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From Spain to Los Gatos

December 9th, 2013 at 4:06 am

  The room is so still and grasped by silence.  Only the flickers of candles delivering prayers and a dim light illuminates the night-time.  

  Deep within my mind and somewhere within my soul I feel the presence of Juanito from northern Spain, the Basquelands.  Something so ancient

touches me; there is a dark gold light as if the sun is setting on the horrizon somewhere, perhaps by the sea.  Then the Indians arrive to teach their tale

and I see red-hot burning skies, the wind blowing dust aroound by feet almost like quicksand pulling me in, yet I remain static.  


  The spirits of long ago have reached out to me once more, traveling over time and space, and the ages that live in between what was the yesterday

which has bred what is in the present.  

  Juan and Carmela (I believe this is her name, if I am receiving it right) bring with them every essence of the sea, and his eyes are as clear and blue as 

the sea itself.  Ruddy complexion and rough hands from work on a boatdock; days of fishing in Spain.  Arrived on the shores of a new world; a shore that catches the

worst of storms which arrive without expectation or warning.  


  Indian spirits with snakeskins and leatherworks, healing elixirs and tiny miracles in pouches around their necks or waists, offer assistance and friendship to 

Juanito.  It is at this time the altering of history, magick, passion, and mysterious undertakings all begin.  


  Marriage of middle son with clear eyes to the Indian girl from Los Gatos, born the same year strikes a baragin of peace and friendship, yet an uhappily wedded couple.  

Setting the birthdate marked back 6 years to a 6th year and he thought she was much younger.  The misfortune of Basque blood brings children short lived and 

burdens the marriage further.  The saddened heart of the Indian woman wells up much darkness and she makes use of magick taught to her to protect the ones 

still living.  Her sight has shown her, though, she will lose one more.  The 11th hour comes on a day she has foreseen.  

  Someone enters my chamber and ruins all the aires coming to me and the connection is broken untill another, more tranquil time.





Tags: Spirits gathering


Life in spirit

December 3rd, 2013 at 5:19 am

  Robinson Jeffers was labled a misanthrope for his withdrawal and refusal to participate in WW II.  He seen it as an opposition to the great whole.  I can't say I agree with his philospohy, though I do dearly love his writings and the human being he was for being able to put pen and paper together and bring forth such thoughts.  I believe it well to harm none...but take no sh**t, either.  We must protect what we love and keep it safe, no matter if this thing we protect is living or dead, a kingdom or a ring. All the wars and politics, chess board games and sarcasim escape me and go through me as I helplessly and happlessly watch it all go by.


  If being a hermit and living a life of contemplation creates a misanthrope, I should have a metal crown for my land of solitude, misanthropy, and wear it true and well.  Stabbed in the heart by everything I ever cared for, betrayed by every master who may have briefly owned me, thorns have grown through my skin which I will not shed untill my afterlife.  


  Every death experience is unique, every spirit world as individual as the person themselves.  

  Arrived at night, will depart when it is clear and cold in December at the 11th hour. A wedding funeral takes place with three visitors to wittness the great marriage to the spirit world, then ashes dashed over my beloved so no one may conjure or torment us again.  

 A walk through night with one star to guide me, over hills.  The sun has risen between the two mountains, wading through clovers and the sacrfices made up to my knees, one fortified immortal soul wandering in solitude, greeted by nobody and nothing yet; punishment and purgatory briefly for a life of solitude, a life among spirits.  


 The bride greets him at the altar of a holy place at last, but vows are not spoken for the necessity of such formalities need not be included in that which is already known, for that which has already been spoken and promised.  


 Old yellow house with roses in the front yard is found in the middle of the light by only closing our eyes, for this is the only place left as the other portals have been locked.  Demons have no use for the disembodied now; religion is useless and all words are prayers.  A world parallel to the living, just as solid and dense, a presence exists and shadows of what will be are clear, especially since he sees into the future so well and still does.  The bride has come home at last to her love, learned and polished, even if murdered, or any manner of departure.  


 Sisters old and new, friends old and new, brush by; all is non-quantitave as warned, yet as real as any fibers of earth, the truth shining on heads from above.  Breathing is an option, seeing is a gift, hearing the voices of everyone we ever loved is not to be missed.  

 Lives of long ago are seen through glass and white mirrors,existing in both this world and the other, earthly affairs can be simultaneously connected together.  Our hands in one another, at last I can see everything I missed from your life; the glimpses of each clip pieced together like a movie.  


 Mother's favorite; dark hands held your cheeks when she kissed the top of your head.  The story which went with this moment is now shared.  All of us combined into one now, just as I shared my life with all of you, I have come home to meet each of you, and we are now one spirit, whole and at peace.  Black magick bound us; love and light now bless us and set us free.  


 We know when our light is dim.  We know when our hour draws near and the silence grows loud because it blocks out all else in the human world.  We wait for that one special moment when we find exactly what we are looking for, what we have looked for all of our lives, and to quote Leilah Wendell, "Death comes like a lover," we drop the grasp on every possession, all else we have acquired, and with the illuminous soul takes flight and bring only what we have learned and our memories on this one final destination.  We have to change forever to touch the eternal, then we are reborn together this time as not to miss one another again.



Tags: As I have written it, so be it.


Deep Spiritual Connections with Evil

December 3rd, 2013 at 3:05 am

 As I watched the Harry potter movies develop and unfold I learneed something very interesting about the story saga was true: We can have deep spiritual connections with evil people.  This makes a person feel like they, too, are evil.  You can 'catch' a demon just like one catches a cold.

 Lord Voldemort was very much like the diableros in Spanish lore; he never gave up and kept persisting even though he got himself blasted into oblivion.  Wicked people are truly like this!  Even though they get their ka-booty kicked up between their shoulder blades, they just can't take a hint that maybe trying to destroy someone is a bad idea, kind of like having a siesta on an active railroad track.  


  In real life, there are people who can project their will and impose it on others to get them to do what they want.  This can make you feel like the bad one, or make you feel linked with something dark and terrible.  That's why they tell iniates who enter magickal lodges to 'know thyself.'  

  Usually, these kinds of deep connections don't happen so intensely, they are rare, but when the circumstances are right, they can occurr.  They can happen between two women, two men, or a man and a woman.  It's like the perfect storm.  These can happen to ordinary people and take on different symptoms and have various outcomes, but when they happen to people who are magick people or who are very attuned with the spirit world, things can be really scary.  You can literally take on what that person is experiencing as they committ evil, and you can become engulfed in their dark world. It can be very difficult to break this kind of connection, but it can be done.  The best thing to do is get as far away from that person as possible and never re-open those links so they can squeeze back in.  Such evil people can embed a little part of themselves in you, almost like sending forth the fetch, and you might have to literally be dead for a few minutes to be rid of them.

  I have had three people in my lifetime I have had this kind of bond with.  One of them was incessantly wicked and I like to never got them out of me until I did in fact, die from a heart attack in 1997 and revived.  I killed that 'horcrux,' but I am sure there are others out there.  That same person attempted to reconnect with me.  I think that was my test.  I had something to prove, but I don't know to who, what, or perhaps it was to myself that I've become strong enough to banish minor...and I do stress...MINOR, demons.  The strange thing is that I was warned about this event.

  Find him.  He's calling himself by a different name.  Take a good long look.

Oh my God, he's terrifying. I don't think I can look at this much longer.

 Yes you can.  I want you to stand up to him.  If you don't, how can you when your heart stops beating for good? You have to stand up to it.  After all I showed you, after all you learned, don't tell me you can't do it.

  Why do I have to?  Why should I? This is something from a long, long time ago.

  If you wanna walk by my side some day, you have to look at him, that's why.  I put this on your to-do list, magic girl. Let's see if you got what it takes.


  When my eyes met with the very thing that tried to take my life to impress his friends so long ago, I did find it in my heart not to be afraid.  I knew what I was dealing with this time.  All of the lies I heard come back to me were ringing in my head, the things that had taken place two or three generations ago on the altar, the dishonorable crimes of magic and otherwise mortal mishaps welled up from somewhere inside like a levy about to burst.  

  I seen two sisters, one in 2008 of November at the airport, another in 2011 November before something tragic happened.   I was pressed to go that November.  Arrived before me as I departed, and the shock sent the spirit from my head.  Standing there before both of them with a photo of him in my locket, and everyone is oblivious, and should stay this way.  I have no quarrels with anyone but the sore loser who could never take my life as planned, and the witch who tried to assist.  

 Evil has many faces but has no soul; the night is all eyes yet doesn't see all before it.

  Intelligent people never lose what they have learned, even when the intelligence may come from evil.  That is why, I believe, in the stories of Harry Potter, Voldemort did not lose sight of his goals, nor lose the memory of all of his magicks.  He prepared his path well--after-life planning. 

 We all must face something enormous in life.  Sometimes it comes in the form of disease, sometimes it comes in the shape of a demon.  What can be huge to one person may be as silly as falling off a bike to another, but whatever it is that seeks us, that terrifies us, it is our own personal Voldemort, and we need more than just ourselves to beat it, other times, all we need is just to believe in ourselves.

 I pray that in my hour of trial, I will not fail myself again.

 Two spirit mediums, one with a riddled mind, one with a clear head.  The clear one mistook what came through the other for someone else.  Years later we find out who it was that came through.  That was the only value of any touch, any communication.

 Value was taken from the pain; something great and vast learned. No good can ever come of further visits at this point.  Many other things to see before it's too late.

 November is for sisters; May is for brothers.


Another test to come when I'm not ready.  Win or lose, let the cards fall where they may.  Remind me to call for back-up, Neville Longbottom; bring the sword, the stake and the silver bullet to cast out the old wizard when the day arrives.  



Tags: Spiritual connections to evil people


All I have to do is Dream

December 1st, 2013 at 1:56 am

  In 1985 I found myself in the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church almost every afternoon.  I had never been there before, and I don't know how I found it, but somehow I knew the way and the archways greeted me like an old familiar acquaintance.  The walls were painted blue; candled chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling. 


  In 1973, or sometime there abouts, I used to walk over here when things got to be too heavy.  I tried to show you where I had been, but all that static and friction kept getting in the way.  I used to walk over and get coffee from a little soda shop nearby.  I don't think that was around any more when you were down there.  I don't think I seen it through your eyes, which I borrow all the time. It's like having a window to the world here. I had good days and bad days there.  It was a time when my life was harder than anyone knew.  One time Double A came down to see me.  That was a happy day.  He always had a way of making me feel better. We laughed about things from a long time ago, remembered some good times. 


  I had a dream night before last, about you spirit man. I was inside of an office and it seemed to me like it was the late 60's.   Short cubicles were set up around 6 desks, the dividers made of metal.  Cradle phones with dialers, pencils, rulers, paper desk calendars and stacks of papers were on each desk, aside from their metal partitions, were heavy wood, each with wood, mission style chairs.  Someone told me to wait for you, and pointed out your desk.  I hadn't seen you in a while, and I was really happy and excited that I was going to see you again.  I was diagonal of the desk, across on the opposite side, and I gazed over, looking at a set of papers which appeared like they needed some signatures.  In a moment you were sitting before me, shot me a cool glance, then picked up a pen and signed the papers slowly, carefully.  I found myself smiling and very happy.  You looked older in this dream--fortyish.  Despite your dark, coppery complexion, your cheeks were red and flushed as if you had arrived from outside cold weather.  For the first time ever, I seen you wearing a suit and tie, and you were all polished up. 


  I always hated the formalities, but sometimes they were a necessary evil.  It was cold that day because it was close to Christmas.  I had something pressing. Parallel to that time and existence, you and I have some business to take care of.  Stop letting those other people get under your skin; they're just background noise and they want to stop progress.  Even when you are over here, things still evolve but they go a lot quicker for you because you have to beat the clock.  Stop wasting time.


 Someone--a presence--lead me to the back of the office.  I went through a heavy door with chipped paint and into a room which had a window over a sink before me and an old, rusty metal shower to the right.  The room smelled strong like urine.  Plastic hangers were hung on a clothes line which was strung above the sink and a couple jackets were hanging, too. I stared at the shower for the longest time it seemed, and kept looking around the small room.  I turned and walked out after drinking in all of the details.  You were waiting for me in front of a metal and glass door at the entryway.  You were wearing a brown field coat, had put on the most ridiculous wool hat I'd ever seen with black and green checks and had some square, silver glasses perched near the end of your nose.  I had forgotten you scolded me earlier about wasting time. 


  I figured I'd better pull some kind of stunt so you'd know it was really me.  Not to mention I needed something green.


  I slipped my hand into the loop of your arm, feeling like a queen, and we walked into a cold blackness of the night.  I don't think you were much taller than me in life, but somehow you always seem so much more in height as I am always looking up at you.  Maybe it's because I feel so small beside you.


  You're so much younger, that's why.


 You took me somewhere, but I can't recall.  It was cold, and it was night.  Yes, we have some business to take care of.  I am working on it aggressively as shadows draw near me and the sun sets on my horizon.  I patiently await the next dream I have when we are together again and most certainly up to no good as far as everyone else believes. All I have to do is dream to see you, touch you, and be at your side.  Never do I plead, pray or invoke; I leave it up to you when the next time will be, for I know each waking hour I keep you in my heart and feel you near.  (I have acquired so many of your memories; I have lived your pain just as don Ignacio did his with his spirit lady in The Indian Who Swallowed the Spirit, the story you shared with me. Sometimes it is difficult for me to know where I end and you begin).





Tags: Finding you/I see through your eyes


Vampires creeping in

November 24th, 2013 at 3:50 am

Vampires have seemed to evolve over hundreds of years.  They were a real threat to the sleeping maiden and slumbering old man alike in the early days of medieval.  

Once hiddeous creatures, musky, foul and a unsightly, vampires slowly crept their way into the bedchambers as lovers or seducers.  

Vladmir of east Europe summoned a ghostly and terrifying image of himself in order to defeat the Turks.  Impaling his enemies--and in such a grotesque display would surely frighten 

off the most oppressive rogue.  The life of Dracula has to be reviewed so intricately and the question has to be raised that his spirit absorbed so much blood and energy that it truly did

give him some sort of immortal existence one some level.  The same could be thought of Elizabeth Bathory. The Countess Bathory had no enemy to fight, though, except for the lines on

her face in the mirror. 


How fascinated society has become over the generations with the preservation of self and the quest for eternal youth.  

Vampires have made their way from gravesite to acceptable members of society--even if they are only in concept.  They no longer are the antagonists, but the heros, and we want to be them.  

Fashionable, invincible creatures that only require blood to survive, who don't need homes or jobs or other conventional life necessities, it's no wonder they have become so enormously popular

in a time where people are struggling and scratching to make it.  Pehaps it is a great square of the human race who reacts as Dracula--to protect and instill fear, to perserve and survive in a time 

when life is such a challenge.


I don't know if I will will ever write any vampire stories in which I will publish; vampires are not really my thing, yet stories do come very easy to me about them  I have one article on Yahoo Voices-

The Vampire Defined.  It began as FB story, then evolved to a college writing paper when I was taking comp again, then a sent it for publishing.  It was kind of fun, and I make a regular 

habbit of matching crazy short stories to b/w Dracula film photos.  It's something I may explore later....and I do have some ideas.


Tags: The vampire's life cycle


New York years

November 24th, 2013 at 2:11 am
  I finally ran away from home in 1994.  When I did, I made certain it was to the biggest city in the contential U.S.  People were constantly judging me, I had a band of crackpots in Brownsville who kept mailing letters and phoning at all hours of the night like high school students, threatening my life and disrupting my mortal existance.  It's bad enough to have gotten knocked off the first time around by the same kind of people, but a second? 
The results were a forced marriage--it wouldn't be the first that happened--and leaving behind everything that ever meant anything to me.  
At the time I was living in Laredo, Texas.  I was so happy, and I enjoyed working in the advertising department of the Laredo Times.  I had quite the glamourous life back then.  A lovely home, beautiful clothes, hot sports car. Three women I thought were my friends couldn't live with that fact and wanted to take me down.  I was warned.
I wanted to wash my hands of it all.  I met a schmuck at the airport in New York and three weeks later I left with him.  I stopped over in New Orleans on the way.  I loved it--I had always wanted to go, and I finally got to.  The strange thing is that my entire roll of film I took while I was there came out blank.  Kind of eerie.  I hope to make a new journey again someday and take lots of photos.  
My life in New York was a strange mix of astounding experiences overshadowed by a bad marriage and a dumpy house built in 1929 with a square footage of 500x500.  I would rather have lived in Matamoros, Mexico in an orange crate shack than live in that house in Queens. I tried hard to make a home out of it, but as they say, (and this goes for both the man and the house) you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.  
Aside from these two facts, my life in New York was quite interesting.  I was able to acquire lots of rare books and had many pagan friends and acquaintances in Greenwich Village.  I experienced life among the Jewish people, and found them kind, warm and welcoming, as well as clever and jovial, for the most part.  Jewish people have such an earthiness about them that makes them easy to talk to and be around.  
I met many other cultures of people from all over the world, too.  I especially liked the Africans.  
When I lived in Queens there was a botanica in Queens Village  I used to visit called West of the Moon.  The proprieter was an aged black man. H was tall and thin, withered charcoal skin, the whites of his eyes were tinged with a sort of reddness as if he were about to cry. He always wore a canvas hat each time I seen him, but most imporatntly, he wore a smile.  Jim A. had a prayer he could recommend for almost every problem, or a candle, an incense, a charm.  Whether or not you are a believer, sometimes such small things can give you solid comfort.  
I went to every writer's conference while I was there, I went to a modeling school, was in commercials and talk show audiences.  I was involved in daytime TV. I went to Lincoln Center for the ballet, the orchestra, the opera.  Weekends were always in the east Village where all the filmmakers, artists, drag queens and hippies called home.  I miss the weekends in the Village the most.  They were fun.
Sometimes I feel bad about all of the years I lost because I was running or hiding from people who were bothering me.  I had to quit school in Brownsville and hide because people were bothering me.  Plus I was sick from 1985-1987 and thought I may lose my life. I finally retrieved all of my medical records from archives back then.  I suffered respitory problems; someone from that group laced something I either ate or drink with a substance simliar to tetrodotoxin--the infamous key ingredient in 'zombie powder.' I had a paralyzed respatory system and was on oxygen a number of times.  Two years were taken from my life in the 90's, but not due to poison--due to being dispirited and lacking the will to want to stay alive.  Something called me back, though.  Something.  After a heart attack and being clinically dead for 4 minutes, I came back.  We have unfinished business. Don't bury me. I'm not dead.
Coming back to Texas the second time around, screwballs from the same deck of cards couldn't keep their noses where they belong.  All together, 15 years lost out of my life.
I have to make sense of it, though.  The life I experienced along the way was like being closed in a box only being able to look out and see other people passing by.  Within this prison, though, I did accumilate vast knowledge of all sorts of things, and somehow, this rectifies all the bad and makes it interesting.  It's like adding a delectable sauce to otherwise, rotten meat.
Someone rudely put the question to me, asking why I don't have any children?  My answer is with a question!  Why in God's name would I want a family with any of these guys I don't even care about...and what's more, why on earth would I want to bring someone into this world with all of these people seeking after my soul?  What kind of life would that be?  A life of someone seeking after you to kill you--what a beautiful life, huh? So the next time someone asks me anything of the sort I have a good mind to box their ears! My further answer is, the spirit is my lover, and the writings--they are our children.  Pour a drink on that, inquisitor. When you live in the shadow of darkness and dawn, of life and death, strange things are born.
The good news on my map is that for several years since I left New York, I have pretty much had a life of peace and I have not wanted for anything.  At last I have the quaint and miniscule existance I've always wanted, alone with my books, my thoughts, the spirits of long ago and the calm solitude of quiet nights.  I awoke in the night some time ago and cried over it all, in relief.  I don't know how I made it through, I don't know how I had the strength to endure, but I did.  And I did this alone.  No one cares; why should they?  Unless there is something people want from you--usually money or sex, or both, they don't really care about you.  It's a rare occassion that human beings of this day and age feel any kind of affection for anything outside of themselves.  They do horrible things to themselves and to one another.  This applies to all of every stripe and social class, I am sad to say.
Efforts to live gracioulsy and being able to socialize again and be a part of the living is a good thing in between retreats; it's good to be able to see a familiar face or two once more from time to time.  Going to dinner or the mall without having to dodge someone is a great pleasure, too.  The fear of most all things has lifted, and life is good.  For those who once sought after my soul, I can say, watch over your shoulders, now.  Perhaps I will be there, watching, when you least expect it....
Tags: ....signed in blood


Sleeping Dogs

November 18th, 2013 at 4:30 am
 I walked away from an offer to write a full series of my life working on Wall Street in the 90's--a hot topic these days.  I just didn't feel it worthy or important.  Those stories will always be there if I choose to visit them again.  I felt it more imperative at this time to finish everything I have from the days before when I lived in Texas.  
  While revisiting The Blue House was not a superficial and simple exercise for me, it was an easier task in editing this time in some ways.  
  As I walked down the same dirt road of long ago, though, I have found a wiser mind and stronger soul in myself, free of the bondage which taped me to the pole back when I first started.  I really see things for exactly what they are--or were.  
  I often long for the old days from 1994-2002 when I was thought to be a missing link; something gone and forgotten, perhaps even dead.  It was during these quiet times when the dogs lie sleeping that I could fully explore all of the feelings I had experienced when I lived in Brownsville and Laredo.  Thoughts, dreams, memories were acute yet somehow enveloped in a cloud of mystery. 
Like an orphaned child I roamed the border and the countryside from 1992-1994 searching for answers and going on some vague feelings I had, some connection to something 'out there.'  I was never prepared for the findings I would come upon, nor the threats it imposed on my life.  I didn't care about any of those at the time.  I rushed in without periphial vision, looking straight only at what was ahead.  Even during these times of the early 90's there was a kind of safe haven or quiet and peaceful world between I and the souls I was searching for, who had me at their fingertips, and they at mine.  The Blue House had become a solitary illusion like the Isle of Avalon, Narnia, or 9 3/4 at the train station, yet the sad reminants of it drew me back time and time again.  It was this clip of time which embraced me, took me in, and warmed the orphaned child, banished and abandoned as the place itself.  
I long for the days when I, too, had become an illusive memory, hidden from everyone sight.  Being far way, even in another state in the U.S. is just the same as being dead to everyone.  I thought about that.  How do I expect people to remember those before them when they can't even see what is right under their noses?  
People are blind.
Days of treachery wrapping a seed of warmth and security have long gone by. Each time period has its own values and magic which can rarely be recaptured.  Some good-byes must be forever.  Some good-byes are temporary inconveniences untill the dogs go back to sleep, or sleep an eternal sleep out under the stars--the stars which frequently fall upon them in the night.  
Each word I type is every bit as full with what I felt so long ago as it ever could be.  Lifetime journeys are just that: Lifetime.  When I close my eyes to sleep, between the waking moment and quiet of the mind, a familiar voice enters the room and says, "Hello, you." 
Falling through the blocks of time, of what was and has been, what will be, I find myself someday sleeping under the falling stars, too.  I will search the ends of the earth no more but will find peace in a happy garden of bones and spirit world of both shadow and light, wading through the sacrfices made and to the dirt road which brings me home.  
Tags: The dirt road leading to home



November 18th, 2013 at 3:03 am
 I decided to make this a blog for moment instead of an actual page.  Most of my blogs are obscure and poetic, and meant to be, so I thought I would add a little something more of an article type. Still working on some of the other material and stories as planned.
  I noticed over the years the numerous books about the astral plane.  Lots of hype and la-la about the astral plane--blah, blah, blah.  Having studied ceremonial magick for so many years now, (sorry, I can't remember how many...I lost the paper with the jail marks, but I believe it should be about 17 years) I find the astral plane to rank right up there with visiting Red Hook in Brooklyn, New York.  You'll find some bodies, a lot of garbage, but the lights look really pretty when you get to the dock and look over the bay!
  There are other, higher spirit realms which can be very beneficial to explore.  My feelings about he astral world is it is an extension of the material world where the very recently departed arrive, some in a a 'death state,' and frivolous thought forms, psychic vampires, shadow people, and lots of negative energy gets hung up.  It can be a haven for the minds of alcoholics and drug addicts, and it is often a place where seances draw on to form the shades of those people or things which were.  Lots of residual energies here, too.  
  I have found, in most cases, people look for departed loved ones directly on the lower levels of the astral.  They may be there a couple of weeks after they've passed, but they do go into a place much deeper than this--a sort of happy sanctuary of light and warmth.  I would want to classify this and the sphere, Malkuth.  This location is recognized as the feet of God, where the deceased souls kneel or dwell.  
  The Kabbalah is a part of Jewish mysticism and was not readily available for public study until more modern times.  Numerous books on the subject  are out, both Jewish and occult, which have been written in different styles depending on the author and what is being explained. 
  If someone wants a true map to what lies beyond, locating different intelligences, the Kabbalah can help give guidelines.  
  When exploring elementals--salamanders, middle earth, unidines...these fall under a different category in which I would also place in or around Malkuth or the zones girdling the earth at various degrees.  
  As time permits and silence prevails, I hope to have more time to do a full blown article with references from my 'dungeon books' I've collected over the years.  
Tags: Weeding your way through the Astral


Quiet Zone: Happier Days

November 18th, 2013 at 1:29 am

 Everything has become peaceful again; for this, I most happy.  Like the spirits around me, I do not like to be disturbed.  We have a beautiful world within in which we exist, 

and dirty people with bad intentions are never a welcome sight.  

 Shadows of the nightmares from long ago have disolved--whether it be bad spouses, stolen cars, stolen tires or other saddness much worse than trivial aggrevations, have 

blown away into some remote place. Dwelling in the quiet present and reveling in the beauty of long ago, with optimistic dreams of what is to come is more pleasant any day

than being part of someone else's drunken chaos and the hell they call their lives.  No one needs to send them to hell for their seat arrived long ago and they sit on it like a throne! 

 Your world is what you dream it to be; never let anyone barge in and try to make you into what they want.  You are free.



Tags: You are free



November 11th, 2013 at 5:58 am

After all of these years I finally received a real photograph of don Chonito.  He was wearing the hat in the photo just as he had in my drawings and when we all seen his ghost

wonder through the living room in Brownsville.  I was asked why I took the Indian pages away-well, sometimes it's enough said, and I don't keep many of my stories online indefinately.

The indians were a difficult search because they weren't all US citizens.  This made it difficult to find them-they were very elusive and sometimes they seem like part of the background as

eternal spirits which, perhaps, never had any form.  

The search for don Chonito has at  last come to a close and a happy ending. 


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Dreams of long ago

November 10th, 2013 at 10:55 am

We went on a wonderful journey to 1953. The wind was blowing when I stepped out of the car and I could smell masculine cologne from an era long gone, yet so safely enveloped in that thread of time. I could feel him there beside me; the presence, and I could see the places he once walked in my mind's eye. My heart was full yet sad, somehow. I always think I'm strong but I am never prepared for the sea of emotions that follow the things he shares with me. I found him sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bunch of other young men in 1953. I was asked how I knew it was him. I answered, 'his smile.' No one one else has his smile. He always rolls up his top lip and tucks it under, and his bottom lip kind of forms this little loop. 
I wish I could have stepped back in time and stayed with him forever. He asked for me, but the higher power sent me back to the complicated 2013. I had to go, but one sweet kiss before I do, my love. I will see you again, beautiful. Some day, forever.


This was a tiny story I had on my private FB page.  Wanted to share it here.  In June I had a dream that I was in San Pedro, walking, looking for something--I'm always searching for something there in my dreams.  Sometimes I find a small, white house with new wood inside, seems like something that is being re-built.  In the dream, something from a long time ago was reaching out to me, and I felt afraid.  I found myself falling back into the 1950s, (although I was not alive during that time) with cars from that time period passing by, people walking, and there were bubbles everywhere floating through the air.  White fluffy clouds spotted the sky, and a bright gold light was present.  Some events took place over the summer, then, which coincided with this dream. 

Someone horrible reached out from my past, and I don't know why.


 Everyone seemed to know about it right away.  I had visitors at my apartment; I did not invite any except for one.  It was a chain of events.  I went on a journey and seen something from long ago.  Even though I was having an unsettling experience, I found something of grace and beauty I thought was long gone.  I found someone in this fold of time whom I love a great deal.  This goes to show how something evil can sometimes create something good.  While on my journey, though, I felt sad that I couldn't share it with anyone.  No one understands, and no one cares, really.  Nonetheless, though, it still made me very happy to be a part of that world. While there, I made a promise to someone--not here any more--in a holy place.  I said, "From this day forward, you will have my heart.  I promise to never give it away to anyone else, ever again.  You have my love and devotion, for as long as I live, and thereafter.  I will deny you no longer."

In the night I stopped breathing and woke up, choking for air.  It was then I had to come back to the present.  I still need to complete some things.

While I was away, people close to me phoned and stated they felt I was with someone.  I laughed, because I was not with anyone, except the ghostly presence which follows me to the ends of the earth.  Nonetheless, the presence was there, and everyone felt it.

It was a beautiful experience I can't get out of my head or my heart.  I will carry it with me always. 

Tags: 1950s-old world, new demension


No time like the present

November 10th, 2013 at 6:55 am

Why now? --For the new edition of the original  novel I wrote 11 years ago?  

There are certain things a person has on the honey-do list.  This was one of them.  I have a number of writings I want to complete over the next couple of years.  I also 

have a few more things to accomplish that have been asked for over the past couple of decades, and unfortunately I was met with too many obstacles.  The obstacles

have slowly been dying off, one at a time, so we can finish what we came here for.  Trying to complete a task is exceedingly taxing when other people keep shoving

their noses in the oven before the pies are baked.  


  Bottom line, I've had a hard road and not much support.  I lived in a basement for a number of years and was exposed to asbestos on a regular basis.  I had a heart attack and 

was clinically dead for four minutes December 13th, 1997.  These are only two reminders that time is limited and I look carefully at the things I want to accomplish before 

the bell tolls again.  


If there is one thing I am going to finish, it is this one book ( which has been re-edited and is ready to go) and the two mini-books which follow it. Something strange happened to me long ago; this was the only way I could express it. 

Our charitable endeavors have gone very well this year.  A few more things need to be accomplished and these will hopefully be done in the spring--or at least some headway will be made

at that time.  

In life, each of us is haunted by something at some point in time.  I have learned that in most cases, places and things aren't haunted--people are.  We either spend our lives

fighting the shadows and specters which linger in our souls, or we learn to make friends with it, embrace and marry it.  The later will create much peace once we find out what

it wants and make good on it.  What seems like something dark and sinister often is something we can't see ourselves living without--whatever it may be, so we learn to

love it, because we can't let it go, and it can't let us go, either.  

People are like ghosts, too.  They come back to places because they have unfinished business.  Once they see it through, then they can finally rest. It may take many years, though, to finish 

what needs to be done.


The next time you find yourself wondering what task to complete first, just keep in mind the things which are most dear to you.  When we look inside of ourselves we can find those

answers.  Other times, when we look around us, we get those answers.

During the earlier part of the year it was revealed to me what could have been my future had I not made the decision to walk away from a couple of situations.  When I saw how someone's soul

was just eaten away by one of the most horrible human beings I had ever had the bad luck of knowing, it left me cold to the bone.  My advice to young people is that if something gets

really uncomfortable, run away from it.  Chances are, it's not a person, or circumstance worth wasting time on. Sadly, we need to run away from our own families at times, because they

can be destructive monsters.

There is no time like the present to accomplish what you need to. Waiting for a better day is a bad idea, because a better day never comes.  The better day is the present day.  




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Crimson Replies

November 1st, 2013 at 10:08 pm

I don't usually post comments on my blog, folks.  Not unless it's someone I know. However...all comments will be read by me and e-mail response sent if required. 

And don't hesitate...inquiring minds who still need to know after all this time will be brought in, fed, nurtured, buttered up and slipped right back through the rabbit hole

of my apartment. 


I have no further questions for the monster gallery myself, for I see you and I know what you have been up to, my wicked step-children.  Mother always knows....kiss


Sometimes, people do really bad things to another person.  I mean REALLY bad.  On a scale of 1 to 10, it would have been an 11.  Then, guess what--everyone has to live with the consequences. 


There was once a movie that played titled 'Ghost Story.'  It was about 4 young men who killed a beautiful woman, just like a pack of dogs descend on a rabbit, tear it apart, and move on to their next target.  When they realized what they had done, they put her inside of her car and rolled it off into a pond so the woman would go missing.  They thought they had gotten off free and clear, but later in life, when they were grandfathers, the ghost of the woman came back for them. 

I won't tell the rest of the story in case folks would like to see spoilers Ahoy! today.  My point is, though, if someone did something really bad to another person, and not only did they want to have that person not tell, but still wanted to launch an attack on the very same victim out of spite, that would be just so cosmically wrong, wouldn't it seem?  I am speaking for two victims, now, in this senario:  The ghost and the person who survived.

When addressing me, tread lightly, for I still have all of the canceled checks, the letters, and someone out there has a criminal background...tisk tisk.  Nothing I could write or say would ever make a difference.  The actions speak for themselves. It's so easy to abuse a girl.  Why not try your hand at a man?...Or better yet, how about the girl brings out some brass knuckles purchased at a fine Italian store in Brooklyn?  Oh the possibilities!

In the world in which we live, though, we know there are no such things as witches, ghosts, curses, evil deeds and the wrong sort, now don't we?  Right?...of course right!

It's all in the imagination.  And...what book of shadows?  What nonsense is this? 

Imagination...that is the key.










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Sunday Reflections

October 21st, 2013 at 1:20 am

Sundays can be a time to reflect.  There is someone who is thinking too much about what has happened--the worst really is over.  Sometimes life just seems so unfair; it is unfair, and nothing can be done.  We just have to help one another.  That's the problem today--and of yesterday; so many people in the world, and no one wants to help one another.  I and the spirits send our prayers.  I send energy to the spirits so they can keep helping those who sit in darkness, those who despair.  The message is: I am with you, even though I may not appear in the form you want to see.  I don't know if I can come in person like I did in 2011, but I will try.  It depends on what's stopping me.  



For my thoughts--I continue to unravel the mysteries of long ago and translate the materials from the book of shadows recovered from the box in the ground.  It has been a tedious effort.  I attempted while in New York, Each mystery translated is fascinating.  Someday, I will commit this book along with my own back to the ground.  If not, then to a museum, or into someone's hands in which will find it as dear as I do.  I have thought much lately about the fact that I am the keeper of secrets, the keeper of souls as I pray for them.  Who will take my task some day?  Who will pray for those who can no longer speak for themselves?  Perhaps a legacy is in order.  I will work on this.  Coming up: The birth of the nahual-- a short story about the origins or skinwalkers in Mexico.


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Making Lemonade

October 13th, 2013 at 11:23 pm

I have taken a few days to really look back on everything that has happened so far this year.  I feel relieved I was able to get the editing finished on my story, and I feel I have taken a stand on many things this year.

It has been a bitter-sweet journey, like everything in my life.  Without the salt, though, we would never know where the sugar was.smiley

I am in hopes the monsters of long ago will lull themselves back to sleep now that they have seen me and know that I am well.  They gazed so surprised to see me as if to say, "Oh, my...a uneecorn!" I looked on and all I seen was a little boy on the farm, because someone else remembers him that way....I took my picnic and my ice tea and went home.  I have nothing else to say.  This memory could apply to a couple of guys about 50.wink

And unless someone from the other side has something else to say...I rest my case on the entire colony.  

I really hope no one else asks me why I wrote this book.  If they can't figure it out they must be really stupid.  Mostly...someone not here any more wanted to tell a story, right?  Of course right.

This is how we have made lemons into lemonade.  When the clock shuts off, you have to find a non-associated medium to do your work.  We do have our priorities and getting one done at a time--if only people would see what's on the inside and stop trying to 'get the white girl'--don't shoot the messenger.  




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Back in Time

October 7th, 2013 at 5:35 am


I took a trip back to to San Benito, then to Brownsville.  A few people were worried about my going there because some big fat has-beens might get upset that I am visiting where I used to live.  That is just a big tough tiddly-wink.  I am on a mission and equipped with lots of back-up and a pretty good mojo shoved up my rear to go along with it. 

I am no longer afraid of anything.  I have some things in life to get accomplished and nothing is going to stop me.  And I know it won't.  We have a few more extraordinary good deeds to take care of.  The devil will not like this...but when he reminds us of our past--we just remind him of his future.


I looked back on all of the insideous bad deeds two people did to me when I was there.  They buried pieces of my clothing, my hair, and other personal belongings in those cemeteries out on Highway 281.  They spit in my face after I gave them my heart, opened up my home to them.  They spit in my face and they spit in the face of the spirits.  And more than this, they spit in the face of God for all of their black workings.  They are getting just what they deserve, now, as they have had days to sit in solitude and deal with what they have done-not just to me, but to so many others.  Yes,  I am angry still, but I am working through it.  It's a journey.  Part of that journey is being able to work through  all of these things until they become nothing but ash and blow away.  While on this journey I am also healing the spirit Melo.  After all of the years I have spent with him, I have come to know the suffering he went through, especially at the very end.  Yes, you can heal the spirit of those who have passed.  It takes time and patience, but it can be done.  This is just one of the final self-sacrficing acts of human kindness I have planned.  The other things--they have already been accomplished.  I go forward without fear.  This has been a complicated, intricatlely woven life I have lived of bizarre happenings and circumstances, but I will take each day as I go forward and do every good, put forth all efforts of good that I possibly can while there is still breath in me.  And with prayer, I will say, "Though I walk through the shadow of the Valley of Death, I will fear no evil."



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Not much these days

September 15th, 2013 at 6:45 am

There's not a lot to blog about these days--adding articles as I go, and pulling up some interesting material out of my infamous "San Benny Grimoire." Only in the chain saw 

state can one find such stuffblush  I have had a unworldly summer as I've taken an eerie trip down memory lane, editing and restoring my original manuscript for The Blue House.  

I feel that the editing which was done in New York made everything choppy and that is not my style--it was someone else's.  I don't like simplicity--I like flowery, so I will add my intricate descriptions of people and places back into the text and cut a little of the dialogue.  My advice: You are always your best editor.  

This has been an unexpected re-opening of graves, figuratively speaking.  Particularly, mine.  I had two people in my long ago past which wanted me dead so bad, I wish to remain so to them, but somehow, by disturbing my own symbolic grave, it awakened people--all from the same deck of cards.  

I have found myself revisiting not only my life and all that I fought for, all that I endured, but also, revisiting "the spirit Melo's" life, in which, at ths point I hold so sacred that I rarely share anything about him now.  In August, I revisited something--some place from his life time.  A deepening and touching experience--for both human and spirit.  The things I have been shown have been nothing less than extraordinary.  I wish I could elaborate, but I will never tell--it really means nothing to anyone but us, anyway.  

All I can say is that I have had a remarkable life.  So did he.


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Challenging Weeks

June 8th, 2013 at 5:11 am

Some weeks are harder than others to get things done--especially when you are writing.  The best thing to do is to set aside a certian time each evening to write a lttle something.  After all,

a little is better than nothing!  That's a good way to accomplish most anything--a little is one step closer.

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Writing that which was already written

June 5th, 2013 at 3:28 am

So far the revisions for The Blue House are going well.  I look forward to the re-print of my most beloved work which took me many painstaking years to write.  

The conditions in which I had written it in was nothing less than extremely undesirable the final five years of drafting.  

The story was based on a terrifying encounter I had while living in South Texas.  I really felt like I was on the inside looking out and it was so 

difficult for me to understand what was happening and what had happened.  I feel so removed and safe from it now.  I am ten years older and ten years wiser!

Looking back at everything now, I can be removed from it all and approach it with new insight and purpose.  

I rushed the first publication through print on demand--I feared I was going to lose my life back then.  I nearly did--and I had a message to deliver.  

I have delivered the essence of what I needed to, and now it is time to come back and polish my work; to make it a shining story that I know it can be, and was meant to be.  enlightened



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New B-Log!

May 15th, 2013 at 2:58 am

At last I can have the site of my dreams--all in good order and design fashion, easy to manage from anywhere, and a site which will be viewable to everyone from Mac, iPad and iphone,

Explorer, Firefox, Google Chrome, and others!  I am excited to bring forth a new production of my ideas and thoughts.  After all, what is a writer if he is not always crafting his work?  

What good are words if no one reads them?  How valid is a thought if not shared?


Tags: A new beginning


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