Dreamwork vs. dream interpretation

Dreamwork compared to dream interpretation is very personal.

You are best to not slack on giving your own personal dream understanding the utmost priority, versus giving over your discernment to another who is dream analyzing, especially when they are using the new dream software or dream dictionary.

It’s all in the dream understanding.  There are so many avenues in sacred dreamland.  And dreamland is sacred, a time to converse with our support system.  A time to visit our friends who we never are able to speak with, some who we no longer know where they are.  A time to visit those who crossed over.  To solve issues we face.  To explore our awareness of a coming change in life.

I am a dream intuitive and dream guide.  I also do my share of dreamwork traveling, another avenue altogether.  Always have done so.  I deal with the sacred dreamland and enough dreamwork to occupy me day and night.

I am Essa aka Thayne Hudson.  As a new age writer, I play with the words about ‘the breath that floats by odor from dreamland sent’ — the first line of James Russell Lowell’s poem which my dream psychic novel is based on.  I don’t want to smell the odor of cigarette smoke or lilac perfume or spray starch from a white shirt or anything that tells me I am not really alone when it seems I am.  God only gives us what we can handle, right.  Right.  And I don’t want ghosts or spirits to deal with, please.  I’ll just do the dreams.

Yes, like the woman in my novel, I do work the dreamland.  Sometimes it is tiring.  When I awaken I know I have been somewhere but cannot usually make a connection where I traveled.

What is dreamwork for one is not dreamwork for another.

Some of us do dreamwork in order to remember and fix a problem.  Others dreamwork because they are born to carry messages.  Still this all comes back to dream interpretation and perspective.  This is why I seldom like to really give a dream interpretation though I do share what I feel is best.

For me, I feel waves and flashes all day of the memories I cannot touch, they are so fleeting I cannot give the full dream memory a single world to evaluate.  And when I close my weary eyes at night the memory of the dream floods back like another life.  But the deal is I cannot attempt to remember.  I must simply float away with the dream from where I left off.  If I open my eyes or try to remember, the dream is gone again and I still have not one word to give it a face or place in the waking world.

Leaves me thinking of Demi More in Passion of Mind (2000) when she lives one life by day and when she sleeps her soul lives the other life.  There is no rest.  She does not know if there is a real life and a dream life, to her they are both real, very real.  At least she remembered her dreams.  Was she traveling or not?  I won’t ruin the movie, it is a must see if you are into metaphysical and new age and reincarnation romances, fiction or nonfiction, and soul mates and soul groups and parapsychology.  Takes one to know one.

I know I have traveled when asleep.  Traveled to sit in someone’s kitchen while their terminally ill husband tried something hopeful I told them about that might help their recovery because I was concerned about them, and I know I was there though I was asleep in my bed.  I have been asleep in my bed but traveled to bring a basket of offerings to a person on their deathbed.  Traveled to check on my family when concerned.  To visit loved ones when I could not see them again.  To find my daughter when she was gone from me.  Traveled to a soul mate who is living in a different dimension right now.

This is all dreamwork of a different meaning, the traveling to do for.

Time travel of one sort, I guess it is, and traveling is all a real part of our lives now, and perhaps always has been.  Some embrace and some do not want to know or enact the travel.  Just like I don’t want to smell the odor from dreamland sent, meaning the ghosts or spirits I cannot see.  And I don’t want to see them either, no I do not.

Hopefully not confusing –

Now to travel when asleep, that is not the same as the dream travel.   The travel when asleep dreamwork is like a little errand and then one comes back to the body.  The dream travel dreamwork is a story, a life, a job almost.  I must sleep to go to my job.  I must connect.  And the dreams are not always for me though they do help me grow spiritually.

Then there is the dreamwork that people want to do do offer themselves a greater spiritual perspective, to explore their souls, their soul contracts, their past lives, their present lives.

So I do a bit of the dream travel.  I also make a few connections by dream traveling when aspeel to help people who need some extra connection.  And I do a lot of the dreamwork guidance that helps people do their own dreamwork.  A dream counselor of sorts.  I usually find the people I work with would like to use my experience as a flower essence consultant too.  Flower essences help people tap into their dream work and dream understanding for their own dream interpretation.

And that is what I do.

I work with many clients who are terminally ill, and I work with people just exploring their lives to the fullest extent of their ability…. people facing life challenges with all avenues we are given spiritually, emotionally and physically.  I love my work.

When I finally gave into the dreamwork –

One day I realized I sometimes seemed to be connecting with the dreams and needs of other people… their answers for their concerns and puzzle pieces of life were being given – gifted – to me.  I was then able to connect their dreams with the answers.  I could help others in this way, simply because I just knew something I didn’t really know.  That is a dream intuitive, to just know.  Like a psychic.  Only a dream psychic.

Who were these people I was dreaming for then?  Were they part of my soul group, a widely diverse group?

I knew the person when they came to me.  I just knew.  The meaning of their dreams were apparent to me, I could if only I would interpret the dream though I prefer to guide them to answers or to assure them if that is what is needed.

My assurance is not just the ‘oh, it will all work out.’  Instead, I can tell them what they have going for them and tell them when I am given a piece of knowledge they do not need to continue to search for and they can rest.

I am in awe of the dreams and connections of others.  Their dreams are so beautifully astounding!

No, I don’t get that much rest.  I am awakened at all hours with the piece of someone’s puzzle.  But at least it is not a ghost or an odor from dreamland like my character faces in A Breath Floats By.  I’ll let her deal with those.  We all need to know what would happen if I were to smell the odor or feel the hair prickle on my neck.  I yell and order them out of my life.  Yes, I prefer the dream connection.

I asked myself, ‘Shouldn’t I just be a new age writer? Just play with concepts and words?  Be a holistic guide, a flower essence therapist?’  ‘Am I supposed to be doing this? Getting involved with other people on such an intimate level, spending so much of my time on the issues and challenges of other people?’  ‘Should I not be distanced from other people?’

Then when I was forty-something and literally nearly asleep, the question about dreamwork vs. dream interpretation was answered.

I am not overly involved.  I am doing this for other people.  Like a nurse is doing her work for others, a fireman, a policeman, a teacher, a social worker, a home builder, a designer, a cook, a wine maker, a real estate salesperson, a gardener, a farmer.  They give their days and nights willingly to help others, to do for them, to become intimately involved if only for a few minutes.  And I am able to do the same.

That was when I knew I was all right.  I finally opened the door to my dreamwork of helping others with their dreamwork.  I don’t give people all their answers.  I offer dream guidance for them to do dream work in their own dream understanding.   I decided to be hospitable.  To entertain through conversation, to open the door to what I had to offer and not hide in the back of the house.

I just decided to open the door.

It was not that I thought the people with the dreams were not all right.  I thought I was not all right.  I thought I was lacking in ability to offer a real value, I thought I was overly involved, that perhaps I was overstepping into their life and leaving something out of mine.

But this gift of understanding dreams, it is open to share and now I do.

Fear?

The dreaming woman in the reincarnation romance – new age novel, A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul….. she brings her dream intuitive gift to the 21^st century and is asked to share her life with others, but she is afraid because she must often commune with spirits who have something to share.  She is frightened of the odor of dreamland sent – that is the second line of the poem by James Russell Lowell.  She is so terrified and she will not fulfill her sacred contract yet again.  It has cost her too many lifetimes of persecution and loss, horrifying circumstances that leave her quaking at the prospect of being ‘found guilty’ again.

Is this what I, as a writer, am afraid is a possibility for me?  To be found out by those who will judge or not accept me or even persecute me or torture me and kill my body?

I must admit I do have concerns and fears.  But I am in the new era, the more accepting, less fearful era now.  I can be open now, surround myself with the few who know and love me wholly.   I am okay.  What I am gifted to offer is all right, it is good.  Very good.  There were dreamers in the Bible.  Now that was dreamwork!

And I believe I have lived this before, over and over again.  And I am surrounded by those who support me.  Because…..

…..sometimes a breath floats by me, an odor from Dreamland sent, which makes the ghost seem nigh me of a something that came and went… of a life lived somewhere, I know not, in what diviner sphere.  A something too vague, could I name it, for others to know:  As though I had lived it and dreamed it, as though I had acted and schemed it long ago.

James Russell Lowell’s reincarnation story in the poem The Twilight is about those who supported him and longed for him.  The romance of life, the connections we are embraced with when we think we are alone and the person of our soul memory comes to speak to us in the sleeping dream.

Who whispers to you?  To me?  That is the romance of life.

What work do our dreams bring to our life?  What gifts do our dreams bring forward into our living and waking work?  That is the love of life.  God is love and in this we are kept connected.  Sacred dreamland.

Sacred dreamland brings forward stories we are to write, longings we are to search out.  That is the romance of life really.  The dreamwork.

I am a dream guide, a dream intuitive.

I do not believe in free dream interpretations.  Do not believe dream interpretations serve you best.  You need to open more fully to find your own answers.  You need to do the dreamwork for yourself.  I can guide you to do this if you are feeling sort of lost in your process.

I share my time and energy with you, you share yours with me through a payment of $50 for the first contacts to get your work started and $10 each one thereafter.

The flower essence consultations for dreamwork has a similar set price.  Please visit the site for more information.

These services I offer are more of a guidance and hope service.

• I will work closely with you
  
• listen to your dreamwork
  
• guide you with suggestions to get closer to your own dream understanding, your personal dream interpretation
  
• send you personal messages just written for you
  
• articles I have written
  
• suggest methods for finding your answers
  
• tell you where I think you can make changes in touching your dreams in a closer reality
• and I may have a dream message to share with you at some point.  We won’t bet on it, but I may already be waiting for you to bring your information to me because I have a piece of your puzzle.
  

That is dreamwork guidance.

My promise —

• Whatever you share with me will not be analyzed by a dream analysis or dream interpretation software program.
  
• Your conversation via email with me will be a person-to-person exploring of your dreamwork as I support you in many ways to find your answers.

Please email with your dream then and we shall see where it takes us. Whether you are using flower essences for your dreamwork or not, you can use the email contact on my flower essences website.

Once you email your dream I will send you the email link to send me the payment for the service I offer.  There is no set amount, whatever you choose to send will be accepted and we will begin.

If you would like to work through your dreams using flower essence therapy for dreamwork, please read more at that website, see below.

Thank you for considering.

Essa Adams

Please use the email contact at my flower essences website.  Thanks!

Flower Essences and Your Dreamwork

Dream psychic - dream book - metaphysical fiction

ESSA Books – Dream Psychic – Dream Book

What’s in a reincarnation book title?

Reincarnation romance - Reincarnation fiction

I chose my reincarnation novel title for it’s subtlety.  A subtle and suggestive title that makes you look over your shoulder.  Or afraid to look over your shoulder.  *_* But not in a horrifying sort of way.

Reincarnation romance fiction does not necessarily need to be horrifying, it can be enlightening and uplifting.  A calm gentle story about spiritual correctness.

So what portrays a spiritually-correct reincarnation romance about a soul group who are at odds with the way their lives turned out?

If I decided to restructure my new age novel title what would I say?  It is not only about reincarnation of Essenes from the lifetime on Earth of Jesus, but also about a dream interpreter and a psychic and death doula.   A broad scope of personalities.

I would use the words reincarnation or metaphysical somewhere in the subtitle at least.  Romance or Essenes.  Indigo adults. Soul group or soul mate.  Psychic, intuitive or mind reader.  Dream something.

But now it is titled, A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul.  What does that mean?  Not quite descriptive unless one is looking for a novel about ghosts.  And yes, it is about ghosts in a sense.  Spirits who are at rest but still have a few loose ends to tie up for someone else.  Nothing as dramatic as Ghost Whisperer though the novel, at least,  was written before that drama was aired and of that I am proud.

But the book is mostly about the connections between lives in one dimension to lives in another dimension – whether these lives are the same or reincarnated, lived at the same time in difference places or lived from a basic reincarnation point-of-view.  And it is all about perspective.

The title of a reincarnation book could shout reincarnation, yes?  But I liked the subtle haunting suggestion of the woman’s greatest fear.  The breath floating by.  Which is one of my greatest fears actually.  But whew –  I don’t have to live it.  Never say never.

Back to titles of metaphysical fiction.  The only word that seems to make a statement that is of the real metaphysical recipe is soul.

Everyone wants to know about the soul, the soul group, soul purpose, soul contract, soul awakening, soul rebirth.  We all want to help our soul in making this lifetime worth the living, if not for ourselves then for someone else.

The title  echoes from a reincarnation poem.  James Russell Lowell.  Author.  Poet.  The poem title is The Twilight.  My novel title is ‘A Breath Floats By’ which is first line of this poem – imagine what does that mean?  To be in the room or on the lawn in the deep twilight, alone, but then you are not alone.

A breath floats by, an odor from dreamland sent which makes the ghost seem ‘nigh me of a something that came and went.

No, we are none of us alone though some feel the breath of the other souls and some would rather not know.  I am one, I don’t want to know.  When I have felt that ‘breath’ that floats by I have usually yelled and ordered them away.  I just don’t want to know.  I want to feel protected by my God, to feel that there is someone who is between me and that veil.

Reincarnated soul cluster of Essenes now Indigo

The dreaming woman in the reincarnation romance – new age novel, A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul, she brings her dream intuitive gift to the 21^st century and is asked to share her life with others, but she is afraid because she must often commune with spirits who have something to share.  They are not evil, they mean no harm, they are not even frightening like most dramas would portray.  But she is frightened of the odor of dreamland sent.  She is so terrified and she will not fulfill her sacred contract yet again.  Besides the terror of being in touch beyond the veil, ther is the reality of what humans can do to one another when they are afraid.  Persecution.  Her sacred dreamwork has cost her too many lifetimes of persecution and loss, horrifying circumstances that leave her quaking at the prospect of being ‘found guilty’ again.

Is this what I, as a writer and dream intuitive and flower essence consultant and holistic guide, am afraid is a possibility for me?  Being involved in everything esoteric, everything vague but very real to me…. this leaves me vulnerable to others.  I must admit concerns.  But I am in the new age of the old age era, the more accepting, less fearful era now.  I can be open now, surround myself with the few who know and love me wholly.  I am okay.  What I am gifted to offer is all right, it is good.  Very good.  There were dreamers in the Bible.

And I believe perhaps I have lived this before, over and over again.  That perhaps I am surrounded by those who support me.  Because….. like in The Twilight by James Russell Lowell…..

…..sometimes a breath floats by me, an odor from Dreamland sent, which makes the ghost seem nigh me of a something that came and went… of a life lived somewhere, I know not, in what diviner sphere.  A something too vague, could I name it, for others to know:  As though I had lived it and dreamed it, as though I had acted and schemed it long ago.

James Russell Lowell’s reincarnation story in the poem is about those who supported him and longed for him.  The romance of life, the connections we are embraced with when we think we are alone and the person of our soul memory comes to speak to us in the sleeping dream.

Who whispers to you?  To me?  That is the romance of life.  The romance of reincarnation books both fiction and nonfiction.

Dream from reincarnation theories are based on every perspective imaginable, we are all unique, all paths unique and blessed for our finest answers.

You are interested in reincarnation philosophy for a reason.  Perhaps you love reincarnation novels because you are opening to a connection awaiting you, do you think so?

If your dreams are speaking to you and you would like to explore reincarnation possibilities, consider dreamwork with or without flower essence support.  Also consider past lives consulting by using flower essences.  I offer all three choices.

Please understand, I do not believe free dream interpretations serve you best.  You need to open more fully to find your own answers.  You need to do the dreamwork, soulwork and pastlife exploration for yourself.

I can guide you to do this if you are feeling sort of lost in your process.

• I will listen to your dreamwork, stories and soul-searching
  
• guide you with suggestions
  
• send you personal messages or articles I have written
  
• suggest methods for finding your answers
  
• tell you where I think you can make changes in touching your dreams in a closer reality
• and I may have a dream message to share with you at some point
  

My promise —

• Whatever dreams you share with me will not be analyzed by a dream interpretation software program.
  
• Your conversation via email with me will be a person-to-person exploring of your dreamwork, soulwork and past life considerations as I support you in many ways to find your answers.

Please email and we shall see where it takes us. Whether you are using flower essences for your dreamwork or not, you can use the email contact on my flower essences website.

I share my time and energy with you, you share yours with me through a payment of $50 for the first contacts to get your work started and $10 each one thereafter.

Thank you for considering.

Essa Adams

Please use the email contact at either my ESSA Books or flower essences website.  Thanks!

Flower Essences and Your Past Lives Soulwork

Reincarnation romance - Reincarnation fiction

ESSA Books Reincarnation Book – Reincarnation Reading – Reincarnation Romance – Reincarnation Fiction – New Age Fiction

A Toll Booth Needs A Toll Person, Indiana!

The toll booth –

What was it our parents always said about having quarters for phone calls? Well, you know where this going.

Right up there with the problems in the United States economy is the unmanned tollbooth. I do not like them, they too are eating away at our economy, just like computerized checkouts. I will not use an unmanned anything. Give me a person with a job.

Let’s talk how insane this is on the personal level, really.

Driving from Wisconsin along the west side of Chicago, alongside suburbia-something is all I know. An icy evening, dark at four o’clock.

Speed passage lanes – confusing as they are – pull me off the speedway and get me lost. Keep me from paying my tolls.  Bad enough there was construction and narrow winding lanes along cement walls for forty miles. By the fourth toll booth, I had it figured out, just keep driving, pay later.

I knew that because I missed tollbooth number one but stopped at the second tollbooth, paid for that toll and said, “I missed a toll back there.” He wouldn’t take my extra fare. Simple enough arrangement, but no, I was given a pink slip with instructions to pay online. I played dumb. “What does pay online mean? Put my credit card out there online?” His eyes rolled. No way, he wasn’t taking the money.

I have to pay online. So I try but the form wants to know what tollbooth. I don’t know. There were three, no less. Maybe five. It was a long happy retreat, I was tired and snowed upon and cold. Hungry, homesick, and confused. The night was dark. So I do not know nor can I figure out using the map just where I missed those tolls.

Besides, the state in question wants my license plate number and driver’s license number and social security and credit card information. I’m afraid to go back to Illinois. Hell, I’m afraid to drive around Indiana, it’s too close to Chicago. And I’m afraid to drive in my home state of Michigan because they know how to find me here. I have become a recluse because I missed three or five tolls for what?? Fifty cents each in Illinois. But you know what I am more afraid to do, that’s send my social security and credit card and address and date of birth and driver’s license number and license plate number over the internet to pay Illinois a couple bucks in tolls.

Gets worse! I get off at a toll booth in Indiana to visit my brother.

I have always loved the toll booth scenery there because it is like landing from the speedway into the silent pine forest. I remember just a few months ago telling the man that he had a lovely quiet job there in the middle of nowhere.

I remember thinking how he could sit and read or sing all day, play his guitar between semis and cars stopping to pay.

And I remember thinking how desolate he was there in the pine forest right off the edge of insanity with civilization howling past. Thinking how I wouldn’t want his job for anything.

Anyway…… I get off the speedway to go to my brother’s home, a not-so-late black-out evening, a halfway point over-nighter on my way home.

The toll booth was closed. Except I still have to pay. The nice man is gone? I think this is not cool. Was he on vacation, laid off?

A computer was doing his job. Gate is down and this time I must pay.

I am expected to pay seventy-five cents into a jackpot slot. I was going to give the nice man a dollar bill. The single dollar bills were in my wallet, the ones I had been attempting to use to pay the Illinois tolls.

But the computer only accepted nickels, dimes, quarters, or credit cards.

My purse is in the back.

My credit card is not a credit card, it is a debit card anyway. And would the computer confiscate it because I had no other money to pay?

Really, I had no other money to pay. Just my dollar bills, a fifty or two, no coins of silver. I dig through my wallet and find a nickel and a dime with many pennies, then drag my purse to the front and dig out two more silver coins.  Still need fifty-five cents. But I’m getting somewhere.

You know what though?  I’m scared. I am really scared. And ticked off. This dilemma was a perfect enraging spice of energy for an otherwise perfect day.

I am somewhere between a college campus with no people and a prison five miles away.  Where would an escapee head to get the heck out of Dodge but the nearest tollbooth where someone has to stop thus can be carjacked or even killed for the car. That is not a question.

Then there are the speedway people who pull up behind me, like the one who did. It’s him and me. Him waiting, me trying to get my money in the slot and go. Me with my window down watching all sides of my vehicle. Please don’t get out and try to help me, mister, I will definitely crack the gate off with my Denali, don’t think I can’t. But he waited. A nice man I am sure, but I was scared.

I dig through the pockets of my coat and find a quarter. I dig through the dark recesses of the cup holders filled with pennies and finally find silver, one looks Canadian.

In the end the little computer booth doesn’t want the last two coins, it must have taken me too long and my time expired. I was bashing the front of the machine with my hand to get the coins to make a difference in its silver-consumed little computer brain. Several bashes and it worked. The gate went up. I went on.

Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels sold the Indiana Tollway to a consortium, the firms Cintra of Spain and Macquarie of Australia, which gave Indiana $3.8 billion. Funds the state uses for roads.  Funds that impress the state voters to reelect him for his audacious ability to keep the state in the black.  He is getting a copy of this experience. Online, in print and through every congressperson and council person he has working with him.

One speed pass lane on a speedway is enough, we are supposed to conserve fuel, driving faster is not cutting it. Autos do not need to thrust through at six and ten lanes wide.

A tollbooth needs a toll person.  A security guard would be a nice touch. Two or more jobs right there, depending on location and time of night.

People need the jobs. Travelers need the people.

Where is Gracie the fake ladybug?

If you read Gracie – the Fake Christmas Ladybug last December, you may wonder what happened to her now that she would becoming out of hibernation.  Well, Gracie, it seems, dehydrated while in the tissue-lined envelope in my desk drawer.  I don’t know what those fake lady bugs drink whey are stuck in the wall sleeping all winter, but they must depend on some sustenance.

I don’t mean to sound callous, though I know I do.  But I tried to save her.  I nearly ruined my marriage saving her.  The duct tape is still there to remind me.  And yes, the plastic film is still on all these windows.  Here where we live the plastic is needed to break the freezing wind gusts from the lake until the end of April.  We do uncover some key windows for listening to spring bids in the garden and letting a breeze through the house on warmer days.

And yes, there are many of Gracie’s little sisters trapped in the plastic, some died already.  I feel terrible, really I do.  But if there were any real lady bugs in there – the kind with only five or less spots, I would get them out and take them to a brush pile in the garden, really I would.

Gracie’s story link is on the right menu if you are inclined to know the whole terrible scene.

Did you hear the one about the plush girl?

Omg – I love when the muse is rockin’ when i wake up in the morning and i have to kick it all out before i get to do anything at all. Especially after only three hours sleep. Loosens me up.

This is an original post for my women’s fiction short stories and essays blog – a blog that includes the lies we are told as women in the American culture, for the most part. But I have readers worldwide, so you tell me, do you get the same cruppie as we?

You know the cruppie lies and misconceptions where we feel like we are gorgeous peaches then find out we are considered toadstools, poisonous mushrooms, somehow defective.

Did you hear the one about the peaches and oranges? I love Paulo Coelho’s mind and heart. He has many parables on his Amazon blog. See his book page for The Alchemist, scroll down to the blog.

Anyway, he told the one about the lovely fruit.

An old man sold fruit on the side of the road, beautiful expensive fruit that he praised. He made a fine living enjoying selling peaches and oranges to travelers.

His educated son came from the city and said, father, don’t you realize times are tough and people cannot buy this expensive fruit now. The man was not able to read, so no, he had not known the economy was down. I guess no one was complaining.

He bought cheaper fruit, reduced his prices and promotional efforts, didn’t feel he could praise the new fruit. Times got tough for him too.

Ladies, I’ve got to bring it on home.

Did you hear the one about the plush girl who just reached puberty?  A budding young woman with clouds of curls, clear blue eyes, and sun-kissed cameo skin, treasuring a figure she moved gracefully.

She was fourteen years old and lived in the country. Her parents, grandparents, great-grandparents were all plush, soft people who worked hard on their hobby farm with organic gardens. She sold fruit and vegetables to their community. They treasured their free time, went biking, canoeing, and played backgammon instead of owning a television. Seldom went to the city, then only museums or to visit plush city cousins. A saving grace… an American woodworking journal was their main magazine.

The plush girl’s cousin was one year younger. She visited every summer. This visit the cousin brought a one year subscription of an American teenager magazine. Three magazines from her friend’s older sister’s pile. And a magazine from the friend’s mother’s women issues collection.

They spent two weeks reading at bedtime – weight, body image, self acceptance, diet, food choices, health. Stop eating that junk or you will die of high cholesterol and diabetes, you must eat this and be thin to be safe from fat diseases. Fear-factors in health and mental disorders if one did not have self acceptance. Frizzy hair? Tame those curls. Are your legs too knobby or too fat – if so here is how to dress. Do you think your nose is too big, it’s never too big, love yourself. Do you worry you are different from other teens – just love yourself and embrace their differences too and if you are fat take the obesity challenge together and you will all be so much happier. Will he like you even when you look like that – if not here is how to convince him. If he does not like you don’t waste the cute just be the best you can and be yourself and be sure to be thin and move on. The ultimate question. The pretty, slender girl’s photograph over the hornet-target, confidence-zinger, self-doubt-builder caption, “Do you think you are fat?”

And the plush girl wilted.

We know the ropes.

But I cannot in fair conscience leave the plush girl wilted.

After all, we have naïve young women in their teens reading this blog about the lies we are told. We must tell them the truth. Help me out with other scenarios. Your comments are safe, I moderate all comments on my blogs so the haters and fearful ones cannot sting you.

Scenario #1 Plush girl turned skinny/plush/skinny/extraplush/ almost skinny/extraextraplush as a woman. Struggled, fought, kicked, cried and screamed her self-hatred all the way up to three hundred pounds in every effort to chisel svelte from her plush body. Then she got mad. Quit dieting. Embraced her normal food desires, normal exercise of canoeing and biking, gardening and walking. She ended up at an extra-plush two hundred twenty-five pound. The extra fifty pounds she carried now are because she dieted, so it is pretty much a given that her metabolism is screwed for a few more years at least. Oh, and she gave birth to three lovely children so that usually changes everything, except for some women with those-kind-of-genes who remain svelte after birthing their third child twenty-two years ago.

Scenario #2 Someone told her that she was lovelier to them than any of the slender girls in the magazines. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. She bought it and lived happily ever after.

Scenario #3 Plush lush girl had the stamina of an ox and verve of a warrior goddess. She woke up the next morning with resolve that she would not allow these freaking insane publishers and writers change her life. She looked in the mirror and could see her nose was a little big, it matched her plush face just fine. Her knees were a little cushiony but they held up her lush body and made for sturdy walking and ladder climbing. She could dance the rump off a cow, canoe a wild river, bike up a mountain. Her frizzy hair, when spirited with H2O, regrouped into the halo of curls framing her round shoulders to give her the beauty and balance every portrait artist dreams they will paint.Her bosom was ripe like the fruit in the orchard… she read that somewhere in one of her plush great-grandfather’s poetry books.

Plush lush girl exhaled. Then she smiled at the truth in the mirror.

MIRRORS

From Paulo Coelho’s Blog: “Mirrors are the attribute of vanity, and represent the narcissistic solitude of the vain. On the other hand, they can also represent the knowledge of oneself, the truth of oneself.”

“Paulo Coelho is a firm believer of Internet as a new media and is the first Best-selling author to actively support online free distribution. See http://piratecoelho.wordpress.com .”

Essa Adams at Women’s Fiction Blog http://essaadams.wordpress.com supports the use of copy from this blog, just link it back to the blog. I am not a bestseller yet, need all the friends and link support you will give. Appreciated! Peace to you and yours.

300 Free Novels — Show me the connection and I will send you a free ebook, A Breath Floats By. Author Thayne Hudson. I am giving way 300 each month in 2009 to anyone who connects this blog to a promotional source like their Facebook, twitter, del.icio.us, myspace, RSS my Amazon.com blog to somewhere out there, and more. Go for it. Then show me where by using a comment. I moderate comments and remove the link so you stay anonymous. Want a free ebook? Link away.

~Wool Hat Hair. A six-word story…

Wool Hat Hair. A six-word story…

Natural curls. Sleeping in wool beanie. (6)

Mine looked kinda like this winter Nordic cap 

A flap hat from Vermont Originals, all wool, most handcrafted in U.S.A.

What? You thought I was blogging  a picture of me with hat hair?

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My priority was staying warm. Blast of winter cold from my room and all.

What I needed was –

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the Wool Peak Hat from VT Originals to stuff my curls up under in the peak. Could have been interesting. I like the grey but red is my colour.

Expounding

I got the idea from Little House on the Prairie. Mary, Laura. Winter in loft. Loose white sleep caps, kerchiefs, I think. Didn’t go so well. All I had was that wool flap hat.

Other ski cap choices for sleeping

Lovely wool Dohm beanies at Rei (above)

I could have also used the extra large cap with wool roundtop. Also by Vermont Originals. (above)

Visit Etsy dot com for the feminine Katy’s Crochet. Pink, turquoise, tan, more.

Consider the adults Llamajama Fiddle Head ski hat .

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Childrens too at Llamajama woolens. Coats etc!

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This is one way to keep the heat turned down. Our body heat escapes through our head, so sleeping in wool winter ski caps are positive energy saving, go-green, support American wool handcrafters way to go. Family friendly hat hair sleep hats way to go people.

Now if you have long hair —

Essa Adams is an author and publisher who loves to tell a story, short, long, picture blogging or novels.  Her family is very close to opening an Internet business that offers simple answers to taking it all home – the answers to living our personal revolution for peace and green resources.

~Hate my progressive eyeglasses….

Hate my innovative eyeglasses….

“You kidding me – only THREE words?”

That’s the title and six words story for speed readers and busy writers. Let your imagination carry you away. See 2008 reviews on 5 women’s fiction novels.

Expounding…..eye strain and reading glasses.

UPDATED – The eyeglasses were returned and remade, not once but three times.  The final return now awaits a refund.  But my eyes stopped hurting and turning red.  Even a second prescription reading did not show that I needed any changes though.

But — this is all about the progressive eyeglasses.

Customer opinionated rant ahead.

Ever noticed a person reading and their head is loose? They wobble on their chair like reacting to quick-shooting sensations?

I thought it was a muscular disease. I have been there and back.  I empathized. But perhaps I am at the bottom of it. Stay with me now.

Three weeks ago I ordered new bifocals. They told me about a new-fangled reading glasses combo. Progressive mutli-focals. These have a bifocal definition on the bottom of the lens for the arm-length distance computer screen or store shelf. The half-lens above is for driving, watching birds, seeing individual snowflakes in the garden.

I loved both those focals, loved them.

Then it was time to read.

This is where the reading corridor is used, the tiny hourglass shape in the center of the entire lens.

I am an author. I read all day. Books. Computer screen a foot from my face with bifocals on to see clearly. Much eyestrain. A real neck cramp, but I do it. That is why I was excited about the new-fangled reading hourglass in the center of my new multifocal glasses. Just in time for the twenty book reading spree research before my next novel on Lindsay, Gooee, and Heather Laurel’s story behind Jesus and the Essenes. omgoodness! I was so happy.

Open book to read. There is no focus. All blurred.

What did they tell me? You gotta point your nose at what you want to see.

Hmmm…..

Fifteen minutes of pointing my nose like a Brittany spaniel and I figure it out.

I am able to see three words in large text. Five words in small text. All I can read at a time in new-fangled lenses. The rest is distorted, not just blurred. Distorted. Page is like a wave of paper if I don’t move my head. I say to me, these are good for reading with Amazon Kindle books or my ebooks for Blackberry. Not book books.

I call optometrist’s office. They again mention this might take a few weeks to adjust. I don’t have a few weeks. I am cramming. Well, come back tomorrow and maybe the lenses can be tilted.

I try all day to do it right anyway. Had been so excited, you know. Headaches, neck ache, nausea would fade with new glasses. Now I am tense. Neck pain. Now I walk like Johnny Dep on Pirates of the Caribbean. Feel drunk too. And carsick.

Tomorrow comes. Office manager explains that she is on her fifth pair of new-fangled before finding an improved, less distorted patent that works for her. She put me in THE ONE that works for her to spare me.

Me: I am not spared. Show me again what it is like to read in these things.

And she reads down the page of a book, head shaking all the way.

Me: So you are not kidding. I will only be able to read three words on one line at a time with these. I cannot rotate my eyes alone to read the line above or line below. I have to move my head up and down. And I have to move my head left and right to see the left of the line and the right. Reading a wide-page will be rocking fun. Whee, large print novels, fun!

She: Yes, that’s the way they are. Like we told you, they take getting used to. You have to point your nose at what you want to read.

Me: Point your nose at it! What that means to me is point your nose at the BOOK! Point your nose at the cereal box. Point your nose at the up-close computer monitor. Not the three words you want to read.

She: Point your nose at the words.

Me: I just want to be certain we aren’t missing something here. I will never be able to read more than three to five words on one line again without shaking my head side-to-side as I propel my head up and down over the page for as long as I shall live? Right?

She: Ninety-eight percent of our patients order the progressive lenses. They adjust and like them.

Me: That’s bull. No one likes this.

She: There are several manufacturers. These have been around twenty-five years. They are much improved.

Me: I cannot imagine. Some things are better off left unimproved and this was obviously one.

I further assured the office they needed to be more specific with their patients about what their noses needed to point at. Three words means three words. That no one wanted to live like this and I would not. That the 30-day return policy with no refund on the new-fangled lenses was not acceptable. That I wanted bifocals, so re-measure me anyway. Right, you read it right. My insurance company paid $145, I paid $105 for the new-fangled progressive-type multi-focals at a discount. But I sent them back for regular bifocals and will not be refunded. They are doing me a favor for giving me the thirty-day option to adjust and return. Their deception on an inadequate product, I pay. They? The techs, office manager, optometrist, lens manufacturers, and patent holders get paid. Do you want to guess where these patents were developed? I’m not saying it.

Now I ask you, the readers, oh, and the writers of books — we who have our head in words all the live long day. What do you suppose we will look like when we are ten or twenty years into this new-fangled phase of living in our new-fangled reading lenses? Our heads shaking loose on our necks whether we are reading or not. Our entire bodies with this swivel-bob motion. Going…. Uummmmm…… where is that word again? What line was I on? Like… like… well like wobbly elderly people who sometimes lose their stability and have earned that wobble. Only we will be thirty and fifty years old and wonder why.

Now the newer version – the multizone bifocal – is supposed to be superior, studies say.

~January Contest to Win Books

Reincarnation romance - Reincarnation fiction

The contest was discontinued to keep life simple.

But if you would like a free ebook of A Breath Floats By, just go to ESSA Books and send an email mentioning the contest from Women’s Fiction Blog.   Thank you for checking on us here.  Essa

Scroll down to read the latest posts on Women’s Fiction Blog

~Women’s fiction books: reincarnation reviews to remember during 2009

Five women’s fiction books on the Women’s Fiction Blog – five authors that I recommend for 2009 reads.  One theme is reincarnation in most, spiritual awakening and /or life awakening in all.  If you read these, please go to Amazon and review, they all deserve attention in an awakening world.

Enjoy – Essa

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The Painter’s Gift

Author Penelope Holt

Reviews–

The Painter’s Gift… the place of religion in life is more practically divined here. The idea of piecing together a new holy message is appealing, the lead character is worth pulling for. –Clarion-ForeWord

Frankly, I can’t believe that this is Penelope Holt’s first novel! It is truly an excellent, fascinating, and meaningful piece of work. The Painter’s Gift… conveys a powerful message that ’sticks’ with the reader long after the adventure of reading it is completed. It is a ‘gift’ for all just waiting to be unwrapped!    –Dr. Alex Pattakos, author, Prisoner of Our Thoughts

…Dan Brown’s obsession with (religious) detail doesn’t show up… Essentially, the story revolves around simpler themes of remorse and joy; loss and renewal; and embitterment and faith. Holt presents an interesting concoction of romance and quasi-religious mystery that blends quite seamlessly. She has crafted a pleasantly surprising novel and a solid, quick read. –Five Stars, Bookreview.com

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Threads

Author Nell Gavin

Reviews–

Nell Gavin has brought Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII, to vibrant life in her unusual historical novel, Threads. Anne’s path from that of an unloved and abused young girl, to the position of Queen of England, is presented by Anne herself as she looks back upon the circumstances that eventually led to her execution. Although there really isn’t a lot of actual historical information about Anne, Gavin has created believable personalities with strengths and weaknesses, imperfections and understandable desires. Using a combination of fact and legend, she tells a story of passion, obsession, and heartbreak that will capture readers with its depth and humanity.

….in the end, beautifully coaxes the dark ghosts of a long dead past into the present for an introduction readers won’t soon forget.  Threads is a remarkable effort. It is, without a doubt, one of the best historical novels I’ve ever read. I give it my very highest recommendation!

–Nancy Mehl, author, book reviewer,  Amazon review

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A Breath Floats By

Author Thayne Hudson

Reviews–

An astonishing and beautifully crafted book of the strong currents beneath the thin veneer of modern life.  You may never again view a coincidence in the same light.

A Breath Floats By is about infidelity, divorce, women’s friendship, commitment, cancer, death and the afterlife. The story originates from the philosophy of astrology and numerology, dream interpretation and psychic gifts, the Essenes mysticism and reincarnation, soul mates and life’s sacred contracts. Beneath a timely, gutsy eternal love story, a swirling spiritually-charged world is exposed.

–Heather Fairbairn, Edmonton, Canada

What is important, and fascinating (in A Breath Floats By) is their relationships with one another, including their souls. How one character meets another, and comes to feel that they have known the other before; or one person can love another for years, and yet not feel consummated, in all the senses of the word. How soul and memory play a supremely important part in the loves of real people, if they will only pay attention.

When measured by that yardstick, I am sorry to say that many novels, even best sellers, often seem shallow by comparison.

–Bill Fabrey, NAAFA Founder

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Seeking Sara Summers

Author Susan Gabriel

Reviews–

The story of Sara (Summers) Stanton sounds like that of many women who live their lives trapped into a life of mostly self-imposed expectations…. the reader is inside Sara’s head all through the story… made the struggle very personal, and somewhat painful. I had this urge to step into the book and scream to Sara it was all right to follow her heart.

Sara’s cancer read to me like an allegory…  it didn’t feel so much like a physical malady but more like a symbol that the way we live our life can just as easily kill us within. Sara’s worst enemy doesn’t seem to be her physical cancer, but the mental one…. I kept focused on that bright light at the end of the tunnel that Sara was navigating, and that I kept hoping she’d reach before perishing of self imposed darkness.

–Amazon reviewer Elena

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Feather

Author Abra Ebner

Reviews–

Note from Essa Adams — I am including this book because it tickles my fancy – listen to this description, followed by a simple review. Do you feel the comedy coming on…

“…..the book is based on a legend where in the beginning the gods made man and woman, one being, one person. This being was so perfect, the gods grew jealous, ripping the being apart and casting them to earth in their greed… this created man and woman, sharing one singular soul. The woman was the watcher of their soul and the mother of earth – the male was the warrior and strength. But the male also hungered for the soul the female possessed, so their existence together was bitter-sweet, and dangerous….. The story is set in modern times, at a secluded college … where… she finds her other half and her true love. She discovers her life until now was only a fraction of the life she had lived. Immortal, she finds that her past life was lost, torn from her in a moment where she had no choice. Edgar, her other half, struggles to stifle his desire to kill her, choosing love instead, and a life of eternal turmoil.

…complicated… magical world where we learn to appreciate our human ease for love and acceptance. As Elle faces her demons, her friends, and her enemies in a world she never thought possible, where warriors spring from the earth and angels can exist amongst us, she finds a power and happiness she had thought gone forever.” end description

Review …funny, yet endearing, also packed with action, and nothing was sugar-coated, and I like that.  The magical element was seamless and well-backed, nothing seemed too far-fetched, and as the mysteries unraveled I had a lot of fun figuring it out along with the characters. She didn’t give anything away too soon, and the twists were unexpectedly perfect, and eye opening. The story unraveled seamlessly, keeping me intrigued.

–Amazon reviewer Lucy

~The camera, body image and aging women… like me

I thought I was unacceptable then.

Digging through photos, I found one of me when… Dang!  I looked pretty good. Follow the sequence of photos as I age, you will see what I mean. Young women, take it and run. Understand that we live in the shadow of Barbie. Don’t hide from the camera, no matter your size.

Allowing more photos to be taken of me is only one little resolution though. Being the self-starter, perfectionistic-type, it seems that a more influential plan is in rounding out this one intention with other important goals I know I will meet. And why not write them down? I’ll do them, I will. Really.

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Christmas kiss

2009 New Year Resolutions

Essa Adams a.k.a. Thayne Hudson

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• More photos taken of me. Check out this progression over the years. I well remember how discontented I was when the photo was taken. Now I like the picture. If that’s my reaction at fifty-ish, what do I think I will be saying when I’m seventy-something?
• Eat more soup, vegetables, salads. Honestly, my favorite foods.
• Plant a winter garden on the sleeping porch tables and shelves in January. Use garden lights.
• Have a load of horse and chicken manure dumped in my back yard. Top with soil and organic compost. In late-March, plant garden.
• Read all my books on the Essenes.
• Write A Walk-in Illusion during February-March in six weeks or less, then don’t look for several months.
• Publish Forever, Moore in June 2009.

Do I have to have ten?

Second in my aging series

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• Dance every day. One song makes me happier.
• Bicycle often.
• Read two novels a month. Review, promote for other authors to reach their dreams. Believe the same will happen for me.

That’s ten. One more…

When I started to really hide from the camera, eighteen years ago.

• Spend more time with all the people and fur children I love. If not time, then be closer to them, call them, connect.

Eleven has always been a special number for me. So we have eleven.

Good luck with yours, if you are gullible enough to make any.

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The last photo is from four years ago. Though I look younger now, since then, since I was in my teens even, I have hidden behind the camera. But this is a new year. I may hold my granddaughter and pet skunks in front of me, but I will be seen and remembered.

We all want a glow of pleasure from our memories. Let’s not be encouraged us to hide in shame and humiliation of our appearance – to hide from the means for our families to also have those memories after we are gone. Let’s learn to make friends with the camera.

Camera not my friend, can you tell? Seven years ago.

I wanted to burn this. Now I'm okay, really.