dusty Bunker

2009-12-09T08:51:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my Website. Please have a look around.

If you'd like to know what's happening in your life right now, click on the 'FIND YOUR PERSONAL CYCLE' link. This will give you a general synopsis for the year starting from your last birthday until your next birthday.

To learn more about personal consultations, please visit the CONSULTATIONS link.

My non-fiction books are listed to the right along with my mysteries. You can read a few chapters from the mysteries by clicking on the titles.

Also, please check out the BEST FRIENDS link. This is my 'pet' project...forgive the pun.

When you're through cruising, you can find out more about me by clicking on the ABOUT DUSTY link to the right. If you decide to have a consultation, it's important that you know my qualifications and who I am.

Thank you for visiting and I look forward to hearing from you.

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Copyright © dusty bunker
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Site maintained by Sam Johnson

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CONSULTATIONS

2009-12-08T08:13:00.000-08:00

When you decide to have your consultation, our session will focus primarily on your astrological chart. We will also discuss your numerological personal year cycles. The session will include character analysis, and current and upcoming trends. If you're a returning client, we will concentrate mainly on the current trends in your life.

Please note that your reading will be as accurate as the data you send, especially the exact time of day of your birth. This is very important. Please check your birth certificate. Don't rely on mom's memory; she was pretty busy during your delivery.

The consultation is $95 for one hour. It can be recorded on a CD or cassette tape, if you wish, and mailed to you.

If you are ready for your consultation, or if you wish more information, please contact me at dustybunker@comcast.net.

Thank you, and I hope to hear from you.

About dusty

2009-12-04T16:09:00.000-08:00

dusty is the author of eight books, some of which are translated in foreign languages. She wrote for the Time-Life Book Series, Mysteries of the Unknown, and contributed numerology columns to Mademoiselle Magazine.

Her dream column ran in the Manchester Union Leader for five years. She also wrote a humorous shopping column for the Hampton Union, and drew a comic strip, Tree Line, which appeared in Seacoast After Dark. She is the subject of a biographical record in Who's Who in America.

In addition to her non-fiction books, her metaphysical mystery series includes three titles: One Deadly Rhyme, The Two-Timing Corpse, and Three O'Clock's Dark Night.

dusty did some consulting work in relation to the six hour American Movie Classics (AMC) miniseries The Prisoner, starring Jim Caviezel and Ian McKellen which aired on television in November 2009.

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I have studied and lectured on astrology, numbers, dreams, symbolism and other metaphysical subjects for almost thirty years. My interest in the mysteries of life started when I first became aware of the heavens. As a child I would look up at the starry sky and wonder...how big is it?...how far does it go?...how can it not end?

My journey began on a fateful day when I was five years old. I read my first sentence: See Spot Run. (This was in that ancient time before educational programs on television like Sesame Street.) I cannot describe the rush of power that flowed over me at that moment when I realized...I can read! I knew I had hold of something powerful that would open up the world I had wondered about.

By the time I was six, my most treasured book was the Golden Encyclopedia. It was over-sized with a glossy cover, sprinkled with small colored illustrations, and filled with wondrous knowledge. I carried it under my arm where ever I went. I have been mentally exploring ever since, and what a wonderful journey it has been.

I grew up in a Navy family and have lived in the four corners of the United States – Maine, Florida, California and Washington State – and some of the states in between. Once when I was in grade school, my family and I even lived in a quonset hut. I graduated from Saugus High School in Massachusetts and attended the University of New Hampshire. Today I live in a wonderful small town with my husband and family and a passel of pets.

One Deadly Rhyme - The Number Mysteries

2009-12-03T09:16:00.000-08:00

Prologue

HE worked under a ragged lampshade the color of dead leaves. To his left, a recent issue of Time magazine lay in shreds. Like his past, he thought, scissors poised in midair.

His eyes slid toward the shiny numbers and letters spread to his right in neat rows and over the bottle of Elmer's glue and package of generic white paper.

Focusing once again, he cut around the letter G, held it at arm’s length, and squinted.

Damn it! The crossbar was uneven.

He tossed it aside and pulled over the slashed magazine, recalling his childhood fury at going outside the lines of his coloring book. Not that anyone cared.

His foot tapped as he jabbed at the bottom corner of the right page with his forefinger.

His finger slipped.

He licked his finger and jabbed again.

Page, after page, after page!

Then he found it! An ad with a thick black border dotted with white fish icons. Inside lay a message from Deuteronomy 8:11-20. "Be careful that you do not forget..."

Right on. They won't forget this.

"...that you will surely be destroyed."

Ain't that the truth.

The 'g' in forget was perfect. He placed it with the others, then reached for his cigarette and took a tug.

He gazed out the grimy window over the wheat-colored grass and the dying crocuses his dead mother had planted at the corner of the tool shed. Wraith-like arms of mist curled around the weathered boards. Ghostly reminders. He visualized spring clawing up through the cold New Hampshire ground.

Sizzling in the frying pan behind him in the smoky room, a steak sucked at his taste buds. He laid the smoldering cigarette in a mayonnaise cap that served as an ashtray, and with his forearm, wiped the tiny rivulet of drool from the corner of his mouth. Then he began murmuring the words to "Pretty Woman" in synch with the foggy voice of Roy Orbison that issued from the radio. He liked Roy. Even Elvis had fashioned his style after the man in black.

Setting the magazine aside, he pulled a piece of paper from a package and smoothed it a few times, feeling the hard wooden surface beneath. Through clear rubber gloves, he could see new hair sprouts on the back of his hands. Time for another plucking session.

Gracie watched his every move. Let her watch. She didn't bother him.

He scratched the center of his chest.

This note would be a work of art, word perfect. He snickered at the pun. Yes, If you're going to do a job, do it right. He mumbled the message his mom had pounded into him for more years than he wanted to remember. Not that he’d ever listened.

An excruciatingly pleasant tingle rippled from his scalp, over his shoulders, and down to his groin. He waited for the hardness to subside.

Then he got up, stepped over to the avocado stove, and waved a hand over the black skillet to dispel the smoke. Carefully turning the thick steak with a long pointed fork, he laid in three slices of Bermuda onion. With a padded oven mitt on his hand, he shimmmied the heavy pan and watched the fat dance and sparkle like fireflies in the gloom.

Satisfied, he reached for the ruler and number one yellow pencil and marked off both sides of the paper in one and one-quarter inch increments. Seven light horizontal lines completed phase two. He held the sheet before him.

Yes! You will approve.

From the back of the book jacket propped against the wall, she smiled back at him.

Placing the sheet of paper back on the portable desk, he rolled his stiff shoulders, then slowly cracked each knuckle.

Smoke from the cigarette spiraled serpent-like in the diffused light. He picked up the white cylinder, twisted it between his fingers, stared at the ash gray tip. Mom never smoked. Mom detested the filthy things. But mom never knew about this vice.

A long drag brought on another coughing jag that nearly rendered him unconscious, but he would never submit to those black fugues again. He had learned control.

He replaced the cigarette in the jar cap sitting on top of a stack of magazines.

Gracie's eyes were on him again. She wanted him. With an impatient sigh, he went to her.

"What is it? Are you hungry?"

She didn't move. She liked toying with him.

He sneered. If she didn't respond, she wouldn't eat. That's all there was to it. It was her own fault.

Now for the message that would set this New Hampshire town on its ear.

Back at the table, he used a pair of tweezers to turn the first number over onto a clean sheet of paper, spread a few drops of Elmer's glue with a Q-tip, and watched the second hand on the greasy wall clock lurch over black sexagesimal wedges.

Fifteen seconds.

He tapped his foot as he recited a nursery rhyme his mother had taught him.

One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns.

If you have no daughters, give them to your sons.

Laughter bubbled up in his chest.

Time’s up. The glue will set better now.

Thus began the satisfying job of lining numbers and letters evenly on penciled lines.

Funny how strokes of ink on paper can send chills down your spine. His eyes narrowed. Well, mom, what do you think of your son now?

When he was done, he scooped up all traces of his work, placed them inside the portable desk, and moved to his bedroom, where he slid the desk under his bed. This was his room. No one was allowed in. He locked the door.

He returned to the kitchen where his steak awaited. Rare. The only way to eat a fine cut of meat.

When he was through eating, he’d lock Gracie in his room and clean up the kitchen real good so nobody could tell he'd even been there. The kitchen was a woman's place, after all.

He sliced a piece of meat into a perfect triangle, speared it with the fork, and held it before his eyes. He examined its grain. Saliva collected at the corners of his mouth as he anticipated the tangy feral taste.

He held the fork before his eyes for a long time. Discipline, restraint, and anticipation carried their own rewards.

Slowly he put the meat in his mouth as interior cells rose up to embrace the raw flesh like a black widow welcoming her mate.

He chewed it slowly, sensually.

He cut another triangle.

Wait.

Eat.

Another.

And another.

He seemed unaware of the blood dribbling down his chin. As he got into a rhythm, his thoughts shifted to the note hidden in the portable desk under his bed.

His groin moved.

He grinned.

This was what he was born for.

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Chapter 1

"Sam. We got a problem. A big one."

"What's wrong, Charlie?" Samantha Blackwell sank back into the sofa cushions on her sun porch. Nick had just left for work, and she was munching an apple and gazing out into their wooded back yard, trying to quell an uneasy feeling that had arisen moments before the phone rang.

"It'll be all over the papers tomorrow," Charlie said, "and for certain on Channel 9 tonight. And you're right in the middle of it."

Lifting drowsy lids, she responded, "What did I do? Forget Selket's leukemia shot? Is that a police problem?"

She pulled an ash blonde hair from the arm of her nightshirt and watched it float to the floor. She didn’t want to hear any bad news.

"Forget the cat, Sam. I'm serious. It's Doug Hammand. Lenny and I found him dead in the frozen fish section of McCutty's Market. With a note pinned to what was left of his suit jacket."

The apple fell from her hand as she bolted upright. "No! What happened?"

The cat periscoped up, her head swiveling.

A note pinned to Hammand's chest. That had to mean murder. Doug, a model of plaid and chino, wasn't the kind of man to run to the grocery store in his one suit with a note attached to his lapel.

Crazily, Sam thought back to the time when her two daughters had climbed the steps of the school bus with those identifying manila tags attached to their buttons as if, in case they got lost, they could be dropped into the nearest mailbox. She pulled herself back to the present as a 5.8 registered across her shoulders.

Charlie was still talking. "McCutty went back to the store last night around 11:00 because he thought he forgot to turn on the alarm. You know he had that alarm installed a few years ago when he noticed problems with shoplifting. Well, he took a walk around the store like he always does, just to double-check things, and that's when he found Hammand, fish-eyed with the frozen flounder. Had some kind of flower stuck in his buttonhole. McCutty almost had a heart attack. Called 911, then fainted dead away behind the cash register. That's where we found him."

"My God! Doug Hammand." She unconsciously patted her chest as if that would still her quaking heart. Selket, sensing danger had abated, settled down once more.

"Yeah," Charlie said. "I got the call around 11:30. Found Doug with his legs sticking out of the freezer case, colder than a witch's teat, wearing a cowberry necklace. He was strangled." His voice wavered a bit. "And cut up some. By the time we finished with the crime scene, it was 2:00 A.M. Didn't think you'd appreciate a call at that time in the morning."

Sam wondered why Charlie would call her from the crime scene, but all she could say was "Cowberries?" Her childhood friend was now the chief of police in their town, but he didn’t consult with her on cases.

"Well, they're fake, but they're definitely cowberries. Probably got them from one of the lampposts in town."

The windows of her mind fogged. Why are we talking about cowberries? "What about the note, Charlie? What did the note say?"

"Here's the kicker, Sam. The note mentions you."

Sudden clarity! An 8.1 rumbled. Sam clutched at her nightshirt as the blood drained to her feet. "Me? Why me?"

"The note is in some kind of code. Numbers and letters, glued on a piece of white paper, cut out of a magazine most likely. At the bottom, it says: ‘Catch me if you can, Sam Blackwell.’"

"Oh, my God!" She swallowed hard and scanned the doorways, her mind searching for a place to hide.

"Sounds like some kind of psycho that reads your numerology column or books. Not that people have to be nuts to read your stuff," he added quickly.

Her knuckles were white around the phone. "You think it mentions me because of the code?"

"Don't know. There’s no rhyme or reason with some of these guys. Maybe this guy’s got a crush on you from that sexy picture on the back of your book jacket. Maybe he wants to match wits with you. Maybe he likes blondes or wants his picture in the paper. Maybe he's one of your clients. Who knows? I've been through a thousand reasons why since midnight."

Sexy, all right, Sam thought, relieved to switch gears, if only momentarily. Good thing the picture was taken before she gained the thirty extra pounds. She looked down at the mound of red plaid belly resting on her lap then berated herself for thinking about her looks when poor Douglas would never have to worry about such things again. Her mind ping-ponged between fear and disgust.

"Gonna be there for a while?" Charlie asked. "I want to show you this note."

Click HERE to order this book.

The Two-Timing Corpse - The Number Mysteries

2009-12-02T03:11:00.000-08:00

Prologue

The Tarot was the perfect touch.

Eleven cards had been carefully selected. They were neatly spread in the ancient Keltic cross: four cards surrounding the central three, a vertical line of four more to the right. The final outcome-–Key 10: The Wheel of Fortune.

How appropriate.

But it was the Eight of Swords that had been deliberately chosen as representative of the man on the floor. That symbolic card was in position five—something that may happen.

Well, it had happened all right!

A laugh echoed in the cavernous building.

In a wash of blood on the cold cement floor lay the body of a man bound with heavy rope, the blindfold unnecessary over eyes that would never see again.

The black shrouded figure slipped the knife into a plastic bag, closed the door, and melted into midnight .

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Chapter 1

"That’s when I decided to kill my husband."

Katherine Vandalay tapped an unlit Newport against a slim gold case engraved with her initials, "And I need some advice."

Sam had seen thousands of clients, but never had been asked how to successfully exterminate a husband.

"You came highly recommended," the woman said as she crossed long shapely legs. "And I did look at one of your books. It was rather interesting. Your simple premise that our lives repeat in nine-year cycles made me think." She said it as if her literary tastes had gone slumming.

Sitting in her stuffed rocker opposite the woman, Sam practiced her Mona Lisa smile and waited for the other exquisitely clad foot to drop.

Sam figured Katherine Vandalay was around thirty years old. According to numerology, that was the age when major events happened. Killing one’s husband certainly fit the criteria.

Samantha Blackwell, syndicated numerologist and author of acclaimed books on the subject, enjoyed her unhurried lifestyle in the town of Georgetown , nestled fifteen miles from the New Hampshire coastline. Whenever necessary, her recent introduction to the Internet put her in instant touch with the outside world, as she called it--although she found, at age forty-nine, that she was more of a recluse than ever. Especially since the incident last year.

The deep velvety voice continued. "I thought you might be able to help me. You did solve those…" Katherine’s slender fingers fluttered at the air "…what were they called? The Cowberry Necklace Murders?" A two-carat emerald-cut diamond flashed in the dim October sun.

Sam looked past the woman and out the window of her sun porch office, past the peeling white deck. She could see the maples blazing red and orange amongst thick pines in her back yard and waited for the flutterbys in her stomach to alight. Sparrows darted in and out of the large house-shaped bird feeder. Georgetown was in the midst of tourist season, and this year, Sam was President of the Cowberry Festival Committee. It wouldn’t do to slack off on this prime appointment from Agatha Beatrice Coldbath, owner and last remaining heir of the Coldbath Chutney fortune. How many times had the old dowager scolded her with the reminder that since the days of King George III, my chutney has graced the delicate palates of royalty and heads of state?

Sam was well aware that the town’s year-round economy depended upon the square, squat jars labeled Coldbath Cowberry Chutney--Chutney to the world since 1798. On the parchment-type labels, and beneath an artist’s rendition of old King George’s crown, was the large flourishing signature (digitally enhanced from the original) of the founder, William Hornblower Coldbath.

No mention was made that it was William’s wife who had come up with the recipe, gave two jars to her ailing neighbor, who then sent one of the chutneys to a brother in England, who then gave it to his lady friend, a royal maid to King George III. No one was quite sure how the maid got the king’s attention, but rumors were rampant.

Sam buried the fingers of one hand in her long fine hair and rubbed. Besides the Fair, she had clients to see and her weekly column to write. She didn’t want to get mixed up in another homicide…if that’s what this appointment was about.

Homicide.

She would never hear that word again without icy coils twisting around her spine.

She touched her left side as if she could feel the small scar beneath her sweatshirt. To Katherine, she said, "If you’d like to smoke, please step outside".

"What?" The woman frowned, then twisted a quarter turn to the right. She took a moment to examine the splintering white paint on the railings then faced Sam once again. A tiny spot at the corner of her left eye quivered as she looked down at the cigarette in her hand. "Oh. No, thank you. I don’t smoke".

Really?

As the woman continued to tap the unlit cigarette, Sam was reminded of an early television commercial--a red Pall Mall cigarette box tap dancing on human legs to some jingle.

"It’s a terrible habit," Katherine Vandalay added.

So’s denial, Sam thought, but hey, we all have our addictions.

Sam took a deep breath. She had to admit she was envious of the can’t-be-too-thin body encased in a creamy silk blouse and soft black suede skirt. The thick gold necklace at her throat matched her earrings. The woman smelled of Dior’s Hypnotic Poison and reeked of money.

She looked down at her own belly bulge under her gray sweat pants, and was reminded of her daily struggle with Ring Dings and the bathroom scale. She vowed (again) to start exercising tomorrow and to get rid of the thirty extra pounds. But not before she got rid of Katherine Vandalay.

The cigarette tapping stopped. "Of course, I didn’t kill my husband. Someone else did," the woman said. "I could never do such a thing. I loved Henry."

Sam tried to remain impassive. Again, her thoughts flipped back to last year. She closed her eyes for a moment as that terrifying scene roiled in her mind.

"But I’m afraid I’m a suspect," Katherine said. Shaking death from her mind, Sam fastened her attention on the woman before her. Katherine Vandalay’s nostrils flared and the skin over perfect cheekbones grew taut as she continued. "Henry was thirty years older than I am, so naturally everyone thinks I was after his money."

Sam felt her insides shudder. She pondered the high-maintenance woman and wondered what really went on behind those violet eyes. Was this woman capable of killing another human being?

At some level, Sam thought, everyone is capable. Even me, the animal-loving vegetarian, the one who stops at every little kid’s lemonade stand, the first place winner in the Miss I-Can-Fix-It-For-You, Don’t-You-Worry Contest.

She let out a puff of air and wondered why she couldn’t have an ordinary client--like the woman having an affair with the local priest or the crazed New Hampshirite plotting the downfall of Vermont . She didn’t need to be reminded of the night that she shattered a man’s skull with a fireplace poker.

"I’m a numerologist, not a detective or a lawyer," Sam said.

Katherine Vandalay sighed and, with the back of her cigarette hand, brushed at the spun gold hair that fell in folds to her shoulders. "Look. I have a lawyer, and private investigators can be troublesome. I want you."

The old World War II poster flashed through Sam’s mind--a determined Uncle Sam pointing that finger of fate. Too many young people died in that war. Had fate singled her out to be involved in more death?

Katherine leaned forward. "I want you," she repeated.

Sam thought about that for a moment then said, "What do you think I can do for you?"

"Mrs. Blackwell, I’m desperate. I thought you could, um, see something?"

"See?"

"Yes. You know, like a psychic impression. Something that would clear me of my husband’s murder." She floated back against the rocker cushion and resumed tapping the cigarette.

Sam took a deep breath as a wave of heat prickles washed over her upper torso. "First, my name is Samantha. Everyone calls me Sam. Secondly, I’m not a psychic."

Katherine Vandalay’s penciled eyebrows rose. "Really? Oh, I thought…given what the newspapers said about you…"

"You can’t believe everything you read in the newspapers, Mrs. Vandalay." That fact had been driven home after last year’s fiasco.

The woman’s fingers fell silent. "Please. Call me Katherine."

The heat was intense now, but Sam refused to flap the front of her sweatshirt in front of this woman who belonged on the cover of Elle.

How do they stay so thin? she wondered as she did when she stood in the supermarket check-out line surrounded by magazine covers with high-cheekboned, full-lipped, twenty-year-old faces gazing at her. She knew (if there were a just Creator in the Universe) that those impossible hairdos would fall flat as yesterday’s birthday balloons as soon as the camera clicked and the fan stopped blowing.

To make matters worse, it seemed that every magazine promised the easy, super simple, last-one-you-will-ever-need, eat-all-you-want-and-lose-ten-pounds-a-week diet. Sam was an authority. She had tried them all and had come to the rather distasteful conclusion that the only thing that might work was sewing her lips shut for five months. But she hated needles.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Instead of flapping her sweatshirt, she reached out to finger the ficus beside her, one of many plants in her jungle, as her daughters called the sun porch.

Katherine bit a tiny piece of her top lip as if considering her next move. Even beneath the makeup, dark half moons under her eyes attested to sleepless nights. Sam wondered if Katherine had been wrestling with incubi or flesh and blood demon lovers.

Be nice, she told herself. A gorgeous young woman could be in love with an older wealthy man. She smiled inside. Sean Connery is a pretty sexy guy.

Katherine pulled out her ammunition. "Charles Burrows told me about you. I’m his wife’s second cousin, twice removed, sort of. Charles has a high regard for your problem-solving abilities. He agreed you could help me."

Sam tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, then lowered her hand into her lap. "Really?"

She had a vague memory of Brun telling her about a distant relative who married into the Vandalay fortune. But she thought Brun had lost contact with that side of the family years ago. Even so, Katherine’s connection complicated matters. Brun’s husband, Chief of Police Charlie Burrows, was Sam’s childhood friend. Sam realized she was going to have a hard time getting out of this one. She pulled on her right ear lobe. "I see."

Katherine settled back. Sam suspected that Katherine Vandalay was one of those women who always got what she wanted. One way or another.

"What were the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death, Katherine?" Sam had read the papers and heard about the murder on the six o’clock news, but the devil was in the details. Especially those Tarot cards.

"Henry was in construction."

"Vandalay Enterprises," Sam acknowledged, stifling a crazy impulse to laugh as a vision of Seinfeld’s George Costanza, the latex salesman for Vandalay Industries, popped into her mind.

"Yes. He owned Vandalay Enterprises. It seems everyone’s building today."

Sam often passed the ten acres covered with metal buildings as she drove to Manchester on Route 101.

"How did he die?"

"Oh, yes, that," Katherine said. Her outlined melon lips pursed. She looked down at the still unlit cigarette between her fingers. "He, ah, he was found in the shop a week ago. Tied up with rope and wearing a blindfold." With her chin down, Katherine lifted her eyes. Long black lashes curled out from eyes that resembled dewy crocuses. "He had been stabbed. Many times."

A moment hung between them as Sam waited for Katherine to tell her about the cards. When the silence became prolonged, she said, "I see. Who found your husband?"

"Kenneth Ash, one of Henry’s employees. He called me first, and of course, I went right over. As I pulled into the entrance, a car went tearing past me. Kenneth said it was a reporter. The man must have had his police scanner on and been in the area. I’m sure that’s how the story got into the newspaper so quickly." She shook her head in disgust. "The police arrived right after I did. By then, there were half a dozen employees standing around. It was just awful." Her violet eyes lowered for a moment.

"Can you tell me more about that morning?" Sam said gently.

Katherine pursed her lips, then said, "Yes. Whoever did this terrible thing left Tarot cards beside Henry’s body."

Finally. "Really?"

"Yes. Are you familiar with the Tarot?"

"Somewhat." Sam had written a series of columns a few years back on the subject.

"I didn’t know what the cards were at first, but I did make notes," Katherine said.

Sam couldn’t imagine having the presence of mind to take notes when standing over the murdered body of a beloved husband.

Katherine must have noticed her surprise because she added, "I was so distraught that I couldn’t just stand there, so I went into the office for a piece of paper and sketched the design. I’m sorry I didn’t get the numbers on the cards but they were laid out in some sort of a cross. I thought it might help me in the future to figure out who did this."

That could be helpful, Sam thought. But wait a minute. I haven’t agreed to take this case. Case?

Now she was talking like Parker’s Boston P.I., Spenser. She wasn’t about to get involved again, so why did she find herself saying, "Did you bring that information with you?"

"Oh, no. I’m sorry. I should have. If you think it will be helpful, I will get it to you."

Sam blinked a few times as she wondered about the woman’s inability to recognize important facts. Then she asked, "Why exactly did you want to kill your husband?"

Katherine tossed her head. "Oh, I would never have done it. I just wanted to plan it, to have the satisfaction of knowing I could do it. I had just decided I was going to plan to murder my husband when someone actually killed him."

Strange pastime, Sam thought, as she nodded. Plus, the word murder didn’t seem to bother Katherine. She thought about her own horror and repulsion when the word had almost come home to roost. Again, she asked, "Why did you want to kill your husband?"

Katherine looked up at the Siamese wooden angel suspended from a gold hook on the ceiling above their heads, then out the window at the sparrows fighting for position on the bird feeder. After a moment, she looked back at Sam. "A number of reasons."

"Name three."

Katherine’s smile revealed a row of perfect white teeth that, Sam figured, bought some orthodontist and his family a Caribbean cruise.

"I know there were other women. I often smelled perfume on his clothes, and it wasn’t mine."

"And?"

"Isn’t that reason enough?"

"Not for some women."

Katherine thought about that for a moment, then said, "There was his abuse."

Sam clenched her lips then said, "Did he beat you?"

Katherine laughed, a winged fluttery sound at odds with her throaty voice. "No, nothing like that. It was verbal abuse. He would rant and rave about how much money I spent on myself. As if he didn’t like it. He was always showing me off like I was some kind of trophy."

"And the third?"

"Third what?"

"Reason."

Katherine didn’t hesitate. "The absolute end was when he sold my silver Ferrari. We had a terrible fight, and the next day, my car was gone. He did it out of spite. He knew I loved that car. I will never forgive him for that."

Sam figured the man didn’t need her absolution now. Tension bunched in the muscles behind her neck. Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand on each thigh and rolled her shoulders once, then focused on the woman before her. She wondered how many men found that dewy look irresistible. "Since I’m not a psychic, you want me to do what?"

"I want you to help me find the person who killed my husband."

"That can’t be done through numerology."

Katherine shook her head. "No, of course not. Charles said you are very--what’s the word he used? Oh yes. Intuitive."

"I see."

"And you’re a woman. I knew you’d understand." She leaned forward again, the cigarette in one hand, the case in the other. "Please, Sam. I’ll pay whatever you ask."

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Three O'Clock's Dark Night ~ The Number Mysteries

2009-12-01T16:07:00.000-08:00

Prologue

Richard Howard Brennan was a walking dead man. He wondered when he would make it official. What he didn't know was that someone would do it for him.

He hunched over his beer mug at the stained bar in Iggy's Den where he'd been beaten up numerous times. If this wasn't Hell he thought, rubbing bloodshot eyes, it was the pit next door. But he really didn't care how much he got hammered because he figured he deserved the abuse. He was the one behind the wheel the night of the accident. And now she was gone.

Brennan's head dropped to his chest. He drew a breath so deep it seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. As a moan escaped his lips, he closed his eyes against the pain.

Smoke roiled beneath the low ceiling of the cinder block bar. Cue balls rumbling on nearby pool tables underscored the curses that erupted from throats tight with anger and resentment and despair. From the jukebox, Clint Black's voice wailed about a lost love. The words pierced Brennan's heart like the Devil's poisoned pitchfork.

He clasped his fingers behind his neck and moaned again.

Suddenly, a hand clapped hard on his back. He jolted forward.

"Hey, dick! Heard Benny's after you. You owe him money, too?"

There was no mistaking the deep timbre of that voice. In a happier time, Brennan could have imagined an affable Sam Elliott with the distinctive bushy moustache gracing his top lip, his head tipped to one side, a twinkle in his eyes, his hand extended in an invitation to buy you a beer at the town's only saloon. But this was not a happy time. And the velvety voice had a razor edge to it that could slice to the bone.

Slowly Richard Brennan lifted his head and turned to his right, squinting through the haze at the barrel-chested man.

"Christ, Quinn. You practically knocked me off the stool."

In place of the trademark moustache, Quentin "Quinn" Stevens had a thick curly beard that festooned halfway down his chest. One gold tooth glistened amongst stark white stalactites behind sneering lips. He wore a blue bandana tied around his head and a black leather vest studded with badges and buttons and one large safety pin. Dirty jeans hung below his burgeoning belly and tattoos decorated his huge biceps. He smelled of beer and bad cologne.

"You'll be lucky if that's all I do to you," Quinn growled in that ironically soothing voice. "You having a good time spending my money on suds?" The sneer faded into the black web of his beard. "Listen, dickey-boy. I don't care how much you owe or who you owe it to. I'll knock you from here to Sunday if you don't pay me the fifty bucks you borrowed two weeks ago." His eyes turned flinty as he leaned close to Brennan's ear. "You don't want to see me mad, man. I can think of things to do to you that you can't even imagine."

Quinn straightened up and clapped Brennan's shoulder again, this time hard enough to send Brennan's face flying into his beer mug.

Sputtering, Brennan lifted his head with a grimace. He wiped a figure eight pattern over his face and cleaned his hand on his shirtfront. With both hands, he raked back his greasy hair.

In the streaked mirror behind the bar, Brennan could just make out a red outline curved around the outer edge of his left eye and halfway over his eyebrow. He could also see the mountain of flesh looming behind him. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

"I'll have it for you tomorrow, Quinn, honest."

Quinn's eyes were heavy with hate.

"Tomorrow, I promise," Brennan pleaded. "I'll meet you here about this time. Okay?" He coughed smoke and foam out of his lungs. "Really."

Quinn stared at him for a long moment, and then said with terrifying Sam Elliott softness, "You'd better be here tomorrow night, Brennan, unless you plan on crawling the rest of your life." He gave Brennan a look that caused prickles to run down his arms and vibrate at his fingertips. Quinn Stevens moved off toward the restrooms and disappeared through the door marked HOGS.

At the same moment, two women emerged from the SOWS quarters. Brennan massaged his fingertips with his thumbs as he gazed at the jugs on the brunette. He wondered why women went to the bathroom in pairs. Sort of like boarding the Ark, he thought, and snuffed.

But the joke was short-lived. He looked down at his trembling fingers, then touched at the spot between his eyes. He'd been avoiding Quinn successfully up until tonight. Quinn was bad enough. He could handle this threat, even if it was from the big biker. But now, according to Stevens, Benny Madden was after him too. Jesus Christ! He was in deeper shit than he thought.

The cold shiver again. Richard Brennan knew he had to disappear.

An hour later, Quinn Stevens straddled his Harley in the gravel parking lot outside the bar, the place known unaffectionately by the residents of Georgetown, New Hampshire, as the Pigpen. He stared at the blinking neon sign that read IGGY'S DEN. A large cutout resembling the letter P was duct-taped beside the word IGGY'S so that the sign read PIGGY'S DEN. This year's high school seniors had already performed their annual spring ritual.

However, the history of the Pigpen was not on Quinn's mind this night as he sat on his Harley in the filtered yellow light from the bar's one plate glass window, his right hand under his leather jacket idly stroking a spot above his heart. He stared at the sign but he didn't see it. He didn't feel the cold. He didn't hear the peepers in the boggy lowland behind the bar or the traffic zooming out on Route 125. He didn't see the Full Flower Moon that celebrated the life that burst forth during this month of May. There was no celebration in his heart.

There was only the pain.

His mind was on the memory of her.

It was when he'd gone to the Mall of New Hampshire on his Hog to pick up some Garth Brooks CD's that he'd seen her standing in front of Mrs. Field's Cookies counter. His heart had almost stopped. He'd felt as if he were in a time warp, a sort of suspended animation, that limbo where there is no sense of sound or movement. There had been only her.

She'd been wearing a pink sweater and blue jeans, and her blond hair had fallen in soft curls to her shoulders. She and her friends had been munching chocolate chip cookies, licking the chocolate from their fingers, and laughing at whatever girls laugh at.

He'd been cleaner cut then, still in leather and chains, but about twenty-five pounds lighter. He'd known that a lot of women were attracted to his bad boy sexuality, and he'd used his animal magnetism successfully on more than one occasion.

After more than two years, the scene was still vivid in his mind.

He watched her.

She sucked at the chocolate on her thumb, glanced at him, then looked away. He leaned against a wall, more to support his weak knees than to look cool. He watched to see if she'd look again. If she did, she was interested.

She tipped her head to one side as if trying to peek at him without being noticed. A lock of hair fell over one eye. She used her forefinger to tuck that loose strand behind one ear.

To Quinn, she looked like an angel with only a brief passport into this life. Liquid heat pulsed through his veins. His heart beat so hard against his chest that he thought everyone passing by could hear it.

It was then that she looked at him again.

His heart stopped.

Quinn Stevens would never forget how his body had gone electric. At that moment, he had fallen in love with Lynda Johanssen.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1

Saturday 5:32 A.M.

Nick stood in the doorway peering at his watch. "What are you doing, Sam? It's five-thirty in the morning."

On the sun porch of their Cape Cod home, Samantha's hands paused over her split keyboard. She grabbed the green sponge roller from her bangs, hid it between the two small spider plants next to her computer and fluffed her bangs. "Haiku," she called over her shoulder.

"Gesundheit," Nick replied. He did a jaw breaking yawn and scrubbed his face with both hands.

"What?" Sam asked.

They exchanged puzzled looks until Sam realized his mistake. "No, Nick. I didn't say 'ah-choo', I said 'haiku'."

Nick leaned against the doorframe. He smiled and stuck his hands in his jean pockets. "Is that contagious?"

Sam smiled back. "Not unless you read it."

Nick gazed through the wall of windows that faced into their backyard, breathing in deeply, sloughing off sleep. The baseboard crackled with incoming heat. A lone bird sang to the lifting morning.

Sam stifled a companion yawn and tugged at the neck of her red plaid nightshirt, one of three purchased some years ago during a desperate foray into the bowels of the mall. These were added to a wardrobe comprised mostly of sweats and tee shirts. She hated to shop and usually waited until she was threadbare to venture into the department stores.

For a brief moment she contemplated the pitfalls of continuing the conversation then, in customary fashion, threw caution to the wind.

"A haiku is an unrhymed Japanese poem," she explained. "It refers, in some manner, to the seasons of the year. The poem is conveyed in three lines, using seventeen syllables: five, seven and five. It's a good mental exercise because each word must be chosen carefully. One has to be spare with her words."

"No one has ever accused you of that," Nick said. His right dimple deepened as his eyes caressed her. After twenty-six years, she still loved that look.

She tipped her head at him. "Tread lightly, big boy." Her eyes took in his six foot one inches. She was amazed that his dark hair hadn't yet shown signs of age.

"I guess I'd better," he said, "since I've convinced you to go camping with me, even if it's only down to Pottle's Pond for two nights. You know, you might really like it." He grinned, as if that would convince her how much fun it was going to be.

Sam leaned back in her swivel chair and folded her hands across her belly bulge. She sniffed. "Yeah, maybe."

She looked down at the cellophane evidence from the package of Ring Dings she had just easten and thought about the thirty pounds she wanted to lose. That thought segued to her doubts about preparing meals in a motor home and the notion that camping was not that much fun no matter how you looked at it. But at least they'd be inside a heated camper, not lying on the cold ground. Even though it was May, the nights could still be chilly in New Hampshire.

"Want to hear my haiku?" Sam asked.

"Sure," Nick said, settling into the stuffed green rocker in the corner by the ficus plant. He crossed his ankles. "Achoo away."

Sam read her verse.

Nick nodded.

"Do you get it?" she asked.

"Yeah." He frowned. "I think." He rocked as he gazed at the matching red chair on the other side of the corner table. "Well, I'm not sure." . . .

Click HERE to order this book.

Numerology and The Divine Triangle

2009-11-02T08:45:00.000-08:00

As the authoritative and comprehensive text on numerology, this book uses the Pythagorean triangle as a blueprint of your life. Included here for the first time in book form is a synthesis of numerology, astrology and the Tarot. This is the book to which all others on the subject will be compared.

Click HERE to order this book.

Numerology Your Future

2009-11-02T08:41:00.000-08:00

Discover future trends through your basic Personal Year Cycles revealed by the numbers. Topics include: your four Personal Numbers; your Personal Year, Month and day cycles; peak and action points in your Personal Cycles; the numerological significance of the decades; the numerological and Tarot relationships; and number delineations for character analysis as well as for prediction and much more.

Click HERE to order this book.

Numerology, Astrology & Dreams

2009-11-02T08:39:00.000-08:00

Using your personal rhythms, Dusty shows you how to discover the types of dreams you are likely to have during your basic nine year cycles. Also revealed are the meanings of numbers and their corresponding geometric symbols when they appear in dreams. This book also touches upon how your astrological birth chart influences your dream world.

Click HERE to order this book.

Quintiles and Tredeciles: The Geometry of the Goddess

2009-11-02T08:21:00.000-08:00

Dusty writes: “It was when I was contemplating the most sacred symbols of the Egyptians – the sacred bowls of 72 degrees and 108 degrees – that a series of revelations hit me.”

To understand the meaning of these little known astrological aspects, dusty takes you on a journey that touches upon sacred geometry, Masonic, religious and Egyptian symbolism, as well as numerology and astrology.

Click HERE to purchase this book.

Dream Cycles

2009-11-02T08:05:00.000-08:00

Dream cycles offers a new and exciting approach to dream interpretation. The premise is that dreams come from an inner source full of symbolism. Using the nine basic cycles in your life that are determined from your birthday, you can open your dreams and read them in the full context of the events in your life.

Dream Cycles explains the simple process that determines your current personal cycle, the color associated with it, what that cycle means and how it relates to your dreams. Knowledge of your personal rhythms takes the randomness out of interpreting dreams and helps you focus on the relevant issues in your life.

You will also discover the nine categories into which dreams commonly fall. Personal and universal symbols are treated and analyzed. Dream Cycles defines the parts of the mind and the dream as the ancient world saw it and as the modern world now sees it.

And you want want to miss the Thoughts From My Notebook chapter.

Dream Cycles is a unique and satifying trip into the fascinating world of dream interpretation.

Click HERE to purchase this book.

Best Friends

2009-10-01T16:47:00.000-07:00

Best Friends is my pet project, forgive the pun. My husband and I were travelling through a deep valley in Utah some years ago and happened to see a large and colorful hand carved sign by the side of the road reading: Best Friends. We went in and the rest is history. Please read the following excerpt from their website. They do incredible rescue and rehabilitation work.

"The Best Friends Animal Sanctuary at Angel Canyon, at the heart of the Golden Circle of national parks in southern Utah, is home on any given day to about 2,000 dogs, cats, and other animals, who come from shelters and rescue groups around the country for special care they can only receive at Best Friends.

Most of the animals who find their way to Best Friends have special physical or behavioral needs, and our expert staff of veterinarians, trainers and caregivers offer them all the help they require. Most of them are ready to go to good new homes after just a few weeks of special care. A few, who are too old or too sick, or who have suffered extra trauma, find a home and haven at the sanctuary, and are given loving care for the rest of their lives."

A great gift for all animal lovers is a donation in their names to Best Friends. Please visit http://www.bestfriends.org/ to learn more about this wonderful place.

About dusty Bunker

2009-09-06T06:11:00.000-07:00

When I was five years old, I read my first sentence: See Spot Run. (This was in that ancient time before television and educational programs like Sesame Street.) I cannot describe the rush of power that flowed over me at that moment when I realized I could read. I knew I had hold of something powerful that would open up my world.

By the time I was six, my most treasured book was the Golden Encyclopedia. It was over-sized with a glossy cover, sprinkled with small colored illustration, and filled with wondrous knowledge. I carried it under my arm where ever I went. I have been mentally exploring ever since.

* * * * * *

dusty grew up in a Navy family and has lived in the four corners of the United States – Maine, Florida, California and Washington State – and some of the states in between. She graduated from Saugus High School in Massachusetts and attended the University of New Hampshire. Today she lives in a small New England town with her husband and family and a passel of pets.

dusty has studied and lectured on astrology, numbers, dreams, symbolism and other metaphysical subjects for over twenty-seven years. She was the co-founder of the Seacoast Astrological Association, has taught astrology and consults with clients from all walks of life. She is also a member of the Mystery Writers of America, has written three mysteries and is working on the fourth.

dusty bunker is the author of nine books, some of which are translated in foreign languages. She wrote for the Time-Life Book Series, Mysteries of the Unknown, and contributed numerology columns to Mademoiselle Magazine. Her dream column ran in the Manchester Union Leader for five years. She also wrote a humorous shopping column for the Hampton Union, and drew a comic strip, Tree Line, which appeared in Seacoast After Dark. She is the subject of a biographical record in Who's Who in America. In addition to her non-fiction books, her metaphysical mystery series includes three titles: One Deadly Rhyme, The Two-Timing Corpse, and Three O'Clock's Dark Night.

dusty did some consulting work in relation to the six hour American Movie Classics (AMC) miniseries The Prisoner, starring Jim Caviezel and Ian McKellen which aired on television in November 2009.

* * * * * *

2009-09-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

ARTICLES by dusty

dusty has written many articles over the years. The most recent are listed below.

For back issues, check with:
     Dell Horoscope,
     267 Broadway, 4th Floor, New York, NY 10007,
     tel: 212-686-7188,
     or go online at http://www.dellhoroscope.com/.

DELL HOROSCOPE MAGAZINE ARTICLES

Your Personal Solar Calendar:
     Time Your Activities Perfectly Every Month     (July 2006)

Full Moon Mania:
     Political Secrets Come to Light on Election Eve   (November 2006)

How Saturn Forms Your Fate:
     How You Can Build Your Destiny!   (Yearbook 2007)

Where’s Your Moon:
     A Fun, Fact-Filled Lunar Guide   (June 2007)

Your Progressed Sun:
       Positive Feedback on Life’s Journey!   (August 2007)

The Asteroid Ceres:
     What’s In Your Wallet?   (December 2007)

Pluto Through World History As A Transformer   (January 2008)

Feeling Bored? Restless? Ready For A Change?
     It’s The Seven-Year-Itch Uranus Cycle!   (February 2008)

The Divinity Of Cats:  Your Moon and Venus Help You Choose
     the Perfect Companion   (June 2008)

Venus: Beauty Or The Beast?   (October 2008)

Mercury Retrograde:
     A Mental Rest Area On Life’s Busy Highway   (Yearbook 2009)

Mars Retrogrades:
     Plans Stall! Leo Drama! The Economy Kicks Up   (December 2009)

Jolly Jupiter In 2010   (Yearbook 2010)

The Wheel Of Life   (May 2010)

Momma Moon And Her Lunar Flashlight   (July 2010)

The Decans Of Your Life   (October 2010)

The History and Hidden Side of the Tarot:
       Exploring astrology, numerology, mathematics, mythology,
       Masonry, and more     (November 2010)

Reviews

2009-09-01T04:01:00.000-07:00

Review of "One Deadly Rhyme".
"Bunker mixes the puzzle and suspense with a healthy dose of humor...engaging..."
~Lynn Harnett, Herald Sunday Review

"A Real Page-Turner. Sue Grafton move over! I loved this book. Sam is a believable character, with a passion for numerology, writing, and her family...Bonus: a numerology lesson in the back of the book."
~Catherine Ward

"Congratulations, Dusty. It's a winner! Dusty adds such life to her characters... especially Samantha. I loved this (book)."
~Millicent Hart, romance novelist

Review of "Three O'Clock's Dark Night".
"Dusty Bunker begins her metaphysical mystery with several disparate lives, yet each character is linked. At first, all seem to be lost souls...there is murder, violence, sorrow, fear, and loathing. But as Dusty's plot unwinds, there is love, helpfulness and redemption. And yes, always (against) the background of Chaos Theory. A great tale!"
~Shelley Glodowski, Senior Reviewer
Midwest Book Review

Your Personal Year cycles

2009-08-10T06:59:00.000-07:00

Every year on your birthday, you enter a new cycle which continues until your next birthday. These cycles come in nine year blocks. They are as predictable as the seasons of the year and give you the overlying theme of your personal year. You might say each new cycle on your birthday gives you a homework assignment for the upcoming twelve months.

From today, look back 9, 18, 27 years and so forth to see the recurring pattern in those cycles. That will give you an indication of the type of energies you are currently in. Not the same events, of course, but the same theme. This is not good or bad; it just is. Just as summer is not good or bad; you either like the heat or you don’t.

The same goes for snowy winters; you either like snow sports or you hate the cold dark months.

And always remember: you have free will. You cannot change the cycles, your seasons, because they were set in motion the moment you took your first breath, but you have free will to determine your actions within those seasons.

For instance: during a snow storm you have choices. You can stay home in front of the fireplace with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate; you can go out into the storm fully dressed in your down jacket, hat, gloves, and boots: or you can go out into the storm stark naked (of course, unless you’re a holy man on a mountain in Tibet, your neighbors will wonder about your sanity). Your free choice in this situation will determine what happens to you. It’s the law of cause and effect; for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction; as you sow, so shall your reap. Whether it's physics or metaphysics, the law is the same.

To Determine Your Personal Year Cycle:

You can do this with any birthday: your birthday or the birthday of someone you know, even a pet, a business, an idea, and so forth.

However, let’s talk about your birthday. To find your current birthday cycle: Add the month and day of your birth to the four digit year of your last birthday. (Note: there are different ways to add your birthday but for our purposes here, we will use the following method.)

For example: a birthday of October 21^st.

If today is March 2011, the person born on October 21^st will go back to the year of their last birthday which is October 21, 2010. October is the 10^th month.

Add: 10 + 21 +2010 = 2041.

Reduce 2041 by adding the numbers individually: 2+0+4+1=7.

The person born on October 20 is in a Personal Year Cycle 7 from October 21, 2010 to October 21, 2011.

Another example: a birthday of February 22^nd.

If today is March 2011, this person has already had a birthday this year of 2011. February is the 2^nd month.

Add: 2 + 22 + 2011 = 2035

Reduce 2035: 2+0+3+5=10

Reduce again: 1+0=1

This person is in a Personal Year Cycle One from February 22, 2011 to February 22, 2012.

Find your Personal Year Cycle and click on that number below for an explanation of what the year holds for you.

Personal Year Cycle One
Personal Year Cycle Two
Personal Year Cycle Three
Personal Year Cycle Four
Personal Year Cycle Five
Personal Year Cycle Six
Personal Year Cycle Seven
Personal Year Cycle Eight
Personal Year Cycle Nine

Personal Year Cycle Nine

2009-08-09T07:40:00.000-07:00

Time to give back to the Universe. You are in a transitional period, the end of your current nine-year cycle. It’s time to clean house on all levels—physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. Let go of those things that are no longer necessary in your life. We don’t always know what we need therefore it is sometimes necessary that the Higher Forces step in to help us clean house. People leave your life, children go off to school or get married, job changes necessitate moves to new locations, or sometimes it’s a major attitude change. Learn where you must let go. Flow with the changes because they are for your benefit so that you can enter your next One Cycle unencumbered. Many goals will have been accomplished by now and you should tie up loose ends, finish projects---sort out and finish up are your key words. New project should probably wait until your next birthday. Try to relax, take short vacation, give yourself time to review the changes taking place. Think about sharing your time or resources with others. Charity is high on the list of things to do this year. Giving is a demonstration of your faith in the abundance of life that allows you to give freely without the fear of lack, knowing that the Universe will provide for you. Empty your pot at the end of the Rainbow, so that you will have room to fill it once again as you embark upon your next cycle…a brand new beginning.

The color is: the pot of gold at the end of the Rainbow.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Eight

2009-08-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

Power, sex, and money. Now that should get your attention. You’ll get exactly what you deserve this year. This is a ‘karmic’ period in which you reap what you sow. The energies you have put into the past seven years now bear fruit. Money, business, sexual relationships are all part of this cycle. The key words are discipline, responsibility, pressure and balance in the world of finance and relationships. If you have used your energies wisely in the past seven years, you may get that job promotion, a raise at work, gain public recognition for something you have accomplished or be put in charge of a large project. If you lose a job, review your past seven years and vow to handle things differently once you begin your One cycle two years from now. If taking care of the home and family is your work, you will be rewarded there. Eight Cycles should be examined carefully because they exemplify cause and effect, action and reaction. Money can come to you; some people receive inheritances under an Eight. Money received during this period is always earned in some manner, even if you don’t see the connection. One forgotten good act can bring later rewards. Intense relationships can occur here and last only if each partner is respectful of the other. This cycle brings results in the physical world, your reward for the efforts of the past seven years.

The color is: the Rainbow.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Seven

2009-08-07T07:30:00.000-07:00

This is your year to rest the physical body. This does not mean to cease all activity---we all have duties that we must perform---rather this cycle indicates that your body is tired, you need to take time out in quiet places where you can heal the body. The energy during this cycle shifts to the mind. You need to think, analyze, meditate, and go within to discover who you are, where you’ve been, and where you’re going. It’s a period of introspection. In ancient times, a person born under a Seven was placed in the temple to become a Priestess or Priest because society recognized the child had exceptional powers of the mind. So, this is your year to perfect the powers of your mind. Polish the mental skills you already have. The things you put on the shelf to do later are the things you need to take down now and work on. Take time for vacations: trips to the mountains or the seashore. Let nature work her wonders on your body and mind. Your body needs a rest; by pushing too much in the outer world you could end up sick in bed where you are forced to rest and think. So slow down the outer activity and stimulate the inner activity. Affairs will mysteriously take care of themselves. Stimulate your higher mind: study philosophy, religion, metaphysics or science. Listen to your dreams and intuitions. Surround yourself with a few people who can lift your consciousness. Great rewards are the result.

The color is Violet.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Six

2009-08-06T07:27:00.000-07:00

This is your nesting phase. You become more focused on community and domestic responsibilities. More often, the energies are focused on the home front where love, compassion and understanding are keys to success. Family may need help: parents who require assistance, a mate who needs emotional support, or children who need your attention. There are changes in the home and you become the central figure in solving problems and bringing balance and harmony to this area of your life. Marriages take place, babies are born, and people leave the home for a variety of reasons. You may want to sell your home. Or use some of the creative talent available to you this year to remodel or redecorate your living space. Your artistic abilities are stimulated during this cycle and should be exercised: writing, painting, crafts. You might create a corner for yourself where you can spend time with your creative abilities. Above all, love is the key to success in this Six Cycle. Finish up your responsibilities during this cycle because in the next cycle you must rest.

The color is Indigo.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Five

2009-08-05T07:26:00.000-07:00

This is your year of change, activity, communication, experience, sexual attraction and learning. You are in the midst of your current nine year cycle. This is the easiest time to make some changes, to sort of tweak your direction during this nine-year cycle. This flurry of activity—phone calls, meetings, short tips, mail to be answered, almost any kind of communication you can think of--- presents you with more options and new ideas from which you can make intelligent decisions about your future direction. Be adaptable; make those changes you need to. This is a learning cycle so take a course, embark on a training program. Mental stimulation is important now. The pace is fast and your nervous system is highly activated. Avoid too much alcohol and unnecessary drugs. Your sexual magnetism hits high on the mating meter so if you’re looking, now is the time.

The color is Light Blue.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Four

2009-08-04T07:24:00.000-07:00

Get organized! This is your year of work, organization, building, and acquiring money and possessions. You feel the need to clean out the basement, the bureau drawers and closets, the attic and garage, the office and wherever else is cluttered with debris. You have the sense now that if you live in an organized environment, then your life will be more organized. Even your body needs organization so out come the sweats, the sneakers and the headband or you might rejoin the gym or get back to using that gym membership you’ve been paying for over the years. Now is the time to do it! Also, organize your finances. You’ll find you want to buy things to make you feel grounded: Four is the number of the earth and earthly possessions. Get out in nature; feel the earth beneath your feet, breathe in nature’s perfume. It is here that the physical body can heal. Enjoy physical relationships. Indulge your sensual pleasures…within the restraints of your budget, or course.

The color is Green.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Three

2009-08-03T07:20:00.000-07:00

This is a cycle of growth, expansion, creativity, and improvement, perhaps bringing into flower those seeds you planet in Cycle One. Your social life should improve. Entertaining and social functions should be on your to do list. You become the center of attention. This is your year to shine. Be conscious of your appearance. First impressions are important during this cycle because some of the people you meet may become important business contacts in the future. Buy some new clothes, get a new hairdo, and find the stage or microphone that’s waiting for you. You need space in which to grow. Because of the expansive influence of this year, you may find that travel fits your needs now. Because a Three Cycle implies optimism, lucky money can come your way. Enter every FREE contest. Buy one sweeps ticket when the fates move you. However, do not overspend. The expansion of a Three Cycle can also mean overspending and financial difficulties. Don’t scatter your energies rather plan to advertise and promote any creative effects in the artistic or business world. This year can be full of optimism, fun, and joy.

The color is Yellow.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle Two

2009-08-02T07:18:00.000-07:00

You made major decisions and new starts last year. During the past year, you initiated action: now is the time for attraction. The law of magnetism is at work. Nurture those decisions you made last year. Stand back, work behind the scenes, nourish the seedlings planted in your Personal Year Cycle One. You are the power behind the throne, working behind the scenes. Any assertiveness from last year that might have upset the applecart can be smoothed out. Mutual decisions can be made. So, use tact and diplomacy when working with people. Exercise patience. Sometimes legal situations arise where difficulties can be worked out. You may have to make sudden decisions so use good judgment. This is a year of cooperation and, if the situation is right, companionship. Bring balance into your life and find the serenity you need. Study meditation, yoga, astrology, philosophy…those subjects that will give you insight into the subtle mechanics of the mind and how the Mind rules the Universe.

The color is Orange.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.

Personal Year Cycle One

2009-08-01T07:13:00.000-07:00

This is the time for new beginnings. You have just ended a nine-year cycle and now is the time to start over again. Even though you may be surrounded by people, you will feel alone. This is not lonely, rather you will feel that you must take a stand and focus on your own needs. Tape a note to your bathroom mirror that says ‘I come first this year’ so that you will see it every morning. It is important that you focus on your own needs because you will be making decisions this year that will affect your life for the next nine years. If you don’t fill your own well, no one can drink from it. You will not be good for anyone else unless you nourish yourself first. People may make suggestions and you can listen but you must make up your own mind. This is a year for action and a time to welcome change and initiate new ideas.

The color is Red.

To learn more about your personal blueprint and life cycles, please return to the Home Page and click on the numerology book titles.