The book lived in a King Edward cigar box stuffed with a tiny prayer book for Catholic sailors during World War II, and a black beaded rosary. Wrapped in tissue, a broken statue of Mary in her blue and white robes remains where cigars were once offered. A smattering of black and white photos with tropical backgrounds and sailors in white shirts and dark pants have notes written in pencil on the yellowing backs, “This is the line to the latrine!!” and “Here we are waiting for tonight’s special meal — Spam. Oh Brother!”
I do not like it when a cloud lingers around my aura. My thinking fogs-up. My feet shuffle instead of step up. And my language slips into what one of my mentors would call “slow vibrating words.” That’s not a good thing because the faster and more clearer that our aura vibrates, the better we can see truth and make positive choices.