Brownstonelit's Blog

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.

7/30/2014

Just finished a short session with R.

Having an Ah-ha moment that feels more like a heart attack!

Did you just feel the earth shift an inch or two?  A tear in the cosmos… a rip that separated the veils just long enough to make the link possible?

It started in Boston with ____________ and ran all the way out to, ___________ in California.

Did you feel it out there too?

You should have!

7/29/2014

I have so much to plow through, but life continues to put a foot in my path. So busy with business and social obligations, my hours have been limited this past week and I have been struggling to find both quiet and space to get things out of my head and down on paper. Yesterday while walking to my office a small bird crossed my path and in his wake, he left a small black feather. The combined symbolism of a forthcoming message, perhaps about death. I smiled knowing that it meant the universe was giving me a heads up that important information was on its way.

And indeed, just hours later it arrived!

What’s that you say?

Someone I thought dead is still very much this side of the veil?

Now that’s quite a message for such a small bird!

So let’s chat a bit…

Yesterday afternoon I received a call that garnered some very important information that I believe may provide greater link between the Boston Strangler and the Columbus Strangler cases. While I cannot give you specifics, I will let you know that the more I weave my way through this legal tapestry of buffalo chips and hogwash about Mr. Gary, the more I am amazed that the citizens of Columbus bought into it so heavily back in 77/78 and even more astounded that the courts itself, allows such hog-swallow to continue still. In the 70’s DNA was foreign to the local-yocals who called themselves the law. But not now, in 2014— so who are you kidding?

Lack of a positive DNA match today is the Willy Wonka golden ticket to freedom for the innocent and the ticket to Hell for the positive match. So why is the issue of unmatched DNA between Carlton Gary and the victim’s of the Columbus stranglings being held out of the mix in this case?

Shall we ask the DA? Many have so far and she has yet to render a cohesive statement that rationalizes the disregard of such.

Surely she has a good excuse to ignore the facts in this case? The DNA,  the bite mark molds and the shoes?

A friend of mine once said murder is always about one of three things:

A woman.

Money.

And a woman.

Maybe he’s right?

Corruption allows for everybody to join the party.

But for now, let’s ask the big white elephant question sitting atop the chest of these victims?

Why wouldn’t a District Attorney allow every piece of evidence to carry its weight in a life or death trial?

The shoe mold?

The bite mold?

The DNA?

Who is being protected and who is doing the protecting?

Dig an inch or so deeper into the backgrounds of your key players at the time and you see some folks knew other folks…some folks did business with other folks…some folks had Godmothers and some the metaphorical Godfather.

So who is the Don in this case and why does he carry so much weight this many decades later?

Secrets, my dear readers.

Everybody had them then…has them now.

Secrets that the echelon could not afford to have been made public to you back then…the parties, the trysts, the togas and the masquerades. Who was tied to who; figuratively and literally? Why sleep with your wife if your neighbor would do? Why sleep with a woman at all, if your wife never knew?

California crept upon your sidewalks and dripped rainbows across your lawns and you never saw the truth of what he was doing. He smiled, you listened. You loved his taste, his sense of style…his pseudo sophistication. You casually invited him into your homes and your yards without the slightest thought of why he cared about your Boxwoods or your Hollies. Why this window faced this way and that window that way…who liked to play his silly games and who liked to watch. Who drank the pots of coffee and who placed their grounds around your petunias? Was it for the flowers or for the dogs? Only the Strangler knows for sure.

The Strangler who sat on an orange and brown couch, amidst a puff or two of toking bliss and relived your visits with another. How he held your hand, accepted your drinks, talked about your silverware then bashed your head, moved you from bed to floor and back again as you cried and screamed that you did not understand his anger. Why were you such worthless pawns? He tried to tell us all…it wasn’t really about them. It was about perverse passions…occult obsessions…misguided worship and betrayals. Jesse James and John Wilkes Booth! Oh how they would cry at what has been done to their beloved initiation rituals. RC Christian would take back his gold and knock  down the granite walls of Elberton if the world knew the truth of what they’d done. Such follies! You knelt upon their chests, said your three words and walked away…your freedom bought with the souls and ambitious associations of those on high and an inconvenient black man whose finger prints never even matched. Howdy Doody does law in Southern Georgia!

Times were very volatile in Columbus during those murders and so many of you were frightened that you too could become a headline in a newspaper; so frightened in fact that you were willing to forgo your common sense for false security.  Your cops apparently felt the same way too, otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to cram the latent scapegoat Carlton Gary down your throats years later. They would have gone straight to the source to gather the guilty. They would have bound their hands and dragged them in. The Judas goat, tidy in his ascot…would gavotte about the streets of Broadway and proclaim his innocence, but you…you would have known that three knots does not an innocent man make, nor a gas lamp a European lodge.

You want to know who really killed your elderly women, Columbus?

Look to the pillars…the stars…the guide stones and the tunnels under your feet…all perfectly appointed by your Columbus Strangler.

7/25/2014

Last night I pulled out several research files that I have been gathering on the Boston Strangler and crawled into bed with  over 100 pages of gruesome details about the victims and their individual crime scenes.

Now why, you might ask, am I looking at that when I am supposed to be working on the Columbus Strangler case? Because if you took away the names and the addresses of the female victims…they almost read the same. Each suffered horrific tortures before strangulation with similar ligatures, brutal rapes, stabbings for some and yes, burglary type staging of almost all of the crime scenes…even though nothing was ever taken. Curious enough, a few witnesses were able to come forward with their information and told police what they had seen and observed; down to the physical description of a certain person of interest who was sketched from witness statements and interviews.

DeSalvo was a dark headed, large nosed ethnic caricature. Nobody chose him as a positive match. Our POI matched other descriptions that stated:

‘Someone in the hallway… someone who knocked on their door…this person had honey colored hair…thin nose…almond shaped eyes…young white male …approximately 25 years of age and positioned himself as a student in one of the unsuccessful attempts early on. Interestingly enough, this same POI had tied a woman up, saw himself in a mirror and then could not go through with it. Oddly, he apologized… told her to be quiet for 10 minutes so that he could escape and then just before he escaped, he said the strangest thing…

He asked the victim to forgive him and said, please don’t call the police because he would be in so much trouble. He said his mother would never forgive him and would refuse to finish paying for his education. This is IMPORTANT.

Note that he said, “MOTHER”. Why is this so very important? When you read my book, THE HARVEST, (Copyright 2014) you will understand why.  Most people would have said his FATHER would have refused to finish paying for his/her education…but not my POI. He had some very serious reasons why that would never have come out of his mouth. Reasons I cannot share with you at this point.

So let’s take a closer look again at the Boston Strangler case. All but one of the victims murdered, lived and/or worked in the Back Bay area of Boston during that time of terror.

What else was in that same area?

How about the Back Bay Olmsted Gardens?

So what does gardening have to do with tying the two the two serial killings together?

Hmmmm…Columbus. Now that’s a good question, isn’t it? Other than MO’s of the crimes, what else connects these two landmark tragedies in our nation’s history?

The killer.

Guess who else was in the Back Bay area of Boston back in 1964, living and working very close to this area who also lived and worked in Columbus at the same time in 1977/78?

DeSalvo was called the Boston Strangler- but was never tried for the crimes. He confessed to them and then years recanted his confession…awkwardly enough, just before his own murder took place inside the infirmary of  a prison, less than 24 hours before he was about to tell a local psychologist and a reporter a huge secret. Ironically, he was stabbed to death.

Decades later, two different DNA tests told a different story. Using DNA from the final victim and alleged killer, they claimed one was a positive match between victim and DeSalvo and another test of the two DNA collections which proved he was not the killer in that specific murder.

So who do we believe?

What do we trust?

And who is still alive or dead to tell us the truth?

Don’t you just love riddles?

7/21/2014

As I work on this case, I remain cognizant that one of the victims was my age and a few closer to my mother’s age, at the time of her passing.  The more I see and the more I know about the details of these murders [Columbus Stranglings]  after reading police reports and court transcripts, the more I am grateful that my mother was never asked to suffer such tortures or indignities in her final days. Also, I am happy that our family was not left with half truths to salve their wounds- the kind of moth-eaten truths that riddle the prosecutions case in this matter.

You cannot have hair and seminal fluids-DNA from a victim that does not match the convicted [Carlton Gary] and call this thing solved- no matter how much you might need it to warp that way.  Nor can you convict another man of a crime, when you ply little more than hearsay and desire to convict him. So I ask you, if you have DNA from a jacket that a person had just bought at a Goodwill Store- is it possible that DNA from the original owner might still be on it? Hmmmm… possible.

And just like in Cinderella; if you had a white sandal from a crime scene that had blood on it… wouldn’t you test it for a DNA to confirm  a positive match to the victim, and maybe even check to see if you could get a positive to match to the killer?

And what about matching a bite mold or a shoe mold to the convicted?

Shouldn’t these things matter in a court of law when you are talking about execution?

But even more than all that?

Wouldn’t you do your homework if the MO of one convicted serial killer was identical to that of another serial killer?

This weekend was filled with rain and clouds and while normally that would have put me off– still being summer–I found I welcomed the mist as an insurance to keep me house bound and focused on the manuscript. As I worked with my notes, the energy of my father was very present and he made himself known about the house. On Saturday morning, a very sentimental and special symbol for him fell from the dining room hutch onto the floor before me. Later that day I found an old pack of photographs that were not titled. When I opened and pulled out the  first photo… it was him sitting on a couch from our farm and smiling.

That night when I went to bed, the photo  on my nightstand  fell just after I had turned out the light. When I turned the light back on, the photo was right there looking at me…both parents, both smiling.

Take a moment this day to see the signs that fall about your feet everyday- take note of those messages from your loved ones past.

Listen and they will find a way to communicate.

7/18/2014

With the full moon past and the weight of another production upon my shoulders, I am oft limited to leisure or research pursuits. Will all of July flow so unruly? No… days from now I shall have the pleasure of diving back into the necessary documents and notes from a recent trip  to further crafting of the next novel. Already begun, I can see the longer road of discover stretch before me and it makes me both eager and hesitant. School begins just three weeks from now and while I am anxious to complete my degree, so much of busy work goes into my hours that there are never enough to go around.

The case of the Stocking Strangler beckons to me throughout the day and haunts me at night. For several days, I have had the luck of  complete submersion into its world and indeed it is both lurid and fascinating.  Can there be such a thing as intellectual perversion? These animals stalked their pray and then executed their needs with such calculated objectivity, it is almost admirable. Each victim selected, courted and then killed…not courted in the romantic sense, but courted in the…’let me calm your fear s and lull you into a false sense of security’  kind of way.

I am most interested in the eighth and final Columbus victim in particular as she has steeped forward and offered her help to bring her killer to justice. Hers is almost a case of ease. Do they have the wrong man on trial for her murder? Oh, yes indeed. From the lips of the victim herself, she has stated that her murder was somehow related to a business dealing; a business dealing gone bad. Did Mary Sue have a business at that time? No…but her brother did and so that is where we begin.

Looking at the crime scene photos is disturbing, if you concentrate only on the overall graphics…but if you concentrate on the other clues in the photo, is begins to speak a language of its own. From its gore, we must extract its mystery and information. Mary Sue has much to say, and she does…over and over.

The killers were all about the occult, which is something that law enforcement seems to have overlooked..conveniently or otherwise. In order to catch a serial killer you must think from his world- not from yours. This case dances among some of the most glorified and deified secret societies and has such symbolism and black magik attached to it, that I almost fear inviting some of it into my home. Already the tiny white dog that loves to converse with Charley and my parents on occasion form the couch in my office or the floor of our bedroom has begun a new kind of chatter which leads me to believe that I have new ethereal visitors at the lake house who have much to tell. I pray that they are here to help and not to intervene for adversity’s sake. Only once has she growled deep within her chest and so only once have I reached for the rosary that lies beside my computer.

Talk to me Mary Sue, for I can no longer turn back to the hours of innocence before your murder. I have seen the shredded flesh of your throat…gazed upon your lifeless body and studied the scars of bloody fingers that cut across the threshold of your kitchen door.  Talk to me Mary Sue. Together, you and I will put name to his face, sentence to his deed and justice to his soul.

I wait with baited breath to hear what they have to say.

7/11/2014

Yesterday was indeed a day full of messages; one very poignant from my mother, which involved a woman waking down the street in front of me who had a tattoo on her back that intrigued me. Unable to distinguish if the tattoo was of a lotus flower, I simply stopped her to ask what it was. She informed me that it was the poppy flower, with a small fairy emerging from inside it. Immediately my mind identified the little waif, but afraid that this woman’s youth had not ever engaged such… I asked its significance. She replied the image was from the wonderfully enchanting book, The Velveteen Rabbit. My heart skipped a beat! When I asked what her connection to the storybook was – she said it had been a favorite of hers as a child- that her mother had read it to her every night of her youth and then when her mother became very ill a few years ago…she had read it to her mother everyday until she died. In memory, she got the tattoo. She said the tattoo was a constant reminder of the book, her “real” relationship with her mother in the final days and the adage of the wise old skin horse which explained to the young rabbit what it is to ‘become real’.

The wise old skin horse tried to explain to the broken-hearted little bunny that had been pushed aside for a newer toy with wind up parts, that moving parts and bright shiny metal was not all it was cracked up to be…that in time such toys would break and the little boy would become bored with them. He encouraged the little rabbit to be patient and to wait, knowing that in time the boy would return his attentions to the little  toy. With love and imagination, the boy would forget that the velveteen rabbit had no real hind legs and they would play and hop together in the garden and then after the sun would set…they would hold each other tight and he could snuggle down under the covers and keep the boy warm at night. The little rabbit so wanted to become ‘real’ for the boy and asked the old skin horse how such a  nursery magic could be his.

The wise old skin horse looked down upon the tiny toy and smiled…

“When a child has loved you for a very, very long time…you become real. But by that time, most of your fur has been rubbed off, your arms and legs don’t work so well and some of your body parts might be missing… but it will never matter, because to him you are real.”

The little rabbit wished that the nursery magic would happen to him, but hated that it came with such a price.

Becoming real involves getting older, losing one’s hair or fur…having joints that squeak or refuse to work at all… it comes with saggy bottoms, misshapen arms and legs, along with  a dimming of the brightness in our eyes. Becoming real takes a long, long time.

The young woman told me watching her mother go through an illness and being at her side through it all had made her appreciate the “art” of becoming real and she wished to honor that. I thought of my mother and her bravery and kindness in the end- she too had become real. But then she had always been real to me, even in her youth and my naivete.

I caught my reflection in a storefront window and paused before speaking further. My reflection said it all… I too was becoming real.  I smiled at the wise old skin horse inside myself- heard my mother’s gentle voice and decided to be kinder to the woman I had become. A small laugh built inside and then suddenly I blurted out to the woman, that being post menopausal, I completely understood what it meant to become real. Each morning I stand before a mirror, put on my glasses so I can see. Once on, I more clearly notice the multiplying crows feet gathering in the corners of my eyes– which of course I claim are from  laughing a lot in my life. Then as I looked downward at the rest of me, I could only sigh and wonder what the Hell time had done to my once youthful body!

“Here’s to becoming real!” I said and we shared an impromptu hug. In that moment I realized that my mother had reached out through her and her mother  had reached out through me… all because of  my insatiable curiosity about this woman’s tattoo.

The meeting was more delightful and significant than she could have possibly known! Why?  Because the book had been my childhood favorite too and my mother and I had shared a special bond over it all through her remaining life. In fact, my first Christmas home after my parents had moved to New Orleans, and I was left behind in Chicago at the age of 18…I awoke to a special present under the tree. It was a newer book of the Velveteen Rabbit, accompanied by an actual stuffed velveteen rabbit tucked inside  a huge red stocking, filled with a clockwork mouse, an orange or two and other trinkets- just like it was presented in the storybook! It was the best present ever!

Oh what a grand Christmas that was and true to my nature…I still have that very rabbit 38 years later! Just as my mother had grown older and become real, I sense now that I too am beginning that bittersweet journey to real. The meet-cute on the street in the middle of the day in Athens, Georgia had been remarkable and filled with such sentimentality, that I immediately made a call to two of my sisters to share my joy. It  was the most authentic message of love and remembrance from my mother I had received in a long time.

So my dear female readers…let us not be so hard on ourselves when life sneaks up behind us to share a few more memories, along with the few extra pounds that come with them. Let us rather rejoice when our bottoms sag just a bit and accept with kindness and grace our fates when our hair color defies our inner youth; for we too are becoming real and that only happens when we have lived and loved a very long, long time.

I am 56 years old…I am losing some of my fur, my bottom sags just a bit here and there are a few of my body parts that don’t all work the way they used to, but by God ladies…my eyes are just as bright as they have ever been, my mind even more sharp, because I am wiser! My curiosity is just as fired up as it has ever been and I, my dear readers- have just begun to become real!

So to all the woman I know who have crossed over 55…with grace and aplomb, I applaud you for becoming real!

7/10/2014

Today will be exceptional. Why?

I awoke with a specific song in my head… numbers were shown to me throughout my slumber… pennies on the ground at my car door… the car that was at the stop sign in front of me as I left the lake,  had a  tag on it with the title embossed in chrome letters which spelled out the name,  “Spirit Walker.”  As if that weren’t enough, when I smiled and turned on the radio, a song was just beginning.  The first line of the song?

“How do you talk to an angel?”

I laughed and said, “Just like this…Good morning angels. How can I be of service today?”

July is a crazy month. As fast as things may have moved forward on day 1, there will be several speed bumps here and there, due to the lingering shadow effects of the waning Mercury retro-grade that has just left the skies- but we are being asked to persist and to recognize that these bumps are short term delays–hiccups– built in to your path, so that you can reassess where you are and edit out things that are still left to be purged. Get rid of past baggage: old worn out patterns, thoughts, emotions and fears–toxic relationships that have held your momentum to move forward back. June signals the end of the first half of the year and July, the better foot forward into the future.

The first half of the month will beckon us to move forward- jump starts us to our true mission. The second half begins to smooth out the rougher edges of our experiences throughout the first half of the year and then picks up speed; almost throwing us into new situations that requires us to stand in our truths, use what we have learned and demands that we plow a new path. A sort of– put up or shut up. We have all asked for certain things and now the universe is telling us, you have learned the skills, honed your intuition- now get out there and use it! The universe is opening doors for us all- so pay attention to the signs and partnerships being offered. And please understand that  the word, “partnership” is not meant to be  construed only as romantic- so do not get blinded thinking if you are already in a relationship that this does not apply to you. Partnerships can be about collaborations-on different kinds of projects,  business dealings or colleagues entwined for a common cause… all these are possible and are coming your way. Do not shy away from challenges out of fear of not being ready. Jump and the universe will catch you.

One of my particular challenges in this, my life harvest cycle, is to work with others and to be more open to collaboration… a true challenge for any Taurus, as we are most comfortable left alone to plow the fields ourselves.

For myself, ( a true Taurean) I am being asked to focus energies on my divine purpose and follow the many signs being placed in my path by spirit…to stand still for a moment both today and in the days ahead to listen to what is being shared… to trust that the process of random information in this case is being presented in the way the universe has divined most necessary for the highest good of all involved…including both victim and killer(s).

Interestingly enough; a specific Tarot reading I prescribe to for Taurus, shows that at the end of this month, I will be asked to make a choice– a very important choice. Though it hints at what it may be about, I am yet uncertain as to how it will apply to me and what it is between or what it all entails. It could be about a life path,  a career path or a project or something altogether different. Information continues to flow, one element- one clue at a time. The puzzle presented in this case is fascinating and alarming. It is hard  not to try to control the situation, steer the ship of this myself. Like all true bulls, I like to plow a  filed with order. Like all other instances in my life- God prefers the order of His design, which to my small purview appears as absolute chaos! So, that is also my challenge–to let God design the “how” the information will unfold and by whom it will come into fruition. My job is just to be open and wait…and watch for more signs.

The work on this next book asks of me a greater understanding of the esoteric than previously required- to dig deeper into the psychology of  a serial killer’s mind and try to understand and navigate his world, his hurts, his anger and his method of release. Unlike the more  primitive motivations of the perpetrators in Charley’s case, there is another layer of pseudo intellectualism to this/these  killer(s) that I must not ignore if I am to recognize all the clues they have left behind.

Knowing that this may be one of those, “put up or shut up” experiences the universe is throwing at me, I have asked Source and spirit to stay at my side. Even an invitation has been mentally mailed out to Charley to accompany me through this new adventure as both guide and comforting companion. I trust that he, along with the victims in this case will continue to speak through R to me and help me find the best way to serve them all.

So, “Hello angels…Hello Charley,  Hello victims, Hello again, R! How about, we make a deal? How about you start up another conversation on this case and I will continue to do my best and keep up with the shorthand of the dead?”

In truth, they have already begun sharing, but I need more to help move this forward as two men I believe to be innocent of the crimes committed in this case, still wait on DEATH ROW.

As I stated before, spirit has been busy at work, dotting my days with all kinds of visual and auditory signs. Take for instance, the Tarot for Taurus in the “challenge position” this month, (according to a specific reading) shows a man ; a King of Cups figure  that appears to have a greater interest into his own interests and intentions this month, than mine. I am to be keenly aware of this energy. Other parts of the reading spoke of  this kind of  shadow archetype as potentially being tied to the “arts.”  (NOTE: Not all arts are about painting, It can be about visual or performing arts…or even the dark arts.) It spoke of how such a person of interest, who bears this shadow side of a King of Cups archetype, may entice me…lure my attentions away to the shadow side of this card. By way of example, the name of Alleister Crowley was mentioned. I was somewhat shocked that out of thin air- this man’s name was chosen, though I shouldn’t have been. Spirit was obviously trying to get my attention, so I continued to listen.

Moments later in that same reading, the history of the Tarot was highlighted. Again, my ears perked! This reading spoke about the origins of the Tarot;  the secret occult of The Golden Dawn was mentioned- nay, credited for the salvaging  and protection of  the Tarot during its early underground existence. The OGD was admired for its preservation efforts and for its efforts to return the secretes of the Tarot back into the light of society; once it was deemed safer and more socially acceptable to do so.

Now why do I mention the random occurrence of these two very specific things tucked inside one reading?

Because my dear readers…spirit was throwing me at the wall of discovery and hoping I would stick!  This case is full of the occult influence- namely, Alleister Crowley- not to mention , The Golden Dawn. These are but two energies and associations that flood the veins of this case  and give it oxygen to endure. Several occult influences abide in this case: KGC, the OTO and the OGD.

If you do not know what these stand for…maybe you should consider yourself  lucky.

If not…

Do your homework children…the game is now truly afoot!

7/7/2014

Remember this day, oh dear citizen…not for what remains hidden…but for what has been revealed!

As the sun sets in the East, a star is discovered in the West and her name be what?

He that can write, but cannot spell can tell…but will he?

He has already done so, but old now cannot remember his own folly

He packs his bags, throwing caution to the wind…sending symbols and sigils  into the air.

He is one of them…John Wilkes Booth, John Surrat and Jesse James. They plotted and planned and built pillars of gold to  set the stage for the WILL of the people.

But whose people?

The people of Columbus?

7/6/2014

Tomorrow holds great spiritual significance…July 7, 2014. Why?

July is the 7th month, 7th is the 7th day of the month and 2014 adds up to the number 7 = 777

In angel numbers that means that you are on track in every area of your life, and that is a beautiful thing. Today however, it is still the 6th and that comes with its own blessings. Again, why? Because now that Mercury retrograde and its shadow effects are waning, blissful and meaningful movement on all fronts is being achieved. This includes my research and findings on the Columbus Strangler case of 1977.

Oh Columbus…there is so much there that lies hidden to the untrained eye and yet, that is exactly what they are counting on. Who are they? Well, they are what’s left of an underground brotherhood who borrowed secrets, gold and rituals from the ancients and  a few of  history’s misfits and then pasted them on the sidewalks and backyards of your historic districts as decoration and distraction. They hi-jacked the movement of the ancients to provide vehicle for their own twisted perversions and then wrapped them up in fur and a new world order to give them sanction…but what did they really change?

They asked to reduce the world populous to a number befitting their needs…encrypted it in foreign tongue, aligned it with the stars and paid for it with Confederate gold. High atop another hill it sits as tribute, but whose population did they begin to decrease first? Yours- by 7…the women and several more of the queens of Wynnton who fell prey to consequence. As the ancients might say and the local gods would agree,  ‘As above, so below?’  Who traveled St. Elmo in the night  by foot and measured his steps by 9 and 1/2 ? Who not only bit the hand that fed him, but the breast as well? Who bought the lanterns from across the pond, when they could have been purchased down the street? Who could afford the authenticity of their perversion and understood the  connection of White Chapel Station, where Jack the Ripper plied his trade and then retreated to the underground get-a-way of the  Strangler’s route? Whose friend buries bodies, like gold in the basement of the local fool?

Who once wore a cap of brown to disguise his lack of masculinity, flew over the sand and used Spellcheck to hide his intellect?

Who was buried, but perhaps never died and who was buried before a shed without memorial?

The Trinity knows…

So shall we talk about your true history or shall we sing and dance about the streets of Broadway and try to hide the symbolism behind it all?