Soul Skin

By Jan Porter

“Soul Skin’ can best be described as bliss in literary form—it is a mind-bending, sweeping story of impossible journeys made so believable by Jan’s incredible literary talent.” - New York Book Pundit
Reader's Favorite Award and BookWorks Book of the Week Award
"Soul Skin Woman have you had enough?" is an exceptional, inspiring book with an important message and deep meaning." - NY Literary Magazine
Woman have you had enough? An inspiring tale of hardship, wisdom and discovery, Soul Skin is a celebration of those of us who do not fit into ‘normal’. Deeply moving, Soul Skin is an odyssey of many lifetimes, that summons our own personal journeys.
Life overflows with problems as Navi is caught in between two worlds, of loss, destiny and self-discovery. Striving to cope with; a child’s cancer, marital heartbreak, a stifling rural church community, a scandalous love affair, job loss, menopause and a haunting dark shadow nemesis, Navi is left heart broken and shamed. Lost and alone with her daughter, she is comforted by her dead Grandmother and a mysterious soul skin man. Slammed into impossible challenges, insights come through ancient sisterhood teachings and sacred dream journeying to historic events in; a Nazi death camp, a pre-civil war deep south, indigenous North America, as Joan of Arc, audience with Lord Byron, as a wolf mate and more. Throughout, Navi candidly explores life with wit, yet it is the love bond of her daughter, Gran and soul skin man that carries her through.
Following the power of fate and finding the freeing truth of who you truly are, can be a magical journey of remembering your; innate heart wisdom, connection with the spirit world of possibilities and bring forth your life mission. The power of your Ancestors and the magic of the cosmos is in your DNA!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan Porter
• Release date: Apr 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005233594

Jan Porter

Award-winning author Jan Porter brings unsung heroes to life in her notable collection of award-winning books. A connoisseur of literary fiction with strong female leads, Jan seeks to move and entertain with her humorous and heartwarming novels.Born in rural Ontario, Canada, Jan grew up in the great outdoors where she was captivated by the tales of small-town rural and the northern wilderness. She discovered her destiny to become an author during her teenage years when she came across old copies of Voltaire’s 'Candide', Margaret Caven’s 'I Heard The Owl Call My Name' and the works of Robert Service. The worn pages of old books unearthed a passion for transforming thoughts into stories. Handwritten scribbles became short stories until retiring from a career in Human Services when Jan began to focus on her writing and bring her female protagonists to life.Jan is currently cocooned in a northern Ontario sanctuary, where she pens books with strong female heroines and personal growth books.With each new release, Jan continues to share the wisdom of unsung heroes and explore the human condition in literature. Jan’s popular contemporary women literary fiction novels and personal growth books are profound, heart-warming, moving, inspiring and often humorous must-reads.​Awards:2021 Reader's Favorite 5 Star Award 'Barefoot Alice'2021 Wishing Shelf Book Awards - Best Book Cover Finalist for 'Barefoot Alice'2021 Wishing Shelf Book Awards - Best Adult Fiction Finalist for 'Barefoot Alice'2018 Wishing Shelf Book Awards Finalist for 'Maddy's Wings'Two-time winner of the Bookworks Book of the Week AwardReader’s Favorite Award for ‘Soul Skin, Woman, have you had enough?’ and ‘Angel Guides, love communicationLiterary fiction:Barefoot AliceMaddy’s WingsSoul Skin, Woman, have you had enough?Peaceful Warrior WomanSelf counsel booksAngel Guides, love communicationAngel Guides, love communication – workbookAngel Guides, love communication – journalSoul Calling, your angel-guided life purpose

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Jan Porter

Soul Skin

Woman, have you had enough?

By: Jan Porter

‘Soul Skin’ by; J. I. Porter

Copyright: © February 2, 2001, Ontario, Canada, J. I. Porter and M. I. Crowley, janporter.ca

Published by; Janice. I. Porter, December 21, 2013

Created in Canada - Peterborough, Ontario, Canada K0L2H0

This book is a work of fiction, names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or person, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, no part of this book may be reproduced, this includes storing in retrieval systems, photocopying, recording or other, without the written permission from this author

Book Cover Design: 'rebecacovers' Fiverr.com

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Porter, Jan, 1958-, author

Soul skin / Jan Porter.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

This story is dedicated to Gloria Irene Porter.

"I am always with you, Mom. We summer camped, magical ice storm watched and spirit world explored. Together we resiliently walked through the shadows of life and jig danced into the light.

With loving gratitude to my family; my muse and spirit child James, J.D., Mu and Dad. I kiss smooch-love-you on a left cheek, right cheek and forehead too, then fill you with loving-Mom-angel-love, inside out, top to bottom, wherever you exist throughout all of time.

To all my original Wild Women Soul Sisters of the past, present and those muses of the sisterhood spirit world.

Each soul path is a divine unique fingerprint that adds to the beautiful cosmic tapestry. Life is a series of defining moments, crossroads and gateways opening. Always, and in all ways, follow the heartbeat of your own soul’s path of defining light and love.

Much love and inspiration to all, who seek to find their authentic wild nature, consciously choosing to forgo a traditional lifestyle for an authentic spiritual journey.

All of you shall continue to amaze and inspire others.

"Woman, don’t you know?

You are a divine spark in a timeless sisterhood collective;

you are a Wild Woman."

Chapter 1 ~ Gran

Grizzly Bears!

Big, brown, fuzzy grizzly bear slippers kept Navi’s feet warm and cozy. Her feet looking twice as big as they were, for she was a small middle-aged woman.

Huddled alone in the dark of midnight, she cocooned away from a life overflowing with stress and a harsh northern snow blizzard. Only the computer’s glow and the blue haunting light of a cold winter’s full moon illuminated Navi’s bedroom.

With legs spread wide open and heels on the desk, a computer keyboard straddled on her lap, she positioned the mouse on her right knee. A mouse can just about work anywhere it is placed.

Roaring winds slammed snow spatters against the old cottage farm windows, rattling wooden doors and blowing cold drafts that sought wispy entryways through wall cracks.

The flip and click of mindless hours of computer solitaire games had long lulled Navi into a Zen-like state. A good night’s sleep remained elusive. This was also a profound annoyance to Stephen. Then again, pretty much everything Navi did, annoyed the crap out of Stephen. Should he wake now, his burning glare would first question the ungodly hour, then wrinkled his nose in disgust, guffaw, and bellow, ‘Jesus frigging Christ Navi! Come to bed!!!’

Navi’s shoulder shrugged, defiantly discarding the imagined jab. Solitaire was soothing, working better than meditation. This was a comforting late-night alone space, away from the torments of life veering out of control.

Was it simply the onslaught of early menopause that clashed with Stephen’s random insults?

No. You’re still an Asshole! The woman mumbled after the defined ‘no’.

Rubbing an aching wrist from long hours of click, click, click and scroll with the computer mouse, Navi grinned; ‘Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from Solitaire could make a clever work-related insurance claim.’

Abruptly, she flipped off the monstrous bear slippers with a quick kick and tucked feet lotus style under the ratty old purple housecoat. ‘How was it possible to have such cold feet with monstrous fur slippers and three pairs of forty degrees below zero socks on?’ Navi thought, her feet seeking the warmth of thighs.

Tonight’s sleepwear consisted of three pairs of socks, flannelette pajamas and an old tattered purple bathrobe, yet she was still chilled. A shiver crawled up an aging petite frame, rattle shaking and drawing attention to where icicles of wet auburn braids lay, still wet from a bath from three hours earlier. ‘I should go and get one of the kid’s toques. I could blow dry my hair and be warmer, but by morning I’d resemble a spastic male lion with frizzy hair.’

A remnant of a pre-menopausal period cramp jabbed and slowly faded.

An old re-occurring childhood argument flashed in her mind, of her Mother’s stern school night directive that rippled a shock wave through an already strained nervous system. ‘Okay, okay, okay. Yes, Mother, I’m avoiding bed and sleep. Well, if you were here, I would dive into your arms and sob. You would comfort me, tell me through maternal warmth and knowing that life is fine.’ Mother would not comfort and coo, she was simply not the nurturing maternal type. The lonely truth welled from within and stuck in the mid throat. Willing it away in disassociation, her heart pain dissipated. Religious doctrine and minister fearing soul was a life lived in anxiety; this is what Mother’s church cronies thought.

Restless and chaotic thoughts cycled round and round, threatening another night of forthcoming disturbing dreams. An inner haunting dark shadow skirted consciousness and faded. Stuffed away from a waking mind, the predatory shadow of the past often taunted when Navi was vulnerable.

It had been a taxing winter. Stephen’s responses to Navi’s want of communication and intimacy were countered by his Neanderthal needs. He would say; ‘you just need sex’.

‘No Stephen, I don’t need sex, I need to experience and share the intimacy of devoted love.’

Digging chilly hands into cozy old robe pockets, Navi’s eyes surveyed shadowy shapes of a loveless bedroom next to a stranger in bed, by the name of Stephen. It was hard to fathom that this sprawled out drooling stranger was a husband of some ten years; a stranger with a mouth gaped open. The Neanderthal Moron snored contentedly. A string of drool trickled through a greying beard, drained downward onto a scruffy scrawny neck and pooled below a bulging old man’s haired Adam’s apple. Wrinkling her nose in a mixture of awe and aversion, Navi observed a puddle of slime-forming in the pocket at the base of his throat. Gazing oddly at him, as though for the first time despite their long years together, only now was Navi consciously aware of an inner growing detachment from him and general apathy. They had become drifting strangers and roommates.

Navi swiveled the worn computer chair to comfortably observe the scrawny middle-aged old man sprawled across the bed. ‘Funny looking boy-man with a full head of hair. A sandy blonde and not grey-white like the beard; don’t match? Look! He’s got wild bushy black eyebrows, a uni-brow that in no way matches the colour and texture of his hair or beard. Buy some hair dye, mister! Gawd dammed scrawny and gangly, well, except for that potbelly; a bagel receptacle. A naked flabby walrus who looks better with business clothes on.’

‘Then there is that limp noodle. Look at it peek out from under the comforter. Hey, I do not insult under-endowed men, but his tinny-winey just does not want to salute me, ever! Un-circumcised, it mimics a tiny blind slug. Would David Suzuki be interested in its archaeological or biological origin? Maybe it’s alien spawn. Maybe it will un-cocoon and furl into an alien butterfly one day and flitter off back to its own planet, to its own kind.

‘Some credit is due for his annual lame romantic gestures, but often, it’s a marital duty. He might be giving only enough to keep me in tow, committed and hope.’ Their last sexual encounter, left her unfulfilled while he, satisfied, whimpered and whined like a wounded child. What in the hell is that all about?’

Yes, simple caring and passion had disappeared long ago. In fact, something profound had died during their wedding day. The last in synchronistic passion occurred the day before their wedding. They had known each other only two short months before marriage and the blending of families. What had she been thinking?

A resentment rose, ‘Hmmm, yup, Marketing Art Department Head by weekday, engrossed Metal Sculpture by evening and weekends to the exclusion of family or anything else that may divert his attention. Sigh.’ So much distance had grown out of unspoken and unresolved issues to emptiness. A chasm grew out of both using, too busy with work as an excuse.

Had she not been so naïve and blinded by the lure of want of a traditional family, of value ideals, she would be less overworked and lonely. Maybe not abnormal when compared to other couples perhaps but dammed empty. A wave of emotional exhaustion gave way under burdened shoulders.

‘Matt, his teenaged son, has cancer!’ Grief and fear echoed within and reverberated out into the cosmos.

Glancing at Stephen, she consciously willed him to stay asleep, yet wishing a loving companion version of him to awaken and offer comfort. Seeing no response only served to validate his disinterest in her. The frenzy and turmoil of normal life with the added randomness of a cancer diagnosis two weeks prior to Christmas had shoved life into a state of shocked paralysis.

Choking back anguish, tear rivulets burned cheeks and nostrils bubbled clear mucous. ‘But it sure would be nice if he would at least talk about matters. It must be at least a month, maybe more. No, it had been much longer than that, before Thanksgiving.’

Hands rose to cover grieving eyes, as though Gran’s photo on the bureau gazed back without judgment or shame. Silent sobbing waves ebbed, heaved and flowed followed by a deep sighing breath. Eyes and nose were carelessly wiped against the sleeve of the old robe.

‘Love is supposed to set your spirit and soul free.’ It was a waste of energy to seek intimacy where it was un-offered. She hoped for a miracle.

Stephen barely spoke to his wife in over three months. Years of co-existing in the same house had enticed his nasty mind game of subtle cruelty and it ruled their home existence. Typically, Navi was a calm harmonious and confident mother and wife but was now consistently undermined. Hearing of her latest indiscretion spitting out of Stephens' lips when amongst friends and family became torturous. Catching her off guard, this smirking Neanderthal husband puffed out his chest to catch her off guard. Stealthily on cue, a cutting resentment filled remark about her abnormal spirit world communion, cut through her as easily as a burning torch through metal. A laser-guided bullet from a sniper’s gun. Oh, for Christ’s sake Navi, it’s only a joke! Only joking was the usual justification. He obviously enjoyed attacking Navi’s vulnerabilities.

Occasionally an audience would snicker and take his side, catching the humour while missing the nasty hits. Often, a captive downcast audience sat quietly and shifting uncomfortably while waiting for the tension to subside.

Understanding had not occurred to Stephen that rather than making Navi look inept, odd and foolish, his display only served to demonstrate the cowardly persona of a jerk. Hostility was a cowardice norm in his family culture, as it had been within her own family.

Navi quickly ascertained that her soothing approaches were lost upon her spouse and in taking a defensive stand, he would lamely hand-flick a feigned apology until the next time.

The driving force behind those calculated and intentional jabs, always rendered her impaled, and unable to counter. Perhaps retaliation was too much to bother with; she liked to think that she simply presented more class. More so, the scathing jabs rang true, of being different. It deeply hurt. Otherwise, why should she care what others thought and said?

‘Irksome shite. A normal person might assume that he would be mature enough to talk about what is bothering him, but no! I have had moronic bosses pull that crap. They have you by the knickers; mortgaged up to the gizzard and focused on putting food on the table, so most people just acquiesce.

Maybe he is simply daft, or more likely; he is a primordial prick.’ Yes, whenever family and friends visited, Stephen took on the role of a jovial wonderful host, gifted artist and a martyr for putting up with Crazy Navi.

Navi had always felt different. How could she not? Most people have at least one inner critic and she could always poke fun at and mimic Mother unnervingly well. Navi ‘saw’ otherworldly apparitions and dream journeyed, and Mother’s responding disapproving flashes of anger nailed her into silence. Facial expressions were often delivered so stealthily that others did not seem to catch their eye exchanges. Succinct and always final. Mothers cutting looks also referenced Navi’s failed relationships. Like Mother, the Church community’s truth was that the Navi was different, and Mother hated the knowing of this.

God, Navi, why can’t you just be a normal happily married woman? Why can’t you just do what you are supposed to do? It was Mother’s exasperated Irish roots surfacing in the ‘Jesus Christ Almighty’ that hung in the air long after delivered, thus leaving Navi wounded with childish shame, rather than the adult competent social work professional that she was.

Navi was a damn good social worker. She ‘felt’ what her clients felt, ‘saw’ dreamlike interpretations of their lives, saw their ancestral spirit people, angelic images and heard their spirit voices talking to her through inner ears. She often saw auras around people and places, sensing their experiences, memories and passionate emotions.

As a child, she preferred to be alone, adapted to and balanced a constant bombardment of images and sounds of foggy people not yet understood. It was in this state that she relaxed. Simply, it was a calm space. A better place to be, quiet and peaceful.

Being the only daughter and youngest, Navi was often a targeted dumping place. She had not yet grown beyond the habitual way of relating to the bad family dynamics. What had yet to register in her adult conscious mind was the simple fact that the cause of the dumping was never about her at all; it was simply a bad habit by others to unload on her. It was of using another’s obvious vulnerable sense of different-ness as an excuse to stress-dump. It did neither person well. It was an unwitting role that she and family fulfilled.

Approaching her late forties and rather than having just one-life-time committed blissful marital partner, this failure only fueled internal pressures to try to be normal. She had to give Stephen full commitment. There were the kids to think of.

Within her mind’s eye, during his angry and distant periods, he wore army fatigues while ignoring her. Yet beneath the surface, a terrorist lurked; often-waiting months to line up sights on an unsuspecting Navi target. Years of experience provided the knowledge of what Stephen was leading up to at any given point. It was a waste of time to try to avert through direct conversation, so she simply waited for the next assault.

BANG!!!!

A powerful force whacked against the window, rattled then BANGED again, startling her nerves. Howling north winds blasted against the old country house. Navi contracted the old purple robe tighter against the cold draft. The forceful poltergeist whacked, rattled and banged upon the other side of the house seeking entry. Eyes followed its sound trails, ready to act against its unwanted intrusive demanding that her windows and doors give way. ‘That is one hell of a wind; almost circular; not good,’ Navi thought, she wide-eyed expected another attack. Poltergeist wind whipped around the house pounding its fists against walls and windows, challenging Navi’s frazzled nerves.

‘There is something out there tonight, spooky, an entity, a spirit of some sort.’ Shifting into mother wolf power with spine arched, Navi attitudinally dismissing it with the flick of a hand, On your way, whatever you are! Get your nuisance ass out of here and go back to wherever you came from! Wind mildly zipped around the old farm cottage once again, less forceful now, tapping on one window to the next in meek desperation. NOW!!! Heart pounding with annoyance, she hesitated while waiting for a possible last challenge. When hearing nothing more than the normal snowy wind, she relaxed.

Yes, she had a consistent preference to be alone at home with kids or at work with clients, as opposed to being with normal adults. The mysterious and elusive ‘normal other people’ that Mother referred to in word, body language was of the Stepford Wives generation, the Leave It to Beaver and mother June Cleaver ideals imagery who ruined an entire generation of women’s natural sense of wildness and uniqueness. Of course, in every neighbourhood, Gestapo-ish church ladies lived by the book and were mind-numbingly boring and bossy. They wreaked havoc by playing insidious mind games that inadvertently re-enforced male dominance, unwittingly perpetuating misogyny.

‘Ah, thank God for clients and kids. This I love.’ Navi’s pre-teen daughter Abby, was innately kind, loving and knew how to have fun and how to be true to herself. She also demonstrated that the apple did not fall too far from her mother’s tree. Even as a babe, Abby demonstrated that she had ‘spirit world seeing eyes’. It was their secret.

Thus, it was that Navi lived in two worlds simultaneously, lost in between and solely belonging in neither.

Her mother, like millions of other Moms in the era of the fifties’ and sixties’, learned a version of parenting style that fell somewhere below Queen Elizabeth and June Cleaver. When in a pinch, she resorted to several glasses of sherry in stressful acquiescence to a world foreign to her nature. Earnestly, Mothers tried to protect their children from the social mayhem that was taking place in the outer world. Visions of a Black America rising against oppression and backyard bomb shelters were images that filled television screens. Terrified, Mother vowed to never step foot across the border, not even to shop in Buffalo.

‘To succeed Navi, all you should be concerned with is marrying a good man who is job stability and a good provider. Your real job is to look after your man.’

Stephen was Navi’s second adult relationship and it was now slipping away. Abby’s biological father, T.J., had chosen a whirlwind affluent lifestyle and entered the picture just long enough to donate a magical sperm then left.

Navi’s life, it seemed, is an ugly duckling parable. How can one know where they do belong and with whom if they have yet to experience like soul and like mind in the physical world? One man’s nuisance junk might be another man’s divine twin soul mate.

Navi sighed, so alone with a growing sense of homesickness that was yet to be understood.

There was more.

A hibernating spiritual nature lay dormant within Navi’s soul that impatiently awaited understanding. Aside from spirit communion with her long-dead Grandmother, there were vivid dream journeys and adventures that left a longing of more. Occasional images of ancient spirited shawl-clad females whispered comfort and called Navi to another worldly existence. There were spirited women whose essence was vague, yet hinted of a timeless sisterhood network of belonging. Women through time in all cultures appeared whispering in foreign languages, beckoning.

There was a spirit world soul mate man who occasionally visited her in dreams and slid through self-righteous inhibitions which released pent-up passion. A ghostly image of a greyish white-haired man with penetrating deep blue eyes softly played harmonious acoustic music. A dreamtime, love unrequited that she referred to as Soul Skin man.

Straining to maintain a foothold in this world, she willed the fantasy apparitions away.

A daydreamer, she often imagined a higher calling of wandering through impoverished Aids struck Africa, collecting cast-off children and providing care. During frustrating times, she imagined herself a comedic version of a Shaman and Conjurer powerfully wielding forces of nature to right the wrongs of the world and any manner of injustices. Yes, Joan of Arc with a magical sword in hand, righting wrongs in bloody righteous battles.

For you Freudian thinkers, Navi is just another unhappy woman. Get that woman on anti-depressants and into therapy, another misfit, mooching off the social coffers of hard-working taxpayers. Like so many women, traditional expectations thrust upon since birth were programmed for church fellowship and doctrine. In, marriage, soul longings, soul mate love and finding one’s true self is; irrelevant. Expectations were set upon birth to strive for at least an upper-middle-class existence if the wealthy upper class was unattainable. Striving to conform and live up to the image, the mirage was exhausting and left her feeling inept and wired wrong.

Certainly, her mother`s constant directive that flare was a wife’s survival kit’s best tool. Of course, a young woman must also hone the elegant art of cooking, entertaining and laundering dress shirts. Without giving away the dirty secret that, she was barely making ends meet. Learn the art of how to accent a thrifty blouse with just the right accessories to give the illusion of real class, good taste, and elegance. A vital ideal Mother tried desperately to instill in Navi to be an ideal gracious wife and hostess. Oh, Navi did those things with mediocrity in front of Mother, yet at work conferences and Stephens’s dinner parties, she could out skill all competition, easily.

Mother left a collection of British Royal Family magazines within eyesight for guests who graced the family home. The display was a loud yet subtle message for all to align their behaviours within her desired aspirations. Yes, the Royals were the ultimate pinnacle. Wild Irish roots were squashed and denied. One must at all costs keep those embarrassing wild Celtic DNA roots at bay and strive upward in the social ladder and illusions of social graces, social decorum and grander. Heaven forbid giving in to that wild Celtic nature, that must take enormous amounts of energy to keep at bay.

‘What wildness lay dormant in your bones Mother? Heaven forbid your soul runs underwear-less, bra-less and barefoot wild and free, with abandonment. I suppose you fear you’ll end up in your own private potato famine and excommunicated like your father’s parents.’ It was in many ways a hopeless battle because Mother’s authentic genetic lineage lingered under the surface of family matriarchs descended from a lengthy line of Celtic women. Adding fuel to the hiding of the family’s truer nature was the speculation, that her biological grandmother was half Celt and part Native American.

Navi’s Father’s classy British roots did not show by any means, contentedly indifferent to the constant chaos of a house with so many kids in it. All attempts by Mother to whoop kids into an idyllic good church-going Protestant family was lost when teen boys ran wild and free. Eventually, all gave way to Mother’s aspiration by marrying and living the Golden Child material world life. Yes, Navi’s brothers were strangers. Mother bragged constantly of their achievements and acquisitions; they did everything ‘right’. Ah, but for a while, one long-haired dope-smoking brother wore army fatigues while another satisfied a wild nature in driving fast sports cars and the youngest studiously climbed the corporate ladder. Having all that male testosterone in the house, kept Mother busy feeding bottomless appetites. In Navi’s cynical mind, the woman was simply a house slave who ran endless mounds of laundry through an old ringer washer then hung clothes on a backyard clotheslines no matter what condition of weather. Upon her lap was also delegated the constant attempts of discipline, decorum, and order that successfully diverted attention away from the problem child, ‘Navi’. Mothers’ pre-occupation with the boys had been Navi’s saving grace.

Mother’s stoic anal pretensions faded with a good sousing. During neighbourhood parties’ alcohol semi-freed her wild nature to happily dance, near-naked with abandon. Those were the times when Navi had a warm affinity for the woman. Had Mother followed that authentic true nature, she may well have grown into a wondrous entertainer.

Gran on the other hand, satisfied with the pioneering era lot in life was strong, calm, loving and all-knowing in a graceful manner, neither denying Celtic roots nor aspiring to be anything else than what was. Yet, there was more. The elder women whispered secrets with knowing looks in Navi’s direction, yet never made privy to.

Thoughts drifted to her own housework, ‘Men can wash their own dirty underwear and socks.’ Cynically she imagined displaying Stephen’s soiled underwear on the dining table in front of his business dinner guests. Childishly, she strained against urges to ruin his suits or fart when presenting a dish to arrogant pretentious business guests, burping loudly, or spilling a carafe of red wine into his crotch. Navi imagined making Stephen display his limp Alien noodle to guests. Wiping snot on his suit jacket, or a wolf howling during those boring and egotistical home studio art tours. ‘Gawd, he is an arrogant and pompous ass when people come to see his art sculptures.’ A facade that fed his ego as onlookers cooed in adoration.

Rural life was all Navi had known, except for a brief city life with Abby’s father. Somewhere along life’s path, she submitted, having fallen in line with the womanly role set out for her and became boxed into the conformity of rural Christian life with a future of never-ending domesticity. Community Church doctrine set the pace, tone, and cultural norms, and by God, there were a lot of them. Open-mindedness was quickly snuffed out and occasionally, driven out of town. Oh, Navi used to participate in all matters pertaining to the church, but rebelliously refused to participate with the same fear of God. It seemed not only archaic but conditional upon conflicting standards, given her view and experience of the spirit world. Nor did she pray in subjugation. She snuggled and talked with Father Joseph, communed with Mother Mary and the real human fun-loving young man and big brotherly Jesus. As a child, Jesus made funny faces to elicit her giggles during monotone sermons. He covered his ears during choir and organ-led hymn singing. He yawned and offered quizzical looks during fire and brimstone morality sermons. His antics always brought forth fits of snort-snot flying giggles in her much to the scorn of the Minister and perturbed congregation.

Contrary consternation to expectations of churchwomen and Mother’s cronies, Navi rarely sought church elder counsel on any personal matter. The Minister was a harsh dinosaur who obviously did not see the bigger picture, as she saw it. He did not know a loving spirit worldview as she knew it. Navi tried not to hate the man, did not begrudge nor judge; he and the rest of the congregation just did not seem terribly bright. It was an unspoken danger zone, best left unvoiced, unsaid and unchallenged. She was simply, the odd woman out. The tedium church gig seemed to work for others as it was. Relief finally came when her brothers discovered unbridled teenaged freedom. In Irish testosterone mayhem, all decorum was ditched as family church attendance became a distant memory.

It seemed, through her frontline social worker eyes that many people wandering aimlessly lost, messed up on medications all because of some even more messed up spirit-bogie hanging around them and wreaking havoc. Some nasty-assed-spirit-bogey harassed and drove unsuspecting vulnerable souls crazy because white-collar mental health professionals could not see nor hear what was going on, benevolent or otherwise. If otherworldly friends made them happy and a better person, it was not a person’s business to judge or label otherwise. After all, if one were to do an in-depth study throughout mankind’s history, people have always communicated with spirit people, animals, plants, rocks, rivers, stars, wind and trees as a matter of course. Academics and skeptics conclude that spirit world sightings were fantasies, a conjured coping mechanism where modern remedies; such as lobotomies, anti-psychotic and anti-depressant medications, heavy sedation, and psychotherapy continue to be the options preferred by those in authority positions.

‘Yes’, mumbled Navi ‘that’s why depression stress is so rampant in our time. Are we any happier with these modern anti-depressant pill-pushing medical academic norms? I think NOT! Look at any indigenous culture, ones that are still intact that is. Yet indigenous people live within a cooperative community and within their environment harmoniously without destroying it. Without a doubt, and empathically, YES they have it right!’

Children were closer to God because they instinctively know how to be. They do not need to debate their reason for existence, nor engage in an in-depth analysis of how the cosmos works. They do not construct huge buildings, corporate systems or sophisticated rules to support it all. Children are simple, of God.

Navi had often considered moving elsewhere, yet could not fathom disrupting the kid’s lives so she assumed her lot, knowing that it was enough having a spirit friend or two to share strange otherworldly experiences. Occasionally an acquaintance would sense those otherworldly connections and boldly seek the consultation of otherworldly spiritual matters. Certainly, she never came out of the closet publicly because of a deep fear of complete banishment from her family’s church. Of course, there was also a fear of psychiatric intervention, which kept her secret in check. They were frightening options akin to modern-day witch burnings and frightening madhouses.

Navi heaved a sigh, stopped clicking the computer mouse, rubbed monitor strained eyes and an aching wrist. Glancing over toward the wardrobe, she wondered when she stopped wearing pretty girl clothes? ‘Where did my hot and sexy black dress and Italian heels disappear to? Ah, give those away. Someone had borrowed them for a dance. A style for teens and trolling young women; slinky dresses make the body cold and high heels hurt my feet. Push up wire bras, shaving legs, makeup and plucking eyebrows and oh God, waxing; all must be for the sake of wooing a man. No intelligent woman would put herself through that, or do they? Apparently, we do.’ Exactly when and why she had stopped primping and displaying, she could not recall. Was it because rural life came without want, desire, nor expectation of a different life, or was that just an excuse? Had it been a conscious choice of acquiescing to a life of mediocrity and absence of magic, passion and basic self-respect?

‘But, oh, how divine it would be to wear a sexy black dress with my hair all done gorgeous and no underwear beneath to straddle some loving handsome man in the back seat of a limo!’ Images of passion accompanied rapid heart pounding and heat flushing urges. Allowing sensuous thoughts to surface in an otherwise loyal heart, immediately sent her off-kilter and ashamed. ‘Wow! Where did that come from? Be careful girlfriend, you do not want to be manifesting a creature like that now. Ah, it’s okay. It’s just stress. Nothing’s wrong, just need to get through Matt’s treatments and all will be well again.’

Attention turned back to the house. Everything was quiet and while typically content with the quiet space, discontentment was increasing. Navi took a quick inventory in her mind of the ‘who, what, where, and when; Matt was part of Stephen’s package from his first marriage. Abby was essentially unknown to her biological father T.J. ‘It’s okay, little girls need their Moms, Dads are for emergency money and bi-annual rich pretentious extended family gatherings. Navi avoided all contact with Abby’s biological father T.J. She was ashamed of her lot in life and did not want him to know that she was still unfulfilled. Thankfully, he was too pre-occupied with his hectic affluent lifestyle and socially appropriate new picture-perfect wife.

Matt and little Abby, asleep in their rooms downstairs were accounted for. Living with one full-time kid and the other one part-time, making the house quiet and at times almost too quiet.

The windows rattled from the blustery blizzard winds.

‘God, I’m so lonely in this house now. Am I having some sort of midlife crisis?

Eyes turned from the blizzard to Gran’s portrait angled on a bureau. A familiar warm sensation locked in her heart connected to the old woman in the picture. The keyboard and mouse were placed back on the desk as she moved and nearly fell out of the swivel chair. Resisting a sedentary achy body, she stumbled over to the bureau and took Gran’s picture delicately in hand.

"Hi Gran, I know you are out there, somewhere. I imagine that you are roaming and floating about, watching over us silly sods down here.’ The visual thought brought a smile. ‘God, I miss you so dearly, some days more than others.’ A tear surfaced, and throat muscles tightened. ‘Boy, could I ever use one of your loving’ hugs today! You know Gran, I still have your picture here. Do you remember this picture? There you are, standing beside Granddad’s snazzy new Hudson and waving at whoever was taking this picture. You look so happy. It almost looks like you are waving right at me, here, now. How old were you, Gran? Geez, you were ancient old in my childhood eyes. I bet that you never imagined that this picture would be so important to someone else, decades down the road.

‘I like this image of you, the ‘you’ that I recall through my childhood eyes. That’s how I still see you; standing over your old wood cookstove with arthritic gnarled fingers, cooking some masterpiece of a Sunday dinner. Yummy fresh-baked cake or pie. I can smell roast beef, hot brown gravy, and mashed potatoes. My mouth waters now, just thinking about it. I can’t imagine how you managed to raise your own kids; run a farm, manage the church and sell home-baked goods out of that kitchen. Wow, what a woman you were! I look back at you now, with my working mother’s eyes and I can’t fathom how you accomplished it all and you made it look easy, natural. Your hugs were angel love. Your big breasts were like soft pillows. A little girl sure could get lost in your embrace, lost in grandma's love! Your heart was big and expansive as the night sky. Not just grandmotherly hugs, by any standard, but enveloped in the warm loving light of God. In an era when children were to be seen and not heard, you always seemed to look right into my soul and smile, making me feel special and I thank you for that.

‘When I close my eyes, I can still feel you. I don’t recall ever seeing or hearing scorn come from your lips. That is special. No bloody wonder you’re still, after all this time, special in my heart. Hey, thanks for ignoring my teenaged lies about those playing hooky days off school and not ratting me out. I still treasure those days of playing card games all day and eating treats.

‘What is it like for you now? Is Granddad with you? Is your old black and white motley dog with you? Do you miss the farm? No, don’t answer that, I like to think of everyone still together there, a cozy happy family, still working around the farm. What is it like, without a physical body and without limitations of the mind or senses? I can’t imagine what it’d be like, waking without middle age aches and pains, no mind filled with fearsome earthly worries. I’m sure that you had your share of aches and pains and worries, although I might’ve been too young to notice.

‘You are out there, aren’t you?"

Navi gently set the picture back on the bureau and stood looking out through the window viewing driving snow-filled wind.

Is anybody, somebody out there?

A warm loving wave of essence flowed through her body, reminiscent of childhood times.

Yes Navi, I’m here and I’m listening. Yes, the farm, the animals, your Granddad, and my grandchildren remain my fondest memories. Yes, life is very different here, yet the same in some ways. And yes, my darling, I hear you, and I am with you.

Funny, I’m noticing now, how I can feel your presence. I never thought about it before but occasionally, I can feel your voice inside my head. I feel you in my heart and I like that, feels so good and so soft, warm and lovingly safe. I suppose it would be equally as profound, if you were nasty, like if this was paranoid schizophrenia and that would be awful. I like to think that I was your favourite granddaughter, Am I still? Ha!

I AM always with you. Every child ought to have an adult in their life that is that child’s biggest fan, no matter how old that child is.

I hope you had someone like you in your childhood. God, I miss you! Hey, I still have your rocking chair. I nursed my babe in that chair, feeling connected to you. You know this talking with you in this way makes me mindful that acts of heresy are still, are still punishable by public scrutiny and locked behind institutional walls. Some things haven’t changed much throughout the last one hundred years. While we will not be burned at the stake in quite the same manner, we are still subject to the loss of privacy and autonomy in these matters. Yes, we still must deal with academics and the skeptics, not to mention the Children’s Aid Society and colleagues of mine who might enjoy intervening for the sake of my children. Do you really watch over us?

You have a lot of questions tonight, my Little Chickadee.

Oh, I love that you still call me that; Little Chickadee.

"You are welcome. Heaven and Spirit realm visitation is like a good meditation, like being in love. Yes, I used to talk with your Great, Great Grandfather and your Great Aunt Myrtle. I am still quite fond of them. I did not meet my own father in my life for he died before I was born. I always felt his spirit presence though, I was aware of his love and heard his encouraging words."

That’s nice Gran. I like knowing that. Gran? I feel as though I’m becoming, unglued.

Perhaps Chickadee, mental illness is a matter of human perception. Soul sickness is just soul sickness and all souls do eventually heal. You are afraid of changes to come. You must allow the truth to come forth and stand confidently in who you really are, within your loving heart. Be yourself. While the idea for a marriage is to help, each other grow and prosper, true growth comes from the most challenging of experiences. You must keep your thoughts as positive as possible and give gratitude often. You came into this world divine and as such, you are worthy without question. Always remember this, my Chickadee.

I’ll try. I wish I could visit with you in person, have a cup of tea, play a game of cards and of course, cheat. These are my fondest childhood memories, being with you. I miss Dad even though I hardly knew him. You are right, I am scared. I need someone to talk to. Navi backhand wiped away tears. Gees, I still feel guilty about stealing chocolate bars when you sent me to the grocery store for errands. You likely already knew that. I think you always made sure there were an extra fifty cents in my hand, didn’t you?

Our visits were a blessing. Gran grinned and winked.

Oh, my God, you did know! Maybe we were more alike than I thought. I wouldn’t care about those things with my kids. Heck, I pulled Abby out of school for a special time and called it a ‘sick day’. Do you still think you could beat my butt in a game of Gin Rummy? That would be fun! The confidence you say. Faith. It’s hard to trust. Sometimes, I think I can, when I ‘m quiet. I guess I should tune in more to you spirit folks. Why is that so hard? The older I get, the more real you become, the less normal I feel and the less hope I have of ever being normal.

Chickadee, forget normal and just aim for the highest good, practice, explore and trust what comes.

That’s the hard part. They don’t teach this in school.

Someday, this higher mind business will be taught in all schools. Perhaps you ought to teach it? The world needs pioneers like you, to explore and establish a new world order. Your children are also part of this bigger plan.

Yes, I think I’ve heard that somewhere before, about the schools of the future. You know, in the daytime out there in the world of children, work and housework, well, this futurist topic seems distant and unreal. I think that maybe I’d like to be a bridge between heaven and earth. But, I’m stuck here. Navi plunked back onto the computer chair, swiveled around in a circle and back again, then abruptly jumped up and paced. I am soooo NOT up to the task! My life is ordinary. Mother and Stephen disapprove. My idiot boss calls me a hippie chick or Jesus freak and that pisses me off! God, sometimes I get scared thinking about accomplishing something I must do to get through a day. What is it that I’m missing?

Just be you darling Chickadee. What is it that you want?

God, I hate those simplistic questions! Maybe it’s not a matter of what I want at all! There is a Divine plan for each of us as individuals and another one for the world, en masse? Which is it?

Yes, both.

Oh, are you saying that maybe it only matters what it is that I want within some higher mission or purpose? Is it something that I am here to do?

Rather than beating yourself trying to have a normal life, try striving for inspiration and fulfillment.

Gran’s response was gracefully accepted then rapidly followed by a flash of anger inching up Navi’s spine and bolted out of her mouth. Jesus! I do not get it! Where is the instruction manual? Where is the one eight hundred number to call? Spiritual platitudes, or is it that I am not sophisticated enough to understand this shite?

You do have the knowledge, innate skills, and an inner guidance system!

Well, I don’t know about that. Having Matt sick with cancer . . . why can’t I heal him? Shite, Jesus could have cured him. Am I supposed to pull some sort of miracle out of my ass make his cancer go away?

That is not up to you, now is it darling? Hand these concerns over to God.

I know. Gran, it’s not just Matt’s cancer that’s bothering me. There is something else is going on, something is happening. I am so restless that I can’t eat properly and I’m having trouble sleeping. There is an abyss between Stephen and me. I can’t quite put my finger on what the bigger problem is. Does that sound crazy? Seriously, I would gladly give my life for Matt to be better, without a second thought, in a heartbeat. Yes, I know that ultimately this is his ordeal. I feel useless.

Gran nodded and waited.

There is something else bothering me. I’m going on about my day and I get hot flashes and weird sensations as if the earth is groaning and shifting under my feet. It sounds and feels foreboding. I can hear an earthquake, rumbling then vibrating through the core of the earth and my body. It sounds like pieces of the earth are, shifting pieces of a giant puzzle shifting into position. The earth moans and shudders like a groggy giant, stirring awhile from a deep sleep, old, heavy, slow powerful surge. I’m sure no one else can hear it because nobody ever says anything. Is the earth changing?

Nothing can stay the same. Thus, it is the nature of the universe. It is only changing. Grace, faith and love.

Oh, and as I’m going to sleep at night I get weird sensations in my mind. It’s like shards of lightning ripping through the back of my skull and through to the centre of my brain. Am I developing epilepsy? Do I have a tumor? Maybe I am going to die. Maybe I ‘m going to have an embolism or stroke. If I see a doctor, all kinds of tests would be scheduled. Maybe my symptoms are psychosomatic. Worse, the doctor might think that it’s something that requires extensive probing and testing and come up with some obscure Latin medical termed syndrome that I cannot pronounce. Yes, it can only be managed by heavy medication and after a lengthy consult with Stephen and decide to reinstate electric shock therapy and failing that, a full lobotomy.

Gran stood quiet, thoughtfully listening.

I don’t have time to be sick. Maybe I’m becoming a brilliant Psychic. Maybe I’ll be a Catholic Stigmata! If I were to pass over now, that would be fine with me. I am tired and weary. I think I’d like to go home to the spirit world, where you are. I’m so very tired. All I’ve done for the past twenty years is to raise kids and work. When I look back on life, I don’t know how I succeeded. No wonder the housework is sliding so much. I sure would love a real vacation, warm and exotic. Gran? You are quiet. You’re letting me vent aren’t you.

Yes, vent away, darling. And yes, you are evolving. Change is inevitable. Consider Albert Einstein’s concept of time, it is not linear but simultaneous. The universe has a different sense of past, present, and future than what we conceive of on earth. It is an interesting application. This is a clue for you, that you can dream journey backward and forward through other people’s lifetimes. By experiencing other people’s lives, first hand, you can learn from their experiences and intentionally change how you feel your own life situations. Effectively, through your dream journey’s, you change and evolve, and as you change, you create a positive change ripple effect out in the world.

Okay, now I feel like I’m in a lecture hall all by myself, taking an exam that I not only have not studied for but did not attend the required class. Where was I when that class was in session? Maybe I was outside smoking a cigarette! If there was an instruction booklet provided upon my birth, I didn’t get it.

Are you comparing public school and tiny college experience with the infinite intelligence of the universe?

I know what you’re going to say, that this is a Shakespearean thing; there is more to this world than meets the eye. Oh, and seek the answers within, kind of shite.

Gran tilted her head to one side, and grinned, Perhaps Chickadee, this the life path that you yourself have chosen? Keep exploring and watch your perceptions change. What you understand and know to be true today will change over time. Do it your own way. There are no shortcuts to a magical destination darling. It is love and the journey that matters. It’s good to be skeptical if you draw your own conclusions.

Yes, I know! I’ve thought about going back to church but the after-service fellowship buzz around like flies on shite. They’re like retail salespeople on a commission in a department store. Yummy fresh meat to convert and save. They’re just bored, nosey and want to know everything about me so they’ll have something to talk about with gossip cronies. It makes me sick the way they pretend to be one with God so they can use this cover to critique and condemn everyone else.

Navi stretched and continued, "Matt is going to pull through, right? Sometimes I’m not afraid of him dying because I know