Category Archives: Paranormal

Deja vu – IRRITATED Nipple syndrome once again

I post this every Fall or in this case winter as here in Canada Irritated Nipple Syndrome is a reality. Mostly caused by our Northern winds and our lust for cheap polyester t-shirts. 

I have been plagued with this horrifying disease for nigh on 61 years now.

As fall has arrived I am once again plagued with the horrible INS, so, I am re-publishing a blog I wrote in November 2007


It seems to my contorted malformed outlook towards this self labeled existence your homo sapient species declare as humanity that as “Atomic Mother Earth” has another one of her annual menopausal temperature episodes, you are dancing in cohesion to her moods and wants.

If my memory does not fail me, then, I recall that not just twenty-four hours ago I was strolling the Danforth in a T-shirt and blue jeans. I recall my endocentric annoyance at the sweat gathering in the furrow of my brow as I glinted from the warm brightness of the summer comparable sunlight.

Yet, on this bright Thursday morn, “Atomic Mother Earth” has decided to plague me with the dreaded “Irritated Nipple Syndrome”. My whole life I suffered from “INS”. The symptoms of which is a debilitating and very sensitive soreness of the good old human teats.

There is nothing ever so painful as the abrasiveness of cheap blended polyester brushing to and fro upon the super-sensitive, and, often amusing to play with, human nipple. Specially on a day as such where the cold bitter bite of lakefront wind has made my twin pleasure buttons stand hard and tall like two minute penises and declare their existence.

I would give most anything at this moment for the feel of warm dressed cotton or, perhaps, even the sweet caress of perhaps ‘Cashmere’.

If you happen to discover that you indeed have a spare ‘real’ T-shirt, my nipples would greatly appreciate a donation of such. I fear the coming vengeance of the Arctic wind inspired season of Canada’s winter and her cold crippling affect on my self inflicted, physical abused ‘too-many years of heavy lifting’. humanoid form. (I take a size man’s small, because “The Cosmic Muffin” puts great things in very petite packages,

So, where was I headed before my nipples got in the way……………………….Oh Yes! I remember now. As “Mother Earth” begins her seasonal transformation also do they, you or whoever I may be referring to.

I diligently trucked out into the public domains yesterday afternoon to record to memory the strange rites and rituals of you humanoid robotic clones of a greater being, so as, when the Mothership returns, I shall have gathered enough intelligence as to please the supreme powers that be, and, thusly, I may rightfully be receiving the ever patronizing pat on my head and the salutary equation of “Dann is a good boy!”. Of which I will reply the ever grateful “Thank you” and sheepishly grin and drool.

There you were, dancing your rhythms of daily disclosure and bartering your extensively earned numerical bank notes called “The Paycheque” to purchase licorice strands of candied sugars to ensure the quietness of the distressed two year old as he struggles to gain freedom from the stroller so as he may run rampant and yet again test your patience quota.

If so howled the crisp breeze from Lake Ontario, then, immediately your upper limbs clutch to protect the ever sensitive nipples. Nipples appear to me as a large factor in your everyday lives This is something that with my outlook and learning’s of culture I find very interesting. How such a little pair of budded human tissue can hold such a great importance in daily routines is absolutely amazing.

If “Mother Earth” decides that today is too be a chilled one then instinctively your arms cover them. If “She” decides that, perhaps, tomorrow shall be warm then – again – you may choose to wrap your arms across your breast plate so as your nipples are not visible through your choosing to dress in light clothing due to the heated air of the day.

On a warm summer’s day at the beach, the young females readily douse their feline bodies with the refreshing and cool lake water, but then they must protect their nipples from the wanton eyes of juvenile males who are hoping and praying that “The Hairy Thunderer” will grant them the blessing of a visual aid only comparable to that of a “Wet T-shirt Contest”.

Winter brings the crossing of arms and the multi-layering of various sweaters purchased through the Bay, or, maybe, even Walmart. Oh, but the constrictions of layer upon layer of artificial body coverings and the labourious way the wearing of such creates many lost minutes of most precious time, time better spent with our nipples.

If, in your wonderment of life, you are to have such a thought as, “Does this happen to the male of the species?” I can assure your curiosity with a definite affirmation. Males do in fact suffer the same fate, although, due to infantile imbedded social lessons they must bravely and with no sign of pain appear invincible to the effects of exposing their nipples to us all.

I, alone, may be the only exception to the rule. For I, without modesty, bravely announce to you all that “I have Irritated Nipple Syndrome” and I have no decent, and neither can I afford to purchase, a ‘real’ T-shirt.

I embarrassingly admit that I may in fact need of your charity in order that I may have a cotton T-shirt to keep me warm through out the coming all out attack of winter. (again I hint that I take a size man’s small, because “The Cosmic Muffin” puts great things in very petite packages, inbox me for my address, lol.

If perchance you have a spare appropriate t-shirt I would be forever grateful if you were to donate them. You may send them in care of:

D. Verner, 608 Dawes Road, Suite 610, East York, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M4B 2G6

All of the above mentioned observations have made me realize that by looking out my window and watching these humanoid lifeforms conduct their daily routines and dances, I can accurately determine the weather by how greatly the female Homo Sapient is clutching her breastplate. Such a simple but relatively accurate method of predetermining the weather. On the Mothership we are forced to depend on the science of meteorology and our daily session watching the universal weather channel on our installed satellite dish.

I bid you all a warm day in the emotional sense. I offer to you a simple concept to imbed into your daily routine – I offer that when your eyes are next to focus on your fellow man that your brain immediately sends forth but one word………..PEACE!

Good day to you and yours – Guter Tag zu Ihnen und zu Ihrem – Хороший день к вам и твоему – Bonne journée à toi et au vôtre – Buen día a usted y el suyo

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16 Signs That You Are An INFJ, The World’s Rarest Personality Type

https://wakeupyourmind.net/life/16-signs-that-you-are-an-infj-the-worlds-rarest-personality-type/

In 1972, when first incarcerated in a Federal Penitentiary, I did the Myers-Briggs test and rated 16/16.

Apparently only two percent of society has this type of personality labeled as “INFJ”.

I did not understand at that time that I was an INFJ personality. I overstand now.

Rasputin was beyond a doubt an INFJ.

Months before reading the article in the above link, my Lighthouse side has, through a series of analytical evaluations, came to the conclusion that in another space/time continuum I was Rasputin.

I am definitely a true 2% and a classic INFJ person.

Am I Rasputin’s re-incarnate?

#AmIRasputin #LighthouseDannVerner #TheLastCanadianCosmonaut #TheOriginalUrbanViking #amazonauthorlighthouseverner #MiFuegoDeMiCorazon

Which One Of Us Is ‘Different”?

Many people do not understand what they call “Mental Health“.

How do you explain the battle with your demons to someone that has been trained to believe that ‘different‘ is wrong?

Is ‘different‘ wrong?

Because to we who suffer through the constant battle of ‘personality disorders‘ YOU are the ‘different‘ one.

I do not believe in any of the labels society has placed on people.

I DO believe we all suffer from personality ‘conflicts’.

Every soul on this planet suffers the same stresses and have the same emotions as everyone else. We all live in the same space/time continuum. We all eat, drink and breathe the same.

We are all homo sapiens living on the same Big Blue Marble.

I have many demons who are constantly looking to diminish my everyday life. They do their best to bring anger, tears, sorrow and carelessness to the forefront.

I do get tired of battling them. I do give up on occasions.

I don’t want to, but, I get tired.

Damn, I get tired.

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Real tired! I am tired now.

I have no fight left in me.

Which leaves me in a quandary.

Do I wear myself out and try to stay “LightHouse“?

Or do I walk backwards and become “Shake“?

Or do I escape into my mind and live life as “Dann“?

Or should I allow my mind to burst and revert to the infant “Boo Boo“?

Boo Boo works, spend the rest of my years as a parentless child with a shitty diaper and speaking only gibberish.

Dann presents problems because he is fake as can be. The smiling face society says is ‘proper‘.

LightHouse is who I strived to be.  He is a nice man. Educated, loyal and truthful.

Unfortunately.

LightHouse gets hurt often.

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His smile is real. The reason he smiles is because society shuns those who do not wear the mask of the sheep.

But, I am no “sheep“.

Yes, I am having what you perceive as “psychological” disorders.

The disorders being that I refuse to be fake and I will not be commanded, I will not be controlled and I definitely will not let my life go on without a little help from my soul.

I will go on – maybe – maybe not.

I have published the fourth and closing chapter of my life – “Unkz, A Canadian Cosmonaut”.

My ‘Walk With Dann Collection‘ shows well the battles I have fought trying to conform to the sheepdom of society life.

Now, if I were to die tomorrow, and no one were to remember me, there lays a permanent record of my lives and my seven previous deaths.

Forever out there in paper form and the evil virtual reality of the unrealistic internet.

We need to stop labelling.

We need to stop being clones of each others perceptions.

Simple as that.

Namaste’

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Unkz - A Canadian Cosmonaut

AFTERWARD OR AFTERWORDS

AFTERWARD OR AFTERWORDS

WHY I WRITE

Many ask me why l write.

I write my books for me.

I tell my stories for my readers.

I am not sure if my works are badly written good stories or well written bad stories.

Not too sure I care either way. I do care that, in my “Walk With Dann Collection”, I am telling my life as brutally truthful as possible. In shame and in honour.

I do care that my ‘stand alone’ books, such as “The Last Canadian Cosmonaut” touch your heart.

I pray that my other collection, “Walking On Dawes”, shows that the gang life, although often ‘exciting’, leads only to karma biting your buttocks.”

My Walk With Dann Collection

Volumes 1, 2 & 3

Damaged” is my first book.

Like me, it is raw and full of mistakes.

I have left it “unedited” as life has left me.

DAMAGED”

Walk With Dann Collection

Volume 1

A Walk from my birth till I meet my second wife.”


It is rough, crude in fact, numerous format conversion errors.

I left It raw on purpose as a testament to the honesty of my words and work.

It contains humour, murder, explosions and motorcycles.

It may or may not be fictional or may even be non-fictional.”

BANE’

Walk With Dann Collection

Volume 2

Walks you through my middle years and three decades of marriage.

It does not contain the excitement of it’s predecessor.

It begins to show you who I was and who I was becoming.”

 

 

BOON”

Walk With Dann Collection

Volume 3

Walks you deep into my personal life of trials and tribulations and my uniquely twisted none the norm perception of my realty.”

So, come, Walk With Dann.

THE LAST CANADIAN COSMONAUT”

(My first ‘standalone book‘, my personal favorite.)

The smell of the ocean danced on my nostrils as I walked, slipping and sliding, across the flats. My eyes darting to and fro, carefully scanning ahead for sink holes.

I should have been walking the other direction. Towards the junior high school. Towards hippie teachers trying to teach me of science, faith and nature.

I could hear the train in the distance. Pulling it’s tonnage of sugar cane around the bend to the refinery.

The tug boats crested the horizon. Their wake spewing behind them as they pushed against the mighty tanker so as to slow it’s unforgiving momentum. Lest it run ashore.

The shore. My foster home was there. High up the hill. It’s windows like two large eyes, taunting me with guilt.“Go to school“, they seemed to say.

I can’t”, my reply.

Walking On Dawes Collection

 

I WANT TO BE ‘FLOKI’”

Walking On Dawes Collection”

Volume 1”

Big Roy - Dedication

This is a tale of a family who live their lives within the gang life. Except Little Ray. He and his family want him to break the cycle and live a normal life.”

There is tragedy, laughter and most of all ‘insight’ within.

So come with us as we

Walk On Dawes.”

 

 

You Can’t See Me”

Walking On Dawes Collection

Volume 2

This is a portrait of a broken man living a broken life in a broken world where family and friendship are one and the same.

Where wrong choices can lead to lifelong regrets. Haunting the very soul and stabbing the heart daily to remind you of the penalties of actions.

Where a man can be all alone and un-noticed in a crowded room.

Where sadness shadows joy and joy masks sadness.

This is the life of one man on one street in one city.

A man who let his darkness blind his Light.

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Has Society Gone Mad??? Modern Day Sodom & Gomorrah

What next people? Damn, whatever drugs you are all doing is really taking their toll on your logic receptors.

We are living in a world of screwed up gender confused rainbow dancing weirdo’s from planet X – everything is about getting high and blowing your load.

Meanwhile our own people are sleeping on concrete, illegals are living in hotels, youth are gunning each other down in broad daylight and yet,

here we are fucking robots and spending tax dollars on rainbow crosswalks.

Modern day Sodom and Gomorrah for sure.

https://www.blogto.com/city/2018/08/aura-sex-dolls-toronto-brothel/

 

LAST DAY TO LET ME GIVE YOU “DAMAGED” FOR FREE

Today is the last day you can download, for free, “DAMAGED”, my first book and the first volume of my “Walk With Dann Collection”

 

“DAMAGED” for free via download on amazon.ca in e-book format.

Here’s a quick link, always available for free to all KindleUnlimited subscribers – as are all seven of my books.

https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B077SGXHLB

All my books, paperback and e-books, available at amazon.ca and amazon.com

GO TO MY MAIN PAGE AT:

https://amazon.com/author/lighthouseverner

Here is why I have left the numerous spelling, grammar and formatting mistakes in this Volume 1 of my fictional autobiography …………….

DAMAGED”

Walk With Dann Collection

Volume 1

A Walk from my birth till I meet my second wife.”

I left It raw on purpose as a testament to the honesty of my words and work.

 

It contains humour, murder, explosions and motorcycles.

It may or may not be fictional or may even be non-fictional.

Only my hairdresser knows for sure…….

So, come follow the beacon and see what lays within “The LightHouse” we call “Dann

In My Secret Life

We all have many ‘lives‘ per se.

We all have that one secret life. With most it is a harmless secret.

I have put most my lives out there. In blogs and in my novels.

Yet, I have that one life I rarely reveal …….

My ‘secret‘ life.

The one where I cry dry tears, moaning silent cries of regrets and anguish.

To quote Leonard Cohen,

“I bite my lip
I buy what I’m told:
From the latest hit
To the wisdom of old
But I’m always alone
And my heart is like ice
And it’s crowded and cold
In my secret life”

The one that haunts my sleep and steals my rest. Leaving me ashamed and broken.

The one I have no words to describe. The one that stole my happiness in life.

I had a concept of happiness in my life, not to say I had never experienced such. But, I stole that from myself by my refusal to follow my dreams at a younger age. A theft of my future. Robbing myself of what my life could have been if I had dropped the masks of being an old school rebel tainted by my hatred of living.

Perhaps it was my Heroin fogged adolescent years. Or perhaps the intoxicated cloud of my twenties. It may have even been my refusal to secure a solid base for my elder years.

It may be the guilt of stealing away my many children’s futures.

It definitely has led to my self flogging. To my lashing my spiritual back thirteen stripes each and every evening before I lay down to suffer the horrors of flashbacks for crimes of my past.

I have done things most only read about in novels or see upon the screens of televisions during prime time movies.

Things best never revealed. Lest cause more pain for my family and friends.

I have danced with the Devils. I have shared meals with Evil. I have choked down the truth as I concocted lies to cover my tracks. Burying the evidence six cold feet below the eyes of society.

I will dance with the Devils again. In an eternal ballet of penance and regrets. Karma and her brother Chaos have shadowed me for six decades. They await me still in Valhalla.

Perhaps my beloved mother, (ironically her name is ‘Mary‘), saw this at my birth. Thus, leaving me to thrive or die at six months of age.

I have ‘Walked‘ my seven plains of time and space continuum’s. My eighth, the final ‘Walk” we all will stride, shall be my version of your ‘Heaven‘ or far more likely your ‘Hell“.

I already know what awaits me after my final death. Perhaps many years from now when I know it is my time I shall write that final chapter in a book or blog.

Part of my penance has been remembering my first seven cracks at the bat of life. We are not suppose to remember the ‘Seven Walks’. That is a pleasure only those with no guilt get to enjoy. Reserved for those who followed society’s basic rules. Your Ten Commandments, for lack of a better term. I broke nine of the Biblical ten – I have never committed adultery while still with my beloved wife. Having not divorced and having been separated for years, as she went her way and I mine, I have technically committed adultery as defined by their Bible.

In reality, I have never strayed while loving and living with my wife, Jennifer.

“Why eat a cookie when you have a beautiful cake at home?”

All my life I often joked that I was awaiting the return of the ‘Mothership‘. This I now know was my inner child waiting for my mother to return to that cold, damp crib in that empty house and show me a mothers love. I never have had the opportunity to be rewarded with that emotion.

My secret life is/was the pain that moment implanted into my soul. The Mothership will never come. For that ship blasted off to a different world then I shall ever know.

The scars of her choice left me with a defiance and darkness that can not be explained. The only physical evidence being my life of refusing to bend to the ways of man. My strong willed desire to shout blatantly,

“And I will not be commanded
And I will not be controlled
And I will not let my future go on
Without the help of my soul.”
(The Lost Boy – Greg Holden)

But, does one born into evil and abandonment have a soul?

Unfortunately for me, I am not in the position to answer that. For what I experienced while dead seven times I am not able to explain in words. I have detailed most of the experiences as best I could in my books and past blogs.

Some things are best left untold so as not to destroy your concept of life and death.

I have tried to make amends. Hence my inviting you to come “Walk With Dann.” A futile attempt to reach out to hopefully steer one soul away from the path I chose.

My Walks with you can only take you as far as your reality. For my reality is only shared with others who have strode a similar path as I have. I am not the only one to have been cursed with remembering the Seven Walks. Knowing that number eight holds no choice. That there will be only one path the final ride. Not the seven choices we are all given with the first seven. Dante’ knew of these when he scribe his “Inferno”.

The saddest part of all this is that I have many years yet to pay my penance. There lay before me decades carrying the weight of wrongs upon my broken back. I suspect I shall bear this cross till I reach the age of 112. For I have been told by the Creators that I shall live till then. Mind you they lay no guarantee that it will be a pleasant journey. In fact, it will be a painful existence wrought with discomfort and pain.

Physics teaches that for every action there lays an equal yet opposite reaction. Faith teaches the same. Good versus evil – push versus pull. Light versus dark. Truths versus lies.

Each night for nigh on sixty years I have been plagued with sleep not arriving until all my wrongs play out like a collection of short vignettes and seal my eyes into sleep with dry tears and silent screams.

This is my “Secret Life

 

Am I Too Philosophical For Today’s Standards?

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Am I too philosophical for the standards of today’s society?

Why do I wake up crying?

Hell, I am portrayed by many to be, and I quote,

The toughest man they’ve ever met.”  

But, am I really that tough or have I just learned how to mask fright with strength. I have killed people – not something I hold pride for. But a reality that is public knowledge. A gigantic shame I must take ownership of. A yoke of sin that I can barely carry upon my aged shoulders. It’s weight taking a toll upon my spiritual spinal column.

Why am I so emotional?

Personally, I believe it is due to those last threads of my hippie years clinging unto what is left of “Boo Boo” and “Shake“. They know that “LightHouse” is who I have now transformed into and they struggle to keep their entities in the spotlight.

In some ways I believe I am tough. I am a survivor. I lived a very extreme and abnormal sixty plus years. A life, or lives if you were, considered by many to be tragic. 

To me it was merely life. We all suffer in life. Life is difficult. Survival of the fittest for sure. In ancient times the weak were swallowed up into the ground. The circle of life. The strong were flourishing on the treasures stolen from the weak.

Nothing has changed. In modern times we have learned to hide our true self from most. Wolves in sheep’s clothing. Evil disguised as strength. Kindness disguised as weakness.

My authoring my life unto paper and virtual text has awakened my demons. Those evil voices I had long put to rest in the security of a vault deep within my sub-consciousness. Never were they to have surfaced. Yet, I had to bring them out so family, friends and strangers alike could understand that ‘normal‘ is but a concept of society.

I sit here at my dining room table daily, tearfully, writing out what dances in my mind. It is a very painful process. A process I must complete for my eighth and final ascension to the next space/time continuum. 

My family believes they know me, but they know not. I don’t even know me. If you were to ask me who I believe knows me I would have to say “no one.

There are just too many “Me’s” to know. To be honest, many of me you really do not want to know. 

“I am still holding on, but there ain’t much left of ‘me’.”

Worse of all I know I still have numerous years yet to walk my ‘Walks’. That scares me. 

I know not where my path leads. I am positive I shall never back step. There is nothing behind me worth going back to. What lays before is yet to be explored. What may happen cannot be changed, avoided or known. It cannot be lest it not be worth going forth into.

Life is not supposed to be a pre-planned serious of events. It is a series of moments, events and days of futures past. A genetic repeat of all that makes us individual singularities in a group setting. We live in a communal setting to support and protect our individuality. That sounds like it has no logic. It does have, though, you will understand as your years roll by.

My focus on life, presently, is to leave behind my story. For strangers, for family and for friends. So they may know who “Daniel Arthur Verner – alias ‘Shake, Unkz, Boo Boo” actually was. Then they can compare who they had ‘believed’ I was to who I ‘believed’ I was.

“A stranger in a strange land”

I leave you now hopefully understanding that 

“I am Dann – just as I am”

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Why I Write

Many ask me why l write. I write my books for me.

I tell my stories for my readers.

I am not sure if my works are badly written good stories or well written bad stories.

Not too sure I care either way. I do care that, in my “Walk With Dann Collection”, I am telling my life as brutally truthful as possible. In shame and in honour.

I do care that my ‘stand alone’ books, such as “The Last Canadian Cosmonaut” touch your heart.

I pray that my other collection, “Walking On Dawes”, shows that the gang life, although often ‘exciting’, leads only to karma biting your buttocks.

 

Here is a synopsis of my “Walk With Dann Collection”:

My Walk With Dann Collection, Volumes 1, 2 & 3

Damaged” is my first book.

Like me, it is raw and full of mistakes.

I have left it “unedited” as life has left me.

Volume 1, “DAMAGED” takes you on a Walk from my birth till I meet my second wife.
It is rough, crude in fact, numerous format conversion errors.

I left It raw on purpose as a testament to the honesty of my words and work.

It contains humour, murder, explosions and motorcycles.

It may or may not be fictional or may even be non-fictional.

The second volume, ‘BANE’, Walks you through my middle years and three decades of marriage.

It does not contain the excitement of it’s predecessor.

It begins to show you who I was and who I was becoming.

 

 

My third volume, “BOON” Walks you deep into my personal life of trials and tribulations and my uniquely twisted none the norm perception of my realty.

So, come, Walk With Dann.

And my first ‘standalone book‘, my personal favourite,

A fictional journey of a hippie on a Harley exploring the times.

THE LAST CANADIAN COSMONAUT”

The smell of the ocean danced on my nostrils as I walked, slipping and sliding, across the flats. My eyes darting to and fro, carefully scanning ahead for sink holes.

I should have been walking the other direction. Towards the junior high school. Towards hippie teachers trying to teach me of science, faith and nature.

I could hear the train in the distance. Pulling it’s tonnage of sugar cane around the bend to the refinery.

The tug boats crested the horizon. Their wake spewing behind them as they pushed against the mighty tanker so as to slow it’s unforgiving momentum. Lest it run ashore.

The shore. My foster home was there. High up the hill. It’s windows like two large eyes, taunting me with guilt.“Go to school“, they seemed to say.

I can’t“, my reply.

And here lays a brief synopsis of my “Walking On Dawes Collection

 

The first volume of the

Walking On Dawes Collection”

I WANT TO BE ‘FLOKI’”

“This is a tale of a family who live their lives within the gang life. Except Little Ray. He and his family want him to break the cycle and live a normal life.”

There is tragedy, laughter and most of all ‘insight’ within.

So come with us as we

Walk On Dawes.”

 

“You Can’t See Me”

Walking On Dawes Collection

Volume 2

This is a portrait of a broken man living a broken life in a broken world where family and friendship are one and the same.

Where wrong choices can lead to lifelong regrets. Haunting the very soul and stabbing the heart daily to remind you of the penalties of actions.

Where a man can be all alone and un-noticed in a crowded room.

Where sadness shadows joy and joy masks sadness.

This is the life of one man on one street in one city.

A man who let his darkness blind his Light.

 

 

The Sparkle of an Angelic Soul

You will have lived a Blessed life if you are fortunate enough to have known at least one true friend’s love.

I have been overly Blessed.

In my lifetimes of learning, chaos, peace, violence, love, hurt, guns and rock & roll I acquired a few such souls.

True friendship. Never a doubt.

Each one taught me love and worth.

Each one SAVED my life at some point.

When my dear Irish Queen, Sheena Eve, ascended I lost faith in the Biblical version of your god.

There lay no logic in her forced ascension.

She was needed here still. Not for only my own selfishness, but for her clients of her professional and devoted career.

I have attended over thirty funerals of friends, Brothers and family.

So many that I now no longer attend funerals.

I am not even going to my own funeral. I donated my physical being to science.

Sheena’s ascension affected me like none other.

Perhaps it is due to the loving care she and my dear friend Victoria Chapman showered me with as they stayed with me 24/7 as I cold turkey went off the doctor prescribed Oxycontin and Fentanyl.

VICTORIA, SHEENA EVE, LEO THE BLUNDER DOG

I would be dead if not for Victoria’s “BodyTalk” treatments and Sheena’s outright truthful Irish wisdoms.

I’m crying now. I will always have tears for her.

My Favorite Photo – Her Sparkle Flows

I am puzzled as to why Sheena Eve’s ascension has bothered me like no other.

More than even my Mother’s murder.

In all honesty, I am crying my heart out as I write. The tears puddling over my heart to quell the hurt.

I cannot speak her name, reflect on a memory or set my eyes upon her picture without shedding tears.

And I understand but do not understand why so many tears.

Her Beauty Has Many Faces

I do know I miss her.

Dearly.

Having my LightHouse ‘gift’ is a Blessing and a curse.

It is entertaining to see dead people in a movie.

It is an acquired skill to see, feel and speak to those who have been Blessed with their final eighth ascension to the Eternal Space/Time Continuum.

I am fortunate to still have Sheena Eve in my daily life.

A Blessing I only wish I could share with her family and our friends.

Sparkle on my friend, sparkle on

My cheeks are aching from holding back these tears, so I will close this now and bawl my heart out.

They will be tears of joy for having shared friendship with you, Sheena Eve.

My heart is full of your Light and protection as you “Walk With Dann”. on this my final “Walk”.

And I welcome the day we sit at the round with love and raise our tankards high and give an Irish cheer.

Till then, yes, I will cry.

Bless be we who shared friendship with you

“Is it any surprise that as I press “publish” Pink Floyd’s “How I Wish You Were Here” starts playing???? Thank you Sheena Eve, thank you.”