Leonard Cohen and a Trip Down Memory Lane


R.I.P. Leonard Cohen and thanks for the music.

“My reputation as a ladies’ man was a joke that caused me to laugh bitterly through the ten thousand nights I spent alone.”
― Leonard Cohen

“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.”
― Leonard Cohen

“Remember when I moved in you and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was, “Hallelujah.”
― Leonard Cohen

I associate Leonard Cohen with a rich collage of memories.

I first moved to Germany when I was twenty-two. My German boyfriend and I met at a party in Dublin. That first year we had  a long-distance relationship until he was accepted to study for a year at Trinity. After that, or before it—or both—I stayed in his flat in Karlsruhe. He had a huge collection of LP’s—we still have them.

For me, school was over and motherhood had not yet begun. I was free and happy and the world around me was new and exciting.

I call it my Pink Period. My boyfriend and his friends fixed up an old bicycle for me. I painted it pink, and because I had some paint left over, I painted my suede ankle boots too.

Getting back to Leonard Cohen. He reminds me of that whole period—candlelit rooms, dancing to Harry Belafonte at parties occasionally financed by Blutspenden (donation of blood). Shameful, I know. They sold their blood for the price of a few bottles of wine, which was very cheap. A lot of students did this. And their blood was pure, like their hearts.

You learn to be creative when you’re living on a tight budget.

It was a communal time too. We’d get together and bake Zwiebelkuchen (onion tart), or one of our flatmates would bring huge vats of Most, a most bitter apple cider in its early stages of fermentation. It wasn’t too bad after a glass or two. Roland’s family had a small farm and he’d go down there to Schwabenland (near Stuttgart) every autumn and help harvest the apples.

When I hear Leonard Cohen, I immediately unlock a trunkful of memories and old photos. For some reason, I also associate Leonard Cohen with Raymond Chandler. Since I was enjoying doing nothing much at the time, I availed of the local library services and swept the shelves clean,  devouring Steinbeck, Marlowe, Hemingway, Anais Nin and whatever books the library deemed literary enough to add to their collection. When I hear Leonard Cohen’s songs, particularly Suzanne and So Long Marianne, the memories come rushing in.

When I wasn’t out on my pink bicycle on my way to the Schlossgarten (castle garden) for a morning under the big chestnut tree with a flask of coffee and my Walkman, I was sitting in his high-ceilinged room, listening to my boyfriend’s record collection, or reading.

Turns out my boyfriend (now husband) didn’t particularly like Leonard Cohen. A lot of men don’t, it seems. Ah, but we women love him. And you know, I’m not even too sad he’s gone because he left us his music and poetry and he’s as much alive now as he was then. He lived a long and rich life and now it’s time to move on.

This cycle of birth and death is part of life. Since we’re in autumn on this side of the world and are witnessing the leaves changing colour and falling off the trees, not to mention major changes coming up on the political arena, we know we have to get through this until the next spurt of growth.

Leonard Cohen’s rich, deep voice crooned out pure poetry like no other.

His voice transports me to a different world. It warms me like a glass of good rich wine and awakened a hard-to-put-a-finger-on-longing for something, a Sehnsucht, as the Germans say. The pathos flowed from his huskiness’s throat, which I’m sure was lubricated with a fair amount of rich amber liquid.  He told stories with his poetic lyrics. He was a deeply spiritual man too and I think he had his share of heartache, at least that’s what comes across in his lyrics, and his voice.

Some people are just born like that. Melancholic, deep, soulful. Unforgettable.

Three Quotes for Three Days

Here’s my second quote:
“Without magic, there is no art. Without art, there is no idealism. Without idealism, there is no integrity. Without integrity, there is nothing but production.”
Raymond Chandler

Thanks to Millie Slavidou for nominating me for the “Three Quotes for Three Days” challenge.
The rules of the challenge are:
Three quotes for three days.
Three nominees each day (no repetition).
Thank the person who nominated you.
Inform the nominees.

My nominees are:

Susanne Downes,

Katerina Sestakova Novotna

Susan Darlene Faw




Three Quotes for Three Days


Thanks to Millie Slavidou of Glossologics for nominating me for the “Three Quotes for Three Days” challenge.
The rules of the challenge are:
Three quotes for three days.
Three nominees each day (no repetition).
Thank the person who nominated you.
Inform the nominees

Today’s quote is from Mary Kay Ash, the founder of Mary Kay Cosmetics:

Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn’t know that so it goes on flying anyway.


My nominees are:

Pam Lecky

Angelika Schwarz

Eithne Muffy O’Connor

If You Want to Write


photo: thanks to pixabay and pablo

I’ve written this as an inspiration to others who may have been longing to write for years but who haven’t started yet. And I may continue this theme by writing about the books that have inspired me and how I went about publishing my book. 

I love to write, but so do millions of others. But could I actually write a novel? Should I? Why not?  If you can imagine it, you can do it. Then there’s the age old battle between the ego and the spirit. Should I remain humble and keep my mumblings to myself, or should I live my dream and publish a book, or two, or three?

It’s so easy and yet so hard. We must learn the rules of writing. And what better way to learn this that to give it a try. Start with a short story. But read, read the classics, read different genres. These authors make it look so easy, right?

At some stage, you’ll begin to read like a writer. You’ll find yourself thinking about the way the scene was set up, or the way the character was portrayed. How did the author do that? Where did they get their ideas from?

We might look at Picasso’s work and think ‘What the dickens was he on?’ His abstract paintings look simple. And what’s with all those distorted heads?  But his style was innovative at the time. He had learned the ropes so he could afford to do something ‘different.’ He knew all about perspective, colour and form.

A writer’s tools may be different. We have to learn how to paint pictures with words, create characters with depth and paint scenes in such a way that the reader can see them vividly. Learn the basics and go create your unique story.

What kind of book would you like to read? Do you have a theme you’d like to explore?

Anything is possible, almost.

I think that’s the secret. That’s where you should begin, by writing a story that pleases you.

While some people cannot write without an outline, others just begin and hope it will all come together at some stage. I fall somewhere in between.

It’s a good idea to keep a journal and jot down your ideas.

Even if you write on your computer, the journal writing and the plotting should be done with good old pen and paper. At least that’s what works better for me.

And you might find yourself distracted as you go about your day, wondering what your characters are up to when you’re not controlling them. They might even begin to control you.

One thing I’ve learned is that it’s impossible to please everybody. Somebody will find your plot too unrealistic, your characters too flat, your pacing too slow and your story unoriginal. That’s the risk you have to take when you finally put your book out there for the public to see and critique. Some will love it; some won’t. That’s life!

Don’t give up. Write the next one. Learn from your mistakes. Be daring.

Listen to critique, take it on board, work constantly on improving yourself, but more than anything else trust your own instincts.

Don’t write for the glory or the fame, or for the money. Do it because you love it.

Commit to writing a little every day. While writing a novel can seem like a momentous task, if you write a page a day you’ll have a book finished within a year.

If you begin without any great idea of a plot, create interesting characters and see how they interact with each other. Write one scene with these characters. Describe the setting. Play with dialogue. There are many good books on all aspects of writing. Read as many as you can but be careful not to  become paralysed by all these rules.

You’ll reach a place in your novel where you’ll need to figure out where the story is going. This is where mind-mapping or other such tools can be most useful. Plotting is tricky. I’m currently writing my second novel and am trying to work my way through a difficult plot line. I know where I want to go but am not sure how to get there yet. I don’t want to waste days of writing only to have to go back and delete all my hard work. Because it is hard work.

You can write for years, spend a small fortune on books and workshops, travel to see your favourite authors talk, and all without any promise of reward, except the feeling of having completed another novel.

Sometimes I listen to binaural beats when I’m writing. There are many on YouTube and I find them particularly useful. I cannot listen to lyrics when I’m writing, but I do need some sort of light background music. I also listen to classical music. It can be dramatic if the scene is dramatic, or light piano music if I don’t want to be distracted.

If you get stuck in one chapter, you can leave it and continue to the next scene. That’s the beauty of computers. Imagine how laborious it was to write a novel before the dawn of computers? Now, we can delete and add sections as we see fit. We can move chapters around. We can use the ‘search and find’ option, and we can format as we go along. I usually edit as I go along, but a lot of writers advise getting the story on the page first. That’ll be your first draft. Afterwards you can go back and edit.

We all have our own pace. Appoach your writing as a delicious addiction, it will bring you both pain and pleasure. It is not a race.

Keep reminding yourself that most of the writers who are applauded today collected many rejection slips on their path to success.  They never gave up.

I began posting my writing on an international writing site about ten years ago. I was nervous at first, but I started with poetry. Although I hadn’t written poetry for years, I loved playing with words and rhyme. I signed up using a pseudonym, paid the small fee and quickly wrote a couple of poems and posted them. I tried to settle my galloping heart as I ducked for cover.  Since I’d given myself a pseudonym, I felt safe and anonymous.  Imagine my delight when I checked in a few hours later. Yuhooo!  I had great feedback. I got gold stars. This was fun. A published poet became my first fan. ‘You have it in you,’ he said.  I felt a bit like a pretender.  If I was really a poet I would have been collecting and reading poetry books, wouldn’t I?  True, I had a few, but certainly not a slew. I found it easier to condense my thoughts and put them in poetry form. It didn’t take as long to write a poem as it did to write a short story either.

Ah, but that was my ultimate goal—to write short stories or novels.

And so I began writing short stories, more poems and then a novel. I’d post a chapter of my novel every week. That was doable. I could fit it in around my other duties. It was great getting feedback, and I learned a lot that way. But it was taking up a lot of my time; it was becoming an addiction. Not only was I writing, but I was also reading a lot of the other members’ work. The more work you reviewed, the more points you accrued, which in turn allowed you to post your next piece of work. There was another option, which was to pay for each piece of work you wrote. I didn’t choose that one for obvious reasons.

I began recognising names and making online writing buddies. It was a helpuful and fun community and remarkably well-run.

Since I live in Germany, I didn’t have a writing community here. Joining an online group was definitely the next best thing. In fact,  I was quite prolific during those couple of years. There were several published novelists on there and great poets too.

That was what got me started. I’m ever grateful for the advances in technology and the ability to connect with people from all over the world. I’ve met some incredibly helpful and supportive people online, particularly on Facebook. I’ve even met some of them in person. This is my motivation for sharing what I’ve learned.

But there are many challenges. Like posting pictures and removing the image of your face floating in the clouds. I’ll work on that.

Tschüss for now!

Insights from Amsterdam


It’s always nice to get away; I usually return refreshed and invigorated.

This weekend we went to Amsterdam. We are lucky to live a three hours’ drive from that vibrant city with its canals, boats, flowers, markets, smiling happy people and bicycles.

And we were visiting good friends who we met over thirty years ago, shortly after we got married and moved to the U.S. for a few years. Carl was an assistant professor, starting at Iowa State University and Wies, his wife is Dutch. My husband and I arrived back then in Ames, Iowa, with a rucksack each and returned with our first born, Sebastian, a couple boxes of books and a wealth of experiences.

Now Carl and Wies are back from Maine, spending a year in Amsterdam and living in a fantastic apartment right on the Prinzengracht.

We shared many happy memories of our time in Ames, although we’ve been seeing each other regularly over the years. My first son was born in Ames, and Wies’s only daughter was born almost a year later. We have happy memories of taking them to the park to play, going for walks and letting them splash in the bathtub while we drank coffee and chatted. We never run out of things to talk about!

But this weekend, after hours of sitting around over leisurly breakfasts, we usually parted ways. Carl and Fr. did their thing and Wies and I strolled through the city, went to the markets, to the English Book Shop, bought flowers and cheese and herbs and jewellry, looked at antique books at the book market, had coffee and reminisced and planned for the future. Where are they going to end up? Where are we going to end up? That theme again, Where She Belongs–and here I’ll do a shameless plug for my debut novel–http://bit.ly/29Yao5z. You can click on the link if you’re interested. We talked about the refugee crisis, the U.S. elections, the Trumpet, as he is known, and everything else in between.

On the Rembrandt plein there is usually a small gathering of artists displaying their wares on Sunday mornings. I was happy to meet up again with Sara J., who hails from South Africa but now lives near Amsterdam. There’s that theme again. A city like Amsterdam is so multi-cultural; you’ll meet people from all over the world. I bought a couple of Sara J’s prints, Zebra Pleasure and Madam’s Kiss. One is an early Christmas present for my sister. Here’s a link to Sara J’s art site: http://bit.ly/29Yao5z. We were going to go to one of the museums but the weather was just too nice for that and we didn’t want to have to queue up for ages either.

The market’s are fantastic, of course, and now is the time to buy tulip bulbs for next spring. I recommed the book Tulip Fever by Deborah Moggach, by the way. She’s also the author of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, which I love, but Tulip Fever is entirely different. My brother gave it to me years ago. It’s full of suspense and will transport you back to the time when people were going crazy speculating on tulip bulbs. It’s a gem of a book. I wrote to tell D. Moggach how much I liked her book, something I rarely do, and she answered me. Gold stars for her!

Now I’m going to post a picture I took of cheese–just because. The Dutch do love their cheese. Germans call the Dutch Käsköppe (Cheese Heads) and the Dutch call the Germans Krauts (the cabages), but that’s well known. If you go to Amsterdam you must buy some cheese.


Yes, I know. I really need to minimize these pictures, but I don’t have the patience for that at the moment.

Adieu for now!







Raw Lines from a Busy Mind

A side of me doesn’t want to avoid topics

because they disturb you, or him, or her

I know nobody who wants their peace disturbed

But there’s a lot of anger simmering in people


I do not believe most people want to destroy

unless they feel they have nothing to lose

unless their sense of injustice is too hard to bear


I brush these thoughts aside and gaze out the window

watching the tall pink flowers sway in the breeze

The white rose hides behind the tall grass

shaded by the buddlea


communing with bees and butterflies


My mind is restored now

to a semblance of peace

I am lucky; I have a house, a garden

food on my table

nice things to think about

Yet I cannot ignore the world around me

I will not ignore it

present and peony 001

If the first suffragette had not protested

would we have the vote?

If Rosa Parks had not been brave and refused to budge

would our black brothers and sisters be able to sit on a bus

like the rest of us?


Am I the rose, hiding behind the tall grass?

watching, waiting…

Am I the pink flower, swaying in the breeze, looking lovely?

Or the buddlea, basking in the sun

The oak, perhaps, who insists on dropping seeds, willy nilly,

like unwanted opinions?


If I ignore it, will it go away?







A Trip to Ireland – Part Two

We got to watch my brother, Sean, in action at a local hotel where he and a couple of Irish dancers, The Celtic Twins, and Paul Timoney, our local seanachai (story teller, pronounced shan a ki) entertained a group of American tourists. Paul Timoney spun a few tall yarns, followed by Sean with his guitar as he sang Leaving on a Jet Plane, Carrick Fergus, Mary Mack, Makem and Clancy’s  Spancil Hill, and a couple others I can’t remember. I just love his voice and his guitar music. Next up were The Celtic Blonds doing Irish dancing. Typical tourist fare. We sat discretely in the background and watched the group trying out their dance moves (we were a kinder version of Waldorf and Statler).

Our next destination was Miltown Malbay, in Co. Clare. My husband got the ‘flu, which severely limited our activities — a bit disappointing, but what can you do. We had a spectacular view from our room, and from the communal living room, onto the bay. I was most impressed by Wayne, the owner, who had built this amazing house and rented out several rooms to guests. Mornings saw him running back and forth, taking orders, cooking breakfast. Everything was perfect too, his timing, his coffee and his professionalism.

We drove down toward Kilrush and Kilkee, and on toward Loop Head because we thought it would be fun to visit the film site of Star Wars. Those cliffs are magnificent. Wayne, who also works as a life guard, told us he had just returned from the film site.

“Hardly anybody goes to those cliffs along Clare’s southern coastline,” he said.”Everyone goes to the Cliffs of Moher.”

There were tufts of pink flowers everywhere, shooting up between the rocks. I was hoping to spot a few sea lions or puffins, but that was not to be. There were lots of cows, sheep, crows and swallows though. IMG_20160516_195923

I took a good brisk walk out along the coast one evening and watched the setting sun and heard the swallows making funny squeaking noises, like those toy plastic ducks, or dolphins even.

Back to Loop Head. Unfortunately, they had closed off the road, but we enjoyed some great scenic spots along the way.

We stopped for a snack in a pub in Kilrush. The owner told us the film crew of Star Wars had been in the previous evening to watch a football match. Mark Hamill and the new female star were not amongst them, although they are currently in Ireland, I believe.

The ferry over to Kerry took about twenty minutes; it was shorter than the drive we had planned on taking to get to our next destination. I’m so glad I didn’t drive. The route was heart-in-your-mouth thrilling and frightening at times as we manoeuvered narrow roads between cliffs, with oncoming tour buses and tourists and locals driving hither and tither.

At least we had brilliant sunshine, but that was about to change a couple of days later.

We took the road to Kenmare and followed our instructions to the Swiss couple’s residence, half-way up the mountain, to our self-contained apartment, complete with log fire, lots of buddha heads and other iconic statues and artifacts, a rack full of trance and reggae music, with a few chill cd’s thrown in. We’ve been enjoying listening to them.

Again, we were/are so impressed with what this couple have managed to achieve ever since they left Zurich and bought this old dilapidated stone cottage on four acres of land over two decades ago. Their property is on a huge slope; there’s a gigantic rock at the back of their house. Renee said he had to free the rock from moss and other vegetation which had made its home there. He has built two glass houses, a hen house, a koi pond (sadly a heron ate five of the kois), a workshop for himself and a little stone house with a pool table next to our apartment. We can use it whenever we want. We can explore the garden too and snip some of the fresh herbs scattered throughout. If we find any eggs, we can help ourselves too. His sheds and structures are filled with little interesting details and painted in bright colours, but not gaudy. Our huge terrace overlooks a meadow with sheep and their lambs, and we can watch the sun playing hide and seek over the mountains in the distance. Starlings have nested under our roof and I see them flying back and forth with fat worms in their beaks and making a terrible racket. Two swallows sit up on the overhead wires, a foot apart, and don’t talk to each other.


The bug hit me too, and I’ve been walking around like a zombie. I refuse to give in, although last night I made a delicious chicken soup with chilli and turmeric and lots of vegetables and painted a picture. Since I didn’t bring my painting stuff, I bought a cheap set and had lots of fun playing with colours. I’ll add the final touches later, or maybe I won’t. my seascape

Looks a bit of a mess if you ask me!

I also discovered there’s a poetry workshop in Kenmare tomorrow morning and have signed up for it. It’s being held in the library. That should be fun (I hope).

We’re returning, via Killarney, on Sunday and will be leaving for the U.K. on Monday, where we’ll spend a few days before returning to Germany.

I’m glad in a way that that we’ve had a day of heavy rain and pretty strong winds. Otherwise I wouldn’t have wanted to leave.







A Trip to Ireland

IMG_20160510_141924It seems as if we’ve been on the road for ages. We’ve seen so much, and now that it’s raining (spilling out of the heavens, in fact), it’s the perfect time to write a new blog post. I’m enclosing some random photos which I’ve taken with my mobile. I loved this house below, obviously derelict. I’d love to know who went to the trouble of painting in the faux doors and windows. This was on the way to Glasson, in the heart of Ireland. I wanted to pop into a craft shop, but it was Tuesday and the shop was closed. We did find a lovely little pub next door and had lunch there, so all was not wasted.

We came over for my nephew’s wedding, which was held in Slane, Co. Meath. It was fantastic to see all the family again and meet some new people too. The music was great, both at the wedding and afterwards, with various musicians and friends of Peter entertaining us all. It was one of the nicest weddings I’ve ever attended. The couple made their own vows, the sun shone, the mood was great and everyone was wrapped in the melody of love.

Since Slane is just around the corner from Newgrange and The Hill of Tara, we extended our stay a couple of days and inhaled a bit of history and culture.

The picture below is of Newgrange; it doesn’t look too spectacular, but the energy was pretty amazing there. I didn’t feel the same at The Hill of Tara, but we had a most interesting encounter in the coffee shop.

We climbed the hill, walked around a bit, checked out the eerie graveyard with the typical half-fallen stones and faded engravings of a bygone era. The ominous sound of cawking crows nesting in the high trees added to the sinister feeling. IMG_20160506_163211

There was a coffee shop and gift shop to the front of the actual hills, and it was doing a buzzing trade, so much so that we sat at the front, away from the crowds, in a little niche.

A man in his sixties came to sit beside us, asking if that was alright.

“Sure;” we said, in unison.

I moved my hat and coat to make space for him.

“I’m dying for a cup of tea,” he said, as he looked around him. “I’m waiting for my client.” He stabbed his fork into a delicious-looking chocolate eclair and took a bite. He even had us on edge, wondering who and where this client was. “Yes, this is my third year working for this particular client,” he said. “He’s from the U.S., looking for his ancestors. Problem is, he doesn’t have a name.”

“Well, that’s going to be hard,” I said. Maybe you need a psychic.”

It was a joke.

“I’m a psychic,” he said.

“Really.” I checked his eyes to see if he was joking.

“Actually, I’m a healer,” he continued. I don’t charge for my services. Why don’t you turn around.”

I caught the glint in my husband’s eye, as I obediently turned to the side.

The man put his hand on my lower back and I immediately felt a surge of warm energy rise upward. I knew he was not a fraud, although my husband later insisted he was some sort of a chancer.

“I didn’t tell my client I’m a psychic,” he said. I understood that. Too many sceptics around. IMG_20160506_144443

It was a bizarre encounter, like something out of a film. My husband was enchanted, as was I. “This could only happen in Ireland,” he said.

I would have loved to catch a glimpse of that ‘client’ but never did. We spotted Robbie again on the partking lot. He jumped out of his big car when he saw us, bluetooth headset in his ear. Still no sign of his client.

After another few days in my hometown, catching up with friends and family, we even made it to The Kilbeggan Races and placed a couple of bets on horses. Two of my horses placed and I recouped my minimal bets. IMG_20160513_194828


to be continued….




Dreams and Omens

Dreams blog pic

I’m about to go on holidays for a month and wanted to post something new. So, what to post?

I was at a loss, not that there aren’t numerous ideas floating around my brain.

But then I got distracted and was looking for something in my  Big Dream book, a journal I keep on dreams, musings and what have you.

I found this short entry dated March 16, 2016. I’d completely forgotten about it.

Finally some lovely dreams! And that after such a strange day yesterday. We have the waxing moon, and I read somewhere that we’re in between two powerful eclipses. I think the next one is in September.

I dreamt I was in the open air and this gorgeous bright yellow bird flew by me, did a few tricks and then disappeared. This happened a few times with different birds and funny little colourful creatures. I noticed a couple of people too who came toward me and then disappeared. I was thinking maybe it’s all true that we are all manisfesting everybody and everything around us.

Next, I was walking toward an old-fashioned horse and cart. I heard Irish music playing, diddlyiddly at its best. In the cart sat two men, two women; they didn’t look a bit like who they actually were. (I won’t mention names here to save the innocent). One was like the star from Star Wars, the main character, the blond fellow. I was most surprised by so and so. She looked gorgeous, fabulous skin, lovely figure, not too thin. I was expecting blanketyblank, so I’m wondering if she’s all right.

Then something about my two sons as small children. They were still in bed and I forget the rest.  But it was lovely, big beds! And I thought ‘let him sleep’ about one of my sons, because he needs it.

Next I watched as a really cool, midnight blue oldtimer, low on the road, long and gorgeous, drove by slowly. It looked like Bob Dylan or Prince driving it. I couldn’t be sure. The driver was black in any case but also resembled Bob Dylan (that’s dreams for you).

Prince stopped, looked out of the back of the car, opened the side window and began chatting to me. I couldn’t believe it was him. We ended up having a lovely time.  He kissed me and the electricity zinged through me and I thought, Oh, this is possible!! Later, his boyfriend came in and Prince seemed cool with that, but I was trying to explain it to him.

Very vivid and colourful dreams.

So, I’m wondering what that was all about, especially in light of the fact that Prince has now left the realm of the living a week ago. I was shocked, like most other people because I loved Prince’s music, just like David Bowie. They were both other-wordly. But it’s not as if I was an avid fan. I admired him a lot because he did his own thing, and I absolutely loved Purple Rain. I did see him in concert in Minneapolis back in the 80’s though. I was living in the U.S. at the time, but that’s so long ago, and I can’t remember much about it.

Of course it could be pure coincidence. I’ve long learned that dreams are cryptic in nature. Mine are definitely enhanced around the time of the waxing or full moon. What about yours?

They say everybody dreams. We dream every night, but we often forget them. My husband loves to tease me, “Now was this a dream or reality?” he’d say. He rarely remembers his dreams, but then again he jumps up as soon as his eyes open, not very conducive to retaining dreams. Even if he did remember his dream, he woud dismiss it as pure coincidence.

One of my favourite quotes is:

Those who do not believe in magic will never experience it.

I’m pretty sure we all have so-called prophetic dreams at times. I know I’ve had a few over the years, and it’s always nice when they can be verified. I even won a nice little sum on the Lotto once, because I followed a dream. No; I didn’t get the numbers, but I did follow the symbols and play… and win! The good thing was that I had acted out of character and told several people I was going to win in that particular draw. Some even called me on the day. Imagine the shock when it actually happened. I would have been pretty embarrassed if it hadn’t happened. So I have at least a couple of people who can verify that.

I was also guided to check particular details for a pretty big exam I sat in 1999. So the next morning, the morning of the exam, I flicked through my books and memorised some lab data; I knew that was my weak point. It was my saving grace and I flew through the exam.

Oh, I could write a book about this.

Do let me know about your prophetic dreams and signs you’ve followed.