Sunday, July 29, 2007



Death is but a Dream
By
Theresa Chaze

All things that come
will eventually pass
Each soul is born to learn and grow
Teachers and students they walk into our lives
To give us unconditional love and heal old pains
Messengers of the Goddess they guide us to the higher road
Yet as all who are born they must cross the bridge
Only their bodies have returned to the earth
The memories dwell within our hearts
But their true essence lives on to be born again.
As we have loved them in our own special way
So we are tied soul to soul and heart to heart
For when it is our time they shall be there
To greet and again guide across the bridge
Into another time and place.
Where love is alive
And death is a dream,

Furred, feathered or scaled, they come into our lives as blessings only to leave voids in our lives and our souls when they cross over. It is an inevitable truth we all have to face eventually. The joy is followed by loss, but is it forever--no. The beautiful, loving souls that come into our lives are never really gone. As with us all, their spirits rise up to rejoin with their own souls so the lessons they learned can become part of the whole. It is the way of things.
In my life I have lost four. Each of the reminded in their worn out bodies until I was ready; it was a great gift. In return, I allowed their crossing to be painless and peaceful, arranging for them to be met with unconditional love and protection as they reach the other side. Merlin was the first; his illness came on quick. I never thought I would have the strength, but it was his soul that held me together. Sasha followed a couple of years later; cancer claimed her body but could not touch her soul. Pooky, the beautiful soul who taught me unconditional love, crossed over the end of the same year. Ralphie, Sasha’s littermate, stayed with me as long as he could, but his kidneys failed March, 2005. All remain in my heart and connected to my soul. Helping them cross over was the hardest thing I ever had to do, yet their love and strength gave me the ability to let go. I couldn’t allow them to be in pain any longer; instead I took the sadness on myself and their spirits were freed.
But what to do with the body that is now an empty shell. Most bury them. My father buried Ruffles, his favorite family dog, in the back yard and bought her a headstone with all her information to mark her grave. There are also pet cemeteries becoming available across the country, complete with caskets and religious ceremonies. Others release the bodies to discretion of the vet. All of mine were cremated and the remains are on one of my alters as tributes to the lives. Still others follow the Native American tradition of a ritual burning where the loved ones build a wooden structure on which the body is place; wood is piled high beneath the funeral pyre and set on fire. The wind fans the flames causing them to reach for the heavens and spread the ashes to the four winds. It is believed that the ashes so released become part of the earth and all upon it. Which ever way you deal with the remains should give you comfort and solace; funerals are for those that remain, not for those who have crossed over..
The body is gone, but their memory and souls remain. At first, there will only be sadness and tears. But then the special moments will creep back and a smile will return to your lips. Eventually only the good times will remain. The healing will take as long as you need to; there isn’t a schedule or set list to be checked off. Talking about you loved one will help the healing process. Keeping pictures and favorite belongings out will help you and others find a way to speak of them by remembering the good times. Many establish tributes and memorials. Some do it by setting up a memorial either online or by creating a special place. For mine, I planted special trees in their memory; it a living tribute to their lives and represents their souls, which have continued to live on. It can be done online by creating web sites with pictures and information. There are sites available such as Pets lost at http://www.petloss.com/namelsts.htm, which gives grieving parents the opportunity to tell others about the beauty of their fur-kid. On my site there is a new board available for tributes and memorials to your loved ones. The address is www.theresachazecom; it is on the second page. Others become involved with local animal rescue groups, donating their time, energy and resources to help animals in need. By helping others, you can actively make a difference in those who need it the most.
So what next? You cried and grieved until the tears wash away the pain so that only the joy and love remain. No matter how painful the loss, think how empty your life would have been without them in it. You would haven’t felt the pain, but you would have missed out on all the joy, love and fun they bought into you life. When you are ready, think about adopting another. There are so many out there who need good, loving homes and you never know what miracles can happen. A year after Sasha crossed over, another calico appeared in my yard; I don’t know where she came from. I brought her in and put her in the cat enclosure. She stayed there one night. The next day she found her way out and immediately ran upstairs and curled up in Sasha favor spot in the linen closet. Her path was direct; she knew where she was going. Several months ago two kittens appeared on my back porch. Oliver is just as determined and pushy as Pooky. Timmie has the same need to cuddle and lick my nose as Ralphie. They look and act the same as before only their bodies are new and healthy. If I had not opened my heart to them, I would have again lost old friends. Blessings come in unexpected places and different packages. Being open means being blessed.

Friday, July 27, 2007





DIFFERENT PATHS--free Wiccan Ebook/short story
By
Theresa Chaze

(To download the free ebook Sisters Mothers Daughters Go to www.theresachaze.com)

She licked her lips and continued around the room in a counter clockwise direction; she held the smudge stick in front of her. The smoke gently flowed into the already smoky room. She didn’t know how to ask. Last time she convinced them against their better judgment and the situation went from bad to worse. Did she have the right to ask them to fix a problem she had intensified?
“Angie, it’s getting thick.”
“I’m smudging.”
“It’s a full moon meditation, not an exorcism!” Jackie waved her hand in front of her face, in an attempt to clear the air.
Angie stopped at the window and opened it. The smoke was immediately drawn out. “Better?”
“It’ll help.” Alyssa placed a low table in the center of the room. Standing, she tossed her hair back over head, allowing the blonde curls to fall naturally back down to her waist. She spread a white silk cloth on top and put a large, white candle in the center. “The food’s ready.” Shanna walked out of the kitchen. Untying her shoulder length hair, she ran her fingers through the chestnut colored strands, half scratching, half massaging her scalp. “Need help?”
“Yes.” Jackie laughed and pointed to the smudge stick. “Take that away from her.”
“I get the hint.” Angie reluctantly buried the burning end in the soil of the fig tree and opened another window. She leaned against the frame and looked out.
The lawn was brightly lit by the moon. The forest beyond beckoned as the moonbeams danced off the breeze blown leaves, hinting at the possibility of joining the little people of old in their nightly dance. The last of the lilacs were fading along with the rest of the spring flowers, yet their scent still flavored the air with a sweetness comparable to the first bloom.
Angie inhaled; she smelled the coming of a rain shower. She guessed it was still a couple of hours away. They’d have time to meditate, do ritual and eat afterwards before the rain turned Shanna’s driveway to mud.
Angie had always admired them. They were older and had shared things that were no longer possible. Shanna Marie Semion, athlete, free-lance writer, tarot reader. She owned--Angie immediately corrected herself--borrowed from Mother Earth this ten acres for herself and her shepherd, Chester. Angie marveled how she seemed to be able to hide the house when she didn’t want company. Alyssa Lee--a blonde haired, blue eyed, long legged beauty, who had blazoned her own trail through motherhood, marriage, co-dependency and divorce without straying far from her spirituality. Angie had met her through her daughter, Danielle, but the friendship with the mother lasted longer than with the daughter. Danielle's path twisted in a direction Angie hadn’t found appealing. They were not enemies, nor could they still be considered friends; they were simply polite when they happened to meet. Jacqueline McCloud known to most simply as Jackie introduced her to the miracles of massage therapy and to love without the barter system. She is the only person Angie had ever met who was completely at peace with herself. By most standards, she was not beautiful until you looked into her deep brown eyes; there you found a mixture of impish elf and the wisdom of an Archangel. She would love to bear a child, preferably a daughter, but if it never happened, she’s still considered herself completely blessed and fulfilled.
Why they found her interesting, Angie didn’t understand. She was a college educated woman, who had dreams of writing movies, but the only job she could land was manufacturing clocks. She had written two screenplays. She had found an agent. Everything was done right. Yet nothing happened. So she made phone calls on her own, verbally knocking on doors across country, but none of the beautiful people would open the door or come out to play with her.
“Angie?”
Startled, Angie turned, bumping her head and breaking the train of thought. Alyssa stood next to her. Jackie and Shanna knelt by the table; both were looking at her.
“What’s the matter? You were a million miles away.” Jackie sat back on her heels.
Angie licked her lips and lowered her eyes, trying to decide if she should ask for their help or try to handle the problem on her own. “I was thinking.”
“So we noticed.” Alyssa rubbed her shoulder.
“Give her some space. She might not want to share.”
Alyssa looked over her shoulder at Shanna. “I think she does.” Turning back, she lifted Angie’s chin so their eyes met. “But you don’t have to. You thoughts are always your own.”
“I don’t know how to ask.”
Jackie patted the floor beside her, her silver rings tapping against the oak floor. “You can start by sitting down.”
Angie tried to walk to the table.
Alyssa held on to her chin, forcing her to remain. “Angie, we are all equals here. Don’t try to make less of yourself or your accomplishments. Sometimes we have to learn other things before we can reach our true goals.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but it echoed within Angie’s soul. “You’ve come a long way in four years.”
Feeling the tears well up, Angie closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt the warmth of Alyssa's hug. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the older woman and held on.
“Jeez, what’s with the water works?”
“Shanna” Alyssa warned. “It’s obviously important to her.”
Feeling foolish, Angie slowly pulled away and nodded. She tried to smile, but another tear rolled down her cheek.
Alyssa wiped it away and led her to the center of the room. Crossing her long legs, she sat down opposite to Shanna. Angie sat next to her, only farther from the table. She leaned against the sofa and brushed her nose with the back of her sleeve. Swallowing and blinking back the tears, Angie tried to find her center. She wanted to calmly explain. Pulling her knees close to her chest, she hugged them. She looked from one to another. “We-I made a mistake.”
“Won’t be the first. Won’t be the last.” Jackie quipped back. “Some of my best lessons came out of them.”
“Mine too.” Shanna chimed in.
“Everyone makes them.” Alyssa shifted her position. “What did you do or not do?”
“My co-worker, Ronda. I asked you to help her. Remember?”
Shanna uncrossed her legs, accidentally kicking the leg of the table. The candle wobbled and she steadied it. “She was treating everyone poorly.”
“You thought it was because she had such bad luck.” Jackie leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and cupping her chin in her open palm. “So we did a luck and prosperity spell for her. Didn’t it work?”
“It worked. Too well. She won a new car. Two small lotteries. She was promoted to supervisor--”
Cocking her head to one side, a furrow formed between Alyssa's eyes. “What’s the problem? We helped her.”
“But hurt everyone else, including myself.” Angie tightened her hold on her legs to the point of discomfort, but she used it as a focus point to hold back the tears. “The more she was blessed, the meaner she got. Because of her three people were fired. Two suspended. Production has dropped.”
Jackie sat straight up. “In a month?”
“A month real time. Forever to us at the plant. Everyone’s angry. Frustrated.”
“Did you send something big, bad and ugly after her?”
Alyssa's bluntness didn’t surprise Angie. She knew after some of the things Danielle and she had done, the question had to be asked. She could see it in all their eyes. There was a time her anger would have brought forth her own definition of justice. Only it wouldn’t have been limited to Ronda, but included everything and everyone she cared about. It was a path she no longer found appealing. “I thought it. Of how easy it would be to take it all away. Her job. Her home. Her family. Make her afraid to go to sleep at night. I thought it.” But quickly added. “I banished the thought into nothingness.”
Slowly Shanna exhaled in a low whistle, as if she had been holding her breath.
“So what do you want to happen?” Alyssa continued.
“Justice.”
“What kind of justice?”
“I don’t know Alyssa. I don’t have the proper perspective. I’m too close. This could be a grand karmic lesson. Or it could just be a backlash from what we did.” Angie shook her head. “I’ve made so many angry mistakes. I wanted to help. But it looks like I did more harm than good. My intentions were pure. Which is why I intervened.”
“Could that be the lesson?” There was an angry bite to Shanna’s question.
Frustrated, Angie looked across the table. “If it’s my lesson, why hurt everyone else?”
“Maybe that is part of the karma?” The bite of her tone became more of a slap. “To not interfere with another’s lesson.”
“Somebody had to do something!” Angie glared back. “I was trying to help!”
“Calm down both of you.” Alyssa snapped, shooting warning looks at both of them. “Shanna, I know you were against us interfering. But what’s done is done. Agreed?”
Silently Shanna looked out the window.
“Agreed?” She repeated.
Slowly Shanna’s head turned to meet her gaze. After a moment, she nodded.
Alyssa turned back to Angie. “You’re right. It was your mistake. It’s your lesson. How are you going to fix it?”
“I don’t know.”
“We could--”
“No, Jackie. She has to do it herself.” Alyssa cut her off. “In the past, she responded with psychic violence and violation. She knows better now. It’s time she walks the walk, not just talks the talk.”
“True.” Jackie leaned back away from the table, as if she was removing herself from the situation.
“Shanna?”
Shanna shifted her sitting position so her legs crossed in front of her while leaning back on her arms. “I will not help or hinder.”
“Thank you.” Again Alyssa turned to Angie. “Talk it out.”
“I don’t know how.”
“What did we do last time?”
“Jackie! No help from the peanut gallery!”
“Back off Ally! She’s new at this.”
“No she isn’t!” Alyssa counter. “This is the place she always stumbles. This time she has to learn.” She returned her attention to Angie. “You can do it. Center yourself and think.”
Angie licked her lips and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize. Nothing came. It remained dark and frightening. A voice from the past whispered, reminding her how good revenge felt--how easy it was. “No!” She screamed internally. The voice laughed, telling her she could never change. She forced herself to breathe through the rising panic. She focused on the beating of her own heart.
The wind blew through the open window. She felt the sudden coolness raise goose bumps on her arms. The storm was closer than she thought. She could imagine the lightning cutting through the night sky, illuminating the trees and the yard. Suddenly she was standing on the front porch, watching the wind whip through the trees. The dark clouds covered the brightness of the moon. She was alone, yet not. Two dark silhouettes stood a few yard of the porch. One was full off hate and anger; the other radiated love. Lightning flashed. She saw their faces. She stepped off the porch and walked toward them. Their faces kept changing. The angry one’s alternated between Ronda, Danielle and herself. The other wore the faces of Jackie, Alyssa and herself as a child. Angie froze. They frightened her. The loving woman beckoned her. She wanted to run to her, but she couldn’t--not yet. First she had to make peace with the other. She hesitated, and then slowly on unsteady feet she crossed the distance between them.
Laughing the woman slapped her. “You can’t get rid of me.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you.”
The woman tried to strike her again. Angie caught her wrist and pulled her close. “No matter what you have done, I accept you.”
She melted into Angie, filling her with an onslaught of violent images and an incredible loneliness. The memories from other lives flooded over her. Betrayals, both hers and others. Being left behind. The blaming. The shame. All building into a wave of rage propelled by fear. She breathed, allowing the emotions to fill and pass over her. She accepted them as her own. She felt tired and off center. The other woman reached out and touched her shoulder. Slowly she met her gaze. It was like hot chocolate and a favorite blankie on a cold winter night. The woman embraced her and they fused into one. Like the warmth of the sun after a turbulent storm, the love she shared dried the tears and melted away the shadows, which gave the fear its strength. All the empty spots were filled. The wisdom of the moment brought clarity and understanding to the question--Why?
Angie opened her eyes. She was alone at the table. Shanna and Jackie stood at the open front door, quietly talking and watching the approaching storm. Alyssa stood at the window, looking through the screen. In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Angie stood and stretched. She felt stiff, but strangely at peace with herself. It was a feeling she had been missing for her whole life. Taking a step closer, she watched Alyssa's gaze shift to meet her reflection’s eyes.
“You’re back.” Alyssa didn’t turn to face Angie, but continued to make eye contact with her reflection. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you.”
“Danielle won’t let you help her.”
“The two of you were so very much alike. Bright. Beautiful.”
“Angry. Frustrated. Lonely.”
“She is my daughter and there is nothing I can do to make her happy.”
“It’s her path. Only she can change it.”
Slowly Alyssa pivoted on her toes. The moonlight gave her a halo. “What have you learned?”
“Did you see?”
Alyssa shook her head. “It was private.”
Angie licked her lips. “I saw...” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know how to explain. “I learned--I understand--”
Jackie stepped into the room with Shanna closely behind. Alyssa held up her hand; they stopped.
Angie looked briefly at Jackie; she smiled and nodded, encouraging her to continue. Returning her attention to Alyssa, she took a deep breath and just let the words tumble out. “There were two women. One angry. She didn’t like me. Her face changed from Ronda to Danielle to mine. She slapped me, but I wouldn’t back away. I embraced her and she became part of me. I saw the before. Why she was so angry? Why she wanted to hurt others? They had hurt her--betrayed her trust. Time after time the ones she loved turned on her. It was the rage and the need for revenge, which kept her strong. It was all she had left.”
Alyssa quickly turned away and looked out the window.
“I felt alone and unlovable. The other woman reached out to me. She had your face, Alyssa, and Jackie’s and my own as a child. She embraced me and all the love came back. All the times it was offered, but I couldn’t accept. It was all there waiting for me to be open to it.”
“So what did you learn?” Jackie asked from across the room.
Confused, Angie again closed her eyes and concentrated on the rapidly fading images. The rage and the fear. The unconditional love. The melding of the two. She felt dizzy. She opened her eyes. There was pressure in the middle of her forehead. She focused on it. Before her, images kept appearing and combining in different combinations. Frustrated, she shook her head. They disappeared. All was dark and quiet. Inhaling and exhaling, she found her center and the words flowed out. “Everyone we meet is a lesson. A reflection of part of ourselves that we must grow though.” She breathed deeply and opened her eyes. The world seemed to move in slow motion.
Outside, in the distance lightning flashed. In that instant, Angie knew they’d be spending the night. She licked her lips; they were salty. “The lesson,” her voice sound scratchy to her own ears, “is that Ronda, Danielle, even myself represent the dark things I’ve done--my need to dominate others to prevent them from hurting me. By accepting them, I accepted the responsibility. Jackie, Alyssa and my younger self are unconditional love and total forgiveness. The ability to love without expectation or strings.”
Shanna walked around Jackie and stood directly in front of Angie. “Now what do you want to happen at work?”
Without flinching, Angie looked directly into her hazel eyes. “Justice. Pure and simple. I don’t have to name the specifics or the players. I don’t have to see it. I don’t have to be involved. I don’t have know any of the details beyond what I owe for interfering.”
“So mote it be!” Jackie and Shanna spoke at once. They quickly looked at each other and laughter over took them, breaking the moment.
“So much for the full moon ritual.” Jackie shrugged and curled up in a chair. “We should eat and split while we can.”
“It’s not to late.” Angie countered. “Everyone had something they wanted work on.”
Shanna shook her head. “Half the group is burnt out.”
“I’m sorry.” Angie yawned. She longed to curl up on the sofa or just go home to bed. But she needed to talk to Alyssa, preferably alone. She looked over her shoulder at Alyssa then back at Shanna.
Shanna nodded and quickly stood. “Jackie, help me get the food ready.”
“You said it was done.”
Crossing the room, she propelled Jackie toward the kitchen. “I gotta show you something.”
Angie didn’t know if she should speak; Alyssa was obviously on her own journey. But it couldn’t wait. She needed to say it; her inner voice told her Alyssa needed to hear it. She walk up beside her until her image in the glass stood next to Alyssa's.
“What you said was beautiful.”
“I was inspired.” Angie bit her lip. “Alyssa, Danielle knows you love her. She told me many times how it was the one thing she could depend on.” She hesitated, not knowing how to say it. “Be careful how you pray for her. Send her your love and support--”
“But don’t try to choose her path.” Alyssa straightened and slowly pivoted. “That’s the hard part. I see her hurting herself and I want to protect her.”
“You can’t. Not really.”
“Only she can find the path out of the darkness.”
“You speak from experience.”
Angie nodded. “She’ll find her own way when she is ready. As I did.”
Alyssa sadly smiled. “That’s the problem.”
“No.” Angie winked at her. “Remember you told me endlessly...we don’t have problems, we have challenges.”
“Challenges are positive growth spurts.” Alyssa nodded and hugged her.
From the kitchen, Jackie shouted. “They’re hugging. Can we come out now?”
With a loud clap of thunder, the clouds released their cargo. Rain slapped against the screens. Moving in unison, Alyssa and Angie moved to close the windows. Reaching for the latch, Alyssa stopped and looked at Angie. She couldn’t read what the older woman was thinking, but she got the impression she wasn’t the only one who had been healed.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Democratic You Tube Debate--A successful experiment.


The Democratic You Tube Debate not only informed the public what the candidates stood for, but also revealed who they are as people. It showed who had the courage to answer the uncomfortable questions and who chose to dodge with clever dialogue or stubborn antagonism. Most of the candidates came off as wise, clever professionals who had the country’s best interests at heart. Clinton, Edwards and Obama benefited the most. All three were well informed and approached the questions with courage and directness. The three of them clearly had an energy and mutual respect connection. However, Senator Mike Gravel came off as angry and bitter; his focusing on the money came off more as sour grapes than any real concern for political change. The rest of the candidates made themselves and their issues more real to the public by not only showing their knowledge about the challenges the country faces, but also their human side and their passion for change.
Senator Hillary Clinton came off as very practical, informed and human. Those who have called her cold and distant in the past will have difficulty finding traction in the future. Senator Clinton was quick and direct with her answers. She clearly was attempting to be not only the leader of the pack but the unify factor between them. The only time this became a negative was at the end when she refused to directly say anything about Senator Obama. Her body language while he spoke and the issues they agree upon revealed the great respect she has for him. However, her refusal to directly address him was more of a political ploy than a personal snub. It was quite evident she likes him as a person and as a public servant, yet he is the one nipping at her heels. The quips with Senator Edwards about her jacket also showed their underlying respect for each other. It seemed to be a private joke between them. Senator Clinton’s laughter was not only genuine, but gave the public a peek into her as person. It was an unguarded moment, which showed the person behind the politician. Her willingness to address the environment issues directly were to her credit, as were her realistic expectations about the withdraw from Iraq. She took the time to investigate the practical limitations and challenges of moving not only personal, but also the equipment and civilian staff.
Senator John Edwards was also very informed, direct and sensible. His focus on poverty, the environment, and health care spoke directly to the needs of majority of the country. His video revealed not only his wit, but also the silliness of his critics. However, he did fall a little short on the foreign issues. It was not so much of what he said, but his lack of participation that caught my attention. He was never really engaged on the topic; however, he was very passionate on health care, the environment, alternative energy and education. It was very evident that his knowledge and passion lies with domestic issues. The changes Senator Edwards proposes in alternative energy are quite doable with the current technology. In addition, his comments on his religious beliefs showed his respect for civil rights and the need of a president to represent the whole country not just special interest groups. He is very passionate about helping lift up the disadvantaged of the country, not as a political agenda, but to fulfill a promise he made to himself and his God. He sees this country’s strength coming from its diversity, its civil rights, and its heart. His shining moments can when he answered the difficult questions, not by dodging them but by defining them on a more specific level that addressed the underlying issue.
Senator Barack Obama has a fresh perspective on the political arena. He sees the web of corruption behind the political scene and how the conglomerates have corrupted the country for their own greedy ends. Repeatedly he pointed out how the oil, drug, and insurance companies have been given special political privileges, which have hurt the individual as well as the pubic in general. However, instead of allowing his frustration and anger to dominate, he has channeled his energy into alternative solutions. His approach to the questions presented to him and his stance the issues is very reminiscent to that of Bobby Kennedy. Like Senator Edwards, his is focused on the health care, education, and the environment, but he was more outspoken on internationals issues. This could have simply been the result of the questions asked him. Although, he was questioned more on foreign policy, his answers revealed his inexperience as well as his passion to restore the country’s image worldwide.
Senator Joe Biden could be best described as practical. His solutions to both the country’s and the world issues are realistic. Although he is very passionate about resolving the conflict in Iraq, he understands the challenges involved in bringing personal and equipment home. He also was the most military supportive of the candidates; by asking that the military have the most effective technology and equipment, he’s focus is on getting the job done, while keeping personal safe. Unlike the current administration, he doesn’t see military personal as expendable. On occasion, his frustration with several other candidates seeped through the political facade on this topic. The conflict in Darfur changed his perspective of the world and made him question his own values. It was a turning point in his life that changed his personal and professional ambitions. With his experience and knowledge, he would be an excellent organizer of the withdrawal from Iraq as well as determining which world issues the country should become involved in.
Governor Bill Richardson was also greatly influenced by Darfur. The cease fire between al-Bashir and leaders of several rebel factions was only one of his diplomatic successes. As with Senator Biden, his trips to Darfur have changed him. But instead of becoming angry, he uses the energy to create alternative solutions. His passion for change and for peace made some of his solutions unrealistic, especially when it comes to troop withdrawal. He was knowledgeable about country’s issues. As Governor of New Mexico, he has already created changes in the educational system, energy resources and civil rights. Although he supported the marriage act, he fully supports civil unions. He is very protective of civil liberties; medical, religious, lifestyle, and legal rights are not optional nor is it the governments business to made personal decisions for the individual.
Senator Christopher Dodd is politically aware and sees the broad picture in foreign affairs, yet his solutions aren’t sensible or feasible. His long political service gives him the inside practical knowledge of how the system works and helps him navigate the turbulent waters of personal egos and special interests. When he was the new kid on the block, he had the spunk to fight windmills, yet that passion has mellowed into practical solutions and the ability to compromise. He believes that a nationwide public service program will redirect the growing lethargy of the American public and reigniting their patriotism as well as reawakening the nation’s adventurer spirit. Although he originally supported the war, he changed his position when the truth came out. He as since become an outspoken advocate of holding President Bush fully responsible for eroding the nation’s reputation and for the increase terrorist threat around the world.
Former Senator Mike Gravel focus on following the money, initially came off as sour grapes as he financially failed to gain traction. He came off angry and frustrated, yet it was only by listening to him and doing research that I found that wasn’t the source of his anger. He has spent decades fighting political corruption only to find the same issues reappearing. He has fought for truth in government and personally helped end the draft. He fought for alternative energy while it was unpopular to do so. He took on the White House and forced them make the Pentagon Papers public. His long service has been exceptional; yet he no matter how much work he has done, nothing seems to change except the faces of the politicians. Many of the same issues he fought for and against at the beginning of his career have again resurfaced as if nothing had been achieve. It would make anyone angry to look back at their career with all the personal and professional sacrifices only to find that so little has changed.
Representative Dennis Kucinich is a one issue candidate. Every issue relate back to the war. His is the only candidate who has consistently voted against the war, but that is all he could really talk about. Every topic was quickly diverted back to Iraq and how he was right. Although he was very passionate, he offered no realistic solutions to domestic or foreign issues. He is strong advocate of civil freedoms, alternative energy sources, and the environment; however, his stances on these issues get lost in the passion to end the war.
The experiment was an over all success. Candidates were able to speak out on the issues and the public was able to get to know them without the preparedness of the traditional debates. Generally the candidates knew what the topics would be, the questions were not screened and their responses for the most part were spontaneous. Although there was some disagreement on the details, all the candidates supported the withdrawal from Iraq, alternative energy, restructuring the educational system and civil rights. Their combined message was that of hope through positive change. For the most part, all the candidates benefited as did the public.

Monday, July 23, 2007



Free Fantasy Ebook: Sisters Mother Daughters-
The Complicated Relationships Between Women


By
Theresa Chaze

Valkyrie Publishing announces the release of the free ebook by Theresa Chaze, Sisters, Mothers, Daughters. Using the fantasy genre, the short stories explore the complicated and ever changing relationships between women. Other worlds, differing religions, and political view points come together as women explore themselves and their life’s path. Sometimes controversial, sometimes frightening this collection of short stories reveals the multi-dimensional spirit of the every changing woman.

Seize of honor is an other worldly tale of how Kelly O’Dell accidentally killed the children of the natives she is attempting to communicate with them to save her people. It was an accident. She never intended to harm anyone, but natives knew she was responsible. They laid the body of one of the children on her door step and pointed their finger at her. Her comrades didn’t understand why. Kelly knew but she lied. Even after the natives attacked, killing most of their party, she kept silent. She couldn’t tell them the truth. At best they would abandon her to the natives’ justice; at worse they would notify command when the rescue team arrived. Either way, she would be as dead; the only question would be is how long and how painful the end would be. To save herself and her people, she must find a way to restore her honor by making the natives understand it was only an accident.

Resa has died, yet her spirit did not move on. Knowing her birth family would attempt to steal her property from those she had gifted it to and inflict their beliefs on her, she refused to cross over. They had tried every legal means available, but this time, she was ready for them. The everything was iron clad. Her wishes would be obeyed; her sisters of spirit would insure her final desires would be followed down to the last detail. In It’s my Funeral, I’ll Disco If I Want, Resa has prearranged her own funeral according to her Wiccan beliefs. Caroline, her spirit guide to the Summerland and long time friend, arrives to escort her to the other side, only find that Resa refuses to leave until after her funeral. Instead she wants to watch as her frustrated birth family is forced to accept in death what they couldn’t accept about her in life.

Politically relevant and controversial, And Freedom For All, projects into the future what life will be like once the religious right has gained power over the United States. Laws are in acted and interpreted according to their Christian doctrine, leading to the over turn of Roe vs. Wade and to a great division between the states. Pregnant by a man who sees her more as possession than a partner, Daphne asks childhood friend, Melanie to help her to escape to a free state. To retain control over her own body, Daphne leaves nearly everything behind and flees for her freedom. Together they must avoid the Pre-born Police, who arrest women they believe are pregnant to prevent them from leaving the Christian controlled states. Three borders and hundreds of miles to cross stretch between them and freedom as they do their best to avoid detection and capture. As they escape, Melanie and Daphne become part of a movement that will once again divide the country.


These are only examples of the tales told in Sisters Mothers Daughters as women strive to understand themselves and each other. Each of these women must look to their own hearts and ask themselves--am I strong enough?

Sisters Mothers Daughters is available at www.theresachaze.com. In addition, there are excerpts of Theresa Chaze’s novels, Awakening the Dragon and Dragon Domain, and other short works. Valkyrie Publishing distributes a monthly spiritual ezine, Messages From the Universe and the ebook versions of both Ms Chaze’s novels.

Theresa Chaze has been described as the woman who plays with dragons, especially the dragons of the mind. She leads her readers to magical realms and others worlds. Her work is based on her philosophy that all peoples can live together in peace as long as we come from respect, not only for ourselves but those who follow different paths or beliefs. Her work has been compared to Marion Zimmer Bradley and Anne McCaffrey with an adult version of Harry Potter mixed in. Theresa Chaze's major works so far include the first two novels of the Dragon Clan Trilogy and a free fantasy ebook called, Sisters, Mother, Daughters. Her screenplay, Never Can Say Good-bye, is one of the 2006 winners of the Gloria Film Festival. She publishes an ezine called, Messages From the Universe, which is available on her site www.theresachaze.com.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

The Good Old Boys’ Club--

Give them an inch and they’ll steak a mile

By

Theresa Chaze





One only has to look to the media to see how the fight between the Piscean Age and the Aquarian is manifesting. Although the tide is slowly turning, the male dominated Piscean is not going into the sweet good night. No longer is the violence against women, children and minorities tolerated or accepted as "boys will be boys" as the behaviors are casually dismissed. With the coming of the new age, those who do violence against others are publicly held responsible for their actions. As the era of "good old boys club" comes to a close, the violence against those they consider lesser than themselves will temporarily increase, but like all social and economic structures, whose authority comes from violence, they will eventually fall victim to their own power struggles.

This can be seen in the increasing the blatant disregard for the truth by the current administration, and the increasing attacks against women, children and minorities. The violence is all about control. Who has it? Who wants it? Who wants to keep it? White, Christian men no longer have the final say or the ultimate power in the home, the work place or in society. With the advent of birth control and the legalization of abortion, women now have control over their reproductive system, which has given them financial independence. No longer are they dependant on men for their economic security. No longer to they need to accept the bad behavior of the men in their lives, because they are now self sufficient and independent. Children are no longer possessions but individuals with rights and wills of their own. They are no longer cheap labor, who are unprotected subjects of physical, emotional and sexual abuse. Interfamilial child sexual abuse refers to sexual abuse, which has been perpetrated by blood or legal relative. In the past, abusers were convicted under incest laws, which carry lower penalties; however, several states have enacted legislation that penalized the abuser the same as a stranger. Whether gender, religious or ethnic, minorities have and are continuing to gain the equal rights, which are protected by law and are reinforced by an increasing percentage of the public. No longer legally deprived of educational and employment opportunities, minorities have become active political forces using not only their political voices, but also their economic power to make changes. All these changes have created a black lash of violence and intimidation by those who have been forced to share power.

In the last few years, violence against woman has increased. However, instead of being excused or ignored, the stories have not only made front page, but have refused to go away. In the past, violence against women was down played. The women were blamed for the harm done to them. It was her fault she was raped: she shouldn’t have been there. She asked for it by dressing or acting so sexy. The wife’s behavior “forced” her husband to beat or kill her. Although the results have changed, the behaviors in many "men" have not. Woman and children have more options and more rights, but the violence against them has increased. Jessie Marie Davis is only the latest incident of a husband or significant other using murder as a way t prove he is superior. The kidnappings in Wisconsin are further examples of how a small number of men in this country still see woman as possessions to be used or abuse at their slightest whim. However, instead of the articles being relegated to the back of the papers orthe information being ignored, the stories are leads. The public is no longer accepting excuses from the perpetrators and are demanding the highest level of punishment.

Children have also been under attack physically, emotionally and spiritually. No longer safe to molest their own children, abusers have sought and found children out side their homes. Many children and young adults have disappeared only to be found later dead. Traditionalist, under the guise of protecting children, are attempting to limit what kind of information they have access to. Medical, spiritual and educational opportunities are under attack as a way of limiting knowledge and life experience. By regulating the learning opportunities, they are more able to spread their own bigotry, ignorance and keep control over their children. However, laws like Jessica’s Law sets mandatory sentencing guidelines and places limits on abuser after release. Megans Law forces those convicted of a sex offense to register with local law enforcement and makes the information available to the public. In addition, laws have been enacted to protect children from neglect and abuse. Emotional and spiritual abuse is more difficult to regulate and harder to prove. When parents or family members degrade and verbally attack, they don’t leave physical signs. There are no bruises or broken bones. However, the spiritual and emotional damages are just as great and long lasting. Frequently, it can only be discover after it has started reflecting in the child’s behavior. Teaching hate, bigotry and aggressive behavior is emotional and spiritual abuse. It not only creates angry children, but limits their opportunities and ability to interact in society. By keeping the educational system focused on not only fulfilling the basic requirements, but forcing it to provide a safe, diverse learning arena, the cycle of hate and bigotry can be broken.

Although lynchings are now the exception, not the rule, discrimination is still prevalent. The only difference is that it has become more subtle. From the denial of right to marry for gays to the refusal by the Veteran’s Administration to approve the pentacle on soldiers’ grave markers, minorities still have to fight for rights others take for granted. The glass ceiling still prevents minorities from reaching their full potential, while the good old boy’s club promotes those who are less qualified. Profiling and the Patriot Act give the bigots the excuse they have been looking for openly express their racism. Harassment of women, people of color and non-Christians has been rising; however, the technological advances have also given them ammunition to fight back. Cell phones that are capable of recording video and sound have exposed many abusive law enforcement officers and have forced the legal system to change. If the abuse is on tape, it can’t be denied or explained away by the officer. Although homosexuals have been denied the right to a legal marriage, many states are enacting domestic partnership legislation that gives nearly the same legal rights between same sexed couples. After ten years of legal hearings and massive public support, the Circle Sanctuary has finally forced the VA to accept the pentacle as a religious symbol. Technology has also opened the door for small and home based businesses that not only offer diverse opportunities for those who couldn’t break through the gender or ethic limitations, but have made competitors out of one-time employees. Computers, cell phones and the internet have created more options for work locations and scheduling. No longer are individuals limited to the 9 to 5 routine or being forced to go into the office. Instead they have created successful home based businesses or work spaces that makes them economically secure and individually independent.

Yet, the battle continues. For as much as there have been gains, there is still much to be fought for. Although there have been many positive changes in society, now is not the time to relax or get comfortable with the status quo. The good old boys’ club continues to openly fight to regain supremacy by attacking the rights of those they see as lesser than themselves. They use violence, bigotry and manipulation to create fearful situations that give them the upper hand. If we give an inch back to them, it will only encourage them to try to take a mile.
Choices of the Gods--Sometimes you just want the dragon to win


Friday, July 20, 2007


My Mother’s Voice
By
Theresa Chaze

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said at last
her time had passed.
I have begun to face my fears.

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said don’t be sad.
Please don’t be mad.
I have found peace over here.

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said to forgive.
It’s your time to live.
This life is all yours my dear.

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said release your fears,
wipe away your tears,
It is time to reach for your goals.

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said do not forget.
Try not to regret.
Please allow yourself to become whole.

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said to find peace
you must release
the anger hidden in your soul.

I thought I heard my Mother’s voice tonight whispering
in my inner ear.
She said it was time to leave.
But try to believe
I will never be far
No matter where you are.
My love will guide
and try to provide
the love and grace
to try to ease
the pain and tears
you felt through the years.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Death is but a Dream
By
Theresa Chaze

All things that come
will eventually pass
Each soul is born to learn and grow
Teachers and students they walk into our lives
To give us unconditional love and heal old pains
Messengers of the Goddess they guide us to the higher road
Yet as all who are born they must cross the bridge
Only their bodies have returned to the earth
The memories dwell within our hearts
But their true essence lives on to be born again.
As we have loved them in our own special way
So we are tied soul to soul and heart to heart
For when it is our time they shall be there
To greet and again guide across the bridge
Into another time and place.
Where love is alive
And death is a dream,

Furred, feathered or scaled, they come into our lives as blessings only to leave voids in our lives and our souls when they cross over. It is an inevitable truth we all have to face eventually. The joy is followed by loss, but is it forever--no. The beautiful, loving souls that come into our lives are never really gone. As with us all, their spirits rise up to rejoin with their own souls so the lessons they learned can become part of the whole. It is the way of things.

In my life I have lost four. Each of the reminded in their worn out bodies until I was ready; it was a great gift. In return, I allowed their crossing to be painless and peaceful, arranging for them to be met with unconditional love and protection as they reach the other side. Merlin was the first; his illness came on quick. I never thought I would have the strength, but it was his soul that held me together. Sasha followed a couple of years later; cancer claimed her body but could not touch her soul. Pooky, the beautiful soul who taught me unconditional love, crossed over the end of the same year. Ralphie, Sasha’s littermate, stayed with me as long as he could, but his kidneys failed March, 2005. All remain in my heart and connected to my soul. Helping them cross over was the hardest thing I ever had to do, yet their love and strength gave me the ability to let go. I couldn’t allow them to be in pain any longer; instead I took the sadness on myself and their spirits were freed.

But what to do with the body that is now an empty shell. Most bury them. My father buried Ruffles, his favorite family dog, in the back yard and bought her a headstone with all her information to mark her grave. There are also pet cemeteries becoming available across the country, complete with caskets and religious ceremonies. Others release the bodies to discretion of the vet. All of mine were cremated and the remains are on one of my alters as tributes to the lives. Still others follow the Native American tradition of a ritual burning where the loved ones build a wooden structure on which the body is place; wood is piled high beneath the funeral pyre and set on fire. The wind fans the flames causing them to reach for the heavens and spread the ashes to the four winds. It is believed that the ashes so released become part of the earth and all upon it. Which ever way you deal with the remains should give you comfort and solace; funerals are for those that remain, not for those who have crossed over.

The body is gone, but their memory and souls remain. At first, there will only be sadness and tears. But then the special moments will creep back and a smile will return to your lips. Eventually only the good times will remain. The healing will take as long as you need to; there isn’t a schedule or set list to be checked off. Talking about you loved one will help the healing process. Keeping pictures and favorite belongings out will help you and others find a way to speak of them by remembering the good times. Many establish tributes and memorials. Some do it by setting up a memorial either online or by creating a special place. For mine, I planted special trees in their memory; it a living tribute to their lives and represents their souls, which have continued to live on. It can be done online by creating web sites with pictures and information. There are sites available such as Pets lost at http://www.petloss.com/namelsts.htm, which gives grieving parents the opportunity to tell others about the beauty of their fur-kid. On my site there is a new board available for tributes and memorials to your loved ones. The address is www.geocities.com/tirgana/Tirgana.html; it is on the second page. Others become involved with local animal rescue groups, donating their time, energy and resources to help animals in need. By helping others, you can actively make a difference in those who need it the most.

So what next? You cried and grieved until the tears wash away the pain so that only the joy and love remain. No matter how painful the loss, think how empty your life would have been without them in it. You would haven’t felt the pain, but you would have missed out on all the joy, love and fun they bought into you life. When you are ready, think about adopting another. There are so many out there who need good, loving homes and you never know what miracles can happen. A year after Sasha crossed over, another calico appeared in my yard; I don’t know where she came from. I brought her in and put her in the cat enclosure. She stayed there one night. The next day she found her way out and immediately ran upstairs and curled up in Sasha favor spot in the linen closet. Her path was direct; she knew where she was going. Several months ago two kittens appeared on my back porch. Oliver is just as determined and pushy as Pooky. Timmie has the same need to cuddle and lick my nose as Ralphie. They look and act the same as before only their bodies are new and healthy. If I had not opened my heart to them, I would have again lost old friends. Blessings come in unexpected places and different packages. Being open means being blessed.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Seagulls
by
Theresa Chaze

I lost my temper yesterday. Today, I am not ashamed nor do I regret the harsh words that followed as I verbally bloodied my claws on an old man. Why would I attack strange man in the middle of Meijer’s parking lot? Seagulls. The most unpretentious birds ever created, whose natural scavenger talents make the world a little cleaner. He attacked them for no reason with his car; he narrowly missed running over several and nearly hit a parked car.
I had just gotten out of my car and I stopped to watch a small flock clean up some french fries off the asphalt. That’s what they do; they clean up--parking lots, beaches, anywhere there is a free meal. Mother Nature created sea gulls to be her cleaning team. Like any carrion bird they clean up the remains after the life cycle has been completed. In addition, their acrobatic flying is secondary only to eagles. They can float on air currents for miles, effortless dipping to scoop up a snack from the water surface before returning to the lofty heights.
So why did he attack them? His excuse was they aren’t a protected species, so it was all right for him to run them over. I compared him to an anus. He was shocked when I accused him of animal abused and pointed out he hadn’t actually hit any of them. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He simply didn’t understand why I was making a big deal; they were only sea gulls. In his opinion they are loud, obnoxious pests that the world would be better off without.
What I don’t understand is why he felt he was entitled to do harm to another living creature. They weren’t attacking him, nor were they intruding in anyway on his life. They were simply having a lunch of discarded french fries. They weren’t even his french fries. Yet he thought nothing of trying to kill them. There are two reasons to kill--to have lunch and to keep from being lunch. Everything else is just ego driven garbage. When people fight and kill for land, mates or beliefs, they don’t actually win anything. When all is said and done, you can't take any of it with you. People are reclaimed by the land. Mates part. Beliefs are individual and change with perspective. The only things that are truly carried forward are the love we share, the wisdom we learn, and the results of our actions. Everything else is just a moment in time that quickly passes without notice.
So I lost my temper yesterday. Did I change anything? I don’t know. Mostly likely I will never know if my harsh language was enough to make him think about his actions and change his behavior. It said more about me, than it did about him. My anger got his attention, but did it really reach him? Was he capable of understanding my message? Or was it a simple exercise for me to prove I could draw a line in the sand and stand up for another living creature.
Alone I can’t stop wars, nor can I heal the hatred and fear, which creates them. But I can make a difference. Even if it’s only in the life in a flock of sea gulls.

Monday, July 16, 2007


Never Can Say Goodbye--a script excerpt


EXT: FOREST: EARLY AFTERNOON
Lynne and Elizabeth are walking down a path, which leads to a rapidly moving river.

ELIZABETH
It’s beautiful.

LYNNE
It’s the last ten acres of virgin forest for five hundred miles. The local Native Americans convinced the loggers that it was haunted.
(Pointing down river)
Another month, there’ll be color no artist could match.

ELIZABETH
Does anybody live here?

LYNNE
It’s state protected land. There are a few public hiking trails. The Bellow’s house is down the road and up the hill. From the front porch you can see the whole valley.

ELIZABETH
It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
(Walking down to the water’s edge)
It’s so peaceful.

She looks down river. A doe comes to drink from the river. The sun filters through the trees. A large crow flies over head, cawing. In the distance, she hears saws biting into the trees and the trees falling. The sounds becomes clearer, intermixing with men’s voices.

I thought you said this was protected land.

LYNNE
It is.

ELIZABETH
Someone’s cutting down trees. I can hear them
(The sounds become louder and she puts her hands over her ears)
We have to tell the rangers.

LYNNE
(Running to the river’s edge)
I don’t hear anything! Why are you shouting?

Freshly cut trees, stripped of their branches, start floating down the river. A few at first, then the surface is covered. Two men dressed in work clothes are balanced on wide bottomed, shallow boat. Each carried a long pole with a hook on the end, which they used to break up blocks in the river. Further up river, a similar boat followed. The men casually joked with one another.

ELIZABETH
(Pointing)
Do you seem them?

LYNNE
Who?

ELIZABETH
The men in the boat.

The second boat passes in front of her. One of the men is a teenage Randolph. The lumber sounds suddenly stop and the images vanish.

ELIZABETH
(Stunned)
It stopped.

LYNNE
What did you see?

ELIZABETH
There were trees in the river and men in boats.

LYNNE
(Shaking her head)
Has anything like this happened to you before?

ELIZABETH
I’m not crazy! It happened.

LYNNE
I believe you. Other people have seen it too.

ELIZABETH
Have you?

LYNNE
No. But I’ve seen other things. Come on. Michael’s waiting.

INT: HIDDEN BEDROOM: EARLY AFTERNOON
Michael is standing in the doorway. Sara Jane appears in the rocker. She hums while she mends a man’s shirt. She is very pregnant. He walks to the rocker and reaches out to touch her stomach. She looks up at him and smiles. A car is heard pulling up and parking on the outside of the house. .

EXT: OUTSIDE BELLOW’S HOUSE: EARLY AFTERNOON
Lynne and Elizabeth are getting out of the car. They pull cases out of the back seat and walk toward the house.

INT: HIDDEN BEDROOM: EARLY AFTERNOON
Michael turns away from the window. The room is now empty.

INT: FRONT ENTRANCE WAY: EARLY AFTERNOON
Michael opens the front door. Elizabeth and Lynne walk in, carrying the cases.

LYNNE
Sorry we’re late. I wanted to show Elizabeth the trails.

ELIZABETH
Your house is beautiful.

MICHAEL
I wish it were mine. We’re just renting.

ELIZABETH
It’s so big.

MICHAEL
The original house was half as big. The second Mrs. Bellows was responsible for the expansion.

LYNNE
Where’s the room? And when is Shane coming back?

MICHAEL
Upstairs down the main hall first door on the left. I haven’t had a chance to fix the wall yet. Late tonight. She has a gig, but I have to meet her there. I made a light lunch. Just in case you didn’t have time.

ELIZABETH
We ate before we drove out.

MICHAEL
We seemed to have gotten off to a bad start.

ELIZABETH
Whose fault is that?

LYNNE
(Walking toward the stairs)
Children when you decide to be grown ups again. I’ll be pstairs.

She walks upstairs, leaving them behind.

INT: HIDDEN BEDROOM: EARLY AFTERNOON
Lynne walks into the room and set the cases on the bed. She looks around the room, opening the drawers and the closet. She takes out one of the dresses and examines before returning it to the closet. She moves the clothes around. Behind them are several shelves with boxes stacked on them. She pulls one out and opens it. It is filled with letters and mementos. She puts it on the bed and takes out another. It is filled with homemade baby clothes. They are old, but appear to have never been used. She continues around the room, stopping at the window. The nails, which had secured the window, are still embedded. Their points are sticking out of the bottom. She examines the window; the ceil has been splintered.
Elizabeth and Michael are heard talking in the hallway; they are walking toward the room. She turns as they walk in.

LYNNE
Wouldn’t it have been easier to take out the nails first?

MICHAEL
I didn’t open it.

LYNNE
Who did?

MICHAEL
I don’t know.

ELIZABETH
(Slowly almost reluctantly walks in)
It’s a beautiful room.

LYNNE
Could Shane--

MICHAEL
She is afraid of the room.

LYNNE
Really? Why?

ELIZABETH
That’s silly. This was a room of love.

MICHAEL
She said there was a woman in here, who loves me and hates her.

LYNNE
(Sarcastic)
That’s new! Help me set up the equipment.

Elizabeth looks at herself in the mirror. Sitting in the chair, she picks up the hairbrush. Brushing her hair, she begins to hum quietly to herself the same tune from Michael’s dream.

I would’ve got better readings if I’d been here.

MICHAEL
I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It was like I was possessed. It was all I could think about.

LYNNE
Did you find what you expected?

MICHAEL
Yes and No. It was smaller than I thought. It looked like I imagined.

LYNNE
And?

MICHAEL
I felt disappointed. I was expecting something--someone to be here. But there wasn’t anyone. The dreams started. Sara Jane was here.
(He walks to the rocker)
With her son. But that isn’t possible. The boy was a toddler. Sara Jane died giving birth to their only child. It’s so confusing. Audrey was trying to protect the boy--no, she was angry with him. The women argued. Randolph came in. He still loved Sara Jane. He was married to Audrey. He never loved her. He was going to kill himself to be with Sara Jane. But he couldn’t. Audrey was pregnant.

LYNNE
Why did he marry Audrey?

MICHAEL
He needed a wet nurse for his son. Audrey had given birth to her daughter just a month before. Her husband had been killed in a lumber accident. She wouldn’t move in unless he married her.

ELIZABETH
If he loved Sara Jane so much he wanted to die, how did Audrey come to be with child?

MICHAEL
I was weak.

LYNNE
I?

MICHAEL
Night after night, I lay in our bed missing you. I was alone--our bed was cold. She would come to me, smelling of your perfume. At first I pushed her away. But she was warm and willing. She kept coming back, telling me how much she loved me. I closed my eyes and it was you beside me. You I made love to.

LYNNE
Michael? Elizabeth?

ELIZABETH
How do you think I felt? Watching you in our bed. You wouldn’t let me leave. Why did you do that to me?

MICHAEL
I loved you.

LYNNE
That’s it--Everybody out!

She grabs Michael and pushes him out the door. Going back, she pulls Elizabeth from the chair; the hairbrush falls to the floor. Elizabeth tries to pick it up, but she is hustled from the room. Lynne stops and scans the room, before slamming the door shut.

INT: KITCHEN: AFTERNOON
Michael and Elizabeth sit at the table, eating. Lynne stands at the counter, staring at them.

ELIZABETH
All this is from your garden? It tastes wonderful.

MICHAEL
It always tastes better when you grow it yourself.

LYNNE
Yes. It’s wonderful. It’s also low calorie. Extra special. Everybody agree? Good. Now what the hell happened up there?

MICHAEL
More tea anyone?

LYNNE
No! Sit down!

ELIZABETH
I feel embarrassed.

LYNNE
Why?

ELIZABETH
I don’t know. Part of me didn’t want to go inside. I was afraid I would never be able to leave. Then I didn’t want to leave. It’s not like I thought about it. It’s just how I felt. I was afraid. But it also felt like coming home.
(To Michael)
I saw you. But it wasn’t you. You were someone else. I loved you--and hated you.

MICHAEL
I was finally getting the chance to explain. To make it right.

LYNNE
Make what right?

Off screen a car pulls up and parks. A single car door opens and closes.

Are you expecting anyone?

MICHAEL
I’ll go see who it is.

INT: FRONT ENTRANCE: AFTERNOON
Shane walks in.

SHANE
Mike! What is Lynne doing here?

INT: KITCHEN: AFTERNOON

LYNNE
You said she’d be gone all day!

MICHAEL
Stay here. Both of you. I’ll take care of it.

INT: IN THE HALLWAY AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS: AFTERNOON
Shane has gone part way up. Michael runs in.

MICHAEL
You said you were spending the afternoon with you mother..

SHANE
Why is she here?

MICHAEL
Calm down.

SHANE
Don’t tell me to calm down!

MICHAEL
I asked her to check out the hidden room.

SHANE
No doubt she’d have that adventure you wanted. At least you didn’t use our bed.

LYNNE
(Walking in)
Actually we were frolicking on the kitchen table. Miracle Whip isn’t only for sandwiches.

MICHAEL
Lynne, you’re not helping.

SHANE
You’re disgusting!

Zombie-like Elizabeth can be seen walking out of the kitchen.

MICHAEL
Go back in the kitchen.

SHANE
Slut!

LYNNE
Psycho!

MICHAEL
(To Lynne)
You’re not helping.

SHANE
Why are you doing this to me?

Unseen by the others, Elizabeth walks through the dining room, examining the room as she goes. Its appearance seems to confuse her.

You said you loved me.

MICHAEL
I do love you.

SHANE
Then why is she here?

MICHAEL
I wanted to find out about the room.

SHANE
The room. The house. Your work...everything but me!

Lynne notices Elizabeth and joins her in the dining room.

INT: DINING ROOM: AFTERNOON
Elizabeth is looking at the furnishings. Lynne walks up to her.

ELIZABETH
It’s all different.

LYNNE
What’s all different?

ELIZABETH
My house. Who are you? What are you doing in my house?

LYNNE
Elizabeth, what are you talking about?

ELIZABETH
Elizabeth? My name is Sara Jane. Sara Jane Bellows.

LYNNE
OHMYGOODNESS! I don’t have the right equipment for this. Shit!

ELIZABETH
(Calling out to Michael)
Randolph, what did you do to my house?

LYNNE
Sara Jane. Hi. I’m Lynne. Have you been in the house since you died?

ELIZABETH
I’m not dead.
SHANE
(Seeing Elizabeth)
You!

Michael tries to grab her, but she pushes past him and runs into the dining room.

He’s my husband!

MICHAEL
(Following)
Shane!

Lynne intercepts her and they struggle. Elizabeth meets Michael half way into the room.

ELIZABETH
I don’t understand. I waited for you. Why didn’t you come?

MICHAEL
I couldn’t find you.

SHANE
You can’t have him. He’s mine.

ELIZABETH
I know you! I know what you did.

SHANE
Shut up!

Shane shoves Lynne out of the way and lunges at Elizabeth, pushing her backward. Elizabeth hits her head on edge of the table and falls to the floor. Michael grabs Shane and pulls her away. Lynne checks Elizabeth.

MICHAEL
Is she okay?

LYNNE
No! She’s not okay. She’s unconscious!

SHANE
She deserved it!

MICHAEL
You don’t even know her!
(Shoving her away)
Shane, look what you’ve done!

SHANE
Love me. Not her.

LYNNE
We have to get her to the hospital.

SHANE
She was going to ruin everything!

LYNNE
Mike, fight with her later. Help me get her to my car.

MICHAEL
There’s an afghan on the couch.

Lynne runs out of the room.

SHANE
Mike, I did it for us.

MICHAEL
(Gently lifting Elizabeth)
Get out of my way!

SHANE
Mike, please you have to understand.

MICHAEL
Understand what?

SHANE
I can explain.

MICHAEL
(Carrying Elizabeth toward the door)
Stay here.

SHANE
Mike, please!

INT: ENTRANCE WAY: AFTERNOON
Lynne covers Elizabeth with the afghan and opens the door. Michael carries her out. Lynne hesitates at the threshold.

LYNNE
This time you’ll get what you deserve.

She slams the door.

INT: HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM: AFTERNOON
Lynne paces the room, occasionally looking down the hall. Michael sits in the chair, staring at the floor.

MICHAEL
I’ll take care of the bill.

LYNNE
I wish we could take it out of Shane’s hide.

MICHAEL
I’ve never seen her act like that. Could it have something to do with the room?

LYNNE
She was jealous before you moved into the house.

MICHAEL
She had a dream. The woman in the room wanted to hurt her.

LYNNE
Is Shane in that examination room?

MICHAEL
I just thought--

LYNNE
That’d find another way to excuse her. To make it not her fault or yours.

MICHAEL
It’s not my fault!

LYNNE
Isn’t it? What are you going to do if Elizabeth decides to press charges?

A nurse walks in.

NURSE
Your friend’s lucky. She doesn’t have a concussion. But she does have a nasty bump. She can go home. But she shouldn’t be alone for the next few hours.

LYNNE
She can spend the rest of the day and night at my house.

MICHAEL
Where do I pay the bill?

NURSE
At the cashier. She’ll be out in a few minutes.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Shattered: A Personal Account of Police Abuse

By

Theresa Chaze



Post traumatic stress- I never thought it would apply to me. My biggest vices were working too hard and drinking too much caffeine as I worked a full time rice bowl job and was building a writing career. It was nothing for me to work a seventy-hour work week between the two, plus I still had ten furkids and a home to care for. Before I went into the factory job, I would straightened my home and do some writing. When I returned home, I would feed the furkids and do some more writing before going to bed. Most people would have considered my life fairly boring, but I was happy. My dream was finally coming true. However, all that changed on October 18, 2006.



I was driving home after I got out of work at 2am. It wasn’t anything unusual. It was normal. When I pulled out of the factory driveway, my greatest thought was what I wanted for dinner. Although I saw bright headlights down the road, they were far enough away not to be an issue. I pulled out and turned at the light. The headlights followed me. Suddenly the lights picked up speed and began tail gating me. It made me very uncomfortable, so I switched lanes. The car behind me pulled up far enough to be able to look inside my car. I saw it was a police car and never gave it another thought. A few minutes later, he turned on his flashing lights. I checked my speed; it was within the limit. Confused, I put on my blinker and pulled over to the right side of the road. There was no reason for him to pull me over.



The patrol car parked behind me. The Deputy walked up, but at first didn't say anything. I asked, "What? Why did you stop me?" He demanded my identification. I told him it was in my purse and pointed to the back seat. He told me to get it, so I attempted to open the car door; there was no way I could reach my purse from the front seat. He immediately slammed the door shut and again demanded my identification. I told him I couldn't reach it from the front seat. He yanked open my door and ordered me to the back of my car. I did as I was told. I didn't understand why he was so angry. I hadn't down anything to deserve such nasty treatment. While I was walking to the rear of my car, he reached into my back seat, search through the things, and found my purse. As he walked around to the back of my car, he searched it without cause or my permission. He found my small atheme set in the side pocket of my purse. Athemes are ritual knifes which are solely used for directing energy. Mine were decorative daggers without an edge; the largest was 2 1/2 inches, including the hilt. I kept asking why he stopped me; he refused to tell me. A second officer arrived. The first told me to put my hands behind my back. I asked if I was being arrested. He said yes. Stunned, I asked why. He snapped back that he would tell me later and demanded that I turn around. Confused and frightened, I did what I was told and he handcuffed me. Within a few minutes, both my hands were numb. He refused to tell me why nor did he read me my rights. I was put in the back of the patrol car and my car was searched. As I watched them, I couldn’t believe it was possible. Nothing made sense. I didn’t do anything. I hadn’t done anything.




The deputies got into the patrol car, I again asked them why. They repeated that I would be told later. When we arrived at the jail and they finally told me what the charges were. The deputy said he pulled me over because I was swerving; that was a lie. He said I was being charged with felony-concealed weapon. By no stretch of the imagination could my athames be called weapons any more than a toy cap gun. They didn’t have an edge and the size alone would prelude doing any harm. My car key could do more damage.



Inside the jail, the two arresting officers turned me over to others. There were approximately 2-3 deputies on duty in the immediate area, but I saw others walking about in other areas, including two female deputies. A deputy with brown hair started asking me biographical questions. He took the handcuffs off and told me to lean forward against the counter. He was going to search me. Startled, I didn’t know what to say. I thought it was the law that I had to be searched by a female deputy. Again, I did what I was told and he patted me down. He asked for my jewelry; my fingers were still numb and it was very difficult for me to take off my necklace with my pentacle pendant. The only other piece I wore was a ring. Another deputy remained in the general area, while the searching deputy asked me more questions. When second deputy left the area, the deputy told me he had to again search me; only this time, the search was entirely sexual. Although he didn’t say anything, his hands spoke volumes. It wasn’t like the first search, which wasn’t intrusive. The second search was very intimidating and degrading. I couldn’t believe what had just happened to me. I had always thought that law enforcement were the good guys; that they were the one you went to for protection. I felt stupid and naive. There was nothing I could say. When he pinched my right nipple, my mind shut off and I went cold inside. I couldn't accept what was happening to me. I never thought I was the biggest and badest on the block, but I always thought I could take care of myself. Not being able to move or fight back, while he was groping me, killed my faith in myself. For months after, I felt guilty and ashamed for not stopping him or at least saying something. But what do you say when the representative of the institution, you grew up believing were there to protect you, suddenly assaults in one of the most devastating ways possible? When the other deputy returned into view, he immediately stopped and stepped away from me.



They led me to a hallway and locked me inside. Within a few minutes, my chest started to hurt as the stress and confusion, activated my asthma. I asked for my inhaler; it was in the side pocket of my purse. The deputies refused. I did my best to focus on my meditation techniques to help me relax. Nothing worked. I repeatedly asked for help the best I could. It became increasing difficult to breathe. Speaking became nearly impossible. The deputies responded by ordering me to stop making myself sick. At one point, I curled up into a ball, trying to limit my need for oxygen. The more difficult it became to breathe, the more I panicked, which only made the asthma attack more severe. My entire world came to down to forcing air in and out of my lungs. The pain in my chest increased. I became light headed. At one point, I vomited and urinated all over myself. Soon afterwards, a deputy gave me my inhaler. It seem to take a long time for it to take effect. Even afterwards, it still hurt to breath. I had vomit in my hair and all down the front of my sweatshirt. My jeans were soaked in urine. I don’t know how long the attack lasted. It seemed to last a forever.



Before I was placed in the hallway, I had asked to talk to a supervisor. A dark haired man with facial hair walked into the hallway a short time later; however, I was still wasn’t able to talk. I tried to explain the best I could, but he left without saying a word. Later, another supervisor came into the hallway. He said he was the shift supervisor. Although he told me his name, I didn’t retain it. I was more able to talk, but it still hurt to breathe. I wanted him to explain why I was arrested. He said he didn’t understand it either, but there was nothing he could do. He offered to provide me with clean clothing; I refused. They had taken my freedom, my dignity and my self-respect--they weren’t going to take anything else from me. I told him that I severe asthma and that I was hypoglycemic. He gave me his word that I would have access to my inhaler when I needed it and that I would be provided with food. When I was put in the cell, I was given a sack lunch of two sandwiches, an apple, a cookie and juice. The bread was hard and stale. The lunchmeat was brownish green. The cookie was too hard to break with my fingers. The juice was the only thing worth consuming. I rationed it out to keep my blood sugar from crashing.



Time became distorted without any visible clocks or windows to measure time. Another male deputy took me out of the cell and continued the processing. He took my fingerprints and photographed me. Although he was more talkative then the other deputies, he refused to answer any of my questions, instead he insisted on searching me. Once again, my breasts were fondled, but another deputy came into the general area before he could get further. Like the other deputy, he suddenly stepped away from me. He escorted me back to the cell and slammed the door. I curled up in the back corner with my back pressed against the wall with the blanket they gave me pulled tightly around me. I was cold, terrified and alone. The blanket did little to keep me warm. At one point, I became very light headed; suddenly I was waking up face down on the floor a few feet from the corner. I still felt dizzy and disoriented. Apparently, none of the deputies noticed that I had lost consciousness.

Breakfast was served to the others, but I was skipped over. A couple of hours later, I went before the magistrate and my bond was set at five thousand dollars with ten per cent down. I didn't have the money, nor did my friends or family have quick access to five hundred dollars. I was scheduled to go before the judge at 2 pm. Since I only had one phone call, I called my employer and asked for a loan. He agreed to see what he could do and asked for a phone number to call back. I asked the deputy at the desk and he gave me the number for his desk. I was returned to the cell to wait. I drank the last of the juice from the sack lunch; within a short time, I could feel the effects of my blood sugar dropping. I continued to huddle in the corner, coming out only to ask for my inhaler. The deputies became increasing hostile with each request. It became harder to gain their attention and they took longer bring it too me. Not being able to breathe properly only flamed the emotional overload. Their attitude about my meds made me afraid to ask for something to eat. I knew it would only increase their hostility. The beginning symptoms of low blood sugar started with the shakes. Normally, it would have been followed by unreasonable anger; however, in this case, it was followed by increasing fear, depression and nausea. I wanted to get out even if it meant stepping out of my body to do it. I didn’t want to be seen; it wasn't safe. Nothing was safe.

As the morning passed without hearing anything from my employer, my fear became over whelming. My furkids hadn't been fed in over twenty-four hours. Most of them were rescue kitties; any break in their route brought on behavior issues for weeks. Being hungry would only reawaken their old fears. The guilt only compounded my emotional overload. I kept fluxuating between total denial and an acute awareness of the reality of my situation. At times, I stepped back out of myself and refused to believe that any of it was real. It wasn’t happening to me. It was someone else who looked like me; I was merely an observer in this macabre story. I could still see and hear, but I suddenly felt nothing. It was all a dream; an illusion that would soon dissipate like a nightmare. Other times, I believe that my life as I knew it was over--that I would never be free again--that I would never be safe again. My chest continued to hurt with each breathe. The world around me continued to drift in and out of focus. At times, the pain in my chest would become overwhelming and I would force myself to risk the hostility by requesting my inhaler. The meds would only help for a short time as the stress continued to inflame my lungs.



The activity continued around me. Two men were brought in; the deputies knew them so well they had nicknames for them. Even through they were already on probation, they were in an out in a couple of hours without having to post bond. A scrawny teen-ager was also brought in. He looked like he was fourteen, but he worked at a factory so he was at least eighteen. He was a loud mouth punk who verbally challenged the deputies’ authority. The deputies were no better. Both sides insulted each other mothers. It was very junior high. When the deputies put him in the next cell and stopped harassing him, he calmed down and socialized with the other inmates.



Lunch was served. I was given a tray this time. Even if it hadn’t been disguising, I was too sick to eat it. They wouldn’t allow me to keep the medal cup, so I drank the juice all at once. It did raise my blood sugar a little and the fog cleared for a short time. I was able to settle back into myself. As the day passed, I became concerned that I would be late for my appointment with the judge. The last time I was allowed to use my inhaler, I asked when I would be going before the judge. The deputy told me my paperwork wasn’t ready yet. He took my inhaler and slammed the door. Out of my site, another deputy suggested that I be taken to the nurse. He was angrily told by the deputy with my inhaler to shut up and to mind his own business.



The afternoon passed and my blood sugar again began to drop. Deputies from Cadillac arrived to transfer the smart mouth punk. Up until they arrived, he was quiet and peaceful. However, when he saw the Cadillac deputies, he became terrified. He begged to talk to his social worker and to pay the eighty dollars he owed. They laughed and teased him like bullies on a schoolyard. He was taken out of his cell, handcuffed behind his back and put in leg chains. Flanked by four deputies that not only tower above him, but also out weighed him, they led him out. Moments later, there was a scuffle outside the door. Three more deputies raced out. There was more screaming, then it became quiet. Two deputies came back in. One bragged that he would have beaten his face bloody. They quickly reshuffled the inmates in the other cell and put the other prisoner, who was waiting to be transferred, in the hallway. Four deputies carried the punk in by his arms and legs. They returned him to cell, dropping him face down on the thin mattress. As one deputy took the restrains off, the others held him down. One pinned his back down with one hand; the other had a gun. However, whether accidentally or on purpose, the weapon was pointed at me. Terrified, I couldn't move out of the line of fire. The deputy with the gun jabbed downward on his back and all of them left the cell. Stunned I just stared. Slowly he sat up. I looked over my shoulder at the inmate in hallway. Through the glass, I saw him shake his head. The punk stood up. After a short time, he painfully removed his t-shirt. There were red welts and forming bruises all over his arms and torso. We made eye contact and he pointed at himself as if to say look what they did to me.



A short time later, I was able to gain a deputies attention and I asked about going before the judge. He told me it was a little after four and that were two of us who still needed to go before the judge before five. A short time later, he came back and told me that my paperwork wasn’t done so my appearance had been changed to 9am the next morning. I didn’t know what to do. He waited for the panic to set in before he told me that my bond had been paid and I was going to be released. They processed the other inmate first. Then I was brought out of the cell do finish the paperwork. One deputy looked at me and said that I didn’t look suicidal so I could go. They had deducted housing fees from the cash I had, but instead of returning the rest, they gave me a check. The releasing deputy tried to tell me my car was just where I left it. I knew that wasn’t true. When I persisted, he finally told me where it was towed. I had to call a cab, which wouldn’t accept a personal check or the check the deputy gave me, nor would the towing company. Instead, I put both on my credit card, which put me over my limit.



They gave me the note from my employer along with his number. I was allowed to call him to verify I had been released. He told me had tried to pay the bond before eleven that morning; the deputies dissuaded him, telling him that it would be reduced when I went before the judge. When he hadn’t heard from me by three, he went to the courthouse and searched until he found the proper place to pay it. He paid it before 3:30. I wasn’t released until after 5:30. The towing company was closed and I had to wait for them to return. It was cold. I was alone in the park lot. Pacing keep warm, I found myself at the top of a deep wooded ditch. It occurred to me how easy it would be for me to leap into it. The fall wouldn’t kill me, but with all the rocks and trash, I could simply lay there and die without anyone noticing. Then I thought of my furkids and I forced myself away from the edge. Eventually the person from the towing company arrived and I was able to get my car.

It was after eight before I got home. It had been almost twenty hours sense I’d eaten. Longer since I had taken my meds. I smelled of vomit and urine. My kids were hysterical. I fed them and took a shower. I tried to eat. But it took three attempts before food would stay down. Again, I showered, yet I still didn’t feel clean. In a vain attempt to pick up the pieces of my shattered life, I went on the net and contacted friends. I needed to tell someone. But I wasn't comfortable telling my friends and family who were close to me. I was ashamed. My online friends gave me a great deal of support, but even with the impersonal nature of the relationships, I still couldn’t share all the details. On the net, I have the somewhat of a reputation of being an outspoken bitch, ready with a persuasive argument and willing to stand alone. However, when it came right down to it, I was nothing but a spineless coward.

I needed to be at the courthouse at 9 am so I went to bed early and tried to sleep, but even in my own bed, I didn't feel safe. When I did doze off, the nightmares quickly woke me. Most of the details eluded me, vanishing like phantoms in the night; the most vivid one I remembered was being buried alive. Morning came. I got out of bed and turned off the alarm before it went off. If fed my furkids and took another long hot shower. I remembered hearing on TV shows how rape victims kept showering, trying to feel clean. It wasn’t my body that felt dirty; no water would be able to wash away what I was feeling. It was my self-esteem and self worth rotting away that I couldn’t get clean. While I dressed, I was able to tuck all that ick away in a box and put it on the emotional shelf. I would deal with it later. At the time, there were more important things to deal with. I needed to logical. My emotions at that time were the enemy that needed to be locked away. Growing up in a dysfunctional alcoholic home gave me the ability to emotionally shut down and to compartmentalize my life. I pulled myself together and left for court.



I arrived early and sat next to a guy that I had remembered seeing the day before; he was the other inmate who was scheduled to go before the judge, but whose paperwork was never finished. Although I never learned his name, we talked. He had been arrested the day before in the courthouse, while he was waiting to go before the judge. However, he had mistaken his appearance date and arrived a day late. So instead of appearing before Judge Phillips, the Grand Traverse Sheriff deputy arrested him. His girlfriend had paid his bond early in the afternoon, yet he was also held hours afterward. After a few minutes, an older man sat down with us. He said he worked briefly with me at the factory. I didn’t remember him, but there was a high turn over rate. He told me that he over heard the deputies laughing how they were teaching me a lesson. I asked him if he would write his name and a phone number for me in case I needed it later. He agreed and gave me the information. The three of us chatted, while those who had attorneys went before the judge. They both went up before me. It was nearly noon before it was my turn. Judge Phillips read me my rights; he was the only one. I asked for a court appointed attorney and they gave me the paper work. The ten percent bond that my employer paid was returned to me and I was able to leave.

The next day it still hurt to breathe. My asthma and allergy med didn't do much to help. My primary doctor couldn't see me, so I went to the Urgent Care. I was x-rayed and diagnosed with severe Pleurisy. The doctor told me the numbness in my fingertips was due to the breathing problems and would clear up when the lining of my lungs healed. I returned home to find a message on my machine, giving me the name of my court appointed lawyer. The caller id logged the call in at 4:55 pm. Even if I had been home, it was too late in the day to contact him.



Much of the weekend was spend home hiding and crying. When I was alone it was more difficult to keep everything that I was feeling stuff in the box. I keep trying to ignore it but it kept spilling out in the unexpected ways. I used to love watching the Law and Order shows; that changed. It was no longer entertainment. I only saw how civil rights were abused and the damage the cops did. On Sunday, I called Linda, a co-worker who lived close by, and arranged to ride with her to work the next day. I was too afraid to drive by myself, but I only indulged my fears for the one day. I started driving myself on Tuesday, but I was on constant high alert. Twice that week while running errands, deputy sheriffs followed me. Both times, I turned off the main street on to side streets only to have them do the same. I had to pull into the nearest business and go inside to escape. As a joke, Andy, another co-worker, raced up behind me after work with his bright lights on; it was so much like what happened with the deputy that it send me into a panic attack that turned into another severe asthma attack. I swerved into a gas station, nearly hitting the pumps. The next day he thought it was funny.



I filed complaints with everyone I could think of. The prosecutor’s office told me that my religion was a valid defense and that he would check into the matter, but he never called me back. I called and wrote a letter to the Michigan Attorney General, Mike Cox, as did many of my friends; they refused to get involved until after I filed locally. The Michigan ACLU office in Detroit gave me information about a similar case they won in the Detroit area. The governor’s office refused to become involved as did my local representatives. Everyone thought it was terrible, but no one was willing to help.



Emotionally I spiraled out of control. It became increasingly difficult to leave my home. I would have to take an emotional running start and force myself out the front door. Out of my home, the panic attacks became more frequent and severe. On October 31, I talked to a councilor at the Women's Resources center. Becky Garland listened, but what she told me about other women's experience with the police only added fuel to my fear. She asked me if I thought I needed medication. I wasn't depressed; I was terrified with good reason. Medication couldn't fix that. I left with information, a few contact names, and a growing paranoia. Leaving the house became increasingly difficult. Although I had stopped riding to work with Linda, she agreed to follow me most of the way home after work. It was the only way I could continue working. On nights she didn’t come in or went home early, I had panic attacks and couldn’t stay. If I didn’t know who was in the vehicle behind me at night, I started to panic. My chest would tighten and an asthma attack would quickly follow.

November 1, I met with Phillip Settles, my court appointed attorney. In his appearance and mannerisms, he reminded me of a bearded Tim Allen. The first words out of his mouth were that he couldn’t represent me in a civil suit. I thought it was strange. The deputies were the only ones I told that I was going to sue. Looking back, I saw the connection, but at the time, emotional overload kept me from focusing. Mr. Settles asked me my side of the story; however, he didn’t want to hear about the sexual assault or the denial of my asthma medication. He kept saying, “Why are you telling me this?” He was only interested in what happened from the time I was pulled over until the time I was booked. He had me keep repeating the same details over and over. My story never changed. The week before he had sent me a copy of the arrest report and the complaint form. I pointed out the discrepancies in the report, including the size of my athames and in what was said. Deputy Revnell had put my athames on a photocopier, without anything for scale, and enlarged them to the point they wouldn’t have fit in the pocket of my purse. Mr. Settles said that size didn’t matter since all double edge blades were illegal. He said that if I went to trial, I would be convicted and sentenced to five years in prison and $2,500.00 fines. I tried to tell him about the similar case the ACLU won involving a religious knife. He wasn’t interested in the information.



It didn’t make sense. None of it. Law enforcement was supposed to protect me; yet, they were doing the most harm. I had never hurt anyone, yet my lawyer was telling me that I was going to spend the next five years in prison. He didn’t care if Revnell lied and falsified the arrest report. To him it came down to, I was guilty in spite of the fact that I had done nothing. As I was leaving, he ordered me to stop discussing my case and to tell my friends to stop contacting the authorities in my defense. He said it was hurting my case. At the time, it seemed logical.



The next morning was the preliminary hearing. I got there early. Deputy Revnell was already there; he was like a different person. Instead of being angry and out of control, he calmly sat on the bench. He refused to look at me. Instead, he stared face forward with his left leg continually bouncing like a nervous tick. He was like Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. Mr. Settles arrived. A short time later, my case was called. The prosecutor, James Pappas, called Revnell. The deputy described events and conversations that never happened. He claimed I volunteered my athames and that I said they were for self-defense. He also said that they were easily accessible; they were in the bottom of my purse, which was buried in the junk in the back seat of my car. Although he verbal described my athames, they were never brought in to court. If they had, his lies and the falsification of the evidence would have been exposed. The prosecutor ignored the illegality of search and gloss over the reason for the initial stop. Listening to the growing number of lies, I felt as if I was being assaulted again. Once again, the same feeling of powerlessness over whelmed me. I couldn’t believe that these men were so casually discussing my future with total disregard to my civil rights or justice. Judge Thomas Phillips sat at smiling; I don’t know if he was stoned or simply didn’t care. Mr. Settles was able to get Revnell to admit that he did not have permission to search my car or my purse, but he did not follow up with a request for the charges to be dropped, nor did he insist that my athames be produced. Either could have instantly ended the matter. The questioning went quickly and the case was held over to the 13th Judicial Supreme Court. I was not surprised. Mr. Settles did nothing to stop it.



When we left the building, I asked Mr. Settles to help me file a complaint against the Sheriff Department. He took me aside and told not to do it. He said that it would do no good and that the deputy involved had a history of making witnesses disappear. He repeatedly stressed that it would not be safe nor would it help my case for me to complain. The deputy who arrested me was the nephew of the sheriff, who in the past had gone out of his way to protect his family. He told me to Google “Justin Revnell” to learn what kind of person I was dealing with. Months later I learned that if I had filed the complaint on November 2, there would have been video evidence to support my claims; however, the video feed is on a digital loop that over-writes itself every thirty days. By the time I found the courage, the evidence was long gone.



Emotionally I was spiraling out of control. Mr. Settles “warnings” only fueled my growing paranoia. I felt like I was at the bottom of a deep dark hole. When I tried to climb out, the side crumbled, further burying me. For the first time in my life, I was afraid. Leaving the house became more and more difficult. The panic attacks became more frequent. The pleurisy never had a chance to heal. Instead it became part of a continuing cycle of panic attacks which became asthmas attacks, which led to flash backs and stronger panic attacks. Between the nightmares, the panic attacks and the difficulty breathing, I stopped being able to function. On October 17 when I woke up, I was a happy, inspired writer who was building a writing career one bookstore and reader at a time. With the exception of a tight budget, my life was wonderful. I was working out 3-5 times a week for nearly an hour. I felt strong, healthy and hopeful. But all that changed 2 am on October 18. There was no longer any joy in my life. I felt dirty and alone. I had never thought of myself as the biggest or badest on the block, but I always thought I could take care of myself. The Grand Traverse Sheriff department stole that from me. When you no longer have faith in yourself, it’s nearly impossible to have faith in the world. I could no longer climb a flight of stairs without my chest hurting, much less work out. I started gaining weight and loosing my muscle tone. Toward the middle of November, I wrote out my will and got out a razor blade. I looked at it for a long time, trying to find a reason to stay. I was fairly sure my friend Sheri or my sister in law Shelia would take care of my furkids. They are both good women who knew how much I loved them. Luckily, Myriam called. Although she didn’t know it at the time, she stopped me from making a very big mistake. We talked for a while about nothing in particular, but it was enough for me to tie a knot at the end of my rope. Whenever the thought came back, I called her, Cate or Anne. These three women became my lifelines. All three had training in psychology in varying degrees. Anne had worked for the Red Cross; she had great deal of experience working with those suffering from Post Traumatic Stress. With their help and that of a Shaman, who did a soul retrieval on me, I was able stop seriously thinking about suicide.



November 9 was the first pretrial conference. Mr. Settles and James Pappas went behind closed doors. I sat in the hallway. After about an hour, Mr. Settles reappeared. He refused to tell me what was said beyond that a misdemeanor plea was offered. He once again ordered to me to not talk about my case; only this time in included the media. He told me to sign a form, which he said stated that he told me about the plea offer. I trusted him and signed it without reading it. Looking back, it was really stupid, but at the time, I simple didn’t have the capability of making rational decisions.



November 30, I was stopped by another deputy for illegally beeping. The deputy was very careful to keep his nametag covered and above my line of sight. He threatened to ticket me for beeping without an emergency and for having a necklace hanging around my rear view mirror. However, if I apologized for my rudeness he would let me off with a warning. I was terrified and apologized. I waited for him to leave so I could get his car number, but he refused to move until I did, therefore it was impossible to for me to identify him.

On December 15 the final pretrial hearing was set for 1pm with the motions to dismiss to be heard at 3pm. Again, I sat in the hall while the attorneys talked behind closed doors. Mr. Settles filed two motions. One to dismiss on the grounds of the illegal search and other was based on religious discrimination. However, he added that if the judge didn’t uphold the motions the jury would convict me and I would be spending five years in prison for a felony conviction. He said that personally didn’t care where a served my time and ordered me to sign another form that he claimed acknowledged what he told me; however, I wasn’t given the opportunity to read it. I tried to tell him about being pulled over again, but he didn’t want to hear it. I reminded him about the ACLU case. Again, he stated that no matter what the size or purpose of my athames, they were a double-edged knife, which was illegal to possess in a vehicle. He repeated that if the case went to the jury, I would be convicted.

He led me to the Superior courtroom and instructed me to sit down. He went to talk to an older man. The two of them chatted for a few minutes and Mr. Settles took me to another room. He said that he arranged a deal. If I plead guilt to a misdemeanor, the prosecutor would delayed the sentencing, which would wipe my record clean. He said it was the best I could hope for and that he would recommend it to his own son. Mr. Settles was very persuasive and I was very frightened. I reluctantly agreed. We went back into the courtroom.



By that time, James Pappas had arrived; both he and the Judge Rogers were informed of the agreement. Mr. Pappas became very angry, almost as if he had a personal stake in the out come. After we left the courtroom, Mr. Settles took me into a conference room and told me I wasn’t to discuss my case with anyone, especially the media, for at least a year. I was not to write about any of the specifics in any shape or form. Basically, he told me to keep my mouth shut.



January 2, I was getting ready to pull out of my employer’s driveway after work. There were stationary headlights down the road. I pulled out. Linda followed. Immediately, the vehicle sped up. It followed us for six miles keeping very close behind Linda’s car. I started to panic; instead of turning off and driving home, I pulled into the 24-hour grocery store. The sheriff’s car continued to closely follow Linda for several more miles.



January 5 was the plea hearing. I received 180 days probation, 40 hours community service and $490.00 in fines. I was shocked to learn that the “delay” part of the deal had nothing to do with a postponement of the punishment, but referred to record keeping. Mr. Settles led me down to the Probation department and left. January 24 was my final court appearance for the charges. However, I received a bill from the Circuit court for attorney fees. I called and was told by a clerk that if I didn’t pay, I would be jailed for contempt of court. I didn’t have the money. She hung up on me. Two days later, I received a court summons to again appear in circuit court on March 16 at 9am. Even though I worked until 2am, I arrived on time, but wasn’t called before Judge Rogers until after noon. Around 11am, the stress and exhaustion had caused my blood sugar to start dropping. By noon, I had the shakes and the numbing mind fog. I would have agreed to anything to get out of there. My payments were set at $25 a month. The “providing a lawyer without cost” only happens on TV. A few weeks later, I received a bill from the sheriff’s department for housing and medical costs. I paid the housing fees before I was released and they never provided me with medical care, yet they expected me to send them more money. The bill came with the implied threat of further jail time if payment wasn’t immediately sent. I disregarded a utility bill and paid it.



Physically I was no better, but emotionally I had started to heal. I no longer thought that all law enforcement officers were out to get me, but I was still having panic attacks when I had to leave my home. It was very difficult for me to leave the yard, so I only went out when I absolutely had to. My writing suffered. It used to be so easy for me to make my stories come alive on the page; I loved creating magical adventures. But it is nearly impossible to visualize courageous characters meeting impossible tasks when your life is filled with fear. I stopped writing fiction. My non-fiction focused on civil rights and police abuse. Being unable to focus made my writing sloppy and unprofessional. I was stuck in the fear and anger. I wanted the people who hurt me to experience the same kind of pain they caused me.

On February 1, I was again followed by a Sheriff’s deputy. After making several turns, I needed to pull into a store parking lot and go inside to stop the harassment. I realized that although deputies weren’t activity stalking me, if the occasion presented itself they would continue to harass me. It was then I decided the only way to protect myself was to file complaints.



After doing research, I decided the safest course of action was to send my complaint letters snail mail return receipt. The beginning of February, letters were sent to Sheriff Scott Fewins, Alan Schneider, the prosecutor and to Mike Cox. Mr. Schneider never responded.

It took to June 6 for Donna Pendergast of the Attorney General’s office to answer my complaint. In her letter, she ignored the civil rights violations, perjury, the sexual assault, and the denial of medical treatment. Instead, she focused on the length of time I was held. Although it was outrageous, it was least of the charges. I called her, but she failed to return my phone calls. After several weeks, I started calling Mike Cox and Tom Cameron, the head of the criminal division of the Attorney General’s office. I left messages, yet no one has returned my calls in spite of promises to do so.



On February 28, Captain Dave Meachum of the Grand Traverse Sheriff department called me. He said there would be an investigation in to my complaint and that someone would be contacting me by the end of the week. On March 3, Detective Kevin Gay called me and we agreed to meet on March 5. I was afraid to go alone, so I asked my friend, Kayla to go along and I brought a mini recorder. Detective Gay along with another officer from Internal Affairs interviewed me. They asked the same questions repeatedly. It was quite apparent that they not only didn't believe me, but also had little interest in actually investigating my complaint. The internal affairs officer actually expressed sympathy for the treatment Revnell received in the press. He said that the whole matter was blown out of proportion and that Revnell was a good officer. I was shocked by his statement, but I tried to be as open minded as my courage would allow, giving them as many names, dates and contact information as I could remember. Detective Gay focused on the sexual assault--the charge I could prove the least. The deputies who assaulted me were very good at making sure others did not see them; this wasn’t the first time they had degraded a woman. Neither of them wanted to hear about the civil rights violations, the falsification of the reports, the perjury and the denial of medical attention--all the things I had documentation for. The interview lasted about an hour. Both Kayla and I had the feeling that nothing would be done. On my way home, I was again followed by a Sheriff's patrol car. There were two officers who remained a little over a car length behind me. With the roads being icy, even a quick tap on the breaks would have caused a rear end collision. Detective Gay called me a few days later for more information and I told about the incident. He tried to deny that I was being harassed and claimed it was merely a coincidence. But I refused to be persuaded. The obvious harassment stopped after the conversation. However, on May 18, Detective Gay called. He informed me that he didn’t find any credible basis for my sexual assault complaint and that my case was closed. He refused to look at my documentation supporting my other charges or to go examine my athames. The blue wall protected its own.



In April, I filed a complaint against Phillips Settles with the Attorney General and the Attorney Grievance Commission. Neither were willing to help. Instead, they suggested that I hire a lawyer and file suit civilly. In the Traverse City area, the attorneys are either friends of the law enforcement or are afraid. Those who have gone up against them, even if they won, refused to do it again. The likely hood of finding an attorney who would be willing to help is slim to none. Although I would like financial compensation for the income I’ve lost and the pain they caused me, primary focus in on justice. They shouldn’t be allowed to do this to anyone else.



Ten years ago, there was a skinhead and KKK rally scheduled for the area. In response, the more open-minded individuals organized the Unity concert that celebrated diversity. Although there was a great influx of thousands of people of diverse points of view, there was very little conflict or civil rights violations. I bragged to my friends how wonderful the Traverse City area was. With all the potential conflicts, no one got hurt and almost everyone had a good time. All that has changed. Not only do the deputies look like skinheads, they act them as well. Deputies are caught drunk driving, yet their co-workers manipulate test results so they are not charges with DUI. Thousands of dollars disappear, yet no one was held responsible. State Police officers harass individuals whose political viewpoints they disagree with. Through a friend, who worked for an attorney, I learned that many other women have been sexually assaulted in the guise of searches. In a near by town, the KKK flag was substituted for the American flag during a town event; there were a many who didn’t understand the out rage of the general public. They claimed it had been a joke, yet no one took responsibility for the switch and those, who did know who was responsible, refused to tell.



Whether it be a 70-year-old woman being physically assaulted for not watering her lawn to the groom who was shot to death by undercover officers, people are no longer safe from police abuse in their homes or on the street. Law enforcement no longer protects and serves; instead, they consider themselves above the law because they are not held responsible for their actions. I have been told that the abusive officers are in the minority--that most law enforcement officers are ethical and honest. If that were true, the abuse cases would be decreasing instead of increasing both in number and in severity. Instead of exposing the abusive officers, they make excuses and protect them. What they don’t seem to realize, that whether abusive or ethical, all officers are painted with the same brush. There are very few people who still have faith and trust in law enforcement officers. Instead, they are considered just as much an enemy as the criminals.



It is time for the public to take back their power by holding law enforcement fully responsible for their actions. No more excuses. No more free passes. Those that do the actual harm as well as those who protect them need to be held legally and civilly responsible. If you see or know of an abuse, report it and keep pushing until they are held responsible. It is only the public as a whole reclaiming their power that justice will be done and the individual’s rights be protected.




As for me, it has been nine months. I am finally becoming me again or at least as close as I’ll ever get. I was shattered. No matter how neatly or carefully I glue the pieces back together; I will never be the same. Physically, I am regaining strength. Emotionally, there are still times when the fear becomes over-whelming, but those times are becoming fewer. My creativity is finally returning, but the experience has forever tainted the way I see the world. Since it didn’t kill me, it will eventually make me stronger, but I will never be able to regain the trust I had on October 17, 2006.