The Shadow Beast

man tree

I dreamt I sat on a low branch of Grandfather tree. It was dark when the man walked toward me, twigs growing out of his head like petrified breadsticks.

I reached down, determined to break off each one so they would not interfere and grow roots to our ancestral tree. Each time I snapped one off, his twigs became thicker and stronger, harder to break off.

Still dreaming, I went to bed and saw the shadow once again- not from my friend the pecan tree lurking outside my window, but from the silhouette of the man I knew him to be.

It was not the Shadow Beast, but a real beast, lurking in the shadows.

In my waking moment, I knew he had to be stopped.


Excerpt from a CD-W novel

photo credit

via Silhouette

Ashes to Dreams

A meager end of one’s desires

Helpless, falls within the fires

Softly heard the silent pleas

For targets reached with greater ease.


Bemoan the loss of relinquished goals

That lay defeated upon the coals

As sparks take flight and seconds clash

They cruelly wither and turn to ash.


Rising yet above the flame

Release of who or what to blame

To plant again a seed accrued

From hopes of life and dreams renewed.



via Meager

The Good Thing about “Meh” Posts

Yesterday was a “meh” post day for me – a cute puppy and an attempt at a witty daily word prompt.

The good thing about a “meh” post is thinking about it.

So, today, learning the new prompt, I thought more about puppies and remembered something. Something I was told and continue to love.

A few weeks after a friend’s beloved dog died, he had a dream. In the dream, “Max,” Ethan’s Cocker Spaniel, came to visit and spoke to him.

Ethan said, “Max, I didn’t know you could talk.”

“Of course we can,” he said. “We’re just not supposed to show it.”

“Well, what do you do all day?” Ethan asked.

“Oh, I sit at the feet of God.”

Ethan said, “What does that feel like?”

“Well, you know how when you yawn and, when the yawn’s over, how good it feels? It’s like that.”


I love this dream.

So I wonder if the God in Ethan’s dream is surrounded by a zoo of deceased and beloved pets, all yawning with contentment. I hope so. It’s a beautiful image.

Thinking of you sweet Lizzy and Luther.

via Zoo

The Nestling

I woke to morn, mouth open wide

yet not in feathered bed

but in a nest atop a tree

and reaching toward the sky


Perched high from ground to take the fruit

wearing but my skin of birth

abrupt and swiftly wisdom flowed

awareness taking root


I wake to morn and wonder meaning

of a message kindly sent

by some wise spirit who had appeared

while I lay deftly dreaming.


(I sketched this the morning after so I would not forget)

Do your loved ones visit you after they’ve died?

None of you will question that as we live our lives – go to work, parties, travel, have relationships, etc., –  experiences combine and create how we view the world and ourselves. And grieving the death of loved ones is an experience we all share.

First, let me say that I do not call myself a “religious” sort. I consider myself more as spiritual and intuitive and I never considered the possibility that a deceased love one would contact me. Until it happened.

In the 1980’s, when I thought going through infertility would drive me over a cliff, I had an early morning phone call from my grandfather who had died in the 60’s. “Grandpa,” I said. “Why are you calling? You’re dead.”

“I’m calling to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

My husband woke me to get up for work. I was furious and sad that my call had been abruptly ended. The “dream,” was not like a real dream made of scene or stories.  I only saw Grandpa’s face, and I felt him as real as the pillow my head rested upon.

Not long after, my deceased grandmother “called.” I said the same thing. “Grandma, you’re dead. Why are you calling?”

“I’m calling to check on you. How are you.”

“I’m fine.”

Then she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes. Will you ask God to give me a baby?”

There was a long pause as if she were thinking. Then, she said, “I have to go now.”

(Today, I have two grown children, two grandchildren and another due in May.Who knows, right?)

Mom’s first contact with me was different. I had just left the cemetery when a song I’d never heard before came on NPR radio. To this day, I cannot find that song but its words were something like, “don’t worry, we’ll see each other in heaven.” The song made me smile.

Later, in a dream-vision, Mom had simply smiled at me, looked youthful and happy, and pain-free.

As my father lay dying, I asked, “will you check on me after you’re gone like Mom, Grandma and Grandpa did?”

He said, “I’ll always check on my babies.”

Wherever Dad is, he must be very busy since he has yet to “contact” me.  That’s okay, too. He’s probably teaching Mohammad Ali how to play checkers or dominoes.

Some people call these signs “Pennies from Heaven.”

Knowing my experiences, I recently ran across this article. Take a look. Perhaps it will apply to you as well. And please, let me know if it does.



The Magic In-Between

You know that state when you’re laying in bed? When you’re not asleep but not awake, and thoughts or images pop up from seemingly no where? Do you try to grab them before they slip away and make yourself remember?

I had one last night. But before I tell you this one, I’ll tell you one from the past.

During one– in particular– in-between, I caught a word, a name. “O. R. -something”, last name “Ryan.” So, of course, the next day, I made a search of O.R. Ryan. I kept looking until Orion appeared. Orion’s belt? I’d heard of it.

I didn’t know anything about stars except to look at them! Like I did that night before.

The next day, after telling my friend about what I found in my in-between, he said, “Yes, you can see Orion’s Belt clearly now from your backyard.”

I had been staring at Orion’s belt thinking about anything but the constellation.

But Orion had thought of me.


Last night, I saw an arched light blue wooden door. From my perspective, it appeared about five feet away from me. Like Mr. O. Ryan, there was no feeling attached to this door. Since I’m terribly interested in my in-between, I searched for a photo.  It looked sort of like this, same color, same perspective, but without the ivy.


This door lives in Ireland, not the top of my bucket list of places to visit, nor the bottom.

So now I’m thinking. Did I write a poem, some analogy about a door? If I did, I’ll find it.

When you hear the whisper of magic in your in-between, grab itIt will tell you something. You just have to pay attention.


Raw Journal Kernels – 6

Random journal entry? Yes, except for the top right corner that came from a dream. I was about to step into the water of the  National Mall in D.C. to follow others.


I looked down at the water contemplating stepping in, when two Marines, one on each side, escorted me through the water. As I got to the “end,” I realized who was at the front, the person I had been following. Rosa parks turned to us, threw her arms up and said, “Point your breasts up to the heavens and dance!”


Loved this dream!

Raw Journal Kernels – 5

Ooh! This was a special find! (See other Journal Kernels here) This was a dream that inspired The Last Bordello. See the short excerpt below.


Most nights, I see Papa in my dreams. In a slower-than-life pulse, in a not-so-common four-count measure, he smiles as he grabs the knob of our screen door and opens it to enter. His movement repeats. He smiles and opens the door. Smiles and opens the door. Each time, he never enters. He never falls.

But Papa did fall; collapsed before crossing our threshold into the house his neighbors helped him to build. Four years ago now, all of the notes of Papa’s life faded away with his last breath. A stillness so loud that my ears still burned.

If only Papa hadn’t died.