Oregon writer, Rain Trueax, and Oregon painter, Diane Widler Wenzel co-author Rainy Day Thought. Diane generally posts on Wednesdays and Rain on Saturdays. There may be extra days or changes as situations warrant. Comments are always welcome and appreciated as it turns an article into a discussion.

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

an excerpt and some shrines

Because in the last post, I mentioned a negative review by a reader who found one of my scenes (and hence my whole book) very offensive, I thought I'd share what that event had been. 

More or less, when I write about psychic sessions, I use my own experiences at having been part of a few of them. They are not always the same. For those who do not want to read about such happenings, I'll put in a few photos to avoid going straight to it. For those who won't be reading the book but were curious as to what so offended this lady, it is below the images from two shrines in Barrio Viejo-- mysticism that makes some uncomfortable and others comforted.









 below is excerpt from Arizona Dawn -- a small boy has been kidnapped. Three women come to 
Connie asking if she can see where he might be, who might have him.

    In moments, they were seated at a round table as Connie got out her teapot, poured water still hot from the morning onto the tea leaves.
    “Exactly what might you hope to learn?” she asked as she joined them at the table.
    “Of course, that Daniel Cordova is still alive would be first concern,” Grace said. Could there be real answers from such probing? “Then, where is he? Who is he with? I don’t know—can you tell who killed Ellen? How it happened?”
    Connie smiled as she studied her. “Probably not all of that. You know how it is with visions.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Most often I see symbols. Sometimes it’s hard for me to interpret them. It’s the frustrating part of what I do. Plus sometimes I get absolutely nothing, which is why I guarantee nothing.”
    “You saw some things for me when I came for a reading,” Priscilla said. “I guess that was twelve years ago now. I didn’t know how to interpret them at the time either but later, they proved to be very accurate.”
    “All right then.” Connie studied Grace’s face. “You have doubts about all of this, don’t you?”
    “Will that impact your reading?” Grace asked knowing she did. In some ways, all of her schooling had taken her a long ways from believing in a supernatural world. Logic had ruled her thinking for the last five years. That had not always been so.
    “No, it won’t” Connie poured them each a cup of the tea. “All right, describe the boy to me. Let me see if I can get a visual image of him first.”
    “He is nine, not particularly dark skinned,” Grace said. “He has his father’s cheekbones and black hair, but Ellen’s blue eyes. The set of him, the expressions I’ve seen on his face, the way he studies a person, that’s purely Rafe.”
    “We only had time with him until he was a little over a year old,” Priscilla said. “That’s when Ellen became angry at us all and left the ranch. Grace’s description seems good to me. Ellen hated living on the ranch. She had never quit complaining about how much she hated it down along the border. I tried to see her and him when I came up on business or to see Rose. She wasn’t friendly anymore. She did all she could to stop Rafe from having access to Danny. Now I wonder why.”
    “I vaguely remember her,” Connie said. “I had only seen her on the street a few times since we returned to Tucson. Not enough to talk. Tell me about her husband.”
    “Robert Mitchell is stocky, thinning hair,” Grace said. “He put forth a very successful veneer but it’s since been revealed that he was failing at business and likely leading a double life. He appears to have been a gambler and not the type that won. From what I have heard talking to Ellen or from her letters, she had no clue as to the nature of the man she married. She wanted pretty things and he seemed to give them to her. I don’t know if they had a happy marriage.”
    Connie considered that. Her gaze on Grace made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t turn her gaze away.
    “What was Danny’s birth date?” Connie asked.
    “January 14, 1890,” Priscilla answered.
    “All right. Would you all mind if we held hands and formed an energy circle?” When they took each other’s hands, Connie said, “When we form this circle of light, any of us might get a piece of what happened to Danny, to Ellen, or where Robert Mitchell is now. I will open with a few words asking only truth from the source of all good and then say nothing as I try to open myself to the spirits who surround us at all times and wish only our best.”
    “Wait,” Grace said. “Aren’t there bad spirits also?”
    “We have around us what we request. If we want the white light, we want truth and goodness, it’s what we will find. We and they can block out anything that is not good or true. Also if Ellen wishes to tell us anything, I will try to get that also.”  With that she took a couple of calming breaths, asked for a white light to surround the circle, and closed her eyes.
    Grace followed suit, aware of Connie’s hand in her left and her mother’s in her right. It did feel energy and warmth were flowing between them. She tried to block out every thought, which might interfere with gaining knowledge. Unorthodox, perhaps, but she was desperate enough to try anything that didn’t appear harmful and could offer any insights as to where Danny was. 

    Receiving nothing herself, Grace could only hope she wouldn’t serve to block anything the other three might receive. It was half an hour, perhaps longer, before she felt Connie release her hand. She looked up when Rose and Priscilla did, blinking a little as she returned to daylight. All Grace had seen during the quiet time were various colored lights floating past her eyelids. She had tried not to think herself and instead only receive, but Rafe was in her thoughts, images of his body, the sound of his voice, the few times she had touched him, and she had to push him out again and again only to see another even stronger memory return.
    Connie rose and poured into the teapot more steaming water from the cast iron pot.
    “Did you see anything?” Priscilla asked her.
    “I am still trying to decide what it meant. In this case knowing what happened to Ellen has made it impossible for me to see the event. My own imagination fills in what I might’ve seen. But…” She hesitated. “I did see the boy, and he’s alive. I would stake everything that I have ever come to know on that fact.”
    “Can you see how he is or where?” Grace asked feeling her first surge of real hope since this had all begun.
    Connie shook her head. “He was in a wagon but others were riding beside the wagon on horses. I think… three men. One would fit the description you gave me of Ellen’s husband.” She closed her eyes again. “One seems jovial. Two angry. The boy… I think he’s frightened and... yes, sad.” She opened her eyes and sighed. “I know that’s not much help.”
    “It is some. There were two men, who had been with Mitchell in town. Do you… that is, can you, get any names?”
    Connie again concentrated. “Shorty. Sorry, that doesn’t seem to fit.”
    “It fits more than you know.”
    “If I get anything else, I will, of course, contact you. I won’t stop trying to see into this or connect with Ellen. She didn’t come through to me this time though. Sometimes spirits leave for awhile to get grounded in their new reality. I want to do what I can to help as I have a very soft spot in my heart for children. The boy… he looked vulnerable… confused, even lonely. The ones with him are no comfort to him.”
    “I thank you for as much as you have given us,” Grace said rising.

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