HENRY by Julianna Rowe

 LAST NIGHT, I MET HENRY:

My friend Jude and I were out about the local pubs one evening.  Jude had been on a one-man mission for some time to find me a partner to spend my remaining days with.  Not that I asked. Jude had entertained dating sites in my name, selfies……magazine ads, and computer sites, all to no avail.   Not that I am chopped liver, but Jude lacks the qualities needed to write and or present me properly.  Heck, Jude couldn't even take an appropriate photo of me.  Not that I offered him any assistance on his one-man plight because I didn’t care. It had become a joke between friends.  We all wondered what would Jude come up with next.

One evening we were out and sitting at a large round table with other friends.  Most people in our circle knew about Jude’s obsession with finding me a good man for whatever reason.  Our other friends were making jokes because Jude had pointed to some younger men for me to consider. The responses returned to him were more comical than his choices of youth for me.                                                                                                             

And then I noticed two elderly men walking toward the establishment.  I looked at Jude and pointed to one older man who had caught sight of me as well.  I sent a smile directly into his space.  Before the smile could ever arrive, Jude was on him!  Jude pointed to me as he whispered God only knows what.  At the same moment, my smile hit and I received a genuine one back.  As Jude returned to the table, the older fellow and his buddy sat at a smaller round table within smiling distance. 

“What did you say to him, Jude?”  

“Oh, I told him you were looking for a man!”

“You did not!”

“His name is Henry. The rest is up to you dear lady.”

I didn’t have to do anything because Henry excused himself from his friend, walked over to me, leaned his tall lanky body over, and whispered let's take a walk as he gently placed his arm under mine and helped me to my feet and we walked. All chattering at our round table had ceased including Jude’s whose incessant talk never stopped. They watched us walk away.

We walked and talked until we came upon a large old Victorian house.  Henry said come here, look.  What I saw was a line of electric bikes hanging on racks that looked like old cow stanchions.  Henry told me he invented them, the bikes.  I said but no one is using them.  He said, Right.    We walked on and toward iron gates which he opened and there before me was the most beautiful but uncared for courtyard.  Statues of a romantic nature //blessed the area but were in dire need of cleaning. We passed and went into the house.  A woman was sitting in a chair holding a basket.  She appeared to be Indian.  Then a young man walked into the room.  I mentally guessed he was fourteen.  I looked over toward Henry with questioning eyes.  He responded that he was the caretaker of these people.  Then a teenage girl walked in.  I waited for more to walk in but none did.  

We walked the rest of the house with no words spoken.  The home needed a woman’s touch as well as some serious cleaning in all areas.

He said I want you to take care of them with me.  Money is not an issue, you can do whatever you wish with the house.  I am signing it over to you but I want you to know there may be problems.   My children might try to take it away from you upon my passing.  I will do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.  And then he would do a little dance around me and smile with those beautiful white teeth.

He added I might have to take care of him as he was gaining in years.   I agreed without hesitation.  He looked just like Dick Van Dyke.  He danced just like him too.

So, with one little walk, and a smile from deep in the Universe, I knew I would never have to worry again about food, housing, cars, tires, healthcare, or dirty nursing (dying mills) homes.  

I was a born caretaker so this was perfect for me.  Betty, the Indian was our cook and the other children were a joy.  

I woke up HAPPY.  I am glad I met Henry and hope he will materialize into my space on Earth.  Because Henry made me Happy. 

 

Somewhere Beyond the Sea by Julianna Rowe

Somewhere Beyond the Sea    by Julianna Rowe

Good Morning, Flesh and Spirit! Beware where your thoughts and decisions can take you. Dead or ALIVE!

Once Upon a Time, inside my head or outside, I know not “witch,” lived the beautiful land of Killarney, Ireland. The grasses around Killarney were the colors of every green and more in my hundred-and-eighty box of crayons from grade two. As I looked out over the hills and valleys, I saw what the quilt called Killarney Green indeed was. I wonder if I weren’t in space momentarily, peeking outside where I truly lived, looking at something unreal. Its beauty was not measured by what senses blessed my extreme intellectual level. Ah, maybe that is the culprit here? Or was I in space, having died of my previous matter of being? Either way, Killarney was my home now. Or so I thought.

The clothes that held my new body draped the ground. A long white apron covered part of the clothes, and they flowed weightless as the gentle winds of Killarney blew a mist of salty sea water across my milkin’ pure skin. I was pure, or was I? Since when did that occur? But it had, so I went with it because it felt PURE. Clean. 

And then I saw the others gathering items, busy like they each knew their intended jobs and did them. 

And still in the background were those scenic patchwork green acres of land with the sea in the distant background. 

I looked like one of those Amish women.

Then, I observed a group of people sporadically painting a few rocks. They would stop on occasion looking at me for approval. 

Somebody told me through spiritual communication that I had designed the rock painting and my permission was required, which I gave. My creations were a magnificent display of art blending into the landscape as though from the Gods through me. I was no longer in the long dress with the long white apron.

I heard a sound to my right and turned in wonderment at the sight. How could this be? A woman is lying in a stall in labor of child. But it is an animal stall, and she has trouble birthing her baby. There was no one to assist her. I continued to watch. One man came forth holding a tiny Bristol brush he instructed the other man how to use. 

He told him that if he gently brushed the area of the woman’s cervix, the infant child could be born without further pain and possible trauma.

The woman in labor had sent a message to her best friend to come and be with her, but the woman’s friend ignored her summons and went about her business of chores and happiness. 

She didn’t wish to be bothered by her friend’s pain.

The man, who appeared to be the overseer of birthing, explained to the woman this new procedure that should bring on the birthing with less difficulty. Telling her it would be somewhat uncomfortable, but the result would end the misery. She agreed, and he proceeded to bristle the cervical area. Within moments, a child was born in the animal stall in Killarney, Ireland. A land unknown to most.

One day, the woman was walking her baby and came upon her friend, who had ignored her pleas for assistance in the birthing. The friend fell into deep despair, crying and begging forgiveness for her lack of caring. The woman forgave her friend, but the others did not. The community ostracized her because her heart proved she had merely gotten caught and was not repentant.

The man who lived in a room in Killarney viewed all the same things I was but said nothing, only watched as I did. Who was this man? But then, who was I? We were riding on the edge of a shooting star in a flash, and the scene changed. I was living in a different time and place once again. Somebody built this of cement. Possibly, I was transported to Italy. Or New Mexico? I always liked being in control of myself, but this was something I knew I had to let go of and ride the ride with. It wasn’t like I was in any river with crashing, frightening rapids. It was a trickling creek with tributaries the spirit had chosen for me to take off the main flow. It was most likely some form of learning or lesson, and so far, it had not caused me duress. 

At the least, that was my summation of this movie inside my head that wasn’t.

Inside my new stucco home, I felt safe. The man from Killarney was still with me but not in view, yet I could always feel his presence.  

There was a knock on my door. Before I could open it, a man of another nationality pushed the door in. Then, another man crept in behind him. They began pushing me around, and I was frightened. I told them I was calling the police, but they laughed when one of them took my phone. The man who cared for me opened a porthole in the room right out of midair. I could see him lying down on something when he mentally summoned me into the porthole, but not all the way. Somebody told me spiritually that if I went all the way, I wouldn’t be able to return. I did as he requested but stepped too far into his domain. I sat beside him and noticed a large tear in his left eye. He asked me if he could love me, and I said yes. His lips were wet and had the consistency of jello from many previous tears, all held in one packet next to his left eye. I placed my hand on his face and wiped the tear that told his sad story. He told me how much he loved me and everything would be alright. I kissed his very wet lips for a long time. 

I was pulled back through the portal by the interference of the police, who had arrived needing to ask me more questions regarding the intruders. The man told me he would be watching and waiting for me. I asked him if he was dead. Or was I dead? He just stared at me with love, no words. For some reason, I was allowed back through the porthole.

The house belonged to my step-nana. She was well-to-do before she passed away. She also oversaw my walk through this self-made movie set of Heaven’s School. I knew not which. Maybe I was roaming in one of the twelve dimensions spirit told me of. Still, I was also to be careful not to step too far into other extensions of the Universe. In my estimation, that may have already happened. I wondered if I would get to choose “witch” one I preferred or if the Universe was in charge. I suspected the latter. And what if the man didn’t love me and was a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Either way, I had to continue the journey.

I was over-cleaning due to stress when three people talked me into traveling back to Ireland for a business deal. Something about my calling to write, so I agreed. While standing at the airport or what seemed like a train station, I felt the urge not to go. I never listened as I should have to the still, small voice. No, I preferred the loud, usually incorrect voices that seemed more REAL. The truth was quite the opposite. And so we arrived in Ireland, and I knew it was a mistake. We were not at the same beautiful Killarney but a stale building inside a cold apartment. It was a fear-filled moment.

I snuck a legal pad from the tenant, who convinced me to travel with them. I began writing to the man who said he loved me. The man had so many tears, but my pen would skip to where he couldn’t read my words. I grabbed another pen, and it did the same. I attempted to tell him my trouble, and he needed help. I folded the paper and addressed the envelope to “Somewhere beyond the sea.” The owner took it from me, saying she would ensure it was sent. 

My mind and heart vacillated between flesh and spirit, but I didn’t know it.

The man answered my letter with his spirit voice. He was upset I had left without warning, with no forethought of the dangers, whether it be dangers of the flesh or hazards of the spirit. Both existed. I kept apologizing, but he didn’t stop scolding me. He told me he would be back and to listen for him. He told me that he would give up and move if I didn’t stop searching for things outside my true path. I would not be able to find him. I heard him and took his words to heart. But I was still lost.

In the meantime, this dimension I wished I were not in added a new twist. The female owner brought a dog into the larger of the rooms. She sat him down and asked me if I would like a puppy. I said I didn’t believe it was a good time for me to have a puppy, and that dog was not a puppy. She laughed a strange laugh like I used to hear a “witch” cackle when I was little. I decided words were not my friend then and stilled my fleshly voice. 

Why weren’t people communicating in the spirit like the others all had? Oh God, where was I? Because it wasn’t Killarney, Ireland, by the beautiful patchwork hills and baby blue peaceful ocean with its mirrored surface reflecting the heavens and all its glories. No, I was in some downtown coal yard resembling Detroit's lousy section.

The woman continued. 

She told me she could get me a puppy from this male dog in less than two hours. I started to laugh when I realized her expression was for me to pretend, I believed. This was one of those times I imagined myself raising both arms and shouting.

“Praise the Wicked Witch of all wisdom and knowledge!”  

But of course, that was only in my imagination because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and needed to listen very carefully to find my way out. But it appeared it was not time yet.

The witch lady injected a syringe into the back of the dog's skull. The dog felt no pain and did not flinch. I did not cringe out of fear of retaliation. I did not want a needle inserted into the back of my head so I could have puppies or babies or anything. I remained calm as she inserted the long needle into the brain of the male dog. He ejaculated sperm in the opposite direction than usual for a male dog. 

She cackled at her feat. The male dog had impregnated himself, and within minutes, she showed me an X-ray of five puppies in a sac inside the male dog. 

She cackled again, saying they would be born shortly and I could have my pic of the litter. I didn’t want a puppy. I wanted to go back to the dimension I was loved in. Not the one with evil men and police, women of the old days having babies in the barn, or where witches lived and caused fundamental and true horrors.

And that is when I heard the voice of the man. He instructed me how to escape the witch's dimension and return to the train station. I had accidentally taken the train to Ausch- “witch.” Also known as Hell.

I did as directed and was home in a nanosecond or so. I stood in a void staring, going in a circle, searching for the man. I begged him to open the porthole again for me, but he didn’t. 

Had I waited too long, and he moved away? 

I cried, pleaded, and threw myself on my knees in earnest prayer that he would return for me. Nothing. Was this it? 

I was on my own. I sat on the grass and cried the same thick, heavy tears the man had. Why couldn’t I find him, and why couldn’t he see me? The loss and grief were unbearable.

I opened my eyes, turned to the right, and pushed the clock button that lit up to say it was 8:06 a.m. No man loved me, no Ireland, no witch, no puppies, no train stations, and no help coming. Somebody sent the metaphors of a dream to help me decipher my mind and journey.

 

The Homeless "Lady" by Julianna Rowe

 The Homeless “Lady”  by Julianna Rowe

Why am I drawn to that filthy homeless woman with her matted hair like a dog that has never been cared for?  I suspect there must be bugs in it.  Her hands are brown with dirt, and she is wearing layers of clothing unfit for any human.  My God, she has no shoes. She sits inside a large cardboard box and I can see only one blanket.  That mangey dog that hangs around her must be hers.  I checked with the doorman and he tells me they call her “Loose Lefty.”  The story goes she used to sell herself on occasion for food.  That’s the loose part anyway.  Lefty?  No one is sure where that came from. 

God, I live in this beautiful luxurious high-rise where I can see her from a distance. Why am I drawn to watching her? I have a view of the Hudson River and magnificent city lights in all directions.

I need to call my therapist.  I have become obsessed with her like that guy in the movie was with Siri.

Hell, I even bought a pair of high-power binoculars to watch her.  I am missing my lunch hours and am late for meetings due to my preoccupation with some dirty old homeless woman.  

Then one day I pulled out my binoculars to find she was gone.  All day I searched leaving my work unattended. I was panicking.

She had become an integral part of my life, but why?

I noticed the dog was very nervous with her gone. I decided to leave my post and binoculars and go to the homeless village where I started asking questions.  Where is she?  Did she die, which for some crazy reason freaked me out? Then I started checking hospitals but I had no name to offer but “Loose Lefty.” 

I then went to every ambulance center asking every shift if they picked up a homeless woman on 51^st and 106^th Street West.  I finally found out who picked her up and what hospital they took her to.

I had found her.  She was somewhat cleaned up but in bad shape and was treated with disrespect due to her appearance.  This angered me. So, I physically picked her up from the hospital bed and carried her to my car.  The hospital called the Police…. But the Police had more pressing matters to tend to than that old woman.  They said if I paid her bill, and I did, there was no cause for alarm at that point. The fact is I threw the cash on the desk all the while holding her before I had walked out.

I took her home.   I called an old girlfriend who came over and helped with her hair and bathed her.

 I bought her all-new clothes and toiletries.  At first, she was talking like a street person in a rather rough manner, but then something happened when she looked at herself in the mirror. Like she found who she used to be, her old self that had class and had cared once upon a time.  I even went and got the mangy dog and had him cleaned up.   She would not say who she was, in fact, she didn’t talk too much.  Although she was quite excited about the dog.

A couple days later I went back to work leaving her on her own in my apartment.  While I was gone, she became bored and started snooping thru my papers and photos.  She saw something that shocked her, causing her to run away. But she left the dog behind with me.

I came home to find her missing.  I took the dog out and when I returned, I noticed she had gone through the old scrapbooks my brother had left me. 

I had not seen my mother since I was seven years old.  It was then I found her pictures in the old scrapbook. I threw it down and ran directly to the homeless village but she was not there.  They would not have recognized her anyway with her new clothes and clean hair, not to mention she smelled differently.   

It would be another four months before I found her again. I had searched every homeless tent city, the underground homeless areas, under railroad bridges, hospitals, and even the morgue, but then she had no name. I could not go to the police because I had no name to offer to fill out a missing person report. And then. On my walk home, there she was, sitting on a park bench by herself in front of the high-rise Sentry Insurance building.  

I said, “Mother.  It’s okay Mother, it’s me, Christopher, come on, we are going home.”

And we both cried for a long time.  I then realized she had run away because she was embarrassed for me to see how she had allowed her life to end up, homeless and existing in a large Cardboard Box.

And they lived happily ever after.  

Of course, they did.  

Numerology: An Overview by Julianna Rowe

 A quick overview of the Greek Pythagoras System:

There are five numbers derived from the combination of first your birthday, and then your name.  These are called:

1)      1-     The Lifepath Number (the total of the month, day and year)

2)      2.-     The Birth-Day Number (the day of the month you were born on)

3)      3.-     The Soul Number (this is the numeric value of the vowels in your name)

4)      4.-     The Personality Number (which is the numeric value of the consonants)

5)      5.-     The Power of the Name Number (the combination of the Soul and Personality numbers)

6)      6.-     The Attitude Number (while it is not in the top five numbers, it can provide insights into a person.

In Numerology, all the numbers are reduced to a single digit.  For example: 19 becomes

1 + 9= 10 = 1 + 0 = 1. 

Using the Pythagoras Number System, every letter of the alphabet is assigned a numeric value.  The vowels go above the name you are adding up, and the consonants below it.

The Vowel Number is your Soul Urge.  It’s what you feel on the inside.  People who know you may not see it but you are aware of it internally.

The Consonant Number is your Personality Number.  It’s how you appear outside. It is what you show the world and how people perceive you.

And the third number is the Power Name Number.  It’s the strength of your name and lets us know who you are. The belief is that the universe gives you your Birthday and your parents give you your name.  This is the most important number in the additions of your name.  If this number is not compatible with your Lifepath Number, I advise you to alter it to make your life easier.

The day you were born (Birthday Number) because it is how you appear. This is the number that gives people their first impression of you.

The LifePath Number is the number you must fulfill in order to be truly happy.

The Destiny Number tells you what you will inevitably fulfill in your lifetime.  This number may be different from the name you are using today.  But this vibration will not be ignored so I suggest you find ways to use it to your advantage.

The Attitude Number is how you communicate to people. Whatever your attitude number, people will expect you to operate from this vibration. If your Lifepath Number is different than your Attitude Number, I suggest you let people know right away who you are.  Otherwise, they won’t have a clue.  Your Attitude Number will confuse them.

Author Interview of me: Julianna Rowe aka Diane Ogden to be continued:

 

Abducted: by Julianna Rowe

 ABDUCTED:     Property of Julianna Rowe

     She was taken hostage at gunpoint by two men near a convenience store. Blindfolded and taken to an underground location not far outside the city. There were two of them, a man and I was the other person who was going to be used for insurance leverage with the FBI as getaway pawns.  The blindfolds were removed, and we were left in an empty room with one window. I immediately went to the window, only to see heavy vines blocking the view of a brick wall opposite the vine.   Just then, the lock on the door clicked and opened.  A shorter man with a bandana hiding his face entered with a tray of food.  Actually, decent food.  Two plates filled with hamburgers, french fries, and apple pie. Another basket of fruit, soft drinks, napkins, and seasonings.  I said out loud to the other prisoner.

“What is going on here?”  

But no one spoke. Food was the last thing on my mind.  Instead, I went back to the window and tried to open it.  It had been painted shut.  Where were we?  I recalled riding in an elevator, but did we go up or down?  There was obviously a  brick building very close and what was with the thick vines. They looked like the vines in the children’s book “Jack and the Beanstalk.” But that couldn't be.

Our captors had left utensils with our meal.  I grabbed a bite of food, took the dull knife to the window, and began loosening the years of dried paint holding us prisoner.  I knew they would be returning soon for our dishes, so I continued vigorously pursuing our escape to where I had no idea.  If I got the window open, would I climb up or down? There wouldn’t be much time for decision-making. I might as well have been climbing into the abyss but at least it was freedom from what appeared to be imminent death. I never was one to settle or go out without a fight.

When I finally got the window loosened all the way around and began to lift the heavy wood it groaned as though pain were surging thru it.  Like it was feeling the same opportunity I hoped to sense once I got it moving enough, but once again, it was stuck.  I ran back to the food tray and grabbed the squeeze bottle of catsup, squirted it onto each side of the window frame, and jiggled it to release the liquid into the side sliding crevices, and BINGO!  It opened as it released one final groan feeling its own personal freedom while allowing mine. I turned to my friend and said, “Come on!”  To which he just stood there frozen.

I slithered out, looked down to see darkness, looked up and saw light, and began climbing.  I was not in the best physical condition, but it didn’t matter.  I was putting one foot in front of another and when there wasn’t a vine in ladder formation, I grabbed and pulled myself up until I found one. This truly did appear to be a Jack Beanstalk.  I could only hope the ending would be as good as the well-known old book. That is when my wandering mind was thrown back to its pitiful dangerous senses by hearing a man’s gruff angry voice shouting for the others that I had escaped.  I could feel the vibration of the presence of another human on my thick vine to freedom. Fear was in great pursuit of me. I went faster and faster until I was gasping for air. Stress gripped my throat like I was being strangled, and my lungs were responding in pain but I could see the light from above coming closer.  Maybe it was heaven, and I was dying?  Would I die getting away from anyone holding me against my will for their own benefit? I had lived through difficult life situations and come out of them before and would again, even at my own death. Behind me only the crackling of the vines and the harsh heavy deep grunts of a killer in pursuit of me.  Why me? What was the purpose, or was I simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? It didn’t matter at that point. 

My mind came back to reality when I jumped off the vine and hit a real city cement sidewalk. No one was in sight and I was still gasping for the breath of life I needed to continue. There were buildings all around that looked somewhat familiar, but there was no time to ponder it, only run, but I couldn’t run. I saw two buildings with a small alley between where I scurried to, stood, catching my breath for a few seconds, and then onto and through the alley to a street with more activity.  I asked a passerby if I could use their cell phone as I had been abducted.  I must have frightened them because they were gone in a flash.  I asked the next person I saw and they handed me their phone.  I called my cell phone number, hoping for an answer from someone I knew. I believe I was delirious or I would have dialed 9 1 1. And then I heard a voice on the other end answering my phone.  It was my abductor telling me there was no escape, they had put trackers on my phone and everyone on my contact list.   If I tried to reach out to anyone, I would be found. I handed the phone back to the stranger and began running.  I had no money, no vehicle, no contacts.  At this point, I knew where I was and continued toward my home. 

I woke up. That was a scary dream!  

My French Life or.....? by Julianna Rowe

 I saw this marvelous book at one of my client's homes. I gently took it from its quiet resting place, leaning on another book named Bloom. Humm, maybe that was a secret set-up code from beyond (for me!) I opened it and found my eyes tearing up. I thought to myself, "What? What?" In other words, what is causing you to cry?? I answered myself calmly. "I never had a French Life, and I felt like I was looking right into one. Such an appealing sight as I stood alone beside the old English brick fireplace. It was like I should have or could have and still wished to." The tears were from a life of struggle and survival and not in France. I'm not saying this to bemoan myself because I've found and created my forms of life in France. I have always gravitated toward French Country when decorating. I am a total romantic, whether it is a white French mantel or a black iron chopping table. When a creative person like me cannot travel to the real deal, she brings the real deal home. I've accomplished a lot in my life. Sculpting, sewing, jewelry making, writing, woodworking, painting, and drawing, all while raising five children, working two and three jobs to provide them with everything they need for a happy family home, not sure they will agree on the word happy, and always balancing where to put any leftover funds. I won't laugh at that statement; no one except a single Mom with five children would understand.

None of this is to say I wouldn’t like to be walking on that rainy day wearing black tights, a black dress, a black trench, and a black umbrella, just as in the picture.

While holding this book by Vicki Archer, I paused to read a paragraph that caught my eye, or was my eye sent to this perfect page, the perfect section just for me this day? So, to set this up, I will tell you She and her husband purchased a small 50-acre farm unseen. Below are her thoughts as they come upon it for the first time......

"The farmhouse in view was not in line with the one in my imagination: What stood before us was derelict and in total disrepair. My excitement never faltered for a moment - these were mere hurdles to be jumped. My son, Paddy, whispered, "This is it, Mum. We've found it" My heart was hammering in my chest, tears filled my eyes, my ability to speak vanished and the momentous truth shook me like nothing before. If you believe there can be a moment in time when everything in your life changes, then for me, this moment had arrived.

I felt that way when each of my children were born.  And once, when I was fifteen, I spent some time on a ranch in Jacksonhole, Wyoming, and the Ski Resort town of Pinedale, Wyoming. I have never lost the desire to live there, not ever. Otherwise, no moments such as this family experienced. Their experience came through the book like a spiritual awakening directly at me. Thus, the tears. Of joy, sadness, loss, hope, or maybe I lived in France on that farm (Mas de Barnard, a Provencal mas, farmhouse) in a past life! Yeah, that is probably it.

Labels: le coup de foundre (love at first site)