1011. There were 28 seats in first class and he had occupied one. The secret service sat nearby behind him and in front of second class.

I was his personal F/A (flight attendant) that day. I was in my mid twenties and extremely ignorant of politics. But, I did know The Bible fairly well as I’d read it a few times from cover to cover.

It was hot that day and I remember that Mr Bush looked disheveled from his campaigning. He had been sweating and his white shirt was hanging out of his trousers from the back. He took a F/C seat and sighed from release from traveling. I offered him a cocktail but he requested iced tea. He sat quietly and relaxed before takeoff.

I served him his meal and put the supplies away. After my service he asked me for a bible.

“Yes,” I said. “We have a Gideans in the overhead bin.” So, I handed it to him and he opened it.

“Please, sit down. Do you have a minute?” Mr. Bush was a complete gentleman. And, he was reading my favorite book.

Delighted, l sat down.

“What do you know about Ezekial and the valley of dry bones?” He has piercing eyes.

I gave him a 25 year old response trying to sound brighter than my knowledge basis. “It’s about the war of Armageddon.”

“Yes, it is. Let’s read it.” He opened to chapter 37. He began to read out loud as I listened intently. “And, what do you think this means.” He was so kind and looked lovingly as if I was a daughter.

Mr. Bush and I finished through to the 39th chapter and perhaps into the first part of 40…

A few hours later, It was time for landing. Sadly, the conversation had come to an end.

I will never forget this time I spent with George H Bush.
True story

©2016 bonnie jennings All Rights Reserved

My mother and I about the age of my conversations with George

The Abductee Informant

 

 

Your Watchman

 

Sunday afternoon:

The opening scene takes place in a grocery store parking lot in August where there are numerous vehicles parked and many people shopping. It wasn’t a chance meeting though it was meant to be brief and appear accidental. The setting is in a small city in The Bible Belt. It was an extroidinarily hot afternoon and there were no clouds in the sky. Three people greeted each other. Two knew each other previously, the young doctor and the informant, and the third person, his wife, was being introduced, even though, she was not invited, the doctor brought her. The doctor’s young children were with other family members as it had been planned, but not his wife.

The story dialogue begins with the young wife asking the female informant,

“Who are you and who are they? You have told my husband so much bullshit?”

The informant, double agent for whomever replied, “I don’t know, but can tell you sincerely, they are not lovely, nor are they kind.” She looked down in somber explanation and then looked up into the eyes of a questioning young wife.

The double agent stared at her. She said, “I didn’t seek your husband  out; they did.” She further added, “Guard your children. Never let them out of your site.” She looked away into a distant stare. She remembered her own children’s disappearances twenty-two years ago, even though, they returned changed somewhat. She would never forget the horrors and memories that would never go away. Her children told of her about men who did terrible things. Such horrific details she could not bare to listen to them. Each child taken at different times and by different people. She reflected for a moment about her own childhood and those men cloaked in black hoods and were taller than anyone she had ever seen. Their faces had been hidden from her, but she didn’t want to see. She hid under the covers on many cold nights.

The doctor’s wife said frantically, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

The female agent hesitated before she responded as she thought. It wasn’t that she was withholding information from the insisting young wife. No, but she was truly unsure of who she was or is to “them,” or anyone. “I am not sure of who I am, or why, or how I came into their services not by choice.”

“That makes no sense! What do you mean, you don’t know? Surely you know something? You’re lying.” The young wife was trembling as she was angry, frightened, and determined to understand the craziness of what she had just heard. “And, what do you mean when you say, guard my children? Are you threatening our family?”

The atmosphere was somber. The electricity of the moments before fell when the informant raised her hands and gently moved them slowly up and down from over head to lower than her hips settling and calming the air. The young wife at first thought the informant was aggressively posturing, but a few seconds later realized the movement was certainly not generated to cause any physical harm.

The female informant said, “I’m not here to harm you. I don’t have any hardcore answers. I’ve searched for those answers all my life. I can only tell you the little that I know. But, we must find a safe place. A place underground and protected. We’re being tracked. They must not see that we connected. And, I hope it’s not too late.”

The young doctor of medicine spoke up. He had been silent because he was as confused as his wife. “Where do you suggest that we meet?”

The informant said, “Go to your office Monday and work just like any other day.” Then, to the young wife she advised the same. “I will arrange the place and the connection.” She told the doctor, “I will call for an appointment and will tell you then the particulars, but know your office is not safe. They will track and listen to  us. You can not write a note to me there in my presence or speak of this. Understand? You will not call me and I won’t call you unless it’s for an appointment.”

He nodded yes.

The informant said, “We must break this meeting up, now.”

“He said, “Will this be soon?”

“Not sure. It could be awhile. We have to leave some gaps in time. They’re tracking us even now,” she responded quietly.

The young doctor’s wife said, “This is crazy.”

The informant nodded in agreement. “I’m going now.” She gets in her old white 2005 Honda Accord and starts the engine. She opens the car window on her way out and says loudly to the young doctor’s wife, as to be heard, “It was so nice to meet you.” She drove out of the parking lot.

 

Chapter 2

Monday

The female informant takes the little amount of cash from her piggy bank, she takes the money and speeds of to The closes discount store. At the back of the store she purchases three cell phones. One for the doctors wife, one for the doctor and one for herself and places them in bubble wrap in a large envelope. She puts only the doctors name on it and tightly licks the glue on the envelope and presses it tightly. She also included the instruction for the cell use to each other only. Use it as little a possible. All regular medical calls were to be by appointment and by going through the secretary, just like normal. She left the store and drove to pick up her grandson who is getting out of summer day camp. The boy is ten.

“Grandma, where are we going?” This wasn’t their usual way to go home and he had friends to play with so he was in a hurry. “Why are we going this way?”

“No worries. We have to drop off papers at the doctors office.” She pulled up in front of the front door drive. She handed the boy the envelope and said, “Tell the receptionist this is for him and open as soon as he can” So, the boy did just what he was told.

“Now can we go?” He was whiny and put out that he was delayed as he got into the car.

“What did the receptions say? Did you her that the doctor was waiting for her records and they were important?” The female informant asked her grandchild.

“They were nice and said, “Who sent it? And, I told them, you did and you said it was important.” The kid was sighing as he had things to do. “Can we go now?”

She, the female informant smiled at the boy and drove away wondering how soon the phones would be delivered and will he open the package then, and would the secretary loudly announce who brought them? She ruminated about this. Should she call him to be certain he got the?

The receptionist hand delivered the packages to the doctor when he was sitting in his office. He said, “What’s this?”

The receptionist said, “Oh Mrs. Smith, you know the kind of crazy one, said you were expecting these.” She smiled as she stood in the door waiting and watching him open the notes as she was told by the boy. “I sure hope her grandchild won’t be that looney.”

The doctor stopped opening the package and said, “That’s okay. I’ll open the latter. We have work to do.” He arose and put the envelope on his chair and scooted it under the desk. He shut the door behind him as it automatically locked. He then took the envelope and carefully opened it and looked at the two phones. Man, she’s serious about this craziness. He put them in his briefcase and the note in his shirt pocket.

 

 

Chapter 3

Monday Evening:

Later he made his first call to the informant. He was alone in his car and he soon pulled over on the side of a dark road hidden under trees where it was safe. He called the informant.

“I thought you said this would happen later? What’s going on?” The doctor’s voice was hostile, angry, but on the other hand ~ He called her.

“Glad you called so quickly. We have work to do.” The informant was short and to the point. She walked outside away from her home just in case her voice was transmittable from inside her home. She took a leisure walk as far as she could and stopped.

“What do I have to do with your delusions?” Firmly, he insisted an answer. “Leave my family out of your charades, you understand me!”

“Trust me, your family is in danger, doctor.” The informant bounced back at him. “Your wife shouldn’t have come Sunday, so why did you bring her?”

The doctor was silent, then he said, “Because, in case you were hitting on me, then she would see and intercept this bizarre fabrication. I should have you arrested for stalking.”

“So, why don’t you?” She was silent.

“I’m not sure.” He paused, “Perhaps, I’m interested in your tales of cloak and daggers, your mysteries of God knows what.”

The informant listened, “Go on. Any more , hmm?

“You talk. Your turn. Explain your business.” The doctor fell quiet. “And, to add, the phones. A little over the top, for a twisted sorted game, I’d say.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Did you see the laboratory notes in the envelope?”

“No.” He responded.

“I put two reports from my distant past and one of a recent test. Both under the name of Mrs. Smith.”

“Okay. Tests of what kind?” He reached for the envelope on the car seat next to him and opened it.

“Lab tests with my DNA. You will notice that both tests have 1% Neanderthal and the old test has 2% unknown DNA and the latest has 3.5% unknown.” The informant waits for him to answer.

“Wait a minute let me look.” He ruffles with the pages. “You know DNA is not my expertise.”

“Just look.” She shot back quickly.

“Yes, I see, but still I don’t know what this means, I don’t do DNA.” He’s disconcerted with her for insisting him involuntarily into matters he is unlearned.

She sighed having her own frustrations with his lack of concern or understanding.

“What do these reports have to do with me? I ask you again. Stop with the vagueness.” He insisted.

She thought, “I want you to have labs drawn on me again, then on your self.”

“What? That’s absurd. Why should I carry on with your delusional mystery?” He continued to look at the lab reports and her DNA. He recognized the lab values were not matching and are increasing and thought, why? “Why do I have to test mine? Why am I relevant to your search?”

“I will be in this week and you will draw labs on me under the name of Mrs. Smith, right?” She restated her request.

“Yes, come into the office Wednesday noon. No one but the staff will be around. I’ll just tell them it’s for labs that had to be drawn at noon. But, mine… not sure.” He gave clear instructions to the informant and took control of her craziness.

“Okay, Wednesday at noon, I’ll be there, but if my labs are remarkable then you will draw yours?” She took control again.

“Okay. Deal. But, what does your DNA have to do with mine? We’re not related.” He hesitated, “Are we?”

“Well, yes, in away we are.” She said, “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

They hung up and she walked back to her house. It started to thunder. Rain was coming soon.

 

Chapter 4

He was busy the early part of the week. The young doctor didn’t have time to think about the strange phone cal except the last words the crazy Mrs.  Smith, the odd informant said, “Well, yes, in away we are.” And, this bothered him. These words got under his skin.  What exactly did she mean? 

Wednesday noon:

“Hello Mrs. Smith.” The young doctor unlocked the door to the clinic. “Come on back.”

The informant Mrs. Smith was directed to the phlebotomy room. “Our phlebotomist is on her lunch break so if you’ll allow me to do it, then I’ll have it done in no time.” He was friendly and spoke loudly so the staff could hear him and think nothing about a noon lab draw. After all, the doors were shut at exactly noon. He had all the vials, the tourniquet, the needles and the centrifuge ready. “May I get you a coke or coffee?”

“A coke would be good. Thank you,” She responded.

“Before you drink the coke,” after he handed it to her, “Let me swab your mouth for DNA. We’ll do it every way we can to get comparisons. Okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” She seemed glum and was quiet, but decided chit chat would be best in case she was tracked into his office and was being listened to. “How has your week been?”

The doctor, nodded his head, “Here make a fist” as he had placed the tourniquet on her upper arm, “The week has been quite unusual. The office has been busy as all get out.”

She smiled. “Unusual?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy.” He chuckled under his breath.

“I see sarcasm, doctor.” She sighed. “I hope everything is back to your normal routine?”

“Absolutely. Things couldn’t be better.” He cut it short. He was beginning to sweat. He blew a vein. “Dam-it. I have to use the other arm.”

“Dam-it? Do you always talk this way around clients?” She acted upset. “Calm down. I don’t have all day. I have to go back to work soon.”

He shut up and put the tourniquet tightly on the left arm. “That should do it.” He was successful and unsnapped the cord. “There you go. Finished. The labs will be sent out after lunch.” He escorted her to the door and opened for her. “I’ll call you with the results, Mrs. Smith.”

“Make me copies. I will pick them up.” She turned quickly not to show any familiar behavior in case they were being watched. Off she went in the old white Honda.

The doctor walked into the office and sat down at the computer. He added a drug screen and a BAC to the labs. This way he would no if the woman was drunk, on drugs and her DNA which he was now curious of.

He wanted to ask Mrs. Smith for her real name, but thought about the fact that having too much information was irrelevant and would involve him even farther than he wanted. Nope, he answered his curiosity.

 

Chapter 5

Two weeks passed by and he had not thought about the labs or Mrs. Smith. After all, he was a busy doctor with many patients and his wife surely would have him involved in more social activities than he wanted. So, the thoughts of those two dilemmas were simply dismissed.

Mrs. Smith, the female informant, laid low and never once called him on the cell phones or contacted his office. However, she ruminated about the findings and wondered why he had not contacted her about the results. She bit her nails and chewed them off, but she was silently waiting.

Another Wednesday two point five days later:

The fax machine was shooting out labs as it usually did at any doctors office. The lab tech took them off the machine and delivered the results to the prospective doctors. She put values into the young doctors box on the outside of his door where he would see them and read them. He did just that and noticed in the pile of fifteen or more pages the name Mrs. Smith. She had several of the fifteen pages. He closed the door behind him and sat to look them over. The first one was the drug screen. It was negative of any substance then he looked at the BAC. No alcohol present in her blood system. “Damn she’s clean a a whistle.” He flipped through to the DNA results. And sure enough the swab of the oral mucosa results were conclusive to the last results she had. 3.5% Unknown and 1% Neanderthal, he whispered to hime self. He didn’t know any DNA specialists, he didn’t know what this meant.

“Amy,” he yelled.

“Yes, doctor.” Amy poked into his office.

“Find a local DNA or Genetic engineer, doctor or someone I can send a DNA consult out to.” The doctor ordered right now and Amy got right on it…

She called around and found  a Doctor not far away. She wrote his number and address down and took it into the young doctor.

He placed a call and was able to get through to the doctor when he identified himself as a doctor.

“Doctor DNA, this is the young doctor, and I wanted to ask about normal and abnormal DNA percentages. Could you tell me if 3.5% is unusual in oral mucosa for a normal human level?

Could you tell me where I can look such information up? A reference perhaps?” The young doctor asked collegiately.

The elder doctor replied after he cleared his throat, “You say 3.5% doctor?”

“Yes, that’s right, 3.5%.” The young doctor clarified.

“That can’t be right. test again. The lab is wrong. Can’t be.” And he was certain in the tone of his voice, the young doctor was mistaken.

“No, this is the second recent result. They are the same from two different labs.” There was a silence between the two men and the fund doctor said, “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you, anyway.”

“Yes, he added those two results are wrong. Your patient would not be human, sir. Well, good day, call again if you need me.” The elder doctor thought the question was odd and the response that two different tests from two different labs verified the same 3.5% values and this was more than interesting, indeed. He wished he had gotten the young doctors number, but he didn’t. He asked his secretary, but she had gone for the day, as usual.

The young doctor hung up and wished he hadn’t called the consulted doctor. But, he waited for the staff to leave saying good bye then he attempted to draw his own labs as he promised. Finally after stabbing himself three times was able to get them, four vials, in an upside down manner on the arm. He put them in the refrigerator and with a label the lab staff told him, after an inquiring call, for a miscellaneous practice draw. No charges, no questions, just a practice. He made two copies for the informant as he promised. He put them in the brief case, and sped off to the tree area on the side of the road where he could call her. Meanwhile, his wife called and asked why he was late?

“You forgot we had a diner party tonight? You’re late.” She demanded that he answer and she demonstrated her anger of missing such an event.

“Sorry, working late and I’ll be thirty more minutes. Go on without me.” He was sweet to her placating her for now.

He pulled the car over under the trees off the side of the road. There was no one around. He made his call on the cell phone the female informant, Mrs. Smith provided.

The phone rang several times. He did not leave a message. The messages had not been set up. Mrs. Smith thought that would be best, no messages to be traced. He began to drive home and when he arrived the house was empty. His children were staying with his inlays for the night. He didn’t feel like attending a dinner party so instead he poured a Jack on the rocks. He sat in a comfortable slouchy chair in the dark and thought of what the labs meant to him. What did Mrs. Smith mean when she said they are related?

His private cell from Mrs. Smith rang. It was her. He answered quietly. “Hello.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to call, well? Any results?” She jumped into the labs without any surface conversation.

“Yes, I have them. And, your two copies.” He shot back at her.

“Well, what do they say? Did you make me copies?” She was eager to hear the results that she was certain concrete as she thought.

“They are conclusive to your other labs. 3.5% unknown in oral mucosa.” He paused.

“I want the copies. Where can I meet you?” She hurried not wanting to miss the results or to allow time to prevent her from getting them.

“Not tonight. I’m too tired. Come to the secretaries in the morning. They will be there.” He again took control as that was his nature.

“No, not at your office. Bump into me tomorrow at the store just like in August at Mid-day. We can greet and pass the envelope like everything is normal.” She was in control.

“Okay, but meet me at 2pm. I have meetings until then. Oh, my wife has come home. Got to go.” He hung up the cell and put it in the brief case.

“Hello honey. Why didn’t you come. Everyone waited for you.” She was tall and red headed like Maureen O’ Hara and fiesta like her, as well.

“Too busy. I just got home.” He swirled the bourbon in the glass.

“Well, you should have called to let us know to eat without you. Is that bourbon? Are you drinking alone in the dark? That bad, huh?”She could interrogate with her lean body and red hair better than an FBI agent. “What could be so imperative to a family care doctor?”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcastic put-down of being only, in his mind, a family care doctor? Geez, what does a man have to do to get recognition and respect? Damn her. 

 

Chapter 6

Early the next day he got a call on the private cell. He was on his way to work and alone driving in the rain.

The informant female says, “It’s not a good idea to meet you at 2pm. Is there any way you could meet me now? Do you have the labs reports with you?”

“I have them with me. I’m close to work and have only a few extra minutes. Where?” He responded quickly.

“Park your car at the grocery and walk to the post office. Go through their backdoor. I’ll walk there and be there in ten minuets.” She hung up.

He was early that morning with thirty minutes to spare. So, this plan of hers would work. Driving the car to the grocery and parking it he then got out and walked as if he were going into the store, but he walked the sidewalk to the post office where the most office boxes were and walked out the back door. She was standing there in the rain.

“Well, come inside, out of the rain.” He insisted.

“Just let me have the results.” She put her hand out and he gave her the labs reports.

“If you have any questions call me later. I gotta go,” he said. There were people starting to come in and he felt unusually uncomfortable to the beautiful grandmother informant, Mrs. Smith. “What’s your real name by the way?”

She didn’t smile. “It’s not a game doctor. This is not a flirtatious meeting or coincidental rendezvous, understand?”

The young doctor had to check his emotions. She was right, he was feeling like this was a scandalous rendezvous and he was rather enjoying himself. He forgot this was a bazaar story about wild DNA and a weird woman. The mysterious excitement was taking him into a fantasy of types.

“You’ll need to watch your pheromones, doctor. This is serious. By the way, did you draw your labs?” She raised a doubting eyebrow at him.

“Yes, yes I did.” He retorted. People were coming into the post office. It was 8:05am. “I got to go. Late now. When my labs come in, I’ll call you.” He left in the rain from the front door and followed his path to the store and then his car. As far as he knew, no one saw him. He felt sneaky and ashamed for feeling flirtatious, for enjoying a life of increased adrenalin. He never felt that way before…

 

Chapter 7

Almost Fall

The young doctor went about his work and social functions and left the flirtatious misinterpretations behind. After all, Mrs. Smith was a grandmother and not a normal stereotypical woman who would be considered as a rendezvous for a primary care physician. So, he carried on as usual.

The grandmother informant, Mrs. Smith was about the business as usual, too. Only hers were menial and mundane while in the office. However, after 5pm, it was the usual adrenalin rush she had experienced since she was a child. Once in a while they would visit her at night. The clock usually said 3am or close. They were not consistently on time, but they gave a few minutes on either side of 3. However, she was older now and their visitation numbers and times to visit were fewer, thank God. She did believe in God or a supreme power. She had to believe because something always saved her from their grip.

It was for the reason of monetary purpose that the informant did astrological forecast for extra money and for the fact she loved astrology. She finished a woman’s chart who lived in Oregon and noticed intently that this woman had similar coordinates as herself. It was later in central time as Oregon so she called the woman for clarification. The phone rang and the woman picked up.

“Hello,” she said.

“Yes, hello,” the informant had a Southern drawl from being and living in The Bible Belt for so long. “This is Lottie the astrologer and I need to clarify your information, is now a good time?”

“Oh yes! Now is great.” The woman answered.

There are unusual themes in your astrological readings and I need to verify your birthdate and time of birth Is it 1952? And, were you born at 7:58Am in Portland, Oregon?” Lottie asked.

“Yes, that is correct.” The woman replied.

“Okay, good. So, I want to explain that in 1952, October 10th, The Constellation Ophiochus was arising in the Eastern sky. This is rare to occur and we know the zodiac has 12 houses, but in your case 13… Lottie waits for a response.

“Very insightful,” the woman replies. “Do go into more of this. I’ve never heard of a 13th house in The Zodiac.”

“Sagittarius is in the twelfth house and is also your ascendant and it is also sitting near the constellation Ophiochus or Asclepius . This would say you are a strong believer in a force much greater than most other men. Your Chiron is also near the ascendant and close to the constellation Asclepius and would indicate you are a healer. Are you a health employee?”

“Yes. I am a nurse.” The woman proudly answered.

“That would explain Ophiochus/Asclepius in your chart on the horizon at the time of your birth,” Lottie explained.

“I’m not aware of that name or custom.” The nurse responded.

“I’ll send it as a text. Look it up. The myth goes like this. The constellation on the horizon at the time of your birth would be in the eastern sky. Asclepius was then coming up or arisen. You could then, identify with the constellation as your birth home if you thought that we are all star children and connected spiritually. It is reported that Ophiochus/Asclepius  is your DNA home or where your descendants came. You are from that Constellation and nearest star to you at the time of birth would be the home of the star that your family came. That is where your spirit came from, if you believed that’s a possibility and wanted to know more, there are references to this information.”

The woman closed down.  She was somewhat shocked and refuting the ideas. “Oh, that’s silliness,” she responded and laughed. “That’s not feasible. No, can’t go there. I’m Christian and star children and aliens are not anything that I take any part of. Astrology is just fun. That’s why I did this reading with you. Can’t do the other.”

Lottie shut down, also. “Well, if you need me for future reading please contact me. You now have my number. She realized that she wasn’t going there and wasn’t interested. Perhaps frightened by the idea that we came from alien life forms.

“Well, good night Lottie,” she said her goodbyes.

“Goodnight.” And, Lottie hung up disappointed because the woman was clueless. She saw no reason to forward the woman any further any information.

Lottie, Mrs. Smith or the female informant sat on the couch thinking about the phone call with the woman in Portland. Recollecting their conversation it provoked dismay and anger because the woman said that her astrological read was indeed, “A joke between Christian friends who chose the same birthday and decided together to do a test. They would send the same birth information to three of four astrologers to see if they all came up with the same natal horoscope.”

Lottie had explained to the woman, “I don’t use computer generated charts and interpretations. My interpretations are original and I personally sift through the data the information provided.”

This didn’t impress the woman in Portland. The woman was certain that all of the reports were simply conjured from “a demon.”

Lottie was disappointed, but she went on and gave it any more thoughts.

The thunder came again. Lottie lost power in her home. She lit candles. It was soon to be her birthday. She too was from Asclepius. It was on the eastern horizon at the time of her birth.

She thought about the doctor and his birthday. “Could his birthday say the same. How could I get his birth information without seeming bizarre? After all, the doctor was living in The Bible Belt and he may hold the same belief system as the woman in Portland? Well, he already thinks I’m bizarre enough. It can’t hurt anymore to ask.”

The thunder boomed overhead. It shook the house. I hate nights like this.

Lottie hated nights like this one because they, whomever they are, would sometimes pay her a visit and since she was on a quest to find information and other human victims were more than likely angry with her. For these reasons she feared they would come, Lottie expected them soon, possibly tonight. There was no absolute telling about their arrival except it would be between 2 and 3AM.

Lotto’s adrenalin was high. She felt it rising. She had to work in the morning and knew with her norepinephrine this high, sleep would be hard to fall into. She took a Xanax and used the dose by a half.

She marveled at the coincidence of having an appointment with the young doctor. The previous doctor moved out of town and for this reason she was absorbed into the new young doctors patient list. The first appointment two years prior she had with him was normal, and without any odd or strange feelings. He was a doctor and there was no signs or odd occurrences that pointed to any connections with him. Lottie thought about the first time she had an eyebrow raising experience with him.

It was when she had her second appointment to see him. He neared her to listen to her chest, suddenly a vibrational shock happened, they both felt and jumped. They blamed it on static electricity. However, Lottie saw it differently, but she drew no conclusions or conjured anything from her imagination. But he had something else that captivated her. His eyes. They were blue and sometimes green and the pupils changed rapidly. The way he glanced at her for a split second, his pupils and her own met. It was hard to explain to a normal person. It was not flirtatious or romantic by any means. No, it was like two railcars latching together conjoining to become one. Clink. She felt it. They matched. Another piece of the puzzle had been found. Lottie was certain that the young doctor was the one. Could his birth have the same coordinates as hers and since he was a doctor would certainly be interesting to investigate. If he was also born with Ophiochus on the horizon than this could only mean that he is the link, the one person who would help her. After all, he would be helping himself and his children. Asclepius would be his origins. The Serpent Bearer, the healer.

She knew she was imaginative and had to check on occasion, if things were real, or psychotic. Not once had she been diagnosed with psychosis, but when psychologist and doctors examined her, they simply said, “It’s in your imagination. You’re quite creative, aren’t you?”

She had to agree with them on the creative description. That is a fact. She was imaginative, but high levels of norepinephrine could usher epinephrine synergistically. Her mind was going that night, all of the what if’s, could be this or that, and so forth, had her in a whirlwind. The Xanax Thank God was kicking in… Her mind began to slow down and she went to her bedroom, took her clothes off, laid in bed and drifted off to the land of no thoughts or adrenalin. She loved that place.

 

Chapter 8

Rem Sleeping

The thundered rolled all night. Though it was now distant, it still reverberated the small house.

Lottie slept soundly, snoring in and out with the cool breeze of October. Her windows had opened and she was not startled, nor moved. Sleeping as soundly as one could, she had no cares. No lights were on and only shadows from the lightening and trees danced on her walls. This never frightened Lottie as she was use to terrifying images and these were natural and she hadn’t a care about how they played out violent themes on her walls or had ghost faces appearing in the mirages of shadows. The images carried on as she slept undisturbed.

Standing tall, hidden in the corner an entity stood, watching her. No facial expressions it had and time was of no concern by the looks of the thing. Its finger arose from its side cloaked in a black robe and it pointed at the clock. Time stopped then as she slept.

Bright lights everywhere. Not Earthly, by any means, they illuminated the cold metallic room, as she laid on a slate slab. Cold with vapor rising, humidifying the room, Lottie opened her eyes. She knew this place all too well, it was a place of torture and a place of hell. She screamed, “NO!” Paralyzed without restraints, as usual, and her mouth muzzled by invisible sources, her screams were not heard by anyone or anything. She hoped God heard her and would send angels to free her. Eyes were wide open, breathing in and out through her nose, she looked around as far as her peripheral vision could go, she felt movement, and from ten feet or more she saw shadows.

This time there were no instruments used on her body, no sounds that broke her ear drums, there was filling the space of tall figures of whom she saw no faces. They surrounded the slate slab where she laid, and permeated her body with mental messages. Threatening her to stop her investigations, to stop visits with the doctor. They showed her the room next to her as the walls separating vanished and in the next room were two children.  The children of the doctors, lay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Invisible World of Wars

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Holding protectively L’infant
From the surrounding Angel of abducting darkness
In mercy and vengeance Gabriel secures the child
Whether from life or death with resurrection
From within the invisible world the battle is fought

 


By Bonnie Jennings ©2016 All Rights Reserved
Photograph from A Poet’s Haven stock
Poem submitted for poetry challenge at A Poet’s Haven on FB and is under the direction of Alan Boles

Star Children (TEST) By drboylan.com/starkididqstnr.html

http://www.drboylan.com/starkididqstnr.html

The Dragon in The Tree

There is a dragon in my tree

I found it just today

It’s been lingering there for generations

Subliminally, controlling my life, I’d say. 

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It danced within my dreams

And haunted my ancestors of old

It created some battlefields

Thriving when we were brazenly bold

~

It dined on our fruits of discord

It devoured the meat off the bone

It smoked an elegant cigarette

 While sitting on my father’s thrown

~

The dragon stole our family love

It burned away bonding ties

Gulping down any charity

Our humanity left in lies

~

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The dragon wears a mask

Pretending to be a friend

Dressed in a cloak of disguise

Smirking behind all chagrin

~

The day you discover the dragon

because it’s already found you

A sword you will need to don

All fondness dies when it’s slew

~

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~

There’s a dragon over your bed

It came while innocent slept

It played in your fairy tales

It departs when you’ve finally met

~

Bravely casting the beast down

Tis’ the hardest task to do

But, playing with wild demon dragons

Costs, perhaps, the bonnie, likes of you 

My final Dream 2014. I was awakened by a messenger

It being the end of a another year, thus, I sent out to my god and my angels, a prayer. That is: I need change and a new directional path, and I need it, now. “Post haste,” as daddy use to say. So, having said this to a dear friend, who is also a warrior  on the phone last night, and then, going to sleep soon, thereafter, was awakened, before 3 am. I had a series of nightmares.

Dreaming and entering because we choose to fight our human battles...
Dreaming and entering because we choose to fight our human battles…

There in the middle of the fury of dreams, I found my peace. My sister was with me to help me escape, as she always has, in our lives together.There, in the middle of of the nightmare, being raped and sought after by many men and devilish souls, I panted in fear. But we, my sister and I, locked, bolted and hammered all doors shut. However, I couldn’t escape from their war, except one way. I disconnected. I found within me the place of peace and in that place the outer world fades away and there I am safe from any harm. Though, i can not take anyone with me, I leave my sister warrior behind fighting for me. And, in that place, the hell on Earth and memories of it, dissipate. My sister is left to do the battling alone. She chooses to do this for me. I want to take her with me; however, she may not enter. She must find this place on her own just as every human soul must find it alone. Perhaps she knows about this quiet place amidst the beautiful scenery of anything desired. Maybe she is showing me the way. I don’t know her way, I only know my own.

You see, I found this place many years ago. I was 16 years old. I am 62 now. In that place I heard a friendly kind voice. I have heard the voice many times before. It gave me a message. He, the voice was male. He said. “write, from your heart. Write the truth and do not cover it up or make flowery excuses. Just simply write about, what you know, as truth. Don’t skip or jump around your truths, your path, your beginnings. Tell them about the other world. Tell others how to find it when in the middle of storms. Write it all down. This is what you’re called to teach.” 

Now, I really didn’t want to get out of bed. It was warm and comfortable. And, I didn’t want to write about sadness and hardships. No, truthfully, it was before 3 am and I wanted to go back to bed and sleep peacefully.

“Now, get up and start writing what you’ve learned.” He said. This is your beginning of 2015.

I said, “all right, I will write only my truth, but the outer world is so painful.”

He nodded, in agreement, that the outer plane, which hovers Earth, is tortuous, grievous, grey, bleak, often harmful and lastly, painful for many and is not the place called heaven. “Help others and yourself to find this place. You have been there, and know the way. Teach it. It is easier to make jokes. Laughter hides pain and sorrow.It is in pain and sorrow that one becomes purified.” He smiled gently.

And so, I agreed to start writing my notes.

Though, they, my memories, will be discombobulated, they are my experiences. Finding Elysium, finding heaven on Earth, is not impossible. This is my 2015 plan sent by a messenger dressed in beautiful gauze and had a long beard of silver and snow and eyes as alive as the rapids in a northern river… This is what he told me to do. Having written the reasons of why I must tell my journey must say, I do not want to write this. I don’t want to visit my past, I do not want to blame, point fingers, to shame or harm anyone. For these reasons, I am reluctant to tell my story.

This reluctance is because the human race must point a finger at the causes of imperfections and tainted unlovely lives. Truthfully, the blame is circular. It never ends, but will find it’s origin in the story of the fall of mankind in The Garden of Eden. And, this is the truth, even if, you declare, it’s not your truth, it is. The fall of man was the beginning of pain and torture for the human/hybrid species. We were made in the image of god. We were created by fallen angels (The Nephilim) and god made a new way for us. Mankind excepted the dragons of fire, and there is no other argument. Done! There in the garden is found the reasons why mankind will never reach Narnia, Elysium, or Heaven, on his own.

I am not writing about the redemption story, though it is important. It only serves to receive the blame. If a reason why is to be asked, then, cast a blame on Eden with an imperfect finger of human judgement. The finger that’s pointing doesn’t recognize its own blemishes, sins and mistakes. It only see’s flaws in the “fruits” of others. How many times have I heard or read, “we can’t judge, but we can be fruit inspectors.” So, this statement stands alone, and is why, we will not reach Narnia.

Now, I’m dragging my feet. I don’t want to begin with my story. I’m afraid. The fears are from this Earth and have nothing to do with god, but mankind is harsh. Mankind is a ferocious judge. But on the other hand, who cares? Do I? Yes, bottom line, I care what others think or believe of me. I care about my reputation and the legend of my family. I care to uphold their name and honor. I care about them. I said, blaming is circular and goes back to The Garden of Eden, and it does. So, the sins of my ancestors continues and my children will point their finger at me, and tell of my sins and imperfections. But, I would be the first to admit, that I have failed horribly, as a mother. I have not loved unconditionally. I have put myself before my children, yet, I believe that I would die for them.

But, dying is much easier than living for them, isn’t it? After all, dying is escaping the tortures of living day in and day out. Excepting nighttime, thunder, lightening, hail, ice and temperatures too hot or too cold, are much harder, than taking the last breath into freedom. Wouldn’t you say? Perhaps, I am, blaming The Fall in The Garden of Eden, as well. But, this life is filled with spots, stains and imperfections are all around us.

No one escapes. It is here, at this point in my story, that I must be say, there are some who strongly declare, this doesn’t pertain to me. I am flawless. I do no wrong. I have a perfect past and a white picket fence, now, that surrounds my life. I would say to you, then, you already live in Narnia or Elysium and this story isn’t about you. My suggestion is to go on with your life, as it is, and don’t peer inside mine as the dragons assigned to me might become your own. Or perhaps, you’ve never actually met your demons. Because if you’re a member of the human race, then, at birth you had entities leading you away from The Garden. And, if you haven’t met the devils or been led far from the gates of The Garden, then, continue onward. Proceed on your path of doorknob hanging. Do not wander far away from the handle. But, hang on for your dear life and be thankful that you, know better. Or do you, I ask.. But on the other hand ~ playing The Devil’s Advocate ~ must tell you, find your war. Overcome it. Learn everything god wants you to know, so that, you will become a mighty valiant warrior. And having boldly said this, know that warriors die in many battles. Only to rise, again and again. Learning, along the way, the mistakes of war and the casualties of other’s lives, that we may have damaged, aware or not, these mistakes must be reconciled before continuing on in our wonderful journey called living. In some small way, if not, huge, our unintentional  mistakes, completed along our way, may have destroyed someone else. In rectifying our mishaps, we become stronger and the next crisis, war or battle, which will come again, guaranteed, we will be stronger, more courageous than ever were before… And, then, perhaps, another warrior will be encouraged, while healing, from a battle of their own, and there on that battlefield we can lend our grace because grace was generously handed to us…

This is a good lesson, and I know god chooses the weak, to make them strong. He chooses the lame, deaf and dumb to confound the wise, he uses fearful men to make giant soldier’s, He uses our human frailties to make us his own. So, those who hang onto the doorknob of heaven, may I challenge you to jump into the fight. It is the fight, war, battle for your previous generations and those who succeed you throughout eternity.

Now, after skirting and dancing around my own story, I will to begin…. My heart races. Here I must deep breath and begin… Some of you might be asking me, what gives you the rights to say these things? The answer will be found in my story. Another question maybe, do you think of yourself better than the rest of us? And, truthfully, I tell you no, I don’t. Next question, then why should I read on? This is your decision, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

The only answer right now, that I will reveal is the fact that I have been in solitary confinement at an early age. Later, I stayed, 2 more times in a place of complete aloneness for 6 weeks, more than once, and lesser times later. Now, That I’ve shared this part of my life, please, stay with my story, as I explain why and what came from those experiences.

I was reluctant to be born. The year and date: October 9, 1952, New Orleans, La, USA.In fact, I begged not to come. I recognized these thoughts were on my sons face as he entered the world December 12, 1983. He, too, didn’t want to enter this plane called Earth. My daughter, she too came May 23, 1980. She is another mighty knight.

Bonnie 2014 The face of a warrior
Bonnie 2014
The face of a warrior

Writing the beginning and knowing what is to come, is difficult, so at this point, I must rest, and gather my thoughts. Thank you for staying with me up to this point and reading. I do welcome any thoughts, questions and kind comments… Also, please note, I wrote this hastily. I wrote as the messenger told me to do. So, having said this, I realize there are grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, and other flaws. Please, feel free to contact me and let me know.. Thank you and have a happy, safe, peaceful, healthy and prosperous New Year 2015. May God reside with all…

Supernatural Journey (a short story)

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While dreaming in the midst of a stormy night, booming lights from the electrical bolts slashed dashing across the walls of my bedroom. I hid my eyes from the frightening waring images made from the shadows.
Miserably, I disdained my life and I, thankfully, welcomed sleep. I hated everything that God gave me and the thunderstorm came to punish me. I was certain that His wrath deliberately chastised me. Surely the grim reaper stood close to my bed. I felt his ominousness cold breath. The rumbling thunder and magnetic energy surrounding my lying body, ushered me into a sleeping journey back into time..

When sound asleep, suddenly, I heard in the distance ~ “the sounds of war?” Bombs and the shaking of the tin shelter where I hid crammed with others, whom I didn’t know. Oddly, they knew me, and there we hid tightly pressed together.
“I must have travelled back in time?” I thought.

They spoke in a foreign language. It was Polish. Everything was gray there, including their battle worn faces. The wrinkles bore sad lines of desperation. Their bodies were almost skeletons. And, I wanted to run, but when I started to leap, they held me.
Then, screaming, “no! Let go of me! Please!” I escaped only to see armed men coming my way! I caught my breath. There, in the dark of the night I saw a sign which hung swaying in the freezing rain and blustering wind. The metal sign creaked “Warszawa, 1943.” I knew where I was… The horrors of death were everywhere. Bleakness and freezing weather, trapped innocent victims.
The enemy soldiers started to grab me, but ~
I prayed that God takes me somewhere else other than WWII, Poland.

So, He granted my wish.

Rolling in the dirt, in fear of The Nazi’s, I was thence transported somewhere else in times past. Here the air was humid and the smell of death and blood permeated everywhere. Flies, fleas and moans came from dying men were everywhere.

I heard, “help me. Please, won’t you help?”
A man lay there in the brush. He was in gray and I was in blue. By his side a rebel flag was standing next to his bloody broken body.

“Where are we?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” He puzzled at my daze. “Mississippi.” He looked at me as if I was mad and he had disdain on his face, even though he was dying.
So, I reached out to lift him away from the fighting as all good men do. It was then, that I noticed my skin was dark. I was a large Negro man. I, aghast, thought, I’m in trouble now. Here I am, “a colored man,” centered on a battlefield in The Civil War. They will kill me. I will die. Now, more panicked than ever, I surrendered to my fear. How then, my old life seemed kind and benign in comparison to Warsaw and Mississippi.

I petitioned God’s help. “Grant me my own life, once again.” Sobbing from the deepest part of my being, concluded that he did not grant my request.

Then He transported me, again. I found myself sitting on a piano bar singing loudly. There was a sign hanging across the wall of the smoke filled bar. It swayed back and forth as the room seemed to move erratically. The sign said, “Welcome Molly Brown.” The crowd applauded and I smiled, warningly. The spotlights were in my eyes. A second passed. I noticed the calendar displayed on the wall said, “4.15.1912.” Gasping. “I’m on the Titanic.The night it sinks.” I whispered with dread. I knew, soon these lives and Molly Browns would be recorded in history. They were unaware and I was petrified. The iceberg floats before us. It will sink this ship and most of the applauders will soon die. Mortified of knowing the fate, I froze.

If I could change the course of history in Warsaw, the battlefield in The South, and on The Titanic, I would. If there wasn’t any goodness within me, then my travels changed me. All three places taught lessons: thankfulness, empathy and compassion. “God, I know, I understand. I’ve been selfish and unappreciative of the mundane circumstances in my “pathetic” life. I’ve been blessed all along and so ignorant.

With the final confession, I awakened in my own skin. It was my room and correct time…
My worldly travels were enlightening and my lesson? i will not murmur, grumble nor whine ever again.

Photo on 1-28-14 at 4.26 PM #3

A Cold Day In Summer 2011

The Coldest Day In SummerThe Day My Mother Died
The Day My Mother Died 

 

She had wisdom; yet, I am wise.

sometimes the witches clashed

not to our surprise

~

Mother, daughter, lives and the time

We believed a mishap

Reality knew all that’s sublime

~

Lessons learned and some not

All underneath us

Lost, not forgot

~

Mother and daughter

Time gone

Springs cleansed the white water

~

It will take us both home.

~

My mother always said, “It is not money that is the root of all evil. No, it is the lack of money that is the evil.”

I believe her now. 

 

 

About Goong-Gok and Imaginary Friends

Is this Goong-Gok?
Is this Goon-Ghok? Mimsi Asks.

Goon-Ghok came with Jacob

on December 7, 2010. They entered our world.

Goon-Ghok

He popped into Jacob’s world.

before Jacob was merely one,

They gibbered about topics and things

that Jacob thought was fun.

He laughed at the entity

That no one else, could see

And, baby talked with Goon-Ghok

I asked, “Would you introduce me?”

 

Then, Goon-Ghok stayed 

until Jacob turned three.

Jabbered over his tasks in life?

Saving, only, that Jacob could see.

One-day, Mimsi asked, where’d Goon-Ghok go?

 “I don’t know.” Jacob replied,

He forgot about life’s entrance friend.

And, Earth time began, sadly, when Goon-Ghok died. 

Our childhood angels.

Jacob says, “no, Mimsi, that’s not Goon-Ghok (in the above picture that I drew). This is.”

Jacob points to the purple aliens and names them in the bottom picture.

Right back one is Goon-Ghok.
Right back one is Goon-Ghok.

Imagination, it’s a terrible thing to loose…

And, Jacob? Mimsi thinks Jacob will one day create a fabulous story.

The gift of the writer’s is Imagination,

Nothing But White Lies

It all flowed together so smoothly. Like a perfect image, of a handsome desirable home, with a white picket fence surrounding this quaint cottage. Framed with beautiful flowers everywhere ~ so are many stories similar to this one.

IMG_0040

This story, is of smoothing things over.
This story speaks of little white lies. Often spoken in humorous tones of voice, one hastily jests ~
Oh, well ~ we all do it. No, big deal.

Then, we mock phrases that aren’t truths either.Hell, it never hurts anyone.

Or, does it?

Yet, the lies presented in a palette of vagueness are simply, tall tales. Non-truths created to cover the picket fence in more, and more white wash.

Layer after layer, white after white, one stroke, each time so delicately brushed, that was, in the beginning. At first, it was   whispered. Spoken in deliberate calculated lies as his  smile expressed his own pleasure. She didn’t notice his cold blue eyes, his narrow lips that slightly turned up in the corners. if she had seen him, as he truly is, then, she would see his pride. The story of hunting her soul, and the fact, he lived in the home with the blooming flowers, until the colors of their bouquets lost their beauty.

He chased away the bees in his mad jealousy. When the bees disappeared, then he too, only dreamed of the next garden’s odors. The next place to lay his head on a down pillow, and only the best, for it’s season of glory, will also wilt from the rays of the hot summer sun. For fall will come, and coldness of winter is on the horizon.

So, innocent was the white fence in her vain glory she portrayed, to all. The observers watched the paint covering her. She was unaware of truth, throughout  the years. They knew her  innocent naiveté would one day turn, the unsuspecting, from white into dark grey.

Because ~ after a while, after a time the painter, the creator of the tall tale, wearies. The sociopath is no longer amused by their adrenalin bursts.  Their white lies aroused them like a drug, which no longer excites them. So, they become sloppy with their painting of fences.  And, soon, their palette, once beautiful, appears, not so pristine, after all.

The passer-by’s notice the cracks left without white-wash and the inconsistency of the painter’s strokes. But, for some reason, they pass by the fence, they keep to their own business, and let the white picket fence, fade to a grey frail border that surrounded a charming cottage. It once bloomed an array of colors with aromatic flowers. Perhaps, they pass, by because their white picket fence rotted, as well, and their flowers had, too, disappeared.  The fragrance of the blooms and the honey bees moved to pollinate a new-found quest, a new adventure.

And so, she asks, to whom does the vague ambiguities hurt? The answer is found when examining the fences. But, there hidden in the weeds, see, growing over the top of sour grass seen behind the grey fence is  a strong red rose.

 

Painting by Bojenn