Blood Moon: Anthologies of the Heart, #2

By Mary Blowers

Blood Moon is the second volume in the Anthology of the Heart series. Mary Blowers has once again pulled together authors from all over the globe to create a life-changing read. Blowers has written and published several books including Filled With the Holy Spirit; The Prophecy of Enchantria; and Fatigue: When Waking Up is Hard to Do, as well as her first anthology, Where Dreams and Visions Live. She is a freelance writer and editor. 12 Authors, some never before published, wrote on the subject of Transformation. Blood Moon is a multi-faceted title referring to the three blood moons that have already occurred and one to come later this year. What transformation have they been a part of and what changes are yet to come? Is it the end times? No one will know until the day and the hour that He appears. Jewish teaching states that blood moons on Jewish feast days predict major events. Time will tell if it will be true this time. The blood moon phenomenon itself is an intense transformation that baffled and frightened people of the distant past, and possibly in some regions even today. In the meantime, enjoy these 12 stories about Transformation. Change is often helpful, and always interesting. The first volume in this series is called Where Dreams and Visions Live and is available through Createspace and other retailers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Blowers
• Release date: Apr 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519922038

Mary Blowers

Mary Blowers was told in school that she had a gift for writing essays and was even compared to Emerson. Now she writes on topics from faith, to health, to fiction, and loves all of it. In addition to books listed, her essay is included in "Best Life Stories" from Readers' Digest http://www.amazon.com/The-Best-Life-Stories-Resilience/dp/1606525646, and she is a contributor to Halo Magazine. Sometimes she gives away free books! Get on the mailing list to take advantage of this at http://eepurl.com/bmKaL5 and get a free book within 24 hours! View her writing/book review blog at http://maryblowers.com. She lives in Southwest Michigan in a mid-century 1900s home with her husband and two cats. When she's not writing she enjoys knitting, gardening, and walking for fitness. Long-time student of natural health methods and certified Master Herbalist, Nutrition Consultant, Holistic Health Practitioner and Weight Management Coach.  

Book preview

Behind the Wall

By Mary Blowers

S

he was at her grandparents’ house. She loved the smell of it—all boiled chicken and gas heat and his cigarette smoke and the pine air freshener for the bathroom—and the dark woodwork and antique furniture and the heavy, swinging wooden door to the kitchen. How practical, she thought now. If your hands are full with food you can just lean against the door and pass through and it closes behind you.

Something had told her to look in the attic, so, there she was. Up the narrow carpeted stairway, past the bedrooms, to the door on the right. Funny, when they were kids, there was a door there that they were never to open, because it went nowhere. They could have fallen from the second story. There was a deck now. They must have built it when she was away at college. She looked through her uncle’s dresser drawers, the fraternity paddles, the sen sen candies, the monogrammed handkerchiefs. He had somehow decided to leave them behind.

Where was everyone? She went back downstairs and tried to find a familiar face. Grandpa? Mom & Dad? No one was around. Suddenly she heard a key in the back door lock. She darted into the dining room, behind the swinging door. She could tell by the voices that it was no one she knew. Was someone breaking in?

She wondered if she had a minute to grab a candy. Grandma always kept her favorite candies, Neopolitans and Coconut Bonbons. But just then the door swung open and she held her breath. The two young adults that came in acted like they belonged there. She had no idea who they were. They walked right past her, looked straight through her, and went for the candy dish. It was not her grandmother’s dish. There were no coconut bonbons but instead Lindt truffles. The fright of being caught trespassing awoke her, and she realized she had been dreaming.

She was sweating and couldn’t figure it out. Why would she dream that? Her grandparents had died years ago and someone else was living in their house, the house she knew intimately and had played in since she was a child. She wondered if it was these people who had bought the house.

The dream came back to her throughout the day. When she went to work, she parked in her usual spot but she walked down the 1/3 mile hallway to the cafeteria to get a cappuccino. She said hello to Tracy, and to Jody, but they looked right through her as well. Had she indeed turned invisible overnight? What on earth was going on? She had met so many nice people at the automotive plant office. Walking back to her office, she felt herself seeming to float. She had often wondered what it would be like to roller blade down the long hallway, but now she was actually floating or flying. When did she learn that, she mused? Wait a minute—is this another crazy dream?? People can’t actually fly. The realization awoke her once again, sadly, as she really would like to be able to fly.

That evening, in their favorite restaurant, she and her husband sat near a window on the fifth floor and watched the sunset. They talked about their days and held hands across the table. They had enjoyed dining here for years and it was still just as good. It was connected to a unique hotel and they enjoyed staying in one of its unusual rooms on special occasions. Each of the rooms was different. It was a little surprise to explore each new room they stayed in, with its environment-protective furnishings and materials, like bamboo woodwork. They sat there for a very long time, it seemed, and no one waited on them. In fact, it seemed no one even realized they were there. She told him about her dream the night before, but he just looked at her, not understanding.

When they left, they walked for a few blocks like they usually did, past the shops of the downtown. They decided to resist the frozen yogurt shop this time, and continued on to their car and then home. She wondered if this was a dream too. Just then, her husband disappeared into thin air and she grasped at the air where he had been. He had just slipped right through her hand. She tried to scream out, but no one turned to look. No one heard. She had the keys in her purse, so she went and sat in the car for a while, thinking he would come back, and yet he did not. What was going on? Finally, she drove to the police station. But when she went inside, people seemed to react with fright when she opened the door. It was as if they could not see her. When she pulled the car out of the parking space, it was as though she was trying to back it over a narrow bridge. Suddenly, she heard a knock on her car window and turned to look, with relief, thinking it was her husband, but it was another man, holding his arms open, as if to beckon her, but he too disappeared.

From then she lived, it seemed, behind a wall. She could no longer wake up from the dreams. No matter where she went, no one noticed her. She visited her old summer camp from childhood. She walked the halls of the elementary, junior high, high school, and college she had attended. She couldn’t find her husband anywhere, nor anyone who could see or hear her. After some weeks of this she was in despair. At home, she walked the halls, up and down the stairs, putting things away that were out of place, as if she would find him under a sofa cushion or in the blankets of their bed. He wasn’t in the garage. She even dreamed—or was it a dream—that she was still married to her horrible ex-husband. At least, she was living in their house. He couldn’t see her either. It was enough to drive her mad.

At times she was in different jobs she had held through her life. She went to Panama, to Grand Cayman Island, to Hawaii. Everything looked familiar, and yet nothing did. All she wanted was to go back to her normal life. Instead, it was as if time had become unstuck. She wasn’t stuck in the 70’s, or in her childhood, or anywhere. She was everywhere at once, and everything kept changing. Almost like events were flashing before her eyes.

Suddenly, she was somewhere she was quite sure she’d never been. It was very bright, and winged creatures were greeting her. They formed a chair with their arms and picked her up to fly into the sky. Amazing, she thought. But I really must be mad.

Soon, they arrived somewhere. They appeared to be up in the clouds although there was solid ground to walk on. There was a gigantic gate that looked like a pearl. When it opened, there was a man standing there. He was standing with his arms opened wide and she suddenly realized—her life had been flashing before her eyes as she was dying. Now she was home, in heaven, and this must be Jesus.

About Mary Blowers:

Mary Blowers is a published author and ghostwriter of articles, books, and book reviews. In addition to several books published, she has an essay included in "Best Life Stories" from Readers' Digest and is a contributor to Halo Magazine. She has a writing and book review blog at http://maryblowers.com, and a new spiritual growth journal blog, https://journalofachristianseekerslife.wordpress.com/. She lives in Holland, Michigan with her supportive husband Jeff, and two cats demonstrating varying degrees of supportiveness, as it suits them.

Sarafina’s Light

By Robin E. Mason

S

arafina walked alone. She knew the road well, every tree, every curve, every nuance of the hill. Still, it wasn’t safe. So they told her. She had walked this road every day since she moved into the cottage at the top of the hill. She walked to her job as a clerk at Jolly Shoppers in town, and she walked home every night after closing. It wasn’t far really, only eight miles, and Sarafina walked at a generous pace; most days she made it in under two hours.

Sarafina trudged up the last stretch of the hill. It wasn’t steep, but it had been a long day, and busy. Busier than most Tuesdays and she was tired. She rounded the last curve and halted in her tracks. Every light in her cottage was on. Sarafina never left her lights on. Only the porch light and one small lamp by the front window. But every window was ablaze with light.

Sarafina edged closer to her home, treading gingerly on the gravel beneath her feet. She paused long enough to retrieve her mail, finding the usual pieces of junk and the water bill. And a key, an odd, old-timey skeleton key.

She turned it over, and back again in her hand, unable to see it clearly in the dark.

Tucking the key in her pocket, Sarafina turned once again to her cottage. She cocked her head to one side; the light wasn’t coming from her house, but through it, pulsating, not strobe-like, as if it were breathing.

Sarafina’s instinct demanded she turn and run; panic froze her in place. And yet, she felt drawn to her house, awash in this brilliance of light.

>>> <<<

Sara had lived in her cottage for ten years now, and liked it that way. She lived a life of solitude, no interference from anyone, no hindrance. No ill or unbidden advice.

And no criticism either.

Sarafina had found the cottage on one of her escape jaunts. Before everything fell apart.

A peacemaker, she could not abide conflict. Rather than confront, she fled. Sometimes for hours, never overnight. That would cause worry, and worry would bring criticism. On her.

Sara had always led a solitary sort of life, even in the midst of family. She felt isolated, and therefore was; felt invisible, and was. She seldom spoke up, rarely offered opinion, even when asked. Whatever you think, she’d say. She had learned, and learned the hard way. Her opinion, her thoughts, her heart – were always wrong. Hadn’t her mother made sure she knew that? Hadn’t her mother pressured her to be what she wanted her to be? Sarafina learned at an early age to put away her own dreams, to silence the voice of the Dreamer within her. To shut off the Vision that lingered still. Sarafina had never stopped painting. But she had ceased showing her efforts to her mother. A kindergartner could do better than that! was the last critique her mother had offered.

Sarafina was ten at the time. She had learned already.

Sara’s twin sister, Josafina, however, could do no wrong. Josey married, and married well. Franklin didn’t come from money, but he did know how to invest. He and Josey lived handsomely. They produced the requisite son, and then the daughter. They, according to mother, were the picture of success.

Although Sara and Josey looked alike, they were distinguishable. Sara preferred her jeans and tee-shirts and tennies, her short hair au naturel. She rarely bothered with make-up, and had no interest in painting her nails.

Josey, however, had her caramel hair regularly styled, and highlighted with honey tones. She went weekly for a mani and pedi, and full body massage. She worked out at the gym three times a week, her figure a trim version of Sara’s with its