I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Rabei A. Wazzeh shares how everyone has a story and a voice that matters in the book “The Masterpiece of Nature.”
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The Synopsis
The Masterpiece of Nature is a quietly powerful exploration of what it means to grow, endure, and live meaningfully in a world that often demands noise over presence, certainty over curiosity, and speed over depth.
Through poetic reflections, real-life stories, and a compassionate voice that meets the reader like a trusted friend, this book reframes resilience not as forceful triumph, but as steady return. Not as perfection, but as honesty. Each chapter is a gentle invitation – to stand inside your own questions, to reimagine courage, to find strength in softness, and to keep moving even when the path disappears beneath your feet.
From the silent determination of Viola Davis to the devoted practice of Kobe Bryant, from the handwritten code of Masako Wakamiya to the return of Diana Nyad to the sea at sixty, this book brings to life the quiet human choices that shape not only our days – but who we become.
You won’t find loud formulas or self-help demands here. What you will find is a steady companion for the in-between spaces – the invisible steps, the tender thresholds, the places where meaning begins.
This is not a guide to becoming extraordinary.
It’s a gentle remembering that you already are.
The Review
This is such a unique and inspiring book. The balance not only in writing style, moving from poetic prose to essays and engaging dialogue with the reader, but also in the use of historical and public figures as examples for each chapter, was spot on in every respect. The emotive and connective way the author writes will leave a lasting impact on readers as the book delves into questions of existence and philosophy with ease.
The heart of this book, the idea that friendship and connection are nature’s version of a masterpiece, is such a thought-provoking and heartfelt ideal to strive for and to accept in our hearts. The stories range, of course, but each packs a punch that resonates with readers, from the origins of McDonald’s, starting with one single store, showcasing how a forest begins with just a seed. It matters not how early or late in life you start, but that you start to begin with, to the story of a renowned cellist who showed that daily returns, who continues to improve on one’s craft, is not a means of becoming great, but of showing our love and respect for what moves us daily.
The Verdict
Inspiring, heartfelt, and engaging, author Rabei A. Wazzeh’s “The Masterpiece of Nature” is a must-read book. The inspiring stories don’t leave readers with questions to ponder or steps to follow, but instead engage them on an emotional and philosophical level, allowing the reader to feel the weight of these people’s choices and how one small act can change the world, making everyone not only connected but also proving that everyone truly matters. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Rabei A. Wazzeh writes from the quiet center of a life shaped by listening -not only to people and systems, but to the deeper questions that live beneath both. Though his professional path has led him across boardrooms and ministries, his truest work has always been quieter: noticing what matters, holding space for what’s unfolding, and walking with people through the uncertain middle of change. At heart, he is a humanist -drawn to psychology, to philosophy, and to the soft strength that emerges when presence is given time to speak. His writing does not seek to impress, but to companion. It offers no grand solutions – only a steady hand on the shoulder and a quiet reminder: your life still holds meaning. You are still becoming. The Masterpiece of Nature is not a presentation of what he knows. It is an offering of what he’s still learning about resilience, about tenderness, and about the quiet power of staying close to what is true.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Rowland Grover shares a collection of essays and short stories that speak to topics of culture, faith, and identity in the book “ลูกครึ่ง: Only Half a Person: Essays and Short Stories about Identity.”
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The Synopsis
When Rowland Grover asked his preschool teacher if he could ฉี่ (chi), she looked at him like he wasn’t speaking English. After holding it for too long, he peed his pants and realized he was different from everyone around him.
As a half-Thai/half-white kid raised Mormon in Idaho, shame, guilt, and confusion were normal for Rowland. He didn’t understand why he took off his shoes at his house, but his friends could keep theirs on and drag dog poop all over the floor. When Rowland lived in Thailand, Thai people said he looked farang, but white people called him Mexican. This made him wonder who he was and where he belonged.
ลูกครึ่ง: Only Half a Person is an captivating and hilarious collection of essays and short stories that explores culture, faith, and identity. The stories range from “stinky lunches” to a talking lizard questioning Rowland’s religion. Others are more serious such as when a stranger called the cops because Rowland looked threatening riding an old beach cruiser bike. Tackled with humor and heart, Rowland dives into the depths to find himself and wonders if he’ll come up for air.
The Review
This was an incredibly insightful and engaging story that is so reflective of the American experience in this day and age. Far too often, people in the United States forget just how much of a cultural melting pot the nation has become, especially when cruel actions and judgments dominate the news cycle most of the time. The honesty and relatability in the author’s writing style allowed the personal experiences and lessons the author learned throughout their life to resonate deeply as the reader delved further into this book.
The rich cultural examination presented in the author’s book was the prominent driving force behind these essays and short stories. The everyday experiences the author brought to life, from a childhood of misidentification, differing customs, and a lingering sense of otherness that children often inadvertently foster, to shared faith and much more, showcased both the differences and shared life that families of differing cultures can form, while also bringing an awareness of what makes us all different at the same time.
The Verdict
Thought-provoking, engaging, and with a sense of heart and humor, author Rowland Grover’s “ลูกครึ่ง: Only Half a Person: Essays and Short Stories about Identity” is a must-read memoir meets nonfiction essay collection. The witty style of writing the author employs and the depth of introspective honesty that the author’s experiences bring to life on the page will stay with readers long after the book ends. If you haven’t yet, be sure to preorder your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Since he was young, Rowland has loved to create stories. Whether that was using stuffed animals to portray the horror of war and class division or writing and drawing maps in a notebook for a fantasy story that was not a rip-off of any other popular series. Rowland’s debut book, ลูกครึ่ง: Only Half a Person, utilizes his love of story-telling to reflect on and analyze his life, race and ethnicity, culture, faith, family, and more.
Rowland Grover was born and raised in Idaho, which, believe it or not, is a real place in the United States. Starting in his late teens, he lived on and off in Thailand, China, and Taiwan for several years. Rowland graduated with a B.A. in International Studies because he had no life plan. Then, he enrolled at Chulalongkorn University to study Southeast Asia Area Studies, but he had to drop out because, quote, “no money.”
He currently lives in Taiwan with his wife, two children, and two cats. Besides unromantic walks on the beach, he enjoys playing video games and studying languages.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
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A collection of essays help shape the impact that cinema’s greatest female-led comedies have had in the book “Isn’t She Great: Writers on Women-Led Comedies from 9 to 5 to Booksmart”.
The Synopsis
A love letter to women-led comedies.
Based on Elizabeth Teets’s program series called “Isn’t She Great” at the Hollywood Theater, this anthology is a collection of the most beloved female-centric comedies and the audiences who adore them. From 9 to 5 to Romy and Michelle to the iconic Elle Woods, the essays in this collection build on our devotion to these films and continue the conversation around funny women and how these characters have shaped so many talented writers.
As Elizabeth Teets reminds us, there is a specific power in a funny woman. A woman who dares to laugh at the world and at herself. These movies made us strong and smart and sexy (and bend and snap a lot). At the end of the day, we remind ourselves when the world only tries to let us have a little, a little money, a little confidence, a little joy to go out and get the whole enchilada.
Isn’t She Great is for anyone who loves movies and feels the glamour in pink. Cult cinema and film criticism will never be the same.
The Review
This was an insightful and powerful read. The honesty and relatability that each writer exuded in their essay were refreshing to read, and the detail that went into bringing each film’s story to the forefront was great to read, as it helped illustrate the power of the message each film brought to life amid all the humor and wit.
Yet the impact on the writers themselves made this book shine. The way the authors were able to incorporate events and memories of their own lives and how they related to the films they spoke of made this a much more in-depth and heartfelt read. In particular, one essay that stood out was Michelle Theil’s “I Wanted to Bring it On,” an essay on the film Bring it On and its significance to her and so many other young women and people of color in general, which felt so compelling and engaging as a reader to get lost in.
The Verdict
Heartfelt, compelling, and engaging, “Isn’t She Great” is a mustered collection of essays on female-driven comedy films and their significance in these writers’ lives. The thoughtful approach to these films and the detailed way the films played out balance out the raw, emotional, and even humorous moments of these writer’s lives that made these films feel so impactful. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Activist Colin Kaepernick shares a collection of powerful essays to fight against the institutions that allow violent policing and prison systems to continually oppress people, especially people of color, in the book “Abolition for the People: The Movement for a Future without Policing & Prisons”.
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The Synopsis
Edited by activist and former San Francisco 49ers super bowl quarterback Colin Kaepernick, Abolition for the People is a manifesto calling for a world beyond prisons and policing.
Abolition for the People brings together thirty essays representing a diversity of voices―political prisoners, grassroots organizers, scholars, and relatives of those killed by the anti-Black terrorism of policing and prisons. This collection presents readers with a moral choice: “Will you continue to be actively complicit in the perpetuation of these systems,” Kaepernick asks in his introduction, “or will you take action to dismantle them for the benefit of a just future?”
Powered by courageous hope and imagination, Abolition for the People provides a blueprint and vision for creating an abolitionist future where communities can be safe, valued, and truly free. “Another world is possible,” Kaepernick writes, “a world grounded in love, justice, and accountability, a world grounded in safety and good health, a world grounded in meeting the needs of the people.”
The complexity of abolitionist concepts and the enormity of the task at hand can be overwhelming. To help readers on their journey toward a greater understanding, each essay in the collection is followed by a reader’s guide that offers further provocations on the subject.
Newcomers to these ideas might ask: Is the abolition of the prison industrial complex too drastic? Can we really get rid of prisons and policing altogether? As writes organizer and New York Times bestselling author Mariame Kaba, “The short answer: We can. We must. We are.”
Abolition for the People begins by uncovering the lethal anti-Black histories of policing and incarceration in the United States. Juxtaposing today’s moment with 19th-century movements for the abolition of slavery, freedom fighter Angela Y. Davis writes “Just as we hear calls today for a more humane policing, people then called for a more humane slavery.” Drawing on decades of scholarship and personal experience, each author deftly refutes the notion that police and prisons can be made fairer and more humane through piecemeal reformation. As Derecka Purnell argues, “reforms do not make the criminal legal system more just, but obscure its violence more efficiently.”
Blending rigorous analysis with first-person narratives, Abolition for the People definitively makes the case that the only political future worth building is one without and beyond police and prisons.
You won’t find all the answers here, but you will find the right questions–questions that open up radical possibilities for a future where all communities can thrive.
The Review
This was an absolutely moving and thought-provoking read. These essays really dived deep into the shocking realities for people of color, and the need for police and prison reform in the United States. The racism that has embedded itself into nearly every fiber and nook of the institutions of this nation, from the field of entertainment and athletics to politics and law enforcement, is staggering.
Yet it was the compelling words and powerful emotions of the writers of these essays and their subject matter. One story that really brought a tear to my eyes and expanded upon my understanding of this topic greatly was My Son Was Executed by an Ideal, based on a conversation with Gwendolyn Woods, the mother of Mario Woods, a young man executed in the streets of San Francisco in 2015, and the writer Kiese Laymon. The honesty and heartbreak of this mother’s story and the shocking realities of the legal system and the protections that the police enjoy, even those who get away with these crimes, will keep the reader engaged yet stunned as this eyewitness event takes center stage.
The Verdict
Engaging, heartbreaking, and thought-provoking, QB turned activist Colin Kaepernick presents a stunning collection of extraordinary writers and their unique perspectives on modern justice in today’s world in the book “Abolition for the People. The shocking realities that not everyone experiences in this nation and the fight for real change are presented perfectly in this book, and everyone in this world should take the time to read this work. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Holder of the all-time NFL record for most rushing yards in a game by a quarterback, Super Bowl QB Colin Kaepernick took a knee during the playing of “The Star Spangled Banner” in 2016 to bring attention to systemic oppressions, specifically police terrorism against Black and Brown people. For his stance, he has been denied employment by the league. Since 2016, he has founded and helped to fund three organizations―Know Your Rights Camp, Ra Vision Media, and Kaepernick Publishing―that together advance the liberation of Black and Brown people through storytelling, systems change, and political education. Kaepernick sits on Medium’s board and is the winner of numerous prestigious honors including Amnesty International’s Ambassador of Conscience Award, the Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Ripple of Hope honor, GQ magazine’s Citizen of the Year, the NFL’s Len Eshmont Award, the Sports Illustrated Muhammad Ali Legacy Award, the ACLU’s Eason Monroe Courageous Advocate Award, and the Puffin/Nation Institute’s Prize for Creative Citizenship. In 2019, Kaepernick helped Nike to win an Emmy for its “Dream Crazy” commercial.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Shari Lopatin shares a collection of both fiction and non-fiction stories, as well as essays and poems, to share the story of a young woman trying to find herself in the book “The Condemned”.
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The Synopsis
In this special memoir told through a collection of earlier works including fictional short stories, non-fiction essays, and poetry, Shari Lopatin tells the story of her younger self—a millennial coming of age through the 1990s and 2000s while fighting to make sense of a world rapidly changing amidst The Great Recession and September 11. Touching on themes still relevant today, Shari shares deeply emotional pieces from her formative years about mental health, the search for home, the awkwardness of dating, love and heartbreak, and the effects of Antisemitism.
Included in this hand-selected collection are the fictional short stories “Pomegranates” about the power of kindness and connection; “A Call from Paris” about a young marriage falling apart; “Stone from HELL” about the effects of a monstrous society; and the namesake of this book, “The Condemned” about finding self-acceptance. Shari also included other personal essays and poems never before seen.
Ultimately, The Condemned: A memoir told through selected early works of short stories, essays, and poetry reveals one young woman’s struggle to find herself within a confusing and sometimes ostracizing world, and the messages of love, hope, and truth she now brings to others.
The Review
What an emotional and captivating collection of stories. The author found a great balance between her fiction and nonfiction works, with each story doing an exemplary job of conveying the raw emotions and pivotal moments that defined her life. The imagery and the heart that the author poured into the story and essays were remarkable, really bringing the reader into these moments and in the case of the fiction work, allowing the reader to embrace the characters outright.
The poetry was also so moving and conveyed the honesty and passion of the author’s writing so eloquently. The quick pace of the book and the variety of the collection gave the author ample opportunity to really connect to a wide range of different readers and gave an intimate look into the author’s life in a creative and moving way.
The Verdict
Insightful, thoughtful, and engaging, author Shari Lopatin’s “The Condemned” is a memorable and thought-provoking memoir filled with creativity and heart. The powerful messaging of the stories in this collection brings to life a beautiful and emotional story of triumph in the face of adversity, and the journey to find life and purpose. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Shari Lopatin tells stories that matter. An award-winning journalist in her earlier years, she now writes novels that tie into modern-day social issues, short stories, serialized fiction, essays, and poetry. Shari has worked as a newspaper reporter, magazine writer, public relations professional, social media manager, and earned the title of “Cat Mom of the Year.” Read more of Shari’s work and get updates on her latest books by signing up as a free or paid subscriber for her Substack newsletter, Rogue Writer, at sharilopatin.substack.com.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Lloyd Ratzlaff takes readers on a journey through a series of essays to see how the experiences and lessons we learn in childhood can shape our adult philosophy in the book “Backwater Mystic Blues”.
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The Synopsis
“Between the voids at the deepest and farthest reaches of our science, there is this eternal now…”
In this second suite of intimate essays, Lloyd Ratzlaff summons the secret hiding spots, makeshift rafts, and uncomplicated childhood joys that lay the foundations for adult philosophy. In tune with the vivid simplicities of the sensuous world and the honour of unassuming people, Ratzlaff explores the disguises shaped by religion, family, and memory as he recreates the discovery and illumination that his past has offered.
Whether you sit back and savour the ribald yarns of Sandra Dee or pick up a bit of Christian dating advice circa 1950s, remember, the tombstones are talking, and the child’s cookie box found in the river may contain miracle or misery—but you won’t know until you open it.
The Review
This was a really well-developed, engaging, and insightful read. The author immediately draws the reader in with experiences and stories of their childhood and the events that helped shape their outlook on life. The way the author was able to layer these memories and experiences with the lessons that they impart to the reader in a very layered and powerful way was great to see come to life on the pages of this book.
These essays and the themes they touch upon, from the power of religion and faith and how they can mask people and their intentions, to the power of discovery that comes from analyzing our past and the outcomes that came from particular experiences, made the reader feel connected to the author and their message. The real power of the author’s work comes in the aftermath of the reading itself, for the author’s words stick with the reader long after the essays are finished and the philosophical discussions that they draw out of the reader showcase the depth of the author’s words.
The Verdict
Memorable, thoughtful, and enlightening, author Lloyd Ratzlaff’s “Backwater Mystic Blues” is a must-read collection of essays that will keep readers engaged to the final page. The grand concepts and important themes the author draws upon and the relatability of the author’s memories will keep readers invested as the lessons and discussions that these essays bring out of us all keep the mind and heart racing. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Lloyd Ratzlaff is the author of the literary nonfiction titles The Crow Who Tampered With Time, Backwater Mystic Blues, and Bindy’s Moon. His essays are also featured in several anthologies, including Sons and Mothers: Stories From Mennonite Men; Reading the River: A Traveller’s Companion to the North Saskatchewan River; and apart: a year of pandemic poetry and prose. A former minister, counsellor, and lecturer at the University of Saskatchewan, he has taught writing classes for READ Saskatoon, the Western Development Museum, and the University of Saskatchewan Certificate of Art and Design. He was a columnist for Prairie Messenger Catholic Journal through its last nineteen years of publication. He lives in Saskatoon.
I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own.
Author Lloyd Ratzlaff shares profound and moving thoughts on life through powerful essays in his book “The Crow Who Tampered with Time”.
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The Synopsis
Lloyd Ratzlaff brings the prairie landscape to life through a capacious imagination charged with wonder and the gentle irony of an awareness tempered by time and love. A remarkable new talent in the burgeoning field of literary non-fiction, Ratzlaff connects with the challenges posed by scepticism and belief, countering both the cynicism and doctrinairism of contemporary life with a renewed praise of the profound depths of the spirit and the natural world.
The Review
This was a profound and thought-provoking read. The author did an incredible job of capturing some pretty strong themes, from faith and nature as more general themes to more intricate themes like the nature of reality itself and the need to focus on the here and now rather than the future constantly. The thoughtful atmosphere the author crafted balanced the personal nature of the author’s writing style.
The heart of this narrative was in the author’s personal and heartfelt delivery of each essay. The connection the author shares to his homeland of Saskatchewan in Canada and how the land doesn’t connect to bodies of water made for powerful imagery and a great way to input imagery into the author’s writing style. The wonderment and spiritual nature o the author’s experiences and views will resonate greatly with many readers.
The Verdict
Heartfelt, captivating, and engaging, author Lloyd Ratzlaff’s “The Crow Who Tampered with Time” is a memorable collection of essays that readers will want to identify with. The emotional weight of this author’s experiences and the personal nature of each essay will allow readers to connect to the author’s messages and themes in a great way. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!
Rating: 10/10
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About the Author
Lloyd Ratzlaff is the author of a triptych of personal literary essays, the editor of an anthology of seniors’ writings published by READ Saskatoon, and a monthly columnist for Prairie Messenger Catholic Journal. He has served on the boards of several writing organizations and has taught writing classes for the University of Saskatchewan Certificate of Art & Design (USCAD) and the Western Development Museum. Both his creative non-fiction and professional pieces have been widely published throughout Canada and the United States. Ratzlaff lives in Saskatoon.
1) Tell us a little bit about yourself. How did you get into writing?
I’ve also been interested in stories, although until a few years ago most of my storytelling was done visually. I believe stories are a great way to understand other people – their experiences, their perspectives on the world – and so developing an anthology as a collection of people’s stories seemed a natural fit.
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2) What inspired you to write your book?
Let’s be honest – 2020 sucked. It pretty much sucked for everyone. We were all affected by a pandemic the likes of which our world hadn’t seen in 100 years, America was increasingly polarized, there was a tidal wave of protests against racial injustice, we had a tumultuous presidential election, and it feels like the list goes on and on. Developing this anthology and making the portraits of public figures who died was both obsession (I made a lino cut portrait every week, and I think I gave myself carpel tunnel) and balm. I wanted to try to make sense of my own grief by understanding others’ grief.
3) What theme or message do you hope readers will take away from your book?
My hope is that even amidst despair we can find hope in our collective experience. That even though 2020 sucked, the way through was together. That somehow by mourning these people, these celebrities and public figures and our complicated relationships with them, we could find connection.
4) What drew you into this particular genre?
In many ways this book is an extension of an anthology I edited and illustrated with my brother, published in 2018, that mourned celebrities who died in 2016. Perhaps these books serve as bookends to each other.
5) What social media site has been the most helpful in developing your readership?
Instagram is a way that I connect with other artists, and have been able to share work in progress from this and other projects.
6) What advice would you give to aspiring or just starting authors out there?
Just keep making. If you have a story to tell, you’ll find your audience. Yes, it’s a lot of work but your story is important, so keep using your voice.
7) What does the future hold in store for you? Any new books/projects on the horizon?
I’m working on a project about community. I’ve been interviewing people from all over the country and in all different fields about how they define community and how they work to create change. To date, the participants include a political candidate and Trump accuser, an urban planner, a human trafficking victims advocate, an immigration lawyer, a poet, a Franciscan nun, and more. Collectively the book creates a portrait of a community in America today. I hope to finish the book sometime later this year.
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About the Author
Lee Fearnside is an artist and curator. Her photographic work has been exhibited in galleries and museums in New England, the Midwest and in national juried shows, including the Toledo Museum of Art, the Reece Museum and the New York Hall of Science. She published O! Relentless Death: Celebrity, Loss and Mourning with her brother in 2018, and the book won the Independent Voice Award gold medal from the Independent Publishers Book Awards and was a finalist in American Book Fest. She has curated group exhibitions around themes of sustainability, diversity, food systems and art from Ohio prisons, funded in part by grants from the Ohio Arts Council and the Ohio Humanities Council. Fearnside earned a BA from Smith College, a M.F.A in Photography from the Rhode Island School of Design, and a M.S. in Arts Administration from Drexel University.
Hello everyone! I am so honored to be able to share a special post today. I was recently contacted by an incredible author named Kathy Martone, whom I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing and reviewing here on my site in recent months. She asked me to share a couple of her original short stories, along with one of her essays, and I thought this would be a fun new idea to share to you guys. Please enjoy these incredible stories and this essay, and if you enjoy them be sure to follow me on my website and follow Kathy as well. Enjoy everyone!
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MOANA DESPEARA
DAY 1
Her name was Moana. Moana Despeara. Outta nowhere she showed up and ruined my life. Just knocked at my door polly please as if she knew me.
“Gimme a minute,” I said. “Be right there!” Looked in the mirror first; made sure my hair looked okay.
Opened the door slowly. Peered out into the blindin’ sunlight. “Can I help ya, young lady?” Why I coulda been starin’ at a mirror, dat girl lookin’ so much like my own self, scat bit younger though. ‘Bout my height and weight, shoulder length curly hair – I be danged, with the same type barrette too – only her hair was bright yellow and mine mousy brown.
Lookin’ like a stray cat, her head down and eyes at half mast, she peeked up at me through straggly hair and asked, “Kin I come in?”
“S-s-sure,” I said surprisin’ myself. “Have a seat in the livin’ room.” Shuffled as fast as I could to folla her. Didn’t want her to think I was a pushover or nothin’. Eased my achin’ bones down onto the chair and stared at her with eyes full o’ questions.
“Uh-h-h, um, well, uh, I don’t rightly know how to say this,” she stumbled. “But I’m in need of a place to stay.” She stared right at me with her big green eyes, just like mine.
Met those big eyes straight on, didn’t want her to know how nervous I were. Why would a stranger knock on my door and ask fer a bed? Very odd. “Well okay,” I heard my voice speak out loud. “But you’ll have to pay; I ain’t got no handouts for no down and out youngster lookin’ fer a place to land. And I’ll need some information, if ya please.”
Sittin’ there watchin’ her fill out my list, I felt no jitters a’tall, a bit surprisin’ with me just axin’ this lost and fersaken’ girl into my home. Money’ll come in handy though, I thought to myself. Seemed polite enough; fingernails were clean; clothes a bit wrinkled but otherwise tidy; hair could’ve used some work.
“Thank you ma’am,” she said as she cleared her throat. “Can’t tell ya how much I ‘preciate this. Life’s been a bit of a struggle fer me, ya know? Havin’ a room of my own should make all the diff’rence.” Raisin’ herself up offa my chair, she yawned and stretched her back. “May I?” she asked, her eyes fillin’ with tears.
“Oh yes, of course. Of course. Lemme show you.” Stood up as quickly as I could and showed her the way into the extra bedroom. “All yours,” I continued as I slipped her check, quiet-like, into my brassiere. “Bathroom’s on your left. Help yourself to the closet and dresser drawers.”
“No need,” she replied. “I don’t come with nothin.”
“Only one other thing. Don’t never touch that chest in the corner, ya hear?”
“Sure ’nuff,” she mumbled.
Not waitin’ round to hear more, I made my way back into the livin’ room and grabbed her application. Heard her door shut behind me. Big sigh of relief. No time to waste on other people’s problems. Or so I thought.
DAY 6
Ever’ night since she arrived, its the same thing what happens over and over like some old movie replayin’ itself on the wheel o’ one of them old fancy movie projectors. Moan groan weep. Moan groan weep. Bedsprings creakin’ like a buncha tree frogs. All to the up and down of my own simmerin’ pot of unrest. Don’t that woman never sleep?
Right round 5:00AM ever’ mornin’ things go quiet. Real quiet. Like graveyard quiet. Don’t never see her durin’ the day. But then I never see her a’tall. Gotta wonder where she goes, what she’s doin’, who she’s talkin’ to. Always locks her door, though. Not that I’d snoop; I’m ever mindful o’ my rights n’ wrongs.
DAY 15
Middle o’ the frickin’ night. Sittin’ here starin’ at that dang door. Can’t get no rest no more. That suzy cutesy what paid for my bed ain’t got no worries ’bout who she bothers. Got so many black circles ‘neath my eyes, why you’d think I was some kinda monster from one o’ them ghost tales my dear old marm used to read to me. The kind that scared my little ticker so bad, couldna’ sleep back then neither.
DAY16
Tossin’ and turnin’ in my bed, sleep still playin’ hard to get. Don’t know how many more nights like this I kin handle. Guess there ain’t no way to ‘scape these demons what haunt my private spaces. But where do these downheartenin’ feelin’s come from? Just makes no dang sense! Used to be, I was so chatty happy. Ever’one always said so. Where did all those bubblin’ up with joy experiences go to? This just ain’t like me a’tall. Just cry, cry, cry. All the durn time. Stupid stupid tears wettin’ my pillow night after godawful night.
DAY 18
When did it become so dang hard just to git outta bed? Coffee sounds good; legs movin’, left right left right left right. Kitchen light on, eyes half shut, coffeepot on. Amazin’ how the aroma of gurglin’ caffeine can be so calmin’. One o’ the few body pleasin’ happenin’s done left to me, surely. Mebbe this missy who shares my house done brought down a curse on me. Wonder when was the last time I had some fun? Just seems as so I don’t have none no more. Just always feelin’ low and fraught with worry.
Ah, what’s this? Moana’s key? Wonder what that sassy frassy’s up to? Come to think on it, she ain’t paid her rent this week. Why surely she wouldna’ checked out without so much as a bye and bye, without collectin’ her deposit. Guess I’ll think on that later; coffee won’t stay hot forever.
DAY 19
Surely feels good to get some rest fer a change. Ain’t heard one peep from that girl fer two days now. Guess she’s surely gone after all. Should I or shouldn’t I? Why, this house b’longs to me. I have ever’ right to open that door! Makes me a might nervous though – what if she be lyin’ inside deader ‘n dead? Oh, best leave things be! Standin’ here with both my eyeballs glued to her door ain’t doin’ me no good no way.
DAY 20
Ain’t lately heard nothin’ more from that room. Why’s my hand shakin’ so? Such foolishness ain’t suitable for one such as me. You’d think I stole m’self into this here house or somethin’. Deep breath. Ever so slow – why, glory be, the door’s open!
Raise m’sef up on my toe tips and ease inside, quieter’n a mouse. Room’s dark, curtains drawn against the risin’ sun. Flip the light. Eyes wide open in surprise. Why those be my clothes on that there bed! Whip my gaze ‘cross the room. Chest wide open with my belongin’s scattered ever’where! What the blazin’ devil, I begin to curse.
Grabbin’ the lavender underlies and matchin’ brassiere from the tangled bedclothes, I march into the bathroom and flip that light switch. Lookin’ at my reflection in the mirror, all the color drains from that face peerin’ back at me. That face! It’s Moana Despeara. Moana Despeara who’s been inhabitin’ my house, my clothes, my soul.
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THE AWAKENING
The dream began like all dreams – shrouded in magic and mystery.
My black haired sister and I walk hand in hand as we head for the dark woods. The deep silence of the forest quickly descends and we are swallowed by the vast network of trees. Entering a large open glade lit by the pearlescent glow of the full moon, we lie down on a moss covered stone and fall asleep, entering the dreamscape as one. In the dream we stand in a large meadow in the middle of a forest. The full moon casts her alabaster net strewn with stars across the firmament, her luminous halo transforming the scene into a mythical landscape of unparalleled beauty. Soon we are confronted by a massive wild boar with ivory tusks who charges at us and carries off my beloved sister. Overtaken with fear, I awaken from the dream to find that my sister is gone.
I rouse myself from the dream, confused and disoriented. Who is this dark sister of mine and what happened to her? Her tortured cries as the beast carried her away linger in my head. Glancing at the clock on the table beside my bed, I see that it is only five minutes past midnight, the witching hour. Dare I return to the land of sleep? Can I save this mysterious sibling of the murky moon? And how does one go about such heroic efforts with wild beings who inhabit the shadow realms?
My heart beats a staccato rhythm against my chest wall as I contemplate this scenario. Fearful of facing the moon beast again, I decide to get out of bed and read for a bit. I pad my way into the pitch black confines of my kitchen looking for a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Not wanting to blast myself back into full consciousness with overhead incandescent light, I grope my way along the granite counters until I find the bottle of red wine where I left it earlier. Somehow just holding onto the dark vessel gives me a small measure of comfort, as I slowly begin to orient myself back into non-dreaming reality.
I hold the cool glass of ruby liquid close to my heart as I tiptoe out of the kitchen and into my living room, where I search the bookshelves for something to occupy my thoughts. The fact that I stand here bathed in moonlight – that same crown of light that highlighted the inexplicable kidnapping I just witnessed – does not escape me. Blindly I let my fingers play along the spines of the books before choosing a thin volume of unknown title.
Both hands now fully occupied, I take a seat on my red velvet Victorian couch and sigh deeply. Setting the wine glass and book on the coffee table, I lean back against the plush red and purple pillows and gaze up at the ceiling while trying to whisk away the cobwebs of dream memory in favor of some concrete facts – like I’m here, now, safe, now, in my home, now, no wild-eyed monsters here.
Some moments later, feeling a little less anxious, I take a long sip of the Italian wine savoring its warm slow journey down the pipe of my esophagus and into my solar plexus. Exhaling fully, I let my eyes wander over to the chosen volume still lying on the table. I lean forward to position the glass of wine next to the book as my consciousness wavers between realism and mysticism. Placing my right hand on the green cover, I close my eyes and bring the text onto my lap. The trepidation of facing yet some new additional horror makes me nervous about opening the novel. But I am fully awake, I remind myself, fully awake and safe at home.
Determined to conquer the demons who occupy my mind, I grasp the hardbound copy with both hands and open my eyes to read the title. Werewolves of London screams silently back at me, my eyes wide with fear and shock. Quickly I drop the bewitched volume back onto the table and gulp down the remaining wine as I careen violently between nightmare and sleep, magical beings and concrete facts, bewitchery and reality.
Leaving the book and the now empty glass of wine on the antique wooden table, I race back into the bedroom and dive under the bedclothes seeking safety and comfort. How much time passes, I do not know. But I eventually find myself dreaming once again.
I am asleep on the moss covered stone in the moonlit garden. The sound of some savage creature barreling through the underbrush awakens me. Holding my breath and casting my eyes about for a place to hide, I spot the white tusked wild pig with beady, red-rimmed black eyes. He stands at least 6 feet tall and his breath fogs the air about him with the smell of rotting flesh. Motionless, he remains standing at the edge of the forest, simply staring at me.
The entire jungle goes silent as the censorship of death and rebirth takes charge. No more chattering cicadas, no more rustling branches, no more hooting owls. Just the stillness of graveyards and timeless journeys into space. Spinning out of control as my thoughts try to grasp the scene unfolding before me, I am stunned to see my dark haired sister seated upon the back of the beast, smiling at me. She wears a mask of exquisite beauty, black and red sequined feathers glittering in the moonlight as they frame her own ebony eyes. The scene fades as I lose consciousness.
Later I awaken to find a bag made of animal skin and filled with masks. As I spill the contents onto my green carpeted bed of stone, a group of women gather in a circle, dancing before me, their black and red feathered veils shimmering in the pale light of the moon.
I awaken in my bed, the morning sun peeking around the window frames and brightening up my room. Lying on top of my bedspread sits a black and red feathered mask dotted with sequins and crystals.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I stare at the image looking back at me. Who is she, I often ask myself. This older woman with graying hair, wrinkles around her eyes, parchment paper-thin skin, old age spots. And yet, she looks oddly familiar, this unedited version of myself. I decide I don’t like her and try to banish her from my life. But she is persistent and returns every time I look in the mirror. Make-up, youthful clothing, and hair dye both seem to move her to the corners of my eyes where I don’t have to look at her square on. This has worked for several years but now she has invaded my inner space, talking to me from inside my head. There is no escape, it seems. I feel trapped. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Destiny is in control.
As I begrudgingly accept her presence – this uninvited and unwanted caricature of myself – I am pleasantly surprised to discover how much I enjoy her company. Often witty and humorous, serious and introspective, she lays out the contradictory puzzle pieces of the map of my life, her ongoing narrative providing depth and wisdom to the flat contours of my memory. She speaks to me of a life lived and another life to come. She reminds me that there is much more to this human existence than I ever considered, inviting me into a dance of understanding and wisdom, a song of pain and beauty, all intertwined around a central axis of soul fiber – the true source of human nourishment, she explains.
And so, I sit myself down in front of this reflection and ask her permission to speak. Silently nodding, her upturned mouth and twinkling eyes signaling her assent, we begin crafting our relationship – a relationship that will survive beyond eternity. My teacher, my Self. The unfolding of the chrysalis of enlightenment, nourished in the womb of silent introspection.
We begin our wordless dialogue, this Other and Myself. Telepathically, I complain about her intrusion into my life. “I don’t like being invisible,” I begin. “I want to be seen and recognized, understood and valued. When I walk into a room, no one pays any attention, whereas when I was young and beautiful, heads always turned whenever I entered a room. I miss the power of physical attraction,” I finish with a sigh.
Almost hidden behind folds of skin that inhabit her orbits, her eyes widen with mirth and undeniable interest as she moves closer to me. “Why, my dear,” she clucks thoughtfully. “You’re describing the state of emptiness and humility that accompanies spiritual evolution. Why would you bemoan such gems of transcendence? This is what we’re all after in this life journey, is it not? Our time is better spent exploring the invisible realms not complaining about them!”
Gulping down feelings of shame and embarrassment at not having understood this obvious truth, I bow my head and try to gather my thoughts. Memories of my childhood begin to flood my mind/body system – a tsunami of images, thoughts and emotions swirling and crashing along the fault lines of old scars and threatening to reopen ancient wounds. My eyes begin to well with tears. “Why is my life still so difficult?” I almost yell at her. “I thought life was supposed to get easier! My childhood was hell but this is not much better. My body talks to me constantly – which is really annoying – and demands so much of my attention. As you know, I have always been anxious but now there is so much more to worry about – like having enough health insurance to pay for all the necessary maintenance for this bag of bones. And what will happen to me if I should fall and break a piece of this fragile skeleton? I feel so fucking vulnerable and everything is harder than it used to be. Wasn’t I supposed to be feeling stronger as I age? No one prepared me for this and I’m not happy about it, let me tell you!”
The old woman in the mirror stares at me, unblinking. Soon a tear slowly cascades down the hills and valleys of her wrinkled and sagging face. Now I’m really ashamed of myself. I didn’t mean to upset her. But I keep quiet, holding my breath and hoping for more pearls of wisdom. Standing shakily on spindly legs and grasping her walking cane with her gnarled fist, she turns and inches away from the glass, disappearing from my view. Where could she have gone, I wonder. Soon, the sound of distant music makes its way to my ears – the soft strains of a flute and a violin floating gently in the air and wrapping itself around me like a cocoon of remembrance. But remembrance of what? Surrendering to the magic of the calming melody, I close my eyes only to jerk them open again as I shield my eyes from the bright white light that floods me. Out of the luminous glow comes a voice – the now familiar inflection of my elder self. “Do you remember now, my Sweet One?” her words ring in my ear. “Do you remember who you really are? For, without the crucible of pain and suffering, without the burning away of all things mortal, you would never recall that, at your core, you are a Being of Light. Everything else is irrelevant. This envelope of skin and bones is simply a distraction and inhibits us from the knowledge of our true essence. Yes, life is painful for everyone. And I grieve with you the intensity of such suffering but remember, there is always a reason. You’re being called to remember that you are more than flesh and bone, you are much more than you ever thought you were. And bless the fires that have purified you!” As the music fades away, so does the light. The reflection of my wise elder stares back at me, a beatific smile radiating from her holy face.
“But why does it have to be so hard?” I blurt out without thinking. Slapping my hands over my mouth, I hope she has not heard my careless utterance.
“It really doesn’t have to be,” she whispers, her words like thin sheets of parchment paper blowing in the wind. “Remembering is often the key to release. Remembering the trajectory of your past with its joys and its pain, its suffering and its delights, will help you to navigate more easily the path of your present and that of your future. But you must season your remembrance with the sweetness of compassion and self-love. Sprinkle liberally with that awareness that only comes from years of experience.”
Covering my face with my hands, I pull my focus inward, searching and seeking, always looking for the elusive answers to the meaning of my life. Peeking through my splayed fingers, I’m amused to see the Crone, hands covering her own face, eyes forward, staring back at me. I chuckle; she echoes. Pulling her hands down from her face, she looks at me questioningly. “I just…..I just really hate it….I don’t understand why I’m still struggling with the same issues that plagued me when I was younger. Wasn’t I supposed to evolve? I mean, I’ve spent most of my life seeking consciousness and self-understanding. I immersed myself in the practice of Tibetan Buddhism and made a 6 week pilgrimage to Tibet. I’m still in therapy and meditate regularly. But I seem to be standing in the exact same spot with the exact same challenges. What gives?”
“Spiritual and psychological transformation take time, often many life times,” she replies. “It’s a process, not a product. From where I stand, it seems to me that the only thing missing from your profound journey is empathy for yourself. Humans never thrive unless they are seen for who they truly are – Light Beings repeatedly caught in the struggle to emerge from the restrictive human experience. You would do well to enlarge your perspective and excise the judgment. And now, I’m getting tired. Shall we take just one more question before I retire?”
Breathing deeply to collect my thoughts and prepare the query I have purposely left for last, I gaze lovingly into the eyes of my new spiritual friend. “So, what about death?” I ask.
“What about it?” she shoots back with a thin smile creasing her thin lips.
“Well, uh, I was just thinking,” I begin haltingly. “My mortality is always lurking around the edges, reminding me that my time is short. And – I have so many things I still want to do with my life. I’m curious about death and yet, also afraid of being in pain, afraid of being afraid. I‘m just not ready….” My voice trails off.
“So, with all those past life memories you’ve excavated – soul journeys, if you will – you don’t trust that death is a welcome doorway into another dimension, another life experience? A chance to further the work you have only just begun in this life? Death is not an ending, just another beginning – and one that you’ve experienced before. You survived death in the past and you’ll survive it yet again. Remember. Its always about perspective – seeing the future from the perspective of your own ancient and eternal past. Does that help?” she asks as her form begins to dissolve, like particles of sugar in a glass of water. Left behind is the reflection of a woman just a bit younger, still with wrinkles and graying hair but a more acceptable and not so decrepit version of myself. I breathe a sigh of relief – not that old yet. And definitely not dead – yet.
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About the Author
Dr. Kathy Martone is currently an author and artist living in a small Victorian town in the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas. She and her husband also manage two small BnB’s in their charming turn of the century village.
Before retiring in 2015, Dr. Martone was a Jungian psychologist in private practice specializing in dream work, women’s spirituality and shamanic journeys. Prior to this, she was the director of a small mental health clinic and then she served as company psychologist for Southwestern Bell Telephone. She taught classes at Colorado Free University, The Jungian Ministries International, Naropa University, and Iliff School of Theology. For the past 35 years she has studied with Richmond K. Greene, past chair of the New York Jungian Institute.
The magical world of dreams has fascinated and intrigued Kathy for as long as she can remember. Inspired by a dream in 2005, she began making velvet tapestries imprinted with the image of one of her own dream figures and embellished with ribbons, rhinestones, feathers, glass beads, Swarovski crystals, antique jewelry and semi-precious stones. As a Jungian psychologist and shamanic practitioner, energy and depth of meaning are very important to her. So frequently she will accent the tapestries with symbolic objects, such as old pieces of jewelry, the lining from a purse that belonged to her grandmother, or a piece of ribbon she wore as a little girl. Layering these materials into a meaningful image evokes for her the multi-layered realms of dreams, myth and metaphor. Like the magical nets of ancient shamans, these colorful tapestries ensnare the features of her dream spirits as they stare back at her from their watery dimensions. Her work has been displayed in galleries in Denver, Colorado as well as in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.
In 2006 Dr. Martone self published her first book titled, Sacred Wounds: A Love Story. The book chronicles the author’s relentless quest for self understanding and provides a blueprint for other seekers who are looking for spiritual enlightenment while grappling with painful life experiences. Written in easy to understand language, the book explains how various spiritual and psychological practices were brought together in an alchemical blend to produce a potion of timeless healing. Weaving its way through such healing practices as psychotherapy, shamanism, Buddhism, Jungian thought and dream work, the reader is given a clear map for psychological and spiritual change.
Author Anthony Avina 