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Član ShadowOfSoul

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ShadowOfSoul

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AKO ŽELITE IZDATI SVOJU KNJIGU...

AKO ŽELITE IZDATI SVOJU KNJIGU...
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Na ovom linku je popis svih autora kojima sam do sad izradila knjige:

https://blog.dnevnik.hr/moj-plavi-svijet/2023/03/1631970544/knjige-koje-sam-pripremila-za-tisak-i-eknjigu-drugim-autorima.html

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KOMENTARI

  • 16.07.2023. 16:50h

    Član emilio-iiMerlin0

    Alan Ford:"Bolje je Izdati knjigu nego Prijatelja" !o'o!

    Momentalno i retrogradno čitam Harolda Robinsa i.... "Kamo ljubav ode"

    Jeste da je i perverzan ali je i potkovan !?

    Pa zar nije i Elizabeta jahala Pastuha do zadnjih dana ?!

    "Visoko Društvo a Naniže Niže"......

    Rituali u svim uzvišenim morbidnostima.............

    "Milanović" ima taj "gen" za ono što "Domazet" zove " duboka oligarhno-okultna država"......

    Inače se to može svrstati u "Zastor Zaborava"...... i Režisere iza Kulisa kojih NeMa (osim u Mjehuru Percepcije)

    P.S:"I zato neki kažu da je i usrano umrijeti "u za Nosu".....

    (knjige mogu biti i Učiteljice Života u smislu da prava Ljubav je i prava Rariteta....... pa recimo ona koja Život Znači i ne može biti bezŽivotna ili i za  žene koje su se i pomalo zagubile u patrijarhatu iliti i mrze žene sa pozicije moči i koje nemaju pa i "ljubo-more" : https://archive.org/details/taisha-abelar-stalking-with-the-double/page/1/mode/2up

  • 16.07.2023. 17:15h

    Član emilio-iiMerlin0

    Znači možemo li ubaciti neki "Tampon"  u našu Originalnost kao Zaštitnika od "Umjetnosti" a koja če nas Penetrirati pa i preko "Kože" kao "JedanaesteRupe sa Bezbroj Pora" !o'o!

    *THE MARKETPLACE
    We drove long into the night without stopping. I was afraid to
    close my eyes even for an instant tor fear of seeing the face of the
    witch, Catalina. Even with my eyes open, I could not get her visage
    out of my mind. She had worked herself into my thoughts and had
    gotten a foothold there, as if she had left her energy inside me, or
    had removed something ot mine that was vital for my well being. I was
    j certain she was doing witchcraft on the level of the invisible, and
    ail my efforts went to fighting an exhausting battle of the will.
    Carlos was right, she was perusing us, and I had a gnawing anxiety
    that if I tell asleep, something terrible would happen.
    For an instant my eyes drooped and in my drowsy state, the
    smudges of dirt and light reflected on the windshield became the
    awesome face of Catalina with large teeth and glowing eyes. The trees
    outside were her black hair flowing like a banshee. I shook my head
    to dispel her image, yet I couldn't help being obsessed with what had
    happened.
    Now her face was burned into my memory forever, like a flame
    after staring at it too long. I telt like a moth flying erratically
    around a light bulb; unable to break the tixation I had with that
    woman and her power. Also, I couldn't help worrying about the luminous
    worms that she had said were draining my energy. I thought I had
    2.67
    gotten rid ot all of them during the recapitulation I had done under
    Clara's guidance. But seven years had not elapses, and according to
    the sorcerers, that was the duration tor luminous worms existing
    inside a woman's womb.
    All I could think ot was that Catalina had "awakened" the
    luminous worms in my stomach by massaging it. I thought of the girl
    in the store who wanted to go the United States with Carlos. I felt a
    pang of jealousy and hated myself for feeling that way. The witch,
    Catalina had me pegged. In spite of my denying it, I was still
    attached to men, and being loved and accepted was prominent, despite
    anything I said or did to the contrary.
    I tried to think of other things, but the darkness around us was
    ) too engulfing. It seemed to be darker than a normal night. That
    worried me. I glanced over at Carlos but he was as worried and
    preoccupied as I was. For distraction, I asked him to describe the
    kinship system of the Yaqui Indians, and whether they had the motherin law "joking relationship" pattern, predominant in so many other
    cultures.
    "Is there mother-in-law avoidance among the Yaqui?" I asked.
    Carlos looked at me as if I were a cockroach.
    "I mean according to Malinowsky, based on his work in the
    Trobriand Islands, there is usually an avoidance structure set up
    between the husband and the wite's mother. Or is between the mother's
    brother and the sister's daughter? That would be an incest taboo since
    it would make him her uncle."
    "It's better just to keep quiet, rather than to talk nonsense,"
    Carlos said turning his eyes back to the road.
    268
    I felt a jolt. I knew he was angry with me because of the
    luminous worm. I felt like a traitor, guilty of still being energetically attached to men that by now I didn't give a fig about. I had
    one foot in the world of sorcery, the other, gangrenous one, was
    emersed in the world of human affairs. Upon more soul searching, I
    realized I was still concerned with finding love, thinking of who will
    take care of me in times of.need, and what will happen to me if I
    didn't succeed in the sorcerer's world. I was investing, expecting
    rewards for my efforts. And when no rewards were forthcoming, I tended
    to give up and revert back to my familiar pattern of behavior.
    As we drove in the dark, memories came back to haunt me. I
    couldn't believe they still had such a powerful emotional valence. I
    was certain Catalina had sired up a can of worms during her treatment,
    and because of it, I could remember every detail of things that had
    taken place years ago.
    I was fourteen, banging on the church doors at two o'clock in the
    morning wanting desperately to. have a priest hear my confession. I
    couldn't take it any longer. I was afraid I would die in the night and
    be condemned to eternal hell for doing the things the tragic couple in
    Father ~'firien's sunday sermon had done. That sunday at mass he had
    told us what had happened to two teenagers in his previous parish who
    had gone on a drive up the mountains to do 'shameful' things. While
    they were engrossed in petting and kissing, and other things which he
    left deliberately vague, the handbreak had worked itself loose and the
    car' rolled down the mountain side, killing the young people instantly.
    When their bodies were tound, to the shock ot their parents, they were
    in various states of disrobement. Father O'Brien had said that their
    death had come so suddenly that they didn't even have time to make an
    act ot contrition. And now their souls are in perpetual agony.
    The doors of the church had been locked and no one came to hear
    my confession. I got tired of pounding and became so enraged that I
    swore that I would never expect anything from the church again. God
    had closed his heart to me in my hour of need and I would do the same
    to him forever. I gave the thick wooden door a sound kick, spat on the
    ground, and because I was so agitated and needed to relieve myself, I
    squatted down and urinated right there on the church steps. I never
    went to confession again, and to my mother's profound distress, I
    decided to sleep late every Sunday and skip mass altogether.
    When I had recounted this event to Clara, she had said that I was
    lucky that no priest had been there to open the church door. For to
    confess and throw oneself on the mercy of a priest or God, himself, in
    a moment of weakness was the worst thing anyone could do. She said
    that contrary to what I might have thought at the time, power had not
    deserted me after ail, because by urinating on the church steps I had
    broken my ties with the church forever. She had assured me that
    urinating is one of the best ways sorcerers have of severing their
    connections with things.
    "I too had an awful time disassociating myself from the Church,"
    she had revealed. "I used to look forward to sunday mass so I could
    meet with friends. Then I would go to their houses and eat and gossip
    all afternoon. That was the only enjoyment I had in my life, so I
    clung to it like there's no tomorrow."
    "How did you break that habit?" I asked.
    "My teacher, the Nagual Julian, had me collect all my piss for
    days in jars. Then late one night, I had to go to the church of my
    home town and when no one was around I had to till all the holy water
    basins with urine and also the baptismal fount. Then I had to go up to
    the altar and fill the calices and add some piss to the incense
    dispenser. Imagine the next morning--for he had me go on a Saturday--
    the surprise ot the priest and parishioners when they blessed themselves with my piss. I didn't see the humor of it at the time, because
    I was frightened to death and felt guilty for years afterward over
    committing holy sacrilege. But the nagual Julian, said that that is
    exactly what we do, we try to bless ourselves and become holy using
    someone else's piss as it' it were sacred. Years later I saw the irony
    J of it and the touch of genius in the nagual's stalker's plan. You, on
    the other hand, had followed no plan; you simply went there to relieve
    yourself and the spirit took care of the rest, without you even
    knowing it."
    As we drove in an uneasy silence, I breathed in the memories and
    softly exhaled them. Several hours later we arrived at the city of
    Los Ploches. We stopped at a modem all-night diner to eat. I was
    ravenous. My legs were itching terribly out of guilt, tension and lack
    ot sleep. I almost wished I had not left Catalina's potion in her
    house. Yet I had been told never to accept food or drink from anyone,
    and certainly not medicine. Who could say what that lotion contained
    or might have done to me after la Catalina's wrathful outburst.
    We ordered bacon and eggs in the well lit coffee shop. Carlos
    seemed tired but I was relieved to see that he, too, was ravenous.
    Somehow, we still had our appetites, so things could not have been
    271
    totally out of control. During the meal I kept reaching down to
    scratch my legs because my levis rubbed against the bites, making them
    itch all the more.
    'I know a pharmacy in this town," Carlos said, noticing my
    discomtort. "When they open in the morning, we'll go there. There is
    also a curer who works in the herb market..."
    I couldn't believe my ears. "Not another curer," I said adamantly. "I simply refuse to go."
    "No, this is different," Carlos assured me. "He's an herbalist.
    He has studied pharmacology and medicinal plants. He's very knowledgable. Besides, it's a good idea to cancel out the powerful effect
    Catalina had on you."
    This was the tirst time since leaving Sonora that Carlos had
    mention the sorceress' name. I thought that perhaps we had put enough
    distance between us to neutralize the pull of her power.
    "Alright, if you think it's a good idea," I said, rubbing my calf
    against the table leg. "How did la Catalina get to be so powerful?" I
    asked.
    "livery morning before dawn she walks tive miles to a hilltop and
    stands there naked to absorb the energy ot the earth and wind," he
    replied.
    "How do you know that?" I asked. "Have you seen her naked?"
    Carlos laughed uneasily. "No. Don Juan told me. She is like a
    cousin to his line. Although, as I said, she really belongs with the
    Nagual Julian's party."
    "Why didn't she go with them when they left the world?"
    "She wasn't ready. She still wanted to do things in the world, I
    suppose. "
    We checked into a motel and I spent the rest ot the night in a
    tittul sleep. I telt that there were a hoard of people in the room. If
    I opened my eyes quickly, I could see some of them standing next to my
    bed, for they couldn't vanish fast enough. And I could certainly hear
    them whispering. Don Juan was there, and two other men; all three of
    them were wearing suits. I sensed their presence and their bulk but I
    could not make out their faced, although I thought one of them was the
    man Catalina hadcalled her 'protector'.
    At one point in my sleep, I was curled up on my left side,
    shivering like a dog from the cold. One of the men was poking me with
    1 a walking stick to see it I would awake. I felt and could see and hear
    what they were doing, but I could not move. I decided to feign sleep
    so I could eavesdrop on what they were saying, for I knew they were
    whispering about me.
    "She's still stuck on what happened in highschool," don Juan said
    annoyed.
    "She can' t stop indulging," another one said.
    "Idiot," the man that was poking me said, "That's what a Catholic
    upbringing will do. There is no end to her self-pity. It wasn't as
    though she gave herself to Father O'Brien."
    "In her mind she did,!' someone said in a pathetic tone that made
    everyone laugh.
    I must have made some sort of movement, because someone asked,
    I st Do you suppose she can hear us?"
    "I wouldn't put it passed Taisha," don Juan replied. "She's
    pretty sneaky. Let's talk to her; maybe we can pour some sense into
    her. "
    Then they started talking to me and telling me things; what to do
    to straighten out my lite; how important it was to let go ot the past
    and not cling to memories; and things about the recapitulation, which
    they said was a never ending process. I sensed their strength and
    fairness and I felt safe in their presence. Don Juan was so indifferent and non judgmental that I was relieved. I knew that if someone
    so noble didn't give a hoot about what I was or did, that it couldn't
    be that bad. They must be right, I was only indulging.
    They told me many things, about myself and about Carlos and of
    ,, things to come, but I knew I would not be able to remember even a 1
    fraction of what they had said. And then someone did something that I
    would remember always. He began to sing a song. It was a song about
    saying goodby and leaving memories behind, even the happy ones that
    made our hearts laugh. The song was so strange, because it recounted
    specific moments I had lived. It was as it that song was tailor made
    tor my life and the words described what I was feeling in the deepest
    part ot me.
    Ot course, I began to cry, not because it was a sad song, but
    because it was about me. It was a song of making peace with one's
    heart and with lost youth. It was a song of liberation, beautiful and
    strong tor it captured the essence of the moment. It summed up the
    temporariness ot lite. Listening to it, I felt purged and a deep
    sense ot gratitude and love weld up for those who were helping me for
    no reason at ail. That simple tune had reached places no words could
    have touched.
    The next morning I remembered what had happened in the room the
    night before. I wanted to write down everything so that I could later
    make sense out of it, and follow the advice they had given me, but all
    I could recapture was the essence of some of the things they told me,
    and, of course, the song which was still in my mind weaving its
    melodic spell.
    After breakfast, we drove to the center ot town, parked the car
    near the plaza and walked to the marketplace.
    "This person has a stall in the market where he sells medicinal
    herbs," Carlos said. "I think it's in this isle if I'm not mistaken."
    We walked passed the rows of fruit vendors and a stand that sold
    poultry. Chickens were hanging upside down with their heads chopped
    off and blood was dripping into a pan below. I became queesie. It was
    not a pleasant sight to see so soon after breakfast.
    Carlos make some inquiries as to whether the man we were looking
    for was there that day. A stocky woman with a red ribbon braided into
    her two long plaits, pointed to a stand at the end of the row. It was
    more than a stand; it was almost a small consultation room, portioned
    off by plywood and curtains. There was a sign on the curtain, saying
    "the doctor is out."
    "The curer will be back shortly," said a thin gaunt youth who was
    the curer's assistant.
    He led us behind the curtain and asked me to sit down on a crate.
    A hot breeze came thorough the opening of the fabric making the
    windowless quarters even stuffier. The cement floor was swept clean
    275
    and there was an altar with wilted flowers and a statue of the virgin
    and some drooping candles. A trunk was the only bulky piece in the
    area, other than the crates and a chair. On it the curer had laid out
    his paraphilia. Stacked against one wall were dried herbs tied
    together with pieces of red yarn. I didn't recognize any of the herbs,
    except tor the angelica which I had gone to find in a stream bed with
    don Juan. Next to the dried herbs was a granite mortar and pestle tor
    grinding medicines to a powder. A row ot neatly labeled jars with
    different powdered herbs, others in roots form, and still others in
    leaves, lined the wall.
    I shifted my position on the pepsi cola crate, or rather leaned
    over to watch the flickering flame ot the candles that the assistant
    had lit on the shrine. My legs itched madly and it was a11 I could do
    to keep from scratching them. Carlos had bought me a pair of white
    cotton mittens to wear so that if I did scratch, I would not draw
    blood and scar my legs. I took the mittens from my pocket and put them
    on just in case I had a fit ot itching I could not control. I looked
    like I had white cat's paws.
    "I'll go see if I can find the curer," Carlos said.
    I insisted that he stay with me and not wander off like he did at
    dona Catalina's house. As we discussed this, the curtain opened and a
    stooped woman supporting herself on a crooked cane stepped into the
    inner room. It was all she could do to walk. The assistant greeted her
    warmly and helped her to the sole chair that Carlos had vacated.
    "Is she the curer?" I asked Carlos in dismay.
    Carlos shook his head. "I don't think so. She must be one of his
    patients . "
    276
    But the assistant introduced her to us as the curer's wife. She
    kept raving about her husband's powers, saying that he had cured her
    son's shoulder which he had dislocated while digging an irrigation
    ditch.
    Why doesn't he cure her?" I whispered to Carlos? "She seemed to
    be on her last Leg."
    The old woman smacked her lips and looked me up and down in
    disapproval. I senses she distinctly disliked Americans with their
    soft, cushioned ways. I wasn't about to antagonize anyone after the
    experience with dona Catalina, so I said "Buenos dias," and smiled as
    graciously as I could.
    She nodded and said "buenos dias," but did not smile.
    The curer must be ancient if that is his wife, I thought. Just
    then a sprite man, perhaps in his late forties, entered through the
    curtain. He was tali for a Mexican, lean and exuded a sort of wiry
    vitality. He had a pointed well trimmed beard giving me the impression of a Spanish gentleman on leave from his hacienda. And like the
    Spaniards, his skin was light. His eyes were friendly and he had well
    marked laugh lines around his eyes and mouth giving him a mischievous
    appearance. He was dressed in charcoal trouser and a white tunic-like
    shirt with embroidery down the front that, with a little imagination,
    could pass for ,a doctor's smock.
    Carlos, the curer, don Vicente, and his assistant chatted
    amicably in spanish for a while, as his wife, that looked more like
    his mother or even his grandmother, Looked on in silence. Then the
    curer ceremoniously bowed and formally asked us permission to begin
    practicing his healing art. He was such a gentleman that I instinc277
    tively trusted him. His assistant had told us earlier, while his wife
    was informing us of his prowess, that he could diagnose illness by
    evaluating the color and shape of a person's energy that surrounds his
    body.
    The curer started by staring at me as if assessing the state of
    my energy. I was worried about what he might see, especially after the
    clash with la Catalina. I would have hidden all the bad things if I
    could, including the foreign luminous worms, but how could one hide
    what was already invisible? The curer became foggy eyed and a bit
    groggy and he seemed to be looking right through me so there was no
    place to hide. I didn't like the way he was shaking his head in
    dismayed. After an uneasy interval, he opened his eyes wider and with
    a frown whispered something to Carlos in Spanish.
    "He believes it is a case of bewitchment," said Carlos.
    'Witchcrattl I knew it. But he hasn't even looked at the tlea
    bites yet." I began to roll up my pant legs.
    The curer glanced at the red swollen bits and nodded as he
    repeated what he had said bef ore, "Embrujamiento."
    "Now he's certain it's witchcraft," Carlos said.
    The old woman in the corner nodded in agreement.
    "But doesn't witchcraft have to be done by an enemy? I asked. "I
    don't have any enemies in Mexico, except maybe for Catalina, but I had
    the bites before I had the run in with her. So I know she didn't cause
    them. "
    "He thinks a jealous woman put the hex on you," said Carlos.
    ,~ "I don't know any jealous women," I said, except for myself, . I .
    couldn't help thinking.
    278
    Don Vicente examined the bites carefully then took two white
    candles and ran them sideways up and down along my calves. He periodically shook the candles in the air as if to cast off the poison that
    the candles had attracted to them. Then he got a flask of yellowish
    liquid from the shrine, which he said was holy water, and sprinkled it
    on my legs. I cringed as it I were Satin himself. For I remembered
    Clara's story about urinating in the holy water founts in the church.
    I was certain that the liquid was the curer's own urine.
    Then the assistant took from the top of the chest a rattle with a
    long handle and gave it to the curer who shook it vigorously all
    around my body. With eyes closed, don Vicente hummed a monotonous
    chant as he kept shaking the rattle as if to ward off evil spirits.
    ' \ .I The sound of the rattle made me remember the girl whom I had seen in
    the Yaqui store, the day we had bought our hats and the Pascola masks.
    I saw again the look of contempt the girl had given me while I was
    sitting in the front seat of the car. But I had already gotten bit,
    how could she have caused it? I was thinking of the possibilities of
    illnesses caused by the evil eye, when don Vicente interrupted my
    thoughts.
    8, Someone wants you to be as miserable as can be," he said. "They
    may not have caused the bites, but they are certainly keeping them
    from healing. "
    I wondered if Don Vicente's sinister diagnosis was correct. I had
    heard witchcraft discussed in my anthropology courses, but I had
    always thought that curses and the evil eye were concepts primitive
    people used to explain the world of cause and effect because they were
    somehow lacking in rationality or logical thought. Could someone's
    279
    ill feelings really affect another person physically. After meeting
    Catalina, I was certain of it.
    I caught myself. It was all too easy to blame others tor one's
    own carelessness or ill-fortune. Was my discomfort really something a
    jealous woman had wished upon me or was it something I had brought
    upon myselt. To see cause and effect on a supernatural plane, which
    could not be refuted, seemed to me an easy way to explain anything. I
    decided that the fleas had bitten me simply because my legs were there
    and uncovered. Yet the more I thought of the other people sitting in
    the same room, some wearing skirts with their legs also uncovered, I
    realized none of them had gotten bit. They were exposed to the same
    dirt floor, the same fleas; and it was true, the fleas had descend on
    I me with a particular vengeance. ,I
    "What can I do about it?" I asked concerned. I hoped I would not
    have to kill a chicken or drink the blood of a goat or something of
    that nature.
    Don Vicente put down the rattle and searched through his trunk.
    He brought out an amulet on a string made of a small seed that looked
    strangely like an eye. He said I needed to wear it around my neck for
    nine days, then the swelling and itching would be gone. The amulet
    called 'eye of the deer' would counteractthe force of the venom sent
    by the evil wisher, whom he said I had had contact with. The curer
    also gave me a holy card of Saint George, slaying a dragon which I was
    to place under my pillow while I slept.
    I put the holy card in my pocket and rolled down my pant legs. I
    decided to follow don Vicente's instructions to the letter, even
    though I knew that the dragon slayer had not been a real saint at all;
    2W
    because according to the Catholic Church, Saint George had never
    officially existed and neither had dragons. I realized that what was
    superstition in one culture was reality in another. Besides, what did
    I know about the supernatural world and its ramifications. I was
    trapped in ordinary life thinking of myself, with no hope of escaping,
    unless something drastic happened.
    We stepped out of the curtained oft area which had been a
    sanctuary apart from the world, and entered the hustle and bustle of
    the market place. Don Vicente addressed Carlos in private in friendly
    tones. From time to time he glanced at me and chuckled. I wondered if
    he was telling him more about the evil eye and what to do to counteract it.
    His wife had followed us through the curtain and was slowly
    walking away, stopping to browse at several of the stalls. I noticed
    then something strange. She was no longer stooped over, and she had
    lost her limp and had abandoned her cane. From where I stood she
    seemed like a young woman with an exquisitely straight back. I wanted
    to follow her around the market place to see what she was up to and
    how she had accomplishedher remarkable metamorphosis. But Carlos came
    up to me and said it was time to go., I thanked don Vicente and we
    left.
    "What did the curer say to you?" I asked as we stopped to buy
    some short stubby bananas at a stall, outside the main market.
    Carlos hesitated tor a moment then said, "Don Vicente thinks your
    a bit crazy and that's why you're so susceptible to witchcraft."
    "What makes him think that?" I asked.
    'He could tell from his seeing that your energy field is erratic.
    Something in you was hopping ail over the place."
    'How could he tell?"
    "He could see it in your eyes."
    Carlos peered at my eyes as if to see if what don Vicente had
    said was true. "He also said that if you don't do something about your
    indulging soon, your heath will be impaired. Then it will be difficult to cure you."
    "Well, if it's a question of internal balance," I said, "I'm a
    hopeless case. I just saw his wife walk away without a trace of a
    limp; and her back was completely straight. She wasn't even using her
    cane. "
    "What?"
    "I said, his wite, when she walked down the isle wasn't limping.
    And she wasn't stooped at all."
    'I think you're beginning to see things," Carlos said with a
    nervous laugh. "Either that, or don Vicente is right. Someone has
    bewitched you." *

    I eto ti ga na i zašto i Korlević koji samo i naslučuje da nije i poželjno jer je i po život opasno pokušavati  počiniti "reviziju povijesti" ?

    A kada neki kazuju "nikad više" i " ne ponovilo se" a prvi ponavljaju..........

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    dobro jutro i od mene svima!

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