Tag Archives: intuition

When I Write

As I write the folks in my novel
Yes, it’s all coming back to me now.
Each one has traits so familiar
Don’t ask me the why or the how.

But each one has stamped me with something!
Time’s passed and they are afar.
Sure’n the writing is making me find in myself

Some part of who they all are.
How did this come round to happenin’
I guess cus we followed our vibes.

And they say we get changed and are different
When we let others into our lives.

We’ve tangled and jumbled each other.
I knew them, their love and their pain.
I felt their sunshine and laughter

And we all got drenched in the rain
‘Cus of them I found my direction
They’re apart and within just the same.
We meet up again in my writing.
My novel sets round them a frame.

When I write, we’re together again.

While I chip away at the rock of editing and revising Epiphany, please consider downloading The Way Back from any e-book store, written by S.K. Carnes, me. Here is a review:
“The Way Back: A Soldier’s Journey has something to please any reader – romance, history, adventure, drama, poetry, a quietly epic feel, a magnificently rendered landscape, and eclectic characters unlike any of the ‘ho-hum’ heroes of lesser fiction. Having once entered John Chapman’s world, readers will want to linger, holding close one of the most pure-of-heart and earnestly crafted narratives in recent memory.” —Writers Digest

Order the Historical Novel by S.K. Carnes,  The Way Back, recently released in all e-book stores.

The Art of Life: How to Channel Inner Knowing

Above Image: Trees by Mondrian

The first day Lori (our protagonist in my almost finished novel Epiphany) spends in Eugene, Oregon, she purchases a used copy of Magic Doors by John Pearson. The images in his book of photography are all about entering another dimension, perhaps not even noticing the portal passed through to get there. Art is like that.
Next, Lori took lessons in building stained glass and began putting the pieces together that she cut. How did she know what glass to use? What colors? What patterns? She felt her way along and that became her way forward. Life is like that, an art project she could create, and she wanted it to be a masterpiece. Against the advice of her teachers, Lori chose to do a Tiffany designed lamp for her first ever project in stained glass. Why not? How hard can it be—The teachers are present, and the student is ready! And that is the theme for my next blog.
In the meantime, arrange things, put an outfit together, paint a picture, order The Way Back and get to know your inner knowing!

Order the Historical Novel by S.K. Carnes,  The Way Back, recently released in all e-book stores.


A Feminine Character in Epiphany: A Womanly Cure For That "Motherless Feeling"

Lori, our protagonist, has enjoyed exploring secret places in the mountains of Oregon. But,  she has been hired to do a demanding job, and with start-time looming, she looses heart and feels afraid. She remembers the song on an old album from Paul Whiteman, “Sometimes I feel Like a Motherless Child.,” (hear it sung here by Julie London) and sinks into depression. But Lori has a friend, the woman Claudia, who can provide solace and guidance for the difficult year ahead.
Have you also found a special person who can bolster your flagging self confidence? Remembering just how it felt for me, I wrote a poem about passing through the portal from melancholy to renewal, under the transformative power of a wise woman.
A Womanly Cure
See—the river goes somewhere,
Moving on.
Watch—the seedling springs up,
Growing in lockstep with the constant march of days,
While I huddle in the grip of doubt,
Wondering if I am lost in time,
Without direction, without knowing,
A student with no teacher.
A motherless child.
Adrift on a moonless night,
The compass has no needle, the radio no sound
The lighthouse has gone dead
In the eye of a monstrous storm circling round me
Set to strike.
It’s then I go to Claudia,
The sheltering wing of the angel
And she hugs me into herself, this woman,
Whispering ancient knowledge I have forgotten
Of Mother nature, fertility and abundance
And of harvest that nourishes the soul.
She holds the looking glass up for me to see my own womanly self.
With intuition as my compass, I hear the fiddler playing my song.
Claudia dowses up an artesian well of prophetic waters
To wash away fear
To shine a beacon of courage
To radiate the light of inspiration
To dissolve the clouds of depression
And I see my path forward
Across the year ahead.

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Order the Historical Novel by S.K. Carnes,  The Way Back,

recently released in all e-book stores.



Once upon a time, I accompanied my sons to a community dance. There was a young man taking tickets; I gave him mine, smiled and sat down.  No one asked me to dance of course, but I danced with each of my boys—embarrassing them. He walked over. He stopped alongside, met my eyes-green to blue, leaned close, and said three words, “you are lonely.” I was stunned. It was 37 years ago, so out of place in those days, and so out of character for him; why he was shy and younger then me by 14 years. I said nothing, but his empathy changed my life.
Empathy opens up the door
To “not alone” any more.
What bliss, what joy, and what a ride
When feelings become verified
I saw it happen sometimes in treatment for alcoholism. Using an “old style” the counselor, with the tenacity of a bulldog, shakes the man by the throat with harsh truth, shattering his wall of pretenses, leaving him lying broken, weeping and defenseless. This particular time, when he was satisfied that his client’s facade of denial was broken, the counselor nodded at me and left the room. When I spoke, it was not me speaking but something through me; using words I didn’t think of, I whispered to the man what he needed to hear.  He cried in my arms, begging me to “say it again,…tell me again.” It was the beginning of his recovery.
Empathy sets feelings free
When someone cares enough to see
The shameful thing you’ve tried to hide
Takes your hand, stands by your side
The doctor in charge of the Chronic Pain Center asked each of his therapists to assist him in his “special procedure,” choosing between us as he saw fit. When he asked me for the first time and I agreed, it was a trip to another dimension. The patient was lying on a table; Dr. Neil began with therapeutic touch as if it was to be a massage. But Neil was practiced in knowing, and when he reached a place—different for each patient—a place where some memory lay sleeping, he woke it with sensitive fingers and words that called it by name. How did he know? Neil could not have explained that. But with the touch and empathy, feelings, long locked away, burst forth in shouts and screams that terrified me, and then came sobs of shame and grief. Captivated, I helped by speaking what needed to be said, although I didn’t know any such words. When it was over, the patient left much relieved. I was trembling and white. Neil said, “shake the energy off-it does not belong to you,” and he showed me how to do just that—for my sake, and so that he could get back to being himself.
Overcome by senseless pain
Despairing to be well again
Who would think that he could be
Healed with words of empathy

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just beyond
Out of the blue, the year my father turned 81, I inexplicably fell into depression. I cried every night, and lost 20 pounds,  grieving for what seemed to be no reason at all.  After two weeks of this, my mother told me that my Dad, who long had entertained perfect health, would stay overnight in the hospital for his yearly exam. We went to church on the way to pick him up.  During Mass, I sobbed so loudly people seated in our pew moved away, disgusted by my lack of decorum.  Later, at the hospital, as we prepared to go home, my father died.   Would you call my grieving coincidental?
One morning before school, my college room-mate Gloria told me of her disturbing dream.  “Last night,” she said, “I dreamed that in spite of all I could do to help, grandma couldn’t climb stairs because of a pain in her leg.  She wanted to get to a bed at the end of the hall upstairs, but died before we could reach it.” Gloria went off to classes shaking her head, for she had never dreamed of her beloved grandmother before. Later that morning came the news that grandmother had died overnight from a blood clot that formed in the leg and traveled to the heart. But the dream was just coincidence-right?
Since we lived near a mining community, I heard stories of mine disasters, and the amazing way people and animals knew of them before they were announced. It became impossible for me to dismiss these experiences as mere coincidence, and I came to believe we have powers we neither can control or explain away.
Have you ever seen a dowser work-or better yet, have you held in your own hands a make shift coat hanger rod or a professional tool, watching/feeling it twist and point at a water pipe or aquifer?  Try it-you may be surprised. And if it happens to you, you might even put a new name to coincidence, perhaps naming it instead, for psychic gifts of sensing, seeing, hearing or knowing (clairsentience, clairvoyance, clairaudience or claircognizance).
The media is deluged with mysterious stories, an example is the series “Weird or What” on the Discovery channel.  The host William Shatner weighs psychic and scientific theory, but some people will be afraid of what the wierdness means and label it as evil.   Others seek out exercises to develop their intuitive powers, hoping to use them for the good of humanity.  And you, what do you think? Do you watch for omens: a lone bird in the sky, a four leaf clover, a shooting star; do you take special note of a sudden chill sensation, a tingle, a feeling of dread; perhaps you concentrate on the ‘here and now’, becoming mindful of your thoughts and receptive to intuition? What are your stories that some might label coincidental but you think might be a personal experience of the sixth sense or the supernatural?