Favorite Experience Recorded in My Journal




I loved riding along the California coast

… and enjoying the plants, so different from those of the desert and of the Midwest.

Five years before the events of this story Hubby had decided we would move back to the Midwest, and separation from folks who had given me support had been costly to my spiritual health.  Hubby felt that if I spent a couple of weeks back at the retreat on the coast I would be renewed.

He didn’t understand how I had changed in those five years.  He didn’t know that I no longer belonged in any sacred place because I would sully the vibrations.  He didn’t know, and he insisted that I go, and now it was the day of the flight.

It was a holy season, and I had enjoyed taking my time choosing flowers for it.  They were pale yellow daisies and soft white spider mums.  They were beautiful in my meditation room, arranged pure and simply with no greenery; and this morning, when I went in, my heart leaped seeing them.  My little mind knew that they must be a sign that I belonged here–not on the coast.

When Hubby led me outside I turned and saw what seemed to be a miracle nestled to the right of the door.  A couple of years before I had planted a two-foot circle of yellow daffodils there, and this day they were at the peak of their bloom but, this year, there were also wild blue and white jump-ups which had migrated over and crowded in among them and were also blooming zealously.   It was from heaven; certainly another sign that this was where I belonged, and I was miserable because of the desecration I was being forced to commit.

But  here I was, taking my beloved slow route up the coast.  The ocean and the exotic plants were there – right there — but the exultation that I thought I would never lose at seeing them was gone.

Finally I was standing at the gate, staring– and crying.  When I finally pushed it open I saw, nestled to the right of the door, a circle, about two feet across, of yellow daffodils with blue and white jump-ups crowded among them.  My mind, not quite overwhelmed, said, “How odd that such plants would be in this place. What a very strange coincidence.”




I checked in, set my bag in front of my room and hurried to the darkened little chapel where I saw, spotlighted on the altar, an arrangement of pale yellow daisies and soft white spider mums, a pure and simple arrangement with no greenery; and my heart leaped at seeing them.


Post script:  I have been unable to find a pic of jump-ups like these wild Ozark ones.  I was gifted the ones in our yard by a lady who was trying to stay the extinction of several wild flowers.  Those and their carbon copies in California are the only ones I’ve seen.

PEACE … Nelladell








I’m telling you about the affair.

My single meeting with the man was clean and bright……and burned me down.
This car I was driving was one of a line of “fifty-dollar jobbies,” vehicles so decrepit that I know the long solo trip was necessary, though the reason for undertaking the adventure is now hidden behind the events of the affair.

I was still a couple of hours from home, and had decided to take a dirt road for a few miles. I don’t know what reason my mind gave for this decision. It wasn’t a shortcut and it didn’t dodge any traffic. I certainly knew no one there.  There is no logical explanation for me being on that barely-traveled lane with a car that suddenly wouldn’t run and with darkness coming on too fast.

I vaguely wondered what experience was awaiting me while I stood gazing at the dimming empty land which, in that moment, seemed vast.

Actually, the wait wasn’t too long, and the man who stopped happened to have a well-stocked toolbox in the trunk of his car. He took a while to get my car running, then advised me to follow him to his home, where he had the proper whatever-was-needed (memory fails on this, and it’s not in my notations) to make him feel that I would have a safer trip home. I did follow him to his home, which was near a log cabin which, in turn, was near the railroad tracks.

After I drank his iced tea while he again worked under the hood he disappeared into his house, and when he returned he gave me a folded paper with his phone number so I could call him if I had trouble on the rest of my trip.

Then he handed me a bouquet of flowers.
The first thing I did when I drove into our yard was to reach into my bag for the telephone number.  It wasn’t there, and a long search didn’t turn it up.  It didn’t seem to be anywhere.
Hubby, then a mechanic, was favorably impressed when he saw the new whatever-it-was under the hood.When I drove back to thank the strange man for his selfless act I couldn’t find the log cabin and I couldn’t find anyone who knew of a log cabin.
But — I had the flowers.
PEACE : Nelladell







Something made me watch


… a movie with no recommendation at all, other than the fact that it is a Christmas movie. It turned out to be about ‘real world’ guys who play Santa. I stuck with it, all the while thinking how odd it seems (to me) that folks talk about when they stopped believing in Santa, because the unspeakable magic of Santa Claus and magical giving never was real to me until after I became an adult.


At the end of the movie, one of the Santa impersonators went to a private home after the children were asleep. The parents woke the children and carried them to a doorway where they could see and hear “Santa,” who named each child as he put the gifts from his bag under the tree. Then he ate the cookies, still talking.


After Santa had gone and the children were again tucked in, one of the parents said that the children would never forget the experience, and I, who never cry at movies, couldn’t help but cry. The Santa scene was a reminder of stories (including my experiences) of otherworldly beings who have “woken folks from their sleep,” showing them pure, loving, beautiful magic which completely changed their hearts for the better.


Becoming Santa Trailer





To prove the point PLEASE READ THIS





Louis L’amour and the Third Eye



L’amour was a very popular author

of adventure books, especially westerns. 

He wrote tough he-man stuff, and he was, himself, no stranger to the rough and tumble life, having been, among other things, a seaman and a boxer.  A tough guy. Looked tough. Was tough.

But, with all that concentration on the physical, he still showed that he was not bereft of wisdom. Here are some things he slipped into his books – things he said before it became popular to say them:

“He knew the kind of man he was. Whatever he does, one part of him stood off and watched.”

And – “No, I am no blasphemer, but something worse, I am an asker of questions.”

Having read these and other similar gems in his books, I don’t find it surprising that he talked of the power of the eyes. For instance, he more than once told of his hero, without much to hide behind when watching a camp, taking care not to stare at his enemies because that focus could cause them to look toward the source of the energy from his eyes and see him.

So – at least one tough guy was aware of the power of a stare and wrote about it.

But we now read of guys who are even tougher.  We learn of guys (and gals) who are aware of that energy of the eyes and who put it to practical use. There are many tales, for instance, of powers of Himalayan Yogis and their disciples who, with the help of a master Yogi in exactly following ancient techniques, use that power as part of their meditation practices — practices which turn them into super heroes.

On the same subject, I recall reading, in the 50’s, I think, possibly a little later, in a book about Russia’s studies on ESP, that they had learned that they could power a clock with the eyes.  A figure 8 was drawn on a board and attached to the clock.  Someone simply followed the lines of the figure 8 with his eyes.  As I recall, there was no difficult concentration involved, just the power of the focus of the eyes.








In Arizona in the 60’s I drove

across a rocky ford in the

Verde River to Dead Horse Ranch

… where I bought fresh milk from the daughter of an Apache Chief. I had great respect for her and she taught me a lot.  Indeed, I am only now realizing some of the things she was trying to tell me.

One hot day she pointed to a small flowering weed and commented that it usually waited until it was taller to put out its flowers, but that it was in a hurry this year to make seeds because it was going to be an early winter.

And the winter did, indeed, come early.

A five-inch plant, without a brain, ‘knew.’

That speaks volumes about wisdom — and about us trying to understand reality with our minds.



The Love Egg — From The Front Of My Journal



It was a nice group of teen-agers

who met virtually every night.

While their get-togethers were full of fun and laughter, unlike at most meetings of teens, the subject of their discussions was spiritual. They were very interested, not in any religion, but in spirituality.

I was often with them in their cross-legged circle on the floor and enjoyed their respect. One of them, J, and I became especially close, he always being the quickest to run and hug me upon my arrival. But he started cooling off and became cooler and cooler until one evening when I got there he turned on his heel and, with a backwards glare, slammed out of the room.

That same night I was awakened by an unheard voice saying the words, “Defend yourself,” and J was shooting me with arrows of hatred and misunderstanding. They were hitting my heart and they hurt.

I said, “How? How do I defend myself from this hatred?”

The silent voice said the words, “With love.” And I was guided – indeed, it was done for me, like a mother might guide a child’s hand in drawing a letter. I was thus guided through a process in which J was enclosed, standing, in a brilliantly glowing egg, little end down. (I have since seen a picture of this archetype looking exactly like it did that night.) The glow is love.

The arrows and the pain immediately stopped.

I got out of bed, went to the kitchen, made myself tea and sat stunned. It had to have been a dream, but I felt that I knew that it had actually happened.

The next evening when I entered the room where the boys were, J came RUNNING, gave me a gigantic bear hug, and explained that he had been really upset with me because I spent time with the boys as if their welfare was important to me, but that he had begun to be very hurt because I hadn’t sworn allegiance to their guru.

He went on to say that something had awakened him in the middle of the night immersing him in unbelievable love and in the sudden certainty that I was doing what I should be doing.

A kind of neat aside. The leader of the group, known for his psychic abilities, said, “I see arrows and an egg.” So I told them what had happened with me the night before — my own part as a student.


This is the link to the story of the reason of my incursion into their group.  It’s here:






A non-experience with an ouija board




They Can be Even Stranger

Than We Might Think

(I now prefer not to be around one)

 In the 60’s when the paranormal world was new – new to us, that is – our son, G, was so thrilled with his experience  with his two best friends and their ouija board that he rushed home to show me his discovery.

I watched G’s friends try it, but it didn’t work! So G tried it with one of them. No soap. G tried it with the other. Still didn’t work. Then I tried it with each of them, one after the other, with no results. They took it to an outside table and reported back that it was working normally, so I went out and tried it again with each of them, but — no dice.

G has never been known to lie to us. He has dodged questions, but we know of no instance when he told an untruth. So, though the subject was new to me, I believed the excited and seemingly dumbfounded boys.

 A few months later we met Jen.  I’ve told of her here: https://otherearsothertongues.wordpress.com/category/jen/ I asked her why an ouija board would fail to work for anyone in my house, and for me anywhere. She closed her eyes for a bit as she always did when seeking answers from another realm and then said that it was because I was protected.

 I later got the chance to ask Brad Steiger, who is known for his vast research into the paranormal.  He seemed pretty sure that it was because, at some time in a past life, I had an experience which caused the higher me to keep me away from such phenomena.

 I like both answers.

 Then, still later, I shot a photo, which can be seen here: https://otherearsothertongues.wordpress.com/2013/06/27/the-good-from-my-series-spirit-mesa-the-good-the-bad-and-the-ugly-photos/, and which shows, in our house, something white with a beam of light shooting from it. Thinking of the several photos I have taken which showed inexplicable things, and thinking of the fact that I have always felt protected, I like to think of this photo as an image of a protector.

 Yup. I like that idea.



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