A Gift For You

You can get FREE eBook editions of my novels The Dashing Mister R and The Altered Boys Club for any electronic reader from Smashwords. You can even give them as gifts! Here is the link:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/category/1/newest/1

The free offer ends at midnight 31 July 2013.

I hope you enjoy them. I would appreciate reading your reviews on Smashwords or Amazon.

Thank you!
Daniel

Pennies From Heaven?

     Remember the children's rhyme: Find a penny and pick it up and all day you'll have good luck? I recently read somewhere that pennies on the ground come from our Angels. The article said this is one way Angels signify their presence, and to let us know they are watching out for us. Now I'm finding pennies wherever I go! And yes, I pick them up, pocket them, and say thank you. This is so much nicer than creaking floors, turning doorknobs, rattling windows and other things that go bump in the night! However, I'm not certain the Angels leave the pennies for my welfare as much as maybe, like us, they simply like to be acknowledged and appreciated once in a while. 

     Synchronicity or paranormal? Perhaps the two come to us together.

Eternally Me

     I often joke that I am ever youthful and fully myself until I stand in front of a mirror. I gaze upon that face and think 'Who are you? And, why are you lip syncing me?'

     The books I have been reading of late, especially Anthony Peake's 'The Labyrinth of Time' are helping me to understand this. When I am in the world, I am without the context of any sense of personal time. I am simply myself. When confronted with a mirror, I am put into the context of age. The face in the mirror has a history, but it is only a history of the body. Without physicality, I more fully express the soul, the essence of who or what I am. This is who I am while sleeping in a dream state. It is who I am in other dimensions of existence. This is who I am when I pass from this world into the next. I am eternal.

    

"Out Of My Dreams"

     In 1943 Rogers and Hammerstein made musical theater history with their show Oklahoma! and forever changed the art form. For the first time, the songs were integrated into the story to advance the plot. One of those songs sung by the character Laurie with the Women's Chorus has special significance for this column.      

                                        "Out of my dreams and into your arms I long to fly 

I will come as evening comes to woo a waiting sky. 

Out of my dreams and into the hush of falling shadows, 

When the mist is low and stars are breaking through 

Then out of my dreams I'll go Into a dream with you. 

Won't have to make up anymore stories 

You'll be there! 

Think of the bright midsummer night 

Glories we can share. 

Won't have to go on kissing a daydream 

I'll have you 

You'll be real 

Real as the white moon lighting the blue." 

     People often have recurring dreams, especially when desire is involved. These dreams stand out not only because of the emotion that helped create them, but also for the detail. Dreams like Laurie's about a potential lover can even allow the dreamer to feel the desired embrace and even a kiss. When this happens in waking life, it seems like deja vu. But is it? 

     Couldn't be that the relationship already existed in some other dimension and was drawn into this realm called 'reality?' Might it also be the case that the relationship is real and separation from the lover is a unpleasant dream of past or future?

from 'The Altered Boys Club'

     “This is a great spot next to the window,” Sebastian commented. “How lucky was that? This place is packed.”

     “The food is really good for the money. The whole neighborhood eats here.”

     The waitress delivered their orders in time to hear the endorsement and smiled as she set their food in front of them. “Anything else I can bring you guys?” she asked as she totaled the check and set it face down next to Cliff’s water glass and left.

     “God! I hate when they slam down the check with the food! It’s so rude!” Sebastian said louder than perhaps he should have, at least for Cliff’s sake.

     “Hey, Sebastian, it’s no big deal. You can see how busy they are. This way we’re not left waiting when we want to leave.” Cliff was speaking in a very low voice and leaning slightly over the table so that the whole restaurant didn’t have to listen.

     “I’m sorry, Cliff. That’s just one of my pet peeves.” Sebastian stated in a volume that matched his friend’s.

     Each of them picked up their burgers and moaned with satisfaction. Sebastian set his down as he chewed and picked up his napkin to wipe a little grease off his chin. When he had swallowed enough to be able to speak without spitting, he exclaimed, “That is a damn good burger!” He started to take another bite but something he saw through the window caused him to replace his sandwich on the plate. “Cliff, can you take care of this. Ask the lady to pack mine to go. I have to leave. I see someone I know.” He was up and out the door before Cliff could even say “sure,” or signal the waitress. He looked outside to see where his friend was running off to in such a hurry. The waitress saw Sebastian leave and came over to the table.

     “Sorry, but something’s come up. Can you wrap these up to go?” Cliff looked at the bill and handed the woman a twenty and said, “Take this and keep the change. I’ll be back to pick up our food.”

     The waitress placed the check and the money in the pocket of her apron and picked up their plates to take to the kitchen. Cliff ran out the door, trailing Sebastian down Third Avenue toward Atlantic. “Jesus!” He said out loud to himself in wonder, “he’s running straight to where we found the boy! What did he see?”

     When he finally caught up to Sebastian, his friend was kneeling next to the donation bin facing the space where the body had laid. He looked sadly up at Cliff, “This is the place, isn’t it? Is this where Ajit’s body was found?”

     “How are earth did you know that, Sebastian? You tore out of the dinner like you had seen a ghost!”

     “Actually, Cliff, that’s exactly what happened. Ajit was on the sidewalk peering in at us. I followed him here.”

     “I should have known. So, what do you make of this?”

Shades of Karma

     The sun rested mere inches over the horizon as the young man made his way from his office to the subway station. He had had quite a day. Push came to shove and he threw his co-worker, Charlie, 'under the bus' so to speak. As a result the young man was promoted with a rise in pay. He was so self-satisfied that when the employee he had gotten fired threatened revenge, he only smiled. The meager effort wasn't even worth his laughter.

     Now that he was on the street, he had the feeling of being followed. As he had seen people do in movies, he waited until he was in front of a shop window to turn to look while pretending something on display had caught his eye. No one. It must have been his imagination. He continued on his way.

     There he was. He saw him out of the corner of his eye. He was certain he was being followed by a man dressed in charcoal grey. Wasn't Charlie wearing a charcoal suit today? He wondered, but couldn't really remember. Until the opportunity to do him in, the young man had never really paid Charlie much attention. Like this sidewalk, Charlie was only a means to an end. Nonetheless, the young man quickened his pace. The grey man moved faster, too. Whenever the young man paused, so did the man. When the young man turned to look back, the grey man disappeared somehow. Beads of moisture formed on the young man's forehead. He could feel them trailing down inside the collar of his shirt. He considered standing his ground, but the only thing he had to fight with was his department store shopping bag. He decided instead to get to the station as fast as he could. Charlie, or whoever his pursuer was wouldn't do anything in front of witnesses. 

     Finally, he reached the station. As he prepared to descend the stairs, he looked down and saw an extra pair of dark shoes. The shock caused him to miss the step and he tumbled down to the landing. A man asked if he was all right and offered him a hand up.

     "He pushed me! You're a witness! Did you see who pushed me?" the young man pleaded.

     "There was no one near you," the man replied. "You tripped on something and fell. No one pushed you."

     "No! A man in a charcoal suit. You must have seen him. He's followed me since I left work. His name is Charlie something or other. He got fired today and blamed me. He swore revenge. I'm sure he tried to kill me just now! Tell me you saw him! You must have seen him!" The young man was shouting his panic now.

    "Sorry, mister, but like I said, no one was around you. You tripped somehow. That's all. Now get yourself home. Be safe."

     "Yeah, sure, easy for you to say!"

     The man shook his head and continued down the stairs to his train. A woman approached him. "I saw you help that guy. He never even thanked you."

     "That's okay. He said something about someone in his office threatening him. Right this minute, I think he'd be afraid of his own shadow. It'll be dark soon. I hope he makes it home all right."

     

Paranormal or 'Other' Normal?

     In his book 'Daemon' Anthony Peake mentions a pair of events that happened to Swedish playwright August Stringberg and similarly to Dostoevsky. Each of these men wrote about moments where they were instantly transported to a different time while having a conversation with friends. Peake further posits that this is a common occurrence with artistic people.

     These instantaneous and momentary flashes of a different reality have a basis in the physiology of the human brain. Huxley wrote about these effects of drugs such as mescaline. However, Peake writes this is also what happens during meditation. The afterglow so to speak is our feeling of enlightenment.

     This also describes my experience while writing. I have always told people that I am simply an instrument. I write down what I hear being told to me. I know not where the story goes or how it will end until the voice has finished the dictation.

      Humans have to capacity of awareness in many different dimensions. We only have to allow ourselves the stillness to listen and the willingness to see this other aspect of 'normal.'

The Altered Boys Club Official Trailer

http://youtu.be/QjkcXzSr86E

Hope you enjoy this video created by S.D. Hintz. Comments welcome.

A Line Or A Cube?

     In his book The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell suggested that expertise comes with 10,000 hours of practice. I certainly agree with his premise, but I wonder if those hours follow linear time, or if they might come from multi-layered time, more of a cubic form, so to speak.

     I recall my childhood piano teacher telling me I needed to practice a piece continuously to get it right. She suggested I practice even when a piano wasn't available, even when riding the school bus. She said I could visualize a keyboard on my notebook and move my fingers accordingly. This way the music could move from my mind into my fingers so that the fingers would remember the music. My mind would be free then to work on technique. Her suggestion worked like magic! Using my travel time on a virtual piano greatly enhanced my performance in my lessons! 

     Let's take this a step further and into the idea of time as a cube. What if this greater concentration kept me focused on whatever piece of music I was learning even in my sleep? What if  I continued to play a piano in another realm as my body slept in this one? I have had many mornings when the activities of my dreams left me feeling tired upon waking, haven't you? If time is a cube, there are many different sides and angles to it than if it were a simple line. This being the case, those 10,000 hours to expertise might actually be a billion!

     To imagine what humankind could do with this amount of focus, we have only to look at the people who are working on their craft in the linear 10,000 hours. Genius!

Synchronicity In A Mystery Novel

     A screen door creaks open and claps shut. A cat screams. Floorboards squeak under foot. A table is bumped and there is the sound of something made of glass shattering on impact. The next morning, a neighbor stops by for a visit only to find her hostess floating in a pool of blood.

The Hologram of Us

     Holograms are different from ordinary pictures in that if a hologram is broken into pieces each fragment contains the whole image. If a picture is torn to pieces each piece only offers a part of the original image. According to some scholars, humans are the sum total of all experience on many different levels. This may be an explanation for the phenomenon called deja vu. The feeling of being somewhere before or having done something before is actually a memory from another dimension of existence. Every piece of us contains the whole of us, just like a hologram. When the body sleeps on one level, what is called 'dreaming' is in actuality continuing consciousness on another level. The mind carries the experience from one level to another. The awareness of that knowledge is often labeled as precognition or psychic ability, or most commonly deja vu.

     Within the Universe exists all possible choices and all possible outcomes. Each of these is representative of the multitude of planes on which a person exists. People become aware of these one at a time, in the moment we call now. However, sometimes as we make a decision to go one way, we hear an inner voice or have  an impulse to go the other. This is experience from some other level of existence breaking through our consciousness. Very often, other choice is the right choice. The experience of choosing alternatives accumulates until all the pieces come together and the perfect life is lived.
     To learn more about this theory, read the work of Anthony Peake. He will also lead you to other minds contemplating the dimensions of human existence and experience.
     

The Altered Boys Club, Chapter One, Opening Scene

Judica me Deus, et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta: ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me. Quia tu es Deus fortitudo mea: quare me repulisti, et quare tristis incedo, dum affligit me inimicus? Emitte lucem tuam, et veritatem tuam: ipsa me deduxerunt, et adduxerunt in montem sanctum tuum, et in tabernacula tua. Et introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.

Judge me, O God, and distinguish my cause from the nation which is not holy: deliver me from the unjust and deceitful man. For Thou, O God, art my strength: why hast Thou cast me off? and why go I sorrowful whilst the enemy afflicteth me?  Send forth Thy light and Thy truth: they have conducted me and brought me unto Thy holy mount, and into Thy tabernacles. And I will go into the altar of God: to God who giveth joy to my youth.

CHAPTER 1

     Like a spring rain, dreams come unexpected, out of nowhere, and end almost as surreptitiously as they begin. By some ancient slight-of-hand, a sudden shower can cleanse everything without destroying anything, leaving everything fresh and new and ―reflective. Sometimes the damp streets appear to be magically paved with rainbows afterward. The glassine colors give way under foot and the person, like Alice going into the rabbit hole, tumbles into the other side consciousness where scenarios await of being chased by an unidentified assailant, of drowning, and falling out of an airplane or off a cliff and never hitting the ground. Children tell each other if the dream ends with being caught or drowning or hitting the ground the person will die in their sleep. Of course, no one has ever been known to die in their sleep because of a dream ―one of those things people choose to believe to be true without the slightest proof. The mind always stirs itself awake just before impact.

     Sebastian Stephens passed through the rainbow the moment his head touched the pillow. His dream this particular night didn’t run in continuous sequence like a movie. This one played more like a movie trailer, jump-cutting scenes, changing points of view. Both observer and young American Indian boy shirtless and wearing deerskin breeches, long black hair blowing almost straight out, Sebastian raced through the shadowy woods. A hand print of white paint over his heart marked the boy’s chest. More than just running; he fled something or someone. He would have yelled, but he had to save his breath to maintain his pace. A voice-over of Gregorian chant Dies Irae fueled the rhythm of his strides as he fled his pursuer as though his life depended on speed alone. The scene dissolved into an image of a house with a disconsolate family dressed for church. Jump-cut now to a procession of men in black robes taking up the deliberate pounding bass of the Gregorian chant, quan-tus tre-mor est fu-tu-rus, quan-do-iu-dex-est-ven-tu-rus, cu-nc-ta stric-te dis-cus-su-rus with a descant of Native American voices in their quicker paced mourning chant. Hai! Hai! Hai! Hai! Ji-yu-thon-de-yanka-ha. Hai! Hai! Ja-tag-wen-i-o-ton. Hai! Hai! Men in the black robes walking ponderously as their counterpoint to the native voices continued. Oh, what fear man’s bosom rendeth, when from heaven the Judge descendeth, on whose sentence all dependeth. The Indian women wept and cried out loud; some howling, shrilling in their grief. Hail! Hail! Hail! Hail! Continue thou to listen! Hail! Hail! Thou wert ruler. Hail! Hail! Sebastian as the Indian boy kept running in spite of increasing fatigue. Like the fox he doubled back a couple of times in a figure eight before he finally dodged behind a boulder to try to catch his breath.  He peeked around the edge of the giant rock to try to gage his distance from his attacker just as someone grabbed him from behind. A pair of very strong arms reached around him, pinning the boy’s arms down to his side. Sebastian as the boy felt the man’s hot breath on his neck mixing with his own sweat and producing a chill now while he as the spectator could only standby. The boy turned to get a glimpse of the man’s face and yelled out in recognition.       

     Sebastian yelled himself awake as he sat straight up in bed. Profuse perspiration stuck the sheet to his body and plastered his hair to his forehead and around his face. Still panting from his dream running, the sight of the empty side of the bed brought him back to reality. Fortunately his lover absent lover, Sean, was spared being awakened by this nightmare. He swung his legs around to plant his feet on the floor before reaching for the eau de nuit he kept on his nightstand.

What was that about? Sebastian rejected his initial thought that watching The Last of the Mohicans starring Daniel Day Lewis prior to bed had anything to do with it. Movies didn’t give him nightmares, well, at least not since watching horror movies as a kid anyway. With the journal and a pen kept on the nightstand he attempted to record the details, but like a spring rain the dream images were all washing away. 

Playing With Synchronicity

     Sometimes I hate crowds. Especially when I am standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change. Often people will stand too close or even step right in front of me. I've learned  a good way to get them to back off using their own perception of synchronicity.

     The traffic lights in New York now flash the number of seconds a pedestrian has left to safely walk the street. I watch the countdown for the cross traffic. When the light is just about to time out, I point indiscreetly discreetly at the signal I am facing and stage whisper, "Change, please." I have a green light almost immediately. The people standing too close to me invariably step away clearing my path. 

     I simply smile and walk forward. 

Synchronicity As Magic

     While living in England my junior year of college, I went to the Mid-Lent Fair in Grantham. An old Gypsy woman was reading palms and telling fortunes inside her van. The young woman I was with had to have her palm read. I poo-pooed the notion, but she insisted and so we went inside to learn about her future.

     Turns out the old woman had over-heard my remarks. She was none to pleased to have to read my girlfriend's palm in my presence, but my girlfriend insisted and her future was revealed. The old woman told her that she would be married, but not to me and she went on from there. When the Gypsy had told her everything she could, my girlfriend paid to have my palm read. Despite my protests and advice to save her money, the money was paid and the old woman frowned and took my hand. 

     "You will not live to see your thirtieth birthday. That is all I see for you. You must leave now." Turns out, she was half right. The young woman did marry someone else. College kids out for a good time are not in any way committed, at least we weren't. The other part, my dying part, obviously did not come true. If I had, anyone who knew of this experience might have rushed out to have their own palms read. The magic of the synchronicity has faded over time.

     Mark Twain wrote about synchronicity as trickery in his book A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court. I have never read the book, but I remember seeing the film starring Bing Crosby, Rhonda Fleming, Cecil Hardwicke, and William Bendix. Briefly, Bing Crosby in on a tour of a castle when he is knocked out and dreams of being in King Arthur's court. Since he has 20th century knowledge, he is able to talk himself into the king's court. Jealous enemies finally seem to triumph and Crosby is to be burned at the stake. He pulls a Farmer's Almanac from his pocket and confirms that there is about to be a solar eclipse. He uses the privilege of 'last words' to stall the burning. When the time is right, he announces to the crowd that when he dies he will take the sun with him and they will live in darkness. They laugh and the eclipse begins. As the sun grows darker, the people become truly afraid. The beg the king to cancel Crosby's execution and to free him. The king does so and Crosby returns the sun.

     Knowledge is power. Knowledge combined with wisdom produces magic. The power of magic is synchronicity.

     

     

A Fairytale, Side B

     What if the old woman living in the forest wasn't really a witch? What if she were just a kind lady who wanted to help two children who had run away from home? If Hansel and Gretel were being abused, wouldn't the wisest action be to give them a safe place to stay for a while? Wouldn't it be wise under the circumstances to make sure no one saw them there? By what logic is it assumed the old woman roasted the children and ate them?

     Synchronicity at times creates a cause and effect relationship between two events which doesn't describe the truth of the situation, or the people involved. At the same time, curiosity and vigilance couldn't hurt.

One Never Knows The Day

     Normally he awoke to singing birds. This particular morning there was no singing, no chirping. He rose and looked out the window. All he could see was a brilliant shimmering white light and nothing else. Not the apartment building across the garden, not even the garden. Without trees and grass it was no wonder there also would be no birds to sing him awake. He felt like he was in a movie, a Fellini perhaps. No, this was more on the order of The Incredible Lightness of Being. He didn't especially enjoy that one. He didn't hold much hope for this experience either. Surely, he must be dreaming. Surely, he will wake and hear birds again. Maybe if he resumed his position on the bed and then rolled over he would stir awake. Problem was, he couldn't roll his body over.

Slowly I Turned

     I remember an episode of the Three Stooges television series that featured a phrase that when uttered spurred a violent attack on Curly by Moe and Larry. The phrase was Niagara Falls. Moe and Larry had been accidentally hypnotized and given the suggestion to attack someone whenever they heard that phrase. As they approached their victim they would say in unison, "Slowly I turned, step by step, inch by inch..."

     Silly as their comedy sketch was, the Stooges did hit on something to consider. The way the mind works, even without hypnotism, certain words or phrases and even fragrances can take us through space and time to  a life-changing event. Pleasant ones can bring a sigh and a smile. The deja vu of unpleasant experiences can cause someone to exhibit symptoms of fight or flight, retreating or lashing out without any awareness of the cause. For some people the synchronicity of past and present poses a very real block to new experiences and growth. The embarrassing or awkward moments of childhood through high school haunt us by making us reticent to meet new people or speak in front of groups regardless of familiarity or size. 

     The ghost of humiliation is a powerful prison guard who is given full range over his charge. There are no witnesses to the beatings he metes out, but the bruises are obvious. No one can even see him but his victim. Every victim has the power to cast a spell to disarm him. Slowly I turned...Create a safe phrase. This is a code used by consenting adults when games of any kind are going too far. Slowly I turned... When a person can program such a code into the psyche, shadows will flee. Using such an incantation takes practice and determination, but the personal power will grow into a shield of confidence. Slowly I turned...