I’m fascinated with the concept of synchronicity, a term coined by Karl Jung. He postulated that seemingly random coincidences are, in reality, part of the collective unconscious–essentially communication with other realms of being. Albert Einstein was one of his acquaintances, and though they were at opposite ends of the scientific spectrum, Einstein purportedly once commented that coincidence was God’s way of remaining anonymous.
Some, like me, believe this can take the form of communication with or messages from our deceased relatives and friends. This is the well tapped by psychics and mediums, who have better developed their brains to be able to not only see but interact with the slivers of energy that holds the experiences of those who are no longer living in an alternate reality. It doesn’t have to be an organized religion. Rather being an organized religion, the collective unconscious could be Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or just souls trying to reconnect with the living.
If you haven’t figured it out, I’m a paranormal writer studying psychic phenomena and the closely associated arts of divination using stones, crystals, the Tarot and astrology. My urban fantasy stories are heavily based on these practices. After about ten years of exploration, I have finally developed the sense that there is something around me, whether it’s the collective unconscious or some other entity that often reaches out and connects, but I haven’t been able to develop my brain to the extent that one of my coaches believes I can.
Ten years ago, I was compelled by something–or someone– to begin creative writing. It was like a lightning strike, and the huge body of work I produced during that time is just now being published. Five years ago, I traveled to New Mexico for Taos Toolbox, a two week immersive workshop for writers of science fiction and fantasy. Surrounded by the natural beauty and spiritual heritage of Taos, and amongst twelve gifted writers and mentors Walter Jon Williams and Nancy Kress, my writing was transformed and informed in a way I had never imagined.
Just one week ago, I was once again on my way to New Mexico to present my research at the annual convention of the American College of Nurse Midwives. I’m going to skip over some of the other odd synchronicities, like finding myself in the middle of a Donald Trump rally turned riot (read more if you care or dare here). Inside the Albuquerque Convention Center where thousand of midwives were desperately tying to pretend it was just a bad dream, I focused instead on reliving that very magical Taos Toolbox experience, and having the opportunity to revisit some of the same places–and to share it with my family.
By not so strange coincidence, my coach and noted psychic, Mary O’Gara, lives in Albuquerque. We got to spend a very special evening together eating local Tex Mex and chatting it up like we’d been friends forever. And when my family arrived, we took advantage of the native healers who had been invited to the ACNM convention for una limpia (aural cleansing). This was, after all, a large gathering of mostly women who are quite attuned to the spiritual realm encountered during a truly natural, family centered childbirth.
On our way to and from Taos, we made stops at pilgrimage sites such as Chimayo (the Lourdes of the Americas), artist colonies in Arroyo Seco, Native American pueblos, and the awe inspiring cliff dwellings and petroglyphs at Bandolier National Monument.
My midwifery career is entering its twilight. My creative writing career is still in its infancy, though the experiences I’ve had as a midwife opened my mind, my heart and my left brain to the possibilities. The synchronicities of my dual careers appear to be random coincidences but the places I’ve visited and people I have met along the way have enriched my life and practice, provided information, experiences and insights that have enhanced and informed my writing.
Here are excerpts from the Unfinished Business series:
From Breakwater Beach: Book One
Headlights illuminated the road. A Subaru pulled into the driveway. Mike exhaled.
Two women got out, hauling several bags. Michelle swung a cylinder in a sling over her shoulder. Mike and Kevin went out onto the porch to help them carry the equipment.
“Liz is upstairs in the bathtub.” Mike helped them off with their coats.
“I’m Cindy, the nurse.” A too young woman shook their hands and carried some bags upstairs.
“What’s that?” Mike pointed at the cylinder that looked like a torpedo with a scuba regulator attached.
“Oxygen. Just in case, Mike,” Michelle answered. “Don’t worry. I don’t anticipate any problems, but we’re ready.”
“Ya let me know when I have to start boilin’ the water,” said Kevin.
Michelle laughed as she handed Mike the oxygen tank, grabbed the rest of the bags, and started up. “We only need boiling water for tea these days. Our equipment is all sterilized. I’ll let you know when we need a round.”
Kevin looked at him. “Well, like I told ya, the women, they got it all under control. Now get up there.”
From The Widow’s Walk: Book Two
“Sit down. “Sandra collected the cards and crystals from a table and moved them to a side counter. “Would you like some tea?”
Mike hesitated. If the guys ever saw him here . . . “Sure.” He sat on the plush chair and watched her fill a silver tea ball with loose leaves.
Sandra put the kettle on a hot plate and joined him, smoothing the black and gold tablecloth as she sat down. “You’re troubled by something. I can see it in your eyes.”
Mike squirmed. Damn, why didn’t I just go to Davey Jones’ Bar? A few shots would stop the cough, and I could spill all to Davey about my wife having a mid-life crisis. If the guys ever found out about a psychic reading, they’d laugh me off the barstool.
She took his hands into hers and turned them palm up. Even the gentle touch prickled his skin.
“Sad events in your past. And you need some of this.” She tossed a tube of hand lotion onto the table and got up to attend to the whistling kettle.
He picked it up like it had teeth.
Sandra laughed. “Shea butter. And plain black tea.” She dropped the tea ball into the pot and carried it over on a tray with two cups and a jar of honey. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He rubbed the greasy lotion in and dared look her in the eye. “Where do I begin? She poured, adding two teaspoons of honey before handing him a floral cup balanced on a pink saucer. “At the beginning, of course. Though I suspect it has to do with the ghosts.”
He almost dropped the tea in his lap. I could use that shot of whiskey right about now. Davey just says he understands and serves it up. No questions. No mindreading.
From Storm Watch: Book Three (my work in progress)
Mike liked Gerry, even though they’d never met. That ghost was subtle and generally helpful. Katherine too, when she channeled through Mae. The two seemed so much alike except for the British accent it was hard to tell them apart. Kevin, well, he just decided to cope with the possession by ignoring it, but then again he was also just the same regular guy who did what he had to do and kept his head out of the line of fire until the shots were coming right at him.
Now, Sandra, that was a complicated lady. Being a witch, this whole ghostly thing was part of her religion, for lack of a better term. How she kept all those bands of spectral energy separate was an amazing mystery, but a psychic’s brain obviously worked differently.
Carole Ann Moleti lives and works as a nurse-midwife in New York City, thus explaining her fascination with all things paranormal, urban fantasy, and space opera. Her nonfiction focuses on health care, politics, and women’s issues. But her first love is writing science fiction and fantasy because walking through walls is less painful than running into them.
Books One and Two in the Unfinished Business series, Carole’s Cape Cod paranormal romance novels, Breakwater Beach and The Widow’s Walk, were published by Soulmate. Book Three, Storm Watch, is expected in 2017.
Urban fantasies set in the world of Carole’s novels have been featured in Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts, Seers: Ten Tales of Clairvoyance, Beltane: Ten Tales of Witchcraft, and Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires.