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The Mothman Story of Point Pleasant, West Virginia on November 12th of 1966 and the Infamous Collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967

The Mothman Story of Point Pleasant, West Virginia on November 12th of 1966 and the Infamous Collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967

The Legend of the Mothman sighting stories that have passed on through the townspeople of West Virginia that cold night in 1966 have left an indelible mark upon those who experienced this mysterious and powerful cryptid.

West Virginia is not a stranger to inexplicable events and phenomena with the appearances of the Flatwoods Monster and Indrid Cold, a strange grinning entity of a man who seemed to wear a reflective green or blue suit and had an unnatural grin upon his face; watching and observing people in the town. The townsfolk also observed strange outsiders they refer to as ‘men in black’ in the town.

The dark mystery and testimonies that surround the Mothman is by far one of the most intriguing stories I have researched. It has been noted that the appearance of the Mothman creature foretold of an impending disaster.

We are happy to share with you our adventure, photographs, accounts and stories that have been collected in the Worlds only Mothman Museum in Point Pleasant. It was truly a special afternoon with some of the Synfuel’s Team. The CEO Paul Baskis and I and COO Matt and Carol Wilson enjoyed sharing this adventure and exploring the history and charm of the small town and its folklore.

The Mothman was popularized in the 1975 book by John Keel ‘The Mothman Prophecies’. The 2002 movie starring Richard Gere was based on Keel’s book. The book describes Keel’s account of the strange telephone calls, reports of mutilated pets and the tragic December 15, 1967 Silver Bridge collapse across the Ohio River.

One of the most famous accounts happened on one cold November evening in 1966 when two young couples, Roger and Linda Scarberry and Steve and Mary Mallet told the local police that they sighted a large grey creature with large eyes that “glowed red” reflected by the car’s headlights. They said it appeared as a “large flying man with ten-foot wings”. They said it followed their car while driving outside of town in an area known as the ‘TNT area’ of which was a former World War II munitions plant.

The West Virginia Ordnance Works (TNT area) is North of Point Pleasant and during the World War manufactured dynamite and ammunitions. The land surrounding the Ordnance is mostly forested with grassy clearings that house thick concrete domes they refer to as ‘Igloos’. These Igloos stored barrels of gunpowder. There are many abandoned tunnels that have since collapsed or have been sealed off.

Following that evening, other people within the town started to report similar sightings. One story was of a group of five men preparing a grave in a cemetery for a burial when they saw something eerily strange they could not explain. It seemed to lift off and above the nearby tree line and was a large, brown winged creature. All of the men agreed and stayed to their story that what lifted off beyond the trees was no bird. It appeared to be a humanoid.

Within the museum we found a treasure trove of historic newspaper clippings, testimonies, and memorabilia from the strange happenings in the 1960’s and the tragic Silver Bridge collapse. There were even relics and props from the famous movie, ‘The Mothman Prophecies’ including the original art sketches that were created depicting the Mothman.

One of the many original eyewitness accounts in the museum was from Roger Scarberry who was one of the first couples to see the Mothman. His story starts as follows~

“Tuesday night about 12 O’clock while riding in the TNT area we came upon this thing. It was in the shape of a man with wings. This thing stood about 6 feet tall with wings on its back. It was a light grey in color with red eyes about 2 inches in diameter 6 to 8 inches apart. When we came up over a rise in the road in front of the power house Steve saw these large red eyes. He pointed the eyes out to me and when we all looked it was going around the corner of the building.

This thing runs awkward with its wings out to its side. After we stopped and looked at each other I took off out the road toward the highway. When we came to the traffic circle and turned south on 62 we saw it again. It was on the bank on the left side of the road. This is where we could see it best. But when the car lights shown on it moved its wings out to the side and went straight up into the air.

We didn’t see it again until we were on the straight road in front of the experiment farm when it came over the car. I speeded up to 100mph and it glided over the car till we came to the curve at the armory. Then it was gone.

We came on into town. This thing must have been afraid of lights because it wouldn’t come in to town. We went downtown and stopped. We wanted to tell the police. But when we were going to go back up to see for sure that it was still up the road. But when we were going up through town we decided we decided we didn’t want to go back up. So I turned around at the gate at the C.C. Lewis Farm. When I turned around a dead dog was lying along the road. As I turned and started back down the road this thing came out from behind where the dog was and went back over the car and out through the field on the other side of the road. Then we went down to Tiny’s Drive- In and told Gary and the Police what we saw. Gary and the Police followed us back up the road where we saw it again. The dog was gone. From there we went to the field but didn’t see it again. So we went down to the town. Then we went with the Deputy Sheriff back to the Power Plant and stopped. We sat in the car and saw dust or smoke coming up from the coal yard beside the plant. From there we went back and got in the car and went home. The next day we went back to the power plant and looked around where Steve saw it again in a Boiler inside the plant. Then Wednesday night it was seen at Thomas’s home the same night and found a footprint this thing had made. Thursday we went up to the plant with reporters and went through it. While we were inside Steve shuts the door. When we were outside we heard a loud noise. We went back inside and the door was open.

What this thing looked like it is about 6 feet tall with large wings on its back. It has a shape of a man. It has two red eyes about 2 inches apart. A wing spread of 10 feet. This thing whatever it is, is definitely not a crane or goose or balloon or any of the things it has been called. I have seen it and know what it looks like.”

R. Scarberry stated, “I’m a hard guy to scare, but last night I was for getting out of there.”

For thirteen months the Mothman creature would be would be seen in Point Pleasant. It is estimated that there were over 100 sightings. It has been reported that some of the townsfolk were harassed by Men in Black who discouraged them to not speak about the creature. John Keel’s book claimed that the people of Point Pleasant town experienced precognitions that included premonitions of the collapse of the Silver Bridge.

The Silver Bridge was an eyebar-chain suspension bridge built in the year 1928 and named for the aluminum paint color. The bridge carried U.S. Route 35 over the Ohio River that connects Point Pleasant, West Virginia and Gallipolis, Ohio.

The day of December 15th of 1967 the townspeople would be met with a horrific tragedy as the Silver Bridge collapsed under the weight of too much traffic. There were 46 deaths and two people were never recovered. The collapse was a failure in a single eyebar in a suspension chain. The defect was just 0.1 inches (2.5mm) deep. It was just not meant to carry the weight it was carrying compared to when it was constructed many years ago.

I hope you enjoy the photographs to follow and make sure to follow my blog at https://duskflyervisionart.wordpress.com/blog/ to see more of our adventures on historical places and happenings. Thank you

Copyright October 21, 2020 by Tommie Flannery Baskis

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An October Morning, Learning the ‘Old Ways’ of Sorghum Making at Spring Valley Sorghum Mill in Scottsville, KY

(c) October 2020 By Tommie Flannery Baskis

It was one of those crisp October mornings that one remembers as a child; a day that held a promise to be special. The sun glistened upon the dew and the sky was a bright, crystalline blue.

Those who know me understand the passion I have for keeping the ‘Old Story’ alive. I have been writing and photographing abandoned places, historical towns, cemeteries and the ‘Old Ways’ that are still practiced by the Mennonite and Amish Families in Kentucky.

The story that will be told here is from a special October morning. We had the immense pleasure of visiting Spring Valley Sorghum Mill on Strawberry Lane and were greeted by Brothers Andrew and Reuben Habegger who were very gracious with their time. When I asked Reuben if he could share any stories, even funny ones, from days gone by, he gently smiled and began to tell me about the early days.

Join me as I share my story and photographs about the charming moments and laughter we shared with the men, women and children of this community in Allen County, Kentucky.

A little of the age one, Reuben Habegger’s Father moved them from Pennsylvania to the mountains of Eastern Tennessee.

Reuben commenced to tell me that it was hard in those days to make a living in 1965 in the country. His Father did thinking upon what southerners like to buy and on what they would do to earn money. There was no extra money to buy things, Reuben said.

“Eastern Tennessee was hard going,” said Reuben. It was a coal mining community and not many other opportunities.

Sorghum was a popular crop then and southerners liked to buy it. “You could save your own seeds and it cost nothing to plant it.”

Reuben smiled and told me something funny his Father said. In the early days before they perfected their special way of sorghum making, his Dad learned that some of the people who tried their sorghum said it tasted like axle grease.

They found an old cane press in Missouri and used a galvanized pan with wooden sides his Dad made. The first year crop wasn’t a good crop with the weather being dry and planted on a rocky fescue hill.

At the age of 18, after Reuben’s Father passed away his Mother moved the Family to Kentucky.

Reuben’s Mother was a widow now with seven children and three she would adopt later.

He told me how it is a community effort to work the sorghum cane. People have to spend time with one another. If there are differences to air, the menfolk will work them out because you are spending so much time together during the season, Reuben stated with a smile. I noticed that they all did their work efficiently and with ease.

The men folk that work together here including the Habegger, Zimmerman and Troyer Families had a common desire to make the most pure and delicious sorghum from the cane they grew.

Reuben said that his brother and their cousin Joe Troyer happened to be in a store where they were giving away free samples of sorghum from Indiana. They both wondered if it was pure so when no one was looking, he took a sip out of the jar to make sure it was pure. It was.

They stated, ‘If people in Indiana can make good sorghum then we can too.’

That gave birth to them perfecting their sorghum to be lighter and better.

I enjoyed Rueben sharing his stories with me; as we talked one could smell the delicious sweet syrup that was heating in the large evaporator pan where Mr. Curvin Zimmerman tends and cooks the lovely amber liquid that will soon be bottled. The younger sons in the Zimmerman and Habegger Families were very kind to show me how the cane is pressed to produce the sweet green juice to be strained in order to remove the dirt and impurities before it is cooked.

Curvin Zimmerman was kind to show me how the cooking process worked. He said he came to the mill back in 1987. In the 1990’s he started working full time.

Curvin told me a humorous story too. He stated that one particular day Reuben had some errands to run and wanted him to take control of cooking the sorghum. He left and they did not know when he was coming back. Curvin told me he felt like he wasn’t ready to take control of the cooking on his own back then. At this point Curvin starts to grin and I knew a good story was coming.

I listened as he said Reuben was actually sitting behind the bushes in the forest, watching them. ‘From then on I was more relaxed and confident I could do the cooking’, Curvin told me.

I met a few of Habegger’s sons. Cornelius Habegger was a stately young man who has been tending the large fires that are responsible for heating the pans filled with sorghum juice. ‘I have been keeping the fires for 11 years’ he stated. He told me he shoes horses too. He explained the differences between the Belgian and Percheron breeds that they use and own. I enjoyed the things I learned from him.

Curvin skimmed some of the cooked cane juice off in a cup for me to try. It was a delicious treat in the cool morning. We also enjoyed homemade biscuits with butter and sorghum. The taste was pure delight.

The younger sons and daughters were busy bringing in the fresh organic vegetables, herbs and pumpkins that Andrew Habegger and his Family grows. The produce was fresh from the fields and healthy looking. It was a bountiful view of lovely blue potatoes, beans, turnips, greens and many glass jars of pure sorghum, shelved and glowing in the morning sun.

Another highlight I thoroughly enjoyed was when the sons of Zimmerman and Habegger led me to the sorghum mill where the cane that grows to 6 to 12 feet tall is then hauled in by wagon to be put into a roller press to squeeze out the juices. The beautiful Belgian and Percheron Draft horses are the power that operates the steel rollers of the press.

Tommie watching the heavy beams above, that are turned by the Belgian Draft horses

During the harvesting the Families believe that stripping the leaves from the stalks is important because they leave a bitter taste. We then cut the stalks into piles and let sit in the field for three to five days. In the sunshine the plant’s enzymes help it to convert the starch into sugar.

The juice is strained over and again to remove impurities before settling into an evaporator pan. The squeezed green juice is cooked to a clear amber color where it will be strained again. It is then cooled to 180 degrees F and then bottled in glass jars. As the sweet sorghum is further cooling, the jars seal.

Since the 1850’s sorghum has been grown as a crop and processed in Kentucky.

Sorghum is one of the oldest natural sweeteners used by the early settlers. It is a wonderful part of our heritage. It is rich in nutrients such as iron, potassium, calcium and phosphorus. During the 1940’s sweet sorghum was a main ingredient for drinks, meats, confections and baked goods such as bread, pies, cakes, pudding and cookies.

My October journey to Spring Valley Sorghum Mill was a wonderful treasure. I grew up spending time with my Grandmother Virginia in Indiana. I loved watching her in the kitchen and I have always had a fondness for making my own baked goods and recipes. I am eager to add the sorghum I brought home, to my autumn baking.

If you are ever near a country road called ‘Strawberry Lane’ in Scottsville, Kentucky, make sure you stop on by and visit with the friendly Habegger and Zimmerman Families. They indeed make some of the finest, delicious sorghum I have ever tasted and watch how they keep the ‘old ways’ and tradition of sorghum making in America.

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Silent Town

It seemed like time had grown weary of counting the moments for us. The out-of-sync tics, sound lost within a vacuum of time, upon our deafening silent town; that forgot how to listen.

Milkweed and Cottonwood seed are suspended upon the aether; a floating drift, glowing like snow in the late afternoon sun.

My bare feet touch the cool, dirt path through the old canopy of ash and elm trees that loom over the dank ravine. Leading me out and away from our forgotten, Southern town.

I wear a gift, my Mother Dabria, left for me; a long moss green dress; it trails behind me stirring the dry leaves, like cracking whispers.

I have worn this path down through the seasons; so many moments gathered, like the wild plants and flowers for my remedies; the careful placing of memories stored tight and gently pressed, the way one puts precious things in a box.

I see crows gathering in numbers, like a secret coven, flying in swift over the rustling corn stalks; in the fields upon the path’s end.

I step out from the forested path, as I gaze out beyond the shadows before me. The silver light of dusk, shimmers upon the air making the abandoned, clapboard house seem like a distant mirage. Blurred and dreamy, like a child’s watercolor painting.

I have been coming here since I was a child. My Daddy hunted on this land, like his Father Rainer before him. My Grandmother, Orenda Rose, taught me the ways of healing potions and elixirs. Teaching me how to collect and dry, in their seasons Yarrow, Wolf bane, Samphire, Queen Anne’s Lace, Blackthorn, Gentian and so many roots and berries.

We would hang the thickets on black chain, iron hooks to gently sway with the autumn breeze in the dry cellar with fat jars of minced meat and bottles of apple shine.

I am here alone; only these memories fill the space where the silent moments dwell; or so I thought…

From the writing ~ ‘The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Reflections’, (c) 2020 Duskflyer Vision Art and Productions, Tommie Flannery Baskis

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The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Shadows

The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Shadows

 

It happened in a bone-dust, dry August, in the year of our Lord, 2020; that a secret was to be given in trust. A secret upon receiving that would come with a burdensome price.

I will never forget this particular August; it crept upon us like a veiled shadow on the perimeter of the sun’s last rays. The summer felt toilsome and arcane. It is as if, I had been holding my breath, silently, afraid I would not hear the story that was written for me.

It seemed like time had grown weary of counting the moments for us. The out-of-sync tics, sound lost within a vacuum of time, upon our deafening silent town; that forgot how to listen.

Milkweed and Cottonwood seed are suspended upon the aether; a floating drift, glowing like snow in the late afternoon sun.

My bare feet touch the cool, dirt path through the old canopy of ash and elm trees that loom over the dank ravine. Leading me out and away from our forgotten, Southern town.

I wear a gift, my Mother Dabria, left for me; a long moss green dress; it trails behind me stirring the dry leaves, like cracking whispers.

I have worn this path down through the seasons; so many moments gathered, like the wild plants and flowers for my remedies; the careful placing of memories stored tight and gently pressed, the way one puts precious things in a box.

I see crows gathering in numbers, like a secret coven, flying in swift over the rustling corn stalks; in the fields upon the path’s end.

I step out from the forested path, as I gaze out beyond the shadows before me. The silver light of dusk, shimmers upon the air making the abandoned, clapboard house seem like a distant mirage. Blurred and dreamy, like a child’s watercolor painting.

I have been coming here since I was a child. My Daddy hunted on this land, like his Father Rainer before him. My Grandmother, Orenda Rose, taught me the ways of healing potions and elixirs. Teaching me how to collect and dry, in their seasons Yarrow, Wolf bane, Samphire, Queen Anne’s Lace, Blackthorn, Gentian and so many roots and berries.

We would hang the thickets on black chain, iron hooks to gently sway with the autumn breeze in the dry cellar with fat jars of minced meat and bottles of apple shine.

I am here alone; only these memories fill the space where the silent moments dwell; or so I thought.

I have not been to the old house since last winter, when I stocked the cellar with roots and preserves.

I step onto the weathered porch. The sound of the swings rusting chains, move, as if someone has just left it, moments ago. I notice the wooden door is ajar. As I walk over the threshold, the light of dusk, casts its glow around the still objects that remain.

I see the staircase in front of me. Time’s fingerprint has silvered and scalloped the worn places on the steps. For years, I watched my Father climb these steps at night; his pipe smoke trailing behind him, leaving a thin fog. I am mesmerized as I watched the smoke descend, dimly aglow, taking shapes of a spirited presence, moving to a slow lullaby.

The memories of my time feel heavy here; a heaviness that clutches at the silence, before you notice the empty sound.

A sound of a man’s footsteps upon the floorboards above me makes my breath quicken. A shadow slowly spreads out from the doorway. I turn and look at the Grandfather clock, on the landing that stopped years ago, during the 11th hour.

The toothed gears, anchor and pendulum, a trinity of precise forces, to prevent friction, that would bring it to a standstill; now resounds a tick, as the anchor catches a gear tooth before releasing…

Then, a voice rings out deep and firm, to me. I know when I ascend the stairs I won’t be the same when I come back. I go to him in the one place I have always belonged.

At the top of the staircase, all rooms are abandoned except for mine, where his shadow waits with the days last light.

I enter unafraid, the way children trust the hand laid firmly upon them, is for an important lesson and not to harm.

Walking into the room, I notice my surprised reflection in the towering floor mirror. My body is no longer that of a child’s innocence. His shape, tall and silhouetted, stands nearby in the shadows. His presence is formidable.

I can feel his power as a Watcher, all those hours in time, to reach beyond the looking glass; to find me…to move me; beyond my dreams.

He speaks to me, like a resonance that smooths out waves upon a mighty storm at sea.

“My name resides in a place before your time was set. I am Einarr; a Watcher from the only Army that returns to the Light.”

“I have come here for you child; I have come before but you chose to not recognize me; until now…

The light that fills your vessel has been stored within your coded essence, to reflect out and upon every moment beyond time; every thought is recorded upon a flowing current, of what is to come…

Look into this mirror, past the reflection of your eyes that blind you. Do you not feel me, completing you, in the darkness?

Child, do you not desire to pull away the cocooned veil that spreads shadows upon your Light?

Feel your heart flutter an electric rhythm, like a pulse wave expanding upon the silken aether, you touch all that is and that will ever be.

The Time is upon you to accept your gift of awareness and come into your full presence. The very Light that has sent you here, at this specific point in time, is with you.

Time, my child, is like a connected web that branches out into the different memories of the past; leading you into different present and future moments of experience.

These moments you have marked by time and memory, exist simultaneously. The past and future appear upon different corners of the same map. It is the one you focus your attention upon, that you will see.

It is the Choice and not the Timepiece that determines your future; setting into forward motion the untangling of the skeins, that are the essence of your story’s mystery, to fully embrace beyond fear.

The mystery that was given as a gift to you was done in secret, in the Light; to create your way out of the Darkness…forever”

 

By ~ (c.) 2020 Tommie Flannery Baskis  I> (=

 

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Tommie Flannery Baskis Interview~ Part One of a Three Part Series; Featuring her Energy and Drive Behind the Patented Technologies, Writings, Science and Art!

 

Part 1 of a 3-part series with Tommie Flannery Baskis~

Tommie Flannery Baskis ~ Director/ CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies LLC, President of Synfuels Assets Management LLC and Atlas Energy Technologies Inc. and Vice President of Draconis Digester Technology LLC

This week I, Matt Wilson, had the chance to sit down with the talented, multi-faceted and well-rounded CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies, Tommie Flannery Baskis. I took this time to ask and explore about her varied background and current projects within the technology world, especially the Patented Wastewater and Waste to Energy Technology companies she has with her husband Paul Baskis.

Her base of operation is located in beautiful Kentucky where I was able to take time out of her busy schedule to dig deeper into what drives her and Paul, to develop and market this state-of-the-art equipment. Tommie is very knowledgeable in both the arts and science and technology world. In part 1, of this 3-part interview series, we delve into Tommie’s background and what led her in her career to the point where she is now.

(Matt Wilson) Tommie, first off, thank you for taking this time to tell us a bit about yourself, your background and the multiple companies you own and run. So give me a little background on you and your interests.

(Tommie) Let me start off by saying, I’m really excited about the current contracts and future projects that we are rolling out here soon. But I’ll save that for later and talk a little about my ventures I am currently handling. I grew up in Jeffersonville, Indiana by the Falls of the Ohio River. Very cool place to visit! As a child and all through my adult life I have always had a love for the arts. Ever since I was young, I have been writing and painting and then eventually developed an interest in photography also. All these creative skills gave me an outlet to market and share my creations which led me into starting Duskflyer Vision Art and Production. I have had many art exhibits of paintings and photography throughout Nevada, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Tennessee and California.”

(Matt) I hear you are also a published writer, tell me about that.

(Tommie) Yes, I am. I have published a book consisting of three volumes titled ‘The Abandoned Story’ that reflect upon abandoned places and historical accounts. These include my documented photographs and writings of historic cemeteries, old forest roads, rural haunts and abandoned structures that are found in the Mid-west river towns and countryside. Some of my creative writings were selected to appear on Rutger Hauer’s official website and were published in my book.

(Matt) Tell me about another company you own and run, a perfume company correct? How did you develop an interest in that and did you teach yourself about the science behind it or were you educated in it? You have your own lab where you make the perfumes don’t you?

(Tommie) Yes, another passion of mine is creating and designing holistic and natural crafted perfumes and colognes for men and women. I am the CEO/Artisan Perfumer of Angel Blue Perfume LLC, which gives everyone natural alternatives to our perfume and cologne designs. I am self-taught by studying the Shaker-style apothecaries with herbs and the medicinal healings. I Utilize our Patented Polar Solvent Extraction Process that helps me to create holistic, ‘Victorian Inspired’ artisan perfumes. I am proud of Angel Blue Perfume to offer our clients some of the finest choices made from wild crafted essences and oils without the petrochemicals, synthetic dyes, mineral oils, sulfates, parabens and phthalates.

(Matt) And if that weren’t enough to keep a person busy, you hold several positions with the Baskis line of companies you and your husband own. Tell me what positions you hold with these companies.

(Tommie) I hold several positions within our Baskis Companies which develop a line of technology for CBD extraction and Waste to Energy conversion. I am CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies and President of Atlas Energy Technologies, Inc. and Synfuels Assets Management, LLC. I am also Vice President of Draconis Digester Technology, LLC.

(Matt Wilson) Wow, ok, so we will discuss those companies and their technology in detail at a later date in Part 2 and 3 of this interview. But for now, I am thinking that’s quite a bit to handle! How and where do find the time to stay on top of all these businesses and projects? What drives you day in and day out?

(Tommie) Great question! I’m super organized and believe in balancing everything. I stay laser focused by wanting to be the best in each area of expertise for each company. I used my marketing skills I have learned through my art and photography to promote the Baskis Companies. I don’t think of all of it as work, it is a passion, so I love doing what I do every day.

We at Baskis Technologies have a deep passion to be stewards of society. We are building and creating fully automated facilities to use recyclable waste and turning it into renewable energy. I love how efficient our technologies are and mimics the naturally occurring biological designs found in nature. We are creating sustainable and circular economies which puts more power and wealth back into the communities.

But I must say in addition to all of that, I really look forward to my afternoon coffee, always on my agenda, (Tommie says with a smile and laugh). And getting outside to enjoy nature and clear my head, helps me keep my sanity. I like to bring my camera along, also, just in case I stumble across an old building or cemetery, which are my favorites to photograph and write about.

Please stay tuned and follow part 2 and 3 of our 3-part series of interviews from Tommie Flannery Baskis. Part 2 will post (21 May 2020 and Baskis Companies) Part 3 will post (28 May 2020 and Patented Technology).

Part Two: Draconis Extraction Technologies, LLC, Atlas Energy Technologies Inc. and Synfuels Assets Management, LLC, Draconis Digester Technology, LLC.

https://draconisextractiontechnologies.com
https://atlasenergytech.wordpress.com/
https://draconisdigesters.com

Part Three: Baskis Patented Technology and the newest Wastewater Patent from Draconis Digester Technology LLC.

 

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~We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light~

 

She always collected flowers in the forest for her potions, in late afternoon~

Wild plants, with burning hues that glow in the dusty hollow, where the wingless live and have been silent for so long.

I see the wild things fly around her like moths attracted to flame.

I watched her from a hidden place on high as the wind played about her hair; gently shining like gold threaded gossamer~

She held flowers the way lovers embrace. She moved through the forest like an enchanting lullaby~

Moving into the light, as shadows danced behind her; I watched as her thoughts formed all that she could not speak…

I felt her watching me from a hidden place on high; my house had grown dark through the hours. The evening scents of sharp lilac and warm pipe ashes awake me from my dreams, as the last rays of sunlight melted a reflection upon my eyes.

I eagerly await her passing my cottage, returning to her Father.

Her silk gown flows slowly like a damp mist upon the forest floor; before disappearing into the dark trees.

I think ~ “We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light.
The manifested thought is our creation alone. Guide it; nurture it from a place of true wonderment. A place of true desire~

 

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~ All Warriors, Seers, Executors of the Forgotten Promise ~

~ He, the One who has given me everything, walks before me; in light that hides in dark places of the forest ~ TFB

~Do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known…what I tell you in the dark speak in the daylight…~  Matthew 10:26

~ The Forgotten Promise ~)

The sun casts his shadow, a forging of smoke patterns that are winged and amaranthine.

It is in his eyes, the vigilant watching of a believer; one who willfully ensnares a moment for you to behold.

He speaks words that have the sound of deepness; thoughts that flow like an old story; a forgotten promise-

He speaks to me as we walk the moments. Lucid and crystalline, are the sound of his thoughts;

I hear faraway cathedral bells, breaking through mist, on waves of light.
His name is beyond our time, at the seat of origination~

I will always remember, the message given –

‘In Spirit, tempered by holy fire, it was given to all, my child.
The Covenant, made for us, has always been near you; even while you chose to sleep’

~The Promise, has been seeded, by the Four Corners of Power~

The Sea, that carves its path, clean and sharp, to the soul of man, in order to see.
The Aether, which possesses all energy and binds the holy fire; slowly burning in the Children of the Light; as it waits for the door of the final crossing to appear-

-The Gathering has Begun-

The Earthen vessels of all creation know that they resonate, in this time, for pure purpose; to carry the message which was from the Beginning.

The Fire, of holy essence, has always guarded the promise of the great Covenant.
The Watchers have assembled, from the Four Corners of Light, in the presence of all-

Each one of you, bound by special blood, are here at your time of knowing, from the Promise that was executed and sealed; to not remember the origin of your presence.

Victorious, is your place in the storm to come and in the storm that has passed-
The great fire essence, stands without fear, burning the new path; finding its way back home~

The space beyond the Veil, is Watching and Protecting what it owns;

Never to be destroyed~

All Warriors, Seers, Executors of the Forgotten Promise ~ I> 137 1221 555 (=

By- Tommie Flannery Baskis – (c.) 2019 Duskflyer Vision

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Dreams from the Wood Porch

 

A stirring of rust colored leaves rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat.

Not yet an Angel gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone that beats with hypnotic fervor.
He rocks back and forth, ceremoniously on the old porch, with solemn and careful watching.

The evening damp, strangles and descends, the smoke clouded mist from the old man’s pipe; as a whippoorwill hurriedly cuts through the last lazy moment of heat from the celestial terrace.

He waits in the gathering dark for her to come in as she moves steadfast and barefoot toward the tall blistered wood porch.

Laced with secrets and smiling, she will lay with thought dreams bathed clean, in star shine.

Her secrets, like fine webs, carefully woven and promising not to break; silently move out upon the aether; soft as silk, the thoughts press down upon her lover.

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~Children Running our Shadows Down, the Long Roads of Forever~

I recall a time that we drove underneath a winter moon, with fire in our souls;  Lucinda, the Men and me, Michaele Ruby, sharing Christmas whiskey in the backseat of Grandad’s beat up truck.

The luminous elixir shook and shone, in moon lit glass, upon our cotton print dresses set in motion by the wind; as we teased our men with promises…

They drove us down every dark forest road, to give us the stars.

We were young, when the belief of dreams could be seen in our eyes.

We didn’t know where we were going back then or why; we just knew it felt good to drive that old truck, down every moment we shared together.

We were chasing secrets in the dark, we were never meant to find…

So we laughed and sang songs upon a silent field, dancing by a warmth, radiating from the truck’s hood; our dresses looked like lit fireflies, legs silhouetted, swaying in front of the lights.

The Men, stood in shadows as the mist rolled in over the fields.

I could not hear their spoken words; I could only see breath escaping, like spirits, on the winter air…

I stood still, within a silence that pressed upon me, knowing I had been here before~

At that moment, I knew we were like children running our shadows down, the long roads of forever.

All the words that were never spoken, have become lost to us.

Fearful of the strange shadow inside, until the final moments of Twilight, offers us a glimpse of the last door within our hearts, which we have kept tightly guarded.

Beyond this door is a place from which we began, so long ago. Here resides, the essence of each story, our being, within the mystery.

The Seasons will come to pass to the tune of the Great Unknowing, as time unfurls upon all, leading us to the winter years…

To the last door, on the threshold of sight; there is no lock upon it~

We step through to become, what we always feared we could be…

 

 

 

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~ Broken Winged Child ~

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~ Broken Winged Child~

Daddy smiled and called me his ‘Broken Winged Child’…

I hear his smile from a distance as I let go of his strong hand.

Eyes, looking back on him, reflecting what he wanted to see…and what I was to be; a Broken Winged Child.

He tells me I live in a place that people left a long time ago, with sun faded moments and timeless spells.

He tells me I love from a place of fathomless longing; knowing I will reach for a man who hides in shadow and storm, just to watch me shine…

He tells me I hear dreams of angels, as they whisper to us to find our way home.

He says I speak a sibylline story where our golden light engraves the secrets of our being upon the ancient mountains, forests and deep seas; so we may never lose course, on our watch…

He tells me I feel beyond fear, as I reach for those who slumber at the gates of darkness, tethered by the very wings that will release them…

I am a Broken Winged Child; the seed from a union forged by fires within a secret place.

For a short time, my shadow walks towards the lingering light that will soon be a memory, among this space…

Merry Christmas Everyone~ Keep your Blessings close, forever~

By~ Tommie Flannery Baskis ~  I> (= 1221

 

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~Children of the Shadows~

~ A child of the shadows dwells between two places; in the ‘Age of Man’ and ‘Beyond the Veil’ ~  

This child is born unto a time where Angels cast their light upon the path that must be taken~

During the Winter Solstice, snow falls soft, melting upon the songs of the Dark-eyed Junco and Nuthatch; that carry the secrets of the forest upon their moonlit wings.

This child of the shadows, found in the darkest corners, is not hiding. This child’s gift is that of a watcher…

Knowing it is weaving a radiant skein; the Story for the ‘birthing of moments’ that will find us all~

Unfurled, ‘Beyond the Veil’ of time.

Down in the Forest of a dark December, a bird song is heard upon high; as it watches the child in the silver light, breathe forth a lullaby for the ‘Age of Man’.

The child of the shadows, from the dust of man, resounds its Story among the winter trees.

The last ray of light finds a path ‘Beyond the Veil’ where the soft whispering of Angels rejoicing, sound like the distant fluttering wings among flames of fire…

Ashes appear and drape the heavens as snow descends upon the child of the shadows; as winter birds carry the secrets of our becoming ~ I> (=

 

Copyright (c) 2019- November, 29th – Tommie Flannery Baskis

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Autumn People and Halloween in the Country

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~ She walks upon ground, ancient loam with secret life buried, returning unto her.
Her thought lullaby moves and dances to form;
What she cannot speak.
The forest will hold this sacred alliance until flame fire untie.
An eve as sweet as clove, bathed in moon and silent wind-
She will go before me, through the dark forest, with the guardians of night… ~

Anyone who knows me, knows that autumn is my favorite season. I love hiking through the forest and the crackling sound that dry leaves make as you walk upon them. I even love the rich scent emanating from the leaves on the damp paths; earthen, spicy and dark.

I remember the fires my Father would start every season as My brother Ben and I would rake tall mounds of damp leaves to jump into from a tree. My Father also taught me to carve my first Jack-O-Lantern with his sharp fishing knife.

When the evening sky started to look like melted colors of purple, gray and gold, we would come into a warm house to sit by our fireplace and have hot chocolate in our pajamas.

Ben and I eagerly looked forward to dressing up for Halloween and I will never forget the year that I wore an authentic Dutch girl dress, braided hair and real (Hard) Dutch wooden shoes from my Grandmother Virginia Rose.

I have grown and those special times I speak of are distant memories, but very dear and fresh in my heart; as a photographer and writer I still enjoy telling my stories from my favorite season. I love to explore the rural haunts and Mid – west towns of America during the autumn season. I have collected many special photographs and stories that I try and share with you all when I can.

Below is an excerpt from a writing of mine about the historical origins of Halloween.

I hope you all are having a wonderful autumn and making special memories of your own…

Love and Hugs ~  Tommie

Halloween Eve Historical Origins

Halloween Eve, of which is also known to many as “All Hallows Evening” and “All Saints’ Eve” is celebrated by many countries on October 31st. The three day observance includes remembering our dear departed loved ones, saints and martyrs by placing candles on the graves of the dead.
The Halloween traditions of gathering with loved ones and friends, eating delicious foods and candies, dressing in costumes (called Guising) and playing tricks on others, are steeped in deep rooted pagan ideology.
It is believed by many that the Celtic harvest festivals like the Gaelic festival Samhain is the precursor and history of our Halloween Eve today. The Celtic festival of Samhain is derived from the Old Irish for a “summer’s end” It happened to be the most important of the four quarter days in the medieval Gaelic calendar of which was celebrated on October 31st to November 1st in Scotland, Ireland and Isle of Man.
The word “Hallowe’en” means “holy evening” or “hallowed eve”. It dates to around 1745 and is Christian in origin.
The end of the harvest season was celebrated and anticipated by the villages and people. The Samhain marked the end of a harvest season and the beginning of the “darker half” or winter. Many people believed this time was essential and spiritual. They believed the “veil was thinner” so spirits and fairies, known as Aos Si, could enter this world more easy during this time.
Many of the things we do today such as dressing up, telling stories of hauntings and spirits, imbibing and enjoying sweets and baked goods, special bonfires and bobbing for apples were embraced by the people of the past.
In Ireland during the 1800’s candles were lit and good tidings offered to the departed loved ones and souls of the dead. Bonfires and fire in general were positioned around fields and homes to protect them. The flame mimicked the power of the sun, of which meant healing and growth and to keep at bay the darkness of winter days and decay.
The custom of wearing a costume or disguise and traveling from home to home reciting verses and songs in exchange for food can be traced back to the 16th century. Many people would dress like the Aos Si, souls of the dead and such thinking that it would protect oneself from the departed spirits.
The fun carved jack- o -lanterns we know of today started many years ago. In Ireland and the Scottish Highlands they would carve grotesque grimaces and faces on hollowed out turnips and wurzels. They would make lanterns out of these to ward off any evil spirits.

 

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