8/24/2014
The day began with a dull ceiling of clouds and little bit by bit gave way to sun and scattered clouds. Trapped again within the confines of academics, I went straight to my office to work on homework to stay ahead of the game and though my intentions were great…my concentration was little. I cannot seem to get this case out of my head or the players that continue to wander about outside the confines of a cell. After fighting myself for hours, I finally gave in and returned to the book and my research. Words p0ured and questions percolated as page after page under ink slipped away from me.
And then I hit a brick wall.
Current with my information the book is at a stall until further information comes through to move me forward. Knowing that nature always is a way to release tension, I headed to the beach to clear away the night’s debris and use the energy built up in my muscles to remove the encroaching weeds and wayward pine straw that had built up among the rocks. As my hands worked, my mind wandered…free to take in whatever the universe saw worthy to deliver. The trees, an umbrella for my thoughts bent and bowed, submissive to the incoming weather.
In between driftwood and strokes of the beach rake, I took in the specific beauty of my purview. The neon variegated greens of spring have long given way to the more mottled evergreens of summer…now punctuated here and there with the early kiss of autumn to the Sweetgum trees that border the beach- painting leaves a bright yellow.
Change is in the air… you can see it, you can feel it. After another hour with my head into the wind and my muscles into the work– I released my need to follow normal protocol and decided to plow the furrowed fields of education on the morrow and let the rest of the day dictate itself. A few more hours behind the computer and a well deserved break, floating atop the waves later in the day, seduced me back into a more communal mood.
I took from the day what it had to give…and gave back to it what I felt I could afford. In between the bargain made between research and freedom I found a few more interesting details that may build a stronger bridge between the my POI for the Boston Strangler, the Columbus Strangler and the Atlanta Child murderer…not Wayne Williams.
Feathers on the beach and in the water confirm that new information is to follow…
I wait with baited breath!
11:11 am
8/20/2014
Sometimes the need to write just for the sake of writing is not only desired, but necessary. However, today is not one of those days, so let’s pick up where we left off.
The cosmos said that August 17th would bring something significant and indeed the 17th brought something! They brought it to R and that was important, because I was too intent on writing the book that day to notice. It was about a phone call being made at 3:35 in the morning and waking somebody up with vital information. Shall I share details? I know you would love that, but for now it shall remain my little secret. Mine and the proper authorities.
What I can share however, is that this year has taken an awkward turn. Everything in the stars talked about future gains, relocations and abundance and the greatest adventure of a lifetime. The months crawled across the pages of my calendar and with each month a I waited patiently for this wonderful something to occur. Winter brought hard work and heartfelt appreciations for the literary and evidential gains from Charley’s story…in a flurry of Spring showers, academics brought greater knowledge, less playtime, but at the end… a reward! As always I celebrate my freedom from scholastics with a night out. Dinner at a local establishment brought me a Chinese fortune that read:
“A golden egg of opportunity falls into your lap this month.”
That was March and it did… the day I was contacted from afar about this case: the Columbus Stocking Strangler.
Then May rolled on through and it was research, research, research. June skipped across the pages of my calendar like a pebble on the lake and brought me more research, photos and puzzles to solve. July dumped a ton of information on my head and buried underneath so much information, I worried I might never see the light of day again. But with a shovel and a pen, I began to piece information together and the road map to another novel appeared before me. Then came August and with determination and drive, the skies broke open and the sun poured in!
Why?
Mary Sue and Sophie , that’s why!
One of the most odd pairings in the world and yet they have a common cause- to see their killer identified and brought to light. Yes…I said killer, for in truth- I believe evidence points to the fact that they are one in the same!
Sophie was the 7th victim of the Boston Strangler… the young African American student from Boston who was enrolled at Carnegie. The murdered student that identified her killer from the other side of the veil, as the same man who killed Mary Sue in Columbus decades later. She described his eyes, his hair…everything about him…including a mutual acquaintance named Steven.
So…Boston…what say we look for this student named Steven who knew both Sophie and our visiting killer from Columbus, Georgia.
What’s that? He’s from Columbus?
Hmmmm…yes Columbus by way of California.
So what was he doing in Boston’s Back Bay if he’s from Georgia?
All great students come from somewhere, dear readers.
And when was that you say that he visited Boston and California? Back in the 60’s when the Boston Strangler pretended to be Albert De Salvo? Or was it Albert De Salvo pretended to be the Boston Strangler? Read his poem and you will see his hesitation to commit! Some men will do anything for a cheap shot at money and fame…their attorneys too. Everybody protects somebody in this little triangle. Which brings me to another famous killer…the Zodiac. A killer who walked the alleys of San Francisco and Palo Alto looking for victims to satisfy his need to achieve his alleged state of perfection and esoteric brilliance. So what does one have to do with the other? You will have to read the book to find out, but back to Boston.
Why don’t you tell them why you were in Boston, Mr. Strangler? Cat got your tongue…or is it that you’re finished with all that now and are just trying to die in peace…again!
They showed R something else that was of interest- even to you Mr. BS.
Your friend…another old man who used to keep your company. An old man who likes to tuft his ascot along with his ego in the shadows of what he once was… who likes to take long walks and remembers the sweet scent of Autumn in Columbus as the burning papers and documents that could convict him. A man who once burned his youthful lust away in a backyard trash can and danced naked in the moonlight at the thought of his liberation, is now packing his bags…several of them in fact. He is frantic, packing and packing for a trip…he is catching a flight out to the coast. Which coast is that you say?
Why the West Coast, where all the hip old killers hang out and remember the good old days.
People died…at your collective hands and now they have returned to tell your sins.
The NEW AGE has brought gifts to many..intuits, psychics and curious investigators.
Let’s talk DNA boys. It wasn’t a thing back in the day…your day…but it is now. Best thing ever to help heal the wounds of those who mourn the loss of their mothers, daughter, aunts and grandmothers.
The ghosts of these women relive their tortures in eternal horror and pain, but the perfection of time is that it not only heals all wounds, but reveals what once lay hidden…your secrets!
So remember the billboard boys and pray the winds of time keep your past buried- just like the women who now scream your names from the rooftops and the ciphers!
What did that old billboard say?
“TRUST GOD”
I trust God…do you?
8/17/2014
They said that today would be important…significant.
Yesterday I saw several feathers at my feet.
Last night I hit page 127 in the book and had an epiphany surrounding the word, ‘keys’…
Since the Zodiac killer, the Boston Strangler and the Columbus Strangler all love riddles, I have one for them both!
(Besides that one.)
What does a pool, a pair of red socks and Columbus all have in common?
If you guessed it, maybe you should be writing this book!
8/8/2014
Today is a powerful day… the day of Lions-gate and the opening of a celestial portal…and a chance to discover the power within you. It is also a day to set your dreams in motion, for 8 is the number of abundance and balance. What is it you want? What is it you desire and are willing to work for? Use this day wisely dear friends as this will set the tone for your life for years to come. Find your personal truth and life purpose and then follow with blind allegiance to where it will lead you. The architect of the universe calls…be well, be happy and be fulfilled with whatever divine path becomes your own.
I know my path and I grow even more devoted and more courageous to follow it everyday. I speak for those who can no longer speak…seek justice for those who have been denied and bring to light those things hidden, for I am a number 7…a seeker of the unknown.
As for this case…it is on fire. I can scarcely keep up with what has been discovered thus far. Remember that I said this case has connections to others? Hold onto your hats children!
Well, the cosmos has decided to step forward and help in a big way. A huge break came through last week with a victim from the Boston Stranglings, who has decided to help the victims of the Columbus stranglings’ in their reach for justice. This victim has now begun to come through and with such details and anger you cannot imagine. They say Hell hath no furry like an a woman scorned, but that is not true. Hell hath no furry like a woman murdered! What was done to her keeps her suspended in eternal torture and she is desperate for release. She sees your face still…
Your almond eyes, your honey-colored hair, thin nose and pointy chin. She blames Stephen for letting you in. If she hadn’t seen him talking to you… if she hadn’t see you around him, she would have never unlocked that door! And she has more to share as well.
It amazes me that the idiots that did these killings for the esoteric reasons and rewards of their occult, forgot the very thing they were trying to attain and appease…THE AFTERLIFE!
What, are you that stupid? Did you not think about that? You think because these women are dead they can no longer be heard? You cover your tracks, wear gloves and masks and think because you wiped your ass and cleaned up after yourself that the afterlife is yours without consequence or retribution? You brought judgement upon them, but never thought about the fact that judgement is a two way street?
These women have voices and can be heard across the cosmos, screaming your names and all your sins to anyone that will listen.
And not just your sins, you fools. They are screaming about the details of their murders; details that will help bring you to justice. Think that they don’t want to see you stand trial for what you have done? Think that because you are old or supposedly dead that the facts will not find their way to amenable ears?
Look into the mirror this day and repeat the same three words you whispered to them, for the Reaper comes and the names upon his scrolls include yours.
Justice comes…prepare yourself!
8/4/2014
I have been talking about this case and Charley’s heavily for several days now and as always, when I am consistent and deeply involved with spirit, the cosmos throws me a bone. Afforded the luxury of spending many solid hours writing and absorbed in esoteric thought, I have been bathed in creative salve and done great work. The synchronicities have been numerous and glorious and I have said thanks to the cosmos for the inspiration.
Since Monday I have been struck dumb by the information that came through the victims to R- especially one victim in particular, SC. In working on this case and in tying it to the stranglings in Boston, so much headway has taken place behind the scenes that even I am in awe of the connections made thus far. Submerged in alignment, I have been able to intuitively download tremendous amounts of information…glued to my desk and to the countless piles of papers on my desk, I was up after 1:30 in the morning typing away.
Last night, exhausted after a long day…the day of my mother-in-laws 90th Birthday and the eve of my husband’s 64th, I had a visit from a person I have been missing for a very long time–my father. Prompted by a wonderful encounter and reverie with friends the afternoon before, my parents had been heavy on my mind.
For the firs time since he died, he made a visit without my mother. Dropped into a room with no windows or doors, stood a man in a navy blue shirt, with white piping on the collar…crisp blue jeans with his back turned to me. When another person brought me forward to be introduced, I noticed the cut of his gray hair just above the collar felt familiar…his stance a casual reminder of a mental images from my youth. When he turned, I saw the soft brown of his eyes, the chiseled angle of his chin and the warmth of his smile. Forgetting my age I ran to him, hugged his neck and chaffed my cheek against the roughness of his clean shaven face. Just like my childhood, he smelt of Old Spice and shaving cream. Home is what he smelled like. Home and childhood, safety and happiness…coffee and yard clippings…Smitty’s donuts and fireflies…everything I’d thought I’d lost in his passing.
The thinned face of an 82 year old man that had lain frozen, painted inside a satin lined coffin, with stiff hands folded in religious repose was suddenly gone. The man who stood before me was a younger man in his dashing 60’s… peppered gray hair, full rich muscular arms,large hands…vibrant smile and an uncomfortable boyish affection was flying solo through the cosmos without my mother to make a connection on his own.
In an awkward moment I thought I heard my father say, he finally figured out how to do this thing- this visiting and healing from beyond.
I laughed and thought I heard my mother laugh along from somewhere else, saying how proud she was that he had finally gotten the hang of this as well, as she was tired of traveling alone. Humbled that I could hug his neck and tell him how terribly I missed him and apologize that I had not been closer to him after my mother died… I cried uncontrollably in his arms and begged him not to leave.
Three times I kissed his neck, rubbed his cheek to make sure the sand-paper ruff was real. I told him how sorry I was that I had wasted time on work and other obligations out of a sense of distant mourning, which kept me at arm’s length from his love after my mother had died. Truth was, I did not know how to comfort my father in his loss anymore than did he in mine…or the other nine children, who were lost without their mother and by proxy, their father… who’s soul had left with her the day she died.
Whatever the reason and whatever I have done to be graced with such a reward, I thank the angels and the architect of the universe for allowing him the chance to come back and hold him tight. Though I cannot remember everything we discussed, I’m certain it was filled with faith.
I woke and held onto his scent and his ethereal presence as long as I could.
I love you daddy…please visit again soon!
P.S. Say hi to mom for me when you get home!
For papa.
Brownstonelit's Blog 