The Naming Ceremony

indians campfire

The Naming Ceremony

Twilight painted the small forest clearing. The Chief, who was also the Spirit Guide of the tribe, stood tall and majestic in his ceremonial garb.


Indian MaidenimagesBUOJA7DF


Three young women knelt before him. Having just become women, they were excited at the thought of becoming adults with official tribal names. They knew their new names would be communicated throughout the whole tribal network, and all the young braves would become aware of them as they competed for the most desirable mates.

The youngest one watched intently as her two companions received their names. Each of them smiled looked pleased as the feather dipped.

The feather dipped for the third time. “Your name is Ugly Woman.” She glanced at Spotted Fawn and Gray Dove through downcast eyes. Unbidden, a tear fell. “Thank you, father.” She murmured meekly.
He found her later where she hid, weeping with shame, by the woodbine. “Our women look much alike,” he said; “Their faces are broad and round. They are thick and chunky when young and fat when old.”

She looked at him miserably.

“You are different,” he went on. “You are slimmer and you have aquiline features. You are not pretty yet, but you will be.”

“But why….

“You know the Great Spirit dwells within me, my daughter. You must trust me and be at peace. There are dozens of Fawns and Doves and Robins. Your name will draw attention. You will not be just another squaw in the tribes. When the braves hear your name they will be curious and seek you out, at first for sport. Then when they see you, they will be pleasantly surprised. They will talk about you and compete for your hand. You will have a fine mate, a new married name, many children, and a good life.

Ugly Woman smiled wanly, and her face brightened up a little. She could not know, as her father did, that in the future during another naming ceremony, she would be given her marriage name, “Beautiful Treasure.”
imagesOSUXMM9CNote from author:

My own spirit guide, David, gave me this story about American Indian spirit beliefs and customs. David says he knows many Indian chiefs, maidens, braves, and their tribal rites. I have not attempted to research, lest I ruin the little story captured by my own guide.

In this touchy-feely world, many might take offense at words like “squaw,” even is in a term like squaw bread. The stereotypes are rampant, I know, but must we throw away all forms of art to conform to facts and realism, and current beliefs of social “rights and wrongs?” If so, I am lost.

Hope you take it lightly and enjoy it for what it is. Bye for now from Sweet Nan and her co-conspirator, David.

Finding Your Spirit Guide


Oh, yes.  You do have a spirit guide.  Everybody has one.  Some people call it God.  Some people say they have an angel on their shoulder.  Lots of fortune tellers say they have an Indian guide with an exotic name, like Ahwahla or Motapic.

The famous psychic and entertainer, Sylvia Browne, said her spirit guide refused to tell her its name, so Sylvia named her guide Francine.  Francine apparently did not object.  Sylvia died a number of years ago, but left a great body of work, recordings and transcripts of readings, predictions, and she wrote a number of interesting books.  She has a web site, run by someone named Chris, who gives readings and sells a lot of expensive memberships and other materials.  I guess spirits have to make a living, too.

There all all kinds of conceptions of spirit guides.  Some believe that even animals have spirit guides, and some believe they can choose a a certain animal, such as a horse or a dog, and connect with the animal’s spirit guide.  Spirit guides are a Western tradition, and are rarely encountered in other countries.

Anyone with access to the Internet can find all kinds of advice about how to find their spirit guide, but most of this advice is far from free.  Anything from leaving your body and going on an astral journey to search for your guide, to simple meditation, is suggested.  Many choose to go to a medium or a psychic or a fortune teller to get advice.  Some will call a telephone psychic hotline (Don’t do that, I beg you.  I worked as a telephone psychic, and just sat there and made stuff up out of the air.)  I will tell you about that another time.

Psychic flashes are vibrations that are in the very air that we breathe.  We have many receptors that are like antennas which will pick up a psychic vibration and relay it to you.  Our most common receivers are our regular senses:  seeing, hearing, touching, feeling, and smelling.

“Smelling?” you say.  Yes.  I know of several people who can smell upcoming events such as jet fuel from an air crash or burning embers from a house fire.  One lady smelled the delicious odors of a barbeque, and within the next five minutes, a friend called to invite her to a pool party and barbeque.

A friend of mine receives information mostly from touch.  She can touch a letter received in the mail and know without looking at it whether it is good news or bad news.  She can touch someone’s clothing,  jewelry, or their hand, and be so inundated with impressions that she had ceased to do that.


You know that animals can anticipate earthquakes.  Well, humans can too, with practice; practice being quiet and still for a few moments and giving yourself a chance to absorb the psychic flashes that are already in the air, provided to you by your sponsor:  Your spirit guide! 

All you need to do is sit quietly and allow your mind to drift.  If you find that you are thinking about work, going to the gym, or what to wear tonight, reset.  Make your mind blank again, and drift.  Takes a little practice, yes. But eventually, you will experience small signs that your spirit guide is channeling your psychic flashes to you.  If you can express a little bit of mental appreciation to your spirit guide, you may get some brownie points.  You may eventually come to know your guide and know when he or she wants your attention.  Don’t expect too much at first.  Remember, after all those years, Sylvia Browne’s spirit guide wouldn’t even reveal her name.  But she revealed much, much more.

Try to be relaxed with your efforts and have a little fun with them.  Don’t take them literally or too seriously, or you will get discouraged.  Laugh a little mentally, and I’ll bet your spirit guide will laugh with you!

If you have experienced psychic flashes, I would welcome your description.  You may remain anonymous if you wish, no personal information will be published.  You are not required to leave any passwords or email addresses if you leave a comment on this blog.  I hope to hear from you.

Humans Can Fly

cropped-blog-july-16.jpgI am sharing with you today a passage written by Brother Jim. He is a well respected and much loved counselor in Texas. Over the years he has helped so many people in so many ways, from inspiration to actually giving away his personal possessions to someone who in need. His own psychic abilities have grown over the years along with his knowledge and faith. God sends people who need help to Brother Jim by various means, and of course, he helps them. It has been documented many times that people, when trying to call a relative, a suicide help line, a drug help line, or other number, when in despair will misdial and become connected with Brother Jim.

He wishes to remain anonymous at this time, but if you wish to communicate with Brother Jim, send your message to me, and I will forward it to him. Here is his latest passage.


In Thomas Segue’s book “There is a River”, which is the life story of the modern prophet Edgar Cayce, they have a chapter in the back on philosophy. It is only man on the Earth that can’t seem to understand anything that doesn’t have a beginning and an end. In all the other manifestations of our existence, (Christ explained them as “in my Fathers house there are many mansions”) this is not necessarily so.

Every time someone tells this wonderful story, it will inevitably be a little different from the last time, because it depends on one’s perception, which is constantly changing as one goes through the life cycle. I will take my little stab at it.

In the beginning there was a great sea of spirit that occupied all of space. Imagine being everything. This was God. He longed for companionship. To put it in terms the people of this era would be able to understand, you might say that God blew away a small portion of Himself into millions of small portions. These portions became the Souls of men. Since all matter vibrates, and we were once a part of God, we vibrated at the same frequency He did. We had all the characteristics and capabilities that God had, but on a smaller scale. We were the sons of God!

As a gift to us, God began to build the universe. We flew around the universe effortlessly! The Psalmist said “before the earth was, I was….” Yes, proof the we are older than dirt! The 90th Psalm tells the story of the souls, and them being formed before the earth. I myself, as have many of us, have a remembrance of the “flight of the soul”.

Later, as animal life began to form on the earth, we the souls began to take possession of the animals upon the earth, making them do our bidding. This became great fun and sport. But in time something unexpected, (at least to us) happened. The souls, which had been able to enter and leave the animals at any time they desired, became “stuck” and were unable to leave the animal body until it expired. This probably did not send out the warning signal that it should have at the time, since an animal lifetime on the earth was more like what to us would be just a quick trip down to the corner store rather than a long span. What actually happened was a major disaster to us and to our God.


We saw God as being all-knowing, all intelligent. But perhaps because this creation was a new thing even to God. Maybe He didn’t see this disaster coming either! We were certainly no match for Him in power, but in our small way we were capable of doing the same things He did. But by becoming a pilot to the lower animals, we didn’t realize that we were lowering our own vibrations. Even if our God knew what we were doing, He had given us free will. He would not interfere with us! How could one be companions to someone we are superior to? Are those the right words? I hope so, but the point is we had no understanding of this!

There is no doubt to me that God wept! He had lost his beloved children. We had reduced ourselves to the mental and spiritual status of household pets in comparison to Him.

God refused to give up. His love for us was too great. Through evolution, He caused the refinement of certain of the animals that were roaming the earth at that time in order to make a perfect vehicle for the Soul. So, in actuality, the Greek mythological creatures that you have seen pictures of were really not myths at all, but prototypes that were found to not be adequate by God. Among these were the giants, who were found to be to large for their environment. The perfect vehicle for the soul, modern man was the result. When our vibratory rate is again like Gods, we can rejoin Him.

Anyone that feels that they have lived on the earth before his present life is very close to the truth. This is the miracle plan of God that He made out of His glorious love for us! This is a school, if you will. If we do everything right, when we leave here our vibratory rate will be increased. Or if we do poorly we may have actually lowered our vibratory rate more. On the other hand we could live a complete life of unselfish service to others like our Mother Teresa and not have a need to ever return to the physical plain of earth again.

So, I believe that when someone tells you the truth, in a way you can easily understand it, you will believe. We live many lives on the earth.


At a time in my life when things seemed to all be going against me, and I could not see tomorrow. I was like a car that was out of gas with no gas station anywhere. I laid my head down, but it seemed no sleep would come.

Then finally….

I was flying through the air. The temperature was perfect. As I looked down I could see the canyons, the stream, the trees. I could also see that there was no airplane. I became like Peter walking on the water. I was terrified. I went into a dive. But at the bottom I swooped into a climb. The ability to fly with no airplane was like nothing I had ever experienced before. What joy. What wonder. This is what it was like for us before we fell from Gods grace!

I never had this experience again. But never again did I live a minute not knowing for sure that WE ARE NOT EARTHLINGS.

Live in love for God, knowing that every person you meet is you sister or brother!

With love from Brother Jim

From Sweet Nan:  I would like to thank Mike Markovski for allowing me to use the beautiful picture which illustrates this post. He has been a source of encouragement and inspiration to me in my writing and striving to become a better person.  You can find many good things to ponder when you visit Mike at Mike Markovski on Twitter @miremarovski..

Okay, I’m dead. Now, where am I?

Tweet GraveyardYep, it’s all over.  I vaguely remember a traditional funeral with dirt and preaching and people I don’t remember standing around crying.  Black dresses and black suits…are those skinny jeans?  Yeah, some things are beginning to come back a little.  I know I had left instructions for cremation.  Who didn’t want to honor my wishes?  Did I have a wife?  Children?  Funny, I don’t remember, but I’m not worried about not remembering.  I am strangely relaxed.  I guess I don’t have any rigor mortis.  Ha. ha.

Well, I wonder if I am in heaven or hell.  I am looking around me for angels and harps or fire and devils. None of the above.  It really seems like kind of a soothing, swirling light gray color.  God, I hope that’s not the top of my casket!  Oh, no, it couldn’t be.  It wouldn’t be moving like that.  Sort of like smoke.  Uh, oh.

I’m looking for my hands, my arms, my chest hair that I was so proud of.  (Women thought it was sexy.). Well, at least I’m sure I am a…was a man.  I don’t see another part of my body I was even more vain about.  It seems all covered by  the smoky swirls.  I feel very sleepy.  Think I’ll take a nap.

(Wakes up)  Oh, that was a nice, refreshing nap.  Entry and exit are very tiring.  ?? Where did I get that?  And how long did I sleep?  An hour?  A year?  A century?  I don’t know.  The swirling stuff eddying around me looks a little lighter, and maybe a little more translucent.  I think I see things moving around in there.

I guess I had another nap.  I see some colors now, gold, green, gray.  I smell something.  Smells like an old fashioned wooden match going out.  Uh, oh.  But I hear water.  Rushing water.  It makes no sense.  I think I should be worried, but it just doesn’t seem like the effort.  Like Doris Day used to sing, “Whatever will be, will be.”  Doris Day?  How old am I?  (was)  The name M & M comes to mind, but that was a candy.  I see many black men…Bruno?  Jayzee?  Usher?? No that must have been someone assisting at my funeral.  I can’t put that one together.  Oh, well.

Someone is shaking me awake.  Oh, my God, I’m wearing a nightgown.  I am embarrassed in front of this woman.  She is wearing a nightgown, too.  Doris Day?  Oh, no!  It’s my ex-mother-in-law!  I am in hell!

But she looks different.  Younger.  Slimmer.  Smiling.  Don’t think I ever saw her smile before.  She had sort of a growly face all the time.  She is pointing to a cabin by a river.  There is a campfire, and people around it, apparently cooking fish.  It smells good.  I see tall green trees around the cabin.  Someone has planted a flower garden beside the cabin.  I know nothing about flowers except you go buy them at the florist when you forget your anniversary.  But I do know.  I see some white and red roses, and a tall yellow one on the end.  Lots of carnations.  Violets around the base of a maple tree.  How do I know this?  I don’t know this, and yet I do.

cajun cabin cropped

I must have been asleep again.  Mother-in-law gone.  Cabin gone.  Where now?  A mansion.  Big, elegant brick mansion, snow on the ground, Christmas decorations.  A beautiful child plays in the snow.  I know who she is.  “Who killed you?” I asked her.  She looked up at me, puzzled.  “I was a bad girl.  Mommy punished me.”  Things swirled.

I am in a book-lined room with Samuel Clemens.  “You don’t want to know,” he said.

She was singing in that perfectly pure voice, the voice of an angel.  She sang my favorite, “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”  “Did you really?”  I asked.  “No, not at all.  I was obese and I had a heart attack.”

And then there was a redheaded guy, a tall one with a funny hat, and two girls, one blonde and one brunette. They are dancing and laughing.  I hear and see a Sugar Shack. ” I thought you were cartoon characters,” I said.  “We are whatever you want us to be,”  said Archie.

It went on and on, this carousel of people, places, things, ideas, facts, fictions, and peaceful naps in between.  I haven’t seen God or the devil yet.  I don’t know when or if I will.  I don’t know what will come up next.  It is like the Internet.  This is eternity.

Let it Fly!

Rebel Flag

Yes, I’m going to be in trouble for this one…but I’m going to let it fly.  My own prediction is that the Confederate (or) Rebel flag is going to be vilified and banished into a trend-driven pool of disgrace.  Not much of an insight there, because it is already happening.

I am a Southerner by birth.  I grew up understanding that Bear Bryant was the greatest man in the world, that all food must be fried, that good manners and gentility must be maintained, that Roll Tide Roll would appear in the back windows of most cars and trucks, often accompanied by a rebel flag.

The rebel flag might appear anywhere.  I have seen them in houses, in cars, painted on buildings, flying alongside the American flag, on license plates, and tattooed on the arms and chests of men.  Women in the South did not get tattoos.  Gentility, right?  White gloves and tea parties.  I have owned several small rebel flags myself when I was a teenager.

The rebel flag is one of those signals that “I belong to something; I am a member of something; I am a member of this group.”  It gives a certain status, may it be good or bad.  Gang members, such as the Bloods and the Crips, display their colors and their territorial markings.  Charitable groups, such as the advocates for fighting breast cancer will display their pink logo, pink jewelry, armbands, and even scissors, toasters, and clothing.  They are displaying their membership in this particular group.

There is much place identification.  “I Left My Heart in San Francisco; I love L.A., Dixieland; Yellow Rose of Texas, California Girls, and on and on.  Political identification between Republicans and Democrats becomes very heated and unpleasant.  “I am Black; I am White; I am Mexican; I am Canadian, I am Muslim, I am Mormon, I am Southern Baptist.”  People use all these things to identify themselves, much of the time with pride.

I grew up with a sense of pride and loyalty to the South and all it stands for, including the Confederate Flag.  I don’t see anything wrong with that, although I am not at all fanatical about it.  It’s just there, in the back of my mind that I am a white woman who was born in the South.  Is it wrong for a man born in Mexico to take pride in his birthplace and acknowledge the fact that he is Latino?  Of course not.

People blame the South for slavery.  As a matter of fact, slavery was quite prevalent in the North, as well.  The Civil War was not about slavery at all, but more about money and greed.  Isn’t every war in history basically about money and greed?  Oh, some people throw in religion, but I think that’s mostly a cover story for the money and greed.

We’ve all heard the stories and read the books about the Civil War.  Who hasn’t seen “Gone With the Wind” and other films of that nature?  It was brother against brother, father against son, all based on place loyalty.  One side of the line was for, and the other side against.  Some of these soldiers were uneducated and did not even know what they were fighting for.  They just knew they were expected to fight for their side.  Some were so young they had no idea what was going on, but they had to be men and follow orders. Some thought it would be a grand adventure (until the blood began to run.)

They did not run around yelling about slavery.  They were more or less assigned to a side according to where they lived, and they went to do their duty as men do.  They suffered and died, both sides, and their families suffered and died.  The families of the fighting men regarded their sons, brothers, and fathers as brave men to be honored, whether they were North or South.  And so they should be held in places of honor.

Will we dishonor the memories of all the Southern men who died during the Civil War by vilifying their flag and making it into a disgraceful thing?

I agree that the rebel flag has no official standing, and it should not be displayed in government buildings.  But the troublemakers and the inciters of violence want more.  They want it outlawed entirely.

Let the rebel flag keep its place in history, and let it be respected along with the many young soldiers who died defending it.

Are You Pulling My Leg, My Dear?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                         I have been exchanging messages back and forth with a young woman named Jenny.Octopus gif  She has actually given me permission to use her own name and personal information, but due to my uncertainty about her mental status and credibility, I have opted to keep her information private. Jenny seems to be a very sweet and sincere young lady.  She says she is 28 years old, unmarried, and has a 7 year old son I will call Danny.  He appears to be a very handsome, bright child who is the light of her life.

Right now, she is frantic with worry and fear because of a paranormal affliction she has always had, but has recently mutated, bringing forth a galaxy of new horrors.

Here is my dilemma.  If Jenny is telling me the truth, it is so horrifying that it seems that there is no help for her, from me, from any doctor or scientist, any religion or anyone in the world.  Although she seems so sincere, I have had my leg pulled before.  In the past, I have had a colorful variety of part time jobs.  I have worked as a writer and reporter for a chain of tabloid newspapers, I have been a hypnotist’s assistant, and at one time, I owned and operated a singles club.  People joined, sent me money, and I wrote a description of each one and sent out new lists periodically.  (I didn’t even have a computer at that time – I had to use a typewriter with a little memory chip.)

I wasn’t making much money, and what little that came was used for expenses to keep the business going.  One day I had a phone call from a gentleman who said his name was John Cusack, an actor.  He told me it was difficult for him to meet nice women because of his celebrity status.  He said many of his friends had the same problem, and that he would refer them.  I never realized this was a prank.  I gave him a free membership, and bragged to current  members that we had a professional actor as a member.  I’m sure “Mr. Cusack” enjoyed a good laugh at my expense.  It was a long time ago, and I have learned how to become jaded, mistrustful, and unimpressed by any type of celebrity.  I’m sure that if the Pope was in town, I would not be bothered to walk across the street to see him.

But I do like people, and I wish I knew how to help Jenny.  I will continue with her hair-raising story.

Jenny was born to kind of a Gypsy-Cajun mother who was uneducated and believed in curses and spells and so on.  Jenny’s mother told her she was born with a caul over her face, supposedly meaning she was a psychic, a witch, a fortune teller, or something along those lines.  She forced Jenny to tell fortunes for money, so Jenny learned to make up things to tell people so she could avoid being punished by her mother.

Funny thing was that Jenny turned out to be pretty accurate in her fortune telling.  Her reputation grew, and she began to develop quite a following. She was in her early teens now, and had just become a woman.  One evening, Jenny did a reading for a woman from a nearby town.  When she looked at the woman’s face, she saw a multitude of black spots moving like ants in front of the woman’s face.  Horrified, Jenny blurted out, “Oh, my God!  You have cancer!  You’re going to die!”

After a beating she would never forget, Jenny never mentioned the black spots to anyone again.  She saw them before her mother’s face a year later.  Her mother went quickly, dying of old age at 40, the consequences of a rough life.

Jenny had no power to see the future for herself.  She moved to a bigger city and found work as a filing clerk.  She could wear nice clothes, work in a clean place, and considered herself to be a young professional woman with a bright future.  However, like so many young and gullible women, she met a handsome man and got pregnant.  He got out of town as soon as she told him the news.

Jenny had a very kind boss, who admired her youth and good looks.  He was an older man who was divorced long ago and lived alone and lonesome.  When he became aware of Jenny’s pregnancy, he offered to marry her and provide a home for she and the child.  Jenny looked into his kind face and saw many black spots swarming around his whole face and head.

I have more to tell you of Jenny’s life and her story, but I must conclude this post.  In my next post, I hope to have more messages from Jenny, and will relate this to you.  Perhaps new information will reveal whether Jenny is suffering from a mental problem, telling a true but horrible tale, or just pulling my leg.

Thank you for reading.  Good eve to you.

The Mystical Mailman Cometh

A letter has poured in.  Our mailbag overfloweth.  Well, actually, several of you were kind enough to send some comments and inquiries.

I would appreciate hearing from you, whether you have a prediction, question, comment, or just want to chat. Any information you send will remain anonymous unless you indicate otherwise.

Ms. June P. from Lakeview Mobile Home Park in Memphis related her concern about her lost dog.  June has a miniature poodle named Puff Baby, who has been missing for over a month now.  June is distraught, lonely, and worried about her missing pet.  Her question, however, was somewhat unusual.

June has a neighbor in this senior community who she calls Old Biddy, who has coveted Puff Baby for a long time.  June feels that Old Biddy has taken Puff Baby, and has concealed the poodle within her home.  June requested that I put her in touch with sort of a psychic hitman who will scare Old Biddy into giving the stolen dog back.

I advised June that if there were any spirits of this nature, that they would not hire themselves out.  I suggested that she sit quietly and meditate about Puff Baby to see if her own spirit guide would assist.  I also suggested that she speak with the park manager in a friendly and non-accusatory way, and request assistance in finding her lost dog.

June related many more complaints, opinions, and general observations which leads me to wonder if Puff Baby, being an intelligent dog, had deliberately left to seek a more serene environment.

Another letter I received has nothing to do with any paranormal subject, but much to do with needing to be arrested and serving time in a prison cell.  A female wrote to me from somewhere in Africa stating her husband had died recently and had let her millions of dollars.  However, she said that her evil mother-in-law hated her, had placed a hold on the money, and turned her out into the streets.  She asked me for a large sum of money to pay for her transportation to the United States, where she planned to reside in my home while I hire American attorneys for her to get her inheritance, since all the African attorneys are afraid of her mother-in-law.

I deleted this letter as quickly as I could, lest it contain a virus of some kind or perhaps an evil eye curse.

I am disappointed that there were no predictions in the mail.  I would be very pleased to hear from you, even if it is just to say hello.

Don’t forget to wash you feet before you go to sleep, as you never know when your final visitor will come for you.  Good eve from Sweet Nan.


Unfollowing Myself. Why, oh why?

My mind just never shuts up.  Oh, it’s not saying anything clever or constructive.  It just natters along about inane things that do not belong in a human mind.  It is loud and rude, and it disturbs my sleep, and interferes with my concentration when I am trying to work on something.

And it nags at me worse than a Jewish mother-in-law.  Yesterday, I was driven to filling a turkey baster with water, freezing it, and then inserting it in a regular sized water bottle so it would drip a constant supply of icy cold water.  It looked ridiculous.  It was ridiculous.  But my mind refused to shut up until I did it.

And just now (Thank you Norton Security for shutting the laptop down without any warning to install Windows updates and make me lose my place.  I am going to crawl inside this machine though that little hole on the left side and kill you.)

I did upload a picture of a crybaby to go with all this whining and complaining, but I’m not sure where it is right now and whether I can move it to go with this post.

I can make some justified excuses for my lack of making any sense tonight.  1) I am tired. 2) My feet hurt.  3)  I am worried about Brother Jim in Texas.  Brother Jim lives with and for God, and it seems that God requires a great deal from him.  But Brother Jim goes more or less cheerfully about his business, which is all about helping other people.  However, Tropical Storm Bill has descended right on top of Brother Jim’s little community.  This is about the third wave of bad storms, flooding, high winds, hail…you name it, it hits the little “X” mark which is this small Texas town.

So I worry that Brother Jim will step in the flood waters and a snake will bite him, or a piece of debris will cut him and he will get that flesh eating disease.

Did you know that Bob Marley died in his thirties because he got cancer in his toe?  He refused to allow the doctors to amputate his toe, so the cancer cells grew,  It ate up his other toes, then his foot, and then climbed up his leg and got in his blood and his brain.  So Bob Marley’s wonderful music died with his toe.

I hope Brother Jim will stay safe through this night and coming weeks and years.  I think the world needs his toe.

Putting on my pink nightgown and going go bed now.  Good night.

The Lunch Buffet

I am happy to be here to enthrall you with my silver (or purple?) prose.  We Californians did not fall into the ocean last night, after all. I hang my head in shame (not!)  It was quite thrilling to think about, though, and I believe a part of my mind craved the somewhat warped excitement of thinking about the end of it all!

Serving up something a little different today:  A psychic experience recounted by the daughter of a woman dead now three months, and we will call it The Lunch Buffet.

Marie sits in her mother’s worn rocking chair, pondering the way her mother Karoll had died and when exactly she had died.  Karoll had been married to her second husband Ernest for nearly 40 years, and in the twilight of their lives, they had both slowed down considerably from coping with the pain of arthritis and the frailty of old age.  They kept up one activity:  their weekly lunch at the buffet restaurant.

They always had their discount coupons; Karoll, her walker, and Ernest, his cane.  They were in the company of many other elderly people every Friday at the buffet restaurant.  Karoll had told Marie that they really didn’t know any of the other elderly diners, but after so many Fridays, they all looked familiar, and would nod to one another and say hello.

Karoll had begun to have a strange feeling when she and Ernest entered the restaurant, as if all the other diners were watching her covertly and smiling.  She would see a face turn away quickly, and think, “Oh, I know him.  I have known him a long time.  But who is he?”

These feelings intensified each Friday when Karoll saw all the familiar people having their lunch.  She felt she was one of them now, and wished they would not look away so quickly when they smiled at her.  She felt more and more reluctant to leave the restaurant.  And Ernest, who had always been large and loud, seemed to fade somehow.  She came to be barely aware of his presence, so focused was she on the other diners.

One sunny but chilly Friday, Karoll and Ernest went to the buffet restaurant for lunch as usual.  As soon as she entered Karoll knew something was very different.  The luncheon diners would look at her directly and smile.  Some of them would say “Glad you decided to join us,” or just “Welcome home.”  Karoll thought some of them looked very much like her deceased parents, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and old friends.  Ernest seemed to have faded completely out of her field of vision.

Finally, enveloped in a feeling of soft, warm comfort, Karoll realized that these people were all her relatives and friends who had died before.  She recognized each one of them, and knew that she had died, too, and all of the “diners” were easing her way into her period of rest and recovery from the struggles of life.  The pain was gone, the tiredness on her chest was gone, Ernest was gone.  Not afraid, she smiled back at them.

Marie remembered sitting by her mother’s hospital bedside, wondering why she smiled occasionally, and made motions at times as if she were eating.  She remembered her mother’s last smile and the soft sigh of relief when she took her last breath.

Marie told me that during the last three months her mother was in the hospice, that she had actually passed away and was enjoying her death dreams.  I believed her.

The buffet restaurant is still there, and you can pass by any day and see the elderly people, leaning on their walkers and canes, and clutching their discount coupons for the lunch buffet.

I wish to thank Marie for sharing her mother’s story.  Marie wishes to remain anonymous, and so it shall be.  Please note that if you have a story to tell or a psychic experience to share, the best way to reach me is to send an email to:  Thank you.