Tag Archive: dreams and visions


Nexus – Book 13 of the Samsara Chronicles

After Aislinn and Dylan participate in Shakan’s banishment to the Overlap, they prepare for their journey to Klatria to rescue Aislinn’s parents.

Certain that Shakan’s banishment to the Overlap has forever ended the tainted bloodline of Jhanvar, Aislinn and Dylan  prepare, with the help of Altithronus, emissary to the Antiquitas, for their journey to Klatria to rescue the royals.




Malendi merely smiled, though she could not quite suppress a shudder of excitement. For as long as she had known Janku, she had never glimpsed the gentle personality that Anelda claimed he once possessed. That something as lowly as a vegetable bar could create such changes was a miracle beyond any of their expectations. With a sense of pride she understood that her efforts, combined with those of Anelda’s and the resistance, would ultimately exonerate the evil unleashed by Vark in the name of Klatria.

She reached out and squeezed Janku’s hand. He virtually spasmed at the contact, but did not withdraw his hand. “Go now,” she said. “The others will be hungry. See that the bars are distributed among all.”

He nodded mutely and hurried down the corridor, a look of gratitude and fear in his eyes. As soon as he disappeared, Malendi returned to the nook and picked up a second basket. She paused to retrieve a half-eaten bar from beneath the cloth cover and ate it. While she chewed, her gaze roamed the rank, dripping tunnel. Near the intersection of a parallel tunnel, a misshapen milliped wriggled from a bubbling pit and scuttled off into a crevice in the adjacent rock. Suddenly, the glistening rock surface shimmied.

She gasped and pressed herself into the nook. The large serpentine shape immediately below the rock surface filled her with a gnawing sense of dread. A triangular head paused and swayed toward her direction. Fearful of the throwort’s keen sense of smell, Malendi breathed shallowly and forced herself to remain absolutely still. The effort soon fatigued her and it took a supreme effort to keep her body from shaking. She shut her eyes and willed the creature to move on.

Finally, the throwort wriggled away in the direction of the other tunnel. Exhausted, Malendi sagged against the rock. Her lungs burned with each gulping breath, her rubbery legs barely able to support her weight. To divert her mind from her physical discomfort, she envisioned the creature infiltrating Vark’s quarters. It would have been such a simple solution to the tyranny the surviving population endured, yet the man who had once called himself their leader seemed impervious to attack whereas so many others had died. So often did she question the justice in the apparent annihilation of her people that it had become a constant undercurrent in her mind.


Netherworld, Book 9 of the Samsara Chronicles

Directed by one of their Earthly guides, Aislinn and Dylan venture to the Overlap, an ancient castle situated within a temporal rift where they discover the nature of Shakan’s treachery.

Seeking answers regarding the kidnapping of her parents, Aislinn and Dylan follow one of their Earthly guides to the mysterious Overlap, a temporal rift situated within an ancient castle. There they experience past events that reveal the nature of the rival Nirvanan bloodlines as well as the identity of the traitor in league with the Klatrians.


She felt a fleeting caress against her cheek and stopped. Turning slightly, she felt it again, though this time stronger. The draft ruffled her hair, the musty odor reminiscent of the gush of stale air expelled by the arrival of a subway train. She felt the skull glow through the cloth. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. “Dylan—”

She had barely grabbed his hand when the vortex exploded through a barred door like a cannon shot, its resonance a banshee scream. Swept off their feet, Aislinn desperately clutched the skull while Dylan struggled to keep a grip on her. They slid along the cold stone. Ahead, Dylan spotted the recessed niche to yet another barred door and half scooted, half crawled toward it. Pressed close to him, Aislinn glanced behind and gasped as an infernal glow oozed from the open doorway. The malevolence emanating from it reminded her of the entity that had first terrorized her in her apartment on Earth. A nauseating stench of scorched rubber filled the air.

“My God, what is that?” Dylan cried, cradling Aislinn against his chest.

Strands of loosened hair whipped around her face and almost dislodged her tiara. She slipped the skull from the sling, gripped it and focused on the vortex. Her ring sparkled like a Roman candle. Reveling in its freedom, the vortex churned, writhed and ricocheted off the walls in a bizarre dance of exaltation. The walls trembled from the force, the doors rattled in sympathy. Pushing the din from her mind, Aislinn felt her fingers merge with the skull, the energy forming a bond with her ring. It flared, crackled and fanned out, immersing the shadowy ruins in immaculate white light.

“Get out!” she cried. “Return to the dimension that spawned you. You have no power here.” Defiantly, she rose into the buffeting wind and raised the skull.

Dylan reached to stop her but she stepped away from his grasp. He pressed himself into the door niche and shielded his eyes from the skull’s almost solar glow.

“You’re nothing,” she continued. “Merely a shadow of the past and the hatred that nurtured you.”



Nirvana – Book 8 of the Samsara Chronicles

Dylan, Aislinn and the chosen humans arrive on Nirvana but now the pair faces another alien threat, this time to their homeworld.

Aislinn and Dylan’s joyous homecoming to Nirvana is tempered by yet another crisis. Aliens, assisted by a traitorous member of Nirvanan security and a threat to the royal bloodline, have kidnapped Aislinn’s parents and hold them hostage on the dying world of Klatria. Aislinn and Dylan now face the task of rescuing them before they are killed.


Aislinn gasped as a sensation of coldness washed over her. At that moment, the woman doubled back and veered onto a path near the fountain. As if sensing Aislinn’s scrutiny, she suddenly paused and raised her eyes. Their glances locked, and a hostility beyond description emanated from the woman’s gaze. Bolting off at the sound of shouting, she somehow lost her footing and fell onto a sunny part of the path. Witnessing the spectacle below, Aislinn clasped the railing with white knuckles.

“There! On the path!” she cried out, the breeze carrying her voice downward to the guards, spurring them into action. Snared by the sunlight, the woman struggled to rise as though stunned. Her reactions were sluggish. She glared balefully and tried to bolt from the contingent of approaching guards, but stumbled again.

Dylan returned a moment later. “It’s okay. They won’t get away. The guards have been on alert since yesterday’s incident. These two have actually been spotted before, but managed to get away.”

Aislinn frowned at the woman’s increasing agitation. She stumbled with the uncoordinated movements of a drunkard.

“Dylan, look!”

A guard advanced on the disoriented woman while a second jumped her from behind and tackled her to the ground. The woman fought the men with unbelievable viciousness before her body abruptly slackened in their grip.

“Watch yourself!” Aislinn cried out to the guards, again sensing the woman’s malevolence.

Almost on cue, the woman exploded into a frenzied resistance. The second guard was caught by surprise and barely missed her flailing fists. It took both a supreme effort to subdue her. Aislinn watched in horror as the woman’s fury transformed into agony. Writhing in the sun, she began screaming and clawing at her face, the epidermis peeling off in shriveled, parchment-like strips. Even from a distance, Aislinn could see revulsion in the guards’ faces as the woman savagely gouged her flesh. Muddy fluid jetted from the wounds, and despite the intervention of a third guard, none could stop her self-mutilation.

Aislinn shook her head as if to banish the ugly scene. “Dear God, is this what we’re up against?”



Covenant Book 3 in the Samsara Chronicles

Pursued by increasingly violent Eletarii minions, Aislinn and Dylan acquire the first and most important talisman necessary to open the celestial gate.

Targeted by Eletarii minions, Aislinn and Dylan are guided to acquire the crystal skull, the core of Aislinn’s past and future power. After a terrifying encounter with the dark forces while spending Christmas at her parents, Aislinn and Dylan accept the perilous journey ahead of them.


The skull was approximately the size of a baby’s head and shone with mystical brilliance. She reached into the glass case and placed both her hands on either side of the skull. An overwhelming power surged through her body. For a very brief moment, the spheres appeared and hovered around the glass case as if to convey a message.

Aislinn watched one of the spheres hover over the case while another hummed around her head. She nodded—the message in her mind suddenly clear. She looked at the dealer. “I want to buy it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying his uncertainty. He glanced at the skull almost as though seeking approval. “Young lady, I have other customers waiting. As you know, the price is—”

“I know the price. You want five thousand dollars for it. I want it.” She had no idea why she wanted the skull so badly and thought of her savings that would be eaten up by such a foolish extravagance. To indulge in such a purchase was totally out of character, yet she could not fight the feelings that compelled her.

“I’ll agree only if you can pay cash or by approved debit card,” he told her hesitantly. “And that’s providing I’m able to reach the verification center. The service only operates a few hours a week.”

She nodded—her determination to buy the skull overriding any other consideration. “I can pay with my debit card for both items,” she said, removing the card from her wallet and handing it to him. The dealer paused before lifting the phone to call for approval. She had the distinct impression that he didn’t really want to sell the skull.

The dealer inspected her signature on the card. “You know, I almost hate to let it go. It’s been my companion for many years.”

“How did you come by it?” she asked.

“An old woman left it to me. She was a very dear friend.”

“Then why do you have it on display?”

“I’m getting on in age and have no family. I would hate to see it fall into the wrong hands and hoped the skull would point me to the rightful future owner.”

“How could it tell you that?”

“It can. Would you please place your hands around the skull again?”

She complied and gasped when she noticed her hands glow and become almost transparent. It was almost as if a torch illuminated the flesh from beneath.

The dealer stepped back as light enveloped her and gasped. “It seems I’ve found the rightful owner. You may have the skull. I will not sell it.”


To follow my article about Armageddon, here is an excerpt from book 2 of The Samsara Chronicles

Aislinn Soule hurried out of the decrepit sky train station. Though the rail network sustained a degree of earthquake damage, retrofitting had at least kept the system functional and provided the only viable means of travel for most able to do so. A few flickering lights barely illuminated the graffiti marred walls, the frigid air not quite banishing the rank odor permeating the building.

Hunched protectively inside her heavy down jacket, only Aislinn’s face was visible beneath the fur-trimmed hood. Her breath emerged in a stream of white puffs as she dodged the human chattel in makeshift camps infesting every available space.

As always, the homeless inhabited the station. The handful of security guards had long ago turned a blind eye to their activities since there was no place for them to go. They understood the need for shelter as many of their own families and friends were in the same predicament. She tried to ignore the begging hands, the heartrending pleas for food and the echoes of bawling children. Often, she gave one or two of the more wretched a food stamp, but the need was too great, and she didn’t have enough stamps to go around. It broke her heart to witness such misery each time she traveled to and from work and despite her efforts she could never harden herself to the sight.

Despite herself, she glanced toward two figures rutting away in a dimly lit corner. The woman’s cries rose mechanically above the man’s grunts, his thrusting body consumed by a voluminous black coat. Though the wide brim of his hat concealed his face, the hands that gripped the streetwalker’s hips were large and rough. Pressed against the filthy wall, her legs, clad in laddered black stockings, trembled on worn stiletto boots. The familiar scars of poorly healed needle tracks rose like blue pockmarks against her chalky flesh. The leather jacket she wore provided scant protection against the bitter cold, though if she were high on any combination of drugs, the temperature was irrelevant.

Scraggly blonde hair, showing black roots, concealed her face, but Aislinn knew it was the kind of face she had seen so many times before. Etched with the misery and hopelessness that had become their lives, streetwalkers lived by the hour, snatching what sustenance they could, but more often, violence, disease and death was their fate.

The man uttered a guttural cry, gave a final thrust, and withdrew from the woman. Aislinn’s stomach turned as he reached into a baggy pocket without wiping his hands and paid the woman a few paltry food stamps. Barely bothering to pull down her skirt, she stuffed her booty in her jacket pocket and quickly scuttled away. Only then did some of the nearby homeless pay attention.

Aislinn backed away when a couple of women emerged from the throng and approached the man. His face, still concealed by the shadows, seemed to turn toward her before turning his attention to the women. The brief contact sent an unpleasant shiver through Aislinn’s body. If the other women sensed anything, they did not show it. Young, old, it was impossible to guess their ages, but the gestures they made were universal. The taller of the pair hiked her coat and skirt to reveal a shock of black pubic hair while the other dropped to her knees before the man. If he was willing and could afford it, an orgy would quickly ensue of homeless offering their bodies in any way the man wanted, either with him, or whoever he chose. Aislinn had witnessed this scenario once before in a street market, and that was enough. Porgies, or orgies involving the poor and homeless, had become a perverse trend among those who openly bought sex and created a chain reaction of those willing to do anything for a pittance. It was a vile practice, one she had no desire to be caught in. Sensing a growing disturbance in the crowd, she kept her head down and moved toward the exit.

A bitterly cold wind raked her face as she pushed through the boarded-up doors, the glass long ago smashed. She gulped in the frigid air to cleanse herself of the station’s stench and dug her gloved hands deep into her pockets. Briskly, she walked up the hill to Carnarvon Street and turned the corner to her apartment building. Her breath puffed like a locomotive, the frosty evening air biting into her cheeks. Though there was little traffic in the street, her eyes were alert and watchful as she scanned bonfires and oil drum fires flickering from surrounding damaged or abandoned buildings. Warmth indicated people in the vicinity, people who would not balk at an opportunity to victimize a solitary pedestrian.

A child wailed in the distance and silenced abruptly, the sound swallowed by an oppressive bank of cloud cloaking the city. Immersed in an unnatural twilight, the late afternoon felt more like the depths of a winter night. The eternal rumble of bulldozers greeted her when she approached her apartment building. Impatiently she waited for them to move from her path. Ensuing dust clouds mixed with drifting smoke to taint the air with an acrid aroma. The machines and crews labored steadily to clear the rubble from the streets and repair cracks and holes to the best of their abilities. Most of the work was temporary, as the scope of damage throughout the city and Lower Mainland belied any hope of complete restoration. Nevertheless, Carnarvon Street was not as badly damaged as other areas of the city where many of the older buildings had virtually disintegrated.

Automatically, she glanced behind her, but saw no one, though in the uncertain glow of randomly functioning streetlights, shadows seemed to stretch menacingly toward her. For the last several days, she’d had the feeling that someone was following her. Though she stopped to try and catch her suspected stalker, and had even hidden inside a surviving Government Issue store and peeked through the window, she never spotted anyone.

A raucous whisper of heavy metal music drifted to her ears. She shuddered and paused to glance at the decrepit bar across the street. Hunkered amidst two derelict buildings, the squat building bore the scars of its violent history in the guise of boarded up windows, bullet-raked flanks and rusted metal outer doors. Street people infested the adjoining alleys, their gauntness highlighted by the flickering flames of oil drum fires. The music momentarily blared as shadowy figures entered and emerged from the entrance and melted into the shadows. As if sensing her scrutiny, one heavily clad figure stopped to gaze at her. Once again, an unpleasant coldness coursed through her body even as he moved on.

Aislinn shuddered and stepped up her pace, the sensation that she was being watched growing with each step. She focused her attention on an armada of bulldozers lumbering toward the partially collapsed apartment block next door to her building. Though her own workday was over, the crews of workmen put in twelve to fifteen hour days, six days a week.

A group of homeless sheltering within the ruins scattered, their meager belongings clutched in their hands. The bulldozers’ formidable treads extinguished a scattering of bonfires, some still bearing the meals of the hapless itinerants. She felt a pang of compassion as she watched them scurry like displaced rats. Dismally, she wondered where they would go. So many people had been left homeless that the resources of rescue agencies were hopelessly stretched. Men, women, and children, sheltered wherever they could, survival dependent on what they scavenged from the ruins.

Bursting from a makeshift hovel, a little boy clad in filthy rags screamed when his harried young mother struggled to drag him and a bundle of belongings from the path of an advancing bulldozer. She swore when the machine flattened their shelter. The child stubbornly resisted her efforts to yank him out of the bulldozer’s path, a battered stuffed animal his target. Aislinn watched grimly. The child’s sunken eyes and mottled flesh betrayed symptoms of the scourge. A testament to the horrors wrought by a tainted environment—the lethal, chameleon-like virus attacked the body and triggered any genetic flaws or hereditary predisposition to disease.

She unconsciously stepped back. Technically, everyone was prey to the virus, though it was known that those with weakened immune systems were most prone. No cure had been found yet, the virus mutating so quickly that antidotes quickly became obsolete. Coupled with almost nonexistent funding and lack of researchers, the hope of a cure was indeed as distant as the hope for a peaceful world.

The haunted look in the little boy’s eyes reflected a pain that had no place in an innocent child. Aislinn stared with pity at the exhausted mother, her face aged beyond her years by hardship. As the mother coughed up blood and stumbled across the ruins, Aislinn could only wonder whether the little boy would survive long enough to join the growing ranks of orphans. Though Vancouver no longer maintained orphanages, over the last few years the city had requisitioned some abandoned buildings and converted them into temporary shelters until homes could be found for the growing numbers of destitute children.

About the Samsara Chronicles

I guess I’ll start by writing a bit about The Samsara Chronicles and how they started and why these stories are so special to us. They were actually two big books. Quite a few years ago I had a dream/vision. Yes, I am psychic, although I don’t practice as a psychic. At that time, I got up at 5.30 every morning. Since I worked from home, I’d have a break for an hour or so in the afternoon. I’d lie down on the couch and would just rest for a bit, meditate, think up new stories. One afternoon, I had a vision of clear orbs/spheres and a booming voice invited me to enter one. That was the first time and I didn’t quite know what it meant. I wrote it down in my notebook. Some years later, a voice spoke to me and basically outlined what was the beginning of these books. I was surprised because I wrote contemporary romance, a little paranormal, but not fantasy or science fiction.

I started writing and writing. Most afternoons my writer guide came to me and either presented me with visions or spoke to me. His name was David. I got to about 70,000 words when he told me to involve my friend, Diana Kemp. Diana was and is a science fiction and horror writer. I told Diana and she agreed to co author with me. We tackled the book from chapter one. Diana, too, began to have dreams and visions and between us, we created The Samsara Chronicles.

Both of us became very busy with various other projects and the series languished, gathered dust. I think my writer guide, David, got fed up with us. Until lately. I don’t know if it was him, but I was told that those stories needed to be published. I contacted Diana, who is now a successful screen writer and very much involved in the film industry, and she agreed. It was a shame to let all our work go to waste. We resurrected the books, edited and optimized them, and they will be published again this year as a series in e-book format. We’re excited, especially now that e-books have so taken off. We separated the books into the chronicles because they’re much easier to read than big books on various readers and phones. I will be posting an excerpt on a daily basis for the next fourteen days.