Guest author: D. G. Kaye – The Lady…


Do you believe in spirits? Have you ever sensed a ghost in your home?

Many people are skeptical about ghosts until they actually encounter an experience they have no other explanation for. I always believed in spirits. I may have been skeptical when I was younger, but through the years, I have had encounters several times with my dear father who had passed more than twenty years ago. Those encounters were enough for me to banish any skepticism I had.

My sister is very different than me in many ways, especially her beliefs in ghosts. She never acquired ‘the gift’ of having a sixth sense and many times throughout our lives, she’d laugh at my stories and tell me I was crazy, except when I told her about my visit to heaven. She believed without a doubt I had visited our father.

Something changed her beliefs though, when she moved into her current house over thirty years ago. She began to experience weird occurrences with electronics in her home. Often, her kids would watch TV in the basement and hear strange noises from upstairs when nobody else was home. Even the dogs would hide. Their TV had shut off and turned on many times through the years on its own, and they witnessed the channels changing on the TV, landing on bizarre stations, usually pertaining to death, right in the middle of watching a video on TV.

Through the years, my sister and her family began to accept the fact that a spirit was living in their home, and my sister no longer denied her belief in spirits. She had occasionally noticed an odd shadow cast on her bedroom wall which had no bearing on whether-or-not the sunlight shone through the window. She said the shadow was in the shape of a woman, whom she felt was with child. My sister presumed the Lady was the ghost in her house, which justified all the strange occurrences that often went on.

Fast forwarding to last year, something very frightening, yet bizarre happened. While my sister and her boys were out at work, a fire started in her home. It was an unseasonably hot day and her air conditioner had also been broken for quite some time. My nephew had left the controller of one of his gaming devices on his dresser when he went to work. The dresser sat across from the southern exposed window where the sun beamed through all day with the curtains wide open. According to the firemen, these controllers have the propensity to explode in extreme heat. While the house was hot, the extreme heat for hours shone through my nephew’s window and apparently caused the controller to explode.

My sister and her boys came home from work and while she started dinner, my nephew went upstairs to take a shower. He opened his bedroom door and was overwhelmed by the blackness of a smoke-filled room and the ashes still floating through the air like nuclear fallout with soot covered walls. Nothing was left unblackened in his room. He saw that the controller had melted itself into an imprint, etched deep into the dresser where the fire began. Yet, somehow it didn’t continue to spread and by some miracle extinguished itself on its own.

Look at this picture:

It is The Lady.

The same shadow my sister had seen appear on her bedroom wall for years was now branded into my nephew’s dresser top.

Although the fire went out, my sister called the fire department. The firemen couldn’t fathom how a fire could start and burn with nobody home all day, and not burn the house down.

There was no logical explanation. But my sister knew instinctively that The Lady had saved her home and her two dogs. If you look closely at the picture, you may spot a skeleton-like skull near where the stomach would be. My sister is convinced that The Lady lived on her property years ago before the land was developed, and thinks that perhaps The Lady lost a child there, keeping her spirit around, thus protecting the home.

I can’t argue with this theory. Do you have any better explanations? Have you encountered spirits?

About the author

D.G. Kaye is a Canadian nonfiction/memoir author. She was born, raised, and resides in Toronto, Canada. Kaye writes about her life experiences, matters of the heart and women’s issues.

When she isn’t writing books, you can find her on her blog at where you’ll find an eclectic mix of life lessons, rants of injustice, writing tips, book reviews, and featured interviews of guest authors. She’s known to inject humor into her work whenever it’s warranted. D.G.’s motto is: Live Laugh Love . . . And Don’t Forget to Breathe!

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Books by D. G. Kaye

Click the images or titles to find these books on Amazon

Conflicted HeartsConflicted Hearts: A Daughter's Quest for Solace from Emotional Guilt by [Kaye, D.G.]

A Lifetime of guilt — What does it take to finally break free?

“Somehow I believed it was my obligation to try to do the right thing by her because she had given birth to me.”

Burdened with constant worry for her father and the guilt caused by her mother’s narcissism, D.G. Kaye had a short childhood. When she moved away from home at age eighteen, she began to grow into herself, overcoming her lack of guidance and her insecurities. Her life experiences became her teachers, and she learned from the mistakes and choices she made along the way, plagued by the guilt she carried for her mother.

Conflicted Hearts is a heartfelt journey of self-discovery and acceptance, an exploration of the quest for solace from emotional guilt.

Read Stevie Turner’s review of Conflicted Hearts here.

MenoWhat? A MemoirMeno-What? A Memoir: Memorable Moments Of Menopause by [Kaye, D.G.]

“I often found myself drifting from a state of normal in a sudden twist of bitchiness.”

From PMS to menopause to what the hell?

D.G. adds a touch of humor to a tale about a not-so-humorous time. While bidding farewell to her dearly departing estrogen, D.G. struggles to tame her raging hormones of fire, relentless dryness, flooding and droughts and other unflattering symptoms.

Join D.G. on her meno-journey to slay the dragons of menopause as she tries to hold on to her sanity, memory, hair, and so much more!

Read Tina Frisco’s review of Meno-What? here.

Words We CarryWords We Carry: Essays of Obsession and Self-Esteem by [Kaye, D.G.]

I have been a great critic of myself for most of my life, and I was darned good at it, deflating my own ego without the help of anyone else.”

What do our shopping habits, high-heeled shoes, and big hair have to do with how we perceive ourselves? Do the slights we endured when we were young affect how we choose our relationships now?
D.G. takes us on a journey, unlocking the hurts of the past by identifying situations that hindered her own self-esteem. Her anecdotes and confessions demonstrate how the hurtful events in our lives linger and set the tone for how we value our own self-worth.
Words We Carry is a raw, personal accounting of how the author overcame the demons of low self-esteem with the determination to learn to love herself.

Read Judith Barrow’s review of Words We Carry here.

Have Bags, Will TravelHave Bags, Will Travel: Trips and Tales — Memoirs of an Over-Packer by [Kaye, D.G.]

D.G. Kaye is back, and as she reflects on some of her more memorable vacations and travel snags, she finds herself constantly struggling to keep one step ahead of the ever-changing guidelines of the airlines–with her overweight luggage in tow. Her stories alert us to some of the pitfalls of being an obsessive shopper, especially when it comes time for D.G. to bring her treasures home, and remind us of the simpler days when traveling was a breeze.
In her quest to keep from tipping the scales, D.G. strives to devise new tricks to fit everything in her suitcases on each trip. Why is she consistently a target for Canada customs on her return journeys?
D.G.’s witty tales take us from airports, to travel escapades with best friends, to reflections on how time can change the places we hold dear in our hearts. Her memories will entertain and have you reminiscing about some of your own most treasured journeys–and perhaps make you contemplate revamping your packing strategies.

Read Christoph Fischer’s review of Have Bags Will Travel here.

P.S. I Forgive YouP.S. I Forgive You: A Broken Legacy by [Kaye,D.G.]

“I hurt for her. She wasn’t much of a mother, but she was still my mother.”

Confronted with resurfacing feelings of guilt, D.G. Kaye is tormented by her decision to remain estranged from her dying emotionally abusive mother after resolving to banish her years ago, an event she has shared in her book Conflicted Hearts. In P.S. I Forgive You, Kaye takes us on a compelling heartfelt journey as she seeks to understand the roots of her mother’s narcissism, let go of past hurts, and find forgiveness for both her mother and herself.

After struggling for decades to break free, Kaye has severed the unhealthy ties that bound her to her dominating mother—but now Kaye battles new confliction, as the guilt she harbors over her decision only increases as the end of her mother’s life draws near. Kaye once again struggles with her conscience and her feelings of being obligated to return to a painful past she thought she left behind.

Read Deborah Jay’s review of P.S. I Forgive You here.

If you have had a strange experience or encounter that you would like to share, please get in touch with me at (or my usual email if you already have it) and we can discuss a guest post.

I am not looking for sensationalism or fictional tales… but in light of the response to some recent posts, I think it would be both useful and reassuring to others to realise that none of us are alone in these strange encounters and experiences and perhaps we can open discussion on what they may be or may mean.

If you would like to share your story but prefer to remain anonymous, we can discuss that too. If you would like to share your beliefs and opinions on the nature of these experiences, I would be happy to talk about a guest post. Through sharing with respect we may learn to understand our world and each other a little better.

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#WritePhoto -Dream Flow by Pamela Morse

Flowing River

Flowing River

The edges of the stones were mossy and slick.  When we tried to climb on them we slipped into the rushing current of the river.  We were carried swiftly downstream, looking for a jetty or an overhanging branch on which to cling. There were no helpful signs. The river had run away with us, and in our folly we had lost our way deep in the forrest.  The adventure had turned into a nightmare without a map or a plan.

This little hike started out with innocent curiosity about where the source of this river .  Some said the tributaries trickled down from the whole mountain range, naturally seeking the sea.  Others told stories of a hidden artesian spring deep in a cave, which was the main source of all the water we found in between the river’s banks.  It had been said in ancient times a hermit guarded the source of the spring, to keep the enemies from polluting it. The folk tales of the valley mention healing powers, even miraculous restoration of wealth and status, attributed to bathing in the river water. The hermits and the shamans kept the secret of the waters for themselves.  They stopped healing the sick, and started selling miracles to those in power at the time. After a time the spring ran dry, and the flow of the river was diminished.

Continue reading: #WritePhoto Dream Flow | mermaidcamp

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A new book from Terry Tyler… out today! #TuesdayBookBlog

Reblogged from Terry Tyler:
….the sequel to Tipping Point, which is on special offer of 99p/99c from September 26~30!  (Click book title for Amazon link.)

 Lindisfarne is now on Amazon

Vicky and her group reach the beautiful, tidal island ~
but will it be the safe haven they expect? 

Post Apocalyptic, Dystopian, mild Sci-Fi,
Government Conspiracy, some Romantic Suspense.

Continue reading: Terry Tyler: LINDISFARNE ~ my new book, out today! #TuesdayBookBlog

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Bridge of thoughts – Steve Tanham

Who knows what bridge of thoughts

May curl, combine, delight or tease

To bring the lands below

In savage joy


Source: Bridge of thoughts – Sun in Gemini

Posted in Photography, Poetry | 1 Comment

Solstice of the Moon: Where paths converge…

It had been a wonderful day, in spite of the long drive, with the delight of the sparrows on Holy Island and the magnificent stone circle at Duddo as its highlights. By the time we reached the outskirts of Edinburgh, the light was already beginning to fade.

The hotel where we really wanted to stay was full. We couldn’t book in at the second choice either… so I just booked the cheapest available guest house with a beach in the area. Other than a good breakfast, we only needed a brief stopover, so I didn’t really look. It was not until just before leaving that I printed off the booking confirmation and glimpsed the cropped picture that the cogs began to turn.

“I am sure it is that place we tried last time…” We had been unable to find a hotel on our way back from our last Scottish excursion where we didn’t quite make it as far north as we had hoped… and, for some reason, I was sure that this was one of the places we had tried in vain. It had been January, and getting late. My companion pointed out that such a coincidence would be far too random, even for us, and that the tiny sliver of building that was visible on the photo was nowhere near enough to identify anything anyway. But, sure enough, it was… the self-safe guest house, the first we had tried that night. This time, however, our booking was assured.

My birthday dinner, in another echo of that previous trip, was fish and chips…but this time, we did it right, eating them from the paper on the seafront, watching a sunset and watched by a hopeful seagull. Next morning, we had the car packed with time for a walk on the beach before breakfast. We were just starting to eat when two other guests came down… and we knew straight away there would be no early start.

There is neither logic nor reason to such meetings, just a kind of recognition. The two women who greeted us were very much on our wavelength and, by the time we left, we were leaving friends behind us. The meeting put a sparkle on the morning and was to be instrumental in putting the flesh on the bare bones of our next workshop weekend.

It would be easy to miss these moments that stand at the crossroads of possibility, but as soon as you begin to pay attention to the small synchronicities and oblique nudges from the universe, life takes on a new depth and connectedness. You simply do not know where any path or meeting might lead, but unless you are open to what they might hold and ready to follow their silent beckoning, you can go nowhere.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Solstice of the Moon: The Singing Stones of Duddo…

It was a little further out of our way than we expected… and a little farther off the road too. When we parked the car, there was no sign of the stones, just a sign saying we would need to allow at least an hour. With a long journey still ahead, we almost didn’t go… but then, we didn’t know what we might miss. Donning the boots for a tramp across damp fields, we set out, hoping the projected hour was an overestimation. When the land shifted and we saw the stones crowning the hilltop, two things were immediately obvious. An hour was a gross underestimation… and it was going to be well worth the walk.

The Four Stones of Duddo are actually five… and were once seven. There were six stones standing in 1811, but by 1852, two had fallen, with one of them finally breaking. Two sockets were found in the west of the circle during an excavation in 1890, when only four of the stones were still standing. One of the fallen stones was re-erected in its original position around a hundred years ago. It seems a little sad that the circle, which has stood here for 4200 years should suffer so much in modern times.

The hill upon which the stones stand rises alone, like an island in a ploughed sea, in the centre of a wide basin. You could imagine it appearing to float above the morning mists. In the distance are the hills of Scotland and the view from within the circle is wide.

As we walked up to the stones, we thought we could discern the last vestiges of a henge in the green circle the farmer had left unploughed. Doubtless, his predecessors had not been so gentle with the land. Later research threw up a report by the antiquarian Canon James Raine in 1852 that suggests there was also an outer circle, now lost. He recorded that the circle is “36 feet in diameter. Four stones alone are standing, the tallest of which measures 6 feet 9 inches in height, by 13 feet in girth.”

Figures alone do not and cannot give a true idea of the scale and the presence of these stones. It is not until you walk amongst them and are dwarfed by them that you begin to realise just how big they are.

They are shaped stones, tapering towards the base, which is unusual.  It had been suggested that  it is this form that gave rise to one of their names… The Ladies…  which seemed most appropriate as the subject of the workshop we were on our way to attend was ‘Maiden, Mother, Crone‘.To me, they looked like ancient teeth crowning the hill.

Made of a local sandstone, they have weathered into fantastic shapes, fluted from top to bottom after thousands of years of rain and snow.

Curiously, though, and not to this extent, we see this type of fluting on many standing stones. It may be explicable in terms of erosion alone on soft sandstone, but when you see it on pillars of adamantine millstone grit, you have to wonder if, perhaps, some carving or shaping of the stones did not help the process along.

We have seen many such stones where the fluting leaves a bowl or notch in the top of a stone, perfect for leaving offerings… and in which we often find them still today… or, as in this one, perfect for catching the sun. At the time we were there, the great orb seemed to fit perfectly into the rounded notch on the top of one stone.

Each stone has its own character and it seems as if you need only spend enough time in their silence to begin to hear them whisper. Some seem alive in a way we can almost understand, others seem far beyond our reach. One stone gazes out across the land…another looks like hands clasped and raised in prayer or supplication.

In spite of the weathering, at least two of the stones seem to have their vertical faces still adorned with simple cup-marks, those strange, mysterious depressions whose meaning is still unknown. It is thought that it is the extent of the weathering that may have given the stones their other name…the singing stones. No-one appears to have heard it, yet it is suggested that the wind on this exposed hill, playing through the fluting, might create an eldritch song.  It is possible, but is, I think, more likely that this name has an older meaning. Research at Stonehenge indicates that the great stones there may have been used to create and amplify sound. Or perhaps the stones themselves once held some acoustic quality that sent the song of its priesthood across the land.

Robert Carr found and explored a pit in the centre of the circle in 1890. The pit, around eight feet in diameter, was found to contain charcoal and bone fragments, which see to indicate a cremation burial. This too we find at many sites, though unless modern archaeological dating techniques are used, it is impossible to say for certain whether the circle marks the site of the burial or whether the stones came first.

There are so many mysteries, so many questions and so few definitive answers. Sometimes that can be frustrating, yet on the whole, I like the idea that there is so much we cannot know for certain. Certainty only closes the doors of the mind. I have a feeling that these circles were meant to open them…

Photographs: Stuart France and Sue Vincent.

Posted in albion, Ancient sites, History, Landscape, mystery, Photography, scotland road trip, Silent Eye weekend workshop, Solstice of the Moon, travel | Tagged , , | 34 Comments

Aural Sculpting III… Stuart France



…Now, this turned out to be both a blessing and a curse on

Conan because at night when he wanted to sleep the cat’s

eye was forever starting at the squeak of a mouse and the

flurry of a bird, and during the day, when he wanted to

observe the movements of a host or the gathering of an

assembly, the eye was fast close in his head in the deepest

sleep, and there was nothing that Conan could do about it.


Continue reading: Aural Sculpting III… | Stuart France

Posted in Books, The Silent Eye, Ancient sites, Don and Wen, Stuart France and Sue Vincent, geometry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment