Fiction, Musings, Power, Reflections, Writing

Alone time

Do you get enough alone time? Some people say they thrive on activity and social interaction. I’m not one of them. At this point in my life, I’m blessed to have a good bit of time when I’m the only human in the house. I take advantage of that and sit writing, with only the sounds of the keyboard to keep me company. Okay, I admit, there’s also the email alert … except on Saturdays when, it seems, most everyone in the world has better things to do. My husband works three Saturdays of the month (poor man) and though I usually have a mental list of things I should do around the house and yard, I rarely keep to it. But I had a different sort of alone time in mind when I started writing this.

I’ve been thinking back on times when I felt truly alone within myself.

Frightening times, like when, after major surgery at the age of fourteen, I realized I could die.

Spooky times, like when I’ve driven late at night in an isolated area and realized I hadn’t seen another car for ages, and started wondering: have I passed over into the Twilight Zone? has some world catastrophe left me the only person alive on earth? are those tales of alien abduction really true?

Awe inspiring times, like standing by a brook deep in a wood with the sun’s light filtering through the canopy, or standing on an ocean beach or mountain ridge, looking out to forever and feeling this could be any point in time.

For me, the best alone time has always been the tender times in the still of the night, watching someone you love peacefully sleep. Whether child, or friend, or lover, you stand guard in those few minutes. You are empowered in your aloneness. In your all one ness.

May you always have enough alone time.

Fiction, Musings, Power, Words, Writing

First, do no harm

Words are power. Last night and this morning, I was reminded how carefully we should choose them. Words carelessly thrown out are dangerous. Consider these clichés: cut me like a knife, pierced me to my soul, sliced me to the bone, broke my heart, stabbed me in the back, crushed my spirit. Words can do those things.

But words can also raise our spirits, fortify our hearts, sooth our souls, fill us with love and laughter and hope. We hold that power in our tongues. We have that power in our hands as we write. “First, do no harm” is a principle we all should live by.

May we love before we hate, laugh before we cry, and listen before we speak.

Excerpt, Fiction, Musings, My Books, Novel, Power, Theme, Writing

The power of three

Before Renee could say anything more, anything about Meredith, Jalal took off at a run, heading back home. Passing not another soul along the empty street, he cut across the bridge and wound through the lanes, every house looming dark and silent, every pounding step echoing from the vacant spaces, every heartbeat taking him down and down and down toward the shore.

tri_gld_prplOne of the themes in my current work is the number three. There are three main characters. Three lives with three stories of love, loss, and redemption. The quote above illustrates my natural tendency to compose in repetition of three: street, bridge, lanes; every house, every step, every heartbeat; down, down, down. My brain does not let go at two or four; it’s satisfied at three.

Maybe, it comes to me from my Celtic ancestors with their copious use of triadic symbols, but likely I’m expressing archetype, a universal law. Consider:

  • Body, soul, and spirit (echoed by: the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost)
  • Maiden, mother, crone
  • Primary, secondary, tertiary
  • Past, present, future
  • Morning, noon, and night
  • Up, down, and all around
  • Thought, word, and deed
  • Animal, vegetable, and mineral

Expressions of three are … well … here, there and everywhere.

Dream, Fiction, Musings, Power, Writing

Empowerment

For years, I have had a recurring nightmare that I am alone in a room with demonic spirits. I am terrified and trying to exorcize them by saying “In the name of Jesus!” My voice increases in pitch until I am screaming the words. Eventually, I “scream” so loudly that I wake my husband who in turn wakes me. But in the early hours of Christmas Day, this nightmare changed.

This time the room was larger, more open, possibly a series of rooms arranged around an atrium and the spirits appeared to be human. I was not afraid, but came to each one and recited the words. They “received” the words with either a smile or a glare, but it did not seem to matter which, only that I needed to say it to each one.

Although I have a fundamental Christian background, I do not interpret this as a religious dream. This is a dream about power. Personal empowerment. And I believe it appropriate for the ending of one year and the beginning of the next. It bodes well for my future.