The Jetty

Two old men sitting on a bench with their froggy faces pressed to the glass of the busy harbor.

Everyone has their angle, their hustle, these days, they croak.


They open their mouths to snap-snap-snap at flies and passers by.

Their wrinkly spotted hands scatter crumbs

and the pigeons//gulls//swoop.

And my daughter said I’d grown old and alone. What does she know.

I’ve got friends.  My life is full.  I’m happy.


Toss to the gulls go swoop//caw//swirl.

You think we are friends?



Shut-up.  I never liked you much anyway.

And then one gets up to leave.

He gimps down the jetty as waves crash and break over him.

It’s a baptism.


The Size of all Texas

At first, the man with the gun thought she was cute.

“So what if her teeth ain’t straight

and her tits ain’t huge,” He says in his best Texan drawl.

“She’s the kinda woman a man would buy a gun for.”

Boom-boom-boom deep in his chest,

like an old tin can filled with BBs,

rattling around like Mexican jumping beans bursting to life,


Now there’s a woman running around in a long white dress,

tears of happiness staining her lacy chest.

With twenty shots fired off into the night to celebrate.

“You are now my property.  Prah-per-ty.” He says as he gives her backside a slap.  “And when you gunna change your name to mine, woman?”

Now it’s time to go home and she doesn’t want to.

“There’s op-per-tune-na-ty out there”, he says, “Don’t you want that?” She shakes her head.  No.

The man with the gun is getting mad.  “You’re gunna go, you hear me, woman?  You hear me?  I even gave you my tin can!”

The woman is running wide eyed, like a bird flopping on the ground, the tail of her dress whipping around her like a rope.

And the man with the gun takes aim. “I warned ya, woman.”

Downtrodden and defeated, she walks along side him,

Holding open the hole in her chest,

that a plug the size of all Texas couldn’t fix.









She keeps it in the pantry by the flour, tucked in the corner where no one can see.  Like she’s embarrassed or something.  She sneaks out at night, pushes the flour away, opens the jar, inhales deeply, and dabs just a touch of it on her face.  Then she can sleep.

She dumps the liquid out and replaces it with fresh formaldehyde, hot off the presses.  It bubbles around in the jar, coating a fetus.  She shakes the jar, then holds it to the sun so she can see little tiny bones, little tiny hands, and a face that looks like a piglet.  This makes her cry.

Desperate to bring the jar and its contents back to life, she builds an alter in every room in her house.  First there are flowers, pictures, and other sad things, like tears.  She tries incantations and then throws everything away and builds an empty alter.  Then she doesn’t feel anything.

Someone brings her a quilt for comfort while she sits in a rocker.  She takes it and soaks it in the jar, swirling it around to soak it through and through, every patch deepened in color, heavy, burdened by the weight.  She inhales deeply and dabs  it her face.

The Kernel

“It’s just a little kernel of hate,” I say, as I roll it over and over again in the palm of my hand.
Tiny and green, full of potential, ready to sprout.
“I take it home,” I say, as I pop it in my mouth.
Just like pop corn, chew, munch, chew.

I take you home and set you on the windowsill so I can look at you and see you every day.
Just like the mug that holds safe my toothbrush by the sink.

I watch and I wait, it’s like Christmas. When will you pop and sprout out the top of my head like a fucking lemon tree, you bitter little bastard?

No, I say. A kernel so perfect should be coiled up and kept safe, as I turn your face away, the face that’s on the mug. I’m done having you watch me and my kernel.

Little kernel, you’ve been planted in the best place I could find. My heart. Gulp and swallow, choking back, until I shit you out and the process starts all over again.

Hate is now too strong a word for you. “But perhaps it’s the most appropriate,” I say, and I crush my little kernel into the ground, grinding it’s pulpy insides out like a tick gorged on my blood.

“Do you know what I want to do to you?” I say to the face on the mug. I want to crush you like that kernel, until your juices flow, until your pulpy insides are mixt with dirt, until you cry your soul out through your eyes. Then maybe I won’t hate you quite so much.

Words with Dad

You call me up and Don your best “Uncle Bruce” voice.

Angry, accusing. Authoritative.

I, not looking for a fight, listen as you steadily rile up the mountain, building justification to explosion.


I am starting to shake.  This was your little question.


I am not looking for a fight.  …I’m not interested in being YOUR doormat, either.

Your words were deprecating, cutting, you bully and diminish.  What kind of crazy is this, that you think after all you’ve said, I’d defend your honor?

The best defense is the truth.

“You’ve made it clear what you think of me and you honestly don’t respect me.  So why does my opinion of you even matter?”


…and like that, nuclear meltdown averted, the conversation dwindles into another, less angry realm, onto relatedly different topics, as I, chuckle for days, decimated by how funny the truth can be.

I wish I’d never taken your call.

My Friend Sahar & Her Three “Guides”

My friend Sahar is a beautiful, sweet, and kind person.  You’d never know, upon meeting her that she would experience the strangest, darkest, thoughts.  You would just be totally charmed by her, as I was.  She is funny, smart, and a real kick in the pants!  What caught my attention was that I watched her literally shake her head, then smack it as if she were trying to rid herself of a fly, then shake water from her ears.  So I asked her about it.

She confided that she has these terrible thoughts–about other people, herself, and as she went into detail, it clearly felt that these thoughts honestly had nothing to do with her.  These thoughts stood in stark contrast to the being standing in front of me.  So, when she was busy, just chatting and having fun with a guest at my cousins house, I lowered my barriers and took a look to see what was around her.  And boy was I surprised by what I saw!

There were three, slightly disheveled, witchy-gypsy looking women.  They twirled all around Sahar, leaning on her, draping their bodies around hers, and writhed much like snakes.  They spoke in a different language, but I understood that they were calling for bad and unfortunate things to happen.  They used Sahar to help them act these things out.  Fortunately, she too strong to let them fully take over.  But there they were–dark, nasty, and unkind, uttering what sounded like spells and incantations in Hebrew…?  Sahar is of Middle Eastern and Latin American descent, so these women made sense to me–they came from her dad’s side and were controlling, powerful, manipulative, and had knowledge of dark magic and rituals.

After a few minutes of watching them, they became aware that I could see them.  Then they grasped onto Sahar, hissing loudly at me, wrapping themselves around her like snakes.  They knew that I was going to tell Sahar about them and that I would ultimately make them leave.

Sahar noticed a funny expression on my face at this point, and came over.  I told her what I saw.  She was horrified.  I said, “The good news is that these thoughts you think you have are not yours.  You are just very sensitive and are picking up on these nasty women around you!”  She looked relieved.  I said, “Look, you, as a being, are not like that.  You know this.  You are kind, sweet, and gentle.  This out of character thoughts/feelings should be your first clue that something is up.”  I gave her the tool of asking “Who does it belong to?” for every thought, feeling, or emotion.  I asked her to do this for three days, or at the very least, every time she heard/felt/perceived these negative thoughts.

We talked more in depth because I wanted to know why these “guides” were around her.  These “guides” felt like a strange, karma thing, and I felt it had nothing to do with her again.  I asked her, “So when did you take these beings on as you and yours, when they actually had nothing to do with you?”  She looked stunned.  Then said, “Well, when I was really little, it felt like my dad had this negative karma around him.  Bad stuff always seemed to happen to him.”  I asked, “So, did you take on your dad’s crap karma to try and help him, because you are that powerful and can do stuff like this?”  She nodded.

I said, “Okay, so here’s the thing about doing that.  To start, your dad has created this for a reason.  It is his, not yours.  By taking it from him, you are denying him his process.  This is not kind to him, plus, he will only recreate it because it is his process!  Second, you end up just sticking yourself with this crap when it isn’t even yours to start with!  Not fun!”  I asked her if she would be willing to let go of these “guides”, and to return the crap-karma to her dad, as he knows exactly what he is doing, and why.  She said yes, she would let it all go and stop taking on his “stuff”.  I then asked her if she would use the tool, “Who does it belong to?”  She said she would.

I told her that these women are nasty.  They will try to hold on to her, and she could have quite a fight on her hands.  Using the tool will help her gain more and more awareness that these thoughts are not hers and in fact, come from these entities.  I also told her that any time she feels them near her, that she is well within her rights to tell them to back the eff off!  I told her, “Tell them to leave and never return!  Tell them to go!  They have no place near you and you do not need them.  You are a powerful being, Sahar.  You can do this.  You must do this if you want to really get free from this yuck.”

That night at my cousin’s house she agreed that she would do all these things and that she felt better, lighter.  I said “Look, you can choose better guides for yourself.  You are not destined to be without kind and caring guides.  But take it from me on this one, having NO guides around you is better than THESE things!”  I perceived that she might be inclined to not kick them out from fear of having no guides, and I know she understood my point.

I saw Sahar several weeks later.  She came joyfully bounding up to me and said, “I’ve BEEN DOING IT!  Using the tools, and telling them to leave!  Can you take a look?”  I lowered my barriers, and looked.  Surely enough, there they were, but about eight feet farther away from her body.  They were fainter, too, but still hissing and very mad at me.  Ha, I didn’t care about that–and was so happy to see that these nasty entities were starting to leave Sahar!  I told her what I saw.  She was over the moon glad.  She’d been noticing positive changes and generally was just feeling better.  I said, “They are still there though, so you must still work at it.  These things have been around for a long, long, time, and it is comfortable for them to feed off you, so to speak.  It will take some more time, but please, please keep at it.  Keep telling them to leave.  Ask who does this belong to when you have any sort of nasty thought, okay?”  Sahar said she would.  She said that “Who does it belong to?” was amazing–that she’d notice a bad thought, ask it, then POOF, the thought was gone and she knew that it must not be hers, that it was the nasty “guides” and right then she’d tell them to get lost.

I was so happy that Sahar was taking these steps to get rid of these things!  I saw her a month or so later and again, she asked me to take a look.  I did, and the nasty women were now thirty feet from her and even fainter.  Sahar in general seemed stronger, more confident, and calmer now.

Another month or so passed until I saw Sahar again, and again she asked me to take a look.  The nasty women were GONE.  She said she’d felt like they’d left but wanted me to check it out.  I confirmed her awareness, then said, “You can invite in good entities around you, good guides, but only if you’d really like.  There are several very kind entities that step forward; they are members of your family that have passed.  When selecting these new guides, be very clear.  You would like guides that genuinely have your highest and best interests at heart.  They will serve you, protect you, and support you as you go through this life.  Okay?  You understand?”  She considered for a moment, then nodded.

I have not seen Sahar since this last meeting to see how she is doing and if she has new, wonderful guides.  At the end of the day, however, she is so badass, she’d be fine without any guides, and she now has more of herself to boot.  How does it get any better than this?  🙂

Grandpa Bell

My fiancee’s grandpa has long passed.  But that does not mean he isn’t still around!  I’m sure a few of you know what I mean here.  😉

I have sensed him around Nick (my fiancee) a number of times.  Nick loves him dearly, and misses him.  This last Saturday, he and I were with his mom, just walking to dog on the beach, when poof, there was Grandpa!  He was trying to get my attention.  I thought he wanted me to get a message to Dianne, Nick’s mom, inferring this meaning because we were all together.

Grandpa Bell wanted to me relay that he and Grandma Bell were together on the other side.  They in fact, showed up together, though him much more clearly and fully.  I asked him to please verify that this message was in fact from him, and he showed me a time where he was playing with this little blond haired kid; tipping the kid around, hoisting the kid on his shoulders, and helping the kid hang upside down as the kid squealed and laughed with delight.  I thought it was Diane as a little kid–must remember to ask more questions and not just assume things!  I started to ask her about this to see it was in fact her.  

Turns out, it wasn’t her at all.  Nick was the one who piped up and said he and Grandpa used to play jungle gym.  After having what I thought was a total miss on the information, I told the very instant Grandpa Bell that I wasn’t going to relay the rest of the message just yet and he backed off.  

After lunch, I got a chance to talk with just Nick.  I said, “Your grandpa is around.  He showed me playing with a little kid like a jungle gym as verification that it is in fact him.  He really just wants to say that he and Grandma Bell are together.  They show me their clasped hands raised up in the air together.”

Nick paused, considering.  Then said, “Well, I haven’t told you this, but I have been wondering lately if they are together.  They used to clasp my hands like that when walking and lift me into the air.”

Strange Stuff Part One

My Mother’s living room is a waiting room for spirits and entities.  Typically, they have lost their bodies and are just waiting there, much the same as they would wait in a doctors office.  And they wait for me.  

Sometimes they are polite.  Sometimes they are not.  Usually, however, they just sit there, somewhat sadly, and wait for me to lower my barriers to see them and help them.  

One time there was a woman waiting.  She had two daughters with her, and they looked to be about 8 and 10 years old.  She looked a bit haggard.  She was plump and very matronly.  She had dirty blond hair, bangs, and wore an outfit which looked to be made entirely of jeans.  She looked sad.  Her daughters were sad.  They were just sitting there one day when I walked by en route to the kitchen.

They caught my eye because I felt a sort of “tug” if you will.  It is sort of like an energetic “pst!” or like a feeling I get when I know there is someone or something that is looking at me and asking for me look back.  So there they were.  The three of them.  Just. Sitting. There.

Not having the slightest clue how to help or what to say, I simply said, “Uh, hey.  What’s up with you guys?”  The reply? I got to see a whole movie of how they were driving on the freeway and then something happened and the car/van they were in rolled and how they all perished before ambulance arrived.  They wanted to tell their story, almost like they needed to vent and almost because they didn’t really believe that was their fate.  They seemed to be in a state of shock.  And they wanted me to track down “Dad” and tell him where they were, and that they were all okay; that they are together.  They were sad because really, they didn’t even see it coming.  They didn’t really feel that they had any choice or say in the matter.  They felt like victims.

I asked them if they could return to the place where they had made the decision to die that way.  They went blank.  I realized that this awareness was beyond them and I began to search for other ways to help ease their sadness. 

I told them that they needed to send “Dad” my way.  If I could see them now, I would see them when “Dad” showed up.  I said, “You have two choices right now.  You can either leave, go toward the light, and move on, or you can do what it takes to bring your Dad to me so we can deal with this.”  

They chose to go toward the light.  

So, Mike, or Michael, (I think this what the Mom called you, though I’m not very good with names) you need to know your wife (Sarah) and two girls (Talia and Mikaylah) are okay.  Together, they held hands and moved on into the light.  I wished them a safe passage and journey; that their next adventures be grand and filled with love and peace.