Testing: Dear One, Love God by Tommye Allen narrated by Julianna Rowe aka Diane Ogden

Testing for my mentor of 45 years who is inspired by the Holy Spirit.  See many more writings on http://www.dearonelovegod.blogspot.com    

If you have any questions of comments please reply at dianeogden.ogden@gmail.com

"The Horrors That Hide" a novel by Julianna Rowe

 I will be posting a new chapter of my latest novel .....daily 

                                                The Horrors that Hide by Julianna Rowe

Intro: There he is again, lying in his recliner, hiding from something, or maybe just the world. He might act like the most approachable and sensitive person you could meet, all the while learning how to manipulate emotions and actions to serve his purposes that would seem to have been led by someone in the hereafter world.

 

                                             The Horrors That Hide     by Julianna Rowe

 

                                                     Chapter One:  Law and Order

 

During an intense episode of Law and Order, Adam and I heard a strange noise coming from one of the bedrooms in the West Wing of 532 S. Monroe. It wasn’t unusual to hear strange sounds on occasion from that area. Everyone knew about the kid, well I guessed he was nearly a man, considering he had graduated high school. Anyway, he committed suicide in that wing of the house, thus the strange noises, not to mention lights flashing on and off by themselves, especially during a full moon. He made it obvious he had something he needed to finish saying on this plane, yet there was no means to do it except by using electricity and sound waves. Made sense to me, considering I believed the world would come and go, slash revolve around simple and complex physics.

Ordinarily, Adam and I would ignore most anything that occurred in that wing of the house. It had been all but closed off since Auntie Rose died, except for Adam’s men’s night. Drinking and gambling. Despite the fact there hadn’t been any activity in such a long time, I decided to check it out anyway. I wanted my husband to do it, but we all knew men didn’t see and think about things differently. He would just disregard, and continue watching the television as usual.

I was flipping on lights as I went along the corridors. Well, it was only a cross between a corridor and a hallway, but sure as heck felt like a passageway to another world when the light decided to blow out. The walls were painted a dark green with mahogany trim, making it darker. I squealed like I had a reason to be afraid. It was more like a scream, but no one rose from their big brown leather chair to see if I were alright. He loved seeing the damsel in distress in his old cowboy movies, but when it came to his wife checking on strange sounds in the night by herself in the old mansion, she was on her own! Little did I know how much on my own I would be. 

Oddly, the flashlight had been put back in its proper placement in the kitchen pantry. I didn’t think much about the corridor light burning out until I noticed the guest bedroom lights were also out. I guessed it was a breaker that needed flipping, but what was the noise we heard? I was wandering toward the breaker box in the back closet, thinking it was strange how the floor was creaking. My mind reassigned itself to months past where we had all the old wiring and fuses electrically updated to breakers. As I came back from my trance regarding our expensive overhaul of wiring, I realized I had never noticed such weakness in those floorboards in the past, but then it had been some time. Actually, never had I had to rescue a lighting issue in our home. I mean, come on, it was a brand-new system. I opened the door to the metal breaker box and stepped inside. That is when my world went into a forever reverser.

As I stepped in, the floor gave way, and opened the death-lingering container rabbit hole it would become. I shot straight down nine feet, landing on a soft clay surface of an unknown substance. To think terrified was an understatement. Immediate recall went to the Florida man who fell into the sinkhole from his bed in the middle of the night while screaming for his brother to help him as he sank thirty feet never to be seen again, suffocating as his muddy breaths sucked dirt into his nasal cavity down to his thrashing throat and gasping lungs. I was in shock as I slowly regained a few brain cells, allowing me to think it was purely an accident. The floor simply gave way in an old house, and Adam would soon come and find me. This time he would have his own personal damsel in distress, as in the episode of Law and Order I had just walked away from in our peaceful living room. His favorite fantasy was right before him. The only thing lacking was the railroad tracks, and me tied to them with the train coming. Little did I know it was much worse.

Finally, able to stand up and survey the damage, I noticed no caving hole in the ceiling from where I had crashed through the closet floor. My breathing was becoming faster out of fear, and then the gasping began. I was suffocating. I realized there wasn’t enough oxygen for me to survive in that hole of death. I cupped my hands over my mouth, trying to stop the hyperventilating, yet wishing for death to come soon, so the suffering would cease, but death did not come. I was having a panic attack. When I finally overcame the injustice of the situation on my body and mind, I saw a door showing me a dimly lit path. I suddenly felt as though I were in a movie scene where Lois Lane or Nicole Kidman were in dire need of saving, but Superman and or Tom Cruise never showed up. I was not short of oxygen, rather I was gasping for air due to fear. But, I was underground, or was I? I must have had a concussion, and I was delirious was the only logical explanation.

When my breathing came back from death to life, I walked toward the open door, passed through it almost afraid I might never get back to the place I dropped from the closet a million miles ago in our West Wing. My screaming for hours went unnoticed. Why wasn’t Adam coming for me? Surely, he had checked on me, or had he fallen asleep in the huge leather chair that had taken my place long ago. Oh, how I had missed holding him, caressing him, touching his skin after he was clean-shaven. How I would let him rest his head on my shoulder while I gently played with his auburn hair, moving my fingers down across his forehead, then over his closed relaxed eyes onto his nose, then across his soft lips. Sometimes he would retrieve one of my fingers into his mouth, gently caressing it and then releasing it back to me. 

I screamed his name. “ADAM, help me! HELP ADAM PLEASE!”

But, there was no answer. Adam did not come. After a while, I stopped screaming, and figured he would wake up and find me eventually. Trying to calm myself, I meandered onto the odd surroundings I had fallen into. I thought how Adam would be shocked at these underground quarters someone from the past had designed very well, for what reason we would surely discover. 

Yet the décor was not old-fashioned. If this had been a hiding area during the Civil War or for slaves. No, this was more a state-of-the-art modern-day décor. It was fully furnished, and that was when my gut sensed something amiss, and I became frightened.

Was this the work of some diabolical genius who previously owned the home? No, I had owned the home for many years, but how was whoever getting in and out of this underground prison? Was there food here? I continued walking around, attempting to assess the situation, all the time trying to pretend this was not happening to me. I had fallen into a deep hole in the direction of Hell on Earth. Like those sinkholes in Florida, we would see on TV, but my sinkhole came furnished. This just wasn’t normal. Of course, it wasn’t normal for God’s sake. I had just fallen through the floor of my home into what I didn’t know what.

What was Adam doing? Was he looking for me? Did he fall asleep, and wouldn’t even miss me until morning? And then what would he do? Would he think I got up early and went somewhere? I started screaming, until my throat gave me definite signals to stop, or I would end up with throat polyps and talk like a heavy smoker the rest of my life. At the rate I was going, there wouldn’t even be surgery to fix the polyps, because I was never going to get out of this place. Anxiety riddled my body like buckshot on a bear’s behind. What if Adam thought I simply decided to leave him for a better life somewhere—to disappear. 

Wait, stop, think! 

There had to be an exit for whoever constructed this fortress. They—whoever they were—had to get food, and at that thought, I headed for the refrigerator. EMPTY! I stood staring, knowing this meant because I didn’t die from the fall, I would surely die of starvation. No food. I loved to eat. That was when the tears began falling, and as they fell, I also realized that would deplete my body of any extra fluids as well, so I had better stop the bawling, or as my dad used to say, “Oh stop your bellowing.” As in a cow bellows. A terrible thing for a dad to say to a little girl, but he was an old farmer, so it went.

I needed to stop my brain from wandering and begin thinking about how to escape. Escape what? I simply fell into an old passageway for slaves from the civil war, but in my heart, I knew that was not true. The décor was too updated. I started dragging and piling the furniture one on top of another at the area I fell through the closet floor. I climbed my makeshift ladder of instability, and was almost to the top when we, as in chairs and more chairs all crashed to the floor. The floor was made of old barn boards, yet was unusually clean. Who had kept this hidden area of confinement clean for his or her satanic purposes? Damn, I was scared. Where was Adam? Why wasn’t he banging on the floor? Of course, he wasn’t banging on the floor, why would he? But where did he think I went? And what time was it? I had no cell phone with me. Nothing. And now I had to pee. I began searching for a commode or something usable as such. There were dark narrow hallways leading to more barn board walls, each of which I pushed and pulled, attempting to find a secret exit. There had to be one, and there had to be a toilet of some sort for people that hid here at one time. I eventually came upon a tiny room closed off with a metal door. How in the name of Sam hell did anyone get a metal door down here? I carefully opened it to find a man-made shit hole, a five-gallon bucket, as in my parents’ house on the farm, and written on the wall was a very personal sign that read:

“Dear Jayne, I decided this was much easier and less costly than getting a divorce. My life with you has been like what this room represents. I hope you enjoy your short stay. Love Adam.

Frozen was putting it mildly. I was frozen with more pain-filled anger than I had ever known in my entire lifetime. Hate was operating as a skilled surgeon through every vein in my body. To Hell, if I would let him get away with this horrific crime. Starving me to death, after all I have done for him, and with him,  and just because we believed differently politically, or so I thought. I didn’t plan his death, because he didn’t vote for who I thought he should vote for. I always remained silent when he talked incessantly about his conspiracy theories, and how the government was listening to our phones and spying on us in our homes, and how the last election was this and that, and so off the charts unrealistically unbelievable. How the past President drank the blood of I couldn’t remember who or what.

The tears were starting to come again. The anger subsided, and the pain came in rushes like storm clouds over an already beaten down cornfield. The fruits of the land were laying down dried up and nearly dead. Like I felt. And with that, I sobbed myself to sleep on the soft purple sofa that sat on the barn flooring in my large casket of death. When the anger in my blood woke me, I wondered if Adam felt less guilty buying such a soft purple sofa for his wife to lie on while she starved to death, and what was he going to do when my body started to stink from rotting under the beautiful mansion we had built together for years. Wasn’t he afraid I might haunt him? I will! I will! No, he didn’t, because he didn’t think that far ahead.

I began to dream, or was I in that state of in-between, thinking about how Adam had walked into my life uninvited. Was that passive-aggressive? All these years was he planning to kill me? Suddenly, my mind was reeling in a thick distasteful memory mixed with many good years. My thoughts came in pictures of lovely flowerbeds with sudden mudslides smothering and snuffing the life out of them in a fraction of a second, and then my mind went back to the beginning again, that first day I met Adam.

He had walked over to the booth I was dining at and slid himself smoothly onto the soft leather seat opposite me. I looked up from the trance I had been in while eating the meal I had been momentarily alone with. I turned my head slightly to the left, looking over the top of my newly purchased pink leopard glasses, waiting for the intrusive stranger to speak. Obviously, he was waiting for my reaction to his rude entrance into my world, but I didn’t speak as he had expected, rather I took another bite of my salmon marinade with asparagus, and as I slowly chewed, I met his eyes again and waited.

He was a handsome fellow who was used to intimidating women. What he didn’t know was he had briefly stunned me, and that I had learned from experience how to play that poker game. While he sat stupidly trying to figure out what to do next, my mind took me to a different place. I asked myself what would happen if I had slipped into a booth on the opposite side of this man while he was quietly eating his meal? What if I sat there looking all beautiful waiting for him to respond to my uninvited gorgeous presence? That made me instantly want to save him from his self-made conceited grave site, considering that was what I had done for others most of my life. But I didn’t. I restrained my deep-rooted compulsion to be the savior of any and every one in need of saving. He was the one that slithered into my space and hadn’t slithered back out yet, so I just kept eating and watching him squirm uneasily.

Finally considering his looks hadn’t saved him, nor did I, he spoke, “May I join you; my name is Adam.”

I finished chewing before releasing him from his mental confinement, by responding, “Why, of course, Adam, and did you bring your evil apple for me to partake of as well?”

It was then I realized I might have gone too far and had become the intimidating one. I then broke the ice with casual laughter, and the words, “It is nice to meet you, Adam, at least I think so.”

His neck jolted in a slightly backward motion and his eyes changed their intention to a more query state, as he responded, “I guess I deserved that. Please, forgive my intrusion, but it was the only way I could think of to meet you.”

I smiled and exchanged a more reasonable chatter.

We had so many good years to have them end like this in murder?

Max seven days and I would be dead. I never had a reason to google what a person would go through while dying without food or water. I had seen children from other countries with their bones sticking out dehydrated with flies all over their bodies. The one good thing was there are no flies down here. What was I thinking? My mind had gone into mass confusion, unable to bring forth one solid thought, and then it happened out of the darkness of the situation, I saw ‘it.’

I remembered years ago when we were viewing ‘it’ before purchasing. Adam and I had walked around to the backyard area, and noticed the neighbor kitty-corner to the left bulldozing a large area from the mid-center of our view toward their property. At the end of the dozing was a double garage door. They had decided since the previous owner had passed away, and no one seemed to care for the property, they would on their own create a new entrance to their garage, a much nicer entrance that held a place for their boat. I was amazed at the gall of some people, but the pieces were coming together right inside my hungry scared mind. I had left town to visit a friend in North Carolina a while back. I noticed some dark lines in our backyard, and asked Adam what caused them. He blew me off with some story about how he spilled weedkiller, and had to buy some new carpet grass to repair what he had ruined. Of course, I bought his explanation. Why wouldn’t I?

Adam had been planning this for a long time. My manipulative husband had planned my murder for months or maybe years.

 

A Routine Tuesday........by Julianna Rowe

 

As I stood on the top step to the entrance door of my twelve-story unit building I peered above the city streets taking in the smells of traffic and coal in the air. The sky seemed to surround itself in a blue like I never noticed being so spectacularly bright before. Its clouds used it as a canvas while they passed before it designing characters out of their moving vaporous existence. Heck, I almost fell off my astral sightseeing staircase I had become so enthralled in its beauty.  Why it had even removed the smell of gas and coal from my nostrils by the takeover of which I was pleased even though only momentarily.  So much so that it entered my body and mind offering me new energy to my steps.  The ones I was standing on as well as the ones attached and taking me everywhere I needed or wanted to go. And where I needed to go this day would change the course of my life forever.

I was six blocks from Times Square on my way to a job interview. It was August 14, 1945. A routine Tuesday that tuned out to be most extraordinary.  The heavens had sent me a message earlier from the clouds as I left the threshold of my home. They looked like a ball of expensive wool, puffy like a perfect sweater from Switzerland. Of course, my mind always flowed to the extravagant yet maintained a frugal caring manner.  My heavenly sent attitude had remained as I gathered momentum towards the high rise in Times Square for my appointment at Dopler and Hayes Legal Firm. I had answered an ad for a receptionist position.  Many of my friends were working in the factories while their men were serving at war.  I couldn’t handle the factory positions due to a medical condition…… continued later

Mother's Dirty Crystals by Julianna Rowe

 

There really is no story today except that I have had COVID for 11 days.  Even though I had the Pfizer shot and two boosters.  I eat well, I exercise, and I have a positive attitude that is at present in the outhouse! Actually, I am pissed!  I enjoy working and have missed two weeks.  It has been hard to do the one thing we humans need to do to live.  BREATHE!  

Eleven days of little sleep, anti-viral meds, an antibiotic, twice in the E.R., nebulizer breathing treatments, salt water inhalation, and knock-out prednisone, second round.  Oh, and my face is numb and I am itching, and the chest is still tight.  Could be the partial lobectomy three years ago.  Just add it to the list of seven decades. 

That all said, I have resorted to taking photos of things in my apartment.  It's called boredom. I pulled out my old Canon camera, took a few shots, and realized my new Samsung S21 Ultra takes better ones.  So I you tubed tutorials's considering the camera portion is very intense. I took pics of my jewelry and other odd things.  What I did learn is the amount of dust I have accumulated and that would include before COVID struck me down.  

This is a pic I took of fake leaves.  I attached my mother's OLD crystal clip earrings onto it some time ago.  Must have been another boring day but at least no COVID back then.  Anyway, when I saved the pic to my PC I obviously saw how the dust blanketed the leaves and enhanced my photo.  Not!  But then I could tell you I did it on purpose to show the comparison of Mother's seventy-year-old crystal clip-on earrings and age.  But that would be a lie.  Guess I need one of those feather dusters.  I do think clipping the earrings onto the leaves as though they were glass flowers was a creative way to display them versus stashing them in a drawer.  

I display old glassware with string lites on top of my bookshelves.  Mother's crystal necklace is adorning the bottle to the left.

The Edge of Infinity by Julianna Rowe

 

A silent path led me upward into a dense grey fog. Each step I left behind appeared to call out to old enemies as though I was climbing away from them but, what into?   I had no fear even though at times my mind felt something pulling me back down.  But the voice inside my head continued moving me forward almost like I had no choice.  The steps were a continuation of my life, but they did not impede my questioning heart as it moved up farther and farther.  Suddenly a larger-than-life living vine appeared at the side of each step promising better to come. After time filled its space and gathered its proper timetable it released me to a red majestic rock plateau. I was moved gently off the steps onto a hard surface above the mind of the world. I was at the edge of infinity. My pure energy spaces.  I asked the mind if I were alone?  It showed me through its eye of mine that only a select few were allowed inside my energy.  There were several there with me, oddly not the ones I thought would be.  And there was one outside my energy field wanting to join but being held back by an invisible veil. It was someone who thought they could enter in but their love was not pure causing them pain like when you were a child and the other kids were at a birthday party. The party door was open.  Candy, cake, games, amazing food, presents, and fun. But you could not get in because you were not pure.  You sat down and stared at what you could not have whilst you shed a tear for what you wanted so badly to fulfill your life. I was told that was an example of the many in life who for whatever reason do not attain their hopes and dreams.

 I as well shed a tear for the many who have not the gift of wisdom, faith, or maybe just luck, to have found your way to what you wanted.   

I spread my arms at the top of the plateau as though I were the eagle. I peered down through the clouds into the enemies I had left behind.  My people of pure energy surrounded me as we filled our minds with one another’s goodness and waited for instructions from the main source on what was next. It was hard to leave my friends outside and below the veil.  We each choose when to move to a higher plateau and leave behind those unable to find their way.  If not, "the" trail of their tears would keep us from our own destiny.

Climb the living vine while you still have time.

My Porthole? My Dimension? My Space? By Julianna Rowe

 

Realm/Dimension/Space

Am I in the wrong space and I can feel it? Every now and then I get a vision through sort of a porthole. No, a porthole where suddenly a different clearer view is seen as I am looking at the space I live in.  When it appears, it is like being at an eye exam when the Dr. says, “Is number one clearer or number two.  Number three or number two?”   

And in my vision porthole, the scene is very clear, brighter emotionally and physically.  Then it disappears but I can still sense the feelings within myself for a few seconds.  And I want it back and I want to know how to get there.  I need to get there because I am free from much earthly negativity inside that round porthole window.  No Mother, no kids, no men, telling me I am a lesser person.  The dull realm is where I live and have all my life.  I want to rise to the other dimension but live here on this plain/plane for now.  How do I crawl through that crystal clear hole and stay there? I feel it will be a crawl because life doesn’t usually take us from A to Z in one swoop.  Unless you die.

It’s like when you wear glasses. They make the whole world clear and brighter.  Where can I get those glasses so I can go live there? Where people see my spirit.  Appreciate my caring.  Where I am loved and cared for in return. 

Why do I or would I cling to the illusion that the people around me are decent. Why would I settle for such lower-dimensional love? Why would I settle for such? When I have two cats that adore me. 

Maybe I don't settle! 

 

Numerology 9 day

 1-22-22       Short Story Dream:  

Today is a Nine-day. I play with Numerology.  Add 1+22+22 and it adds up to a 9 which is my life path.  I must listen to the still small voice or not?

Val was one of the most handsome men I had ever met. He handed out charisma every moment he existed everywhere he went. His touch, his smile, his simply being in the room, gave me a warmth like the soft winds of an ocean breeze that centered itself somewhere in the depths of my soul. But I wasn’t sure I offered him the same gentle breezes.  In fact, I was so enthralled with Val I wrote a novel about him that went to number one on the New York Times bestseller list.

One evening while watching a late-night television talk show where he was a guest, Jimmy Kimmel asked him about the novel I had written that appeared to be about us.  Val looked at the camera and spoke four words that sounded like a foreign language.  My brows turned firmly down nearly over my eyes and my mouth hung open as though I had heard of the death of a friend.   What the heck did he just say?  Then I heard the audience clapping like the roar of your favorite football team had won and were going to the Super Bowl.  What just happened my thoughts bellowed.  And after the crowd calmed down Kimmel moved on to other topics all about Val.   It was always all about Val lately.

When he returned from Los Angeles we celebrated at our usual dinner club, came back to my apartment overlooking Chicago the nightlights. We danced and made love for hours.  Then in our moments of silence, after lovemaking, I asked him what the four words he said on Kimmel mean? The words describing my novel.   He commented he didn’t know what I was talking about but then he arrogantly repeated them..

“Oui je l'inspire”

I squeaked in a high-pitched voice, “What does that mean please?”

He tried to dismiss me and move on to something else but I persisted.  Told him if he didn’t translate it, I would head to google right now and break up our wonderful evening.

Okay, alright, all I said was “Yes, I inspire her.”  It was for the audience you know?

Then before I could say a word, he told me he was leaving town for New York and not to be upset but I might see him out with Claudette Canton because they were shooting a commercial together.  In fact, he added it was a date tomorrow night, but only for publicity.

Again, my face held that same frown that appeared freely the night I heard the four words describing my novel turn it all onto him.  Everything was about him.  But I knew him long before he became famous.  We were kids together, schoolmates, Homecoming King and Queen, but something happened to him when he moved on from a popular High School football player to a nationwide celebrity doing voiceovers and commercials. It was his physical beauty that took him to a place far away from our common roots.  He lost who he was in his soul and became his own personal physical spotlight shining himself upon himself. 

I looked him in his eyes and calmly stated. So, you have a date tomorrow night? 

He affirmed it and proceeded to move my attention away from the present conversation by making love to me or rather using sex to benefit himself from his own self-made relationship trap. His ego had grown out of proportion and was beginning to appear ugly as well as I noticed he was drinking more than he ever had.  

And so, he made sex with me, kissed me goodbye, said he would call me.  But he never called again.  He and Claudette Canton had become an overnight sensation.  Magazine covers, newsreels, and talk of an upcoming wedding. But Val and I were to be married.  We had talked about it since we were freshmen in High School.  The plan was as soon as we graduated college, we would marry with our families close, have a nice small wedding venue at the local Gardens by the River Walk.   

Val had discarded me.  Discarded all the years, all the memories, all of it for fame.  The worst part was he never said goodbye.  

I moved on after a period of grief.  It was true grief as though he had died and a part of me died with him, a part of my heart died with his disappearance.  It was something I never wanted to experience again.  I finally decided to take an antidepressant to help stop the daily crying.  I cried at the market, while driving, in other public places as well.  It was no longer normal grief.  The medication took a month or so to kick in but when it did the crying stopped and I began writing again.  But not the old me, it was someone new writing, and the words coming out were from a damaged soul that no medication would cure.

As time passed, I moved on. I dated a few men but no one could replace Val in my heart.  I received a czll from my dad inviting me to lunch at the Café Du Soleil.   Translated means Café of the Sun and it turned out to be just that. When I entered the café, sitting with my dad was a handsome young American Indian named Dakota Taner.  He stood when my father introduced us and when he looked down and smiled upon me those God chills ran through me like wind and fire.  He must have been six foot four.  Who was this man?  We had a light lunch and conversed about our jobs and local news.  Nothing earthshattering. After a while, Dad excused himself back to work, paid the bill, and left us on our own.  I think that was the plan all along and it did work out beautifully.  Dad always knew what I needed.  To say he was upset with Val would have been a worldwide understatement.   

 The people invited expected the groom to be Val. Many Friends had never met Dakota and always assumed if I ever married it would be Val.  After all, he was the only man I had ever been with until recently.  People were coming into the church filling the air with questions.  Reading the pretty little paper filled with golden letters stating who the happy couple was and the words to an ancient Indian Prayer.  Dakota’s father was sitting in the front row to the left. My father, and his girlfriend, MaryBeth, were sitting in the front row to the right. Dakota and I had both lost our mothers to cancer in previous years.

Dad had bought me the most beautiful white softly beaded gown.  Its form-fitted long-sleeved bodice was like what I would think an Angel might wear because at the waist it blossomed into a swaying radiant flower petal, not too full, just enough elegance to enhance the bodice and state clearly my worth. 

The night before the Dakota and I were to take our vows I had a disturbing dream.

I recall my first memory of the dream was that something was amiss.  My stockings were bunched up inside my white satin pumps. 

My friend Linda who passed away six months previously came into my dream and wanted me to wear five-inch beaded sandals so I would at least reach Dakota’s armpits.  Oh, hell no I told her I would fall on my way down the aisle and ruin everything!  Linda laughed but then her face became sober and she agreed.  Then we both laughed.  She also reminded me stockings were a thing of the past and I should throw them out.  She then inquired why was I wearing navy blue tights under my white Angelic dress?  Not even stockings?  I looked down and told her I didn’t know.  Then Dakotas father, Dalton, came over to help me with the navy-blue tights.  He knelt and gently lifted my foot toward him.  He took ahold of the twisted-up tights, straightened them out, folded them under my foot, and placed my foot back into the shoe like in the movie Cinderella.  Then he fixed the other side. Dalton then stood up and exited my dream. He and Dakota were security.  Linda was watching shaking her finger as to say no. I looked at her and said, No what? And then she faded away.  Next, I was walking away when I noticed a secret pocket in my dress. I fumbled around because it was so small and discovered Inside the pocket was a satin ring holder bag with a tiny zipper.  I unzipped it and inside was goo.  Snotty green goo with one large chunk of goo.  I was sickened by the smell and sight.  I quickly went to the laboratory and cleaned out the tiny satin zippered ring bag using all the paper towels available. I then came back to the wedding area walking around watching people and listening to what they were saying.  Someone told me I should go back to the dressing area. That I wasn’t supposed to be out here.  So, I did.  I got a phone call from a man who told me he was at a party.  He was in the sex room and wanted to know if I wanted to join him.  I secretly thought it was Val.  I said NO, I am getting married today you pervert. The man who called had been drinking heavily.

I woke up back at the real wedding standing at the altar with Dakota. It had gotten to the place where the minister asks if there was anyone there who had any objections to this marriage they were to speak now or forever not speak of it. It was silent for what seemed like an eternity when out of the blue and unexpectedly the entire crowd in unison made a gasping sound.  A man sitting in a pew at the center of the church stood up.   Dalton, Dad, Dakota, me, and everyone else turned to look at the man who stood silent.    It was a near unrecognizable Val.  Dear God, he looked like a homeless man.  Tears began to fall hard and fast from my soul onto the beautiful Angelic pearls whose voices were now screaming back at the hot tears falling onto their once restful existence.  They were trying to tell me.  The tiny zippered nasty ring bag was trying to tell me, the navy-blue tights bunched up in my peaceful shoes were trying to tell me. The phone call from Hell was trying to tell me.  Did I listen?

Val didn’t speak, he turned, walked toward the large wooden doors, pushed them open, turned and looked at me one more time with a tear-stained face of a beaten-down man, and walked out of the building. 

I looked at Dakota, then my dad.   I lifted my perfect life Cinderella dress and ran down the aisle and out the large wooden doors chasing the lost illusion.  I heard the guests going nuts but I never looked back.  If I had I would have seen Dakota bent over in tears, his father trying to console him, and my father standing at the church doors watching me get into Val’s truck, throwing my veil out the window and driving away. Away from him forever.

They found my body beaten to death, still in my Angelic wedding dress that could have taken me to a different future.  But instead, my emotions allowed me to go left at the Y in the road of my life road which led me down the ancestral path to death by another bad choice.

I didn’t listen to the warning signs.    

 (Pierre Alex Jeanty author.  I bought his books, they are inspiring and teach.  This one reminded me of my dream last night so I am sharing.  You can find him on facebook.