HIDDEN VISION
EARL BLESSING
1
Halloween.
What some refer to as All Hollow’s Eve; some fruit-bowls even call it Devil’s Night. A very busy night. Full of fun and frivolity. It’s always a night for cops. Calls mostly for pranks, ones that ordinarily couldn’t hurt anybody—unless you count the shit under someone’s shoe, from trying to put out a sack of it lit on fire and left on someone’s doorstep. Eggs, on the other hand, thrown at cars, that could cause an accident from people trying to use their wipers, and only smearing the crap all across their windshield—it’s a reflexive action, and people don’t really think about the consequences until it’s too late. And that’s how some of the pranks go sometimes. No one expects anyone to get hurt—maybe just annoyed—but no one expects that to be dire results. Consequences. They are so often overlooked. As a cop you learn to expect the unexpected, not to flinch at the unusual, and never assume the worse. Always wait for the facts. They determine the truth of the situation. And its severity.
Sometimes.
Rape? Murder? Not as common as most people might think. Most people are just trying to have a good time on Halloween. Homicide doesn’t usually enter into the equation. But sometimes things have a tendency to get out of hand—especially when booze or drugs are added to the equation.
Sometimes.
In my field of work I see a lot. And it is not always conditioned to my scope of practice. Furthermore, it is not always what most people see. Not cops. Not detectives. Not pathologists. Not psychiatrists. Not psychics. I still remember my wife’s words before they clouded over with dementia: “Go now. Save me. Let me remember you as I do now, before I forget. Forget me not…” I heard the words ten years before my wife would speak them…on a cell-phone, in my mind’s eye… in a dream I would hear them the same way when she called me from the hospital ten years later…on a cell-phone. I had forgotten the dream. After all ten years can seem like a long time.
This is not the case however when you love someone. Then time can never be enough. Moments that there are no words for, become far and few between during life’s hectic schedules, and cherished when made available. And sometimes my eyes fog over with tears when I hear the song, Time in a Bottle.
Sometimes.
It hadn’t been long enough for me and Jeanie. She wasn’t my childhood sweetheart. But she may as well have been. And the time we had together ended too quickly. But then who expects their spouse to suffer from dementia? The result of a malignant tumor in the cerebral cortex. It started with headaches—migraines, then Jeanie complained about vision impairment; memory loss was added to the list, along with a personality disorder. I had a condition, Jeanie had a condition. The only difference was that I could live with mine. While her condition robbed her of her identity. She lives in the Stateview Hospital now, the care she gets is exemplary; at least until the tumor kills her. The doctors give her less than six months. And in spite of her words, I would still visit—try to manifest a memory that she could hold onto, that she could cherish. But in the end she would forget about me completely. Sometimes life can be so harsh and cruel to a couple just trying to find their way in life; it can be harsh and cruel to a man who believes he is doing the right thing.
Sometimes.
I joined the force when I was twenty-seven. I married Jeanie when I was twenty-three. I received my promotion and title as—Treat Finnegan Biddeford-Sanford PD—Detective of Homicide at age thirty-two; one year before Jeanie would start experiencing dementia. It’s funny the way things work out sometimes; you get a promotion, your wife gets dementia. Your life improves on one level, and on another it sticks it in and breaks it off. Go figure. And you, being the detective that you are, have to look at things objectively—don’t allow yourself to be overpowered with involvement. A little hard to do when your beloved is involved.
At seventeen I had a dream that my miniature collie was hit by a truck trying to cross the road to me. He had gotten out through a hole in the fence, and decided to wander around a bit. A thoroughfare ran through my neighborhood. And when my dog’s eyes met mine, which was obviously cue to come across the street, he did so. When in reality my eyes screamed for him to stay. He didn’t. Lad was hit by the truck, pulled under the front wheels, and spit out the back. The driver didn’t stop. And through a haze of tears, I saw a bloody lump in the road, breathing laboriously.
The dream saved my dog’s life. For had it not been for the precognitive warning, my dog would have crossed the street, just as I had seen in my dream. But the feeling of de’ja’vu was exquisite, and instead of meeting my dog’s eyes, I commanded him to stay!—not to cross the street. And when the road was clear, I crossed it myself and took hold of my dog, bringing him back home safely.
De’ja’vu. It is something that I experience a lot in my line of work. Ever since the day that I prevented my dog from being a lump in the road. For as I said earlier, I have a condition.
It’s not the sort of thing that shows up in medical texts or journals, therefore it cannot be seen—not like the misfiring of neurons that take place in the brain; that can be identified in someone with a mental disorder—my condition cannot be identified, it cannot be quantified, and therefore it doesn’t exist. If I insisted that it did, the psychiatrists would diagnose me with partial schizophrenia. And who has ever heard of a detective with partial schizophrenia or otherwise?
If my condition existed, then according to brilliant minds of quantum mechanics, it would be suggested that I have been known to alter the time continuum, or time-stream, as I prefer, rather than it simply being doo-da coincidence.
No. There is no clinical definition for my condition. Although the esoterics have a word for it—two words actually; they call it: Precognitive Clairvoyance.
A term that the rational mind would balk at. And I wouldn’t blame them. It’s only natural to be skeptical, even cynical, when you hear of a condition that can only be quantified by the understanding of some psychics. If there is no scientific evidence to support the theory, that is what it remains, a theory. And we may not be able to see the wind; however we can still see evidence of it, to know that it is there. The only evidence one can see with my condition is only after the facts. And I have lived with those facts for almost twenty-five years.
Few people know of my condition, and few of them don’t take it to heart; rather they would like to believe that I am an exemplary detective, with amazing hunches at times. One who should always listen to his intuition. My partner, Aubrey knows of my condition, but she isn’t quite sure if she fully believes it or not. She has seen me doing some rather strange stuff, and come up with evidence when others have somehow overlooked it, but she still tries to write it off as intuition. Be that as it may, she hasn’t informed my superiors—nor will she—whether she believes it or not; she still believes that I’m a good detective. And a good man. She has no intention of seeing my career destroyed over something that she cannot disprove.
But detective or no, psychic or no, dreams, or PC, nothing gave me any hint concerning the case that would in time be known as the Healing Church Ministries Massacre. This rather macabre case would test my resolve as a detective, and determine the mettle of PC, even as it would push both past their conventional boundaries.
Is honor for suckers?
I wonder.
My friend Richard has honor. Integrity is something that he puts first and foremost.
And where has it gotten him?
Most of the time he doesn’t have two pennies to rub together.
An aspiring writer after twenty years of rejection, what has integrity done for him?
I know, the world doesn’t owe anybody anything.
However if it is the intention of life to see that a man has nothing, why not just let him die in the womb?
Why all the senseless suffering, trying to make something work that never will?
Dreams, aspirations, persistence; which is what those who have succeeded, tell you, that’s all you need.
Bullshit.
You also need the luck of the gods or the Devil.
However those who have it, don’t recognize it; and therefore think that if they can do it, anybody can.
And that is more bullshit.
People have accepted this fallacy as a truism.
Saying never give up.
So when does persistence suddenly turn into kicking a dead horse?
And of course it is always the individual’s fault; because there is no one to blame.
Not God, not the Devil. No one.
What people fail to realize is that there must come luck with persistence.
Without luck, the world shows just how unfair it can truly be.
And dreams and aspirations are tossed to the four winds.
And who gives a shit?
Try as hard as you like, and hope you don’t get screwed.
This is highly likely, in spite of who is running the show.
Because it isn’t what you know, it is who you know.
And coming back to the reality after the illusion can sometimes be hard to do.
It wasn’t supposed to go that way, it just did.
I fear perhaps
Art by Timothy Goodwin
Some people cannot see
Until they are struck blind…
--Earle Blessing
“This cult—that the world calls a religion, was about to start killing homeless people. They had the tools, they had the talent, and they had God running interference. They honestly believed that they were doing God a service. For to be homeless is to be living outside the light of God, without mercy, without grace. They were just taking up space, and wasting money. God wanted them dead. And this pastor, from this Podunk little town, was going to start killing them. And he would have murdered them all. The law couldn’t stop him. Just as it couldn’t stop me. But maybe he was doing God a favor. Who knows? They had already killed me.”
“So who was to stop them?”
“I was already dead. They had burned me alive.”
Oh—wait! That’s another story!
Let’s see here now…pay the ticket…take the ride…
THE LIGHT… SUICIDE NOTE OF HOMELESS PERSON IV
I searched the highways
Hedges
And stone
And found myself
Alone
A pariah
That believed in the indelible fallacy
That someone
Or some force
is tending the light
At the end
Of the tunnel…
—Author Unknown
Now, take my hand as a child
And show me which way to go…
Today four homeless people died
I was one of them
You have a lot of great ideas people
Heaven knows
But we know the only way to get anything properly done is to be in one mind and one accord—you are focusing on so many things at once—people need to learn to know when it is time to ease—ease down…
Are all the truths you are talking about, to be found at Healing Journey…?
Because there is one truth that the spirit knows that the corporeal does not: People are the Healing Power…Money is not but a servant, to be lost, used, confused, corrupted, and given… Where the spirit knows, that the best use of money is to heal…
The most exquisite integral factor of life is to be able to touch…
spirit to spirit…am I making myself clear…?
To see it is to be home…
All energy flows
According to the whims
Of the Great Magnet
But I was bipolar…
The possibility of physical and mental collapse are now very real…
Hmmmmm…now where did that come from?
I don’t know.
That is still not what I cam here to talk about.
I came to talk about “Darkness Within” and why I think you should get your copy. Now listen closely, I’m only going to say this about a dozen more times. “Darkness Within” isn’t just your average horror-story that makes “Twilight” look like a picnic. It is not just another adventure into a realm beyond your imagination, beyond the dark recesses of sanity. It is also a dark tale, where that which is ethereal is made real—an illusion that goes from a nightmare and becomes reality; where the corrupt meet punishment at the hands of demons and supernatural entities. It is an odyssey of good versus evil in unimaginable panorama of light and darkness. Buy the ticket, take the ride, to the other side of darkness within. A world within a world of darkness and oblivion. It’s also at a great price!
God—how I hate self-promotion
Howabout a little help
IF you like my work
Tell someone...
Currently your spirit resides on the ethereal plane…
This is fine, because that is where you will find the Express Train of Hidden Flame… It has my name on it--I call it the Phoenix, and you are welcome to board; you only need leave your own name with the advocate of the train, who requests that you leave your inhibitions and prejudice outside in the station… If you find any treasures while on board the train, feel free to share with someone who cares for you...
I hope that you enjoy my work… Timothy Goodwin aka; Earle Blessing…
Your kindness and grace I will humbly embrace…*~T~*
And for all you midnight riders and fliers...I offer you the Darkness and the stars...and...if you want to read something that will chill your bones, I give you "Darkness Within" and "Darkness Beyond"...It's alright if they give you a fright; you can always cuddle with friend. Nearly a paradigm of horror, which is a tall order, but then I will leave you to decide their integrity and merit...*~T~*
Yours Truly,
Timothy Goodwin AKA Earle Blessing
timadvocate005@gmail.com
Timothy has proposed a unique solution to a problem that has become a pandemic in our communities and cities. His dream is not an ethereal one, but one that is grounded in reality and has clearly defined parameters and goals. Those who, for whatever reason, have been reduced to poverty would be enabled to crawl out of that hole, which must seem to many like an abyss of despair...and make their way to "Illumination House," where they can find not only a temporary haven but a place where they will discover ways to rouse those sleeping Giants that lie within all of us. Through meaningful activities and optional religious services each man and woman can either awaken latent skills or create previously undiscovered ones -- skills that can be used to set them on their way to finding themselves; for, in finding themselves, they may become even better members of society than those who earned their degrees at some prestigious college or university.
Stephen Clothier
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