MY JOURNAL (LIFE AFTER DEATH)

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED ABOUT?  ______________!

Life after death or the near death experience. There are many theories of what happens when we die, it is enough to make my head spin. Some people see a white light others see a loved one that has already passed waiting in the murky shadows of death to guide them to the other side. My question is what other side? What could they have possibly seen on “the other side” that made them want to stay and yet make them come back all at the same time? What makes them weep for that moment again once they are back and alive?

There are always more questions than answers when it comes to death. Much like our birth, our death is personal. Something I deem to be private and unique. Each of us must face this journey and face it alone. Is it just a coincidence that we can never share this experience with anyone? There is never a witness to this phenomena.

Why do some see this and some don’t? See, many, many more questions? I have had a couple of different “near death experiences” Technically I never died, but death was surely counting the seconds until it could claim me. I never once saw a bright light or a dead relative there to engulf me in their long lost embrace. There was only darkness, no awareness, no memory of well anything. Is it because I didn’t actually die? Or was there something more sinister afoot?

Then the question arises. Are there really ghosts? Or is it just my mind playing tricks on me? To that question for me the answer in a round about way I have found in the Bible! Revelations to be exact. You see according to one scripture I have read about in the end of days there is no heaven or hell! Yet! Yes, I do believe they exist but I wholeheartedly believe we won’t actually experience either the fiery pits of hell or those beautiful streets of gold until the actual end of days.

The Bible verse in Revelations speaks of the dead rising from the grave to be judged by God  for our sins.This in my interpretation is that the dead lay in a waiting period until God comes back to claim his children. Yes, I understand that that does not explain why people see a white light when they have an experience but what if that is just a gift God is showing us what waits for us upon his return? Maybe some people need this “vision”  to shake them, wake them, and change their lives. It would certainly explain Ghosts! If our spirits, our essence is still earth bound it would make sense that our energies would collide every now and again. Just think thousands, no millions of years and millions upon millions dead all sharing this space. It makes for a crowded world we live in. The key word here is live!

No matter the experiences we have had while alive or dead. We need to remember it is our journey, ours alone. And while it seems like it would be very lonely it also fills me with a sense of peace I cannot explain. While the act of death itself is something we will all go through my own experience will be all mine.

I almost didn’t make it when I came into this world and I know God was at my side then as much as he is now. I anticipate the day we actually meet and all my questions will be answered but, I think I can wait a few more years for my answers!

 

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DEPTHS

I haven’t been able to write in a while. Everything seems to come out as garbage lately when I do write. Hemmingway said, “even if you write crap, write.” I am paraphrasing here but as much as I love his writing I can’t seem to force myself to write crap. I can’t bring myself to go through the motions the simple act of writing means more to me than that. This is not one of those things that I can “fake it till I make it” situations.

I went down to my “church” my open mike night down at my favorite bookstore last night hoping to get a smidge of inspiration. While there were some good reads and I did feel a little trickle of the old me shining through (you know the me that can write) I came to a realization about myself. Albeit  there was some very good and deep poetry I felt as if I as deep as I have gone inside myself to pull out the darkest and ugliest to write about there was still something missing.

Have I not gone deep? Is there some untapped vein inside of me that is still hiding from me? I fear that is exactly why I am not writing because what I have uncovered so far is just deep enough at the same time I feel that there are depths to me to which even I don’t understand yet, and that is scary.

How can I not understand… ME? How can I not see that there is more to me than just what is on the surface? Aren’t I the one that gets upset when others don’t look beyond that to see who and what I really am? How could this be?

I have always considered myself a what you see is what get kind of girl and yet I have been lying to myself all along. Maybe now that this realization has finally presented itself. I will be able to open the flood gates once again and write more sustenance for my soul. I just have to keep calm in the meantime and just breathe. I know it will eventually come to me. I can’t wait to discover the new depths of me…

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/calm/”>Calm</a&gt;

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/discover/”>Discover</a&gt;

MYSTIC RED

I have  been writing so much about my past that I have neglected to talk about my present and all the wonders it has held for me. Since my first book hit the best-seller list five years ago my life has been filled with book tours, fans and more writing. It is enough to make a girl of only thirty swoon. This is the first vacation I have actually taken since then and what am I doing you guessed it writing. Fame isn’t what I thought it would be I thought “yay now I am rich I can relax”, but no, I had to write one book after another just to stay on that “best seller” list. I am exhausted. It is a never-ending fight to be the one on top all the time. So when my best friend suggested I stay at her house in Maine while she went to the Bahamas for the winter I couldn’t pass it up.

Never having been here I am loving the mountains of snow and the isolation. It is just the thing I needed since I can’t even remember the last time I was alone. I ran into the neighbor this morning and she offered to show me around town later in the week. She even invited me to the local “dive bar” her words not mine. She called it MYSTIC RED. As a writer, I was not only intrigued by the fact that she called it a dive bar but the name Mystic Red. There is a story there and I intend to find out who names their bar Mystic Red.

Is it some sort of sacred name someone’s great, great, great grandfather named it? I feel as a writer I can construct an entire story on the name alone. Is it some sort of mystical name? Is this bar indeed Mystical? I am picturing one of those hole in the walls with license plates on the walls as the room decor. I see the bar itself soaked with stale beer and cheap glasses. The bartender probably some overweight ner do well. His bartending job was a “second chance” after he got early, release on parole for good behavior.

Maybe I am just being a snob here but when someone says “dive bar” as being the sole entertainment in a small town. That is what I picture. Maybe I am wrong, maybe it is a hidden treasure that will exceed all my expectations. I can’t wait to go and mingle with the simple town folk as Marta called them.

I gaze out the window and see that the snow is falling once more. It seems to never stop once winter hits in this tiny town. Peaceful in its blinding whiteness. I get the feeling that something is about to happen. I don’t know what but the writer in me is intrigued at all the possibilities. I am here for another three months I might as well enjoy it while I can. No matter what happens I will have pen and paper at the ready. I can hardly contain myself waiting for Mystic Red…

Construct

Sacred

Treasure

Mystical

PANOPLY

WRITE A POST IN RESPONSE TO TODAY’S ONE – WORD PROMPT.

The PANOPLY of severed body parts decorated the trophy case from end to end. Detective Morgan Smith had never seen such a site in all her life. Spending the last ten years climbing the ladder making detective just over three years ago, the youngest female to do so in the precinct she has seen some stuff but this, this was a nightmare.

Taking up one entire wall of the small bungalow. It was by all accounts the most impressive display Morgan had ever seen. Stepping closer to the case she ran her gloved finger over the shelf just above a severed ear pinned to a cork board. Opening the cabinet the bile instantly rose to her throat the second the scent of rotting flesh hit and burned her nostrils. Closing the door and stepping away from the case she coughed slightly getting her gag reflex under control. She barked out orders about dusting for prints and getting everything bagged and tagged for evidence.

As she stepped outside and into the sunshine to get some fresh air. Out of the room of horrors the air no longer stale and stifling. She gulped in large quantities of it as if she were drowning in it. The smell of rotten flesh now signed into her nose she couldn’t  help but wonder of the vile smell would ever dissipate.

Once she had control a white hot rage started to simmer within the pit of her stomach. They now knew who this guy was judging by the id’s left behind. Just because he got away this time didn’t mean she wouldn’t catch him. The atrocities this psycho has committed. She shuttered at the memory of  his “trophies”. That image she knew, would never be able to be erased from her mind. One way or another she would catch this bastard and bring him to justice. Detective Morgan Smith always got her man. This sick predator just became her prey…

Heath watched with a suspicious  eye from across the street as the cops swarmed his house. How the hell they even found him was a mystery. He had been playing cat and mouse with the law for the better part of two decades. Always outsmarting the pigs. Always one step ahead of them. He was proud of his cunning to outwit and outrun them and his fifth-grade teacher said he would never amount to anything. Ha! Look at him now. He watched through the window as they began to fondle his trophies. A white hot rage began to simmer in the pit of his stomach. How dare they touch his hard earned collection!

The monster inside of him began to stir with a vengeance. The need to maim or kill becoming almost overwhelming. Maniacal laughter escaped him as he was whisked back to an earlier memory. Psycho, Crazy, Lunatic. these were the names his very own shrink that he was court ordered to see at the tender age of sixteen called had called him.

He knew from a very young age that he was different. Even by the time he reached the age of twelve he had already collected his first of many collections to come animal pelts. He now found it ironic that the one person that was supposed to fix him had actually helped him progress his wants, his desires, his needs.

She was his very first kill! He could still feel her blonde hair brush his cheek as he choked her from behind. He could still smell her sickening sweet perfume. He could still taste her blood he had slowly licked off his fingers one by one after he had slit her throat just to watch her bleed. It hadn’t mattered she was already dead. Shaking himself out of the past memory he licked his lips as if he could still taste her essence. He looked down to see his now bulging erection. He had never had a problem getting it up all he ever needed to do was think of Laura. Ah, Laura and her blonde hair.

A gleam of light caught his eyes in the dappled sunlight. He looked out the window again to see the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. A pair of diamond earrings glinting in the sun attached to the most splendid display of earlobes he had ever seen. Perfect in shaped not too big not to small they were breathtaking. After drooling over the ears for what seemed like an eternity he finally gazed at the face of a female detective looking like she was trying to breath in the tiny front yard of his sanctuary. With her brunette hair pulled into a high ponytail it was as if she was showing off those decadent lobes just for him. An evil grin spread over his face as he began to plot and plan.

Patting himself on the back once again for his borrowed fingerprints  and his identification of a dead man left in the house he knew this perky cop would be chasing a ghost, forever! He almost felt sorry for her thinking she was closing in on her prey, almost.

Now he could do what he did best disappear and in a few months pop back up where this little minx least expected. This was gonna be way too easy , like taking candy from a baby or her ears off her pretty little head. She would be the first in his new collection. Let the games begin…

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/panoply/”>Panoply</a&gt;

RED PLANET

My thoughts are chaotic. A jumble of nerves and stress. As I gaze out at the valley below from my perch cliffside. I watch as the dead planet continues to decompose right before my eyes. I sit here in my favorite summer dress with the purple flowers set into an ecru background hiked to my hips. While my bare feet are buried in the dry red sand. My chestnut hair blowing in the stilted breeze. I pick a wildflower from the only patch of earth that grows anything in this place. I see the sun now setting over the horizon and I can’t help but feel I have never felt closer to GOD than in this moment.

The night will be upon me soon and I will have to go back inside where it is safe. After a millennia of infighting between Earth and Mars, I am all that is left of Mars. Alone on a planet that I didn’t even want to come to when I was just a girl. I am now grown and after my parents were killed in the last war between planets, I am all that is left. Of our attempt to colonize it.

That was four years ago and if I ever ran into another person I would probably die of shock more so than spending the last four years alone on an entire planet. I don’t know how I would even get back to earth. There are abandoned ships here yet, I don’t know how to fly them. Ironic that my only means of escaping this devastating land would be the one thing my father never taught me to do before his passing. I don’t know how many more nights I can go without interaction  between me and another person. I m half crazy as it is, Now all I can think about is the strange man that shows up in my dreams at night.

Maybe he is why I am restless lately and the reason my dreams have turned erotic in nature. I simultaneously dread and anticipate the night to come. As the sun fully descends into the ether and plunges me into darkness, I slowly walk back into the base and  seal the doors. Night has fallen and the only living thing on this planet comes out to play. Creatures of every nightmare I have ever had that would suck the marrow from my bones without a second thought. I am so glad I have the confines of the base to protect me from such creatues yet, the thought of going to bed fills me with such mixed emotions I crank on the tv and watch old reruns of I Love Lucy. I shiver at the thought of the coming dream and the handsome stranger that ravishes me each and every night. I fight to stay awake as sleep tries to claim me. As I finally lose the battle and nod off I can’t help but feel a change in the winds. A sense of foreboding washes over me as the handsome stranger 

 appears and walks slowly toward me….

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/chaotic/”>Chaotic</a&gt;

SATED

SATED

WRITE A POST IN RESPOnSE TO TODAY’S ONE – WORD PROMPT.

Yes, I see the irony of this post being the day after Thanksgiving yet when I hear the word SATED I don’t think of being sated by food. I think of all the books I have read and how the sexy man fed her sensual pleasure. How his desires for her and the passion they created together actually sated by way of libido.

I have read every romance novel and much much more since I was around twelve years old. I used to steal my mom’s romance books and my grandmother was even worse. She at one point had a two car garage filled to the brim with you guessed it BOOKS! As I have stated in previous blogs I have wanted to write since I could actually legibly write my own name. It makes sense that I was voracious for the written word. Every book I got my hands on I read even today at the age of forty nothing has changed.

My son’s like to read as well and even though my husband has issue with it as a lover of books I say read, read until the words blend together and you are nodding off at the sight. Reading is paramount to any vocabulary and I for one am glad to see it. What with all the electronics and tv shows nowadays seeing them read a book is well magical.

Being an avid reader since I was twelve there isn’t a whole lot I haven’t read about. Anything and everything I could possibly get my hands on anywhere from romance and the eternal struggle of true love, to the darkest reaches of hell in the ever popular paranormal love. I have come across the word sated in all of them. It is a word that actually conjures such images of bodies entwined and the sexy farm hand taking the time to brush his fingers through our heroines long dark locks just before he… well you know.

It used to be that reading sated me body and soul. Now, however it is writing. I am feeding my soul one word at a time and I am loving it. I know that the passion I feel for writing is akin to the images I see,when I see that word. I am passionate about the words I write on a whole other level than just a passing roll in the hay. I am sated on my words mind, body, and soul and I am loving it… Maybe one day I will be able to write with such sexual prowess but for now I am loving where the journey is taking me and I am sated from the simple act of just writing…

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sated/”>Sated</a&gt;

 

 

 

 

 

SCORCHED

SCORCHED

WRITE A POST IN RESPONSE TO TODAY’S ONE – WORD PROMPT.

My soul is scorched, my heart is burning.

You came to me with your pretty lies and I ate them up, starved for affection.

You promised me the moon, but all I really received was a tainted love and a bruised mind.

Your promises of love and forever quickly turned to cinders in the smokey remains of once was.

Remnants of our shattered love still float by, burnt embers on the stilted breeze.

Ashes to ashes dust to dust our relationship has returned to the ground from which it came.

No more crying, no more dying, just a scorched soul and a broken heart.

 

 

 

 

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/scorched/”>Scorched</a&gt;