A Breath Floats By 1

A Breath Floats By 2

A Breath Floats By
An Illusion for the Soul

Written by Thayne Hudson

Book One
Great Lakes Spiritual Trilogy
ESSA Books
www.essabooks.com
A Breath Floats By 3

AuthorHouse™ AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

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© 2006 Thayne Hudson All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without written permission of the author.

This story and all the characters herein are a work of fiction.

The information in A Breath Floats By on medical treatments using

herbs and other methods should not be taken as advice or instruction.

ESSA Books publication

Essence and Soul Spiritual Awakening Books

POD First published by AuthorHouse 4/13/2006

ISBN: 1425934927 (sc)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

A Breath Floats By 4

The Twilight
Sometimes a breath floats by me
An odor from Dreamland sent,
Which makes the ghost seem nigh me
Of a something that came and went,
Of a life lived somewhere, I know not
In what diviner sphere.....
A something too vague, could I name it,
For others to know:
As though I had lived it and dreamed it,
As though I had acted and schemed it
Long ago.....
James Russell Lowell, 1819-1891
A Breath Floats By 5

Sometimes a Breath Floats By Me

Another dimension, another era?
What is time but an illusion.
And life… the illusion for the soul.

Koontz Lake, Indiana. The Midwest at southern tip of Lake Michigan.

This morning spring breathed. Lindsay realized her

change of life hadn’t hit the fan as harshly as this season’s
transformation that swept them ever closer to Sam’s death.
Calm now… breathe…
Hoping his hospital lunch tray reached him by now, she
stripped to baggy briefs and fluffy socks to crawl into bed at
noon, fluffing up a huge hollow beneath the blankets for
herself.
Weary enough to be less wary than ever in the last three
decades, she tried to pray not to dream but only fell face
downward into an engulfing sleep, cringing, just waiting...
A wide-eyed gray seal skidded through the doorway
and onto the rug making her two lounging Newfoundlands
raise their great heads to grumble. Even both her skunks
lifted their tails. The dogs, the skunks, they saw the seal! But
goodness, she was dreaming if that creature was in her
bedroom.
She struggled to open her eyes but hypnotizing light
suspended her. She was surrounded with heaven thrilling
tones, and to make life more dismal, outlandish women
wandered through her new cottage. One of the two in long
dresses was singing… the one with turquoise eyes. A skinny
older woman wore shorts. Another tiny one with sleeves torn
off her flannel shirt was pulsing a beat on a flat leather drum.
Cranky Maimee slammed in the front door and
thumped through with the cottage key on a neck chain,
parading along with the women. The scrawly cat on
A Breath Floats By 6

Maimee’s shoulder clung to her floppy gray hair as the old

woman slammed her exit so hard Lindsay jerked awake.
Goodness!
Certain the front door had actually slammed, she bolted
off the bed landing in front of the French doors to the living
room where she faced only one of the four cottage entrances.
Nothing, except that inexplicable cluster of light bubbles
she never could swish away.
She crouched low and hurried to the window, screening
her near nudity with the white lace sheers as she ducked
behind the towering wardrobe. But no one was in the yard.
She whimpered, cringing from the icy cold in her spine,
waiting.
Had they even gone?
Then a breath... almost a breath floated by.
A Breath Floats By 7

An Odor from Dreamland Sent

Another dimension, another era?
What is time but an illusion.
And life… the illusion for the soul.

Northern Ontario. An Ojibwe village at Manitowik Lake,

near the eastern shore of Lake Superior and Old Woman Bay.

During twilight Cay-ro-say sensed the Breath of Spring

arrive. The dreaded day had come to them.
She would never allow her family to be severed again.
Lifetimes from now she knew this grief would remind her to
sacrifice… to keep the family as one because this change in
her life today Cay-ro-say could not bear.
She linked her arm more securely with Wah-tay-see’s.
Her younger sister sang strong for their eldest sister and
brother as they retreated by the northern hemlock path into
skeletons of sugar maples. Answering Wah-tay-see’s song for
their new life, Brown Wolf, One Who Leads the Way, faced
their family, raising his arm.
Cay-ro-say stepped higher on the rocks for him to see
her, inhaling the stinging lake wind and praying at her biting
resentment.
She could do no more now, not after the days she had
spent in praying Go-ee-yaw’s pride away.
Turn to us, please, she pleaded tightly within her breath.
But one of eight horses gifted by their village blocked her
sister’s broad back from view. The final realization.
Go-ee-yaw would never turn, she knew. Her sister
would stubbornly walk away, the-teacher-who-was-not-so-
wise-after-all.
Cay-ro-say’s expectation in the moment was so
heightened she cringed, waiting as she did for a dream.
A breath, a whisper, passed by her shoulder.
A Breath Floats By 8

She had felt the veil open many times. But not at the
noon day.
And the whisper? A whimper of fear… yes, she heard
now. Though she did not know…. whose fear? Yet someone
so near to her heart she could touch them in comfort if only
she had that comfort to give in this moment.
Convulsive sobs broke Wah-tay-see. Cay-ro-say tried to
sing for her and burning tears silenced her. Pain stabbed her
throat.
Then, from the rise, lifted ever higher the shrill voices of
their grandfather and grandmother. Tall Heron and Scolding
One, crying, mourning, singing. Unfaltering.
Why were Go-ee-yaw and Brown Wolf so determined to
give everything for the sake of their bond? But Cay-ro-say
knew this departure may well have included herself and her
older brother, Mo-wa-sah. If they had been given a choice by
the Grandmothers, would they have left to be able to stay
together?
If not for the dreams. The people valued her dreams and
would not ask her to choose. Not at this time, they would
not… because of what Dreamland sent.

Part One
Which Makes the Ghost Seem Nigh Me....
A Breath Floats By 9

Of A Something That Came and Went

‘We are on a journey through which we will eat and sleep and
dream. Understand all that is given in this life is not ours to own
for we are not here to live. And prepare to be asked to return to the
Maker of Life and to end the journey in peace.’
The Sacred Soul

Chapter One

One day too soon her time would be exhausted with the
pain of her husband dying. Scraping the stir fry from lunch
into freezer containers, Lindsay decided she would appreciate
these leftovers better then instead of tomorrow. Yes, this was
better, another meal saved for when she couldn’t bear to leave
his side.
A shadow made her turn toward the stairway. A spring
breeze tickled through her and she jumped from her great-
uncle standing at the end of the galley kitchen.
“Uncle Herron!” She started toward him. He must have
come in the side door. “I must not have heard you-” But she
stopped, knowing that though his gaze called her, he wasn’t
really there. Gray eyes, as dark as hers. His black hair pulled
back, still not a gray hair at eighty-three. She wanted to say
that to him. Could he hear her?
The new phone trilled. She squealed and he was gone.
Caller identification listed the steel mill. “Daniel?” she
said shrill as the phone then realized she forgot to censor her
self. What if this was Sam’s foreman?
A Breath Floats By 10

A Breath Floats By could happen to any of us, to

you...

Mystical reincarnation novel, yes. Visionary

dream exploration, mmhmm. Spiritual fiction,
sure. But frankly, consider what life is like for
an Essene soul cluster born into present-day,
who realize they have their more intimate
relationships all mixed-up. Now you have some
rockin' good women's fiction.

Imagine... Lindsay looks up during pottery class.

There she is - again. Her own personal psychic
from their soul group. Gooee, the one Lindsay
never appreciates no matter how difficult the
incarnation consequences. Who promised eons
ago she would get Lindsay to work on time,
every lifetime. Whether it kills Lindsay or not,
Gooee cares very little because she has her own
agenda..... Lindsay's terminally-ill husband.

However, as all the women at this menopausal

time of their lives gather, Lindsay realizes they
need her more than she needs them, that she
must awaken though she was the one she
thought was dying.

A terrified dream messenger, an intrusive

psychic, a phobic death angel. And the two men
committed to them.

Continue reading somewhere in Chapter One…

….
……Lindsay practically rolled her eyes. She didn’t like that expression anymore. Gooee
had said that too often, especially in pottery class.

She had to stop rolling her eyes, she was seeing little light bubbles clustered in front of
her chest like the ones she noticed on moving day. She tried blowing them away but they
didn’t swish, didn’t blow, only grew like a swell of snowflakes frozen in place. She
pulled the vacuum out of the closet and turned the hose on them. They gathered into a
tight cluster and refused to move. Now she knew her vision had pushed her to the point of
glasses.

She wandered right into the bubbles, through the French doors into the bedroom. Her
room. Through another set of aligned French doors to the outside deck, she noticed a
woman with long blonde hair strolling the lake lane. She wore a lavender jacket and long
skirt.

Gooee the aggravating psychic - Lindsay the terrified dream intuitive - Heather Laurel
the phobic death doula

Gooee always wore long skirts. Stop that! Stop thinking about Gooee.

As she closed another window, she could hear the woman singing a hypnotic tune that
swelled on the stinging lake wind. She almost expected something to happen, felt a surge
into a predictable moment. A familiar moment. A dream… from long ago? No, no.

She dressed as she would have even if Daniel wasn’t on his way. Fluffy cream-colored
socks that kept her shins warm. Matching cardigan buttoned to her chin, long French
jersey skirt in stormy gray. Her rounded figure was warmly shrouded, nothing visible but
her thick fingers and indistinct, flat-planed face. Gray eyes with charcoal lashes blinked
in the reflection of the white chifforobe mirror as she studied a new scar under her right
jaw, her tiny reminder from misjudging the car door corner. Still another mishap.
Goodness, she knew she needed glasses, but she looked kinder without them.

A near-to-elderly woman with pale copper hair glided behind her in the reflection,
wearing short shorts and bifocals.
How does one ride a bike with bifocals? And the woman looked Lindsay right in the eye,
right into her reflection, as if she heard the question. More chilling than Uncle Herron
standing in her kitchen when he really wasn’t.

The woman did not hear the question, Clara Rose, she reasoned, using her given name,
just like her husband did only too often. No, that woman doesn’t read minds. Only Gooee
is capable of such adept invasions of privacy at long distances. And though Lindsay could
feel Gooee out there tracking her like the robust polar after the wayward seal, she lied to
herself. She told herself she was secure in a new home. She was.

Calm now. But what was there to be calm about, she wondered. She tried detangling her
hair with her fingers, then gave up and touched the rounded cheeks dolloped too high on
broad, flat cheekbones. Was it the new mirror, or did her cheeks seem more pink than
ever, too healthy, too happy when her husband was dying?

She smoothed the new silken bedspread with sage-colored leaves under burgundy and
pink roses. Before long Sam would be sleeping on this bed instead of upstairs. She knew
he wouldn’t stand for it, but she wanted him sleeping downstairs. The steep climb hurt
him. He could see their view of the sliver of lake from her bed, same as from his room.
Her sister had a daybed to loan them when he needed her with him. Meanwhile, Lindsay
would sleep upstairs.

This had been Sam’s vacation. A major household move in seven days. The auction
company made this easy, simply hauling away their furniture. Of course, they started to
pack two weeks ago when they were told he had prostate cancer.

Sam knew a few months before he went to the doctor but hadn’t told her. He had decided
not to do anything. A lifelong experience with the disease taking his grandfather, father,
and an uncle, all before they turned fifty, that made Sam stubborn. More truthful, Sam
was terrorized after the medical treatments he witnessed….

Dr. Schalen, the urologist, confirmed through a bone biopsy, CT scans and MRIs that his
severe bone and hip pain was prostate cancer, stage D-three, spread to the bones and
lymph nodes.

…they settled them for the long wait. Just this morning they unpacked the last treasures.
Then Sam hung their new slate plaque with a lake and moose etching, and their name,
‘The Davinsons.’

Lindsay hadn’t deliberated much on ordering from her favorite catalog. She just made
certain they had what was needed to get through the next two-hundred and forty-four
days. Eight months broken down without being outrageous, like hours or minutes.

Only, now, two hundred and thirty-four days.

No panic yet, she cautioned herself. He needed her to get them through financially and
emotionally. Then panic, then dying.

Or was it dying then panic? Priorities….

Lindsay was still smiling from Haidee’s call as she took the leftover chicken stir fry into
the white tongue-and-grooved backroom she and Sam dubbed the mudroom.

A woman with floppy gray hair stood outside the back door. Lindsay gaped at her through
the glass pane. The woman didn’t look at her, she just walked away. Now that was
spying, certainly that was. Shocked at the nerve, Lindsay checked the door. Locked…

She smiled at the perfection of how all their problems were answered through a cottage
that truly infatuated her….

They were stuck here, Lindsay and Sam, with all the newly collected vintage cottage
furnishings they could peacefully live with stuffed into this farmhouse-style cottage,
awaiting the first breath of spring. And the last breath of life…..

last of Chapter One…

The old woman with floppy gray hair was standing by the cottage when they rounded the
corner a block away. She stepped further away from the night post into the shadows
before Lindsay pointed her out. Goodness, she really was nosey.

They found Margaret sitting in Daniel’s pickup, patiently reading a magazine. She smiled
and waved goodbye with the truck light still on so Lindsay could see every detail of
Daniel driving away with another woman. Lindsay knew Margaret didn’t leave the light
on to raise her apprehension. Margaret was oblivious.

Even Sam was oblivious.

Lindsay was not. What was Daniel doing? Why now?

She and Sam and the dogs courteously waved the truck away, and she heard Daniel’s
favorite folk group, Brookstone, serenading the song Shenandoah on the truck stereo
through the deepening night while the song faded away with them.

They went into the toasty cottage and Sam heaved the door shut in a fury, the slam shying
her around. The dogs ducked too, protectively curling their tails.

Sam strode through a billow of miniature light bubbles, past the bedroom door toward the
kitchen. “Sam hell, just what the sam hell was all that about?” he growled way too loudly
to be under his breath.
“What?” she asked, frozen, staring into Uncle Herron’s eyes where he stood at the
bedroom’s glass French doors. The skunks were on the other side stomping at him. Her
Newfoundlands sat down politely before him to study his face. “What’s all of what about,
Sam?” she pressed.

Sam turned and looked right at her, not the old man in the room with them. “What Daniel
is pulling, Clara Rose.”

There it was again today, Sam’s protective name. Just why was he so angry with Daniel?

At least she understood the aching turmoil of her offended and worried body. What she
needed to understand was why Daniel was with that woman.

And goodness, what did Uncle Herron need from her?

Categories and genres for A Breath Floats By -

a gentle novel for the awakening world.

reincarnation, visionary, metaphysical,

spiritual, occult, women’s fiction, contemporary fiction, new age,

romance, psychic, mysticism, religion and spirituality.

© Copyright

Contact ESSA Books, LLC for details to reprint.

www.essabooks.com
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Please, do me a favor. Go to Amazon.com and tag my novel.

Especially for Metaphysical – Metaphysical Fiction –Spiritual- Psychic
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And please pass this chapter forward!!!

Thank you!!! Essa a.k.a. Thayne Hudson

Meet Maimee – the novel is as unpredictable as she

Start reading Chapter Two !

http://www.essabooks.com/20912/22333.html

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Women’s Fiction Blog true short stories with a slap of fiction. Also the lies we are a told, thus a
lot of fiction. Visit! www.essaadams.wordpress.com/
Pet Skunk Medicine - blog memoir of skunk tales www.skunkiedelight.wordpress.com/
A Breath Floats By could happen to any of us, to you...

Mystical reincarnation novel, yes. Visionary dream

exploration, mmhmm. Spiritual fiction, sure. But frankly,
consider what life is like for an Essene soul cluster born into
present-day, who realize they have their more intimate
relationships all mixed-up. Now you have some rockin' good
women's fiction.

Imagine... Lindsay looks up during pottery class. There she is -

again. Her own personal psychic from their soul group. Gooee,
the one Lindsay never appreciates no matter how difficult the
incarnation consequences. Who promised eons ago she would
get Lindsay to work on time, every lifetime. Whether it kills
Lindsay or not, Gooee cares very little because she has her
own agenda..... Lindsay's terminally-ill husband.

However, as all the women at this menopausal time of their

lives gather, Lindsay realizes they need her more than she
needs them, that she must awaken though she was the one
she thought was dying.

A terrified dream messenger, an intrusive psychic, a phobic

death angel. And the two men committed to them.

Essa Adams
a.k.a.
Thayne Hudson