Author
Historical Romantic Fiction & Metaphysics
Novels of vanished centuries and true accounts from the spirit world, written by a lifelong intuitive, empath, and light-worker.
The Library
From ninth-century Saxony to a suffragist's California, from a channeled trance to the page in front of you — every book begins at the same well of ink.
9th Century Europe · Historical Romance
Kara is a pagan priestess and Saxon of noble birth. When she is forced to marry Count Gerin, one of the conqueror Charlemagne's vassals, she must fight to protect her people and her heart against the enemy — a tale rich in historic detail, human emotion, and high adventure.
River Run, California, 1911 · Historical Romance
Kate Moore, a women's suffragist, faces her opponents head on — especially the town's Chief of Police. John Gallagher had a quiet little town until Kate came back all grown up and causing trouble. Sparks fly and hearts flutter as Kate fights for the women's vote and searches for her father's killer.
A Metaphysical Primer · Non-Fiction
About forty years ago, Sharon was introduced to the writings of Tuesday Lobsang Rampa, a Tibetan Buddhist — the start of her relationship with the spirit world. From Hatha yoga and meditation to trance channeling, astral travel, and native drumming circles, this is the account of where that path has led.
About Sharon
Sharon Margolis is a born intuitive, empath, and light-worker, interpreting and channeling metaphysical energy.
Much of her psychic training was done at The Learning Light Foundation, then a leading metaphysical center in Orange County, California. Buddhism has played a major part in showing her how to use the universal force in her daily life, helping her understand her place in creation. She took part in a Shamanic drum circle for six years, and was a professional trance channel and medium at a spiritual center called Visions and Dreams.
Today, Ms. Margolis leads a drum circle, teaches metaphysics, and practices medium work at the Revel Rancharrah Retirement Home in Reno, Nevada.
Just Added
Fresh Ink
The Song of Life Casino · A Short Story
A Short Story
The Song of Life Casino
Grind and click. Grind and clack.
Grind and click-clack like castanets.
My arthritic knees complain as I haul myself up the bus steps.
No time for patience. No time for pain.
Nothing will slow me down.
I'm going to the casino. Going to the casino.
The Canta De La Vida Casino.
Voices twitter, high with excitement.
Like flutes and fiddles, high with anticipation.
Friends greet me, “Hi, Darla! Hi Darla!”
Happy voices as I pass along the aisle.
Beside Francie I sit. Francie of the wild white hair.
Francie the queen chatterbox.
Growl and lurch. The bus is moving.
We're on our way. On our way to the casino.
The Canta De La Vida Casino.
The Song Of Life Casino.
Morning sun through the window, warm on my face,
Baking my old bones in delicious sweet life.
Breathe it in. Taste it.
The joy of a new day, a casino day.
Buzzzz, buzzzz, Francie's voice drones on and on.
Her successful children — buzz buzz, her brilliant grandkids — drone drone,
Her gorgeous great-grands — buzz, drone.
Crowded suburbia floats past the windows,
Gives way to rocky hills and deep valleys.
Friends' voices all around me,
Like children on a school field trip.
Voices bright with hope for a fun day, hope for a new adventure,
Hope for a ginormous jackpot.
Airbrakes hiss. The bus stops.
We're at the casino, the long-awaited casino,
The Canta De La Vida Casino.
Newly sprung from the bus into a psychedelic universe of Technicolor lights,
I take a moment to check my bearings.
Ping, ching, click! Ping, ching, click!
The familiar cacophony of slot machines beckons to me like hookers in a red light district.
I wind through rows of garishly lit spinning wheels.
Search for a beauty worthy of my patronage.
There! Not ten feet away! The ocean liner Titanic announces itself on its high screen.
The rhapsodic music lures and enthralls me.
I am young again, and ready for adventure, ready to fall in love,
Ready to play the game of life.
I glide into the seat, settle back.
The magic machine accepts my player's card, swallows my cash.
Music soars as we leave port.
Choose the stakes. Push the buttons.
Symbols spin: stacked luggage, antique cars, and swanky costumed passengers.
While we dance and dine in this fantasy game of chance, the Titanic never sinks. There is no iceberg, no fear, no frozen disaster. Death is far in the future, a thing to be ignored.
Even I, in my wrinkled and failing shell, speeding ever closer to the edge of eternity, can forget for this one mystical day that death is fast closing in on me.
Spin again and spin again with little luck.
Win a dollar here. Lose two dollars there.
The cash account slowly dwindles.
My excitement recedes with it.
Then wonder of wonders!
Three ocean liners appear, and the ship's horn blows.
I've hit the bonus!
I'm ready for adventure.
Ready to play the game.
Ready to win at the game of life.
Boom! Boom! My heart pounds with youthful anticipation.
The ship's helm fills the screen.
My fingertips sweep across the tiller's handle, sets it spinning.
Where will it stop? What game will I play?
It halts at MAKE IT COUNT, my favorite bonus.
The helm disappears and Leo is there,
A boyishly young Leo DeCaprio, handsome in a 1912 tux,
Eyes agleam with mischief.
“So you wanna go to a real party?” he says.
It's a wild celebration below-decks.
A lively Irish reel sounds out a beat, drums banging, bagpipes honking, hands clapping, as beer flows.
Free games spin. Prize circles plunk down on the spinning game wheel.
More free games! More wild spaces! More free points! More! More! More!
Music dances. My hands clap in time.
I am young again, dancing at my wedding, in the arms of my new husband John.
Love and excitement, our future beginning.
MAKE IT COUNT. Make life count.
Plunk! Plunk! More free games, more wild spaces.
Twenty dollars won. Thirty dollars won!
Dance round and round.
The ship will never sink, and I will never die.
Fifty dollars. Sixty dollars!
Dance and dance, make life count.
Finally the wheel ceases its frantic spinning.
But the party is not done.
Now the tally begins.
Gold coins plume in a happy fountain.
Ca-ching! Ca-ching! As Celine Dion declares her heart will go on and on,
And Leo stands at the ship's bow with arms outstretched, wind in his hair.
And salt spray on his lips, shouting at the top of his voice,
“I'm king of the world!”
Cash out and grab my ticket
Before the hungry machine swallows half my winnings back.
Check my watch.
Time for lunch with Francie and the girls.
The obscenely decadent buffet awaits.
Breathe it in, that gorgeous aroma of the casino buffet,
Rich turkey gravy, tangy barbecue sauce, Chinese stir-fry in fragrant sesame oil.
Shuffle along the food bar, plate piling high.
Life streams before me with memories of meals gone by,
Generations of Thanksgiving dinners,
Savory stuffing, pungent cranberry sauce, and sweet potato pie.
My children, all three, crowd the warm kitchen as I cook,
Filching fresh-baked cookies,
Distracting me with their happy silliness.
Now, on holidays, my grandkids fill my daughter's warm kitchen.
And the years slip by at life's abundant buffet.
Shuffle again and breathe it in,
That ting-tang smoky barbecue, ribs and burgers, chicken and franks.
In our backyard, family and friends on a warm summer day.
Kids chase the dog, while my John stands duty at the grill.
Now, shuffle along, dump a succulent rib on my plate in honor of his memory.
And the years slip by at life's abundant buffet.
Sit at the table, crowded with friends.
Cutlery clatters, mixes with women's voices,
Greetings and happy chatter.
“Howdja do on the machines?”
“Terrible.”
“Awful.”
“Don't ask.”
Stuff my mouth with food,
So as not to speak of my good fortune,
Not to call down the evil witch of bad luck upon my head.
Crunch on salad, slurp down soup.
Chew a bit of this, swallow a taste of that.
Between bites we reminisce.
“My mother made the best…”
“When I grew up, the food was fresher…bigger…better.”
“Do you remember…?”
Each mouthful fills our stomach with nourishment for our body,
And memories for our soul.
Flavorful bits of memories and life,
Delicious bits of life and love.
Slots beckon and I am full,
But there is always time and room in my tummy for dessert.
Toddle to the dessert counter.
Puddings and cakes, pies and eclairs,
Gorgeous works of artistic yumminess.
Dripping ice cream cone in one hand and a cookie in the other,
I return to the table.
With each step I stuff my mouth with life's sugar.
My ladies speak of the lure of the slots.
Lunch is over.
And the years slip by at life's abundant buffet,
Years of youth, years of growing,
Years of caring counted in meals,
Counted in laughter,
Counted in love.
Scurry back to the Titanic
To revisit my romantic youth.
But another player has taken the seat and spins the wheel.
Disappointed, I bid the game and my youth farewell,
Turn my quest to the future.
Game Of Thrones is my new choice,
Fantasy with a dark medieval flavor,
High drama and adventure, war and love, wolves and dragons.
Sit back, feed a twenty into the slot.
The music is heavy, pounding drums with a driving beat.
My pulse picks up speed to match the pace.
Battles are won and lost.
Kings and queens rise and fall.
Another twenty slides into the slot.
I tell myself,
Don't look back.
Only look forward,
Forward to the game.
Engrossed, I play an hour,
My hundred dollars limit nearly spent.
The sixty-dollar ticket from Titanic still tucked safe in my purse.
And the heavy music rolls on,
Enchanting me into a hypnotic state.
Don't look back.
Only look forward,
Forward to the game.
Then… three Iron Thrones appear. A bonus!
The wheel stops on THE WALL.
Jon Snow must fight the monsters of the frozen North,
Battle giants, wildlings, and the undead,
Keep the land of Westeros from invasion.
Keep his people safe from death.
Ah yes. I know of battles, battles to the death.
My mortal enemies have no swords,
But are killers none-the-less,
Disease, dementia, and the ravages of time.
They decimated my family.
Took my parents and all their siblings,
Half my cousins, my sister,
And my beloved John.
Like Jon Snow, I am besieged by enemies.
I remind myself,
Don't look back.
Only look forward,
Forward to the game of life.
Jon Snow's battle at THE WALL begins,
Ice crumbles, reveals rows of weapons and enemies.
More ice breaks free as the enemy climbs higher on THE WALL.
White hairy monsters dominate the screen.
Fifteen dollars won.
A small victory.
The music pounds on and I am weary,
Weary of fighting enemies for little gain.
Ice smashes all around with nothing won.
Then the last of the icicles blasts free from the wall.
And the likeness of Jon Snow fills the screen.
A big Win.
Take that you villains!
Forty-two dollars.
The machine does its tally celebration.
And the bonus game is done.
Tired of battling for Westeros.
Tired of playing the game.
Just plain tired.
This has been a long day.
Push the Cash Out button.
On the screen the Queen of the Wolf Clan appears.
She says with the voice of doom,
“When you play the game you win or you die.”
“You die anyway,” I answer.
Fatigue has chased away my optimism.
Grab my ticket.
I'm done for the day.
Don't look back.
Only look forward.
Forward to the game of life.
Senses fogged by exhaustion,
I cash in my tickets at the change machine,
Collect my hundred dollars in greenbacks.
Broke even for the day.
Now to wander among the slot machines,
My awareness dulled to the flashing lights and ca-ching of the wheels.
Pause here and there to watch a gambler celebrate a big win.
But nothing penetrates the fog surrounding me.
Nothing lures me back to play the game.
Slowly, I meander toward the bus-loading exit.
Grind and click. Grind and clack.
Grind and click-clack.
My knees complain as I haul myself up the bus steps.
Trudge down the aisle to my seat beside Francie.
Subdued voices float around me.
My friends are also weary.
“Howdja do on the machines?”
“Terrible”
“Awful”
“Don't ask.”
Quiet now. Going home.
This was a good day,
But a tiring day.
Aboard the Titanic I played the game of youth,
Watched the years slip by at life's abundant buffet,
Battled beside Jon Snow at THE WALL.
So weary now.
The sun hangs low outside the window.
Day has ended.
My eyelids flutter shut as I doze.
I've been to the Casino.
The Canta De La Vida Casino.
The Song Of Life Casino.
— Sharon Margolis
