Searching for Oz



 A book review.

Sometimes in an author we recognize a voice, startlingly familiar, as if angels have guided their pen to page… tap, tap. I find myself engrossed in Adele’s book, feeling honored that  she would “share” her inner thoughts with me.  I want to take her words in slowly and ponder them all, for I was meant to read this. Adele’s style of writing is one in which the flow of words, although seemingly random, form beautiful, rhythmic patterns, like the movement of water in a stream.

This smacks familiar to me.

It is a voice through channels unexpected, that reminds me of home.

And thy own soul a sword shall pierce, that, out of many hearts, thoughts may be revealed. Luke 2:35

My Sweet Lord told me

I cannot be without you

HE is in me

I was drinking black and white water

they gave me, so as not to get caught

I cried

They held a gun to my head

My father would rather be better off dead

than kill me by destruction

The mass is in tatters

Its remnants remain

like shattered victims

on the floor

Open the door

and let them out of My house

where (and when) they are being


I will see and feed them

in the hills

(Oh, my Sweet Jesus, how I love you!)

make amends with the sinners

after they have fallen from My Grace,

and give them drink

from Celestial waters

It’s important you understand the plan

(not yours, not mine)

As it was in the beginning

Is now

And ever shall be

The plan of My Father

In Heaven

For random valleys

hurt the meadows

that they grow in

and towns and cities

cannot be built on ice

Flowers grow (and blossom)

where they are planted

The shores will eat them up

if left alone

The mountains are high

close to My Heart

Wild and Free

Like the back of my hand

Which would not harm

Its servants


Your hour is here


Raymond’s Song

I write this poem in honor of my dearly departed cousin Raymond, who entrusted with me the carrying out of his deathbed decree. 

For false relatives continue to flock like vultures over their would be victim’s heads, and some continue to treat me and their dying son and brother’s last words with as much ignorance as they would wish upon their victims. They have replaced their false sympathy for those who suffer with empty threats and promises, for now no one will pay them a false allegiance.

Yet they act as if dark deeds have never before been challenged.

They are all becoming like one troubled soul I know, who thinks the state can take away his earthly mansion, for not doing the bidding of an evil man. 

As for me, as long as I have a voice and live on this earth, I will continue to rejoice and sing Heaven’s Song.

For as Raymond said it, they don’t get it.

They just don’t get it anymore.

It is not us who are suffering.

Never was.

Never will be.

And never will be ever after.


Help of the helpless

My dear family

This is my deathbed

Fear not, abide with me

The dark shadows lesson

God’s means and ways made clear

Oh my sweet family

Awake, abide with me

For my dear Lord Jesus

Bearing gifts

He calls to me

Like Christmas morning

Rejoice, abide with me

This is no false vision

In Heaven I’ll awake

For no actions I have taken

For false or pity sake

Hear my Last Word 
and Testament

Heaven’s story I will tell

Trust is not forbidden there

False charity is hell

God does not abandon us

Or withdraw His Father’s Love

When we cannot do His will

As injured sparrow, lamb or dove

Renovate God’s mansions

Like flowers in the Son

Tether not the captives

The misfits that you shun

Long I loved you in life

No false attempt to charm

Ne’er false words spoken

To no gentle brother harm

Help of the helpless

Lean close  dear family

Abide with me forever

Lean close and hear and see

I have loved this life too dearly

Vultures pass not where I lie

I have loved this death too gladly

To speak error while I die

The motive of  intention

Will remain forever clear

Do not reward with slavery

Intervention do not fear

For at birth we are delivered

Through His Image all made same

But through death we are delivered

Wild and free God calls by Name

You are not the help of helpless

Nor the spouse to marry me

You are not celestial virgin

Infant born beneath my tree

Let us build the City of God

Make haste abide with me

Mother’s house is in the after

Abusers’ kingdoms will not be


Call from Daddy in the wee morning hours of All Saints Day


hauls across dusty rooms

with a bank note in it

sells on ebay(?)

there are holes all over the place





giant flea market [my upstairs barn used to be used for a giant flea market]

They’re not (cutting? letting?) in

Buyers numbers lots




[there’s a fly suddenly buzzing around my bedroom]

Mexican prison

Benny Hill


There’s a problem


loose lips sink ships

meat and potatoes served here

I’m the same way

Nag every minute

mouth piece for John

a kit

size it

in order to have a funeral doc

fleeing to Mexico

my cake

buying crumbs out all night

the bench lying in it

the grave

can be her shoes

get her pillow

smother her face in it

she’s basking in it

pick a wreath

call for supervision

Sunday Edition Criminal Chase

Remember down at Shady Acres

Where the grass was over grown

Ring Ring Ring went the sound

Of a rotary dial

It’s your Daddy on the phone

I asked you to take care of them

My children and my wife

You ate instead the bread I gave them

Took my very life

Little Nate he understands

He’s doing very well

Though he bears the marks your sins have given

In the blood in which he fell

The incorrectly ordered man

Is deadly to himself

And my daughter writes in place of me

That book upon a shelf

Bits & Pieces of it, Another Phone Call from Heaven

I can see him in a green shirt, someone forcing him to sit down. A rough voice orders him  “Hang  up the phone.”

He tells me last night in a dream, as if with what has become my favorite country song. As he explained it to me, this image:

do you know how long I’m waiting for your touch?

do you know how much you mean to me?

(I do now. I did. I always do. I always knew in my heart, my hidden pain, it was for you all along  Daddy. I’m so glad God turns it into joy)

I know.

Ive never loved anyone so much.

Do you see

how happy

you are making me?

starting to see it

Im eating popcorn, off the back of my hand

like walls so high

they climb the impossible


to build houses without end,

a vision in a garden,

a prisoner in release,

they build a brand new tower,

(the Master’s?)

a bridge,

a store,

a shower,

so the young

can live in peace.

My favorite country song (below).  This is not my father singing.  My father’s voice was taken away from him when his neighbors who he thought were his friends assaulted him. I am giving my father back his voice back, I hear his silent voice in my mind when I sleep,  to avenge his death and honor him as the saint I know who is in heaven, because this is a miracle, that these things can happen, that I know all these things.

I also want to honor a miracle I attribute to the intercession of a little Mexican boy martyr a priest at the Spanish Mass at Saint Joseph’s in Martinsburg, WV  honored and told me to simply call Jose. It was through this little boy’s  intercession who died shouting Long Live Christ the King that I realized how to expose a fraudulent priest.  They are the ones who may preach the most beautiful sermons you have ever heard, in the name of God, yet outright refuse to say the words “Long Live Jesus and Mary!” just for the sake of saying it, before they hear your honest confession, or allow themselves to hear the words of your honest story.  They are the very ones who show up for your confession as if in a sheriff’s uniform (rather than a priest’s) and when you come to their clerics and deacons or prelates,  to expose how you have been abused, they say do not take your angst here, that is not church business.  Go straight to the police. Some perhaps well intended, like Deacon Dave at Saint James the Greater, stress that they have actually been trained to respond to you that way.

Then these priests say they are worried about you.  They say you are troubled. These are people who would then call your psychiatrist, talk behind your back, and/or warn people against you. They will not stop until the whole town has turned against you and/or your business, and it like your honest reputation is put up for sheriff’s sale.

As for me, I  will not stop writing and running my mouth off until I have exposed the whole damned corrupt system that hides these criminally unrepentant sinners, those who fraudulently claim to be The Catholic Church, and all those who implicate themselves by connection, in the sins of their guilt.  For all the other broken and compromised systems are the very means by which they get away with their crimes against men, women and children. I include evidence below of the few who have already gotten but are still for some reason hiding in the church.

Perhaps in your confessional, or mine.

And this one (below) my Daddy dedicates to my mother, that he never stopped loving through it all, despite the horrible things she unwittingly did to me and him.  He is helping me to prevent her from dying in medical neglect, in the now unwitting and witless hands of my brother. I think he saw me cleaning out her closet.

Little Shepherd Cuisine does not believe in recycling.  It’s time we take out the trash. For at Little Shepherd Cuisine, the buck stops here.

Hey are you on?

Another phone call from Daddy.

Hey are you on?

Hey are you on?


Write Vicky in the name of Virginia  [Vicky is an old friend whose mentally ill ex shot her little son to death in a double “suicide” to get them both to heaven because he thought the end of the world was coming, or something like that,  and Vicky got a call from her little boy from heaven in the middle of the night. Virginia is my former first “employee” who had had struggles with cancer but as far as I know is alive and well.]

There are mountains on the journey

[happy feeling]

[I see in my mind Christ in Mary’s hands like in my picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. I understand his meaning.  He means the sometimes light sometimes heavy weight of Jesus in her arms]

Holy (l)ann(d?)

Chinese emblem

down a path with no name

The Korean War started it

the color issue

just light

it up

the nodeem [phonetic spelling] prayer

only issues John May eating a celery stick [I previously dreamed I met John May in heaven eating heavenly made vegetables in an abundant harvest. that he had piled up in his own wagon]

talking the Jews who reject Christ

in your shoes

in your shores [? Oppenheimer has a Jewish father, Anglican mother]

Realize a gun never fails to do its job

laughing hard

I can hear your laughter now

see it

feel it

[oh Daddy]

[I am glad]



know it

see it

feel it


[Are you happy?]


riding laughter

like the waves

that rock the shore

[Please help me]


[Love you]

Good night


I saw it

“savings bonds”

in the box(?)


cash it

[I will]

[thank you]

good night

[she said it was “pencils”]

to write on checks with


merit award badge

please list me

as fiduciary

of the estate


[I will]



see I love you

I was always there too

[thank you Daddy I love you]

I knew it

even when I lied

about the checks

come in

let me tell you something

[please help me. I can’t understand]

shut the door

I started to see it

military uniform

hanging on the door

There would be war

between the sexes

It was right there

on the chair

in my room [my father had a small quilt made with emblem patches sewn to reflect his military career and life journey that used to hang on the back of the chair I’m sitting in right now typing this into my computer that now sits on his old army issued desk.]

on the floor

in the hall

on my wall [felt this meant my wall]

like a cobweb

paying my bill(s)

for sins past

not amended

[I love you dear Bell anyway]

I know it

a handgun like flowers extended

instead of a rose

would be offered to a child

instead of a woman

to shoot her mother

in the head

and leave her

lying on the cold hard floor

[dear God it’s true]

I knew you wouldn’t do it

but Larry would

please stop him

before he cleans

up the mess

in his own blood

in his own house

all over the floor

like cobwebs

on the walls

the ceiling

the floor

the Manchurian candidate

never rises


this time around

Go type.

Eating french fries

and pizza

with everything on it

the trash can pizza

with Frank [my Aunt Millie’s deceased husband who my father was always buddies with]

Good night.

Love you.

[Love you too]

[Hangs up the phone]

*Note: my mother and brother act like they’ve both been brainwashed. My mother has expressed on many occasions in his home and her home she’d be happier dead, even though when in treatment and stabilized , my mother fought against both suicide and euthanasia for the elderly and mentally ill. She was literate and very vocally, publicly and through her Catholic faith and in her heart opposed to such things.  My brother allows her to live in isolation in his home, untreated for her sometimes extremely well hidden mental condition, administer her own medication,  so she’s in complete psychiatric medical neglect.  My brother feels a compulsion to report to the Berkeley Country sheriff, as if he’s heard the opposite of everything I’ve told him, about who is responsible for persecuting this family and stealing from his father and mother’s estate, and that it was LeMaster’s officers who told me to wait until I find her dead on the floor (a crime) before calling 911 again.

(Former Father/Dom ) Daniel Oppenheimer mentioned several months ago he was still receiving calls from my mother, who would often “report in” with false information about me in the middle of the night to persons unknown.  I have one such call recorded on my cell phone, but do not remember when it was recorded.  In the background there is an oxygen machine, so it was either when she was in the hospital, or when my father was still alive, or when she still lived at home and my Aunt Millie was visiting. I also have a video of her dark bedroom where you can hear what sounds to me like a creepy voice saying “black witch” in Spanish, but I couldn’t swear that’s what’s being said.

Please those who can help my family:  Get my mother Hospice.  I was also told in the night that Hospice IS Home, in a happy dream, for whatever that’s worth. (I think a lot, though I don’t necessarily understand the entire meaning.)   And they can check in on her and administer her medications, so she doesn’t take the wrong “drugs”.  My POA is recorded in this blog.  I think in home registered nurse elder care specialist Mellis Eidson would be great as a team member, although that would probably be impossible. Maybe as advisor? Of course never by herself. She is the one who warned me my mother intended to kill me in the night and understands how dangerous my mother is to herself and others, but than my mother threatened her with physical violence and so she had to leave. She also witnessed the criminal behavior of the criminal justice system against my mother and I at the mental hygiene petition I filed in a fruitless attempt to get my mother back into treatment.  LOVE YOU MELLIS!!!

P.S.  Hey, isn’t it funny how Ralph Brown wanted me to use his wife or someone to assist my mother and he kindly put that lock box on the door of my business so “workers” with the code could get in and out?

Please note that my father worked at the military hospital in West Point, NY for part of his military career.  He was a sergeant major there.