Questioning the Blessings

As I was watching an Oprah rerun this weekend I realized how many people believe in or want to believe in angels and God.

The featured woman told a story of how she was walking home alone one night and heard a terrifying noise. She prayed for help and was physically lifted by an angel and carried to the safety of a bridge many feet away. She was spared because she asked God to help her, and he responded by sending one of his angels.

I turned off the television because this got me thinking.

Not because I did not believe her, not because her story was long winded, but because of the idea there is an omnipotent being somewhere choosing who to listen to--and more importantly--who to ignore.

I realized it bothers me when people say they are blessed, and until now I never could not figure out why. I WANT to be blessed, and I want you to be blessed too--but then that leaves the people who are in dire straights, hurting for money, sick, injured, lonely, sad, or worse. Are they the UNblessed? The forgotten? They may believe more than you or I, but all the praying in the world does nothing. It almost felt to me that the "blessed" were bragging and leaving the others that were not lucky enough to be smiled upon by the benign and loving father above out in the cold. Why were they the chosen ones?

So what does that mean?  And what about praying?

There have been some studies concerning prayer and the results are inconclusive. http://www.webmd.com/balance/news/20050714/does-prayer-help-others-heal  The patients in the study listed here had less stress before a heart procedure if they were part of the imagery/music group. The group that was prayed over fared about the same as the group that was not. In a similar study the prayed for group had a slightly higher rate of complications after a medical procedure (52%) compared to the group that was not prayed for (51%). http://www.examiner.com/article/prayer-undergoes-a-real-test-with-interesting-results

Even the Pope has his moments of doubt: http://worldnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2013/02/27/17113318-pope-benedict-tells-cheering-crowd-i-am-not-abandoning-the-church?lite

He said: "Sometimes it feels like God has been sleeping." Interesting.

Prayer seems to be an unnecessary process if we are to believe in the entity we are praying to. We are taught that God is all-knowing and loving and that prayer will help when you are hurting. But the caveat--it will only work if it is God's will anyway.

I am confused.

Admittedly I am more of an atheist than believer, but this does not mean I cannot be swayed. The gorgeous world around me, the stunning sunsets and beautiful babies born everyday do not mean to me that there is a God--and yet I cannot say 100% there is not.

Many of my prayers and prayers of others I know have been ignored or disregarded, so I eventually stopped praying. I am not wicked and I try and do my best to help others and be a good person--nothing has changed since I have ceased praying other than I feel like less of a hypocrite.

I have many things to be thankful for including an inquisitive mind that can't process a subject simply by faith.

I would love your opinion on the subject--agree or disagree.

I would also love for you to change my mind.

Please read Day 57 from 100 UNFORTUNATE DAYS for more God questions.

100 UNFORTUNATE DAYS is FREE TODAY http://tinyurl.com/bb35r3f

Day 57

Every basement has a dark corner or room no one likes.

Maybe the whole basement is dark and scary. Spirits collect in dark and cluttered spaces. They hide and wait for you because they are stuck. Some people can see them. Some people see the long thin black wispy figures with arms 10 feet long that unfold as they slowly reach for you in the dark because you have to go down there to get something or fix a light bulb or retrieve a screwdriver. Part of you revs up and moves really quickly to get out of there because you know if you wait long enough and the arms fully unfold, they can touch you and then part of you belongs in the black corner in the basement. Then it will be very hard to be normal again. You will wake up in the middle of the night, and you won’t be able to get back to sleep because you will worry about all the things you have done wrong and how you are hurting people. You can’t get this out of your mind now and you think that maybe if you count and envision each number in your head as you say it in your mind; you can block some of the bad thoughts.

Or maybe you can pray—say the Lord’s Prayer over and over and over and God will surely be there to help you because you are saying his prayer. But it doesn’t help. God doesn’t give a fuck when you are miserable—he doesn’t care if you pray. You can pray until there is blood dripping out of your mouth and nothing will change. God is an asshole that way. Even a relatively rotten person will assist you if you are begging for help. But your thoughts will just revolve through your mind over and over until you want to take a gun like the lead in Fight Club and shoot them out of your head. Maybe someday you will, but for now, you are trying to figure why God is such a jerk and you have to live like this. You wonder why you feel forsaken—well it’s probably because you have been forsaken and you don’t know how to live in that state. Because when you are a kid somebody probably told you everything would be all right, and now you realize they lied. So you keep lying to yourself, telling yourself it’s not such a big deal, but actually it is. Because now the dark corners in your basement have started to get darker. And bigger. The arms get longer and longer and pretty soon there won’t be anywhere you can go where they can’t touch you. So you start to drink or take pills or do some other kind of drug so you can’t tell when you get touched. But now the problem is you get touched all the time, but you don’t know it.

At least now you don’t care.

Six Word Stories

Ernest Hemingway was once challenged to write an interesting story in six words.

His six-word story read:  "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Smith Magazine decided to be like Hemingway and ask their readers to come up with six-word memoirs about themselves, and the results were overwhelming. The first collection of over 1,000 responses was put into a book entitled Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs from Writers Famous & Obscure,  and contained quotes from the likes of Deepak Chopra, Moby and many other celebrities. It also became a New York Times bestseller.

This was followed by Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs from Writers Famous & Obscure, Smith released Six-Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak, and  I Can't Keep My Own Secrets--Six-Word Memoirs by Teens: Famous & Obscure.

We are now a world of 140 spaces and quick information, our attention spans being reduced as the methods of spreading information reduces the size of the world.

Yet somehow this, possibly the tiniest of all personal diaries, makes us slow down and look.

We quickly learn about one another, and the impersonal world of fast information is somehow made personal again.

Here is my Six Word Memoir:  My soul is not my fault.

I hope you will leave your own Six Word Memoir in the comments.

Here are some of the latest from the Smith Magazine site:

My groundhog plans to sleep in.
(by Believe)

Followed my gut and got lost.
(by Bohemdeb)

I'm a bad influence on myself.
(byTawnyPort)

I am looking forward to reading your Six Word Memoirs!!

http://www.smithmag.net/sixwords/

NIGHTMARES and What Your Dreams Tell You

As a psychology major in college I learned about Carl Jung.

Carl Jung, protege of Sigmund Freud, believed that dreams were a way we could become acquainted with our subconscious.  He believed they could provide a window to solutions to our problems, subconscious or not, and assist us in achieving wholeness. I believed I would love learning about dreams and their meanings. I have had bad dreams that have come true, brilliant and bright dreams that I have turned into children's books and illustrations, and nightmares that have shocked me awake to a dark room and rapid heartbeat.

Some dreams seem prophetic, and certain individuals gained notoriety due to dreams coming true. For example, Joan of Arc predicted her death in a dream, Abraham Lincoln dreamed of his death only a few days before his assassination, and Einstein's theory of relativity came to him in a dream.

Jung believed, as do many others, that dreams can represent feelings, relationships, fears or any one of many situations that are occurring in your life. But unlike his contemporaries, he did not believe that each specific dream represented the same thing for every dreamer.

For instance, if I dream of fire and look it up in the Dream Dictionary on the web http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary/ you will see several interpretations, but each of these would be the same for any dreamer. Jung believed many things had to be taken into account if one were to interpret their dreams. He thought there was not one single correct way for a dream to be described. Personal judgement is heavily relied upon, how the person feels, and the most significant interpretation of the dreamer is more important than what a book of dreams may say or another person.

To help a dreamer reveal the true meaning of his dreams, Jung developed and believed that certain symbols were present in all the dreams of men and women, and had universal meaning. These are ancient symbols, recognized across generations and locations, and derived from the collective unconscious called archetypes.

The main archetypes Jung considered were:

THE PERSONA

The persona is the image we choose to present to the world. The word is a derivative of the Latin word masca, which translated means mask, spectre, and interestingly, nightmare. It is a representation of ALL the masks we wear in social situation--a protector of the ego, a guard to help us from being hurt. Jung believes the persona can take many forms and can appear in our dreams.

ANIMA/ANIMUS

The anima is the feminine inside the man that allows him to understand and communicate with women. The animus is the masculine in a woman, and allows her to communicate and understand men.

 THE SHADOW

The shadow can be considered our dark side. It is the side we do not like to consider on a day to day basis. Jung thinks when we get to know our shadow side, only then can we truly know our whole selves. If the shadow appears in a dream it sometimes shows as a monster, demon or creature.





THE SELF

The self is a product of individuation, it represents the psyche as a whole--it is a unification of the conscious and the unconscious. The self is both the whole and the center, or the ego, as represented by the picture.

Jung did not believe there was a limit to the number of archetypes. He believed they were endless, and some other examples are the joker or trickster, the Mother or Crone, the wise Old Man or Wizard, the child or divine child, and the hero--or these days, the Superhero. Any and all can appear in dreams.

There are also many types of dreams. We discussed the prophetic dream, and if the dream is good we hope it comes true, but another type of dream we can have is a nightmare, or night terror. We have nightmares because of anxiety or fear, and it is said up to 10% of adults can have nightmares every month--or more. These dreams can cause rapid heartbeat, sweating, vocalizations, sleepwalking and waking up with an intense feeling of fear. Seeing a scary image, reading a frightening book or watching a horror movie or television show can all cause nightmares. Children can experience night terrors and moan and thrash while experiencing the dream. They may hallucinate and think they see the creature that is horrifying them in their dreams.

In a lucid dream the dreamer is aware they are dreaming and the waking mind gains control. Please visit The Lucidity Institute to learn to control dreams, remember them, and do experiments like the The Light and Mirror Test:  www.lucidity.com

I have a friend who has dreams that cause her to experience a real  medical phenomenon known as sleep paralysis. (Click below to read a bit about her experience when a book caused it to rear its ugly head:   http://www.amazon.com/review/R28NG4E7W82B9R/ref=cm_cr_dp_title?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B009WR2BFO&nodeID=133140011&store=digital-text

This is almost the opposite of lucid dreaming because the dreamer wakes but can't move a muscle. They are conscious but cannot do anything about the weird events taking place around them. My friend saw an evil man in her room during one of these dreams and could not breath. She knew he was evil, but could do nothing.

And he began to move closer. She was awake in her own nightmare, helpless.

Read more about sleep paralysis here in one of my favorite magazines, WIRED:  www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/08/sleep_paralysis/

I remember as a child someone told me if you dream of blood someone will die. Not too long after I dreamt a girl I went to school with cut her father with a knife, and blood poured from the wound. Within two days a relative of a friend passed away, and I was SOLD on dream interpretation.

I read that water means anxiety, and the darker and deeper the water the worse the problems.  I read dreams of the devil mean you are sneaky and underhanded, and daisies mean a happy day will follow.

I bought a dream book and spent many afternoons looking up my own dreams and dreams of friends.

Although I do not look up my dreams any more, I sometimes try and interpret some dreams that are recurring.

Read 15 Interesting Facts About Dreams below--bet you didn't know that not everyone dreams in color...

 http://www.boredpanda.com/15-interesting-facts-about-dreams-dreaming/

The OUIJA BOARD--I Still Want to Use It

In third grade a girl named Margie brought a Ouija Board to our classroom. It would be a perfect addition to the Halloween festivities we had planned for the day.

The room was decorated with grinning Jack O'Lanterns and we celebrated in our costumes while Disney's The Haunted Mansion record played in the background. A few kids were on line for the Spider and Web craft, several more waited for the caramel apples, but the longest line was for the Ouija board. After quick instructions the first kids to try did not have much luck and quickly gave up. I tried with Margie and we got the planchette to move a tiny bit but not enough to spell out any cryptic messages from beyond.

Then the board seemed to warm up. Everyone that got a chance experienced some movement, but it never pointed anywhere--in fact it never stopped. It swung around and eventually moved in larger and larger circles. Sometimes it went off the edge. We took that as a sign that the 'spirits' wanted new participants.

About a half hour later we began asking question and got some answers. Our new friend from the great beyond was male and he was angry that we were bothering him. (We knew this because our teacher asked.) We asked what his name was, and the board did spell out a name, but I cannot remember what it was. Someone asked if he was stupid. My teacher said, "Be nice," and everyone laughed. But that was the last answer we got from the board. No one felt any motion after that and we all quit soon after.

The Ouija Board thrilled me. I went home and told my parents about how much fun we had during the day. They told us we had a board in the basement and they could not get it out fast enough for me.

Needles to say I was hooked. I played with my sister, friends, and neighbors. Then we started having seances. And we did levitation.

Soon after we moved to a new house and made some new friends. Our new basement was perfect for conjuring the dead. Of course we were scared a few times...we would have been scared just sitting down there with a single candle burning. It was huge and had plenty of creepy nooks and crannies. My obsession with the occult had officially bloomed. I guess Ouija is the gateway drug to more intense occult experiences.

Several years later my friend and I were wandering around NYC one afternoon and stumbled upon Weiser's Bookstore. Walking down a few steps we walked into what we discovered was a large and relatively famous occult bookstore started in 1929 by Samuel Weiser. (Weiser's still exists as an online bookseller and now publisher of esoteric and occult literature. http://redwheelweiser.com/p.php?id=2 ) . That day I purchased a pendulum for divination and spent many fun nights at parties reading fortunes.  http://readersandrootworkers.org/wiki/Category:Pendulum_Divination

Then I moved on to Tarot cards. I had a knack for them and people began to ask me to read them again and again. The results were oddly accurate. Although I just said whatever popped into my head, half the time it meant something to the person I was talking to. People began to offer me money for the reading, and not a little bit. I began to study them more and more, and found them fascinating.

If you have followed this blog at all you know I have had my share of strange and seemingly supernatural occurances in my life. The house I lived in before this one seemed haunted. We would hear the silverwear shaking in the drawer, the television would turn on and off by itself, and worst of all my husband and I thought we were having conversations with one another, but no one was there.

I came home from work one day and saw my husband looking out our master bedroom window at the woods across the street. I was waving and trying to get his attention when the automatic garage door started opening, and my husband stepped out.

I got very upset and I don't think my husband paid much attention to my story until the night he was having a conversation with me in the laundry room and he turned around and I was not there. He called my name and I answered--from our third floor master bedroom.

We had the house blessed. In the very last room of the blessing (the master bedroom again) as the final blessing was said my jewelry box with a small angel fell off my dresses. The minister turned around and asked me "Did you do that?"

No. I did not.

Things slowed down then came to a stop after the blessing. We were happy and planning to start a family. We have since moved to a new house. Not too long ago I woke in the middle of the night. No windows were opened--it is cold here in October. I watched the bathroom door slowly open on its own, and stop before it could hit the bookcase.

They're hhhhhheeeeeerrrrreeee......

I think American Horror Story would have a wonderful season if they based it on divination, but they certainly had fun last night with the circus theme.

A page from 100 Unfortunate Days about the dangers and delights of the occult:

Day 27

I went to a store in town whose name that implies the things sold there will help you be successful.

When you go in the store you can smell the burning sage and other incenses— you can smell this all the way down the block. They sell books for alcoholics and drug addicts and people who want to commune with God or spirits. They also do tarot card readings and angel interpretations and anything else you can think of that will attract spirits or angels or demons into your life. I thought this seemed cool. The card reading said pertinent things to me.

But I don’t know if this is healthy.

After this I took a class in hypnosis, and then one in acupressure, and then I carried the little Angel Cards that I picked at each session with me. And something bothered me about it every time. My marriage was terrible and getting worse. I could feel my hatred for my husband growing by the minute. BUT I was being open minded and I thought reading cards and knowing the future and reading about the devil was a good thing because I was enlightened. I stopped reading the book about the devil dead-smack in the middle and took a train south. I pushed past any exhaustion I felt. I threw away the cards I’d kept tucked into my wallet—they had demons attached to them and so I prayed to St. Michael. I should pray to him every day—twice a day. I wanted a shell of protection like I read about in The Screwtape Letters—somehow I got it. I know I am safe now and I will not stray again.

Ha ha. Even as I say this I realize I am full of shit, especially when there is a full moon and I’ve had too much wine. I feel surrounded by spirits at night. They can be there and I can be safe. I think. I can laugh at them and know I am with God—and as I write those words I know I am lying. I don’t think I am one of God’s favorites. The insidiousness of it all is the most evil. It creeps in and finds a place with a pillow and cuddles up and you are not even sure it is there at first. You don’t know when it starts to creep in, but it’s funny how you can tell when it’s gone.

At least for now.

A Dark Visit

I watch Ghost Hunters and Paranormal State.

My son and his friends would watch A Haunting when they got home from school, and I got hooked into that one too. The entire time I watch there is a little voice in the back of my head that keeps me sane and un-scared. I shake my head with a smile on my face at 99% of the Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP). (Please listen here to what is touted as "The Most Horrifying EVP Ever Recorded:   http://paranormal.about.com/od/ghostaudiovideo/a/aa101507.htm )  It seems I can never hear the words they claim they are hearing. "I will kill you," usually sounds more to me like "kkkkkkk--static--kkkk", but maybe something is lost in the translation. The investigators hear many things, they swear that someone touched them, and they get lots of pictures of orbs floating around.  My father is a photographer and has explained why orbs actually happen (bits of dust or particulate too close to the lens that reflect light from a flash), so I am a bit skeptic of their paranormal interpretation.

And yet...

There is an even quieter voice that tells me some of what I am seeing may be true. That reason I smile while I watch these shows is because on some level I believe some of it. I have contemplated calling the Long Island Medium just to see what she says and to give myself another reason to either believe or disbelieve.  Here she is:  http://tlc.howstuffworks.com/tv/long-island-medium 

Dozens of not-quite explainable things have happened to me throughout my life, the most remarkable being the exorcism of my best friend. This was not interesting, or cool, or amazing--it was terrible and frightening. It is still scary to think about almost 35 years later. You can read about it here:  http://penelopecrowe.blogspot.com/2012/01/do-you-believe-in-possession-true-story.html

I had an experience that I would not consider paranormal but terrifying none-the-less.

Lambert Castle is located on a scenic hill Paterson, NJ, overlooking the New York skyline, and currently operates as a museum accessible to the public. In the late 80s I visited Lambert Castle with a friend late one night on a personal ghost hunting mission. We had previously visited graveyards and a supposed haunted house, but we never had anything to report other than being chased out of a cemetery one night by the police. Our Lambert castle visit was to be a bit different.

I drove my car up the long driveway, and parked past the gaslight lanterns. A fox scurried out of our way as we exited the car. We looked around the back towards the woods, but it was so dark I could not see a foot in front of myself, and we decided to climb the stairs around the front. The walkway and steps up the front of the building took us past windows and showed us opulent rooms filled with furniture covered with white sheets. The stair path wound around the side of the structure and we stopped momentarily to look at the view. I saw motion out of the corner of my eye coming from the back of the castle and turned to look to see where my friend was going. But this was not my friend. This was a figure in a hooded black robe, something from your bad dreams, something from hell. This was not a ghost or apparition, this was a person dressed in a black cloak moving slowly toward us. I could not see his face. I quickly turned and saw my friend about halfway down the stairs already, and I began to run too.

The figure never followed us, and after we got in the car and locked the doors, my hands shaking so badly I had a hard time getting the key in the ignition, we looked up at the steps and did not see the hooded figure any more.

I tell this story often as one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me. We still wonder if we interrupted a coven, or a mass, or that was a way Lambert Castle prevented hooligans from hanging around at night. I really do not want to know. Well--I want to know a little bit.

Part of me wants to attend a TAPS session and experience a paranormal expedition for myself, but the other part tells me NO!--don't mess with it, because I seem to have an uncanny ability to attract trouble from the dark side. Or that voice just might be my sister--she yells at me about this all the time.

Next weeks blog will be a bit scarier, and much more paranormal. Opening bathroom door including...

Messages from the Dead--Angels? Ghost? Or Wishes.

Ebenezer Scrooge was a greedy, hard-hearted character in the Charles Dickens classic A Christmas Carol.  After being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come, his tight-fisted ways change and he is transformed into the epitome of giving, caring, and the Christmas spirit.

These spirits took Ebenezer on a journey to show him the evil in his ways, and revealed to him the terrible outcome of his life. The precious money that he spent so much time cultivating and saving would be stolen by the same poor and needy people he spent his life scorning. His employee, though poor, enjoys his life despite his pittance of a salary, and his family bitterly mourns the death of his ill son Tiny Tim. Scrooge's death affects no one, and he is shown his lonely, unkempt grave with not a soul to give it care. He begs the spirits for help.

He rises on Christmas morning thrilled at having another chance at life and quickly changes his ways.

Although A Christmas Carol is a fictional novel, the premise is not uncommon. We are a people obsessed with ghosts, angels, and the afterlife. And rightfully so. It is one of the only areas in out lives we cannot properly study.

We hear stories on a regular basis about messages from the dead, clouds that look like angels appearing the same day a loved one dies, and phone calls received from a phone that is not plugged in.

Death is final. We don't get a free pass for another try, a second opportunity to say something to a loved one, or the ability to know what happens after our eyes shut for the last time.

We desperately hope there is something good waiting for us after we die. We want to follow the white light and see our dear departed loved ones lining the halls to the Pearly Gates.

I had emergency surgery at 19 and was rushed to the hospital with very serious internal bleeding and had surgery the same evening. I remember being told to count backwards from 100, and made it to about 98. The next thing I recall is hearing my name being called as if through water or from deep within a cave. I also saw the white light at the end of a tunnel. I remember the voices and the light fading, and the darkness closing around the glow like a television would shut off in the early 70s. The circle just got smaller and smaller then winked out. This happened two or three more times until the voice calling my name won and I opened my eyes. Looking up I saw the doctor and a bright light over my bed in the hospital. He smiled and told me they had a hell of a time waking me up because I had a reaction to the anesthesia. I told my sister I saw the white light and heard the voices from beyond--but they were the doctor and the ceiling light.

That experience was enough to make me jaded about any of the white light stories I had previously heard.  I mocked the clairvoyants like James Van Praagh or Sylvia Brown when they said they could "see" the dead around a person, and got messages from them.

And then my grandfather got sick. He was in the hospital for a while and we knew it was only a matter of time. After visiting him one afternoon I was downstairs doing laundry and it got a bit dark--I figured a cloud went over the sun. I dropped a piece of clothing and bent to get it, and when I stood saw tiny red, blue and green lights. I figured it was a head rush from standing too quickly, but them I started to think of my grandfather. He told me not to worry, and things would be fine. He also said to take care of my grandmother. The sun came back out from behind the cloud, I shook off the creepy feeling, and walked upstairs. Two steps from the top the phone rang. It was my mother telling me my grandfather had passed away.

Yup. Could be a coincidence. I sometimes get lightheaded when I stand up too fast--and I see checkerboards and lights too. But something about this made me believe a bit again. Not completely--but I cannot discount the afterlife 100% anymore.

As for angels, that is another story. To believe in angels one has to believe in a Christian God and a heavenly hierarchy. That would also mean the belief of Lucifer, the rebellious angel cast down from heaven into hell. That will have to be another post.

Many believe they have guardian angels, and feel their presence.  Many stated they were saved from a car crash because the wheel somehow miraculously turned at the last minute saving them from certain death.

We cannot understand what happens after death. We don't know why some are taken from us so young and without warning. We want desperately to know our loved ones are in a better place, and no longer suffering. We wish for signs and guidance when we are having a hard time, and hope a benign force can help lead us to the correct answers.

My next post will be a continuation of this theme--but a bit darker. Can we also be visited by less friendly and more malicious beings? Next week I'll tell you about the time I watched my bathroom door open by itself, and a few other experiences I've had.

Please tell me any of yours--I'd love to know!

 

Missed the Leonid Meteors? Find Them Here With Pics and Superstitions

Leonids Over Niagara Falls

We pass through the remnants of an ancient comet every November during the Leonid meteor shower.

The night sky lights as minute particles within the comet's ice flash as they pass through the earth's upper atmosphere and burn up in a beautiful flash of light. More info from Huff Post: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/11/20/leonid-meteor-shower-2012-return-tuesday_n_2162177.html

The peak of the Leonid happened this morning, with up to 20 flashes per hour. View a few here if you missed them.

http://www.space.com/18498-early-leonid-meteors-caught-on-camera-video.html 

The world has been captured and sometimes frightened by heavenly bodies as long as history has been recorded. Many cultures have been shaped by superstitions, some relating to the comets and meteors they saw in the night sky. For example, some native Americans had beliefs relating to meteor showers that struck fear: 

The Blackfeet of Montana believed a meteor was a sign that sickness would come to the tribe in the coming winter, or that a great chief had just died.

The Kawaiisu (California) thought a meteor that started high and fell to the horizon was an omen of sickness and death.

The Cahuilla thought a meteor was the spirit of their first shaman, Takwich, who was disliked by his people. Takwich was said to wander the skies at night looking for people far from their tribe. When someone was found, he stole their spirit, and sometimes even the person, took them back to his home and ate them.

The Shawnee believed meteors were beings "fleeing from the wrath of some adversary, or from some anticipated danger."

(From Meteors and Meteorites http://www.crystalinks.com/meteors.html )

The following are two quotes form the 1949 book The Encyclopedia of Superstitions from 1949:

Falling, or shooting stars, are souls coming down from heaven to animate new-borne children.

When death occurs the flame of life lights up a new star.

Some superstitions could bring good things. It is said if when you see a meteor you can make a wish before it disappears, your wish will come true.

Or, if you see a shooting star and say "money" three times, your pockets will be full.

The Einsisheim meteor depicted in a 1492 etching.

Although we now know what a comets and meteors are, we still hold onto many superstitions relating to them, and probably make wishes on them--it sure can't hurt.

Some interpretation of superstitions from 100 Unfortunate Days:

Day 98

Some popular superstitions and my interpretations: a black cat crossing your path is bad luck. I think any cat crossing your path is bad luck because they are familiars of the devil. The black cats are the worst because they are the most evil. Their souls have been charred and they are diseased and if they scratch you, you will most likely die.

If there are thirteen people at the dinner table, one will die within the year. This is probably a flat-out fact. One out of three or four women get breast cancer, several are probably just old, someone there is probably brewing some kind of heart disease and accidents happen every day. One of those thirteen is in for it.

Breaking a mirror brings seven years of bad luck. Probably based on the idea that your image contains a part of your soul.

I don’t believe in any of the traditional superstitions—but I have some of my own. For instance, if I pray too much the devil will get me. If I look at myself in the mirror in the dark I will see something terrible. If I am not around when my children are sick they will get worse. If I want something really bad and I get it, and I will be very unhappy. The devil is there at 3:00AM.

I would love to know if there are any superstitions you believe in and why. Looking forward to hearing about them :)

 

Unusual Art from the Usual Artists--the Dark Side of van Gogh, Cezanne and DaVinci

Cezanne riveted us with his bright still-life paintings of fruit and lush fabrics and their slightly altered perspective.

Starry, swirling skies, multi-colored blooms and luminous cafes made van Gogh a favorite,

and DaVinci always fascinated us with his machines, forward thinking, perfect dimensions.

 Degas gave us a back-stage look at enigmatic ballerinas,

and Picasso used shapes and shadows to change the art world.

We are used to seeing certain things from certain artists.

We expect to see skinny walking skeletons dressed like Santa from Tim Burton, or dark and morose,  unfortunate children sketched in ink by Edward Gorey, but we do not assume the classic artists to have a dark side. We expect soft, blurry flowers and gardens  from Monet, or achingly perfect depictions of people sitting near a window by Vermeer.

Although we know van Gogh had a dark side by the famous and terrible story of his ear, we do not see his angst in his glorious pictures, unless we look for it. The Philadelphia Museum of Art had a display of many impressionists. I was very ready to feel bright and cheerful and to soak in the glow from the flowers and sunshine shown in the paintings.  I was not ready to see some of the more dark works of some of these same artists.

As I turned a corner I came across and small but stunning painting of skulls by Cezanne. The feel of his work was there, but the subjects opened a new corner in my brain. I was not used to this. This was new, and I was practically shaking.

The slightly upturned table so familiar to Cezanne's works was not covered in a rich fabric and lovely fruits and a bowl. In this painting it had death upon it.

Van Gogh has the ability to make you want to be part of his paintings. His cafe glows, his fields sway, and his flowers remind us of nature's beauty. And his bat shows us of the dark side we so rarely see in his art.

The picture of a skeleton with a cigarette also by van Gogh made a recent appearance as the cover of the David Sedaris's book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, and also shows a bit of humor.

And two rats also by van Gogh--another surprise.

And here is a deliciously bleak Picasso.

A skull by Degas.

DaVinci was the slight exception. His medical drawings, machines, and inventions could lend themselves to the slightly macabre. Here is an example.

So yes, we have Tim Burton, Edward Gorey and Charles Addams--but we also have the web. We can find the dark and mysterious paintings and pictures from impressionists, post-impressionists, modernists and any famous artists that only the curators and collectors previously had access to.

And I am thrilled.

HOP WINNERS!

Welcome to the 2012 COFFIN HOP!

Nostradamus--Are His Predictions Coming True? Did His Daughter Leave a Terrible Legacy?

Michel de Nostredame, better known by his Latin name Nostradamus, was an apothecary and seer of the 16th century. Although studying to be a doctor, he was expelled for his practice as an apothecary, but was still called "Doctor" my many contemporaries.

His later works turned to the occult after he wrote a popular Almanac and then his well-known predictions written in 4- lined quatrains based on astrological equations. It is interesting he became such a famous "seer" considering his predictions were notoriously inaccurate, and he many times blurred the possible "correct" divination with an incorrect mathematical problem because of a missing birth date or day.

Many say that his past predictions have come true, and that 2012 will bring World War III and a World Religion. Some of his supposedly accurate past predictions are:

* The great fire of London in 1666
* World War II and the rise of Hitler
* September 11th
* The rise of Napoleon
* The death of the Kennedy brothers
* The creation and use of the atom bomb

Click here for a more detailed explanation:  http://www.smashinglists.com/top-10-nostradamus-predictions-that-have-come-true/

Nostradamus lost two children and his wife to the plague (even though he created a rose pill that was supposed to cure it), then married a widow and had six more children. Some say he fathered several illegitimate daughters, one that left a terrible legacy of evil and destruction in her wake.

Read here about Anna, from the soon to be released anthology, The Daughter of Nostradamus.

  The sun turned black but for the burning red smile of a demon.  Its ruby rays incinerated the unfortunate few who remained outdoors. 

The wind blew cold from the east and hot from the west, and its howls caused deafness in the young and insanity in the old.  The children slept too long in their beds, for to open their eyes now would mean the plague.

A dark haired woman screamed and threw back her head for she knew the child inside was killing her.  It clawed and scratched and she feared for the lives of her kin.  She was cursed with this, her thirteenth child.  Her blood was weak and her husband left many years ago when the crops would no longer grow. She did not know how this child was growing inside her.

She knew the birth would be her end.  The gods were angry and the earth was covered with loosed devils tonight.  The baby ruptured forth in a spray of blood, and its mother bled to death as the eclipse ended. 

The newborn spent its first night on earth in a pool of his dead mother’s still-warm blood, and slept peacefully there until morning, when he was found by Anna as she delivered her homemade bread. She picked up the bloody infant and ran home to her sister, screaming the signs from her dreams were all around, and the demons had left a son.  That night she cut her palm with a spirit knife, and poured her blood onto the fire and prayed for the black ghosts to take back their child.   

She bled for the first time that night, and in her dreams the wolves waited at the fringe of the forest, but they were not allowed in the clear.

Anna and her sister lived alone, for their mother was exiled from their village. Anna, with her piercing black eyes and raven hair was considered to be the daughter of the black-eyed magician who passed through town years before. Upsetting and intriguing the townspeople, he came before the drought and made disturbing predictions of the future while seeking herbs for his rogue medical practice. Her blonde haired, blue eyed mother and sister never argued the point.

The baby’s cries jarred her in the darkest part of the night, and she knew she would care not for this dark boy. Her wakefulness was burden enough, for her visions and nightmares often kept her sleepless for days. She knew he brought with him a stain, a faint grey mist that would settle and then spread.

When her sister Mina awoke in the morning and found the child gone, she would tell her his siblings came to find him in the night.

She listened to his cries for another moment then went to him.   

She lifted him from his bed and picked up her knife before walking into the forest. Although her sister believed Anna’s thoughts about the child were muddled for an infant can be nothing but innocent, she knew she needed to snuff the black spirits in the evil boy.

The woods were quiet as a tomb, and she knew the ghosts were watching and waiting for the dark task to be complete.  The animals burrowed deeper underground and the birds flew away as she entered.

It was kinder, she thought, to plunge the knife into his heart than to leave him alone and alive to be devoured slowly by the creatures that walk the dark.  She placed him under the sad arch of a willow tree, and looked at him one last time.  His eyes looked calmly back at her, and she pressed the knife into his heart, and once again in the other direction to form a cross so evil would have to avoid him and he would be taken by the angels.

He did not cry or whimper.  He closed his eyes and the wind began to blow. Anna looked up at the moon and knew her soul was lost.

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Visit the Daughter of Nostradamus page on Facebook--enjoy the fun and evil pix.  Click here:  https://www.facebook.com/#!/TheDaughterOfNostradamus

Terror by Red Death--My First Horror

Edgar Allan Poe was a brilliant and possibly mad poet and writer.

The genre of horror cannot be mentioned without including him in the conversation. He may have been depressed, alcoholic, and lovelorn--all of which provide fertile ground for all sorts of terrors. He also happened to be a master of words, and the combination makes for gorgeous and horrible tales.

When I was in third grade our teacher told us we were going read Masque of the Red Death in her class, and I was ecstatic, not because I was a fan of Poe and that young age, but because we were going to read something that had the word 'death' in it.

I considered myself a ghost story and horror fan at that age, but my interest leaned more to Tales from the Crypt comics from Oh! Johnnies, a store that sold everything from magazines to fountain sodas, and Dracula with Bella Lugosi. But then Mrs. Walsh, my third grade teacher that had a plastic peace sign on the chimney
of her house, gave us a thin books of Poe's stories right before lunch on an overcast spring day.

I read the first page and was astounded there was this kind of writing in the world. It resonated with something dark in me, even at eight years old. I walked home for lunch with my nose in the book, and told my mother all about it over a bowl of macaroni and cheese. She listened carefully as I told her of the colored rooms and how the matching glass windows infused the rooms with gorgeous light. I told her of the black room with the blood red window, and she told me she did not like that, and wrinkled her nose.  This tickled me.

By the weekend I had enlisted my poor five year old sister to be a victim in my Off-Broadway edition off the book. Being the director, I had to tell her a little bit about the plot, but she was not old enough to process the details, and heard only--blood, death, and monsters. She basically had a fit and cried for the next hour, and I got into a bit of trouble. All this drama somehow made the whole scenario more delectable to me, and I have never been the same. I ponder why I love the fear, the nerve-wracking tension, and the constant search for a book or movie that will actually scare me.

I read the story at least three more times before the teacher made us turn in the books. I went to the library to look up other stories from Poe, and although I liked others, especially The Black Cat, none affected me like dark tale of Prince Prospero, his opulent surroundings, and eventual demise because of the Red Death.

I considered doing a similar color theme as the chambers of Prince Prospero's castle to the bedrooms in my previous home, but there was something just a tick too dark for even me to live with, and the stained glass windows would certainly be tough to recreate.

Although I have read endless horror books, poems, and stories, The Red Death was my first love, and remains one on my favorite pieces of literature--and a clock chiming at the midnight hour will forever send a chill down my spine.

I wonder if it has anything to do with my love of short stories--and germ-phobia...

Please read the short but terrifying tale below.

http://www.online-literature.com/poe/36/

My short and bloody tale Absorbed on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Absorbed-ebook/dp/B005SUBYYI

Jack White at Radio City--More Than Music

Although the Lincoln Tunnel was closed due to an accident and getting into NYC and Radio City was murder last night, Jack White made it worth my time and suffering.

He started his set at 9:00PM with Missing Pieces, a song that seems to be about losing more body parts than just your heart in a bad affair, then burned through his songs like devil was on his ass.  He seemed angry and moody, but his dark vibe and almost frenetic pace made for a hot and riveting concert.

His six piece, all female band is painfully talented. They looked beautiful and made me wonder if they all sold their souls. His Grammy nominated back-up singer Ruby Amanfu swayed and shook her tambourines, and her ringing yet soulful voice was a perfect match to Jack's jagged vocal hammerings.

But as I watched I knew something more was taking place here. Jack White is more than a musician.

During the song Cannon I was taken somewhere else. The hard, heavy, and unrelenting guitar riff was menacing, the stage simply lit in black and white shadows, and Jack's raw vocals transformed the venue into a haunted house, a place of evil and monsters, and it was glorious. The simmering anger you felt in the earlier songs was transformed into a diabolical thing here, and whatever shadowed alley he was going to scurry down--I was going with him.

That was way better than drugs.

He interacted with all six women on stage in an intimate and connected way--his contact seeming to fuel their intensity and dedication to the songs. They watched his every move and the set was flawless.  Ball and Biscuit took the blues to the deepest shade of indigo, and the frenzy of its culmination was a lost-in-space, nerve blasting experience. 

That was way better than....you get the picture.

Everyone in the audience was on their feet from the moment Jack White stepped on stage, until we shuffled out a bit sad that he only played for an hour and a half. He uttered only two words to the audience during the entire show, 'thank you', as he and the band stood close, linked arms, and bowed.

There were no pyrotechnics, flashing images, or opening acts to dilute the music, yet the stark atmosphere induced some type of hypnotic time warp and an almost southern modern-Gothic feel.

Having an eighth row seat gave me the delicious illusion that Mr. White and I made eye contact several times, although I am sure it was my then beat-addled brain sending cosmic wishes to my rapidly pounding heart.

I have a weakness for talent: an extraordinary ability to draw, paint, play guitar, articulate, create mood, write, or influence people. The ultimate is a mind-blowing combination of two or more of these talents, and that is what I experienced last night.

I wanted him to talk to us, his audience, to give us a hint of his humor, thought process, or just for him to speak to let us know he was human. But then the odd, blurry feeling may have been lost, and the night would have taken on an entirely different feel. In a blustery, pissed-off way, it was perfect.

Too short? Yes. But, oh, so sweet...

His set from last night:

Missing Pieces
Weep Themselves to Sleep
Love Interruption
Hotel Yorba (White Stripes)
Top Yourself/Maggie's Farm (Raconteurs)
Cannon/John the Revelator (White Stripes)
Screwdriver (White Stripes)
Rock Island Line
Blue Blood Blues (The Dead Weather)
Trash Tongue Talker
Papa Was a Rascal (James Booker cover)
Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground (White Stripes)
I'm Slowly Turning Into You (White Stripes)
We're Going to Be Friends (White Stripes)
Hip (Eponymous) Poor Boy
Hypocritical Kiss
Ball and Biscuit (White Stripes)

Encore

Freedom At 21
Sixteen Saltines
Seven Nation Army (White Stripes)
Goodnight, Irene (Lead Belly cover)

Page from 100 Unfortunate Days that shows my soft-spot for guitar players:

Day 93

I was born in Venice on the Fourth of July—which means nothing to anyone in Venice. I had with jet-black hair and very light blue eyes. Then all my hair fell out and grew in very light blonde. My eyes have remained light blue. I was left on a ferry boat when I was three months old—I don’t know if it was on purpose or not—but I was raised covertly by the Queen of England until I was five, then she could not keep me under wraps anymore because I moved around too much and she felt I should be going to school.

I was sent to stay with the Queen’s illegitimate sister who lived in France. She taught me how to play the guitar and wear makeup. I stayed there until I was eight and then I worked in a coffee shop and slept there at night next to the picture window that had a toile cushion beneath it. No one minded. I ate small sugary biscuits with tea or coffee every day for breakfast and wrote sad love songs until I kissed a boy. I got a tattoo of his initial on the underside of my middle finger and never told him. I left the lyrics to a song on a table outside the coffee shop one afternoon and could not find them later that afternoon. I heard a song on the radio a year later that used my lyrics. I never told anyone.

I took a train to Germany and dyed my hair jet-black again. I had five children in five years and gave them all away to charity. I worked in a guitar shop and met Jimmy Page and we spent the night together. I got a tattoo of his initials on the underside of my middle finger of my other hand and swore my love to him eternally. He said he would love me forever too.

I stayed awake once for three days because I was sad. I moved to Spain because I needed to be warm and painted my front door a different color every day. My skin loved the sun and the black faded from my hair. I wore jewelry with diamonds and flowers in my hair. When I looked at the sky at night I could see the face of my true love who I knew I would never meet. Sometimes I see children with light blue eyes and jet-black or light blonde hair and I know they are mine. I never say anything.

Total LOVE or Total HATE--My Reviews.

My short story Absorbed has been on Amazon for almost a year.

It is only 16 pages long and listed under horror, and has always sold at a decent clip. It is listed as a short story and states that along with the number of pages three times on the Amazon lising.

Amazon listed it as free for several months because they saw it several other places free. Then MANY  people got the story and started to review it. Thankfully it has received many (31 five star) good reviews, including a five star Amazon Vine review.

It has also received five ONE star reviews.

These reviewers hated the story so much that it inspired them to create Amazon profiles for the sole purpose of telling everyone how much they disliked the story. The one star reviewers called the story anti-men, too violent, too short, morbid, unsettling  and disturbing. One of them said a horror reader would probably love it.

That is why I wrote it. Because I love horror, and I know there are plenty of horror readers out there.

One wrote although the story was well-written, it was not their type of book.

Another wrote that she thought the book was great and full of surprises, but the story took a dark turn. She would have preferred it stayed on it's original path.

The story is for people who like the dark, the macabre, and the shivery feeling of fear. It is for that slightly off-center group who want to wonder what is around that next shadowy corner, and revel in chill as they wait. It is not for the weak-of-heart. That is why it is listed in the horror catagory.

If you like happy endings, my books are not for you--unless you would put bloody revenge, evil, and psycological mind-twists in the happy ending catagory.

Absorbed is a short intro to my writing--it is not a long and winding epic novel. Although I do not write to specifically offend, I will NOT avoid writing something if it is true to a character or will enhance the story. I do not think horror is a catagory that is concerned with political correctness. My characters will not say "Oh foo when another F word is more appropriate--and more real. This is not for everyone! And that is fine with me.  There are certain genres I do not like, and I usually do not look for books in this catagory.

I do not expect everyone to like my stories. On the contrary, I think it will be a mixed bag. But I would hope that our stories will be reviewed for what they are, and not what the reviewer expected or did not like because they were reading in the wrong catagory.

And if you are reading horror, keep that light on.  :)

Absorbed is currently free on Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Absorbed-ebook/dp/B005SUBYYI