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InBetween Shadows

by M.A. Monné

140 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0020; ISBN 1-55212-618-8; US$16.50, C$18.75, EUR13.50, £9.50

Spiritual and life experiences which are combined with spiritual "writings" and poems.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book The Introduction of this book is a collection of documented paranormal events that occurred in and around 1991. The second part, spiritual 'Writings', began at the end of 1990 and were intensive during the following year. The last two parts are spiritual poems and a selection of other poems. The author believes her spiritual 'Writings' and the events that occurred in 1991 are a confirmation of Faith and hopes the reader may also experience this and be comforted in the knowledge of another life after death. Visit the official website at InBetween Shadows.com

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About the Author Marjorie Monné was born in 1935. She was educated at a convent school in Hertfordshire, England, though her parents were Anglican. She has lived in Singapore and has been resident in The Netherlands for many years. She is the mother of five children and grandmother of six. She loves walking with her two small dogs and likes to play 'happy Bridge'.

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Excerpts

THE DREAM

Last night I dreamed I walked a path,
singular and straight,
and at the end I saw a light,
shining white, as only God can make.

And in my dream He was the light,
excellent and just,
and when I heard Him call my name
I lowered my head for I felt my shame.
For I dreamed He loved me with all my faults,
my mind with all its impure thoughts.
I dreamed He loved me for who I am
and for what I'm not,
He loved me as we humble beings cannot.

So as I stood with arms outstretched,
empty of all wordly goods,
I dreamed He loved me without terms
as only He, the Almighty, could.

LAST ROLL CALL

Oh, yes, I know this place well
for I've been here before
stepping over debris
from another blood-spilt war.
For me it's too familiar,
for me the path's too known,
for me it makes no difference
which flag hangs limp, shell-blown.
There are no men commanding,
they lay in blood, dark red,
there is no little drummer boy,
he's lying long since dead.
Oh, yes, I know this battle ground,
oh, yes, I know my way,
that's why I step so easily
between each makeshift grave.
For century after century
I call each side in line,
then the bugler sounds his trumpet
and the drummer boy beats time.
And both sides stand together,
man to man abreast,
the Corporals and the Captains,
the Sergeants and the rest.
Then I march them out of battle
away from blood and pain,
away from shattering fire,
away from greed and gain.
I march them down the valley
in straight and orderly line,
I march them into Glory,
forever out in time.

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Catalogue Information

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