Brownstonelit's Blog

6/18/11

Synchronicity…
Remember I had seen the feather? I got my message.
Yesterday after work I went to Kroger to pick up my husband’s meds. While waiting, I picked up a book from a nearby shelf and began to thumb through it to kill some time. The title was catchy, but several paragraphs into it, that’s where it ended…. still,bored without other options- I read on until my name was called. Eager to be on about my way, I hopped up and rushed to put the book back on the shelf. When I did so, another fell and hit the floor. Harried, I bent to pick it up and in doing so saw the title and the author: unfinished business by James Van Praaugh- What the Dead Can Teach Us About Life.
No doubt about it- that was a sign, so I decided to keep the book.
When I got home, I laid the book down and set about making dinner. My husband likes to spend time together at the end of the day and because so much of it gets eaten up by work, school and writing – I try to go out on the boat, go fishing or watch some TV with him after dinner. As fate would have it, the weather was not conducive to outdoor activities and nothing descent was on but guy shows–so I made him a deal. He could watch his “guy” shows, if I could read my new book. His only request was that I do it on the couch next to him. Done deal, I began to read. Hours later I was tired and so carried myself off to bed. As usual, I wished Charley a good night and then in keeping with the reading material- I looked at the photo of my parents on my nightstand and secretly told them I loved them and that I missed them terribly- especially my mother, as I had been feeling so disconnected from her for some time.

Last night she came to me in a dream. She told me about her heart attack and how she was unable to control the time and could not wait for me to get there at the hospital before she had to move on. She told me that she knew how hard I had tried to get there- that she loved me- that my father was fine and that I should forgive myself for not being there at her side. We spoke of other things and then she kissed me goodbye and was gone. Following the advice in the book from the night before about dreams ad messages from afar- I got out of bed and recorded the events, then went back to bed and tried to recapture her in another dream.

For years I have been beating myself up for those 31 minutes that kept me from my mother’s side at death. For weeks I have been beating myself up for not knowing how best to begin the book. Not that I don‘t know what the story is about- that’s not the point. It was the opening that had me stalled and that I was still uncertain of the voice. Should it be written as historical fiction, a thriller or should I just write the truth and let the chips fall where they will? Today I found the perfect voice and it is my own. Had my mother not come to talk to me last night, I might never have gotten the right words to start.

Tonight after several hours at the laptop, I sat down to read more of my new book. I began by finishing the chapter I had fallen asleep during the night before and then turned the page and smiled. Why? Because, the words on the next page were the very same words my mother had used in her visit, when asking me to forgive myself for not being at her side when she passed. I read the remaining pages with tears in my eyes and thought about the fact that I had used my connection through Charley to heal both my mother and myself of a terrible regret. Confident now in my path for the book and grateful that a weight had been lifted from my heart, I whispered a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to my darling mother who I know hears my every word.
A Gardenia for you mother darling.
I love you…and dad…and Charley.
Good night.

Not long ago I received an email from someone who hid behind another name- you know who you are. I need you to contact me… again.
It is important. So that you will know who I am talking about, I will use one of your key words…
Texas.

You know my number.

Yesterday I found a feather. Today, four dead fish washed up on my shore. The sight unhinged me slightly and with the eclipse upon us… I sense something afoot in the cosmos beyond celestial chess. Something is going on- I can feel it. An undercurrent of sorts that vibrates at such low levels- one can hadly perceive it.
There is sense of danger and foreboding and I wonder what tomorrow will bring? There is a smell of death in the air…

6/14/11
So last night I watched the debate for the Presidential Primary in New Hampshire and it reminded me of something???
Hmmmm…. what could that be?
Oh, I remember now. Another Presidential Primary debate held back in 1966. A Presidential Primary that became more of a clandestine affair that somehow involved loose diamonds and purchased influence.
Do your homework children!
Who would have been there from here in 1966? Who would have also been part of the Coffee Pot Conspiracy to cover up the murder of Charles Gordon Covington? Want to know? Do some digging of your own!
Think my dear readers…. Think!
Why would they show me loose diamonds and one red ruby in the hands of G and tie that to the Presidential Primary? Think about the other connections to G from the very beginning. Go back to the first few blogs- reread the first session with R and then extrapolate from there.
Remember… one of the clues was the set of letters-LT. But what if LT was really more like…Lt? That would mean something completely different! Now, think back and also remember that one of the very next lines in that session asked:
“Who became a Lt. later?”
Could it be the man with the scar on his left hand? The man who was possibly involved with Jessica? The man whose name gets two thumbs up from Charley?
Don’t you just love the political process? So much information, from so little minds!

6/12/11

I have a question…
I have a question for the 4 in flannel. Make that… the 2 who are still alive that were part of the 4 in flannel.
Was it really necessary to tie and cut up her ankles like that? Jessica shows her ankles cut up- possibly having been tied with barbwire. Was it not enough to bash her face in with the shovel? Was it really necessary to hog tie the child with wire? She was pregnant. And with whose child? Let’s think…
Not a commoner. Who would give a ________ about that. After all, you all called her a hooker. So who in the state of Georgia could loose more if their name was tied to that? Must have been somebody big. Somebody in the public eye- someone who could ill afford having a pregnant hooker calling his office… or his wife! Someone whose entire career would have fallen apart had the people of the state known how really corrupt he was.
Isn’t it ironic? Men who live so publicly- live so debauched privately. Don’t you just love men who parade themselves about as pillars and then slum in the shadows- praying their wife does not find out- hoping that harlots and hookers will hold their tongues. What? Because you killed her, you think she cannot talk anymore? Foolish men…large egos- small minds. There are but two of you left who will pay for the sins of the four and I know who you are. But I’m not the only one. That’s right, Grim. They know…
Bloody shovel and a compass!
The pool…pretty brown hair clumped with dirt and blood…
Red lipstick used to write a message…

What did it say, Grim? Did it mention you by name? He’s dead now and can no longer act as buffer for you. No client-attorney privileges for the dead!

Dear God Grim…what gives you the right to torture and disfigure young woman and then go home to slide into bed next to your waiting wife? Does she know? Does she suspect how truly vile you are? Is there some place in the back of her mind that knows and cannot let it surface, else she vomit up the blood of all your victims like worms rotting inside her? She knows and it makes her skin crawl. There is no church that will house you. No preacher that can pardon you for what you have done. The clock ticks for you Grim. As it ticked for those you went after- so it now ticks for you!

I pray- and this is a solemn prayer- that you will not rest another night. That you will know that I am on your trail and that I will hold your feet to the fires of Hell for what you have done. For forty-five years you have walked the streets of Valdosta, using your ego and your religeous ferver to deflect suspicions. Too bad you can no longer wear them in good conscience. Every person you meet will know what you have done before I am through. Every church will close their door to you and your feet will be burning hot from the flames of Hell that lick at them- salivating for the day they can engulf the rest of you!

Do you believe in God, Grim?

Then pray!

Who is Ray?
Are you the man with the mole on his upper lip?
Hmmmmmm….

6/10/11
‘Tis the bewitching hour and all is silent in the house, but the constant hum of my laptop and the swish of water as it floods the dishwasher down the hall. Charley is here at my side and his look is one of consternation, though I am uncertain why. There is a sadness about his lips that tells me something is not right in his world- or perhaps something not right in mine and I have yet to be advised of such. Regardless, I have weathered so much change of late I am all but sick from the vertigo and almost numb at my very core from caring.

I have begun the beginning…and with telling Charley’s story it is such an odd place to start. For to tell Charley‘s story right, one must begin it at the end- his end- and it is a most disturbing place to revisit. Anxious for bed and eager for the comfort of slumber from such a weary day, I bait my friend in the 8 x 10 to visit in my dreams and share a bit of knowledge so that my daylight hours can be less consumed.

It is said this month that I shall receive some hidden information- a secret to be revealed. I wait, hoping that my blind fidelity is not in vain. I have made a major overture and pray God that my information and impressions are of value and weight- else I be branded a fool. But trust is the name of the game and if I have learned nothing else… I have learned that I have not been abandoned, though often I feel as though I walk alone.

A secret tonight my dear friend.
A secret for your liberty.
A secret that will set the wheels of this great beast in motion.

Grim, you have but so few days left… call me. You know how to find me. Tell me everything or leave me to fill in the blanks as I will. The book is now underway and your identity shall figure most prominent. Oh don’t worry… I shall change the names to protect the guilty! But they will know Grim- they will all know who I am talking about. I shall give details and descriptions- right down to the color of your glass frames!

Sleep tight!

Who is the man with the mole on his upper lip?
Hmmmmmmmm…I am pretty sure I know. But where does he figure into all this and why will Charley not give me the definitive nod on E or S? Or, at least a nod and a wink I can recognize. Perhaps my radar is fuzzy what with current work related issues.
Nonetheless, every time I get one clue figured out, they throw me another and so I have to sit back and ponder the following:
Is this information the answer to the last question or is this something new all together and is there a segue I can follow to be certain?
Roap maps… road maps! I need one to follow this new trail. They have mentioned someone by name. I have heard this name before from the person who cracked. What is the connection there?

How does all this play into each other. I have the frame and most of the portrait painted… It’s just the highlights that now escape me-but not for long!

6/8/11
I am reticent to write today, knowing that once I put a specific thought/impression out there- I may ever be able to take it back. So I may wait, unless it becomes obvious throughout this discourse that my gut was right and that I have nothing to fear.
June has indeed already proven to be a month of heady change and we are but at first blush of its intent. Others have found their feathers of late and while it becomes most necessary that I applaud their diligence- I both envy and grow weary of the sight of one of my own.
Why?
I am hurt deep inside for grievances I am still yet unaware of and even as I place fingers to lips to silence- I find the words have need of escape. You see in a blog just before this the message:
“…the vodka cranberry-drink, listen to what the bartender says…”
Now, I shall remind myself of what it is that keeps me from letting this be an absolute. Firstly, I am not in the habit of going to bars. Secondly, I do not drink Vodka as a young experience with such left me much more amenable to Gin. But, that is neither the point. Last night, while searching for something to watch on TV, my husband happened across a movie he found interesting. He begged me to change from the usual historically intriguing-educationally valid-acts of God television I generally watch- if indeed I watch the TV at all and so… I acquiesced and considered to remain in the same room. It was an unknown element to me- this film- a depressing piece by the name of, “Against the Current”- alas I do not recall the credits. None the less, I was quick to vacate the room and get to my computer until the opening scene began.
It… my dear friends opened on a man having indiscriminant sex with a woman who he then unabashedly invited to leave the morning after, after staring at the photo of a young lovely pregnant woman who we can be assume is his wife and/or ex-lover. Nothing here triggered anything, so I made ready to excuse myself until this man walked into a bar in the next frame. He sat at the bar- ordered a drink- something with Vodka and so I decided to perch at the end of my chair and wait to see if anything brilliant or enlightening came out of the bartenders mouth. Two or three insults later, I surmised I had overrated the importance of the potential connection to the “Vodka/bartender information’ clue from afore and began to withdraw from the chair. Just as I got up, another character entered the scene- she too ordered a drink with Vodka and so I tucked my rear end back in the seat and waited for further instruction.
Part of the process for me is this uneasy- alert, alarm thing that happens in my gut when I know I am being drawn to something for a reason. I spent the next two hours glued to my seat waiting for words of wisdom or an impression that I could make a mental and/or emotional segue to- so that I could write off one more clue as being deciphered. To the best of my recollection there were moments of comical repartee… insightful declarations and personal confessions and while each could have been a candidate- none gave me that overwhelming gut punch that I usually get with an epiphany.
Nothing that is until the last scene, when to be quite frank, the actor said next to nothing. It was what he was doing that tore me to shreds and left me emotionally unbalanced for the remainder of the night. To briefly capture this, you must first know the premise of the movie.

A man loses his pregnant wife in a horrific traffic accident, that he believes he might have been able to prevent. Distraught, he wishes to commit suicide by jumping off the top of his apartment building- but his best friend talks him out of it- telling him time heals all wounds- to wait- give it five years and see how he feels about this life then. The bargain was that if in five years this man’s life was no better- that the friend would not only defend his right to end his life- he would support it. The anniversary date of this man’s wife and child’s death was clearly marked on the calendar in the first couple of scenes- August 28th. Oddly enough- that was my parents wedding anniversary date when they were alive. (So, you can see that there are threads which would cause me to search for connection.) The man was so in love with his wife- it hurt to watch. Flash forward, we are now five years later and the man has one request of his friend. He wants to accomplish one thing in his life before he goes- to swim the length of the Hudson River- all 150 miles of it. At the end- he wants to commit suicide, but does not divulge this part until after the friend and another female friend consent to join him and are a week or two into this project which should place him arriving at the bridge in New York on August 28th. During the course of the swim- he finally tells them his plan and they are hard pressed to dissuade him from killing himself. He even has a short tet-a-tet- with the female… but neither friend or lover are able to convince him to do otherwise. At the end of his journey, they are forced to honor his wishes and watch him swim out into the ocean… knowing that his intent is to swim until he is too tired and eventually drowns.

The only line that I can even recall is something like…
‘I made him a promise and even though I never thought I would have to back it up… I shouldn’t have made it… if I wasn’t prepared to follow it through.’
Now, there are a million promises we make to ourselves and to one another everyday… or to a hundred different people over a hundred million days of our lifetimes. Sooooo…. which promise might this have been referring to- if referring to any one of them at all? My head reeled  and at the edge of the night, I found I was no closer to the answer than at the beinning.
Was this a promise I had made to myself? To my parents-?(What with the anniversary date connection- August 28th) Was this a promise my father had made  to my mother- or my mother to him? A promise I had made to a friend…to a spouse or a child?
And if this was the message I was intended to receive-  did it have to do with my life or with my connection to Charley? The very thought made my eyes pool. I could only imagine one promise that had any natural segue to the movie and its potential connection to Charley.
To let him go when he was ready to move on…
Charley is free to leave at anytime and even though my heart breaks at the thought of it- I would never stand in the way of another soul’s evolution. I am prayerful that I am wrong about this all and hanging my hopes on the fact that not one person got cranberry juice in their Vodka drink during this movie!
But Charley, if you have to leave… I have to know for myself the answer to one more question.
Which man was it?
And you know what I am talking about.

6/2/11
Shepherd…
The first definition is: somebody tending sheep.
The second definition is: somebody providing guidance.

The other day somebody asked me if I had ever done a life regression. My answer was no. When I asked why-they said it would be curious to see if Charley and I had had a connection in another life. My personal thought is somewhat similar to what is so brilliantly expounded upon in the book, Embraced By the Light by Betty J. Eadie. That is to say, I believe that a group of souls bind themselves to one another as agents of learning throughout each incarnation. So, in essence—it wasn’t a far-fetched notion that Charley and I might have held such a pact prior to this incarnation. In my curiosity to divine this rare connection- I posed the question to the universe the other day while on my ride home, asking for an explanation.
The reply came back:
“Did you look up at a street sign? What was the name of the street? That is your answer.”
Now mind you, on any given day my commute and travels bring me past 200-300 street signs easy and… being a most inquisitive and intuitively overloaded gal… I will look for information in all of them. Thus—my quandary! Which signs had I read 24 hours before that would have triggered an ‘ah-ha’ kind of response. My first intuition was to recall those names or phrases that held any significant tie and/or impression to this case or to Charley. I mentally ransacked my brain and came up with a few. I chose only those that immediately came to the forefront- as they don’t want you to have to work too hard. I piece-mealed several words that stuck out- then parsed for a connection. Pretty much most of the day I drew a blank- except for the three or four initial imprints and in an attempt to retrace my steps, I took the exact same route as the day prior. Keen on divining the message, I eyed every sign I had glazed over before. As I drove, home I tried to recall the exact location of the roads I had pulled names from; which was hard to do because most of my roads are incredibly bucolic and even more incredibly similar! Forty-five minutes into the trip and my frustration- I spotted the first one. It read, Walter Shepherd. Now- there is significance there for two reasons- so I decided to wait it out and not jump too fast to a conclusion. Several Earth, Wind and Fire songs later- I spotted another, immediately followed by another- Porter Street and N. Johnson.
Hmmmmmn… that segue’s a no-brainer, but he had nothing to do with my question and so I used this pattern as the template it was meant to be and asked for further confirmation. It came in the fashion of the next two signs visible to me. The first of the names held 3 words. The second is rather obvious.
First signs read, Charlie ______ _____ and next came, Shepherd Road.
In the shorthand- the answer became just as obvious and my ‘ah-ha’ moment became my typical “Oh s___!” moment.
Charley…
Shepherd…
Charley is my shepherd.
So you see… the first definition of a word is not always right. Sometimes we must look just beyond the surface for the deeper meaning of a word or a phrase or even a thought. I received my answer in the manner in which suits best for now. Charley is my shepherd. Whatever he was or was not to me in another life doesn’t really matter; I can only concern myself with what he is in this life- a mentor, a guide, a shepherd meant to keep me from harm.

Now that that is cleared up, I’m hopeful he will be just as forthcoming on the following clues.
…feet that are burning hot
…the vodka cranberry-drink, listen to what the bartender says
…the letter in the mail
(And this other clue, I was able to figure out on my own.)
…work on letting go of the event that occurred on Halloween

Got-it- message received!