Monday, May 30, 2016

Dealing With Premonitions

Some people might call it a strength and others a weakness but to me premonitions are an unwanted, possibly hellish burden. A warning with a shocking message attached to it. It’s a questionable and foreboding suggestion wanting my support and trust. And like omens, I feel they come from a dark and unnatural, foreboding place. Unlike death and taxes the two infamous things looming on the horizon that we can all predict—to a point. For me personally, there are just enough foreshadowing thoughts basking around in the crevices of my brain to freak me out and keep me on my mortal toes.

Pretty sight from yesterday's walk
But the sun comes up and hopefully the flowers will bloom and that’s how far we--as humans--normally reach because we don’t have any idea how—exactly--the flowers will bloom—what will be the shape, size, scent and color. Will they bring friends such as butterflies and birds? Will it be a huge mega blossom leaning to the right or will there be a galaxy of small starry blooms creating a chorus-- rather than one or two headliners stealing the show?

 I put my faith in God and have to question things that don’t sound, or look right. I’m disgusted about the fact that I have what I perceive as ‘negative’ powers because—please sing along-- “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” I’m talking about premonitions—or inclinations based on intuition that something ominous will happen-- not good, happy things. The word premonition has negative connotations and most people know I’m a glass is half full, hopeless optimist. Sometimes however-- despite all my analytical skills and faith-- there are people—accidents—doctors--things that shout me down to size, wallop me on the head and shock the dickens out of Christmas. In other words, it’s not foolproof and I get big, sad surprises too.

 Sometimes these premonitions come to me in my dreams or while driving. My first manuscript is a story woven together from several of these dreams called The Fifth Commandment. It took me years to gather my courage to publish it as a short novella and now  I’ve finally released it for editing--hoping that by putting it out there—releasing into the wild-- my mind can move back to finishing my WIP/the sequel to my romantic novel, Penniless Hearts.

 As far as premonitions, here are a few of my frightening examples:
 I write a hypothetical –fiction--blog post and something happens to make it true.
I’ve answered the phone knowing who is on the other end.
And it can be much much worse—even deadly.
Imagine driving down the road and I’m your passenger. A car speeds by and I say something like, “that guy should slow down or he might meet his maker.” Sure enough, one minute later, we see that same car and it’s totaled. I hold my breath and begin to shake. 
Or the bus trip to Laughlin. I had ridden hundreds of buses but why did I say, “This one is going to break down,” five minutes before we were standing on the side of the road waiting for a replacement? My seatmate joked that the whole fiasco was my fault!

There are many ways to help clear my mind but here are my top six:
 1. Meditate 2. Breathing exercises 3. Spend time in nature 4. Walk my dogs 5. Pray 6. Write or journal

What I’d like to know is why a premonition isn’t a positive thing? As in, why can’t I come up with winning Lotto numbers ahead of time or find out some good news before anyone else? Why aren’t we privy to how the flower will turn toward the sun and blossom on your birthday? Is it because good things are supposed to be surprises? And what about super bad stuff that surprises us—takes us for a loop no matter how sensitive we are to predicting the worst. If we knew all the good things that will happen to us, would we wade through all the bad? Probably not. (Although many great books of fiction start out slow—and end up having exciting plots that you couldn’t predict.)

What about you—have you had any premonitions lately?

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

California Dreaming and Yawning--starring Pinky and Fiona

A four-legged face of love stares at me in the middle of the night. I interpret this as, “I’m cold and uncovered, can you please pull the blanket over me?” But a few hours later, she’s uncovered again and running around the house, listening to sounds and dusting the furniture with golden fleece. Her nails click like ivory castanets on the walnut floor. She doesn’t want to wake me again but it’s pretty cold for the end of May and she licks my elbow. It’s a warm, gentle lick because she doesn’t really want to be doing naughty things like waking up her mommy, but alas, she’s shivering and there’s not much else to do. When she knows my eyes are open, she shakes her collar like a bell. Heaven forbid she wakes up daddy.

After our two-mile walk today, we figured she’d be tuckered out and sleeping like a log. Her tiny stepsister can burrow under covers, rarely needing any late night attention. Though I’m yawning and tired, I can’t be upset. I know that Pinky had some rough times before she came to live with us. She often has nightmares that sound spastic and dreams that make her tremble. Loud noises, fireworks and ambulances make her shake with fear. Plus she’s older now and maybe she simply wants large doses of extra love.

I can imagine her thinking something like this: 'Fiona is only five pounds and super cute—but what about me? When I was a puppy, everyone said I was cute too. Is there a twenty-pound limit to being a lap dog? I think I’m close--maybe a few pounds here or there. Awe, come on--you still think I'm cute--don't you? Have you seen the online video of elephants who want to be lapdogs? At least I want to be on your lap as opposed to Miss independent Fiona—I can keep you warm'—and so on.
Fiona is sitting on the red pillow
Curled like a croissant shaped pooch at the end of the couch, I get up and look into dark sad eyes that seem to beg forgiveness. “Go to bed, Pinky,” I whisper in the dark. I cover her up and for a few more hours, we fall asleep---both of us forgetting any troubles from our past. And miracle of miracles, we don’t wake daddy. 

Friday, May 6, 2016

Insomnia About Alberta

I can't even imagine the nightmare happening in Canada right now. Watching the news last night made me so upset I began smelling smoke and started to cough, way down here in California. No, I wasn't actually hallucinating but I'll admit to being sensitive. One reporter called it 'literally hell on earth' and since I figured he might not know what hell is really like, his account was the only one sounding hopeful. This morning, I wrote this poem and while I also know that my loss of sleep means nothing to the poor souls who are losing everything right now, I hope they know we have them in our hearts. And for those who want to donate here's a link. All Red Cross Donations are being matched by the government of Canada. 

Insomnia in California about Alberta

The heat rose--started in my toes--
wrapped around my collar--suffocating my nose.
And distant tears
can’t appreciate real fears
but my coughing wouldn’t stop.
I grabbed a bucket and mop
my personal menace
an emotional apprentice.
I had to work it out.
and now  I’m writing about...
flames that look like Hell.
Cinders that smell,
ash from fifty feet
landing on dry peat,
homes and cars
churches and bars.
People—masses of them-- drive somewhere--
anywhere but there.
Away from home--
a melancholy poem.
Shelter they seek--
the young and the weak.
Their agony and loss
in my head while I floss.
We crawl under cover.
Two guilty lovers
safe behind the news
till our coffee brews....
And my mind stirs
as the smoke swirls--
destruction spraying--

while I’m praying.

Has this happened to you too? Have factual television newscasts made you lose sleep?