Brownstonelit's Blog

1/26/2015

Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death, but I intend not to mourn but to celebrate her life as it is now…ethereal and perfect.

Last night I was shown a white feather, which I instinctively knew meant that a message of great importance or some significant piece of information would be brought to me within 24 hours. This morning my husband caught up on the mail and brought me a small package…something I had ordered from my last session with R.

It arrived, wrapped in cardboard piping with  eons of packing tape to protect its wayward edges and precious cargo. At first glance it said little to me other than the melancholy doodling’s of a man lost in his own demons and phantasies.

It was written in 1965…just after and just before. On its cover a road map to his kills. It was so clear that I almost missed it– so blatant that it was almost insult…so fiendishly clever that no one else has ever made the segue…until now.

Why?

Because fools of another nature were naive enough to think the dead do not display their deeds. Because they believed in their infantile megalomania that the poetry of the soul could disguise as it divulged the deeds of the demon. That it could protect the architect of the trinity and the engravings in blood.

Every year they came up and died upon the rocks.You used her finger…traced it with its bloody stump… a perfect match to the purple mountain’s majesty, sent out into the world by envelope and postcard to announce the arrival of all things red.

Not so clever now are we?

The tapestry has begun to unravel and X marks the spot…or shall we say…spots. So many I can barely keep count of them. Like a traveling Dalmatian who wandered the nation in search of a safe place to rest you have finally come home…not to where it all began, but it it all was inspired.

The Green Man would be pleased.

1/13/2015

It is difficult…this parsing and rationing of intellect. One part to my job, one part to my higher education, one part to spirit…and one part to the dissection of evil.

There is the sense of destiny to this year, that we have culled that which no longer works and now wait at the shores of our next big adventure with heightened pulse and baited breath. With the holidays past, my urge to nest is abating and being replaced by that cyclical restlessness that always fills the void between winter winds and budding flower.

Fascinated with the discovery of another opportunity, I have mentally taken on a new challenges that have wet my appetite for change and new discoveries. But is this just the seasonal wanderer in me talking… the frustrated traveler, or is this the harvest cycle of my life that is setting off bigger alarms that warn I am  running out of time to be daring? Is this the 999– an end to one chapter and the start of another?

2015 is meant to be a year for huge expansion; it is the numerical equivalent of 8– a year of attracting abundance, testing our grit and asking us to push the envelope open wide and walk through new doors to different spaces and attitudes. But are we…am I…prepared for what the universe is willing to offer? The romantic in me thinks so, but the reality is I have real bonds and ties that have not the same egotistical elasticity to make the distances and the sacrifices not matter.

My envelope as it were, has been stretched in a myriad of ways and even as I explode the margins of my world- I feel penned by the constraints of my own abilities and doubts. With the eruption of academics back into my life for a brief stay- I find myself mapping out the parameters of my experiences in terms of inches, not feet… in terms of papers, not passions and wonder…

Have I done myself an injustice to be so tied to scholastics at my age?

The desire to learn still burns, but the deadlines put me in a box, which hides within a bigger box of ambition…and its larger counterpart of gainful employment, encloses and cages them all. My life has become a mission, inside a mission, inside another, until it feels endless… this thread of obligatory responses and responsibilities and cycles.

Is it the endless fog this month, that blankets the lake and shields myself from the reality of my surroundings and my station in life? Is this what and where I am meant to be? And what is so different between what I have and what I seek, beyond distance and novelty? Why does fleeting security both comfort and condemn me?

I have watered views, blackened rock, rugged shoreline and shingled bunker…so what is it I need that I do not already share? Salted tongue and lobster traps? Painted houses that sit atop historic villages and kiss both sky and shore with histrionic flair? And what happens when that is not enough? Is this about a relocation of the body or a relocation of the psyche and the soul, and am I not already adept at both without even leaving this desk? Or is this more about the fear that I have not the internal fortitude to do and be the grander things in life? Am I simply baiting the universe as a way of taunting myself… to see if I still have what it takes to own my existence? For what is it I really want; change or the chance to discover I still have the confidence in my ability to change?

Am I reaching the point in my life where I balance the scales of my existence with comfort and stagnation, or do I fear I can no longer handle the dips and dumps of true and radical change… am I living or just counting down my days? And is this message even for me or is it spirit’s way of delivering such for somebody else who must receive it through me?

Something in the fog calls to something far more ancient within me that I cannot seem to name. Perhaps it is merely the cycle of frustrations that winter gridlock breeds familiar, the romanticism of internal alienation– the love of tainted verbiage or of the rallied frustrations  against the additional self-imposed rigors of academia, or…could it be the perceived stalemate in this case that begs dramatic and drastic movement? Energies build then back load and build again.

So how do I paint the canvas of this day? Shall I with bold strokes and wide brushes or with crafted tips and finely detailed feathering make this portrait of my 24 hour destiny my own? Or shall I forgo all vehicle of controlled expression and throw full cans of self against blank walls and see where the paint falls without my impending guidance? How daring that would be, to do so- without taint of agenda, without hint of control…without demand of expectation? And am I strong enough to be so brave as to release such a destiny to the universe- without so much as a moment’s consort? Am I that brave… or that naive to trust that the universe understands and shall play by the same rules- when I know inherently that it does not… cannot and should not?

Have you ever shared a day with a frustration you cannot name for it seems to invade every pore of your being and yet defines nothing of rational meaning?

Is this greed of ego or denial of soul? Is this reaching or settling? Is this forward motion or calculated retreat?

I have what I have and yet feel I am being asked to wait for something more- something far more tangible than what spirit has already gifted… in this case, in this life, in this moment. It is as though standing at the edge of the tracks and being asked which ticket I will buy when the train comes, all the while hearing the oncoming screams of its engines and yet without visual to confirm that this is my train to begin with. Can you hear it? The future rushing your way- unapologetic and hell bent on taking you with it or leaving you behind, buried within its dust?

The boards of the depot have begin the slight, almost undetectable shudder beneath my feet… the vibration of destiny approaching…the distant smoke of its engine just topping the horizon of trees in the distance and the need to make the decision of boldly becoming passenger or passive spectator before it reaches the dusty tracks before me.

Have I baited the universe with something I have no intention of following through on or has my subconscious seen fit to bypass ego’s doubting filters and do in the fog what I am unable to do in the clear? Can you reinvent yourself without real change… or is change just the trappings our mind needs to reinforce our ability to be what we already are?

Close you eyes…without being trite, where would you be this day in your perfect world? What would you be doing? Who would you take with you on this adventure… this journey? Now quick- write that down. Do not get bogged down in doubt and obligations of what you perceived yourself tied to. Now sit there for a moment and ask yourself…does it resemble where you are? If not… why?

Have you reached or have you settled?

I have been blessed in that my husband and partner in life continues to amaze me with his flexibility and desire to be wherever I am…no matter the confusion of my internal compass. It is a curious thing- this blind allegiance to my need for adventure and I applaud his wonderful calm of commitment and am always broadsided by who I think he is and who he really is.

We are the culmination of the thoughts and the decisions we have made and I am comfortable with what has transpired in my life– but I am not finished yet and stand at the edge of something I can feel but not yet grasp. We manifest that which we truly desire, so be careful your thoughts this day… this week… this month, for the universe might just surprise you this year with exactly what you have asked for. Are you ready to receive the gifts? Or have you asked for  something because you were certain you would never receive it? Or, because you counted on not receiving it? Have you planned for stagnation?

As you read, I hear your whispered concerns. Is she talking about the case…is it about her…is it about me?

Have you never had a day when you ask the shadows of your life to step into the open and be counted amongst the clarities of your life? When is it you are the truest to yourself… when you do what you do or when you do what you dream? And if you are lucky enough,as I have been to have it all and that much more…who the __________ are you to question it anyway?

The fog brings more questions this day than answers…and yet, I love the confusion it causes within my soul. It reminds me that even unguided or misdirected, the passion to be authentic still burns deep within and that the fantasies of youth, or the subconscious ties to another life do not fade with the patina of age or the temperance of obligation.

What has the fog brought you this day? What do you dream in the mist that you are afraid to outline in the clear?

Just a thought…

1/6/2015

A most happy and prosperous New Year to you all.

This past holiday season has been a very…how can I say this? Excellent escape, from my day to day life…from payday work…from office politics and from stifled thinking. While the weather was less than touristic, the lack of sunshine brought its own gifts with marvelous fog-scapes across the surface of the lake, enough rain to make the inside more inviting…just perfect for hours and hours of research and writing. It created the perfect atmosphere of, “I don’t care because I’m on vacation’ and yet, ‘everything matters, because I also know it will never last’.

The book is now at 400 pages and we have yet to finish scratching at the true surface of the ritualistic style killings of our unholy triad. Much to my surprise, another set of new names have graced the overlay of this case. How many more victims will surface before we finish with the Route 66 tour of our demented docents?

Do you know a Glenda…or a Dreanna? Apparently they did, although shortly after introductions…nobody ever would again. The more I learn the more of 20th century law enforcement, it frightens me that their seem to be those behind the badge who are truly gifted investigators and then there are the rest of them…doing the job, marking time…missing the finer points of intent. But then again, killers are not the same these days; their intents are more basic- primitive-banal…devoid of intellect and inspiration.

I may have been wrong about these killers in one sense. One has to almost awe at their staying power…their sense of dedication to detail and dogma. Unfortunately for them, it will also be their downfall. Dedication to detail breeds obsession…obsession breeds repetitive actions…repetitive actions breeds opportunity for patterns…patterns gifts us with segues…segues to identities. This is the chain of investigation; the chain that binds the victims to their killers and in turn provides those with keen enough eyes a chance to pick at the chinks in their armor.

Armored histories made of tiny bits of metal that connect motive to desired outcome…outcome to desired destiny… and destiny to divination. This is what will hang these men- those who still breathe and walk this earth. To them…think of your long life in the sunshine of freedom as Hell’s greatest gift; the longer you live free, the more you have to remember bound. Torture is always about confinement, but it can end that way.

Scholastic endeavors beckon next week and a new production calls–together they will eat away at the time I have to wander amongst my notes. Normally that would bother me- the crimping of time and yet, I have been promised that this lull will provide the space to make further discovery and connections that I can add to a larger arsenal of evidence for when the true battle begins. Thank God for attorneys and ideal readers- they keep the manuscript alive and in circulation behind the veil of full disclosure.

Looking at recently retrieved evidence, the patterns remind me of the punched slots on old time piano players scores, but the tune this piano plays will be like the sirens call to those who missed it the first go around. You see ritual is a double edged sword; sometimes quite literally.

You see…life is a series of ritualistic behaviors: brushing our teeth, tying our shoes, wiping ourselves when we’re done with the refuse of our existence. Killers are the same- they have patterns too- especially when they are done with the refuse of their existence.

That being said…I was warned that I will be be under somebody’s watched this month- spied upon if you will and I expect that, with so many agendas in the mix.

Our curiosities about one another are equal… the outcome I leave to spirit.

12/27/2014

Merry Christmas and a prospective Happy New Year to all my followers…

As promised, I have spent hours upon hours at both my desk, interspersed with those at the shooting range and continue to make great strides in both. Why do I advertise such? Because it pays for all adversaries to know they walk upon common ground. That being said, I embark on another mission in a few days and will be glad for the information it promises. As always, I am being led and have complete trust in the messenger. In the meantime I make the best use of already garnered evidence, follow my leads and reach out to those who have yet to give up their ghosts.

Pages once blank are filled now with information garnered through less than orthodox means and provide real traction for the final report which will be made to corresponding authorities. It may seem a slow haul, but I am methodical in my approach and do not rush to either garner fame or frustration…that is left for others more impatient who have different needs. Real justice, I have learned through Charley’s case, takes time and one must be careful to dot all their i’s and cross their t’s. To reveal a thing prematurely is to endanger those that have gifted it.

Timing is of the essence…patience not a virtue, but a must.

Christmas was bittersweet this year. Each year, each child gets older and their collective lives become less flexible than years before. Lovers and jobs eat away precious moments, decorations get older and their meaning becomes sweeter with each calendar passing and yet… if they are seldom viewed…what is the point?

Last night I lay awake, watching the lights twinkle from the rails…colored rays dancing beneath the stars…reminding me of childhood miracles and I began to wonder. When do attics full of yesterdays memories begin to collect the dust of middle age? When does believing become passe?  As I look out upon the lake, I worry that the magic of the holidays becomes thinner each year as the workload becomes greater to carry them off… and then I see the smiles of my children and it all feels worth it again.

So today, with all the rush behind us- I will just enjoy the moments left, the twinkling lights, the soggy Christmas cookies and the forensics of the holidays. I shall forget about the plastic bins that tomorrow will haul it all away and the scholastics that await me just weeks from now.

But today? Today I am free of chores and work goes on and as I wait for where spirit will lead us all next.

The book’s title has changed from its working title, The Harvest to what must now become its publishable moniker…The Law of the Harvest, as too many victims now crowd the pages. What once began as a local tragedy has morphed into a collective scream. No longer is this a single harvest, but  a series of generational harvests.

Be patient my dear readers, for I cannot share even as I am wont to do so. Unlike the killers, I can keep my ego in check and hold my secrets without contempt for those who are wont to pry them lose. Again, timing is of the essence…patience not a virtue, but a must.

Just know that justice has a plan and that the book and the path chosen by spirit while writing it  will amaze you.

Merry Christmas…

12/23/14

Today, 23 years ago God gave me the best Christmas present ever…my youngest child.

Bearing that in mind, today will be a day of celebration filled with laughter and hugs. For those who have lost their children to senseless murder…these days are lost to them and my heart breaks for you.

This is why I do what I do.

I can never bring your child, your brother, your sister or your mother or father back in this space and time, but my efforts might  help  you navigate the details of their death and find meaning within the lessons they gifted in their passing. Together perhaps, we can  hopefully replace pain with understanding and acceptance…for this is what they gift me as they lead.

Take for instance the 8th victim of the Columbus Strangler, Mary Sue Ogletree…odds are we would never have crossed paths in this lifetime…but her introduction to this case has been priceless. As to the 7th victim of the Boston Strangler, Sophie Clark who comes through with passion and sarcasm? If we had met in this space would we have connected? Probably not, though I would have enjoyed her witty and salty banter.

And what of the 11th victim of the Atlanta child murders? Do you honestly think that little Earl Terrell and I would have shared a conversation on the streets of the inner city? And what of those victims who have yet to even be categorized, like Lisa Sanders? Having not been invited to the party that cold December night, we would never have met and yet…here we are…partners in a most awkward adventure.

Still, even as fate has kept us all apart in life it has provided segue in death and spirit has forged a common cause between us all…to find and name their killers.

And this is why spirit is so necessary. It fills the gaps between fact and fiction, truth and supposition. Divine intervention reminds us of the divinity of the souls that have been lost…harvested, if you will in this case of bizarre and unholy liaisons.

This case, which really is comprised of many cases continues to flood my days and haunt my nights…but it is in those hours that I am granted the observations of patterns and irregularities that over time become bread crumbs to the killers doorsteps.

The bread crumbs come in many forms; interviews, files, photographs, visions, hard and anecdotal evidence…intuition and sessions with my friend and colleague, Spencer.

This day I reach out and ask that members of those families…if they find this blog, reach out and contact me. Apart we sufferer the ills of doubt unnecessarily…together we move this forward to fruition.

I am here waiting…always waiting.

12/19/2014

‘Tis the season…

I am a firm believer that God places those people in our paths at the exact moment of our necessity and in perfect alignment with our divine purpose. This day I have been given a great gift and in gratitude will do my best to honor said alignment. Those of you familiar with my others books or directly with me, know that my approach to an investigation employs both secular and divine guidance. Does one outweigh the other or belittle or degrade the other?

Never.

God asks of each of us to use our talents and our gifts; when we deny or minimize them we leave a precious miracle on the table meant to help not only ourselves, but others as well, to evolve into  wiser souls and to follow more fulfilling directions our creator granted.

Does this sound too religious? Not really. What gritty cops call “a gut feeling”, I call intuition and spirit guidance. Do we reach the same conclusions? Most of the time…no. Why? Because spirit brings another element to intuition that ego often forgoes…faith.

For several weeks information surrounding this case has been generous and the research most fruitful. In fact, two days ago I heard my angel song and those of you who read the previous book knows that whenever that happens, evidence and/or information unseen and unknown before becomes available to me through guidance and patience.

Did it?

Yes…

Can I share it with you?

No…

Will I share it with you?

No…

Why?

Spirit isn’t finished yet.

We are now in the phase that plagues so many wanna-be investigators. The phase where there is both enough and not enough and where others have walked away…faith bids me stay. Just like water seeks its own level, so justice seeks its own timing and its own path to fruition.

Today another path has been presented…tomorrow I follow its lead and the day after that, and the day after that, and…

To that someone who posted on a national site: “Yesterday was the anniversary of my sister’s…praying for a miracle…please contact…”

Answer the call. Read the email. Accept the request, but be prepared.

As Betty Davis once said, “Hold on tight…It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”

12/10/2014

Last night they showed me an open paint can filled with red paint.

This morning they showed me a license plate with the numbers 3, 6 and 7 on it. When I looked in my angel number book for the corresponding number and verse, a red wrapper from a wayward Tootsie Pop was there as a marker. Now why do I collect Tootsie Pop wrappers?

I don’t… at least not all of them. But I do collect the ones that have Indians on them. Why? Because when I was  a child, if you got one with an Indian on it- you could go to the local grocer to exchange it and  get a free one in return! (BTW’s… I’m just saying Tootsie Pops should go back to that!!!)

And why is all this important? What do an open paint can and a Tootsie Pop wrapper have in common with a set of serial killings?

First of all…because they were both RED ! Secondly, because the Indian had a bow and arrow in his hands… an Indian is a hunter. And why is that important?

If you know why… then you understand, so do I and that places us at extreme odds. Only difference? I have law enforcement on my side…just waiting.

I know that you might feel I have not been as attentive to writing this blog since working on this new case…but it seems as though the Columbus Strangler was just the introduction to the real scope of this case, which is so voluminous that I have yet to reach the final parameters of its tentacles. And even though it has metastasized into this monstrous beast… I have to thank the first victim that came through for her gift…Mary Sue.

Why her and what was her gift, you ask? Her very introduction to me– through another researcher last March– held a greater clue than I could have ever imagined possible, which led me to another set of clues.

So here’s to Columbus and Mary Sue… and R!

And where did Columbus’s set of serial killings lead me to?

Hmmm…

So what do I want for Christmas this year?

More time at the shooting range and more time to write!

BTW… don’t come down the chimney this year Santa. It would be much safer for you to just to ring the doorbell–stand back from the door and into the light so we can see your face…clearly!

I’m just saying…they have a sketch of you already so I’m fairly certain they will recognize you and they have waited a long time to be introduced to you!

11/25/2014

Forgive my absence.

I cannot tell you where I have been, nor all the things discovered for many reasons. There is a new level to this case; another level that has been breached. A level that exceeds every known and unknown scenario…every plausible outcome…every wild, untested supposition. The Columbus Stocking Strangler was just a gateway to the secrets of Boston, California, and the Florida Keys.

To you who wears the ascot, smokes the occasional pipe and wears his cowboy boots to gather his paper… I know who you are and so do others now. Soon the whole world will know and here are just some of the reasons why:

8 shots

red socks

rock quarry

the river

Oakland

two keys

Star of Thelema

RED

Boston

Christmas

Halloween

turkey knife

the falcon

the trinity

the opera bags

the dog hair

the fibers

the 408 cipher

18 letters

1988

Oz

pine trees

blue holes

no name… your name

You figure it out!

THE HARVEST…coming to publication soon!

11/2/2014

Have I hit a brick wall?

Outside the water has slowed its churned schedule to a dull lullaby of rolling breaks, in the wake of yesterday’s storms. Rarely has a Halloween been so weathered and wild as this year’s and yet with the eruption of dispersive and divisive activities, generated by the chaos of temporized change just hours before it…how could it have been any other way? The winds whipped, the water churned and the waves of discontent slammed upon the shores of my proverbial calm with a violence not seen in years…and I am not just talking about waves upon my beach. The universe has demanded change of those who did not give of it willingly and did so without regret or compassion. I was merely caught within the undertow of their metamorphosis.

Momentum recently created by other escalating events I am unable to discuss right now, suddenly have hit a wall as well…or at east it feels that way. It is a perverse reverse and I am paused to ask if the universe is preparing me for something else?

The dream spoken of in the last blog was real and and as implied its location as well. I understood its connection immediately to other murders suspected of being connected to this new square which has erupted from the fledgling  triangle begun by the killers from Columbus… but something I read earlier today has left me questioning the power of my additional segue.

Sometimes discerning what it is spirit wants you  to discover for yourself  gets confused with the information already provided as thread and I find myself doubting if the additional segue is real or manufactured. The triangle of murders that bring our dynamic duo out of the shadows of Columbus and into the lights of Boston and San Fransisco were elongated to include Florida and yet, opinion vets another understanding of events and outcomes. Therefore, the victims of those murders must step forward and do a better job of granting access to the details of their demise. I need more information…more guidance from them to help make the connections stick. The gauntlet must then be thrown down.

I wish I could share more with you, but if you knew what I was talking about…you would decline further involvement and I need you to stay with me as I walk this thing through. The universe is not finished with this case in the same way it is not yet finished with Charley’s either and I cannot move forward on either without further assistance from the cosmos.

October brought many challenges… but the veil has thinned and I must take advantage of what the other side is now graciously trying to offer. Victims must have a vested interest in their own ethereal evolution for all to move forward.

I cannot be the delay that keeps them from their appointed date with justice and so for that reason, I ask that hidden evidence and information be brought forth and soon.  I have but a few weeks before I must return to the structures of scholarly pursuit and my time will then be abridged once more and my availability for discovery eclipsed.

For Charley, for Jessica, for Roxanne, for Mary Sue, for Sophie and now for Sherry too…time flies!

Find Spencer!

10/29/2014

Last night I had a dream…

Earlier in the week they had talked about messages and to pay attention to your dreams. Recent events and information have begged for more details in my investigations.

Last night I had a dream. They showed me walking down a street, embroidered with exotic flowers and variegated foliage. Casually strolling towards a downtown area,  the sidewalk was old and cracked from tree roots which threaded their way from crumbled curbs to yard lines. As I reached the corner, I approached the side wall of a building. The brick was lighter in color than the traditional red I am used to in Georgia- the dirt in the less grassy areas of the yards before me, more sandy colored. As I reached the end of the sidewalk, I turned and looked to my left. Large white letters ran across the brick: Key Pine Library.

Odd as it may seem, my first impression of the building and its conglomeration of white block letters was  that it was going to be a Post Office…but the letters formed the word, Library and not Postal Office.

I am being ask to divine the meaning and feel certain it has to do with this case and recent associations  between my Columbus duo and some new found information. Am I uncertain of the link? No…that part spirit has made perfectly clear. What I am more interested in, is there more information from another victim trying to come true?

I know how this works. First they get my attention through a vision or dream. Then they let me sit with the images presented for a day or two to ponder their meaning or to further review the details imparted and make preliminary connections to my current activities or discoveries. Next, I begin to dig deeper in the direction they show. I may get an epiphany that connects their images with my information…or I get a call… or a letter… or a piece of evidence from someone or somewhere, which helps explains what the vision had portended.

That brings to mind another curiosity from yesterday. While hanging drops in the theatre, a person helping me suddenly pulled out a measuring tape to help set the chains equidistant to one another. Why is that so curious? Because the end of the measuring tape metal tab…was magnetic! It stuck to the pipe we were hanging on. Now, in your world that means nothing. In my world, that screamed a connection to a crime scene which involved a set of keys on a magnet key chain that were stolen from the victim.

So now we have the impressions of a magnetic key chain- from a victim who was murdered in California and the mention of a library on Pine Key in Florida.

I find it rather interesting that today is the 29th. If spirit follows suit as usual, two days from now I will receive more information. Two days from now will be Halloween.

It should be a very interesting and unsettling day!

Stay tuned…