The Granting

I awoke this morning to a life I have been dreaming of…
for twenty five years…it has manifested…



Awake in Dreams

I awaken with nightdreams
Swirling perceptions
And as the striations of dawn
Convert to lightshines
The images transpose
Into eddies of radiance
Dancing briskly back to a space and time
Not to be known by the regard of day

But this moment a decision
To place my finger within the swirl
The vortex relents……
The membrane stretches
Big, and then bigger yet
An entrance into this other world
An integration of my psyche,
My heart and my soul.

As easy as that
And as complicated as that……
We enter into our dreams upon awake.

.girl flying with umbrella


A Celebration of Hammocks

Such a humility of textile
Bits of woven fibers
Easily transported in a pack
Or if no sack, bound about the waist
What wizardry such simplicity wroughts…
For those adventurers of reverie
Who stray upon paths unknown
Lost in nature’s wildernesses…
Stranded from the world with its
Inns and feather pillows
Oh wanderer, despair not!
For in a trice comfort is assured
By the proximity of two amiable trees

A Bed slung and tied
An aerie so grand
Up off the ground,
Away from nocturnal pests of the jungle
No prey to boas, scorpions or tarantulas
But tucked as the butterfly
Nestled in safety within its cocoon
Until time to fly away….

A bed to vie with cloud drifts
Allowing the Earth’s
Sweetness of respiration
O’er the whole body,
A further enrapture to any gypsy roamer
Invitation to succumb to implicit Dream Lands

And if restless thoughts or worries
Or the roar of a howler money or jaguar awaken,
What a way to gaze in relaxation
At the night sky’s offerings
Of moon and starlight
So as to marvel at infinity
And the movement of constellations
About the yearning arms of grandiose trees
Such tapestries of light can only console
The heart into a most gentle sleep,
Knowing all is complete and perfect in the world.

The Dawn
Silently painting light into slashes of tints
Serening into a finale of azure
While the antics of white faced monkeys
Careening through impossibly high arboreals
Will set a smile upon any face
To last the entirety of the day.


I present to you the mighty Hammock.




Last night I fell asleep with a firefly upon my pillow
Its small beam flickers of cadence to my breath
A portal into dream worlds
Of mysticism and knowing
Have the faeries all become fireflies




A Firefly upon my Pillow

Last night I fell asleep with a firefly upon my pillow
Its Lilliputian beam flickering in a cadence to my breath
I recognized its portal
Into the dream worlds of mystical revery
My soul knows and basks within every night
To realign itself with infinities on
Journeys so profound I know them not upon waking
And I wonder……
If the faeries have transformed into fireflies
Or perhaps into stars.

moon lit purple flowers




Mystic Journey Bookstore Blog

by Laura Shepard Townsend

One morning, I awoke, my mind swirling, still enmeshed within an extensive dream. As I do not remember many of my dreams, I immediately began writing it down so as not to lose any of it to reality and its weight. And as I wrote, my story about gypsies and an oracle in Venice, California emerged. I knew my psyche had delivered something essential to me, and even more so, perhaps to the world.

Up to this time, screenplays had been my chosen writing form, with their drama and conflicts. However, my intuition told me that this story was a book, or rather a series of books. For more than a decade, the phrase, Destiny’s Consent had reverberated in my subconscious; I now had the story to illuminate the phrase! I knew I did not know the first thing about how to write a book, and enrolled immediately in UCLA. Here is where the miracles to support my adventure began, both financial and inspirational — they were plentiful and dramatic enough to capture my attention and fire my imagination.

People often say that when we are doing what it is that we are meant to do, that the universe supports us with abundance, that we are guided this way and that. From my multitude of experiences with the writing of Destiny’s Consent, this is absolutely true.

Here is just one: my dream involved gypsies, or the Rom. When I began my research on gypsies, all of the texts discussed their uncleanliness, their thievery, their chauvinism. Well, I can dismiss the other characteristics, but not chauvinism since women have fought so valiantly for their progress in this country; I seriously considered abandoning what I had dreamed. But since I wished to be true to my psyche, I continued to search for answers, holding the question out to the universe. It was difficult to find information on the Rom, for they are a group with secrets, regarding everyone other than themselves to the gadje, the ‘others’.

One day, I traveled to the Bodhi Tree Bookstore, to find a Tarot deck for my research. As I gazed at the colorful card decks, a small voice inside of me wondered if there might be a book on the Rom that would unlock their secrets. I asked at the desk, and was led to the perfect to understand the Rom. It was written by an ‘outsider’, a man who had come to know the Rom, and who loved them. He was privy to their secrets only because he had run away with the ‘gypsies’ but as a young boy, and was allowed access to a klan.

With this new information, I was launched onto my new path to write Destiny’s Consent by ‘destiny’s consent’.