About the high priestess

Yellow and orange nasturtium, backlit by sun, ...
Image by Martin LaBar via Flickr

BeachThe author, D E Bartley is a scifi flash fiction writer, a poetess, and an artist of many different medias, and genres. You can find her art online at donna.mosaicglobe.com.

An avid photographer, and horticulturalist, she has published with many online ezines and literary magazines. She uses her life’s experiences to write her short stories and flash fiction.

She has written three books:

Kabbalah Spirituality and Native American Folklore Combine to Create Unique New Novel

Debut Novelist Spins Mystical Tale Set in Modern-day America

KEARNY, N.J. — Science fiction and fantasy fans will enjoy debut novelist D.E. Bartley’s Birthing the Lucifer Star (published by AuthorHouse), a mystical tale of one woman’s journey into the jaws of hell itself and the Lakota medicine man who must save her.

Inspirational speaker Shirley Cohen spent her young life as a Daughter of Jacob. For years, she studied the Kabbalah and now has a deep understanding of its mystic power. But a horrific ritual of the Masonic Order convinces her she has been introduced to the angel of the lesser light, Lucifer. Two years later, while living in New York City, Shirley’s life takes a drastic turn. This change is ignited by the death of Dan Ghostwolf, a Native American man who sends her a strange quartz crystal with unspeakable power.

After receiving multiple visions, Shirley feels compelled to travel to North Dakota, Ghostwolf’s home. She drives to the Dakota badlands and meets an elderly medicine man, Eagle Flying Bye, Ghostwolf’s grandfather. But Eagle Flying Bye has revenge in his heart, having blamed Shirley for the death of his grandson and has summoned her through her dreams. When he sets a trap for Shirley, one that awakens the great serpent Uktena, he doesn’t realize the ramifications of his vengeful deed. Shirley becomes the bearer of Lucifer’s light and an unwilling aid in his quest to climb to the heavens and set himself as the brightest star. Only Eagle Flying Bye can save Shirley’s life—and her soul.

Bartley’s in-depth knowledge of Hebrew mysticism and Native American folklore creates a strong, compelling story with multi-dimensional characters and a twisting, unexpected plot. Through vivid details and a wealth of spiritual information, Bartley tackles difficult questions on existence, reality and duality. While she believes “the answer(s) might not please everyone,” she also says that to bring about change, “the tough questions have to be asked in order for the truth to reveal the answer.”

Bartley’s is a unique, new voice in the sci-fi and fantasy genres and her new novel, Birthing the Lucifer Star, would be a welcome addition to either library.

Book review
Do We hear the call?? In our everyday reality, the great spirit calls us to redeem ourselves and those around us from the ruler of this world. If you heard the call, what would you choose. For many are called, but few are chosen. Those who hear and answer the call do so to the peril of their very soul. Follow the woman of the wilderness and the hero, a great warrior of the first nation, as they risk life and limb to redeem first themselves then all of turtle island…

A sparse, mythical writing style and complex storytelling ensure the success of D. E. Bartley’s portrayal of a celebrated Native American warrior who rediscovers his divinity, and a Brooklyn daughter of Jacob who wanders the wilderness trying to answer the call

When you close the pages of this book, you are apt to appreciate it more as it settles into the parts of your brain that mingle literature with the myths and legends of the wandering spirit. The entertainment value is actually eclipsed by its brilliance, the dazzling rays reaching out to prior gems and reflecting an awful lot of luminous light as the unsustainable light is swallowed whole, then released. It’s tongue in cheek, satirical, uncomfortable, and to some readers, it will be very controversial. .

Chapter 4: Dreamland

As night awakened and day snored in slumber, the moon slowly rose above the horizon only to give way to dense clouds that seemed to settle across the land like a blanket of warning. A whippoorwill called in the distance, its mournful song eerie and mysterious, making the hairs upon the neck of a weary traveler stand on end. Upon the slight breeze that rustled the leaves of trees nearby, whispers carried to her ears begged her to seek refuge from this night. A stranger to this land she was, coming from far away. She had been drawn like a moth to the candle, only to have her wings seared by the dancing flame. Something was here; she could feel it in her bones. Yet what it was, she did not yet know. So onward she ventured, wandering slowly, as if to invite whatever was out there to test her forbearance.

Somewhere between being awake and asleep, where the Elysian Fields passed between the twin pillars of reality and dreams, a little wrinkled medicine man with long, white hair sat upon a smooth, flat boulder of igneous rock, making notes and curious sketches of wayfarers upon that ancient, well-traversed road. When he had created a handful of these gargoyle-type portraits on finely pressed charcoal paper by inscribing it with pungent elemental pigments, he would consign it to a constantly tended fire pit just to the right of the boulder, the dancing flames of which demanded to be fed.

Shirley stopped to visit, curious as to why the medicine man would send all of his creations into the fire.

“I quench the thirst of the eternal flame,” said the medicine man. Dipping a nib into a flask of sable ink, he quickly executed a not-entirely-flattering portrait of her with knotted hair, a warted nose, and a dark complexion mottled with pale spots.

Shirley was not overly impressed with the medicine man’s rendition of her.

“That is quite horrendous; I wouldn’t mind if you threw that into the flames,” she said. “It is truly ghastly.”

“It is the picture of your soul I paint,” said the medicine man.

As her eyes turned dark in indignation, she fingered the great crystal Ulun’suti, then uttered a particularly malevolent series of injunctions against this vindictive man that caused the unfortunate shaman to become naked. The skin on his body was etched in words, and as Shirley tried to decipher what was written upon him, he rapidly assumed the physical attributes of a wolf, a snake, a bear, a mountain lion, and a majestic eagle—each of which, in a passionate act of auto symbiosis, caught and then consumed with considerable relish its immediate predecessor. The eagle unceremoniously spewed forth the medicine man to stand before him.

The medicine man:
“The never-ending red road unfurls at my feet,

The boundless sky beats its wings above my head; the steps of the sacred white buffalo calf woman begin at my doorstep; my pipe of peace and truth feeds an eternal flame.”

The eagle:

“I will pluck the ever-watchful eye from the sky to feed my little baby in its nest of down. I will pluck the quills from the wings of infinity to weave into the walls of my nest with twigs and little strips of frayed rags filched from the hides of the rotting carcasses of buffalo. Once, this mighty wilderness was crisscrossed by a thousand pathways; prancing wolves, elk, and buffalo beyond number traveled upon them, seeking mysterious and glorious pastures. Now they are the playgrounds of scavengers and bone-hoarding vultures.

”The medicine man:

“I have looked Chief Yunke-lo in the face and read the great truth in his amused expression; I have seen the sons of man wielding the perennial scythe that harvests the souls from all mortal forms. In the interval between two breaths, I stole a glimpse to the entrance of heaven and, making my obeisance, prostrated myself before the Great Spirit of Wakan Tanka.”

The eagle:

“Here I am in my bright and flashing plumage; observe the exquisite arch of my wing and my white-crested head! What need do I have for the divine realm full of resplendent mystery? The sun is warm upon my back, the water is wet beneath my sure talons, and the rainbow trout wriggles delightfully in my golden beak! Besides, there is a monster—a great serpent blocking the way, impeding all who would look upon heaven.”

The medicine man:

“My life’s blood runs through all of creation; all things blowing in the wind is my father, and the womb of potential is my mother. The stars that shine in heaven are myancestors; everything is a thought-projection of the Great Spirit—even Uktena, the Keen-Eyed One, who is the keeper at the gate.”

The eagle:

“Here is the rain to smooth the earth and heal the framework of the world. In their bright, speckled eggs, my little chicklings dream of what is yet to be. I will call to the young doe; surely she will quell the desire of the serpent monster, and then together, we will glimpse the happy hunting ground.”

The medicine man:

“Days and nights fly over me; one day there will be no more tomorrows, and the shell of the fragile grandmother world shall crack. My children will be proud and strong-winged warriors in the light of the final sun; they will traverse the great red road of the sacred white buffalo calf woman; only then will I put off feathers and flesh to dance a final sun dance before the Great Spirit …”

Come here often to read her latest edition of Scifi Sunday’s with the hipriestess,  flash fiction for the sunday duldrums….posted every Sunday.

Get free preview of my newest novel here:

hyperlinks: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/11567

Buy my new novel Birthing the Lucifer star and I will send you my anthology, Scifi Sunday’s with the hipriestess, 5 cent tales by d e bartley.  Hurry offer ends soon!

Buy now!

here to witness the end, or the beginning, or the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning,the other world, and the other world, and that other world art as life, life as art…imitate, imitation, healing, inflicting, healing..Shaman, spiritual
adviser, teacher, student, grand mother, mother, daughter, sister, artist, writer, poet, been here, done that, trying
to move on, addicted to breathing, enabler, seeking oblivion and sweet surrender

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