FULL DISCLOSURE: I am a Science Fiction/Fantasy Author. I listened to Beatle songs and watched many of Michael Jackson’s videos. Also, I lived in the red hot desert in Sedona, Arizona for almost 5 years. The seven hundred vortexes make the veil between worlds thin, very thin…

It happened one night in Sedona, Arizona 2018. I was finishing one of my numerous drafts of my novel Clarissa Hedgestone and the Blood Moon at my Southwestern planked dining room table. Suddenly, I had this desire, not to eat Mint Galactica Coconut ice cream, but to go to church—Unity of Sedona. I was invited to the Summer Solstice Festival. I didn’t change my clothes, there wasn’t time. However, I do remember putting on bright, scarlet- red lipstick.

I got there just in time for the ‘hippie’ dancing, and then I saw him. He was not the usual Sedona guy I dated. He didn’t look like he lived in his car. Our eyes met and no one else was there. We danced together in each others arms, while some looked on. It turned out I was dancing with the event’s guest speaker, a multi-Emmy Award winning composer, who was going across the country saying he channeled the dead Beatles. He asked me out, and we went dancing that night. As he was leaving town in a few days, I did what any red-blooded American girl would do—I asked him over for dinner.

I made matzoh ball chicken soup with which I was very familiar from my years in NYC and bought Mint Galactica Coconut ice cream. If he didn’t like it, I’d eat it later. We made small talk like a nice Jewish couple who had eaten together for forty years—except for the part about the ex-girlfriend acupuncturist he still wasn’t over. After dinner, I pulled the lever on my sofa’s lazy boy chair, and he passed out—cold. I happily did the dishes and started the hum of the dishwasher. It was about 9:30 when Sophie, my Bichon Frisee, and I went to bed. After all, I did meet him in church and I was tired from editing all day.

At about 10:30, I heard a someone screaming my name, “Jill…Jill.”

I awoke immediately and realized my guest had awakened and must have been disoriented. He apologized profusely, and left. I went back to bed.

At about midnight, there was a knock at the door. Startled, I awoke and put on my bathrobe, thinking the Emmy Guy must have forgotten something. I opened the door. No one. I thought it odd, but maybe not for Sedona. After all, my last boyfriend had been stalking me. I closed the door and went back to bed, but now my bedroom felt differently. The candle on my dresser was flickering.

“Is someone here?” I asked.

The candle went out.

It was the ghosts of John Lennon and George Harrison with their bushy brows and bowl cut banged hair, and Michael Jackson moon walking, in my bedroom!

For four hours, they communicated with me and I wrote down lyrics for the Emmy Award winning guy. In the morning, I woke up late. Cranky, I texted him about the visitation.

“Do they have lyrics for me?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s your new song, ‘The Knock at My Door.’ But, I thought you were the channel for the Beatles?”

“No, it was my ex-girlfriend. She was the channel.”

Now I understand why he’s not over his ex, and how come I’ve been chsoen to be his new channel, I thought to myself.

After texting back and forth with messages from the other side of the veil, he lost interest. His last failed venture had cost him a million dollars. I thought he was crazy. After all, its not everybody that gets to collaborate with these world-renowned famous spirits, even if they were all dead!

A few nights later, I got another visitation from the ghosts of John, George and Michael in my bedroom.

“You’re back in the book! Wake up!”.

I’m back in the book? LIsten, I don’t know what you’re talking about. First of all, what book? The Akashic Records?

I was half-asleep and confused.

Wait a minute, guys. The Akshic records is the only book that suppsed to never get re-written.

I didn’t get a straight answer from any of them because they had moved on, and were telling me my time in the desert was over—to sell my beautiful home, leave my stable, safe and secure life and move back to California.

Huh? What am I, biblical prophet, being told where to go? Besides moving back to California is financial suicide, okay?

A few weeks later, I sold my house for all cash in 8 days. I left the Sedona vortexes and most of my belongings. I headed back to California because ghosts of John Lennon, George Harrison and Michael Jackson, once the most famous people in the world, told me to do so, in my very own bedroom.

Wouldn’t you?