Friday, August 31, 2012

Higher And Higher


In and out!

That's how they fly.  Blink and they are gone.  Out!  No one expected to see a drone in a small rural airport. They began to wonder.  Why?  What was the pull?

Nearly everyone was talking about the dark operations going on throughout the country.  But there was an especially heavy presence in western North Carolina around PARI (Pisgah Astronomical Research Institute) in Rosman, North Carolina.  Black helicopters, UFOs.  Some say it is the crystals in the mountains, other the clandestine government activity.  What was going on under PARI?  Why such secrecy?

Was it that the mountains simulated Pakistan?  It is a designated military flight path.  Jet pack fliers.  Black hawk helicopters. C-130s.

But no one.  Not a soul expected to see a drone in an unused, small rural airport that day. Broad daylight. They began to wonder.  Why?

There was something odious in the air.  We both felt it. We began to syllabicate. Was this more than a coincidence?

We allowed our minds to wander.  Consider this:

Rosman, NC.  Roswell, NM. 

Roswell, NM ~ 65 years ago.  6 + 5 = 11.  1+1 = 2.

From  http://www.in5d.com/1111-repetitive-numbers.html: 

"11 represents spiraling twin strands of human DNA moving into higher frequency of consciousness.
11 represents balance.
11+11=22=4=Time. 22 is a Master or Masonic Number.

Some souls see a Golden Age emerging, as told by the ancient prophets. Gold refers to Alchemy , the alchemical changes that are taking place in our bodies in the evolution of consciousness.

 Physical reality is a consciousness program created by digital codes. Numbers, numeric codes, define our existence. Human DNA, our genetic memory, is encoded to be triggered by digital codes at specific times and frequencies. Those codes awaken the mind to the change and evolution of consciousness. 11:11 is one of those codes, meaning activation of DNA.
You will note that seeing 11 11 frequently creates synchronicities in your life.
11:11 - 11 is a double digit and is therefore considered a Master or Power Number. In Numerology 11 represents impractical idealism, visionary, refinement of ideals, intuition, revelation, artistic and inventive genius, avant-garde, androgynous, film, fame, refinement fulfilled when working with a practical partner. Eleven is a higher octave of the number two . It carries psychic vibrations and has an equal balance of masculine and feminine properties. Because eleven contains many gifts such as psychic awareness and a keen sense of sensitivity, it also has negative effects such as treachery and betrayal from secret enemies.

Many associate 11:11 with a wake-up code/alarm as they see it on digit clocks and watches. It can also be seen as a key to unlock the subconscious mind, our genetic encoded memories, that we are spirits having a physical experience, not physical beings embarking on a spiritual experience.

11:11 or derivatives of these numbers, 111 and 11, are digits that repeat in time thus a metaphor for reality as patterns that repeat in time for us to experience. This can refer to the rise and fall of civilizations, our personal experiences and lessons, loops in time. They are cycles of time that create and recreate following the blueprint."


Roswell.  Rosman. 

Another theory:

ROS.  Reactive Oxygen Species.  

Reactive oxygen species (ROS) are chemically-reactive molecules containing oxygen. Examples include oxygen ions and peroxides. Reactive oxygen species are highly reactive due to the presence of unpaired valence shell electrons. ROS form as a natural byproduct of the normal metabolism of oxygen and have important roles in cell signaling. However, during times of environmental stress (e.g., UV or heat exposure), ROS levels can increase dramatically. This may result in significant damage to cell structures. This cumulates into a situation known as oxidative stress. ROS are also generated by exogenous sources such as ionizing radiation.  Source:  http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/reactive+oxygen+species

Is what we suspect really happening?




The Drone Of It All

 http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/drones
Beth had always been intuitive.  Even as a young child. She just knew things that were going on.  It wasn't like she could communicate with another being, but she just knew.  After her UFO encounter, things just amped up.
Thoreau had the 'knowing', too.  The more he tuned in, well, let's just say the more he knew.  He saw all kinds of things in the sky. And being a top photojournalist, he knew where to go for the goods. 
But the drone was puzzling.  Under the current government, boundaries, envelopes...were being pushed.  Nothing was private anymore.  The drones could read letters as they were being written.  And that is just the start of what they could do.
Thoreau was a whiz when it came to anything computer driven.  And such an all around nice man.  He also liked the truth.  Had no patience for anything that even remotely smacked of being dishonorable.

After their business retreat, they had an idea.



Thursday, August 30, 2012

Seatbelts

Rachael stood there in shock, clutching her chest where her heart was. 

She couldn't even utter a sentence. She was in shock. Mitt wasn't her husband anymore. It was Mitt, but his thoughts and mind were gone. Before the shift in his personality, he mentioned some three letter branch of the government and their black-ops in Switzerland. Rachael didn't know what he was talking about. After all, he was supposed to be in some "research" branch of a political think-tank.

He was in much deeper than she knew.

They had programmed him to be a reader. A visionary to see the future. He saw too much. They wanted him gone. The morning he went crazy, he had his breakfast, was getting ready for work and had a glass of water with his vitamins. About five minutes later, his uttering began. 

"You see–I knew it–they're using the oldest trick in the book," Beth said.

They've poisoned the water...that's the easiest way to get rid of someone who knows too much–poison, Beth told Rachael. 

A loud "SHHOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHH" was heard overhead. Thoreau looked up. It was a predator drone. It wasn't the reconnaissance model either -- it was the defender model, fully armed. 

"Let's get the hell outta here Thoreau," Beth said, grabbing Rachael by her shirt. 

They ushered themselves into the Subaru. What direction is it circling in Thoreau?

North---wait--Northwest.

Beth began to drive Southeast.
 
"They have a three minute window before they loopback," she said hurriedly, popping the car into gear and slamming down the gas. 

"What's a loopback and what the hell is going on?" Rachael said as she snapped back into consciousness.

"The loopback window is the amount of time from the drone's first pass until it loops back to attack," Thoreau said, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Attack? What???" Rachael exclaimed.

"They probably meant to poison you too," Beth said. 
 
"You're involved now. "But I don't know anything," Rachael said.

Beth ditched her car in the underground lot at the bus station. She bought three tickets with cash. 
 
"Put your hood up on your jacket," Beth said to her. 
 
"They use facial recognition now at these terminals. They'll cast a wide net since your body won't be found in your prius."

"BODY? WHAT?" Rachael said.

"Just shut up and get on the bus, we'll explain."

They hurried up the steps, the last passengers before the bus pulled out for the city.

"What was your husband working on?" Thoreau asked. 
 
"I already told you I don't know," Rachael said.

"He was supposed to go to Geneva, Switzerland in a week, but that's the extent that I know. He worked late hours and didn't bring his work home," she said. 

GENEVA? Beth knew exactly where and what he was doing. Back in her days at Cornell she worked abroad in a lab that researched human programming, and from what Beth gathered in the back channels about Mitt, that's what he was working on too.

"Excuse me, can I borrow your phone?" Beth said to a train passenger. 

"Sure," the teenager said. 

Beth was calling a friend for a favor. She'd given out enough chips in her career, it was time to call a few in that were due her. Beth never sat more than a few seats away from the most influential people in politics and government. She had the highest clearances of any civilian. 

One time the mayor of New York needed a situation investigated so he called Beth. She wasn't a "cleaner", she was a "fixer" of sorts. She knew all the right people. Her success rate - 100 percent. 

Nowadays she focuses on using that vast network to help her solve crimes. It used to be for the rich and famous, but now she only took on cases that piqued her interest. She didn't charge either. Thoreau joined her last year. They had met in the South.

"I need a CL35 background report on a Mitt Roberson, every known connection, call he made, I want to know everytime he blew his nose in the past month" she said hushed into the phone. 
 
"Yes, I know..." she said. 
 
"Just get it for me, I don't care who you have to wake up...you owe me." 
 
She hung up the flip phone with a close, one that she commanded powerfully.

"Thanks hon," she said passing the phone back to the teen.

"OK, sit tight Thoreau, we're gonna figure this one out," she said.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Crime Mystery Weekend: The Reunion

Stillwell had to go.  Her family needed her.  She had been longing for a long time. The house would stand on its own as it always had.

Thoreau was ready for another adventure.  The last one, well, let's just say it took them both by surprise.  The ending and all.  I mean DNA in twelve hours.  C'mon.  But hey. There is no accounting for technology. Rapidimente.

Stillwell had an affinity for anything Vermont.  Call it Holstein, barns, rolling countryside. Cheese.  Working landscapes. They are used to produce earth goods, outdoor recreation, food and fiber.  The land of the sugarbush, pastures, quarries and birch trees.  Mostly rural.

Stillwell has just collected Thoreau from Logan.  His flight was earlier than anticipated.  The Subaru couldn't get into Vermont fast enough.   A direct route up 93 turning west into Ripton and down one country road after another.  Down and up is more like it.

We stopped at the Ripton Country Store for a bag lunch; a couple of spinach wraps with the best Thai dressing and  two grape Nehi.  We had just pulled over to the right onto a dirt road to eat.  Thoreau was snapping photographs of an old barn and deceased farm tractors.  Circa 1923. 

A screaming female voice was heard instantly.   Dust followed a late model blue Prius down the lane.  Thoreau continued filming.  I didn't know what to make of this.

Then we saw her, hand over heart.  Limping.  We got out of our vehicle running to her side.

"Don't let him get away.  He isn't right.  He was fine until about six weeks ago.  This dark car, navy, I think came into our driveway.  Mitt was supposed to be going back to Quantico.  The Marine Corps area, FBI Training Academy.  But before he left he told me he had to get out.  Fast.  Things were happening.  The country was changing fast.  Evil was everywhere."  

"What did he do for the FBI?"

"Remote viewing."

We checked to see if she had been shot.  She was fine, shaken was all.

"But they were escalating things.  I think he was brain washed or something.  Kept talking about someone he had to remove.  He was very frighten.  Focused.  It isn't Mitt. I think he was programmed there, to do something awful.  When I tried to stop him, he took off."

"Have any idea what is happening?"

"It is something to do with the election.  He's like the advance man.  Setting people up who get to close to what is really going on.  Ut oh.  I think I said too much."

 







Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Not Bad



The next morning I decided to follow the boat thinking it was going in the direction of the Isle of Shoals. They are a series of nine islands in the archipelago in an area known as the Gulf of Maine.  Biologists, oceanographers and geologists study it.  Cornell University studies this area.  Its home to rocks and brambles, migratory birds, harbor seals even raise their pups on Duck Island. And, it is a great place to hide.

I was sure to bring binoculars, just in case.  Thoreau was meeting with the forensic team back on the mainland. 

To the far left of the picture, I saw the boat.  It's red, white and blue coloring was the give-away.  Motioning to the captain to circle the boat, I drew closer.  

 All night, I kept thinking about the palette knife in the sand. And Mr. Appleton.  Just then, my cell phone rang.

"You won't believe this.  There is a twelve hour DNA test now.  The prints belong to Mr. Appleton. Heck, let's call him by the name everyone else calls him, "Klaus."  Shades of Klaus von Bulow." 

I remembered my FBI friend's comment about him. "Guilty as H - he did it, clever that he is." Though he was never found guilty.  Has his hands on millions.

"He is in his boat," I said to Thoreau.

"Okay, the police and FBI are here.  A helicopter is coming in to take them to the Coast Guard boat.  The copter will encircle Klaus."

Less than ten minutes later, the call came through.

"We got 'em."

My spine shivered.  Not bad for not-so- amateur sleuths.  Not bad.

Monday, August 27, 2012

It Flew By

 The silver Maserati Quattroporte rounded the beachside lot. The ocean was more beautiful than it had a right to be.

We couldn't get here fast enough. That conversation in the spa rattled me.  I wasn't even sure we were at the right area.  But they did say directly across from Cinnamon Rainbow.  Down the boulders to the right.  Well, there was only one place. A man was squatting in the tall grasses watching our every move.  We watched him in the distance as he scurried off toward the docks. Thoreau reached into his pocket and deftly pointed it clicking rapidly in the man's direction, appearing to be looking at a flower.

The tide was nearly in.  But something.  Some.. thing caught my attention in the unwatered sliver of sand.

"Oh my G-d, Thoreau.  Look," I said pointing.

He jumped down the last of the five jeri-rigged boulders which acted as some kind of erosion control. A
sharp glistening projectile was nearly buried in the sand.  Covered in blood.  And gnats. He reached into his pocket for a tissue and covered the base of it, careful not to touch a thing. It was the palette knife.

Thoreau reached for his binoculars as a sailboat blew by. 

"Now, what?"

His face was white as a ghost.

"We're involved now.  We need to contact the police and tell them what we found.  And the rest of the conversation you heard yesterday.  They'll send it to forensics, do a DNA on it.  We'll know soon enough.  But who?"

My face was no less white.  Stumped.

Thoreau made the call on his Droid.

"That was him!  The man squatting in the brush. He's got a camera and he is focusing it on us! Here, have a look."


 "I can't see him. He must be hiding."

Within minutes, flashing lights were everywhere. And the sailboat was no where to be found.

Sunday, August 26, 2012


I have come to a place
That heals and restores me
Inside and out
It has much to teach


The waves pull and push me
Can I will stand, will I fall
They call me

Let me cleanse you
And make you anew
Trust



Here...on the seacoast
I listen, the ocean has spoken
Not always so soft

It is time
Where do you want to go?
Listen, it is all here for you

The ocean washes
Nourishes
Releases

It's salt water refreshes
Encourages
I'm lighter now

Over here


Saturday, August 25, 2012

Whistle Blower!


In the early morning stillness, Janel made the decision to notify the FBI.  They met early the following week at her home. Just before ten in the morning, the shiny dark sedan pulled up in her driveway and then backed out.  Janel peered from behind the vertical drapes in her living room.  Janel remembered Hawaii Five-O and wondered if these men would resemble Jack Lord. 
Janel watched as the FBI agent drove down the long cul-de-sac again.  “What’s he waiting for?” she thought.  After a few minutes another car arrived.  “It must be the investigator from the United States Department of Health and Human Services,” she mused as the men disembarked and headed for her door. 
She wasn’t sure what to expect.  Tony was blond and slight. Not at all what she expected. 
Jimmy reminded her of J. Edgar Hoover.  He had that bulldog kind of look.  Under his arm he had about five pounds of computer printouts.
“Hi, I’m Janel.  You know I left several messages at your office and no one returned my call.  Are you all that busy investigating criminal behavior?” she said.
The men sighed and said nothing.
“So tell us about why you’re doing this?”
“Dr. Tinson seems to be running some kind of scam. He also talks about some kind of doomsday fire in his writings.  I knew this was beyond me – I didn’t want to be involved any longer. I just quit,” Janel said.  
The FBI agents and Janel spoke about the same diagnoses and procedures which were used on nearly all of Dr. Tinson’s clients. 
Tony reached for his glass case and put on his non-descript reading glasses.  Jimmy pulled out his five-year printout of Medicare billings from Dr. Tinson.
“God, Tony, we have about a half-million here,” he said.
“So what does that mean?  Will you prosecute him?”  Janel said with a determined stare.
The agents did not respond to her question, simply talked on and on for two more hours about Dr. Tinson’s operation.
As time went by, Janel felt a lump growing in her throat.  She wondered what she had gotten herself into.
George had told her he was uncomfortable that she was doing this but she had decided to do it anyway.  Not one to live in fear for not doing the right thing,  Janel knew she had to go through with this. 
Janel had always thought that things happen for a reason.  Well, she was tired of the reasons. She wanted an explanation now.

Two weeks passed before she received a call from Jimmy at the United States Department of Health and Human Services.
“We have to review the Tinson documents and see if we can build a case.  Either way, can we keep your copy of his Accounts Receivables and analyze them further?” he asked.
“Sure, I have another copy,” Janel said.
“Most likely, we can’t do a thing about him. He is just too bizarre to prosecute,” Jimmy said. 
Bizarre, she thought. Our justice system is based upon bizarre? He commited a crime and I lost my job defending the integrity of this country.  And all the FBI can say is that he is too bizarre to prosecute?
“Thank you for calling,” Janel muttered in confusion.
But she was not about to let this go. She reached for the telephone book and found the phone number for the Office of the Attorney General.  Janel sighed and dialed his number.
“Hi, can I speak to whomever is handling the case against Dr. Tinson? I think this office is investigating him.  I was his administrator,” Janel said.
“Yes, I am handling this case.  My name is Barbara Goldman.”  Janel heard her take a deep breath.  “Thanks so much for calling.  How soon can we meet?” Goldman asked.
Janel couldn’t believe she was going through another bout with the Attorney General’s Office.  She laughed as she thought, “this is like old home week.”

Sitting across from each other, the conversation immediately focused. 
“Can I ask you a question, Janel?” Barbara said. “What made you do this?  You know, our line of work is like a taffy pull trying to get citizens to come forward.  You seemed so matter of fact about this,” she said.
“Well, it is just wrong.  I went into health care because I wanted to help people,” Janel said.
Barbara and Janel talked for hours. After their meeting, Janel went home…home to four walls where she had no children,no partner, no job, no purpose.  This is the home where no one lives – just actors on a stage, she thought.  Her agony grew within her chest, rising to catch in her throat.
Finding her journal, she allowed her grief to pour out onto page after page.    Before she realized, she had a journal in book form.

Eric came home for a long weekend and suggested they buy a puppy.  “You know Mom, Annie is getting older now.  Why don’t we get another dog? It would keep you and her company,” he said.
Eric always warmed her heart.  Now she had a puppy to keep her busy. 

Janel continued to send out resumes.  She noticed an advertisement in a local paper and applied for the position of Physician Recruiter.
Two weeks later she received a call from Human Resources to set up an interview.  After a brief visit with her prospective boss, she told George about the job.
“Well, I am hired,” she said.
“Congratulations.  You are back in business,” he laughed.
But Janel wasn’t especially happy.  She had trained as an administrator and this was the job for which she wanted to be hired.  However, she knew working even as a Physician Recruiter would be good for her.
The company allowed her to work at her home and meet physicians as needed in order to recruit them for the HMO for whom she was working.
She continued to meet with the Attorney General’s office regarding the respective cases against her former employers.

It was the summer of 1996 when Janel received the call from Barbara Goldman.
“I just wanted to tell you that you will be receiving a subpoena to testify in the State’s case against Dr. Tinson.  Now that we have garnered enough signed affadavit’s against him, we can present our case in court. We are seeking to revoke his license to practice medicine,” Barbara Goldman said. 
Stunned, Janel asked about the charges against him.
“For starters, he isn’t board certified in any discipline but holds himself out as ‘being a specialist in preventive medicine, family medicine and psychiatry’, he says on his letterhead after his signature, Department of Psychiatry, indicating he is on staff there when he is not even part of the admitting or consulting staff. It also says he has a ‘research foundation’,  but the organization is not recognized by any of the science foundations’ that he does not maintain complete medical records which is necessary for financial compensation, is ‘significant from an ethical perspective’ overuses medical equipment for unnecessary testing, uses medication for clients inappropriately as well as psychological testing administration, interpretation and reporting instruments are generally done with individuals with appropriate training,” she said.
“Okay,” Janel said.  She was told her testimony was scheduled to be heard on the first day of the hearing. 
It was a cold and rainy day when the hearing began.  After scouring the parking lot for a safe, visible place to leave her car, she locked the doors.  Just outside the Administrative Law Court building, she could see a dozen of Dr. Tinson’s sympathizers carrying placards attesting to his innocence. 
“Sir, is it safe to leave my car on the lot?” she asked of the police officer at the security check point. 
“Sure.  It should be fine,” he assured Janel.
Janel had a knot in the pit in her stomach as she handed the officer her purse and proceeded through.  She paused at the door when she heard a commotion behind her.
Dr. Tinson’s shiny light gray limousine had just pulled up alongside the building.  His scratchy beard had been removed to reveal a smooth and angular face.  He looked much younger than his years.  A large and rotund man with a tattered suit appeared behind him carrying legal briefs.  Both men stuggled to maintain control of their voluminous legal papers.  The chauffeur opened the trunk and loaded the rest of the boxes into the dolly waiting nearby.
Dr. Tinson was wearing a high end dark suit, looking very professional as he smiled for the cameras. 
Janel knew he staged this as he had staged many of the celebrity events in his life.
Newspapers reporters cornered Janel as she made her way down the long haul.
“Can’t you tell us something… anything?” they asked.
“No comment,” Janel said.
Inside the court room, cameramen scurried,  adjusting their equipment.  They wanted to be live when the sensational trial commenced.
Janel was the first called.  She was just sworn in when the round sloppily-dressed prosecutor dug into her.
“What does the staff think of Dr. Tinson?” he asked.
“I just started working there when one employee after another came into my office.  Each one asked me to promise I would not reveal what they were about to say,” she said.
“Well then, don’t” the prosecutor shouted. “Next witness!” he said. He turned away from the stunned Janel.  Her mouth dropped open.
“That is hearsay,  your honor,” he said. The judge agreed.
With that, Janel’s brief testimony was over. She was asked to return the following day in case her testimony could be reinstated.

Feeling cut off at the knees, Janel walked through the parking lot.  Uneasy, she got into the car anyway.  She dropped the keys in her lap and placed her hands evenly on the steering wheel hesitant to put the key into the ignition.  Thoughts about the car exploding raced through her mind. 
            Then with a stiff upper lip and a pounding heart, Janel pulled her hands from the wheel, reached for the keys, and put the key in the ignition, hoping the car would not hesitate to start.  The engine turned over and Janel slowly left.
The following morning  Janel picked up a local tabloid and discovered her name was mentioned in the story they were covering.  She had worked hard to stay out of print.  She wondered if Dr. Tinson was behind the publicity for this story.
She drove to the Administrative Law Court for another hearing the following day.  Again, the Deputy Attorney General was unsuccessful in getting her testimony reinstated.
She left the court and got into her car for the drive home.  As she turned the corner, she passed the local police department.  Just then Janel heard an ear piercing scraping sound coming from the right passenger side of her vehicle. Simultaneously, she could not accelerate.  Unsure of what had happened to her car, she got out and walked around it.  Inside the wheel base she discovered an eight inch L-shaped heavy metal wire which had been shoved up into the wheel housing aimed at the front tire.
Janel was scared.  She left her car alongside the road and walked a quarter mile to the Police Department.  A detective followed her back to her car, took pictures and removed the device. 
“I was just at an Administrative Law Court hearing against my former employer.  There was a motley assortment of his cult membership protesting this hearing. They could have done this,” Janel said.  Both Janel and the detective were baffled.
Later that day, George returned home from work.
“What a day I had,” Janel said.  She told George what had occurred. 
He looked at her.  “My workout is really improving,” he said.
By this time, Janel was used to his indifference.  She needed a husband. Oh, how she needed a husband! 
It was nearly February when the trial ended.  The State lost its case against Dr. Tinson. 
Janel decided to go out for coffee that morning.   When she read the heading on the newspaper, she quickly purchased a copy.
“ Physician Sues Legal Trio.”  The physician was accusing the state of slandering him.  He was asking three million dollars in damages. 
She was grateful she had nothing at all to do with this anymore, and happier still that this case was over.  She was glad to continue her work without focusing another minute on the case. 
She heard later the physician was unsuccessful in his suit.

Her company closed its offices later that year and Janel was out of a job.
She waited for George to come home.  She heard the garage doors open and looked out to see George’s car pulling in.
“George, I never expected this to happen to me.  You hear about everyone else losing a job.  My company is closing,” she said.
Surprisingly, the look on George’s face was profound and sympathetic.
“Look at what you have done with your life, look at your family.  When it is all said and done, money doesn’t go with you. But, just look at those beautiful kids you raised! How many people can make a contribution to society like that?  You gave it all and it shows,” he said to the shocked Janel. 
“I worked so hard and wanted to contribute to our finances, I wanted something to do, to make a contribution…for me…something apart from our family.”
But the moment was gone.  With a blank face, her husband reached once more for his gym bag, got into his car and drove away.
Once again, she was alone.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

The Spa

As Beth was getting her nails done and finishing a crossword puzzle, she overheard a woman two seats down, whispering into her phone.

"Just take care of it," she said. 

"No, drop it in the ocean," she whispered in a hushed, hurried voice.

Beth knew something was up. She drove out to the ocean later that eve as the tide was coming in...

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Abandoned

It was misty this morning.  A brisk walk to the beach confirmed my suspicion of the shadow at my seaside home the night before.  I thought I'd better paint it before I forgot the detail.  For later when the 'authorities' might question me. 

It was hard to see the boat, off there to the left side in the moonlight.  Abandoned.  It was curious the tide did not drift it out to sea.  Had they come back?   Or was this a new boat?

So many questions filled my early morning head.  What were the Men in Black doing?  Where did they go? 

I was anxious to meet with Henry David.  He would know more.


Look Out. Look Up.

Just as things were heating up, I decided to take a break, visit a friend for dinner and chill out.  The dinner was strange for sure.  My new friend had UFO encounters. But I didn't know I would also have one...later that night.   Below are both of our stories.  First, my friend's story.  Mine follows.

UFO flies toward three women in Cashiers, NC
EDITOR’S NOTE: It’s not unusual for Glynis Heenan and her 12-year-old daughter Devon to see UFOs above their home in the mountaintop town of Cashiers, NC.  Consequently, we only report their more significant sightings.  This is one of those.
My daughter, my friend Sally and I decided to watch the annual August meteor shower the night of August 11, 2012.  So we grabbed a tarp to sit on and went to a nearby paddock that’s completely encircled with trees but has a 360-degree view of the sky.
We were facing northeast watching shooting stars for about a half hour when suddenly a bright red-orange ball of light appeared at 11:15 p.m.  Not only did it suddenly appear, but it came directly toward the three of us.   It was wider than my thumb at arm’s length when it abruptly stopped and hovered over the tree line across the paddock.  It remained there for about eight minutes.
“It’s gonna’ land, Mommy!  It’s gonna’ land!” Devon whispered excitedly while my normally chatty friend went completely silent.
Sally, who’s a bit of a skeptic, would normally blow off a UFO as a plane, a star, a planet or a satellite, but not this time.  When she finally spoke, she could only say “Well, I really don’t know what that is.”
View
This is a photo of the paddock where we went to see the shooting stars.  The red-orange ball of light hovered over the evergreen trees on the far side of the grassy area.  The three of us were sitting on the grass between the two bare trees and the line of evergreens.  By the way, this is the same paddock were I saw a sky ship land the night of February 26, 2012.
CLICK HERE to read “Sky Ship lands in Cashiers, NC” which is posted in Witness Testimonies.


      UFO Line
    
Drawing shows approximate positioning of UFOs seen by the witness

Source:  Skyshipsovercashiers.com  


My Story:  As I left my new friends home, I was headed south on highway 441 about 9:40 p.m on July 20, 2010.  As I came upon the Exxon station just south of Dillsboro, I had a strong feeling I should look up.
As I turned my eyes toward the black night sky, there it was hovering just 35 feet over the highway.   It was a narrow, rectangular ship that appeared to be about 50 to 60 feet wide and 20 feet high.   The ship had dim lights in no particular order.  There were maybe four or five long, vertical lights salmon amber in color.  The ship hovered at a slight angle as though it might be circling or perhaps seeking a place to land or crashing.  I have taken flying lessons and flown over this area so I know the terrain.
I heard a loud, screeching noise behind it – like the sound of a jumbo jet about to land.  The thought crossed my mind that military jets might be chasing it.  Of course, jets couldn’t fly that low and would have been forced to abruptly regain altitude. 

Since there was no place to pull off the highway where I felt comfortable enough to stop at night to observe it, I drove on home.  As I passed under the ship I did look back but couldn’t see a thing.
My immediate feeling upon seeing the ship was one of wonder.  I felt surprisingly calm and also experienced a light tingling sensation.  Reflecting back on the experience, it was an answer to a week-long request to see a ship for myself.  What an honor to actually see one!
But the story doesn't end there.  For ten (10) consecutive nights I awakened exactly two seconds before 1 a.m. totally refreshed after only sleeping three (3) hours.  I was given a 'knowing' that we must become economically sustainable immediately.  That means we have to live in small communities, eat locally, consume only what we need locally.
Since the encounter my intuition is heightened.  I am earthquake sensitive.  I get a sensation through my body when an earthquake is about to occur.  Then I check it out with the USGS.  This past week my joints were in extreme pain.  Two days ago, the pain abated in the joints but I got quite sharp sensations in my hips going down my legs.  This was not sciatica.  I felt as though something major was going to occur.  I looked at a wall map and felt a pull toward Japan.  I wondered about a tsunami.
 So you wonder how I know things.   About the Appletons, about earthquakes, about others.   About you. 

Mr. Appleton.  Look out.                                                                                                                      
                                                                                                                            




  

                                                                                                    

Friday, August 17, 2012

Surf's Up

So I was in my studio creating a piece for a dear friend.  He likes vibrant colors, abstract, very untethered things.  My first commission and I was excited.  Of course, one has to wait until one feels the creative juices.  I never know what will come out.


Just as I was finishing this piece I heard voices.  Sounded as though there were in the basement.  I washed the brushes, cleaned off my palette and went to the window.  Two dark figures ran by the house and out toward the water making a sharp right into the brush. 

The painting above shows the area disappeared near the surf.

Was I getting too close to this?

Thursday, August 16, 2012

What The Watercolorist Knew

I couldn't get out of my mind that we are connected.  Pfft to the money.  I want to know more.  Now.  So I waited outside.  A new set of sable brushes and M. Graham watercolors and I was good to go.

I liked the stormy seas.  It resonated what was really going on.  With my chair in place and aisle in front of me this is what I created.  The summer house.  We used to go there when I was a wee tot.  Before money ruled.  My next-door neighbor, Donnie, the first boy I kissed under the steps in his...not my...steps.  Well, he often came with his family.  Their cottage was just down the dusty, dirt lane.  I'd ride my bike and meet him half way early in the mornings. 

That was long ago.  Before egos ruled. But Donnie and I still kept in touch.  In fact, he called last night. 

"You know I am still curious about what happened to Mrs. Appleton."

"Don't you know.  Gosh, I thought everyone did.  She is miserable with her husband.  I once overheard her say she wanted to leave him.  I wonder..."

"Well, we sure have motive.  Lots of opportunity.  Now when?  That is the question.  And how?"

Painting is a curious thing.  Changes the side of the brain we use for starters.  It crystallizes everything. Just as I finished the painting and was set to clean off the brushes it came to me. 

Mrs. Appleton was filing for divorce.  That is what Donnie meant when he reminded me how unhappy she has always been. 

I remembered a few years ago when I asked him, another watercolorist, if I could use his palette knife.  He panicked. Said he misplaced it. Oh my g-d.



Tuesday, August 14, 2012

The Gasp

"Yes. I know them.  I am one of 'em."

The silence was deafening.  You could hear a pin drop. 

Suddenly a young man appeared.  Tall, slender, well spoken.

"Ms. Stillwell, do you have a moment?"

"I do...I...I...am on duty."

"That's okay.  My family is paying for this.  It's okay  By the way, I am Henry David Appleton. It is kinda funny, I was named after the transcendentalist writer by my late Mom."

"Come, into the den.  It is quieter there.  I have something to tell you."

Beth found a seat on the leather sofa.

"I've been working as a reporter on The Herald here.  Please don't blow my cover.  The editor is my friend.  He wants to disclose some of the things that have been happening.  Frankly, it is making me physically ill.  I mean...I am about to burst, can't take it any more.  No one speaks up.  This corruption is everywhere.  D.C., hospitals, the financial industry, small towns.  It is money, money, money.  I'm sick of it!"

Beth's face softened.  She moved closer to Henry.

"Yes, it is.  What do  you want to do about it?"

"Look, we are the sum total of our efforts in this life. I'm not so sure I can change it all, but I know who ended her life.  I mean, I saw it."

Beth was speechless.  Her head tilted toward Henry.  Her hands opened. 

"Have you talked to the D.A. about this?"

"That is another problem.  He got paid for his silence.  But, in my position, I can expose things.  I don't care about the money.  I am not dishonoring myself.  And, well...ahhh...I am going public with the story tomorrow. I also know that some of the holdings in our family belong to you.  That is why I had to speak up now."

Beth gasped.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Stillwells?

A trip to 5432 Montbel and an old newspaper behind the eaves had a newspaper article in it. above the fold was a story about the Appleton family.  The Appleton's, the article said, had an estate in the Hamptons.  I couldn't get ready fast enough to check it out.

Behind the sign was a heavy wrought iron gate.  From the porch,  I imagined you could hear the waves roar.  I quickly put my camera away as I saw the gate begin to open.

"Hi, I am here writing a story.  It is about the Appleton family.  Actually, it all began with my Nana's plate from England.  It gave an address.  When I went to the house and looked under the eaves as the inscription on the plate suggested I found this newspaper article.  Mrs. Appleton was apparently murdered in her home.  Isn't she that heiress...to the antiseptic family, what is their name?"

"Well, yes...she was...now the money is in her husband's name.  You know he married her for the estate.  Everyone thought he was up to no good.  With the parties...well, it isn't my business.  Hey, look, I am catering a party.  Put this white shirt on and go help out. Your black jeans will be fine.  That is the color combo."

"You kiddin me?"

"Nope, fifteen dollars an hour plus tips.  These people tip really well.  Especially if you flirt."

"Just one more thing.  Why didn't the police pursue this  Seems awfully open and shut."

"That's probably because this is such a large family.  Beechwoods, Stillwells.  Everyone wants their share of the inheritance."

"Stillwells?"

"Yes,  they are from Maryland.  Baltimore in specific.  Know them?"

.


Friday, August 10, 2012

But...WHICH way?


This isn't the picture I am having framing.  At least, not today.  I started out with the intention of painting this picture I took.  In abstract form. Santa Fe style.  New Hampshire style.  My style. 

Allowing the watercolors to run and do their thing, as I enjoy doing mine, this was a fun painting.  I also flipped it upside down ~ another view...and sideways.

Me thinks it is a little heavy on the vibrancy but I enjoy it.  What do you think? Frameworthy?

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Unpacking A Life

It wasn't just all the boxes.  All the tissue paper.  All the tape to unhook.  This was clearly a metaphor.  I was unpacking my life.  All these memories, stored for a time when it is no longer so painful to remember. 

 But this plate that was my Nana's from England was more than just an egg plate. I had carried it around for decades.  I couldn't help but stare at the flowers.  Inside the glazed floral painting was a message. 
                                                     
                                                          5432 Montbel Avenue.

It didn't mean much except that is rhymed.  I got a magnifying glass to see if there was more.  Behind the eaves.  One foot to the right of the door.  It was like the writing on a piece of rice.  And I don't even know why I saw it or that it occurred to me to enlarge it with a magnifier.  It was that presence the other night.  That shadow.  I didn't understand it until this morning.  Maybe it was the walk on the sand at water's edge.  It always gives such clarity. 

I asked a friend to do a look see.  After all, the house had just gone up for sale.  But was there something else I needed to glean from the unpacking. 

Stored for a time. 

It is safe to remember.  Now. 

I wanted to know more.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Falling

And then the e-mail came.  It was from her friend in New Hampshire.  She couldn't understand why I left the mountains.  Yet the nightmares continued. 


"It was simply just time to go.  I did what I needed to do there. A friend sent me a note once thanking me for all I did in the county.  He saw something in me I hadn't seen."

"I mean, with all the UFO activity there and your encounter.  Why leave?"

"Like I said, something inside told me I had accomplished what I needed there.  Something greater was pulling me here.  It was like the university was opening to everything. And another thing.  I never felt pulled into the community and I don't know why.  Maybe it is the way I tell the truth and people just can't, aren't ready to hear it.  I am revisiting that."

"Oh, I can't imagine that.  I love your honesty, fresh and pure.  And that laugh.  Geeze."

"I still look back with nightmares.  The isolation was almost unbearable.  I was done six years ago but it wasn't time to move on.  That is the way it is with me, a day late and a dollar short."

"We have the experiences we need.  That is why we have them."

"Yeah, yeah.  Can you feel my gratitude? But here is the kicker, the clarity I am getting, the raw honesty of it all, relationships, my garden, my house...all so much more clear.  I am truly grateful for that.  I also feel more honest and true with my life here.  Even this apartment, it is me.  This stage of me."

A dear professor friend wrote to say how much she missed our horseback riding.  The talks that would last for hours.  That her body wouldn't cooperate and allow her to continue to teach her Pilates classes. Wanting more of a community.  She is on her way.  I miss her.Before I left I gave her my horse jacket.  She had tears in her eyes.  She admired the jacket every time I wore it.  I couldn't think of a better person to wear it.

It was late and time to sleep.  The shadow appeared again last night.  I couldn't sleep.  Tossing and turning all night.  The vibrational change.  All the things to look forward to, my new friends, my dear friends who keep in touch.  Even my extended family.  What a joke but that is nothing new. People do what they do."

A heaviness filled the air.  Many were having difficulty breathing.  It isn't just COPD, people are gasping in their own thoughts.  The chemicals.  All too toxic.  But just as it seemed this would never change, a fresh clip of air filled the ocean and most of the eastern states.  Fall was in the air.

    


Saturday, August 4, 2012

Tick Tock

She didn't understand.  Couldn't.  But these were left outside her door in the early morning.  She vased them when she awoke.






Her version of not so shabby chic.  Refreshing. Clean.

It was only last night when she decided to rearrange her living room.  It is a Scorpio thing.  Definitely.  Then she noticed the clock on the floor.  The pendulum off.  And fingerprints on the glass.  But who?

The clock had lost three hours.  She did remember hearing a door opening.  The dogs were unusually quiet.  Even drowsy.  She had to wake them up.

Beth wondered.  Why?

Last night she was up late.  Scrubbing all the pots and pans the movers took.  She wanted them spit spot now.  A new beginning.  More open.

She had seen the shadow of a form she couldn't make out in the early hours ~ about 3 p.m. or so.  Hovering over her bed.  It was not human.  More like a ghost.  She remembered what it said.

"Listen, look, learn.  There is a whole new world out there.  Welcome. "

Beth queried the voice in her sleep.

"Who are you.  Were you harmed?  Why are you here?"

"To ease the way," the voice whispered.

Jessy, her cocker spaniel began to whine ever so softly. And sleepy.  Jessy rarely whines. 

Beth knew something was up.


Friday, August 3, 2012

Batwoman

The forensic team confiscated the surveillance camera immediately.  No one ever expected the thief to be a female.  A dark hood and tight fitting yoga-like clothes were her costume. It appeared she had a dark ponytail, maybe brown hair or black.  The photo lab was working on clarifying her features.

On closer examination, the woman looked much like the swimmer at the seaside pool.  She was there nearly every day.  No records were kept at the pool to confirm this.  It was a pay as you go scenario.  There were no pool passes.

I'd be hanging out at the pool the following week.   Trying to get back to my own lap swim.  Swimming is unlike any exercise.  You work against or with yourself.  And water.  Everything is lighter.  After the third lap, another woman asked if I was alright.

"Did the huffing and puffing give it away?"

"No, it was your trying to get out of the pool and getting stuck," she said.

"I wasn't trying to get out actually.  I was lifting myself up to see if my rotator cuffs were painful.  That I was exhausted and gulped some water didn't help.  Thank you for asking.  Hey I have another lap.  Feel free to wake up the lifeguards if you see my bobbing."

The lifeguards sported red muscle man shirts with their names emblazed on the back.  A lot of good that would do if I were bobbing.  I was happy to have fellow athletes nearby. 

One more lap would do it.  And, I could chat again with the woman who was doing laps in the lane beside me.

"Do many woman lap here regularly?

"There are a few.  Mostly the under fifty crowd.  And of course, Batwoman.  Everyone calls her that.  She is a hard woman with almost porcelain features.  She is usually here at noon.  We may see her today."


Thursday, August 2, 2012

Gotcha!

It was Jane's favorite lamp.  She would never, ever have damaged it. 

It was late when she arrived back at the condo.  Someone had been there.  She vacuumed the carpets on her way to swing dancing.  Noticed it immediately upon entering her unit.  Drawers were opened and the closets were ransacked. 

On the floor there was a wrinkled receipt from a coin and silver exchange in town in the amount of $10,213.  Silverware was exchanged as was an assortment of other items.  Just last week a neighbor in the surrounding community was missing the same items. But Jane didn't want to get involved. She stood in the great room of her new condo wondering, why me...why me. Why do I see these things and others do not?  Or, maybe they just ignore them.  She thought the former was accurate.

Jane had been at the Ashworth swing dancing.  It was nearly the next day when she discovered the intrusion.  The police could not get there soon enough. 

The blond woman at her new coffee shop talked about the Ashworth By The Sea Restaurant.  A hopping place.  Jane had the best time there.  Until she came home to the disturbance. 

Fortunately, she had just activated her surveillance camera.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The Quickening

Looking back, she never dreamed she would have a lifetime of so many opportunities.  Or, that she would  be so independent and with such spirit.  That she would see all she knew she must do and be able to look back and say, "well done."





But driving along the coast this morning conjealed it all.  She looked at the surfers waiting for the perfect curl.  A dozen or more of these adventurers.  Suddenly her life had clarity, unlike anything she had experienced before.  The undulating current, the rain, mist and sunshine.   Back and forth, hot and cold.  All in a cycle.  What affects what.

She thought about her personality and the personalities of all she knew.  The personalities that develop and destroy.  Consume and flourish.  She was glad to be here.  With family.

Chloe sat on the sat under the rocks.  Crying.  Her life had not been all that she had hoped.  Until she met the woman who would help her see her pattern.  The pattern of many.  The thoughts.  Needs and wants.  The unnecessary waste of time as we get our shorts in a wad over drama.

"You see, I am you.  We aren't unique," the wise woman told Chloe. 

"Let the tears flow for all that is, all that you didn't know.  Now is the time to learn. We have a second chance.  Take it.  You are here for a reason.  The universe requires you."

"But, how do we find our way in this messed up world?"

"Child, one day at a time.  No one gets it all. We get a piece of the puzzle.  Open yourself, get out of your ego.  Listen.  Before you proclaim yourself to others, be with yourself.  Take time to be WITH.  Remember the transcendalists?  The age of enlightenment.  They did the work. "

"Speak your truth.  Change the energy.  Do it now while you still have time."

The quickening is beginning.