Brownstonelit's Blog

5/31/11
Today is the last day of May and the rest of this summer will soon zip past me in a blur of embattlements, blue skies and balmy nights. I do not wish to miss a moment of this season- embroidered by a new landscape, and yet the landscape most familiar to me- the landscape which both baits and taunts me– that of my desk and worn laptop keys– beckons so sweetly, as to pull me from this horizon I have worked so hard to titivate, betrays me at every turn.
This year has been fraught with rigorous change and disenfranchisements of every sort- enough for a life time and yet the stars say there is more to come and I should brace for it. While this year is meant to bring me the gift of faith, it has torn at the shreds of confidence once brought about by bold confirmations. Now I sit- timidly on the shore and wait for further trinkets of discovery. Why? I do not know… I hesitate at the gate. I linger at the shoreline- watching the skies, waiting on the path, collecting numbers like cobblestones for ballast and for what folly am I being asked to stall? I can barely inventory another thought and yet I have thousands of words I must catalog and then disgorge before I can rest contented in my bed.
Another feather has fallen across my path and dare I wait and watch- or do I give over to the thought that molting is but a fact of nature and not a sign from afar? Faith you say… faith…trust…trust… trust…trust.
I grow weary.

5/30/11

Back several weeks… maybe even a month or so ago I was told by both psychics that someone would crack. And they did. The information received confirmed several things for me; places, situations, new names- old names and again- this all after a feather had crossed my path. Oddly enough, a feather had crossed my path the day of the locution as well- so now you say- “What’s the hold up?”

That, my dear readers is a very fine question. What is the hold up? I sit here at my desk and look into those steely gray eyes of Charley’s and pose the same question. “What are you waiting for dear friend?”

So I must ponder…
What is left unanswered?
What is left undone or un-clarified?
What is left that is pseudo peripheral that cannot wait to be explored within the process of the book?
What  is it that keeps the paragraphs from pouring?

Is it you Charley… is it me? Is there some great piece of information or evidence that will present itself soon? Or are you simply waiting for the author to find her voice?

I have always thought that this story would tell itself and in deed, once the ink begins to flow– it will simply bleed its way across each page. I think the crux of the matter here is- who will do the telling? Whose voice would be more compelling? His, in the life… or mine in his death? Now, not only as a writer does this become a most important question, but as a human as well, for this is Charley’s story- but in a real sense it has become mine too. But I do not want this to become another- middle aged woman finds herself saga- because this is not what this has been. Certainly a fair bit of self discovery has taken place, but it is more than that. Charley has done some remarkable work here. Think about the rarity of this. A dead man finds a psychic medium who is involved with helping an organization solve cold cases, and after I have written my sixth book- I write a book about a local- but very national unsolved civil rights case—and am asked to speak for said organization 2 weeks after this psychic medium tells the Criminal Justice students that they will receive new information from someone who bears the initial “J”- in quotation marks. Two weeks later, I read an excerpt from my book about a man who basically cyber stalked me to vet my researching methods and sent me info- which I authored in signature with the letter “J”- in quotation marks and viola! Two months later we meet and I ask for her help.

Two years later I sit at this desk and tell you I know what happened to Charley that night on the Clyattville- Nankin Road, and even more I know why. I’m sensing a pattern here… aren’t you?

Now, I can either tell it all or I can tell nothing; so whose sins do we share? So today, I throw down the gauntlet one more time and ask for your guidance Charley. I shall hold the pen, my dear, dear man… I shall begin to tell our story with whosever voice you feel will be strongest and we shall see were this next part of the journey takes us.

I shall look for a direct sign today…

Whose voice Charley? Yours, mine or ours?

Locution.
Curious as to what this means? St. Teresa- the patron saint of writer’s- my patron saint- was famous for receiving these. The segue way here is more ironic than you think. Those of you who know me well will understand.

Locutions…hmmmmmmm.
Want to know more?
Then… look it up!

This morning I received information in the form of a locution, given to one of my children.

“Suspicion…Conviction…Salvation”

Enough said.

5/25/2011
This was a message I received from R today.
“Just read your latest blog entry and was told to pass on to you, ‘What do you want from you?'”
WOW!
Double …WOW!!
I know it was meant to be a profoundly inspiring response and the impetus for thought provoking therapy… and it will be… just as soon as I get over the fact that I have just been summarily bitch-slapped by the universe for throwing a publicly private pity party and daring the world to join me! Right now though, I am still slightly aghast that of all the situations I have asked responses for lately- this is the one they return? I am caught between laughing at them or laughing at me, even as I struggle to let go of the original question—“What do you want from me?”
In the interest of not over-reacting, let’s take a deep breath and then center ourselves- shall we? Ok. After all, laughter is the best medicine and these are the same “they” that remanded me once to take out my garbage- because they thought it was too full. So… did I really expect less of them? Did I really expect them to ignore my literary temper tantrum and not have a clever quip to come back at me with? Noooooo…
Did I not throw that crap out to the universe as way of showing my current displeasure with recent short-term trials? Yes, but…Was this not the emotional Nemo cast into the ethereal waters to prompt and elicit an immediate response?
Yes, but…
Drat!! I hate it when they call me up short and turn the tables!
Ok… therapy time.
Soooooooo…all right, I’ll bite. What do I want from me? It’s a good question- not as easily answered as one might think, but a good question nonetheless- so here goes.
Ok…honestly? Honestly, at first I just wanted to bury my life in Charley’s death, because mine had become so convoluted and misguided. In the beginning I wanted to spend all my time thinking about his hurts, to either let go or avoid of a few of my own. I wanted to find the mystery and intrigue that no longer appeared to be part of my life. I was an adrenaline and information junky that needed the high of somebody else’s chaos to make up for the fact that my own life of motherhood and daily mundane duties reflected a life that did not seem to fit with where and what and who I had always thought I would be.
I thought… if I could just find Charley’s killer, that that would be journey enough to plug the pot holes in my own path, but then I got hooked. Then, it didn’t matter so much about my journey. It became about Charley and his journey. I did more living in his death, than I was doing in my own life and while it built a bridge between us- it was the wrong kind of bridge to build.
So, again I ask myself- what do I want from me now?
For now… I want my journey to be a truer reflection of my own in finding his. To learn how to better navigate the emotional obstacles he did not. I want to write this book and not only tell his truth- but tell mine in the process. I want to be the person who stood up for the two girls that had their young lives mangled by circumstance and ripped from them by men who had every intention of fully living out their own in comfort and false glory- even if they had to lie through their crooked teeth to their adoring wives and their innocent children to do so. I want to stand tall at the end of my day and know that what I have done here for Charley, is not just tell a story- but to have made a real difference for him and those who were left behind- ignorant of the truth and ignorant of the cost he and 3 other people fatally suffered for others comfort and lack of conscience. I want to know that what I do and what I say from this point forward will be divinely guided and that I will be emotionally compensated for the sacrifice of rutting my way through this horrible thing with fledgling intuition and hopeful prayer. I want to know that I am exactly where I am meant to be and exactly who I am meant to be- a writer, who speaks for those who can no longer speak.
What else should I want from me? Only a few things…
Things like…the confidence to know that this journey has not been in vain and that I have done right by those who were brave enough to place this in my feeble fingertips to begin with. The creative tenacity and inspiration to craft a way to make this my life’s work and to be able to devote the necessary time it takes, but not risk family or finances in doing so. To know in my heart that all of this is real- Charley- my parents- the MOT and the two young girls… to trust that all those who litter my path each day with signs understand my need for confirmations and support this tremendous call to serve.
What do I want from me?
Hmmmmmmmm….not much, huh?

How about you?
What do you want from you?

Ever have one of those weeks when your life feels more like that new song by Adam Lambert… “What do you want from me?” than it should?

Well… after 3 years of that, and a couple of glasses of wine- I will look to the stars and ask the God and the universe the same question.

What do you want from me?

Haven’t I asked every question, followed every lead and sacrificed every rational thinking cell in my body to blindly follow where it is you lead me? Haven’t I done enough to warrant some direct guidance?

Well… haven’t I?
Have I not devoted the last two years of life to my divine mission, forsaking everything else in my path, including my sanity to do so? Have I not made enough personal sacrifices to warrant a wink and a nod when asked?

Tonight I am spent. Charley feels distant, guides seem to have lost their train of thought and I grow weary of guessing my way through this phase of my life. So, my dear light workers and those on the other side, I now ask you point blank…

What do you want from me?

Yesterday a feather was placed in my path.
Now I must wait for the message that I know is being sent to accomapny it.
Much information is being sent my way. Charley once asked me a question about Phoenix. Now I must decide what it is he was really posturing about?
Was Phoenix metaphorical?
Was Phoenix academic?
Or, was Phoenix meant for something more personal?

Because I know you are reading…

5/20/11

Loosing Nemo…
Occasionally I try to test the waters of my new-found connection with those who guide and mentor from the other side of the veil. I follow the numbers- read the angel code for them, study numerology and keep in constant awareness of who I am, who it is I am meant to become and the divine mission I am being asked to achieve. And while my own father would have called this my “hokey-pokey” nonsense… who was one of the first energies to step forward and come through??? Who’s laughing now, huh dad?

Aside from that… I must tell you that while some may think me crazy… others think me gifted, in that this is a rare combination of connection, intuition and blind faith hat helps me work with Charley. I was promised this year would bring me the gift of faith. However, I candidly and openly admit– this was not necessarily the fashion in which I thought I would receive it… but then, such is the humor of God. But even as special as all this seems- sometimes I get ahead of myself and the powers that be give me a reality check. Thus… the loss of Nemo.

Now, who is Nemo you might ask and rightly so. Nemo, my dear readers is a $3.00 lure that was most content to dangle perilously at the end of my fishing rod and had awarded me the most catches of any other lure and every other family member. But Nemo was not just a lure- Nemo was something more. He was cute! Small, with undulating colors of orange and blue he had a curled tail that twirled in the water- a highlighter yellow propeller, if you will and it made me happy just to watch him swim. Truth be told- I never cared if a fish bit. I just loved watching this little guy make his way through the green waters of the lake. Infact, if Nemo had been alive- he would have been a close second to my miniature Dachshund- Schnitzel! So…before you get all up in my grill, saying things like, “Ah, c’mon… I thought this blog was going to be something really cool about the case or something I discovered that was really scary that happened to Charley”… just stay with me. This didn’t happen to Charley- it happened to me.

Remember how I once told you that as a child, I used to pray every night from my bottom bunk in a room full of bunk beds that held 5 other sisters… to be the first kid on the block to see the Blessed Virgin?? Well?? Well… that  didn’t happen, but nonetheless- I knew that someday, something incredibly cool like that would happen to me. I knew even from a young age that there was a connection- albeit a weak one, but I knew that my silver cord was strong and that it would grow as I did and strengthen to aid me in some awesome project later in life. At the time, I can recall telling my family that one day I would write the great American novel. Ok… so they are still waiting for that, but this could be it. Charley could be my great American novel. Anyway- back to Nemo.

Last night Nemo and I went fishing together and on a dare, or a fleece per say… I asked the architects of my connection to grant me a fish on command, mostly to show my family up- but also that I would know that my connection was great. As I cast, I said a small prayer that I would find the connection instantly, a fish would find my lure and that the powers that be would find a moment to grant my silly, but heartfelt desire for confirmation. As I reeled in, I felt a small tug and joy sprung forth from my heart- I pulled hard to set the hooks and even as my heart sang–cerebrally I distinguished this rather strong tug back as a dis from the universe and not a fish.

It was an under water tree snag. The harder I tugged, the deeper it embedded in soddened bark. Several tugs later with unbridled disappointment… the line broke and I lost Nemo. I know that this is a $3.00 loss that I can fiscally sustain, but there was such a melancholy feel to the loss that I actually stood there at the end of my dock and cried. Why? Because my ego had cost me a very synthetic- but a very real companion- and all because I had lost my point of perspective. It was not the masters who had needed faith- it was me. Needing confirmation by catching a miracle fish meant that I had not learned the art of faith I was already silly enough to test. So there, at the end of my dock with tears the size of small Volkswagens rolling downs my cheeks, I said goodbye and expressed my heartfelt apologies to the tiny lure that had entertained and captured my heart- but not a fish.

Now, I know that you are all scratching your heads at this point and saying to yourselves… what the hell was that all about? What this was about is that we all tend to test our faith and connections, before we are ready to accept the consequence of the ego that thinks it has a right to do so.

Life is about lessons…
Because I kept the faith only academically… the lake got to keep Nemo. My only hope is that one day, when I least expect it… that the lake will bring him back to me and that I will find him washed up on my shoreline with silent smile and confirm that my faith- while it was a fledgling and weak enough to loose him- became strong enough to bring him back.

Missing Nemo…

5/19/11
Throughout this very long process, one thing has held true…if I ask a question… I get an answer. Not always right away and not always the one I think I will get, but just the same… an answer.
It is most remarkable where this journey has morphed. Questions I never thought to ask presented answers first and had to be worked backwards. Words that were once irrelevant, now take on grander meanings and point the way to other words and numbers that held allure, without segue till now.
Words or numbers like:
17th by the lake
V
bakery
19
the fort
the trailer
7
long legs
G
1545
sit and kiss
swimming pool
1510
442
Attorney
321
judge
Russian roulette
342
Ostrich
4
WOW

This is the Thesaurus of this case; words and numbers that substitute for other words, places, people, numbers and meanings, because to tell the truth would say too much.
I have been given a new direction to ponder, but Charley tells me that pathway is inadvertent; unintentional, peripheral to the path I am on… and so I wait. It may not be the most popular path, or the most easily explained, but Charley will lead where I am meant to follow. It has been so since the start and so I imagine it will be throughout the remainder of this case. It is called faith. Faith that Charley is doing his best to give me every opportunity to discover what happened to him and why. I began this journey over 2 years ago now and though in truth I began it for Julie, I now feel it must be finished for her father. In the beginning there was no direction given, no guardrail to guide. Those once silent now begin to say, “…go this way or that”, unmindful of the roads that have already been travelled on their behalf.
To them I wish to say the following:
Whatever can be deciphered… will.
Whatever justice can be served… will.
Whatever cost must be paid…must.
I did not choose this, as much as it chose me and so while I service this mission, I try to keep true to that which brought me here in the first place.
For you, Julie…
For you, Charley… and those who suffered with you.

5/17/11
Today has several of my favorite numbers involved; 5, 7 and 11… so how could it not be a good day? After a stressful, but comical beginning to my day I find I must look closely at reasons why I feel somewhat stalled. Working within the light sometimes blinds me to the future path. Odd you say? Yes… after all, one would think that working within the light would illuminate the pathway and it does. But today… today something is stopping me.
I imagine there is no real obstruction other than myself, but I have learned that when that happens- even that is a signal of something else. Some internal mechanism that puts the brakes on… there is a reason why. I am clearly just at a loss as to what and why it is there, so I wait. And that’s the kicker. I don’t even know what it is I am waiting for, but surely it is a sign that I must begin.

And so today, my dear readers I will wait for that sign. I have worked with this long enough to know that when I am stalled—it is never without great cause. Something is afoot in the cosmos and I am just not in the right perspective to see what it is.
Breathe… breathe… I tell myself. Something big is coming. Breathe… breathe.
It could be information.
It could be confirmation.
It could be…

A confession.

5/16/11
It would seem as though a great many movements are taking place behind the scenes, as numbers are rampant and so is information. I must be careful to discern where some information is bleeding from and from what agenda it manifests itself. Always cautious, I wait will baited breath to see where all this will lead me.

Can I just ask you how it has come to pass that such a tiny burg as Valdosta in 1966 was such a Mecca for absolute disdain of integrity and truth? It appears as though nothing was beyond the scope of debauchery back then. Look at all the extracurricular activities that went on for civilians and law enforcement: moonshine… porn… drugs…illegal gambling… guns, and even counterfeit money. Ironic, don’t you think? I am always shocked by the many facets of reality. My reality is not yours, yours is not mine and the guy sitting next to you on the bus will always have a completely different one from either of us.
Isn’t life incredible?
To think that all that was going on in Valdosta in 1966, while I was still wearing anklets, drinking Tang and writing Jesus, Mary and Joseph in the upper right hand corner of my papers absolutely flogs me. Funny, how we take our realities for granted- assuming that everyone else lives their lives the same way. Not that I thought everyone else was forced to wear anklets and drink Tang… it’s just that I had no idea evil was such a casual resident in other rural places. Oh, I’m not saying Iowa didn’t have its hot beds of crime… Ok. I am saying that! Iowa was a fairly tame place back then; at least where I lived, but to think that truth was traded as such a commodity in the underbelly of such a little Southern litter box confounds me.
But I digress. Let’s take a look back at recent events from a blog’s view. Days before, I wrote a blog about doing just that-looking back! They asked me to go back and look at what was faxed to or from me on a specific date. Amazingly, my memory faltered for a minute or two- but as usual, my files did not! Curiosity piqued, I pored over my files searching for dates and do you know what cropped up?
Hmmmmmmmm…..
That’s right-the death certificate for the MOT.
Again!
Soooooooo… after 30 more minutes of intense review- I came up with nothing more than my original concerns and questions. That was of course, until…
Until… my husband pointed something out to me I had missed in my de-sensitized familiarity concerning the document. How did this happen? Well… when you have scrutinized as many documents as I have in this case and with some of them being the same ones over and over, infinitum… it happens. Thanking God for a fresh pair of eyes- I waded my way through names and dates again and then suddenly there it was! He pointed to another line and I sensed his intrigue immediately.
48 hours…
The MOT died just days after Charley. Alarmed? No… not yet. You already knew about that line of information. What was alarming though- is that they actually placed a time of death on it. Furthermore, they followed that by the next line which held the time of the funeral service. Alarmed yet?
Ok… hang on! Here’s where the ‘alarming’ part comes into play, ready?
There are only 48 hours in between them. Not alarming enough for you? Well… how about if he died in Valdosta and was buried in Augusta? Now… I’m lucky if I can get the phone company to even call me back in 48 hours, let alone find a body- prepare a body for burial- transfer a body and get him buried!

Now that’s alarming… isn’t it???
Trips my trigger!