AMBER ALERT

This link is broken in two places.  after www. and after .com

http://www. fosters.com /apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20091110/GJNEWS_01/711109876

Please pass this info on until she is returned.

Swine Flu – A Personal Episode

I HAD SWINE FLU BEFORE THEY CALLED IT

I take this very seriously though I am a tongue-in-cheek communicator.

In early February 2009, I got sick.  We are talking really really not well.

It started as tired.  I remember thinking, ‘Why am I so tired every morning?’  I could not think of getting up before ten or eleven even though hubby was home on vacation.  Then my body started to fill with fluid and I wondered if I had congestive heart failure.

Then the Swine Flu permeated my body so I could no longer stay in denial.  I did not know it was H1N1 until long after recovery.  Which was a long way off.  I am pretty convinced it came to me through a Chicago connection who works with hundreds of people each day.  Now that we hear what people experience with the H1N1 virus, I am certain I encountered this way back then.  It was unlike any other flu and I am fifty-two.

FLU PERSONALITIES

Each flu virus is different.  Then, in each person it takes a new approach.  The same but different.  Fever, chills, aches, nausea, loss of appetite.

Yes, intestinal aggravations and vomiting can be a complication of the flu.  But the intestinal symptoms on their own are not really flu because the way I see it….  flu is about a raging infection of the very glands whose job it is to grab the infection and fight it…. with copious discharge of the glands, ultimate bronchial congestion, endless cough to dislodge infectious phlegm from body, consequent breathing difficulty, and even fluid in the lungs.

That is why intestinal complications are referred to as ‘intestinal flu’.  And these are serious as they can cause dehydration and that is most serious of all.  Dehydration is when the body dries up and the infection rages higher.

MY FLU PERSONALITY

My Swine Flu was all about the throat.  Like strep only without the crown-to-the-floor-nailing headache I always used to get with strep before I kicked it for good using my own special home remedy. Perhaps I did not feel the other symptoms at first, except the tired part, because of my natural remedies, I don’t know, can’t call it.  For me, it was the throat.

With this flu, February 2009, my throat was on fire, I could not begin to want to drink water but I forced myself.

THEN THE PHLEGM AND COUGH

Then came the phlegm drainage of the swollen glands in my neck which brought the constant cough.  I wanted to not cough but the cough was never-ending, day and night.  And coughing is to protect us from taking the phlegm into our bodies even deeper, coughing purpose is to get it out.  So I tried to never take anything to stop the cough.  In short, I worked with it.  Drank as much as water as possible to keep the bronchial loose and phlegm thin so I could cough it out.

Not pretty, but the phlegm and undulating infection is what the plague was all about.   If they got through that, the pneumonia was next.

AFTER FLU WATCH FOR PNEUMONIA – THE KILLER KIND

Me, I could not breathe at one point, but we are not there yet. I was at the point of pneumonia when I called the doctor though.

I went to a stupid doctor who could get me in before the weekend.  What is it with me and doctors anyway?  He told me I had a cold.  If I had strep, he did not test.  Just gave me antibiotics which I did not take.  Could he not see I was grey as cement, no air, no oxygen, no nothing left to give to this flu fight.

I left the stupid doctor’s office and went to the natural health store.  Should have gone there first, I realize.   Got more blackberry syrup as an effective phlegm expectorant.  Some cranberry concentrate for the bronchial and breathing, and that helped some but I was in rought shape by then.  Got some teas for nutrition.  Some homeopathics to continue to follow my other symptoms.  Home to try to live.  But I really was having a hard time breathing.

That night during a snowstorm while hubby was at work on midnight shift – yes, he should not have gone that night, we know – I could not breathe well.  I realized the suck-the-life-out-of-me energy going into the cough was taking my air, it was closing in, I was getting less and less air every time, coughing more sporadically.  Asthma like.

I was ready to call an ambulance.  Found a bottle of homeopathic remedy for asthma in my ‘cold and asthma’ tupperware box, thank goodness for organization.  Took four pellets and the cough stopped in twenty seconds.  Done, gone.  Breathing normal.

My throat still hurt like hell.  But I could breathe.  Because now is was all about the oxygen.

I had to use the asthma homeopathic remedy a few more times.  This was a combination I had purchased four years before on a whim, even though I do not clinically have asthma.

RECOVERY – OR NOT

Then it was all about the recovery.  I was wrung out like an old washrag.

Could not walk across the house without gasping.  Dishes wore me out, I was exhausted.  I continued to sleep lengthy hours, forced myself to shower, it was so hard.  That’s what walking pneumonia can do.  I didn’t even have that.

The men from hubby’s work got this too, said they could not walk half a block without sitting down, it was the most debilitating they ever experienced.  It was the most extreme I ever experienced too.

.

Hubby, not so much.  He got it and with the homeopathics he used he was able to not feel so much, stay strong and think he was infallible.  When he went in to work with it the guys tried to kill him.

SELF SHIELD – SELF PRESERVE – SELF RESPONSIBILITY

There are many ways to protect yourself from flu, any flu.  I wish I had started earlier, not been wondering so long what was wrong.

1) Colloidal silver – look up Natural Health Solutions Nanosilver and others.  Colloidal silver smothers the bad bacteria, leaving the good bacteria to fight for you.

2) Homeopathic choices are another way, they make the symptoms more subtle while the virus passes through the system… they do not make you well, just stronger.  Get a good homeopath ahead of time.  Homeopathic choices can be given prior to being exposed too, and at first onset if that is what is called for.  Every person is a different candidate for a different choice, homeopaths understand.

3) Keep hydrated.

4)  Do not dry up your cough either.

5) Keep a good asthmatic combination on hand for emergency.  These are available at health stores and online shops.

FLU SHOT

Nope, I did not say do not get a flu shot.  I absolutely will not say that.  Though I will say I would rather go through what I did than risk a flu shot or the new vaccine that is untested.  I did not say do not go to a medical practitioner.  Though I would say I wish my very own practitioner had been around that week.  I will never say what you can take, as I am not a medical practitioner.  I will say this – plan ahead.

Yes, I am just saying….

Be prepared.

Have a plan prior.

Self shield.

Godspeed.

Stay strong.

What to do with dog poop? A ladylike essay…

WOMEN’S FICTION OR MYTH — We must never use dog poop to take out our frustrations on anyone.

A LADY-LIKE ESSAY

First, what to do with the neighbor’s dog poop?

1. Recycle coffee cans for neighborly gifts.   Fill them with dog poop destined for the dump where it acts as compost heat. Of course, when the sun beats down on a coffee can with a plastic lid, the ripeness is overwhelming and you might want to think twice about that lid ever coming off while in your yard.  Deliver it to proper owner.
2. Keep composted cans for our hydrangeas, mix with coffee grinds and cottonseed meal.  Wear an oxygen mask.  Cover fertilizer with decorative gravel or woodchips.
3. Wing dog pile at side of neighbor’s garage. When it sticks you know they might get the idea.

An explanation may be in order. I will try to advocate this fine idea without giving away my brother’s identity.

• When the dog poop does not belong to your dog – that means we can all recognize what comes out of our dog and we find a dog pile in our yard that is not like the other.  This usually happens in a pattern. Neighbor’s dog visits, does business, goes home. Neighbor does not wonder why his dog is constipated. They know full well dog is fine, they can see piles over the fence rotting in your backyard.
• But that’s okay, the neighbors know it will all come back to them. That is because when you go out and scoop your own dog piles you throw their dog piles back over the fence. You used to gingerly drop them over the side into a polite little mountain. But then you just started winging the pile to randomly fall where they may, after all that is the way you find them. One day you have had enough shit and give it a whirl off the shovel. Splat. On the side of the garage it sticks. Oops.
• What would you do? Scrape it off with a long stick? Use your power washer? Leave it? My brother smeared it with the stick, not intentionally, he did feel badly. Then he left it there all summer, seems the neighbors never came to that side of the garage to notice, never missed that pile at all. Finally, I want to belive with all my heart, that my sister-in-law, dear long-suffering woman, wearied of looking at it every evening when she retired to an iced tea on the patio.  Perhaps she hosed it off.  Perhaps bro did.

What to do with your own dog’s poop?

1. Pick up before the lawn crew arrives. We only have the giant-sized to worry about.  Nice tidy poop from eating highly digestible dog food.  We always tred to get every bit, especially before the lawn crew comes to mow.  Still, there was once a pile missed and the youngest guy mowed it.  He’s mowing with a potentially deadly machine, for crying out loud.  How can he miss a rock?  Would he mow a rock?  A Newfie dogpile is not boulder-size, but definitely noticeable.  The lawn crew owner complained because his tractor and trailer and inside his truck was tracked up with dog poop.  Don’t look at me.  I wouldn’t have done it.  If the kid had mowed a rock, he would have worse problems than smeary dog poop.   Now we mow our own lawn.
2. Install a second septic system just for the dogs. This is for townspeople with Newfoundland-sized dogs.
3. Little plastic baggies, turn wrong side out, pick up stuff, turn right side out and zip closed. This is for city dwellers who walk dogs in the street while wearing their career threads.  Biodegradeable plastic is environmentally-correct.
4. Country dwellers. Some fill wheelbarrows and actually use their dog poop on the compost piles that feed the fruit trees. I wouldn’t want it on my vegetable garden, but this is ponderable use of fine energy, at the very least.  Very eco-friendly.  
5. Country dwellers. Throw it onto the farmer’s field at the roadside without the plastic holding bag.  Extremely eco-friendly.  But the farmer might have an opinion.
6. Wait until it freezes then rake it into piles and pick up.  Beginning of September is when it starts at our house.  Hubby tried it a few times.   Oh yes.  The one in charge of these piles is usually identifiable as a husband or teenage son-in-training to be a husband.  Picker-upper must have unfailing hope anda positive attitude.  a)  Must hope for no rain.  b)  Must hope for no leaves on the piles of poop so the unaware woman of the house will not skate through the poop.  c)  Must hope for no leaves on the piles so the woman’s young children will not dive into the leaves and dog poop.  No, we would not want that.  d)  Finally, the person in charge of the piles who decided to let them freeze before scooping must hope for a very short autumn to pull this off.    This only works once a decade really.  Once the visualization of the wife skating free-form through a pile of wet leaves over a few piles of dog poop, well there is no getting that out of your mind.   So the person in charge keeps seeing it happen and there is no hope of it never happening again.  Even in this rare form, it is still the power of attraction.  The Law of Victimization.  The Power of Humour.  Or whatever you want to call it, it’s still your ass.

Essa Adams is a publisher and writer, her latest novel … with two Newfoundland dogs and a second septic for the house …  is published under the penname Thayne Hudson.   A Breath Floats By is available from Amazon, with more information at ESSA Books.   She is author of pet memoirs,  Skunk Medicine: There’s a Skunk in the House! and Other Tail-Raising Stories.  She publishes the Women’s Fiction Blog and Pet Skunk Medicine blog where one will find excerpts, short pet stories, a bright array of essays and rants.

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.

~I hope the neighbors weren’t watching….

This morning our area of the world was encased in ice. Hubby was still in bed.

I promised myself I was going right back to bed. After I fed the birds and squirrels.

But first I needed to make a path with the ice melting stuff which we call rock salt even though it is no longer really salt.

I go to the mudroom leading outside.

Birdseed and corn. No rock salt.

And that is another story altogether.

One would have to live in this house for twenty-eight years with this man to understand why it is another story. Promise, it is.

So I get a bucket of birdseed and don my clogs. I figure I will stand outside the back door and throw seeds in all directions. I won’t walk anywhere. Don’t want to fall. If I did fall, the problem would be I would not have my cell phone to call for help if I broke something. And the reason I would not have my cell if I were broken-hipped on the drive, besides it being inside the house, is this. I don’t have any special place to put my cell phone.

No, not completely naked in an ice storm. I have on clogs. And a sleep hoodie. Grey. Comes to well above the knees. I’m not going anywhere after all, being there’s ice everywhere.

But I take a step and my clog sinks a bit into the crusted icy slush.

There is traction.

So I venture forth into the dawn wearing a grey hoodie that goes to there – and we know where there ends, don’t we? And clogs.

Really, my hair concerns me more. I could pull the hoodie up.

The winter world I live in is a fishbowl of sorts. Being at a rather eclectic lake community where summer people are seldom around, even at the Christmas holidays, there is privacy I appreciate. A stillness of the lake where geese voices trail through the grey dawn as pattering slush settles about me and on me. Bringing me back to my bird feeding.

I feed them on the table by my office windows. I feed them on the birdfeeder along the fence. I feed them on the ladder feeder outside the dining window. I feed them at the bench next to the sleeping porch.

If… no, not if… when. When someone drove by, I did not notice them. I was crunching into the slush very carefully. One foot in front of the other. Remembering the time I crushed my left knee from one false move, one moment not focusing. I was listening to the geese fuss over at the lake where they keep vigil on an open feeding area they melted.

Oooi, and I was worried about the neighbors.

The person who drove by, well, he noticed me. I know because word gets around and back within two hours. The person who drove by told the guy he stopped to talk to who told the guy who told the waitress at the corner restaurant four miles away who reassured me over my latte that everyone really did think I was feeding the birds, no matter what they were saying or how they qualified the identity of me.

‘Yes, it was her, wandering around the yard at dawn half naked… the crazy eccentric writer with the cottage full of skunks.”

But they are wrong, I mourned over my latte. At present, I only have two skunks.

~The quilt on the wall

Seasonal pause

You may momentarily wonder, as you visit, is Women’s Fiction a blog as in a journal?  Or is Women’s Fiction a short story forum within a blog?

Both.

Women’s Fiction will cover a range of life concerns from beliefs to gardening, body image to political (i.e. caring for the people) and relationships to animal rights.

A tapestry of women’s voices are being pieced for the quilt on the wall. This will be a rich wool-backing, whereas the creative side of short stories will dance and illuminate.

Why the pregnant pause?

Actually, I prefer the term peri-menopausal pause.  Seriously though – the holidays are all around us now, but I don’t hear them this year.  Something is amiss in the world, oh what can that be?

I continue to represent what I feel with Gracie, the tiny fake ladybug that needed me. For today, for me, this is as real as it gets.

The little fake ladybug sleeping in an envelope in my desk drawer. Yes, oh yes, she’s in my drawer. Her sister, Phoebe, seems to be down in the wall.

What was also real for me was to reach out, wanting to share a story that flowed from me. Wanting for someone, anyone, to smile while there is so much amiss. My ultimate offering.

I am a person of words, could write until dawn passes and comes again.

But no one has time to read, especially now when it seems like the world could cave in. When we need to ignore that for a time because there are so many holiday preparations. Reading is for January.

So I say briefly to you tonight in an intensely un-politically-correct outpouring….

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas… and all the other happy and merry stuff that goes with this season. I hope you and your family smile often.

Essa

ESSA Books

Remember to enter the book give-away after you read Gracie: The Christmas Ladybug