Blank Canvas

[Fred Steeves]

A blank canvas is what every artist starts out with when they are ready to create. Most already have a vision in mind from the get go, but sometimes the form of this new creation depends on first putting pen to paper so to speak, allowing the work to create itself. The latter of the two is basically what "Blank Canvas" is envisioned as.

I don't have an Earthly clue what it will become, that will depend entirely upon the many pens that will touch this fresh new canvas, those many pens being YOU, the members of Avalon. It can/should be about virtually anything, but I will confess to harboring one small general vision I do have for it. Please make it bold, daring, maybe even a bit downright uncomfortable. Hell, even make it a little sleazy at times if you want, I don't care. Just something that's not generally considered fit for "polite conversation". And yet "it's" always there, isn't it? It's a part of who we are, even when we pretend it isn't there. Billy Joel's "The Stranger" comes to mind.

If you're faint of heart and easily offended, please, this thread is not for you. So don't complain. http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif Now that you've been duly warned, I'll start the ball rolling here. Don't forget, it doesn't have to be about what I write here at all, the sky is the limit. This is just an example of a not in polite conversation subject. So buckle in, and let's do this shall we?

Note that this is not a story I am at all proud of. It is simply something that happened, and it took me to a place inside myself that I previously didn't know was there. It still scares me a little, and makes me even more want to avoid physical confrontation at (almost) all costs. Even to the point of being called a coward, that's o.k.

Humans as we all know, are capable of anything. Well, this also includes us here. Have you ever thought about what you are capable of doing, if placed in the right circumstance, at the right time? Or should I say the wrong place, at the wrong time? Tricky that.

So, are you say, capable of killing someone if you had to? If you think you are, do you think it would be a calculated, logical decision? A reflexive action? Maybe a combo package of both? Have you thought about it? Has it almost happened? Has someone almost killed you?

Around 12 or so years ago, we had this couple as next door neighbors who after a point, the only words ever spoken back and forth were extremely unpleasant. One night a confrontation finally happened, right in the middle of where our two front yards meet. The man and I were confronting each other face to face, as were my wife and the woman close by.

I was very shocked at his actions, he was on something. Cocaine and alcohol probably. I had fully expected me to have my say, probably him have his right back, and that would be that, a stupid standoff. Atleast though he would know how upset we were with their actions. Well, what's the first thing he does as I approach? He was f*****g thrilled! With a wild look in his eye he ripped off his shirt and was ready to rumble, growling like an animal. I was absolutely stunned.

At that point all I wanted to do was figure a way out of the situation. I've never been a fighter, even back then as a much younger and stronger man working hard core construction. Besides not solving anything, adults fighting can seriously injure or even kill one another. Whether intentionally or not.

Just then he smiles, and points behind me. What was he pointing at? Just as I turned around I saw the woman fling her cocktail into my wife's face, and take her to the ground. Thinking wtf is this, I turned to help, took 1 or 2 steps, and that was when I suddenly realised I was on the ground too, face down in the grass, and hard. In retrospect of course, he knew what I was going to do when he pointed, and jumped me as soon as I turned my back.

That was certainly where instinct kicked in, because once I smashed into the ground with him on top, all I remember is a very brief, violent struggle. A big blur. The next thing I knew I had him on his back, and was kneeling square on his chest, with both knees. Somehow I suddenly had him dead to rights...And I was strangling him...

Yep, I have strong hands, and they were both wrapped firmly around his neck, thumbs around the adams apple. He was helpless, beginning to fade out, and that was how/where I found myself when the first conscious thought reappeared in my mind since the initial takedown. "It" quickly assessed the situation, and only one thought filled in: "Are you going to do it?"

I thought about it for a couple of seconds, and then let go.

How about you, have you been "there"?

Cheers,
Fred

[pugwash84]

I was once backed up against the wall with my ex strangling me and I thought I was going to die. I grabbed the nearest thing to me, which happened to be my guitar. I repeatedly hit him with it across the head and face and even when he was down I still kept hitting him. I could have beat him to death but I chose not to. I broke my guitar, it had a huge crack in it. :-S

[Mark (Star Mariner)]

The capability to do harm, it is in us all Fred. There is an endless struggle in Man, a maelstrom of competing forces. When it comes to violence the higher-self vies against the base lower-self, and the measure of who we are, what we have learned, and what skill we possess in tempering the emotional body, determines which of the two selves wins out.

I, like you, will confess to cowardice on many an occasion. Although cowardice might not be the proper term. Objection is better. I object to violence, and if ever it draws near I will search for an exit solution that will get me out of any 'unpleasant confrontation'.

However, when you are called to defend yourself, it’s different isn’t it…

I was once faced with a home invasion many years ago now - in broad daylight. I was sleeping, because I had been working nights and that was my down time. I was alone in the house, and awoke to a crashing sound - the frontdoor being forced. It was a very frightening situation, for I was faced, like you, with the very real possibility of a violent confrontation. I heard the intruder downstairs passing from room to room, scoping the place out. I panicked! What the hell to do? Instinctively I reached for a Cricket bat I have hidden in a wardrobe. A big chunk of wood. I presented myself at the top of the stairs - still in my boxer shorts, fresh out of bed - holding the Cricket bat, waiting for him to reach the stairs, look up, and see that yes, the house was not empty!

And he came, oh yes, he took a good look. Whether he didn't have the heart for a fight, or some other higher force intervened on my behalf, I'll never know. But he turned and ran, out of the house and down the road, never looking back! I was very relieved at that outcome. I hate to imagine what might have otherwise happened had he chosen to take me on. Would I have taken a swing, broken his skull or something? Would he have produced a knife...?? I don’t wish to ask these questions. I was very lucky. Shaken up, but thank God it turned out ok.

[Star Tsar]

I could have harmed a guy whom intentionaly disrupted my family unit I gave it long & hard thought/meditation and came to the realisation of the oldest song in the book!
IT TAKES TO TO TANGO...
I'm sooooooooooooo glad that I did'nt because if I did I would have possibly harmed my smaller family unit now ten katrillion fold...
@ that point i became AWARE that I had FINALLY grown up.

:o

[WhiteFeather]

Interesting Fred and thanks for sharing this with us. ButI have a question..... if i may. Did this experience change the way you may possibly face possible altercations/confrontations in the future. A learning curve perhaps. It did for me when i furiously punched my 21 year old daughter in the mouth and nearly knocking out her 2 front teeth after she taunted me for several hrs.. This is why i asked. Learning to control/cope with anger. And I think im learning it. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuq7RYQ8Wa0

[another bob]

Fred, Thanks so much for baptising this thread with such a pertinent topic! I trust there will be plenty of opportunity for members to join in with issues they'd like to inspect, share, or recollect, maybe uncomfortable elements that have been kept on the back-burner of the mind, emotional knots that need the availability of some light to open and relax, light we can share and shine for each other.

In terms of conflict, I was a Conscientious Objector during the Viet Nam War, making my case of pacifism with the Draft Board, and so doing Alternate Service at a residential treatment center for troubled pre-teens (which seemed like a better idea than shooting folks in some jungle with whom I had no beef, at the behest of a Corporotcracy that I despised).

Over the years my view has changed. Although fortunately never having been put in that position yet, if my loved ones were threatened, and there was no other recourse, I have no problem with defending them with any means at my disposal, even to the point of taking a life, if necessary. For one thing, I know from direct experience that there is no death, and that the victim would simply be removed to their next stop on the tour. Furthermore, by entering this 3-D game, we came equiped with a certain survival mechanism that was put there for good reason. This is a war planet, make no mistake about it, and we cannot pretend that our light is sufficient to turn human predators into some gospel choir. Consequently, imo, we need to draw on the darkness within ourselves, realize it has a certain function too, in balance to the light, and unify both in our behavior and relationship to the world.

Anyway, Thanks so much for getting the ball rolling, Fred!

Blessings!

[Lettherebelight]

It's all well and good for us to talk about our near-brushes with violence and death, but what about those here who may have actually killed someone...either accidentally or on purpose? This is the reality of the world we are living in. My heart goes out to those who live with that pain.

The dark night of the soul isn't caused by righteous anger, but sometimes just by a moment of foolishness, or a series of wrong choices...

Are we talking about the dark night of the soul here? or am I off topic...or maybe just gone to far with it?!

[Mike]

i was in a bar with some friends. there was a scruffy red-faced man a few stools down by himself. curly, whimsical hair. i remember he was wearing brown courderoy pants. unprovoked, he would occasionally interject a word or two into our conversation. this must have happened 5 or 6 times in the span of 2 hrs. we'd react by nodding politely and resuming our conversation. his presence was unsettling and no one was excited about engaging him.

eventually he made his way down, standing right next to me, completely disregarding my personal space. he began to speak of his service in the army, his time in Iraq. he was bragging about what he'd done, how many people he'd killed, how he'd killed them etc...i let him go on like that for 10mins or so, hoping he'd burn out and take off. it felt like an eternity. when i realized he'd go on like that forever if indulged, i went ahead and told him how i felt. this was a particularly bad period of time for me for a number of reasons, and after 10 mins of his bragging and rancid breath i had hit my threshold. i told him he was full of sh$t, told him he hadn't killed anyone and if he was going to speak please say something resembling reality otherwise shut the f#ck up. this was my true feeling about things -- that this guy was a harmless blow-hard desperate for attention. after a few choice words he left.

i was sitting at the bar about a half hr later. i heard the door open behind me. felt the gust of wind as it shut. watched as those around me scattered for the exits. i knew something bad was about to happen, and figured the guy had returned with a gun or a baseball bat. i didn't move for some reason. it was too late for that, i decided; and oddly, didn't even turn around to acknowledge what was inspiring the commotion.

i felt the gun on my neck, cold and hard. at least i thought it was a gun. this was confirmed when he brought it around and placed it right on my belly. after a brief, blinding moment of fear i was almost totally calm. but i was very, very aware - there was a hyper awareness. "not so tough now buddy huh? don't think i killed anyone, eh?" the guy was glassy-eyed and shaking. emotional. to my shock, i calmly explained to him his options - kill me and go to jail for life, or walk out of there a free man. but it didn't feel like i was doing it - i experienced this almost as a spectator. there was a profound sense of emotional detatchment, and i honestly can say that i didn't really care what happened. i even stupidly told the guy that! "i don't care what happens buddy. do what you have to do." and then we just looked at each other for what felt like a millenium. time seemed to stop. then his lower lip began to tremble, and he slowly commenced sobbing. with shoulders slumped, he turned around and walked out of the bar.

[another bob]

Are we talking about the dark night of the soul here? or am I off topic...or maybe just gone to far with it?!

My sense is that there is no "off-topic" for this thread, including dark nights, maybe especially dark nights . . .

[Fred Steeves]

It's all well and good for us to talk about our near-brushes with violence and death, but what about those here who may have actually killed someone...either accidentally or on purpose? This is the reality of the world we are living in. My heart goes out to those who live with that pain.

The dark night of the soul isn't caused by righteous anger, but sometimes just by a moment of foolishness, or a series of wrong choices...

Are we talking about the dark night of the soul here? or am I off topic...or maybe just gone to far with it?!

Hi Lettherebelight, I'm glad you brought that up. The goal of this conversation is meant to be full throttle, wide open. I was concerned maybe I had gone too far in the OP. We are talking about anything, and everything my friend.

[another bob]

i experienced this almost as a spectator. there was a profound sense of emotional detatchment, and i honestly can say that i didn't really care what happened. i even stupidly told the guy that! "i don't care what happens buddy. do what you have to do." and then we just looked at each other for what felt like a millenium. time seemed to stop. then his lower lip began to tremble, and he slowly commenced sobbing. with shoulders slumped, he turned around and walked out of the bar.

Great story, Mike! Yes, at moments like these -- life and death crises -- it seems something we don't normally access can kick in, something that is indeed timeless, fearless, and knows precisely how to respond, prior to the conceptual mind. When that energy comes forth, it is indeed invincible, because it transcends any personal stake, hence it is liberating both for you, and the perp.

:yo:

[Chester]

Have you ever had the experience where you were struck by another? Where you did not throw the first punch? But that in your moment of honesty after the fact, you see clearly you caused it with the words you spoke? That has been my forte. It is perhaps no less evil than the one who strikes the first physical blow... indeed perhaps more so.

[Mike]

and btw, Fred, this is a great idea for a thread buddy! i'm much more interested in people and their experiences than i am abstact concepts regarding 2012 or Niburu. threads like these are a richer and fuller experience. and much more spiritually fulfilling, if ya ask me. much more is learnt this way (imho anyway) than by reading some ponderous Eckert Tolle book. good on yer Mr Steeves;)

[enfoldedblue]

Personally I am aware that at a deep level I am capable of anything. I know I have done some really horrific things to others in other lives, as well as have had them done to me. But on the surface level I couldn't even kill a mouse (well actually as a child I killed some pet mice through neglect :( ).

I like the title blank canvas because I believe that art is the best space to explore and come to terms with the darker aspects of ourselves. In art anything can happen...but no one actually suffers. For me art reminds me why we have darkness at all...imagine how boring it would be if all novels were fluffy and happy right through, or if every painting was made up of only shallow pastel colors...yawn! I like to look at my life as an artwork because it makes me appreciate all I have been through...the 'good' and the 'bad' because of how it all makes my story richer and deeper.

[Fred Steeves]

and btw, Fred, this is a great idea for a thread buddy! i'm much more interested in people and their experiences than i am abstact concepts regarding 2012 or Niburu. threads like these are a richer and fuller experience. and much more spiritually fulfilling, if ya ask me. much more is learnt this way (imho anyway) then by reading some ponderous Eckert Tolle book. good on yer Mr Steeves;)

Thank you Mike, but I can take credit for composing the OP only, not the idea itself. That was the result of much brainstorming between me, and a few friends combined. It was actually a lot of fun, and it is an exciting idea.

That was quite an experience you had in the bar, the best term I've heard it called to date is being in "the zone".

[another bob]

Have you ever had the experience where you were struck by another? Where you did not throw the first punch? But that in your moment of honesty after the fact, you see clearly you caused it with the words you spoke?

I was once working in a retail Natural Foods store, back in the 70's, and as the Store Manager, I occasionally had to confront grizzly customers. One such fellow was standing in front of a bulk nut bin, stuffing his face with handful after handful of expensive nuts. He was a raggamuffin, extremely unkempt with long dreadlocks and an odor that reeked of booze & dope.

At any rate, I approached the guy and told him he had to leave the store. I probably could have been more diplomatic, in retrospect, but retrospect ain't worth much at the time. The fellow stood to his full height of approximately 6'8", drew a long knife from his belt, and glowered down at me, "I'm going to F**K you up right now!"

Uncomfortable with that prospect, and doing a quick assessmernt of my actual condition, I replied, "Maybe you can try, but I don't believe you could F**K me up any more than I already am!"

This seemed to crack the guy up, and so he just said, "Peace, Brother!" and sauntered out of the store.

[Mike]

Bob, of all the responses in the world i reckon that's probably the only one that would have done the trick:cool2:

[another bob]

Bob, of all the responses in the world i reckon that's probably the only one that would have done the trick:cool2:

That's what I mean about something else kicking in (sometimes called "No-mind"), a more primal instinct that knows just what's appropos for the immediate situation, because I could never have thought that reply up myself, I probably would have tried some useless line of reasoning and ended up getting myself perforated.

:yo:

[Mike]

Bob, of all the responses in the world i reckon that's probably the only one that would have done the trick:cool2:

That's what I mean about something else kicking in (sometimes called "No-mind"), a more primal instinct that knows just what's appropos for the immediate situation, because I could never have thought that reply up myself, I probably would have tried some useless line of reasoning and ended up getting myself perforated.

:yo:


indeed sir.

mods, have we done away with the hat-tipping gentleman? (emoticon) say it ain't so!

[ThePythonicCow]

mods, have we done away with the hat-tipping gentleman? (emoticon) say it ain't so!
He's alive and well :yo:

His name is :yo:

[Sebastion]

I was backing my car out of my driveway on the way to work. My wife had just kissed me goodbye and was standing on the front porch. I saw a man on the sidewalk who looked like he was an accident looking for a place to happen. The dude was serious trouble. To me, he might as well have been carrying a big sign telling the whole world as much. He waited until I turned the corner, crossed the road to my house and knocked on the front door.

Fortunately, my wife was smart enough to have locked the door and the door itself was a windowed security door of sorts. He wanted to come inside and use the phone. My wife told him that there was a payphone across the street and closed the inner door. He then left. The next morning, I told my 8 year old son that if anyone comes knocking on the door, especially the one who came the night before, not to let him in under any excuse. The wife decided to go grocery shopping and took my car, leaving my son home and me still sleeping from the previous night shift. Sure enough this dude came knocking once again. Again, fortunately my son said no and had already locked the outer door. I knew then that this dude was dead serious about real trouble.

My son came upstairs and woke me up immediately. I called the police and informed them about this dude but I knew I was wasting my time and theirs. I decided I wasn't taking any chances with the lives of my wife and child. I purchased a smith&wesson .44 magnum and a box of shells. While loading it that evening, I had every intention of doing whatever was necessary with it. Being military trained, I certainly knew how to use it.

The gods must have been smiling upon us and he never made it back to my house. He was picked up two days later for three attempted rapes in the same day, about 4 blocks away.

[Arrowwind]

When I was about 17 my girl friend and I got into a car with two strange men ... a really stupid thing to do. One pulled a knife on us... it was up to my throat. My friend started crying, sobbing... and I started belly laughing.... which caused the two men to get into an arguement.. I laughed harder. tears were rolling down my face from laughter. Finally the guy with the knife said that this was too weird and they stopped the car and let us out. When we got out of the car I sat on the ground and laughed some more as they drove away...

all in all it was a good day. Nothing like a good belly laugh.;)

[Mike]

ahhhh....there he is:yo:

crisis averted.

[TargeT]

What's being described here kind of triggers some thoughts I've had about war.

I think people are inherently good, when they are cognizant of their situations and have the ability to make decisions emotion free (to include panic, fear, adoration, love etc.. all the strong ones).

how do we get people to go to different countries and "kill" other people?

well, in my mind; we don't, not really anyway.

its a multi step process, first spiking motivation/loyalty through various methods, be it patriotism, or poverty; the "subject" has to "want" to be there, at least more than she/he "doesn’t want" to be there.

Next we put them into a situation where it is either emotionally triggered that what they do next is good (ie: take out these "bad guys" and our "good guys" will be safe, a preventative measure but still backed by an emotional trigger) or it is situationally triggered that what they do next is self defense and necessary (ie: sending patrols out into area's that are known to have "bad guys" there; "bad guys" that will probably react defensively themselves trying to repel the "good guys" that they see as invaders)

In essence violence happens between humans because of a lack of communication & understanding. We have these "killer instincts" to deal with non-human entities, but they can be leveraged against us.

it seems like the stories shared here tend to confirm this idea and leads to my question: can humans truly be "evil", or just REALLY mislead / confused?

This thought has changed me to a different mentality when facing violence, I will try almost anything to de-escilate a sutation and "talk" more.

[Kiforall]

A couple of years ago my family and I moved onto a estate that was very family friendly, all the kids played out together and it felt very safe. The only bad cookie was a young lady who was addicted to heroin. She had her two children taken off her after she was found slumped in a telephone box completely off her chonk and her poor children were still in the house, home alone.
She frequented the local rehab center and had met a complete weirdo who had just been released from prison. The housing association had been trying to evict her for over 2yrs without luck. This weirdo ended up living in the house and it soon became apparent he was a pedophile !
He would watch the children playing on the trampoline in the garden opposite and walk past the window naked, he was sitting on the bench at the local playground trying to talk to children and everyone was very wary of him.
Not long after his appearance on the estate everyone received a letter from the housing officer requesting us to attend a meeting at a neighbor's house. A policeman was in the kitchen and proceeded to inform us that this man was a threat to our children but until he re-offended there was nothing the police could do, he had no restrictions to his movements and could loiter around the school or playground as long as he didn't re offend. We were advised to keep our children inside and only let them play out with close adult supervision. At the time my son was 7yrs and my daughter 9yrs, they had just finished school for the summer term and they had 6 weeks imprisonment to look forward to.
That same evening a few of us got together for a barbeque and quite a lot of alcohol was consumed, I listened to the 'hard men' discussing how they were going to graffiti the door etc and knocked a few more vodka's back. I then slipped away down to the house and tried the door, it was open, the lights didn't work but I managed to have a quick look around the house by the light from the street lights. There was no furniture inside, it looked like they were sleeping on quilts on the floor and the house stank of excrement. I picked up one of the quilts and went into the kitchen, where I stuffed the quilt into the grill of the oven and proceeded to turn the electric oven on. I left the house and returned to the party. Unbeknown to me the electric must have been disconnected!:rolleyes:
When I returned to the party I was asked where I'd been, I replied that I had been to sort something out and the details came out. The men went mad and ran to the house in a panic, the police had been called out and I went back home awaiting what I thought would be a definite trip down to the station.
The policeman that came was the same man who had given us the advice to 'lock up our children' earlier that evening and surprisingly he only gave me a very empathic slap on the wrist. The police had to board up the house at that point, probably for the safety of the weirdo in case he came back. The house was never returned to the heroin addict and eventually a new family moved in. I have no regrets for what I did but I may have felt differently if the electricity bill had been paid!
No body puts my children at risk:p

[mosquito]

In 1988 I found myself a new, beter paid job, and it looked as though our financial troubles were over and that the future was going to be rosy. Then my wife got arrested for stealing a lare number of cheques from her employer. My world fell apart, I was an honest man (too honest if truth be told), and to have the person closest to me behave like this, and publicly humiliate me to boot was too much. But ... I stuck by her, visited her in prison every fortnight for 6 months, kept our home nice, wrote to her every day and basically poured all my love into her. There was no-one I could talk to and I suffered her imprisonment in silence.

Anyway, in May 1989 she was released from prison, and I was the happiest man alive. In July, the agency I was contracting through had a big bash at a country hotel, and we went along for a good night's celebration. I was happy to have my wife back with me, and happy we could be together and have fun. During the eveining, I also danced with maybe 2 or 3 other women, quite inocuously, but when my wife and I got to our hotel room, she went ballistic (and believe me, she was one argumentative, obnoxious woman) she was screaming at me and accusing me of everything under the sun, and then she slapped my face. Something snapped and I had her on the bed, with my hands round her throat, strangling her, and I meant it. Then I saw the look in her eyes and stopped.

[Kiforall]

I can't resist.....(using the best GLP subject) I must confess I've murdered the tomato plants.:eyebrows:

[NancyV]

Great stories! I always love to hear other people's experiences of how they react in challenging situations. I have never been one to judge other's experiences because we don't know what they are here to experience and learn. It may be horrible, it may be exciting and fun, but it is perfect for them. We learn so much about ourselves in the most intense experiences.

Speaking of the "dark night of the soul" I don't know anyone who has gone through more dark nights than my husband. His early life was filled with much death and violence starting in Vietnam and continuing on after returning when he became a counter terrorist for the US government.

The following story happened when he was still 17, although I think he left childhood behind when he was about 12. He had been in Vietnam for maybe 6-8 months at this time. His team of special ops assassins were living with a tribe of Hmung warriors. To be accepted as a warrior in the tribe men had to have a wife so the 10 members of his team were all given wives. At the time of this story his wife was pregnant. Her name was Lea.

This is an excerpt from his manuscript: Blackheart the Last True Believer

Two weeks later we took thirty Hmung out on an ambush. It was a waste of time. We saw no enemy the whole time out, but returned to the village the next day and walked into hell. While we were gone the village had been attacked. All but four of the people in the village were dead... the chief, who was crucified, a young woman who had hidden in the jungle, a child who had been hidden in an outhouse, and Lea.

Lea had been crucified, skinned, and badly burned. They had gang-raped her. They had beaten her with clubs in the belly and pulled our child from her, killing it. They had cut the tendons behind her ankles, knees and in her elbows. Her fingers, toes, ears and breasts had been cut off. Her teeth had been hammered out and almost every bone in her body broken, yet she still lived. I cut her down. Every movement brought pain to her destroyed body. I carried her to our hut. A woman who had been beautiful the day before was now barely recognizable as human. I had grown to love this woman in the past months. I hadn’t realized just how much she had come to mean to me.

I sat there holding her as she and I cried together. Her pain was so plain to see, the pleading in her eyes hurt so much. As I rocked her in my arms I pulled out my .45, I kissed her, pulled her to my chest and put a bullet through her head. My final act of love that would haunt me forever. No man should ever love so much that he will kill that which he loves in order to stop their pain. I lay her out on our sleeping mat next to our child who would now never be born, and covered their bodies. As I left our hut for the last time I set it afire. I stumbled to the center of the village, Lea’s blood covering me. I threw back my head, flung wide my blood-covered arms and howled my hate and rage at the gods. As I screamed, the other men would not approach me. I fully embraced the insanity that closed over my mind. From that moment on I lived for only one thing. To kill.

I turned to three Hmung warriors standing watching me and in a voice that I had never heard before said, “I want prisoners. Bring me men who can tell me who did this.” They started to gather up equipment and get some other warriors to help them. “I want at least three living NVA who were here!” The voice coming from my mouth was cold and deep, like a wind blowing from the deepest open grave in the world. “I want them here now!” That strange voice echoed loudly through the jungle as the Hmung warriors ran into the jungle to follow my orders. The chief smiled at me, lay back, and died. He had joined his daughter and grandchild, my Lea and our baby. He knew he could go to his rest and that they would be avenged.

The rest of my team looked at me strangely, as if something larger, darker, and far more dangerous had taken my place in that hut. I was never to be the “Kid” again to any of them. I was not just someone else; I was something else in their eyes. They were right, an angel of death had been born.

From that day on I was known as Blackheart.

[another bob]

Chilling, Nancy!

Echoes of Apocalypse Now, but haunting, in that it was your husband and soul mate!

Do you think the slaughter experience opened him to taking in an "attachment"?

Thanks to both of you for reminding me why I skipped that scene!

Blessings!

[Kiforall]

Great stories! I always love to hear other people's experiences of how they react in challenging situations. I have never been one to judge other's experiences because we don't know what they are here to experience and learn. It may be horrible, it may be exciting and fun, but it is perfect for them. We learn so much about ourselves in the most intense experiences.

Speaking of the "dark night of the soul" I don't know anyone who has gone through more dark nights than my husband. His early life was filled with much death and violence starting in Vietnam and continuing on after returning when he became a counter terrorist for the US government.

The following story happened when he was still 17, although I think he left childhood behind when he was about 12. He had been in Vietnam for maybe 6-8 months at this time. His team of special ops assassins were living with a tribe of Hmung warriors. To be accepted as a warrior in the tribe men had to have a wife so the 10 members of his team were all given wives. At the time of this story his wife was pregnant. Her name was Lea.

This is an excerpt from his manuscript: Blackheart the Last True Believer

Two weeks later we took thirty Hmung out on an ambush. It was a waste of time. We saw no enemy the whole time out, but returned to the village the next day and walked into hell. While we were gone the village had been attacked. All but four of the people in the village were dead... the chief, who was crucified, a young woman who had hidden in the jungle, a child who had been hidden in an outhouse, and Lea.

Lea had been crucified, skinned, and badly burned. They had gang-raped her. They had beaten her with clubs in the belly and pulled our child from her, killing it. They had cut the tendons behind her ankles, knees and in her elbows. Her fingers, toes, ears and breasts had been cut off. Her teeth had been hammered out and almost every bone in her body broken, yet she still lived. I cut her down. Every movement brought pain to her destroyed body. I carried her to our hut. A woman who had been beautiful the day before was now barely recognizable as human. I had grown to love this woman in the past months. I hadn’t realized just how much she had come to mean to me.

I sat there holding her as she and I cried together. Her pain was so plain to see, the pleading in her eyes hurt so much. As I rocked her in my arms I pulled out my .45, I kissed her, pulled her to my chest and put a bullet through her head. My final act of love that would haunt me forever. No man should ever love so much that he will kill that which he loves in order to stop their pain. I lay her out on our sleeping mat next to our child who would now never be born, and covered their bodies. As I left our hut for the last time I set it afire. I stumbled to the center of the village, Lea’s blood covering me. I threw back my head, flung wide my blood-covered arms and howled my hate and rage at the gods. As I screamed, the other men would not approach me. I fully embraced the insanity that closed over my mind. From that moment on I lived for only one thing. To kill.

I turned to three Hmung warriors standing watching me and in a voice that I had never heard before said, “I want prisoners. Bring me men who can tell me who did this.” They started to gather up equipment and get some other warriors to help them. “I want at least three living NVA who were here!” The voice coming from my mouth was cold and deep, like a wind blowing from the deepest open grave in the world. “I want them here now!” That strange voice echoed loudly through the jungle as the Hmung warriors ran into the jungle to follow my orders. The chief smiled at me, lay back, and died. He had joined his daughter and grandchild, my Lea and our baby. He knew he could go to his rest and that they would be avenged.

The rest of my team looked at me strangely, as if something larger, darker, and far more dangerous had taken my place in that hut. I was never to be the “Kid” again to any of them. I was not just someone else; I was something else in their eyes. They were right, an angel of death had been born.

From that day on I was known as Blackheart.

Crying now, what a unselfish act :angel:

[NancyV]

Chilling, Nancy!

Echoes of Apocalypse Now, but haunting, in that it was your husband and soul mate!

Do you think the slaughter experience opened him to taking in an "attachment"?

Thanks to both of you for reminding me why I skipped that scene!

Blessings!
I think he probably already had the attachment but at that point he let it have almost full control for a while. When he was around 10, if I remember correctly, he was electrocuted. His father had to knock him free from the live wire that he was stuck to. It was at that time that he changed and he thinks that's when he acquired his "companion". His mother said he went from a really nice, sweet boy to being very tough, solitary and almost obsessed with becoming a warrior of some kind. He left home on his 16th birthday with a fake ID to join the military and go to Vietnam.

[ViralSpiral]

Great sharing, thank you

I have been known for acts of tunnel-vision-anger, such as:

Driving into a taxi for deliberately cutting in front of me. We were going snails pace, so no real damage. It could have turned ugly as the gentleman jumped out of the car towards me and as one knows, South Africa is not always the rainbow nation... he could have had a gun. He didn't and I am here to tell you I will never do that one again.

Or, sticking a bumper sticker onto a cars windscreen of a lady who stole my parking space. Fortunately for her, there were no severe profanities to be found in the family store, and the worst I could find was: beware of the dog
Which, in this case, was me ;)

They have let me out of my play-pen now. The tunnel is 'lit', and random acts of blankness occur rarely :)


https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/298387_438555626202449_195772387_n.jpg

[mosquito]

Jesus, I've just reread my post and it's affected me quite deeply. I still have so much energy locked into that time, I thought I'd dealt with it all, obvioulsy not......

On a lighter note, but still within topic :

I've never been a violent type, it's always sickened me. I've only ever punched someone twice, both times at school and both out of sheer terror. I always used to have a very very long fuse, with a powder keg at the end. I basically don't like being f*cked around (who does ?), I get on with my life, don't mess with anyone else and don't want anyone messing with me. When I was a child, I was content to play on my own for hours on end. The following 2 stories are from my childhood; the first of these I don't remember, but my mother always had great fun in telling me .......

I was riding my tricycle up and down the pavement, quite happily minding my own business. Then the neighbour's boy, 3 years older than me, started to intrerfere, blocking my path and generally being irritating. According to my mother, I put up with this for a while, trying to ignore him, but then I just stopped, got off the trike, went to the boot (this was in the 60s) took out my cricket bat and whacked him over the back. I then put the bat back in the boot, and continued my game.

The next episode I DO remember ! I was maybe 7 or 8, and we used to occasionally visit the seaside at the weekends. This particular day, I was quietly building a sandcastle on my own, but there was some other obnoxious kid kept trying to meddle with my designs and, once again, I put up with it for a while, then enough was enough and I hit him very hard over the head with my spade. Not a plastic spade, metal with a wooden handle. My brother tells me that there was quite a lot of trouble after that, but I don't remember !!!!

[Jenci]

Great thread and OP, Fred, thanks.

About 8 years ago I was with my son's father. He was abusive (not physically) but he completely destroyed any sense of self worth that I had and yet I craved and lived for the smallest of compliments which came my way.

The relationship was sick and codependent, both of us behaving in circular patterns of unhealthy behaviour just to cope with our lives. Anyway that is a whole story in itself but we had got to the point where just as it couldn't get any worse, I found out about 3 other women, he had a breakdown, was hospitalised, I supported him and forgave him.

He came home, the abuse continued but of course now it was not his fault it was his 'mental health' issues and his psychiatrist had flattered me with his gratitude that I was being so supportive to his patient and this flattery was like nectar to me, I clung to it and carried on with the job of being supportive.

Two of the relationships carried on, I found out, he gave the threats of suicide, I forgave, he abused and so on.

Up to this point in my life I had never felt any aggression. If there was conflict I would be reduced to a crying wreck begging for it to stop. I never remember really shouting at anyone or losing my temper. In fact I had always felt proud of the fact that I wasn't one of those people who lose their temper.

Surprisingly (well it was to me anyway at the time as I genuinely believed he could never do such a thing:boink:) I found out he was still cheating with these other two women.

It happened so quick. I literally flew at him so quickly my feet felt like they left the floor. In a split second I was right up at him one hand round his throat, in a Darth Vader choke hold. I wanted to squeeze all life out of him completely in that moment. I hated him that much. I had never seen that fear in his eyes before and I knew without a doubt, that I could actually do that.

That frightened me too and I looked down and saw my young son watching me and I let go. Just as quick, I switched back and I apologised and asked for forgiveness........and so the relationship continued in the same way for a while before I could break free.


Took me much longer to get to the root cause of the codependancy which had always led me into needy, clingy relationships.





And Anakin was such a cute kid too :)

http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTX5Uyu2p7oQanLOGRPUAVvrS-AmnBlxCVUJHeymgxjbOsP7cES

[Fred Steeves]

Interesting Fred and thanks for sharing this with us. ButI have a question..... if i may. Did this experience change the way you may possibly face possible altercations/confrontations in the future. A learning curve perhaps. It did for me when i furiously punched my 21 year old daughter in the mouth and nearly knocking out her 2 front teeth after she taunted me for several hrs.. This is why i asked. Learning to control/cope with anger. And I think im learning it. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth.


Hi WhiteFeather, good question my friend. Yes, it did change the way I view altercations/confrontations. I have what I could call a leash on that part of myself now, like a dog, now that I know it's there. It's a happy dog, much prefers to mind it's own business just sniffing around, and is great with kids, But it's also got a purpose, it's a watch dog. On extremely rare occasion, it sees something that surpasses some invisible line on the acceptability scale, and it demands some extra leash. It won't attack anyone unless attacked, but when it bares it's teeth the message is crystal clear, "back off". It seems to work very well.

What happened with your daughter, are you two good? How would you handle that same situation today?

[Chester]

OK - to read this, make me two promises. One, that you fully understand and accept that what I am about to put forth is nothing more than speculation based on a vast amount of circumstantial evidence only. Second, promise is that if you consider the possibility that there could be truth to what I am writing about here, accept that I have long moved past any judgement of my Father nor anyone he may have been involved with, some who are still alive to this day. I am at peace with what I am about to present.

In 1979, my Father was found dead in his office/apartment. He had supposedly gone on a trip to Louisiana to obtain some money (approximately $80K or so) that he owed to several bookies. Just three months before his wife of 13 years had died of pancreatic cancer. My Father and step mother had just had a child and this was considered to be a miracle as she was told when she was perhaps 22 years old she would never be able to have children (part of her motivation to marry my father as he had two, my sister (three years younger than me) and myself).

This is when all the pistols were discovered. At least 6 or 8 pistols of varying types that he had hidden in all sorts of places. What was interesting is that the "family lawyer" (a lawyer who did wills and trusts) provided many of these pistols to some authorities and what came back was that each pistol had been used once. Meaning that several rounds had been fired, but only once.

Without going into the several dozen circumstantial factors that I recalled over the past several years and the many that came to light since his "death" which was concluded to have been suicide (and likely was suicide though their is the possibility of "suicided"), I was able to conclude that there is a very real possibility my father was a professional assassin and worked for elements of the "cabal" that existed in Texas and Louisiana back in the 60s and 70s.

Some of the highlights of the evidence is as follows:

Once when I was 9 or so years old, while he was driving just me and him somewhere, he turned to me and said, "I once did a favor for Carlos Marcello" then he turned his attention back to his driving and never said another word. - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlos_Marcello

Once when I was about 15 years old, he said to me one day, "Let's go see a movie." We never went to see movies so this was highly unusual. The movie he took me to was called - "The Mechanic" -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mechanic_%281972_film%29

I recall him sitting to my right and intently watching the movie. He never spoke to me about the movie after we watched it.

I recall one of my cousins who my mother recently confirmed to me he is also my "godfather" giving me a single shot 22 caliber rifle when I was just about to turn 6 years old (my best recollection). Because "my cousin" is still alive, I want to be careful here as to what you, the reader might think I may be implying - so I want to state clearly again - I have ZERO actual evidence of anything other than circumstantial considerations.

My parents sent me to a camp (only once) just before I turned 9 or 10 (I am unsure which). At the camp I joined the rifle team. I was a a superior shooter to any of my peers though I had no clue how good I really was. On the last day of camp, the neighboring camp came to our camp for competition. One of the camp supervisors came to me and said, "Chester, you seem to be a pretty good shot and we would like you to compete against the big boys," and so I was taken to the competition with the older kids. I recalled getting a strange feeling while I was shooting that I was being watched. I recall looking behind me and seeing two or three guys I had never seen before that appeared to be watching me shoot.

About 4 years later, my Dad came to me one day and said, "Hey, your cousin (same cousin that gave me the 22 - though he was called "uncle") wants to know if you want to go pheasant hunting with him tomorrow." Odd because I had virtually zero contact with Uncle XYZ since he gave me that rifle and never been hunting nor fishing with him. I asked Dad if he was going and he said, "no" which I also thought was odd. What was also unusual was that it was to be a Friday and I had school, but apparently this was ok. So the next morning my cousin picked me up real early and he mentioned we were going to stop by and pick up some friends on the way to his ranch in East Texas.

We stopped off in East Dallas to pick up his friends who happened to be the Dallas County DA, Henry Wade (and two of his sons) -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Wade

I remember that day wanting to impress these guys (though I had never ever shot a shotgun before in my life). I recall I never got a confirmed kill. One time a bird went down but when I looked to my left, there was one of Henry Wade's sons (older than I... perhaps 19 or so years old) and he looked at me like it was his bird. Another time I nicked one and it fell but started running off into the bushes and I recall chasing after it and even shot at it once but never found the bird. To this day I am uncertain if I ever actually shot a bird (this includes my attempts when younger with a BB gun).

Anyways, soon after I was sent to a Prep School (one that members of both sides of my family had attended) and discovered marijuana at age 15 and became a small time dealer within months. The weed would make me crazy and it is my assumption that at this point, anyone who may have had ideas about my future probably adjusted those ideas.

I have several dozen other interesting factors but its best I go to the heart of this post now.

My father was also involved with some small time mafioso types in Dallas. My Dad was a massive alcoholic who began every day with vodka and OJ on ice. After his first tall glass of that (which he would have completed by 6 AM or so, he switched to straight vodka on ice. Smirnoff 100 (the blue bottle), not the lamer 80 proof red bottle stuff. He also partook of a full menu of prescription drugs for all sorts of things. OK, so he would spend much of his days in bars on Greenville Avenue in Dallas though my step-mother hated it... she couldn't do a thing about it.

My father ended up "owning" a bar called the Shanty Lounge, just off Greenville Avenue on Lovers Lane. I came to find out later, the bar was financed by the Williams Brothers who were into vending machines and other businesses and were considered one of the local mafioso forces along with the Campisi family. My Dad was pretty sick at this point (it was around 1974 or so) and was used as a setup by the Williams brothers to attempt to overturn a Texas State law which barred vending machine companies from owning the establishments within which their machines reside. Somehow a case occurred that my father was able to escalate from the state court level (where the Williams brother's had clout) to the federal level where my dad seemed to think he had clout. The Williams brothers were a no show and my Dad won by default their attempt to take over ownership. A few weeks later my Dad woke up in his car beaten up pretty badly (but alive) and that was the end of that era of his life as he got out of the local bar business.

During that same time frame, I recall my step mother crying one day and I asked her what it was about. She unloaded it all to me. She had been receiving calls for months. The caller (a male) would tell her exactly where my sister was at that moment. What was unusual about that was that my sister was attending a boarding school in Arizona. The caller called back and told her exactly where I was too (the boarding school in Pennsylvania). The caller then one day (this was the day I found her crying), had called her and asked her this - "Do you want to wake up dead?" She knew all these calls were threats related to the activities of my father but my Dad would never tell her (nor anyone) about them and refused to talk to her at all about the threatening calls. This was around 1974 ish.

My father had reached the stage of his alcoholism where he was throwing up blood and passing blood in his stools. He was dying. Somehow we were able to get him in hospitals but he always went back to drinking. AA meetings started happening yet he would not stay sober. I was taken to Alateen and my step mother went to Alanon.

Suddenly in January 1975, my father stopped drinking. But he was clearly a totally messed up human being emotionally. He was also the most amazingly loving (powerful love) human being I ever knew, but that is what I had seen and experienced of him. Note, I was unable to put any of the possibilities together until well after his death.

OK, now for the next part which is purely speculation. I suspect my father may have been an assassin. I suspect he did some high level jobs for a "cabal" and that some may have been related to the Kennedy assassination and the subsequent "cleanup" requirements (witnesses that saw too much). Again, purely speculation. I suspect that when he sobered up, he also refused to take new jobs. It was only three years after he sobered up that his wife, at age 39, suddenly contracted pancreatic cancer and died by age 40. If my speculations might be true, I believe he may have been warned several times that unless he returns to "work" bad things may happen to his family.

The death of his beloved wife may have convinced him that his handlers were serious. I often speculated that if my Dad did indeed commit suicide, could part of his reason to do so be so that perhaps his handlers might not harm my sister or me? I will never know.

Now for the most important part of this post. The reason I am able to post this now is because I have no judgement about the matter (again - it is also and only speculation) BUT, if there is truth to my theory, I judge no one. I do not judge my dad, I understand. I do not judge the local handlers nor the players at higher levels at all whatsoever. Why? Because I firmly believe we all choose our experiences. If it came to pass one day that some old man approached me and sat beside me on an isolated park bench and then struck up a conversation and then said, "Son... I knew your Father."

And then proceeded to inform me he worked with my Dad and/or was my Dad's handler, I would ask him if I could give him a hug and beg him to share all the stories with me and inform him i would honor any code of silence asked of me "FULLY." I would also mention how I sadly failed at my own auditions but that clearly I am incapable of harming anyone that way and thus my failure was meant to be. In fact, and though I am 55 years old, I would be open to contract work as long as it fit within my own personal guidelines... guidelines within which what i do would have the chance to result in a more peaceful world for my children. But I would be lying if I did not state how badly I feel i missed my own, true calling and how I missed out on being involved in the world at this level of interplay.

It has always been my dream to write my autobiography (the narcissist is showing here). The title would be called "The Failure." The reason is that based on my speculations, I failed to follow in my Father's footsteps. I failed my audition to receive a part in the "real" game. It is my greatest regret.

There's my soul - all laid out, bare and naked. I care not if anyone judges me.

My favorite movies of all time are -
The Mechanic (obviously)
All three Godfather movies
Spy Game (Redford and Pitt)
The Matrix (all three though the first is my favorite)
Charlie Wilson's War (Hanks, Julia Roberts and the character, Guss (a zen Buddhist it seemed)
The Devil's Advocate (Pacino and Reeves)
The Truman Show (Carrey) - says "Day 10,909" on the cover... take out the zeros and you get 199 - my bday is 19-9 which I always thought one of those weird synchronicities...

Anyways - life is amazing. I maybe missed my calling OR maybe I just wasn't ready for the calling I have now - which is "no calling" just "being."

I am glad I can share my inner whackiness. Thanks, Fred for starting an awesome thread! Love to All Chester

[Fred Steeves]

It has always been my dream to write my autobiography (the narcissist is showing here). The title would be called "The Failure." The reason is that based on my speculations, I failed to follow in my Father's footsteps. I failed my audition to receive a part in the "real" game. It is my greatest regret.


Hi Chester. In a roundabout way, it would seem you and I have more in common than first meets the eye. I don't have any dreams of writing my autobiography, my life has never had any intrigue, and I especially dislike talking about myself. However, until just somewhat recently, I still shook my head in wonder at "successful" people, who say they always knew what they wanted to do in life, even as small children. You know, like astronauts, cops, firefighters, and now hitmen.(LOL)

I've never had the faintest clue what I was here to do, and therefore always kind of wondered in the back of my mind: "What WERE you born to be good at? Being an average nobody?"

Now it's becoming clear the old saying: "Lose every battle, yet win the war". There's something a whole hell of a lot more going on here than meets the eye, and one can either "see" it, or they can't. Social status, accomplishments, past deeds good or bad, everything, is completely irrelevent. All bets are off...Sudden death overtime as they say in sports...

I'll leave it there for now, except to say it's a real eye opener, to realize that there isn't even a war.

[Sebastion]

Ahh Fred, methinks you have hit the nail squarely on the head. After all my friend, you are a carpenter, lol! Yes it is definitely an eye opener when one realizes that the war is really within the self and when that is realized the battles and wars with others cease.






It has always been my dream to write my autobiography (the narcissist is showing here). The title would be called "The Failure." The reason is that based on my speculations, I failed to follow in my Father's footsteps. I failed my audition to receive a part in the "real" game. It is my greatest regret.


Hi Chester. In a roundabout way, it would seem you and I have more in common than first meets the eye. I don't have any dreams of writing my autobiography, my life has never had any intrigue, and I especially dislike talking about myself. However, until just somewhat recently, I still shook my head in wonder at "successful" people, who say they always knew what they wanted to do in life, even as small children. You know, like astronauts, cops, firefighters, and now hitmen.(LOL)

I've never had the faintest clue what I was here to do, and therefore always kind of wondered in the back of my mind: "What WERE you born to be good at? Being an average nobody?"

Now it's becoming clear the old saying: "Lose every battle, yet win the war". There's something a whole hell of a lot more going on here than meets the eye, and one can either "see" it, or they can't. Social status, accomplishments, past deeds good or bad, everything, is completely irrelevent. All bets are off...Sudden death overtime as they say in sports...

I'll leave it there for now, except to say it's a real eye opener, to realize that there isn't even a war.

[another bob]

Yes it is definitely an eye opener when one realizes that the war is really within the self and when that is realized the battles and wars with others cease.

Would it were so, Brother, but that would be a bit premature, at least in most of our cases. Realization does not equal actualization, because there are deep subconscious programs that, although shaken, are not yet dissolved until brought to the light of conscious inspection, where they then can be seen through and transcended.
This is what is called the "cultivation" phase in traditional practice. In other words, once it is seen that all is a projectiuon of one's own psyche, then the possibility is finally there to really get a good look at what one has been up to, the war with themselves. It is a breakthrough that is absolutely necessary, but by no means the end of the story. In fact, ego-mind is not going to give up that easily, and can indeed co-opt even profound insight and fashion a shiny new self-image -- "See, now I have ended the internal war!" This turns out to be a big trap, so that is why the whole edifice needs to be taken apart brick by brick.

[another bob]

Took me much longer to get to the root cause of the codependancy which had always led me into needy, clingy relationships.

Thanks Jeanette!

What did you find when you got to the root?

[Chester]

I left my last post with one thing unsaid... just after "was my greatest regret."

what I left out (and was hoping was clear though unsaid)... that I failed has also become my greatest relief. Love to All - Chester

[another bob]

It has always been my dream to write my autobiography (the narcissist is showing here). The title would be called "The Failure." The reason is that based on my speculations, I failed to follow in my Father's footsteps. I failed my audition to receive a part in the "real" game. It is my greatest regret.

From another perspective, failure is one of the greatest gifts we can receive, since it opens us to humility, and humility is the foundation of all other virtues. Of course, the way failure is typically processed by ego-mind is as an experience of "loss of face". If we delve a bit deeper into what that means -- to lose face -- it implies that the facade that we have been toting around -- the image of who we would like the world to believe we are -- is ripped off, leaving us naked. That nakedness, however, is filled with opportunity, because now the more authentic being has a chance to emerge. Before, there was little chance, since we had the role down pat, and were immersed in the charade, projecting a "face" to the world that more often than not disguised our true nature. Now, with the Grace of failure, we can learn something. We are available, which is the key to awakening.

Edit to add: Ah, I just saw your addition, above -- looks like we're on the same page :yo:

[HURRITT ENYETO]

Hey Guys, awesome thread! :)

I will relate a story off the top of my head. I hope its ok.
Unfortunately, it isn't a 'feel good' story.

This is from my adolescence.
I had two friends, brothers, Carl and Damien (whom we all called Damo.) These two brothers couldn't have been much different, LOL, Carl was small and slim and Damo was a huge round mountain :)
Anyhow, we were always arranging one party or another, this particular party was actually to be at their house. Damo was always up for a party, and looking back, I suspect, had a drink problem.

Anyhow, the party rolled arround and we were all at Damo's house getting very drunk, as per usual Damien had drunk far too much far too early, and he was falling arround. Someone suggested Damo go and lie down in one of the bedrooms, and he did, it was a normal occurrence, nothing out of he ordinary. We asked him if he was ok and he assured us he was fine.

As the night went on, somebody suggested we go and check on him, so a few of us did. In the room there was Damo, laying face down on the bed, with his shirt off. His younger brother, thought it would be funny to write something on his back, one of the girls produced a lipstick, and he proceeded to write 'You Fat B*****d' on his back, we all had a good laugh, we tried to rouse him, and he just moaned, so we thought he was ok, and we left him to sleep it off.

The party went on into the early hours, and everybody had left, apart from about 8 of us that just crashed out there. The next thing i remember was hearing a girl scream, I woke up, and realised it was about 8am the next day, then there was another scream, we rushed into the room where the scream had come from, and there was Damo, laying face down, unmoved, dead on the bed. Everybody was in shock, and his brother just kept shaking him and shaking him, wake up Damien, wake up. But he didn't. We called an ambulance and the police arrived with the ambulance. As if this wasn't bad enough, the police took one look at his body, laying there, shirtless, with big red letters on his back 'You Fat B*****d' and said, "don't move him, nobody's going anywhere, this is being treated as a suspected murder"

I wont bore you with what transpired after that, but it took days of convincing, that it was just a prank, and nothing malicious. The whole thing went on for months, destroyed his family, and drove his little brother to drugs. Months later, we got the results of the inquest. Death by misadventure. Apparently, not only did he have extremely high levels of alcohol in his blood, but they also found he had a cocktail of drugs. Nobody knew he had taken anything, we were actually keeping an eye on him at that time, because he was overdoing it all the time. Anyhow, that's where the story ends. His brother will live with it forever, as will I.



Hurritt

[Arrowwind]

How one reacts to abuse indicates their accompolishments in spiritual evolution.
I think that many here on this forum are doing just great. Remember, that all these challenges reflect our spiritual understanding of the world.

I had always considered myself a nonviolent person to the extent that if I had to make the choice of my life or anothers, mine was expendible. Much of this is based in my solid experices that showed me that reincarnation is true. If not here, there is a place and time somewhere else.

All this nonviolent attidutde changed when I gave birth to children. From the second of their first breath I knew I could kill and would kill if needed, to protect them, as well as to protect myself, being that I am their protector. I realized that life is so precious and so difficult to attain upon their births. I would protect it against all that would threaten it. I understood that in the long run, in the evolution of the soul, that violence, within our current society is the tool that we have to sustain ourselves when faced with certain given types of realities.
I lived in a neighborhood where violence is not uncommon. We had ducked the windows and hit the floor more than once to escape flying bullets from the gang events outside our house. Clearly I would certainly kill to protect our innocense.

I never did have the experience of doing so. It was avoided and eventually we moved away from that dark place... but to this day I know I am fully capable.

Through living there I came to understand just how easy it is to control people through fear for I knew fear on a first name basis... then there are unrealistic fears that are projected by the state and that have no immediate implications... such as the war on drugs, the war on terror etc. But they elicit our core understandings of the value of our life and our desire to survive and live free even while based in fears created by delusion and lies. We all know what a real threat is and its impact on our safety and our sanity. Its an evolutionary process to discern what is a true threat and what is imagined or construed or lied about... actually much of the work we try to sort out on this forum revolves around discerning that what fears we do have are based in reality, not on propaganda. In facing true danger i was prepared to do what I must... facing governmental and institutional and corporate lies I am also prepared to do what I must... mostly that is taking a deep breath and understanding that most of what is thrown our way is based in lies.. and not real but fed to us to feed and nourish the greater monster that most of us in this world can't or refuse to see (NWO and the elites and the poverty and wars they create)... and when I look at that I get really really scared yet can find no tangible assailant to strike at, at least here in the USA. My only recourse it to not feed that monster with my money and that is quite hard to do and all in all is not very soul satisfying.

just my ramblings for the day

[Mitzvah]

Diagnosed at nine with Juvenile Rhuematoid Arthritis, I was subject to treatments that were rather crude, and often painful. Three times a week I had to walk up the street a block to the County Hospital to sit in whirlpool baths, have heated parrafin layered on my hands like gloves, endure strange smelling ointments rubbed on my joints that was so strong I could actually taste it as soon as they put it on me - and it tasted like rotten fish, seriously. I recall sitting hunched over in the whirlpool bath, a huge stainless steel affair, hating every moment of being there, horrified at seeing the bits and pieces of previous patients' (burn patients I think) skin circling around and around me. The stainless steel vat that they used to heat the parrafin wax often malfunctioned, overheating the wax that I would be dipping my hands in over and over to build up a hot wax glove, so to speak. I often left the treatments with first degree burns on my hands and forearms. The physical therapy included being manipulated in all directions in order that my joints wouldn't become 'frozen' into place and unusable. Preceeding the therapists doing this, I was wrapped-up in heated pad-like devices, dozens of them all over my body, and they were frequently over-heated, burning my skin. It was outrageously painful, but all so very necessary, or so I was told. The strange thing was, the conflict came in for me because I really liked the people who were my physical therapists, but I hated and feared the pain that I knew I would have to endure at their hands. The walk from my house to the hospital up the street was like walking a slow frightening 'death march' to a dungeon of torture. I had to go alone because both of my parents worked. I was torn by this conflict at nine years old. These people were some of the few people who actually understood what I was living through, and they were thus my comrades, my friends, and yet they were also the ones from whom I received some of the worst pain, and the greatest fears and trepidations. This was the time when I began having regular nightmares of being tortured and chased by strangers, nightmares that plagued me for almost my entire life. PTSD, of a kind is what I find it to be.

[NancyV]

We likely never need to fight but we must enjoy the violence experience or why would so many of us humans experience violence? If we accept that we are Source and as Source we come into the Creation for experiences of separateness and duality, we play all roles in the duality. We are all things, evil, violent, good and peaceful. We cannot all be peaceful and loving at the same time as long as we are in duality. Duality is made up of opposites and everything in between.

Even in our small group here on Avalon most or all of us have experienced some kind of violence in our lives, if not physical then certainly mental and emotional. Thinking that violence and evil are “bad” tends to invalidate the perfection of the Creation. But, but, but how can evil and violence be PERFECT? There doesn’t have to be a reason that will be understandable to us on a human intellectual level for this Creation to be known and accepted as perfect.

All those who have merged with the Source KNOW that all that IS, is perfect. It is all a part of the energy ocean of Unconditional Love we are swimming around in. Many of those who have merged with Source have come back to tell us that we live in a state of perfection, that there is no good and evil, there is no judgment and we are all ONE. We are all loved and accepted and the experiences we go through in each “life” are perfect for us at the time we live them. They are created for our highest benefit and most fun.

It’s difficult to believe that all our pain and suffering could be fun. It sure as hell doesn’t FEEL like fun to see people hurt, killed, enslaved, starving and living in ignorance. It will never be fun for us while we are living it but we can learn to be more detached and accepting of our life’s circumstances and less judgmental of those we view as evil. That is not to say that we won’t resist, fight or kill evil, but we can still accept it as perfect while we are fighting it. We do not normally have the perspective to see how absolutely perfect and humorous is the entire physical dimension and all its games.

Even though I have merged with Source and have experienced the perfection of the Creation I still maintain most of my human perspectives while in a human body. I still get to enjoy being pissed off when I see injustice (from my personal perspective), I get to feel pain about the humans who are suffering, I get to engage in the game in any way I feel moved to engage. As Nancy I have enjoyed my life to the fullest. As Hitler I suffered mental agony and learned hate and evil. We are all One is not just a saying… it is a reality. There can be only One and there is only One. That ONE has as many different perspectives as there are beings who think they are separated from Source/God. All lives are lived by Source so we are all Source.

It is necessary for us to feel separate in order to experience the Creation. If we are no longer separate we are fully conscious of being Source. Even if I know this on an intellectual level and on every dimension up to Source, I cannot FEEL it completely until I am fully merged with Source. We can have blissful experiences while in body or in our light body. We can gain more and more Unconditional Love as we raise our vibrational frequency or expand our awareness, but each successively higher vibrational frequency vehicle we inhabit can only hold a certain amount of the Unconditional Love frequency.

When my husband used to tell me his horrific stories of all the people he has killed in wars and counter terrorism missions I was able to listen to him and give him acceptance, understanding and love. He came here to be a warrior. For me to judge his purpose, his life, would be to be ignorant of the entire plan of this Creation. It’s all about Unconditional Love. There is absolutely nothing, no spirit, no demon, no mass murderer, ET, dictator, PTB, NO ONE who is not part of the Unconditional Love that is Source/God.

As we share stories of scary or violent situations in our lives we can see that all of us experience duality; the good, the bad, and the ugly. The sooner we can let go of judging ourselves and others too harshly, the easier it is to accept abuse and violence as a perfect learning vehicle for our progress as souls yearning to rejoin with the Source that we are temporarily unaware we all ARE.

[another bob]

As we share stories of scary or violent situations in our lives we can see that all of us experience duality; the good, the bad, and the ugly. The sooner we can let go of judging ourselves and others too harshly, the easier it is to accept abuse and violence as a perfect learning vehicle for our progress as souls yearning to rejoin with the Source that we are temporarily unaware we all ARE.

Just so beautifully said, Sister -- real wisdom, and valuable pointers to the Truth!

Thanks so much for laying all out so eloquently!

Blessings!

[another bob]

This was the time when I began having regular nightmares of being tortured and chased by strangers, nightmares that plagued me for almost my entire life. PTSD, of a kind is what I find it to be.

Thanks so much for this peek into your formative experience of the paradox -- that the ones who were most intimate with your pain wetre also the ones applying it. Such programming early on will color and condition, as you say, how one experiences painful situations, assaults, and even conflicts in the familial sphere. It seems this is the risk consciousness takes in assuming these human forms, in its efforts to become fully self-aware, and to embody that self-awareness in the field of space-time. The problem arise when it fixates on a particular meme of identity, and so interprets all further perceived experience through the skewed lens of that fixation. This is where the wound lives on and on, and can only be healed through the direct recognition tht we are not that character we have taken ourselves to be. For that to happen, a breakthrough is necessary at the very core of one's being, the direct feeling experience of Source, as Nancy pointed to above. From there, our perspective is turned around, and our angle of vision is broadened immeasurably, and traumas begin to at least make sense, within the graceful light of one's prior recognition.

[Chester]

We all know what a real threat is and its impact on our safety and our sanity. Its an evolutionary process to discern what is a true threat and what is imagined or construed or lied about... actually much of the work we try to sort out on this forum revolves around discerning that what fears we do have are based in reality, not on propaganda.

I am not so sure I could support the above statement personally. First, I think it depends on perspective. As a Spirit Being, when I find myself in the complete state of retracted ego, I feel no threat exists. Yet I also had experiences where, when looked back upon, appear such that it was clear my (or someone's) physical body was threatened. I would be able to recall "reacting" but there was no thought involved.

It was only after an event such as the experience of a physical threat, that my mind went into an exercise where I assessed the "danger." It was through this exercise my ego was able to (once again) take charge and create ideas I would buy into related to what may or may not be a "true threat."

I hate quoting form other sources but to make a point I must - "Nothing real can be threatened" and "Nothing unreal exists." (ACIM) - I found those two statements to be true for me.

Anyways... not hoping to start trouble in this awesome thread but, well... if I can't be a hitman with a gun, perhaps I became one with a keyboard?

Love to ALL - Chester

[RunningDeer]

I was in a park doing Tai Chi. It was by a river away from others. People came to watch. It was a good chance to demonstrate this beautiful martial art and its diversity of fast and slow, gentle and powerful.

Shortly after, a car pulled up. Three guys staggered over. I continued and the leader stepped through the crowd. As if on cue his friends followed, but they were not together. Each found a spots that created a scalene triangle into the circle of Tai Chi.

I weighed the pros and cons. Pros: already warmed up and loose from my work out, a crowd full of eye witnesses, sober and pumped, one leader and two followers. Cons: pumped up, three against one, high from beer was my guess.

Several thoughts: if I walked away, I’d never know if I can protect myself. It’s common knowledge that competition wins are different from street fight ones. Rules vs. no rules. And, if I am here to share what Tai Chi is, then what does that say to myself? and to others? While I gave weight to my options, my body changed up the slow, continuous movements to fast and hard. I added a high kick to create the illusion of taller than the 5’8” stature. Then ended with a hard, quick, low punch for good measure. (My doctor tells me I’m not 5’8” any more, but my license still does.)

It was when the leader took one more step and his friend followed, I decided to take on the leader. Mess with the followers’ minds, it’d buy me some time. I gestured leader forward. He shook his head. With a second decline, I demonstrated a 180 degree spin kick to guy #2. (boy I wish I could do those now). Still standing on one leg, I invited him to choose, throat or groin. He shook his head. I gave him one more choice, while holding to the one leg stance. He stepped back. Onto buddy #3, with full on eye contact and awareness of an aura body that reached all the way over to him, he shrugged and stepped back.

Meanwhile, the crowd cheered and clapped. I’m embarrassed to say, it juiced me. It was bravado that quickly turned into vanity and pride. Which don’t make for good tools. I also knew it could back fire and cause them to save face. And kick my butt.

Thankfully, my philosophy tapped me on the shoulder, “The Strong walk away for there’s no need to prove a thing.” I bowed in thanks to All, and quickly walked to my car. Only the three followed. One knocked at the window, motioning me to roll it down when the door failed. The other two stood so I couldn’t back up. I figured there were enough witnesses around. With the car in reverse, no convincing was needed.

All the way home I re-ran the whole movie. I was pumped and addicted to the juice. Forty-five minutes later, I stepped out of my car with rubbery legs and my body began to shake. I learned several things. First, if push comes to shove, I pity the person that wants to have at it. Second, I respect the fear, if and when it arises. But I also know it’s not the driver of this vehicle. Lastly, when one’s energy is raised, it goes out for all to read whether they are aware of it or not. It says, “Don’t mess.” Which also demonstrates my philosophy, “The Strong walk away for there’s no need to prove a thing.”

Peace,
WhiteCrowBlackDeer

[Arrowwind]

Anyways... not hoping to start trouble in this awesome thread but, well... if I can't be a hitman with a gun, perhaps I became one with a keyboard?

Love to ALL - Chester

Somehow it feels like you just took a paintbrush and smeared MY canvas. Oh well. All in a day on Avelon.
Love to All - Arrow

[another bob]

Anyways... not hoping to start trouble in this awesome thread but, well... if I can't be a hitman with a gun, perhaps I became one with a keyboard?

Love to ALL - Chester

Somehow it feels like you just took a paintbrush and smeared MY canvas. Oh well. All in a day on Avelon.
Love to All - Arrow


Sometimes it's like we are all just feeling our way in the dark, and occasionally we inadvertantly step on each others' toes. Part of finding our way communally to the light, it seems.

Blessings!

[Chester]

Anyways... not hoping to start trouble in this awesome thread but, well... if I can't be a hitman with a gun, perhaps I became one with a keyboard?

Love to ALL - Chester

Somehow it feels like you just took a paintbrush and smeared MY canvas. Oh well. All in a day on Avelon.
Love to All - Arrow


I honestly give you permission to smear or revise or convert or alter or append anything I write in this thread. Would take no offense. Go for it! In fact, think of the others who might read our dialogue and grow (or remember)... there's one thing about a safe place, there is another about a place of challenge. Would you say our world is safe as it is right now or is it challenging? Does a Spirit Being have anything to lose jumping into the fray? Taking a risk? Let's go for it. Love Ya Arrowwind. Chester

[another bob]

I learned several things. First, if push comes to shove, I pity the person that wants to have at it. Second, I respect the fear, if and when it arises. But I also know it’s not the driver of this vehicle. Lastly, when one’s energy is raised, it goes out for all to read whether they are aware of it or not. It says, “Don’t mess.” Which also demonstrates my philosophy, “The Strong walk away for there’s no need to prove a thing.”

Peace,
WhiteCrowBlackDeer

Thanks Paula, really clear insights you came to!

Blessings!

[Fred Steeves]

Anyways... not hoping to start trouble in this awesome thread but, well... if I can't be a hitman with a gun, perhaps I became one with a keyboard?

Love to ALL - Chester

Somehow it feels like you just took a paintbrush and smeared MY canvas. Oh well. All in a day on Avelon.
Love to All - Arrow


I honestly give you permission to smear or revise or convert or alter or append anything I write in this thread. Would take no offense. Go for it! In fact, think of the others who might read our dialogue and grow (or remember)

I see nothing positive what so ever in where you are going with this Chester.

[Chester]

Anyways... not hoping to start trouble in this awesome thread but, well... if I can't be a hitman with a gun, perhaps I became one with a keyboard?

Love to ALL - Chester

Somehow it feels like you just took a paintbrush and smeared MY canvas. Oh well. All in a day on Avelon.
Love to All - Arrow


I honestly give you permission to smear or revise or convert or alter or append anything I write in this thread. Would take no offense. Go for it! In fact, think of the others who might read our dialogue and grow (or remember)

I see nothing positive what so ever in where you are going with this Chester.

understood

[Fred Steeves]

I was once backed up against the wall with my ex strangling me and I thought I was going to die. I grabbed the nearest thing to me, which happened to be my guitar. I repeatedly hit him with it across the head and face and even when he was down I still kept hitting him. I could have beat him to death but I chose not to. I broke my guitar, it had a huge crack in it. :-S

So what would be a reason for not stopping pugwash, as you and I did in that last moment of truth? For me I think it would be along the lines of Nancy's excerpt from her husband's early experience in Vietnam, which earned him the name Blackheart.

If I ever came home one day, found my wife raped and brutally murdered, and also found evidence left behind as to who did it, game on. In all calmness I would put my .45 in my waistband, go to the person's house, walk right in, put the gun to their head, and pull the trigger. Then I would lay the gun down, call 911 explaining briefly what had happened, go out to the driveway, sit down, and wait.

Whatever, if any penalty that would have to be paid later on down the road, this life or next, so be it. I'll take the hit, and face what comes. It would not be a temporary moment of insanity as a lawyer would argue, it would be a straight forward, thought out killing of a fellow human being. I would even wish the person well in their future endeavors, but their current endeavors would have already come to a screeching halt this go around..

Maybe it's just me, but I think it's good to know approximately where we stand with ourselves in these regards. Know Thyself.

Cheers,
Fred

[Mitzvah]

“It’s … recognizing that the whole issue of a self, personal or absolute, is a fantasy. Both the self and the Self are interpretations upon perception, and nothing more. And when the interpretation ends, thought ends. When all identity collapses, you abide in the unknown. There is no tendency left to fixate identity anywhere – even in a universal somewhere. So you are left resting in the mystery as the mystery. It is only then that you can be truly and absolutely free of all concerns.”

~ Adya


At nineteen I killed myself with an overdose of a drug, an anti-depressant called “Sinequan.” It had been prescribed for severe depression and suicidal tendencies, (prior cuttings and self-poisonings) .

I was staying in a seedy Sacramento motel, broke and ill and ready to give up. Having bought the apple juice, the kind that comes in a little apple-shaped bottle, and having acquired the pills, along with the sadness to end it all, I swallowed them, 100 – All.

One of the staff, a maid, came around to clean the room, saw the “Do Not Disturb” sign, heard sounds that were not right to her, so she entered the room with her master key. She found me and found me barely responsive and obviously in dire straits. An ambulance was called. I was hauled to the hospital and not in the nick of time, either.

I died.

On the ride to the hospital I recall that my body suffered the most agonizing indescribable contractions and spasms that a human could possibly fathom or endure. The body was obviously reacting adversely to the poisoning. Upon reaching the hospital, I lost consciousness entirely and awakened in the ICU. It was three days later.

I recalled immediately the experience of “dying” and what had “happened” while dead. There was the dark tunnel, accompanied with an incredible sense of speed, of traveling upward, outward, directions unknown, everywhere, somewhere ... all experienced as something indescribable in terms known to our human senses. A light world, endless, was “entered” into, and it seemed to be what I was always immersed in while this was happening. No me in form, no name even, just an I-ness, just my self that heard a “Voice” speaking to my “me-ness” of “hearing and listening.” Mind to mind. There was no conversation in the conventional sense.

The Voice said it was not my time, and said it amidst a Love energy, a compelling complete inconceivable Love that is totally unavailable for comparison to anything prior, or since. I was told that I had much more work to do in this lifetime, and that I would meet someone who would guide me and help me throughout my life. That came to pass within weeks of my return from death.

[another bob]

The Voice said it was not my time, and said it amidst a Love energy, a compelling complete inconceivable Love that is totally unavailable for comparison to anything prior, or since.

Certainly puts this human life in perspective, doesn't it?

Thank you so much for sharing your death and re-birth!

:hug:

[PurpleLama]

I want to say thanks, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to all my friends and acquaintances who have participated in this thread thus far. I will find the time and energy to contribute soon, myself.

[another bob]

I want to say thanks, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to all my friends and acquaintances who have participated in this thread thus far. I will find the time and energy to contribute soon, myself.

Brother, I was hoping to see you here, so Bows from the heart for showing up to join in!


:yo:

[Fred Steeves]

Hi Mitzvah, I'm very happy to meet your aquaintance here! Thank you very much for your sharing, and your unique perspective. All else I can think of is that you sound like quite a lady. Looking forward to getting to know you better, maybe even a Skype chat would be cool.

Cheers,
Fred

[Cartomancer]

When ever I get torked at someone I always think what would Maximus do?...............................(caution adult themes and gore).

FI1ylg4GKv8

[Sebastion]

Just thought I would tell the one real life war story that had a dramatic effect upon me for many years to come.

I was a supervisor at Ford at the time and most days were tough to get through, especially on dayshift. I had an electrical repairman who would invariably tell me and others "its a wonderful day to be alive ain't it". Usually I would just acknowledge that and go on. One day when I was particularly annoyed with events around me, I stopped to see his repair tally for my area. He walked up and again said his "wonderful day" thing. Since I wasn't aware of anything wonderful at all at that moment, I finally asked him "Sid, what on earth makes you think that this is a wonderful day?"

His face got serious and he said this: When I was in Viet Nam, we were out on patrol one day. We were out too far and started back to base camp. When it got too dark, we decided to spend the night in a rice paddy. So they climbed into their sleeping bags and went to sleep. The next morning, Sid woke up and found all but one of the rest of the patrol had had their throats slit while they slept. Sid and one other soldier had been missed. The two of them made their way back to base camp without incident. The soldier who had survived with Sid went insane shortly afterwards. He then said "now you know why everyday I wake up it's a wonderful day."

That story indeed helped me immensely in many ways and perspectives. I now pass it forward.......

[another bob]

That story indeed helped me immensely in many ways and perspectives. I now pass it forward.......


Thank you, Brother!

It is all about one's angle of vision, isn't it. When we start to get the "Big Picture", we tend not to "sweat the small stuff".

[Mitzvah]

Hi Mitzvah, I'm very happy to meet your aquaintance here! Thank you very much for your sharing, and your unique perspective. All else I can think of is that you sound like quite a lady. Looking forward to getting to know you better, maybe even a Skype chat would be cool.

Cheers,
Fred


Greetings, Fred! It's great to be here. I really appreciate the open sharing that's happening here amongst everyone. There's so much to learn from everyone, and with everyone who've been sharing so intimately, so forthrightly. Thanks for your warm welcome, Fred.

[Ron Mauer Sr]

I am so very thankful that the beast within me has not been awakened in this lifetime.

[mosquito]

I have a lump in my throat after reading so many soul-baring stories. I just want to share with you all one of my favourite verses from "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran, it's on self-knowledge (my italics)

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.
And he answered saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

Blessing to all, Philip

[Dennis Leahy]

(not for the squeamish)

I had caught a few rattlesnakes before, but never one this big. It was a Western Red Diamondback (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crotalus_atrox), a bit more than five feet long (the longest I had ever seen), but it was the girth that was really impressive. The head was not quite as big as my fist, but the neck was as big as my wrist, and most of the body was bigger than my forearm. I had absolutely no business holding that snake.

It's crime? It was crossing the dirt road in front of my little truck, in the high desert in Southern California.

This species is not the deadliest in North America, and I knew that, but still a single bite from this snake, a couple of hours away from a hospital, would have probably meant necrotic tissue (muscle) would have to be removed from the bite site. There must have been an immense amount of adrenaline flowing through me, because I could feel myself involuntarily jerk and twitch. A few minutes later, I would be remorseful that I had made the decision to catch the snake. It was, by far, the largest rattlesnake I had ever seen in the wild, and I decided I just had to catch it. I don't really remember what I used, but probably found a stick to use with my right hand, holding the snake's head while I grabbed it's neck with my left hand.

One second later, it had wrapped its powerful body around my left arm, and was using its constricting muscles to pull it's head out of my grip. I knew I had made a mistake. I could barely hold the snake's head from pulling out of my grip. There was no adjusting my grip, and the snake had already gotten its head so far up my arm that I barely had it.

I had caught maybe a half dozen rattlesnakes before, and had always been able to release them without getting bit or injuring the snake. This would prove to be a different story. I had an ugly, panicky feeling that I was going to get bit - possibly multiple times - if this snake pulled backwards another half-inch. I didn't lose control of myself completely, but I'd have to say that I then panicked. In retrospect, I don't remember if I even tried to unwind the snake from my arm (as would have been a normal procedure), or if I just assumed I could not successfully get it off of my arm... so, I started quickly looking in the open bed of my little pickup truck for something to kill the snake with.

I found some aviation snips, and...

(yeah, this is gross)


...cut off it's head. Well, I sort of cut off its head. Aviation snips are meant to cut sheet metal, and were not big enough to cut the head off with one snip. As I cut through the snake, of course it sent a spasm through the entire animal and squeezed and pulled with all its might. But the head was not completely cut off. Now the head, still connected to its body by some of its muscle and skin dropped down and swung like a pendulum beneath my wrist. My grip was gone. The snake's mouth was wide open, fangs fully exposed, and its jaw muscles were reflexively, repeatedly spasming,trying to bite even in death. I jerked my arm and nearly got bitten, and then had to cut the final snip, to drop the head.

You know, I have thought about this story multiple times over the years, but have never written it down before, and my stomach is knotted and my neck hurts, and I have a mild headache and dizziness - just in reliving the details of the story.

I took the snake the rest of the journey down the dirt road to my friend's trailer at a mining site. I skinned it and we ate the meat. We had rattlesnake tacos.

My friend knew how to preserve the skin, and I scraped the inside, put salt on it, stretched it out, and let it dry. I kept it for a number of years, always intending to "honor it" (my thoughts) by at least using the skin. I had planned to make it intro a guitar strap. Every so often I would get the skin out and look at it, but never wanted to make anything with it. I really did not want to use it as a guitar strap. What an indignant end to a magnificent animal, I remember thinking. Finally, one day I decided to bury the skin.

Other than biting insects (like mosquitoes), that was the last animal I ever killed. That was 1975, and I have been vegetarian since. It was actually out-of-character for me to have killed that snake. I have caught and released hundreds of snakes, (in my childhood and adolescence) and that was the only snake I had ever killed.

I'm not really sure if this story belongs in this thread or not. It is probably a better story than the one where my coked-up "friend" put a .45 up to my face and told me to leave his house. (I left.) I was pretty sure he wouldn't shoot me, as I has just been in his wedding as a groomsman a couple of weeks before. Aaaah, cocaine psychosis.

Dennis

[another bob]

I'm not really sure if this story belongs in this thread or not.

It is a great story, Dennis, and Thank you for sharing it with us!

Remember Folks, this thread is called "Blank Canvas" because it's here for all to share whatever it is we want to bring up to inspect, or get out, or create. It's meant especially for talking about our direct experiences, and how they have affected us, challenged us, or illuminated us on our journey.
Also, if we can delve down a bit below the surface and get a sense for what our core drivers, our prime motivators are, for our actions in the midst of powerful or peak experiences, all the better. If somone just wants to put up a favorite tune, great, but maybe also tie it in with their life, how does their poem, song, or story relate to where they are now, for example, or where they were at the time it most profoundly impacted them. Did it tie in with a first, lost love, and what was that like then, and what is it like now? That kind of thing I think would be appreciated, the stuff that makes us who we are, however we may be. It's all good, and this thread is offering the blank canvas for that expression. God loves a good story, and we are not separate from God. Enjoy!

[Jenci]

Jesus, I've just reread my post and it's affected me quite deeply. I still have so much energy locked into that time, I thought I'd dealt with it all, obvioulsy not......



I am glad you shared it with us. :)


Jeanette

[Jenci]

Took me much longer to get to the root cause of the codependancy which had always led me into needy, clingy relationships.

Thanks Jeanette!

What did you find when you got to the root?



I was going to reply and say “absolutely nothing” which is true in an absolute sense but I think that it may be worth fleshing out a bit as to what was discovered on the way to that.

The root was “Don’t reject me !!”

Really that is what is at the core of every single relationship I had and I don’t just mean relationships with men, I mean friends too, family and anyone I met really.

All my behaviour was driven by dependency and co-dependency.

My sense of self was built on what other people thought of me and I judged that people were either accepting me or rejecting me, there was never anything in between. If they were accepting me I was OK but if they were rejecting me, then it just confirmed what I knew deep inside that I was nothing and it devastated me.

None of the psychological techniques that I tried ever dealt with this sense of feeling like nothing and feeling like something was very wrong. I could look in the mirror and tell myself that I was OK, that I was beautiful, that I loved me and before I even looked away, that voice inside me said “You fat, ugly, f****** bitch, no wonder no one wants you”

So I went through life seeking acceptance and approval and love. It made me engage in all sort of unhealthy and destructive behaviours. I was the ‘doormat’, I was over apologetic, I would beg for forgiveness, I was the follower, I would do anything to people-please, I would put my life on hold while I waited for other people.........

Rejection didn't just manifest in the obvious ways like being cheated on but also in everyday situations. If I was with someone and they picked up their phone and began texting someone else or they turned away and began looking at something else going on, I was being rejected and it hurt right to the core of my being.

Of course at the time I didn't know why it was hurting, all I knew was that I had to do something to fix the pain and like an addict I went after the fix; anything just to stop the hurting even though in the long term it was much more destructive to me.

Discovering what was at the root of my behaviours took a lot of digging and pulling back layers. When something like this is driving a person at the core, a lot of the reaction to it is automatic. As I went digging into this, I brought all of it into greater awareness. In that awareness I would quite literally shift out of time and experience an event taking place in slow motion. I would watch someone do something and I would see and feel an instant contraction in my body as that need to avoid rejection would be triggered.

Before a thought would even arise, my body would automatically begin those habitual patterns of reacting. The thoughts would then begin in the mind which then just fed the process which had already begun automatically in the body.

Seeing it in slow motion I was able to unravel it back to its origin. Not believing the thoughts was not enough to stop the reactions though. It was like driving a car and taking your foot of the gas, the car still had some momentum. The body would still react in contraction as it was triggered.

Observing this process brought a new compassion for myself (and others) as I realised how very deep these issues lie within us and is no wonder that people get stuck with learned coping behaviours that many find that psychological help barely scratches the surface in dealing with it.

Looking at where I behaved in unhealthy ways to avoid rejection was easy but there was a much more insidious driver going on, hidden deeper. I always strived to behave in good, kind and thoughtful ways with other people but I was to discover these good deeds that I did were underpinned with exactly the same need not to be rejected.

In the AA Big Book there is a line on p61 which says “Is he really not a self-seeker even when trying to be kind?” I used this question as a tool to dig into this behaviour.

What I found was that even when I was being kind to people I was still seeking a sense of “self” out of the action. My sense of wellbeing was dependent on their reaction.

If I was out shopping and I held a door open for someone because I believed it was the right, kind thing to do, it would really piss me off if they didn’t say thank you. If I let a car out in front of me in traffic and they didn’t acknowledge what I had done, it would piss me off too. This type of thing really had the power to change my mood. I would tell myself it was because people were rude, ungrateful or just thoughtless but none of that was true.


What was really at the core of me being affected by other people’s behaviour was that I was being rejected and what was really driving my kindness to others was my need to not be rejected or to get a sense of self of being a needed person. I can’t say that looking at this aspect of myself was easy. Once I started to see it and became aware I saw the same motivation over and over again every time I did anything for anyone else.

I didn’t want to be self-seeking, I genuinely wanted to be kind, yet this driving force within me to avoid rejection was automatic. Seeing it for what it was, being totally honest with myself was really brutal. It sickened me to think that this is what I was doing but there was no more avoiding it anymore.

My dependency and co-dependency issues were based on rejection but not everyone’s manifests like this. During this process I went through of clearing out these habitual, automatic behaviours I was sent two people into my life that had exactly the opposite issues driving their dependency.

They couldn’t stand to have people need them and their sense of wellbeing was very much affected in that type of relationship. So I clung and they rejected. It was perfect for me and when you understand how this works at a soul level, you understand that there are no accidents in this coming together of people to create the ideal situation where buttons are pushed and behaviours triggered.

One of these people I was helping because they had asked me too. I was helping not just because they needed it but because I got a sense of self in being needed because it meant I was not being rejected. Over and over again they rejected me because they couldn’t bear me getting close to them. We danced this dance for quite some time and it did exactly what it needed to do for both of us.....perfect.

Anytime we derive our sense of self and wellbeing from another person or another object we will be affected by them when things change or we don’t get what we need. We literally give other people and things power - they have the power to change and control us - we will be OK if we are getting what we need from them or not OK if we are not.

The ultimate truth is we are never lacking and we don’t need to seek any sense of self anywhere outside of ourselves and the moment we do, we are not behaving in alignment with the truth and therefore the consequences are inevitable.

So why do we give the power to define what we are to other people and things? Because looking truly and deeply into what we are is painful and not easy, although worth it. When habitual and automatic responses and reactions are removed, only freedom remains.

Of course I am just making a summary here and there was a lot more to this process. Although avoidance of rejection was at the root of my issues there were other facets which were revealed in the unravelling process.

One of these was that in certain situations I would quite literally run away from people as far as I could get which seems on the surface to be strange considering it was important for me to be wanted but needing to be the victim was also a very important driver within me and the claim of “look at what they have done to me!” was a common theme through my life.


Jeanette

[Jenci]

If I ever came home one day, found my wife raped and brutally murdered, and also found evidence left behind as to who did it, game on. In all calmness I would put my .45 in my waistband, go to the person's house, walk right in, put the gun to their head, and pull the trigger. Then I would lay the gun down, call 911 explaining briefly what had happened, go out to the driveway, sit down, and wait.

How do you know what you would do Fred?

What if you were in that type of situation and you felt an overwhelming feeling of compassion for the person who had to take a life in such an horrendous way?

If you say you know now how you would react in that type of situation, how could your Higher Self guide you in the moment? Would you push aside the intuition to follow what had been thought about prior to the event?

I'm not suggesting that our HS would always stop us being violent because I don't believe that is the case. A situation may arise where it is necessary. Personally all I can say is that I don't know what I would do in that type of situation. I am a blank canvas in that sense for right action to take place but if it did mean that I ended up in prison then that is something I would accept too.


Jeanette

[Jenci]

“It’s … recognizing that the whole issue of a self, personal or absolute, is a fantasy. Both the self and the Self are interpretations upon perception, and nothing more. And when the interpretation ends, thought ends. When all identity collapses, you abide in the unknown. There is no tendency left to fixate identity anywhere – even in a universal somewhere. So you are left resting in the mystery as the mystery. It is only then that you can be truly and absolutely free of all concerns.”

~ Adya


At nineteen I killed myself with an overdose of a drug, an anti-depressant called “Sinequan.” It had been prescribed for severe depression and suicidal tendencies, (prior cuttings and self-poisonings) .

I was staying in a seedy Sacramento motel, broke and ill and ready to give up. Having bought the apple juice, the kind that comes in a little apple-shaped bottle, and having acquired the pills, along with the sadness to end it all, I swallowed them, 100 – All.

One of the staff, a maid, came around to clean the room, saw the “Do Not Disturb” sign, heard sounds that were not right to her, so she entered the room with her master key. She found me and found me barely responsive and obviously in dire straits. An ambulance was called. I was hauled to the hospital and not in the nick of time, either.

I died.

On the ride to the hospital I recall that my body suffered the most agonizing indescribable contractions and spasms that a human could possibly fathom or endure. The body was obviously reacting adversely to the poisoning. Upon reaching the hospital, I lost consciousness entirely and awakened in the ICU. It was three days later.

I recalled immediately the experience of “dying” and what had “happened” while dead. There was the dark tunnel, accompanied with an incredible sense of speed, of traveling upward, outward, directions unknown, everywhere, somewhere ... all experienced as something indescribable in terms known to our human senses. A light world, endless, was “entered” into, and it seemed to be what I was always immersed in while this was happening. No me in form, no name even, just an I-ness, just my self that heard a “Voice” speaking to my “me-ness” of “hearing and listening.” Mind to mind. There was no conversation in the conventional sense.

The Voice said it was not my time, and said it amidst a Love energy, a compelling complete inconceivable Love that is totally unavailable for comparison to anything prior, or since. I was told that I had much more work to do in this lifetime, and that I would meet someone who would guide me and help me throughout my life. That came to pass within weeks of my return from death.


Obviously you were meant to be here, Mitzvah. :) Thanks for sharing your near death experience.


This happened when you were fairly young, did you ever have thoughts of suicide again?

Jeanette

[PurpleLama]

I will share an experience I had that was one of those that demonstrates to the one having it that things are not as they seem.  There is a bit of back story that I will save for later, focusing on on particular day, for now.  

It so happened, the first time I visited the home of my good buddy, whom I always refer to on the forum as "John the Baptist".  I'd taken along with me a half of a box of wine (yeah, the really cheap stuff, we called it the "kool-aid of wine").  

Upon arriving, I felt a strong sense of homecoming, never been here before physically, but I'd dreamed of the area before.  Setting foot in his yard, feeling like home, not knowing I'd be living there within the month.  

This was early May, 2001.  Well, the first order of business, put the wine in the refrigerator.  Then "John" and my old friend Dylan proceeded to show me around the place, first around the property outside, then all through the house, ending up in the "library" where "John" kept all his books and crystals and various objects of (funk) value.  

Finished with the tour, Dylan and I decided to get into the wine.  "John's" spouse had recently purchased a set of dishes with four place settings, and with these came four over sized coffee mugs, and we grabbed two of these and proceeded to fill 'em up.  I took one small sip as I walked across the living room and sat on one of the couches, and as soon as my butt hit the cushion, the front door opens.  Two of our friends came walking in the door, and one of them walks straight over to where I am seated, and shakes my hand, hey howyadoin, and when we finish our greetings I look down and realize my hands are empty.  

The nearest table is about four feet away, and the couch had no place to set the mug down, it's not on the floor, it's no where to be found.  A mug full of wine is just gone.  Poof.  

At this time, my friend's wife was out of state getting custody of her oldest son, and upon her return we were all interrogated repeatedly on the fate of said coffee mug.  She was really convinced that I had broken it, as I was the one with the bullsh!t story about what happened to it. 

A few more months go by, it's late August, and we are at my friend's shop where he used to build ultra light aircraft, which is maybe a 1/2 mile distance from the house, as the crow flies, but about 1 1/2 miles if you follow along the road.  I am inside the shop, and I hear my friend yelling my name, rather excitedly, which is out of character for him, so I think he's been bitten by a snake, or something, so I high tail it on out there.  

Behind the shop are several old broken down vehicles, one of which is an old mercedes.  The weeds right next to it are a little taller than the car itself, going out about a foot from it, which is how far away from it the bush hog (a mowing apparatus on the back of a tractor) would run.  

My friend is laughing, and says "go look in the back window of the mercedes" and lo and behold, laying on it's side in that back window is the now infamous missing mug.  It takes both of us to pry open the door just wide enough for me to wiggle my skinny butt up into the car to retrieve the mug from the window.  In the bottom of the mug was a red ring, where the last few drops of wine had dried prior to the mug being deposited there, where we would be sure to find it eventually.

I've have had many unexplainable things occur in my personal reality, but this one series of events is probably my most favorite.  

[Fred Steeves]

If I ever came home one day, found my wife raped and brutally murdered, and also found evidence left behind as to who did it, game on. In all calmness I would put my .45 in my waistband, go to the person's house, walk right in, put the gun to their head, and pull the trigger. Then I would lay the gun down, call 911 explaining briefly what had happened, go out to the driveway, sit down, and wait.


How do you know what you would do Fred?

What if you were in that type of situation and you felt an overwhelming feeling of compassion for the person who had to take a life in such an horrendous way?

Well Jenci, I would feel compassion for the both of us actually. The way I reckon it anyway, there are just certain things that are not to be done to other people, and if you do anyway, there is likely to be a consequence. Just like if I decide to become a thief, and am breaking into people's houses, there will always be the possible consequence that I may get shot while doing so.


If you say you know now how you would react in that type of situation, how could
your Higher Self guide you in the moment? Would you push aside the intuition to
follow what had been thought about prior to the event?

Fair question, I don't know.




I'm not suggesting that our HS would always stop us being violent because I
don't believe that is the case. A situation may arise where it is necessary.
Personally all I can say is that I don't know what I would do in that type of
situation. I am a blank canvas in that sense for right action to take place but
if it did mean that I ended up in prison then that is something I would accept
too.


There seems to be a common theme developing here, that there is that one final look in someone's eyes, which offers us one last chance to consider our present action. Certainly there exists the possibility that the trigger might not be pulled. All things are possible, but that outcome would have to depend on a much higher version of Fred stepping forward, than the one who is writing these words.

Cheers http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif

[PurpleLama]

Only once have I ever been tempted to extreme violence, on the night I caught my ex-wife with her art teacher, with whom she'd been having an affair. My HS did intervene, I think, as I was led in an instant across a field of probabilities, witnessing in detail all the potential circumstances that would possibly arise if I went through with my intent to show him why it's a very bad idea to go messing around with another man's wife. It all happened in a flash, his deer in headlights expression had not changed, and I simply turned around and got back in my car and went back to her mother's house. Since then, I would fully trust myself to carry a gun, and like Fred, I wouldn't have any problem using it for the, shall we say, right reasons, and not for those wrong reasons, the fits of passion, as it were.

[RunningDeer]

Ending of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

mCVdVocHe18

I've posted this before but for those that haven't seen it paints a clearer picture of what the vid represents.

I am 2nd oldest of 8 kids. I took on a lot of responsibility, and protected my siblings. But I chose to make a healthy life decision:

I moved out the day before my 18th birthday with a brown paper bag filled with my clothes and a couple of books. I hitch hiked to the next state over. Within a couple of weeks, I became the sole tenant of my sister’s apartment. It was enough time to find a job working third shift in a rubber mill. I registered for my last year of high school and settled into a brand new life.

No car, no license meant a lot of running home from school to catch some sleep before my 3rd shift job. Zip home for a shower and zip off to school. A couple of months into the job, I got laid off. I swallowed my pride and asked my Mom if I could borrow $100, and I’d pay her back $10 a week as soon as I found another job.

The employment agency sent me to a textile mill for an interview. As soon as the boss found out that I was still in high school, he said no. I told him that if given the chance I’d work for free for two weeks to show him how hard a worker I was. That Friday, I got my first paycheck of $54.

$54 dollars - $30 weekly rent - $10 Mom’s loan = $14 net for groceries and lunch money, and laundry mat, and the occasional “Drake's: Frosted Peanut Butter Creme Funny Bones”.

I was a millionaire.

Over time, I managed to save $100 and went to the dentist down the street. Dr. Lupien was his name. Mrs. Lupien, his wife, was the kind receptionist. I explained to her that I saved up $100 dollars, and would like to make an appointment for $100 worth of work. I was there for at least several hours. Yippie for my one and only experience with gas. As an 18 year old, I had no idea of cost. But I knew they, along with others, were some mighty Angels, I’ve met along the way. I am grateful for All.

I am a millionaire.

What I was back then, I didn’t have the words, or awareness. I was just someone that on some level knew life worked in the direction one sets for herself. No question. No doubt.


http://avalonlibrary.net/paula/Foods/funnybones.JPG

[Jenci]

The nearest table is about four feet away, and the couch had no place to set the mug down, it's not on the floor, it's no where to be found.  A mug full of wine is just gone.  Poof.  

 


Nothing strange about that, it used to happen to me all the time.

Sorry, couldn't resist the alcoholic joke. :laugh:

Very strange story, Purple Lama, thanks for posting and I don't doubt that have quite a few of these tales to tell.
Jeanette

[HURRITT ENYETO]

This is another story from my youth LOL (I wasn't going to post this as I've already related one dark experience on this thread, and i don't want to drag it down LOL but I was encouraged to do so, so here ya go) :p

When I was younger, about 19 probably, I had a close friend nicknamed 'Bellie' he was older than me, a mechanic. He had just bought an Astra GTE car (which at the time was a cool car LOL) and as he was a mechanic, he had suped it up even further. It was very fast. Anyhow,one day I was walking down to his house as I knew he had put his new base tubes and audio stuff in, and wanted to see how it had gone. I got to his house, and the car wasn't in the drive, but I knew his girlfriend too, and so knocked on the door anyway, no answer.

So I left and started back on my way home, I got about half way home, and a car screeched up beside me, it was Bellie, and another lad whom i didn't know, was sat in the passenger seat, i told him i had been looking for him etc and he said he had been out with his mate, taking him for a spin showing off his car. He said 'get in then'.........I had been looking for him for precisely this reason, but a voice inside my head said 'NO'.....I said, nah I'll catch up with you later mate, I have to go home, he said 'come on man get in the car' I said no, im going home, they were taunting me etc to get in the car, (by this time it was getting uncomfortable, I had been in the car many times, i had no reason not to get in the car) but for some reason, i steadfastly refused.

In the end they said 'ok, give me a knock later then' I said no worries, and they accelerated away very quickly. I went on my way home wondering why the hell i had just done that? I didn't want to go home, i had been in all day, and that's why i went out to Bellie's house in the first place? I half regretted not getting in the car.

I went to my best friends house instead as it was on my way home. For whatever reason, i never ended up going back to Bellies house later that night as he had asked, but the next day i called round.
His girlfriend whom he shared the house with answered the door, she was crying her eyes out and looked aweful, I said 'whats up'.........Bellie's dead she screamed, collapsing in the door way. I didnt know what to do, but i tried to comfort her the best i could, I was devastated, he was one of my buddies, but here was his girlfriend, the mother of his 5 year old daughter, in peices. Eventually i got a coherant picture of what had happened. Straight after i had saw them, they went to some country lanes quite a way away, where Bellie had grown up. They had crashed head on at very high speed into a tree.

Bellie died instantly, and his friend was on life support in a bad way, he died the next day. On the way to the funeral, (he was being buried in his home town) we drove past the tree they had crashed in to (which i will never understand why we went on that route, i thought it incredibly callous) they had impacted the tree with such velocity, that shards of the windscreen were still embedded for all to see in the tree trunk.

I carried his coffin that day, and put him in the ground. I still think about him, and wonder if he's looking down on me, and probably laughing :)
I will never know why I didn't get in that car that day, But if i had, i wouldn't be here writing this now.
Who knows, maybe i had someone looking down on me that day.




Hurritt

[Fred Steeves]

Yeah, someone who goes through what Paula went through with Michael's death, and manages to pop out the other side in one piece, has my utmost respect. By the time I was in my mid twenties, I was getting a fairly good idea of the kind of person I might confide something in, or ask advice of, and it was just such a person as Paula. If I'm going through some s**t, and need to talk to someone about it, I want it to be someone who's been there themselves, in the s**t. Not some youngun who may have just framed their psychology degree and hung it on the office wall, or fresh out of some place like The Moody Bible Institute.

No, I want to be able to look in their eyes, and "see" that they know of what they speak, up close and personal like.

Paula, you're a beautiful and powerful soul, thank you! http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif
Fred

[CdnSirian]

Yeah, someone who goes through what Paula went through with Michael's death, and manages to pop out the other side in one piece, has my utmost respect. By the time I was in my mid twenties, I was getting a fairly good idea of the kind of person I might confide something in, or ask advice of, and it was just such a person as Paula. If I'm going through some s**t, and need to talk to someone about it, I want it to be someone who's been there themselves, in the s**t. Not some youngun who may have just framed their psychology degree and hung it on the office wall, or fresh out of some place like The Moody Bible Institute.

No, I want to be able to look in their eyes, and "see" that they know of what they speak, up close and personal like.

Paula, you're a beautiful and powerful soul, thank you! http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif
Fred

Ditto.

This thread is amazing. I have just finished reading it all....my bad habit is getting absorbed and not thanking as I go, except maybe a couple. But, belatedly, equal and deep felt thanks to all above.

Jenci, I understand your experience. I'm not yet good at writing about my own.

[PurpleLama]

Love me some Paula.

[Mitzvah]

“It’s … recognizing that the whole issue of a self, personal or absolute, is a fantasy. Both the self and the Self are interpretations upon perception, and nothing more. And when the interpretation ends, thought ends. When all identity collapses, you abide in the unknown. There is no tendency left to fixate identity anywhere – even in a universal somewhere. So you are left resting in the mystery as the mystery. It is only then that you can be truly and absolutely free of all concerns.”

~ Adya


At nineteen I killed myself with an overdose of a drug, an anti-depressant called “Sinequan.” It had been prescribed for severe depression and suicidal tendencies, (prior cuttings and self-poisonings) .

I was staying in a seedy Sacramento motel, broke and ill and ready to give up. Having bought the apple juice, the kind that comes in a little apple-shaped bottle, and having acquired the pills, along with the sadness to end it all, I swallowed them, 100 – All.

One of the staff, a maid, came around to clean the room, saw the “Do Not Disturb” sign, heard sounds that were not right to her, so she entered the room with her master key. She found me and found me barely responsive and obviously in dire straits. An ambulance was called. I was hauled to the hospital and not in the nick of time, either.

I died.

On the ride to the hospital I recall that my body suffered the most agonizing indescribable contractions and spasms that a human could possibly fathom or endure. The body was obviously reacting adversely to the poisoning. Upon reaching the hospital, I lost consciousness entirely and awakened in the ICU. It was three days later.

I recalled immediately the experience of “dying” and what had “happened” while dead. There was the dark tunnel, accompanied with an incredible sense of speed, of traveling upward, outward, directions unknown, everywhere, somewhere ... all experienced as something indescribable in terms known to our human senses. A light world, endless, was “entered” into, and it seemed to be what I was always immersed in while this was happening. No me in form, no name even, just an I-ness, just my self that heard a “Voice” speaking to my “me-ness” of “hearing and listening.” Mind to mind. There was no conversation in the conventional sense.

The Voice said it was not my time, and said it amidst a Love energy, a compelling complete inconceivable Love that is totally unavailable for comparison to anything prior, or since. I was told that I had much more work to do in this lifetime, and that I would meet someone who would guide me and help me throughout my life. That came to pass within weeks of my return from death.


Obviously you were meant to be here, Mitzvah. :) Thanks for sharing your near death experience.


This happened when you were fairly young, did you ever have thoughts of suicide again?

Jeanette

Unfortunately, yes, I did have thoughts of suicide, and attempts were made several more times. The times that followed the first suicide attempt, they were all more a 'cry for help,' a deadly dangerous cry for help, but I didn't actually want to die those times. I realized even then that I just wanted help, wanted it to be noticed and acted upon that I was in pain and suffering so greatly. I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves. Realizing that I didn't want to truly really die, I did for a time, become a 'cutter.' We've come so far, haven't we, in our journey here on this earth.

[1inMany]

Wow, Fred, what an awesome thread! Thank you all for sharing so much. Maybe I can put together a coherent share or two ;) Will when I can, but until then, really enjoying this!

Much Love,

[RunningDeer]

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Wilderness%20and%20Space/unity.gif

[another bob]

Anytime we derive our sense of self and wellbeing from another person or another object we will be affected by them when things change or we don’t get what we need. We literally give other people and things power - they have the power to change and control us - we will be OK if we are getting what we need from them or not OK if we are not.

The ultimate truth is we are never lacking and we don’t need to seek any sense of self anywhere outside of ourselves and the moment we do, we are not behaving in alignment with the truth and therefore the consequences are inevitable.


You have given us more than I could have hoped, in this answer, Jen! Thank you so much for digging so deeply into the primal motivation, there is much to ponder for each of us in this, and you laid it out simply but eloquently. That you came to such recognition and self-knowledge is a testament to your courage and persistence. The kind of inquiry you pursued is really the only antidote to the self-delusion, the contraction at the core, or root.

The Game of Rejection is pervasive, implicating just about all of us. I wrote a bit about it

http://projectavalon.net/forum4/showthread.php?49637-The-Game-of-Rejection

but you have really put flesh on those conceptual bones, and I am really grateful that you took the time and effort to share your journey to self-knowledge here with all of us. A true service!

Bless you, Sister!

[Fred Steeves]

I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves.

Having never had the first suicidal thought, hopefully I'n not speaking out of place here. But, from what I have gathered over the years, people who are truly suicidal don't generally talk or brag about it, they just do it.

I had a (former, long story) friend who for years on end would start blabbing after a few drinks, about how miserable his entire existance has been, from the very get go, and how he's just waiting for the right time, or the right excuse, to finally off himself. I had really gotten tired of hearing this over time, and then one night he and his wife were over for the evening and dinner.

In he starts: "Oh poor me, I'm just gonna end it all one of these days soon, and have this poor miserable life over with once and for all". "That's it" I thought to myself. "Enough!". I went and unzipped the old pistola from it's pouch, handed it to him, and demanded: "Here, let me help you. Go out in the back yard and f*****g do it then, I'm sick of hearing your poor me suicide bulls**t!"

Make no mistake. This is by no means how I would ordinarily handle that type of situation, but I felt I knew the man well enough, and that this might just make him think about what he's saying a bit more consciously.

He became very sheepish, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He quickly handed the gun back to me, changed the subject, and I never heard him mention suicide again.

[sleepy]

Thank You

Thank you to everyone for these beautifully sorrowful stories. I have read every one and I think you are all so very brave to bare your souls.

I don’t have a story, well I have many stories but I am not as brave as all of you. Maybe I will find some courage and share. I am just not there yet. I hope that is o.k.

Since this is the blank canvas thread I want to share the reason I don’t use the “Thank you” button that often. I don’t like it. I believe that I have seen it being abused. People use it to admonish posters, or pick a side if you will, when there is turmoil. There are often, as we have all seen, perceived or real slights, call outs, and disagreements on the forum and I have seen the “thank you” button used to pick a side. I feel like it used to say, Thanks for telling that poster they just don’t get it. This has actually been done to me in a post when I had no bad intentions whatsoever and said absolutely nothing derogatory to anyone. And if it wasn’t enough that someone called me out on what they perceived to be wrong, along comes the thank you brigade. I find it used as a tool to divide. If something moves me, like this thread, it really has moved me; I feel the need to take a moment and properly thank you for it. So thank you.

Thank you to me is an expression of gratitude. I don’t believe it should be used to divide, pick a side, admonish, or as a popularity contest. These of course are my humble opinions but it felt safe to share them here and I do thank you all for your posts from the bottom of my heart.

Thank you for reading.

sleepy

[another bob]

I will share an experience I had that was one of those that demonstrates to the one having it that things are not as they seem.....I've have had many unexplainable things occur in my personal reality, but this one series of events is probably my most favorite.  

Whoah, Brother -- that's a doozy! I've had a few of those, and the only conclusion I've come to is that it's the Mystery reminding us that, just behind our fabricated certainty, lies the vast Unknown, the Mystery itself, from which we've emerged, in which we inhere, and to which we return, and sometimes, it just likes to play with us overtly, to shake our smug sense of "reality", and remind us of what's really What.

There's a thread in the archives here that details some other strage experiences:

http://projectavalon.net/forum4/showthread.php?43886-Your-Strangest-Experience


Thanks so much for sharing that story, PL!

Blessings!

[another bob]

What I was back then, I didn’t have the words, or awareness. I was just someone that on some level knew life worked in the direction one sets for herself. No question. No doubt.

Sound like your instincts were pure and true, Paula, and you followed them to a wonderful level of self-awareness! Thanks so much for that look at your early start!

Blessings!

[another bob]

I will never know why I didn't get in that car that day, But if i had, i wouldn't be here writing this now.
Who knows, maybe i had someone looking down on me that day.

My understanding is that we come here with an expiration date, and until that date comes up, we are here, regardless of how the world turns. We also have Guides, who are actively involved in our script, and who will step in as warranted, as happened on that day, Brother. When we hear of apparently miraculous survival tales, like the baby in a hurricane found alive, etc., we can recognize that it simply was not their expiration date yet. I can relate personally, having survived a car crash that should have killed me, but instead granted me a look behind the curtain, but that's for another story.

Thanks for sharing yours, my Friend!

Blessings!

[Fred Steeves]

I will never know why I didn't get in that car that day, But if i had, i wouldn't be here writing this now.
Who knows, maybe i had someone looking down on me that day.

My understanding is that we come here with an expiration date, and until that date comes up, we are here, regardless of how the world turns. We also have Guides, who are actively involved in our script, and who will step in as warranted, as happened on that day, Brother. When we hear of apparently miraculous survival tales, like the baby in a hurricane found alive, etc., we can recognize that it simply was not their expiration date yet. I can relate personally, having survived a car crash that should have killed me, but instead granted me a look behind the curtain, but that's for another story.

Thanks for sharing yours, my Friend!

Blessings!

That's for sure Bob. There's been 5 different times I should have been immediately dispatched out of this incarnation. And yet...



I'd like to hear about yours.http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif

[WhiteFeather]

Interesting Fred and thanks for sharing this with us. ButI have a question..... if i may. Did this experience change the way you may possibly face possible altercations/confrontations in the future. A learning curve perhaps. It did for me when i furiously punched my 21 year old daughter in the mouth and nearly knocking out her 2 front teeth after she taunted me for several hrs.. This is why i asked. Learning to control/cope with anger. And I think im learning it. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth.


Hi WhiteFeather, good question my friend. Yes, it did change the way I view altercations/confrontations. I have what I could call a leash on that part of myself now, like a dog, now that I know it's there. It's a happy dog, much prefers to mind it's own business just sniffing around, and is great with kids, But it's also got a purpose, it's a watch dog. On extremely rare occasion, it sees something that surpasses some invisible line on the acceptability scale, and it demands some extra leash. It won't attack anyone unless attacked, but when it bares it's teeth the message is crystal clear, "back off". It seems to work very well.

What happened with your daughter, are you two good? How would you handle that same situation today?

We understand and love one another unconditionally since this altercation. A lessen well learned for both parties. Thanks for asking Fred.

[another bob]

There's been 5 different times I should have been immediately dispatched out of this incarnation. And yet...

Would love to hear those stories, Fred! I have a few too, going back to the early days. In fact, I was told that I was a challenge right from the start. My mother had a problem with my delivery, and apparently I was not expected to live. She told me that all the medical staff considered me a miracle baby to have survived. She credited the positive outcome to some Catholic saint with whom she was on favorable terms at the time, and to whom she promised to swear off candy for life if he would intervene. Candy was her favorite treat, apparently, though I never saw her eat a piece, due to the deal she felt she had struck across the veil. Personally, I have never cared for sweets either, though Mazie has gradually got me to re-consider the benefits of fine home-made chocolate.

:yo:

[Lettherebelight]

Hi sleepy, I was going to click on the thank you button, but then thought...maybe not!

I connected with your heartfelt thanks to all that are bravely sharing experiences. painful as they are...we are all the richer for sharing them, because then we all share the lesson.

I am sure there are many in Avalon who also feel the same way, not ready to share openly about these life experiences. Please forgive me to be another such one, I have had painful life experiences too, but my moon in Scorpio makes it very difficult to open up in this way...

Nevertheless...I will press the thank you button for all those sharing, because in their telling I feel healed as well.
So echoing your thanks to everyone, sleepy, and thanking you, too.

[sleepy]

Lettherebelight,

I don't often use the thank you button but I do on occasion.;) Yes, in their telling I feel healed as well.

With gratitude,
sleepy

[PurpleLama]

That same night that the mug went missing, my friend and I rode in his car to go feed another friend's dogs, about a 45 minute drive and it was around midnight. We were talking about all the usual stuff, ufos, conspiracies, our weird awarenesses, and while he was making some serious point that I can't remember, and everything started getting fuzzy and buzzy, sort of like what happens when you stand up too fast. Everything goes black, then in the blackness I see these cat eyes flash, not kitty cat, big cat, an instant after the eyes flash in the darkness I see the black on black outline of the puma. The darkness fades, and in the midst of the fuzzy, buzzy return to the moment there in the car, this incredible feeling of joy overtakes me, so that my first action upon resuming control of the body is to bust up laughing, to which my friend seriously replies "You can laugh if you will, but..." and I cut off his gesture with my own, laughing and waving my hand, I explain to him what happened. Still very serious, he replies "we need to draw your totem when we get back. Long story short, we return and proceed to use his deck of medicine cards to draw my totem, and the last card you draw is the spirit guide on the left, the feminine guide and mine is Black Panther, which in the medicine means Mystery. He gifted me with his deck years later, and that very same card sits on the left on one of the altar spaces in the house.



I will share an experience I had that was one of those that demonstrates to the one having it that things are not as they seem.....I've have had many unexplainable things occur in my personal reality, but this one series of events is probably my most favorite.  

Whoah, Brother -- that's a doozy! I've had a few of those, and the only conclusion I've come to is that it's the Mystery reminding us that, just behind our fabricated certainty, lies the vast Unknown, the Mystery itself, from which we've emerged, in which we inhere, and to which we return, and sometimes, it just likes to play with us overtly, to shake our smug sense of "reality", and remind us of what's really What.

There's a thread in the archives here that details some other strage experiences:

http://projectavalon.net/forum4/showthread.php?43886-Your-Strangest-Experience


Thanks so much for sharing that story, PL!

Blessings!

[Jenci]

Jenci, I understand your experience. I'm not yet good at writing about my own.

Well I hope that you do write about your own when you feel ready.


Jeanette

[RunningDeer]

Unfortunately, yes, I did have thoughts of suicide, and attempts were made several more times. The times that followed the first suicide attempt, they were all more a 'cry for help,' a deadly dangerous cry for help, but I didn't actually want to die those times. I realized even then that I just wanted help, wanted it to be noticed and acted upon that I was in pain and suffering so greatly. I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves. Realizing that I didn't want to truly really die, I did for a time, become a 'cutter.' We've come so far, haven't we, in our journey here on this earth.

"I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves."

Hello Mitzvah,

I’ve experienced suicidal thoughts when my son passed. I had an elaborate plan with lots of fail-safes for it to be a success. It took months to figure it all out. Yet, I was aware there were two people talking; one mega-responsible, the other in pain.

So one last time, I dressed. The plan was a trip to my favorite book store and then end the pain. My ex-hubby happened to stop by to see how I was doing. Up to that point, I’d put on a cheery front. There was no point to pull anyone into the place I had taken up residence. Beside, it was too exhausting to go into it.

This time I was honest. I said, “I don’t think I’m going to make it. I had no labels, wife, mother; no feelings of a friend, or a sister.” Whatever words he said, the one’s in my head just drowned them out. I told him I loved him and kissed him good-bye. He asked where I was going. Bookstore.

One of my brothers happen to pop in the bookstore. He said my ex-hubby called him, and that my other brother and a sister were on their way. I was admitted into the hospital for a three day suicide watch, put on meds and I committed to long term counseling.

But for this last year, I had been experiencing something different. There was no need to be here any longer. Not a depression, just no purpose. Blank canvas of a different kind. There’s no concept in or beliefs of karma, or religion, or sense of duty to another. Only reason for staying was Wolfie, my dog. (as silly as that sounds, to some not)

So with that understanding, an inner knowing just came to be. There’s more. It’s birthing. Like Christmas morning, I like not knowing. I like the surprise of what comes up at the strangest times and the strangest discoveries. I’m like a kid again with full-on discovery of the journey. There’s great power and freedom in letting go of the control. Higher Self & 'the me'.

Thank you, Mitzvah, for creating the space for me to share this. I agree with Jeanette, “Obviously you were meant to be here.”

Peace,
Paula

[PurpleLama]

I'll recount my own experiences with suicide at some point, as well. To much to type, at the moment, and work, however impeded, must intervene for now. The materials have just arrived for a big rush job, so, hi ho, hi ho....

[Fred Steeves]

There's been 5 different times I should have been immediately dispatched out of this incarnation. And yet...

Would love to hear those stories, Fred!


I'll spare the details, just that one was from slipping down the face of a fifty foot cliff, one while skydiving, one while working on the roof on a construction site, and two in single car accidents. Each time, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt I was experiencing the final few seconds of life, and each time I experienced the feeling that washes over a person in that sacred moment. You know, the one that says: "It's o.k., it's over now. So this is how it ends huh?"

I just wanted to piggyback on what you were saying about how we don't leave here until we're supposed to. Well that's for sure Bob, and no power on this earth can alter that.

Cheers,
Fred

[another bob]

I'll spare the details, just that one was from slipping down the face of a fifty foot cliff....

Ah, OK, I can definitely relate to that one .....

Returning south to San Francisco after a 6-month stint as a grateful hermit in the Sierras in 1970, my heart tugged me over to the Pacific coastline, where I eventually found myself leisurely touring along the supernaturally splendid Coastal Highway 1.

By the time I had reached the mouth of the Russian River it was late afternoon, and although the shoreline was rather socked in by a coastal fog, I decided to attempt a climb down the steep cliffs leading to the beach.

What moved me to challenge the elemental fates on that day I cannot recall, but the time-tested refrain, “It seemed like a good idea at the time...” could probably be inserted here.

I was about halfway down the side of the cliff wall when I realized I was in a bit of a predicament. I could proceed no further in my descent, since there was no apparent footing. However, I had managed to reach a point that made any ascending retreat equally unviable.

As I grimly pondered the situation, I was suddenly startled: a madly barking, drool-slathered German Shepherd (dog) at the foot of the cliff below was focusing an unaccountable rage in my direction. We were the only two creatures on the foggy beach that day, it was getting dark, and a chill damp wind was now sweeping fiercely up the cliff face.

I was losing my footing on the rock indentation where I had temporarily perched. It was starting to crumble and I had to pee -- real bad. The wind began to amp into a shriek. The insane dog's barking blended with the voice of the wind, becoming even more hostile and incessant. My heart felt like it was going to join my bladder in some volcanic activity. Time seemed frozen, and the experience now seemed to loom as a defining moment for me.

Many have experienced this at some point in life - the psycho-physiological matrix of fear that cannot be casually swept aside by the comforting little lies we tell ourselves. All the little internal chattering narrative that we perpetually indulge runs smack into the unavoidable maw of clear and present breathless reality. First come the impotent curses, then the cold sweat panic, then the hallucinatory spree of mind in overwhelm, and then...

For a brief eternal instant the setting sun on the Pacific horizon peeked out below the cloud cover, and quickly spread its gorgeous illumination along the underbelly of the now transfigured blanket, and what a sight it was - the most riotously effulgent sunset I had ever seen!

Tears poured involuntarily down my cheeks - the imminent danger completely forgotten in the glory of the scene.

Just then a seagull, white, with ribbons of gray tapering down its wingspan, soared in a kind of lazy slow motion directly into my line of sight, and the wonder of its gliding aero-dynamism simply stopped my mind!

It was as if I had never really seen this before or, to be more precise – it was as if I was seeing it for the very first time once again - as I had when I was baby, with no words to limit it, no concepts to bind it to the mind's dusty library of accumulated associations.

I Was this Wonder! All of it was me - free and utterly perfect just as it is - no past or future or any sense of time at all - just This! Here! Now!

My heart fell to peace. In this way, the world came to peace, to rest. And now I noticed my body almost floating down the side of the cliff. There was no calculation involved at all in the descent. I am sure, if you were an observer, you would have seen, in the dusky twilight, a rather remarkable feat of rock climbing!

When I alighted on the beach, the now-transformed dog came and snuggled its body against mine -- we knew -- and together we ambled off along the sand into the darkness, empty and full, two children of the Majesty.

[sleepy]

I don't have a story but a confession:

I am not enlightened. I have no recollection of any past lives. I have never traveled outside my body. (I don’t even like flying in planes). When I read Carmody’s posts, half of the time I don’t understand them. I have tried meditating only to find myself aware of the refrigerator humming or the clock ticking and I have never been connected to “the one,” “the universe” or whatever it is I am supposed to connect with. I have instincts but I am not psychic and often I find myself to be bad judge of character. I have never met an alien and I have never seen a UFO. I have never seen anyone turn into a lizard. I hear there are 11 dimensions but I have never been to parallel universe and I am probably pretty 3D. Sometimes I think others aren’t as enlightened as they think they are or they wouldn’t be so mean. I didn’t know I had an ego body but if I do I hope it is in better shape than me.

I do believe we are all connected and that much of this enlightenment stuff is just another way of saying love yourselves so you can love others.
In some ways I believe I am awake but at times reading in this forum I feel very sleepy.

[Arrowwind]

Pandora’s Box


Paula’s experience spurred this writing. It’s not a commentary on her words in any way
but only a reflection it stirred within myself
within my own hall of mirrors.



The experience of Death is the most profound of all our teachers. It is the most feared and the most respected. The most dreaded and the most celebrated, right next to birth in its impact and importance. I’ve never had the challenge of facing the death of one of my children and even writing these words brings a sense of trepidation. Because I have been so intimate with death and those who are walking the death walk I have examined many possibilities for my own, but also for my children and it is my most dreaded fear, beyond my own, beyond my husbands, beyond all else and fierce enough if unchecked could wreak havoc with the world. Regardless, I’m pretty good at stuffing it in a box and ignoring it. There is no therapy, no psychological perspective, no self realization, no letting go that can resolve or remove it. It feels ingrained into each cell of my body, visceral, palpable, when I allow myself to entertain the thoughts and the only place I've found to keep this fear in control is within a tightly sealed box.

Like the pandora’s box, I keep it well hidden, away from strangers, and most of all away from my children. In effort to protect their innocence and fearlessness they will never know about its presence and I think I am doing what countless mothers do. Keeping the stiff upper lip and the perpetual smile on as they go through the escapades of life. No one knows about this box,except me.

Why is it that one should have such fears, locked in a box? Is it normal orcrazy? I tend to think that that countlessmothers carry these fears... repressed, hidden, covered with platitudes of lifeand living. I know this box became very real for me the day our neighbors son,two doors down, was blown away on his front porch in a racially motivated driveby shooting. My own children were both under five years old at the time. Theirswas just becoming a young man, at 20. I SAW clearly just how vile the world could be and how that vileness could turn on you or anyone in a split second, without warning, without mercy, without even a fleeting thought towards the beauty and wonder of life it destroys.

Why did this happen? Will it happen to us? To my child? The only answer I could come up with, was yes, in this world, it could happen, at any second. Be ready, but most of all live life without fear for if you don’t each day is stolen from you, and the shadow of death has already taken the very best away... so I keep things locked in a box, deep within, and live each day like that box does not even exist. I hope to die with it unopened, unrevealed and untouched by the experiences of this life. I hope to never need such hope for survival and healing… that kind of hope that intrinsically comes with our sealed box.

These boxes come into our lives in many ways. I don’t think I was born with mine. It seems like it was acquired, that it came with the territory of living, agift of experience, born out of observation of reality. Mine came from a driveby shooting. Other mothers, they get their box in other ways. Some inherit them from their own mothers, seeing the death of a sibling, worries and fears regarding disease and accidents and falls, and so many things that can steal a child or any loved one for that matter. All the potential realities of death seem senseless and even endless, all of them are sudden and shocking, even if well known in advance. In my work I’ve been able to peer into many a mother’sbox as they have dealt with it blowing open in their faces. On these days I have gone home and thanked god, thanked the universe, thanked all the powers that be in my circle of self that it was not me and mine…at least not today andI have grieved for those who’s day it was, which is in reality a grieving for oneself within our interconnected humanity.

It is always someone’s day and we must remember that lest we become too complacent and too trusting and too confident in life. We must be ready forthat box to fly open and know that we will somehow survive it. Our inate ability to survive, it seems, is the only power we really have to endure and still the healing takes much longer than the mere survival, but in time we can close and hide the box once more and live life in the sun, and pretend to forget for a time that death and its minions are stalking us all.

From Wiki:

“In classical Greek mythology,Pandora was the first woman on Earth. Zeus ordered Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship,to create her, so he did—using water and Earth.[4] (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pandora's_box#cite_note-3) The gods endowed her with many gifts: Athenaclothed her, Aphrodite gave her beauty, and Hermes gave her speech.

When Prometheus stole fire fromheaven, Zeus took vengeance by presenting Pandora to Epimetheus, Prometheus'brother. With her, Pandora was given a beautiful container which she was not toopen under any circumstance. Impelled by her curiosity given to her by the gods,Pandora opened it, and all evil contained therein escaped and spread over theearth. She hastened to close the container, but the whole contents had escaped,except for one thing that lay at the bottom, which was the Spirit of Hope namedElpis. Pandora was deeply saddened by what she had done, and was afraid that she would have to face Zeus' wrath, since she had failed her duty; however,Zeus did not punish Pandora, because he knew this would happen.”

[another bob]

In some ways I believe I am awake but at times reading in this forum I feel very sleepy.

I hear ya, Sleepy! I often feel like taking a nap after reading, LOL!

Actually, someone once said that there are no enlightened people, there is only enlightened behavior, and that makes a lot of sense, as does what you say about loving and being loved. Experiences (high, low, and in between) are temporary, and they are often interpreted by the experiencer based on filters that have been programmed into them by someone else, so they are not the truth by any means, and the more we try to seek experiences in order to fill some gap, the wider the gap grows. I'd say you are on the right track, but that's not even for me to say. You are your own best judge in that respect. Thanks for sharing your take!

Blessings!

[another bob]

It is always someone’s day and we must remember that lest we become too complacent and too trusting and too confident in life. We must be ready forthat box to fly open and know that we will somehow survive it. Our inate ability to survive, it seems, is the only power we really have to endure and still the healing takes much longer than the mere survival, but in time we can close and hide the box once more and live life in the sun, and pretend to forget for a time that death and its minions are stalking us all.

Great post, Sister!

Reminds me of this, from Castaneda's Journey to Ixtlan:

Don Juan: "Think of your death now. It is at arm's length. It may tap you any moment, so really you have no time for crappy thoughts and moods. None of us have time for that. The only thing that counts is action, acting instead of talking. When a man decides to do something he must go all the way, but he must take responsibility for what he does. No matter what he does, he must know first why he is doing it, and then he must proceed with his actions without having doubts or remorse about them. Look at me, I have no doubts or remorse. Everything I do is my decision and my responsibility. The simplest thing I do, to take you for a walk in the desert for instance, may very well mean my death. Death is stalking me. Therefore, I have no room for doubts or remorse. If I have to die as a result of taking you for a walk, then I must die. You on the other hand, feel that you are immortal, and the decisions of an immortal man can be cancelled or regretted or doubted. In a world where death is the hunter, my friend, there is not time for regrets or doubts. There is only time for decisions. When you get angry you always feel righteous. You have been complaining all your life because you don't assume responsibility for your decisions. To assume the responsibility of one's decisions means that one is ready to die for them. It doesn't matter what the decision is. Nothing could be more or less serious than anything else. In a world where death is the hunter there are no small or big decisions. There are only decisions that we make in the face of our inevitable death."

[NancyV]

This is a story about rape with a twist. There have been several times that I’ve been kidnapped, raped, held as a prisoner for a while, but in this story I had a choice to be raped or not to be raped. I chose to agree to it, strangely enough! LOL…

My sister’s husband was arrested in the Mexico City airport for having a few pounds of cocaine he was bringing back to the US from Colombia. This was probably in about 1975, can’t remember exactly. He was in the worst Federal prison in Mexico City, Lecumberri. I went down to see if I could somehow get him out. A boyfriend/lover of mine was the personal pilot to the President of Mexico, a military man. He thought he might be able to help. As it turned out he did eventually help influence the President to agree to a prisoner exchange where my brother-in-law was returned to the US in that exchange, but that was in 1977, about a year or 2 after this incident. Just found a story about the prisoner exchange: http://www.chron.com/CDA/archives/archive.mpl/1988_548563/mexican-jails-less-grim-than-during-70s.html

This Mexican prison was interesting in that prisoners could buy just about anything they wanted, prostitutes came in every day, you could get any kind of food, tv’s, clothing, whatever. Actually the prisoners had their own locks for the barred doors and they locked themselves in so they would be safe from other prisoners at night. There were quite a few wealthy inmates at this time, many of them were political prisoners and many were from the drug cartels. There were several different hierarchies, the two main ones being the political and drug types. Each group had many members and the leaders could buy anything they wanted, either with money or threats and occasional wars and killings. They definitely had all the guards bought and paid for.

When I first went into the prison to visit John, my brother-in-law, he started introducing me to different prisoners and showing me around. It was fascinating but little did I realize that I would draw the attention of the two most powerful leaders of the drug and political gangs. On the 3rd day of my visit John asked me if I would be willing to talk with the leader of the political prisoners. Of course I said yes since I knew it would be better for him if I did. I really liked this man. He had been thrown in jail because his politics conflicted with the President. He was an extremely cultured and wealthy gentleman and Mexican gentlemen are a rare breed. But he was still a man and he wanted me. He told me he could help protect John. I thought it over, quickly, and decided it would be a good idea for me to be very “nice” to this man. So I gave him a great time, happily. I liked him and he needed love, which I am good at giving. So he not only got sex, he got love. It really affected him and he wanted to support me in style in Mexico City so I could come in to visit him often. I had a good excuse why this wouldn’t work out for me and he understood.

The next day I was walking into the prison to visit John and as I entered the common area two men came up to me and one on each side they took an arm and told me someone wanted to talk with me. They “escorted” me to a cell that was the abode of the leader of the nasty drug gang. He was such a character, almost a caricature of some bizarre fantasy! He wore fancy boots and clothes and sort of pranced around. I got the impression that he was homosexual but soon found out that he was bi-sexual. Yes, he also wanted me! His method was to threaten my brother-in-law. He told me just how they would kill him if I didn't cooperate. Well this dude made my flesh crawl, but I figured he was telling the truth about killing John so I decided to give in, reluctantly. So basically this was the “rape”, although I did acquiesce. This guy didn’t even have enough class to remove his fancy boots. So being “raped” by a bisexual prancing around naked with his fancy boots on was definitely a surreal trip.

I left his room after the dastardly deed was done and went to see John. I told him what happened and we went over to see the other leader I had been with the day before. I told him what happened and he was very, very pissed off and said he would take care of it. Sure enough, when I went to visit John the next day the leader of the drug gang was dead. At this point I figured my coming to visit John might get even worse so it was time to say my goodbyes and get the hell out of Dodge.

I had arranged for a good lawyer for him and given him money and time and now there was little else I could do. My Mexican pilot friend/lover had arranged for me to live with a friend of his in Acapulco, a wealthy Swedish physicist, as I was going there to live for a while to continue my job working for the DEA as a contract undercover agent. I was totally free to pick and develop my own cases and worked mostly in Mexico and Colombia and occasionally in the US and Peru….until I discovered that the supposed good guys were not much better than the bad guys, but that’s a whole different story.

[Mitzvah]

Unfortunately, yes, I did have thoughts of suicide, and attempts were made several more times. The times that followed the first suicide attempt, they were all more a 'cry for help,' a deadly dangerous cry for help, but I didn't actually want to die those times. I realized even then that I just wanted help, wanted it to be noticed and acted upon that I was in pain and suffering so greatly. I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves. Realizing that I didn't want to truly really die, I did for a time, become a 'cutter.' We've come so far, haven't we, in our journey here on this earth.

"I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves."

Hello Mitzvah,

I’ve experienced suicidal thoughts when my son passed. I had an elaborate plan with lots of fail-safes for it to be a success. It took months to figure it all out. Yet, I was aware there were two people talking; one mega-responsible, the other in pain.

So one last time, I dressed. The plan was a trip to my favorite book store and then end the pain. My ex-hubby happened to stop by to see how I was doing. Up to that point, I’d put on a cheery front. There was no point to pull anyone into the place I had taken up residence. Beside, it was too exhausting to go into it.

This time I was honest. I said, “I don’t think I’m going to make it. I had no labels, wife, mother; no feelings of a friend, or a sister.” Whatever words he said, the one’s in my head just drowned them out. I told him I loved him and kissed him good-bye. He asked where I was going. Bookstore.

One of my brothers happen to pop in the bookstore. He said my ex-hubby called him, and that my other brother and a sister were on their way. I was admitted into the hospital for a three day suicide watch, put on meds and I committed to long term counseling.

But for this last year, I had been experiencing something different. There was no need to be here any longer. Not a depression, just no purpose. Blank canvas of a different kind. There’s no concept in or beliefs of karma, or religion, or sense of duty to another. Only reason for staying was Wolfie, my dog. (as silly as that sounds, to some not)

So with that understanding, an inner knowing just came to be. There’s more. It’s birthing. Like Christmas morning, I like not knowing. I like the surprise of what comes up at the strangest times and the strangest discoveries. I’m like a kid again with full-on discovery of the journey. There’s great power and freedom in letting go of the control. Higher Self & 'the me'.

Thank you, Mitzvah, for creating the space for me to share this. I agree with Jeanette, “Obviously you were meant to be here.”

Peace,
Paula

Hello, Paula! It's so nice to meet you at last! Your sharing of the experience and so moving loss of your son, ach, my heart goes out to you. That kind of monumental pain, incomprehensible unless one has experienced it, can last for enormous stretches of time. Where you are now, what freedom you now experience, how liberating is that.

Your ex did a wonderful thing that day. How lucky-blessed you are to have had your family come at once to be with you and to support you through such dark times. Friends and family, those whom are our support, and we theirs, they are truly invaluable, irreplaceable. I count my blessings to be loved by those whom I know are there for me, and with me. Good ol' beautiful Wolfie! Dogs have always, always been with me on my journey. Now there's a support group, eh?

I'm so happy you've come to this understanding, the letting go in a sense, and letting 'be.' Surrendering, so life-altaring, so freeing. How wonderful to be able to walk along beside you, Paula.

[RunningDeer]

I don't have a story but a confession:

I am not enlightened. I have no recollection of any past lives. I have never traveled outside my body. (I don’t even like flying in planes). When I read Carmody’s posts, half of the time I don’t understand them. I have tried meditating only to find myself aware of the refrigerator humming or the clock ticking and I have never been connected to “the one,” “the universe” or whatever it is I am supposed to connect with. I have instincts but I am not psychic and often I find myself to be bad judge of character. I have never met an alien and I have never seen a UFO. I have never seen anyone turn into a lizard. I hear there are 11 dimensions but I have never been to parallel universe and I am probably pretty 3D. Sometimes I think others aren’t as enlightened as they think they are or they wouldn’t be so mean. I didn’t know I had an ego body but if I do I hope it is in better shape than me.

I do believe we are all connected and that much of this enlightenment stuff is just another way of saying love yourselves so you can love others.
In some ways I believe I am awake but at times reading in this forum I feel very sleepy.

Dear Sleepy,

I don't have a story but a confession:


I am not enlightened.
Me neither, just got some extra years.


I have no recollection of any past lives.
Only, one. Vagueness (Is that a word? Let’s pretend it is?) of others.


I have never traveled outside my body.
Mostly I'm a bad driver.


(I don’t even like flying in planes).
Only when needed. I'm ADD & how about those straight-jacket-seats?


When I read Carmody’s posts, half of the time I don’t understand them.
Much more than half for me. (emphasis on 'much more') I travel light...small brain.


I have tried meditating only to find myself aware of the refrigerator humming or the clock ticking and
Great, that means you don’t need to replace them!


I have never been connected to “the one,” “the universe” or whatever it is I am supposed to connect with.
Not often enough for me.


I have instincts but I am not psychic
Instincts are better.


and often I find myself to be bad judge of character.
Apply to good instincts. And maybe, you're meant to be in their life for a bit.
But give yourself permission to take a hike. Instincts again.


I have never met an alien
Me neither. (Oh an ex-boyfriend. Hence, ex-boyfriend.)


and I have never seen a UFO.
Me neither.


I have never seen anyone turn into a lizard.
Nope, no lizzys.


I hear there are 11 dimensions but I have never been to parallel universe and I am probably pretty 3D.
No comment.


Sometimes I think others aren’t as enlightened as they think they are or they wouldn’t be so mean.
That said, You, Sleepy, are enlightened...


I didn’t know I had an ego body but if I do I hope it is in better shape than me.
Sleep on that one, sleepy.


I do believe we are all connected and that much of this enlightenment stuff is just another way of saying love yourselves so you can love others.
I love you.


In some ways I believe I am awake but at times reading in this forum I feel very sleepy.
That makes two. Night, night. ZZzzzzzzzz.

Hearts and Hugs,
WhiteCrowBlackDeer

[RunningDeer]

Unfortunately, yes, I did have thoughts of suicide, and attempts were made several more times. The times that followed the first suicide attempt, they were all more a 'cry for help,' a deadly dangerous cry for help, but I didn't actually want to die those times. I realized even then that I just wanted help, wanted it to be noticed and acted upon that I was in pain and suffering so greatly. I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves. Realizing that I didn't want to truly really die, I did for a time, become a 'cutter.' We've come so far, haven't we, in our journey here on this earth.

"I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves."

Hello Mitzvah,

I’ve experienced suicidal thoughts when my son passed. I had an elaborate plan with lots of fail-safes for it to be a success. It took months to figure it all out. Yet, I was aware there were two people talking; one mega-responsible, the other in pain.

So one last time, I dressed. The plan was a trip to my favorite book store and then end the pain. My ex-hubby happened to stop by to see how I was doing. Up to that point, I’d put on a cheery front. There was no point to pull anyone into the place I had taken up residence. Beside, it was too exhausting to go into it.

This time I was honest. I said, “I don’t think I’m going to make it. I had no labels, wife, mother; no feelings of a friend, or a sister.” Whatever words he said, the one’s in my head just drowned them out. I told him I loved him and kissed him good-bye. He asked where I was going. Bookstore.

One of my brothers happen to pop in the bookstore. He said my ex-hubby called him, and that my other brother and a sister were on their way. I was admitted into the hospital for a three day suicide watch, put on meds and I committed to long term counseling.

But for this last year, I had been experiencing something different. There was no need to be here any longer. Not a depression, just no purpose. Blank canvas of a different kind. There’s no concept in or beliefs of karma, or religion, or sense of duty to another. Only reason for staying was Wolfie, my dog. (as silly as that sounds, to some not)

So with that understanding, an inner knowing just came to be. There’s more. It’s birthing. Like Christmas morning, I like not knowing. I like the surprise of what comes up at the strangest times and the strangest discoveries. I’m like a kid again with full-on discovery of the journey. There’s great power and freedom in letting go of the control. Higher Self & 'the me'.

Thank you, Mitzvah, for creating the space for me to share this. I agree with Jeanette, “Obviously you were meant to be here.”

Peace,
Paula

Hello, Paula! It's so nice to meet you at last! Your sharing of the experience and so moving loss of your son, ach, my heart goes out to you. That kind of monumental pain, incomprehensible unless one has experienced it, can last for enormous stretches of time. Where you are now, what freedom you now experience, how liberating is that.

Your ex did a wonderful thing that day. How lucky-blessed you are to have had your family come at once to be with you and to support you through such dark times. Friends and family, those whom are our support, and we theirs, they are truly invaluable, irreplaceable. I count my blessings to be loved by those whom I know are there for me, and with me. Good ol' beautiful Wolfie! Dogs have always, always been with me on my journey. Now there's a support group, eh?

I'm so happy you've come to this understanding, the letting go in a sense, and letting 'be.' Surrendering, so life-altaring, so freeing. How wonderful to be able to walk along beside you, Paula.

Now sobbing....Joyous ones. A simple Thanks and Blessings, Mitzvah.

[another bob]

...I was going there to live for a while to continue my job working for the DEA as a contract undercover agent. I was totally free to pick and develop my own cases and worked mostly in Mexico and Colombia and occasionally in the US and Peru….until I discovered that the supposed good guys were not much better than the bad guys, but that’s a whole different story.

Wow, Nancy -- that was an incredible tale, and what a life you have had! I know you are not into doing a book, but I bet your autobiography would blow folks away! Thanks so much for sharing your stories, and the wisdom you have gleaned from your travels in and out of this world!

Blessings!

[sleepy]

I really like this thread. I just want to express my gratitude again without using the button. Thank you. WCBD, thank you for your reply.

love to all,
sleepy

[RunningDeer]

http://avalonlibrary.net/paula/Lucy/NancyV2.JPG


This is a story about rape with a twist. There have been several times that I’ve been kidnapped, raped, held as a prisoner for a while, but in this story I had a choice to be raped or not to be raped. I chose to agree to it, strangely enough! LOL…

My sister’s husband was arrested in the Mexico City airport for having a few pounds of cocaine he was bringing back to the US from Colombia. This was probably in about 1975, can’t remember exactly. He was in the worst Federal prison in Mexico City, Lecumberri. I went down to see if I could somehow get him out. A boyfriend/lover of mine was the personal pilot to the President of Mexico, a military man. He thought he might be able to help. As it turned out he did eventually help influence the President to agree to a prisoner exchange where my brother-in-law was returned to the US in that exchange, but that was in 1977, about a year or 2 after this incident. Just found a story about the prisoner exchange: http://www.chron.com/CDA/archives/archive.mpl/1988_548563/mexican-jails-less-grim-than-during-70s.html

This Mexican prison was interesting in that prisoners could buy just about anything they wanted, prostitutes came in every day, you could get any kind of food, tv’s, clothing, whatever. Actually the prisoners had their own locks for the barred doors and they locked themselves in so they would be safe from other prisoners at night. There were quite a few wealthy inmates at this time, many of them were political prisoners and many were from the drug cartels. There were several different hierarchies, the two main ones being the political and drug types. Each group had many members and the leaders could buy anything they wanted, either with money or threats and occasional wars and killings. They definitely had all the guards bought and paid for.

When I first went into the prison to visit John, my brother-in-law, he started introducing me to different prisoners and showing me around. It was fascinating but little did I realize that I would draw the attention of the two most powerful leaders of the drug and political gangs. On the 3rd day of my visit John asked me if I would be willing to talk with the leader of the political prisoners. Of course I said yes since I knew it would be better for him if I did. I really liked this man. He had been thrown in jail because his politics conflicted with the President. He was an extremely cultured and wealthy gentleman and Mexican gentlemen are a rare breed. But he was still a man and he wanted me. He told me he could help protect John. I thought it over, quickly, and decided it would be a good idea for me to be very “nice” to this man. So I gave him a great time, happily. I liked him and he needed love, which I am good at giving. So he not only got sex, he got love. It really affected him and he wanted to support me in style in Mexico City so I could come in to visit him often. I had a good excuse why this wouldn’t work out for me and he understood.

The next day I was walking into the prison to visit John and as I entered the common area two men came up to me and one on each side they took an arm and told me someone wanted to talk with me. They “escorted” me to a cell that was the abode of the leader of the nasty drug gang. He was such a character, almost a caricature of some bizarre fantasy! He wore fancy boots and clothes and sort of pranced around. I got the impression that he was homosexual but soon found out that he was bi-sexual. Yes, he also wanted me! His method was to threaten my brother-in-law. He told me just how they would kill him if I didn't cooperate. Well this dude made my flesh crawl, but I figured he was telling the truth about killing John so I decided to give in, reluctantly. So basically this was the “rape”, although I did acquiesce. This guy didn’t even have enough class to remove his fancy boots. So being “raped” by a bisexual prancing around naked with his fancy boots on was definitely a surreal trip.

I left his room after the dastardly deed was done and went to see John. I told him what happened and we went over to see the other leader I had been with the day before. I told him what happened and he was very, very pissed off and said he would take care of it. Sure enough, when I went to visit John the next day the leader of the drug gang was dead. At this point I figured my coming to visit John might get even worse so it was time to say my goodbyes and get the hell out of Dodge.

I had arranged for a good lawyer for him and given him money and time and now there was little else I could do. My Mexican pilot friend/lover had arranged for me to live with a friend of his in Acapulco, a wealthy Swedish physicist, as I was going there to live for a while to continue my job working for the DEA as a contract undercover agent. I was totally free to pick and develop my own cases and worked mostly in Mexico and Colombia and occasionally in the US and Peru….until I discovered that the supposed good guys were not much better than the bad guys, but that’s a whole different story.

[Fred Steeves]

@ sleepy. We're all psychic, it's inhehent by birth, but it's been long forgotten. It's there in all of us, but it tends to be ever so subtle. One of the things that really got the ball rolling for me with all this stuff, was going to a 3 day Matrix Energetics seminar back in '08. A fascinating education in quantum physics/healing, combined with exploration of the realms of infinite possibility. You all probably see me use that term "infinite possibility" quite often. Well, that's where I got it from.

Anyway, they teach hands on, how to tune in to our faint inner senses, and trust them. With a group of maybe 300 people, there were times where they would have us get up, mingle around, and team up with various people to practice on/with. After many inconsequential sessions, I was still convinced psychic type stuff only happened to other people. Well finally one session I got paired up with this girl, and we were to slowly scan with open hands each other from head to toe, not actually touching, and then stop as soon as something, no matter how seemingly bizarre, came to mind. Then we were to tell that person something about themselves from that.

It's kind of shy at first, and we each had a couple of turns to no avail. Then, I scanned her once more, just before it was time to retake our seats. I really let my mind go this time, loosened up, and started once more from her head area going downwards. I got down to the mid arm area, felt something funny, shrugged it off as nothing, and continued on down. Going back up, at mid arm area, same thing, that ever so faint funny feeling.

As I was pausing and wondering about this, I must have had a funny look on my face, because she asked me "well, what is it?". Slightly embarassed because I just knew it was nothing, I told her anyway. "It's probably really stupid, but I keep getting something about your elbows, both of them". Her eyes got wide as saucers, and her jaw dropped. "Oh my God, when I was a little girl, I fell out of a tree, and broke both of my elbows. They still hurt sometimes!"

THAT'S how sensitive this stuff can be sleepy. Like WCBD (Paula) was saying, trust your instincts. And relax.http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif

Cheers,
Fred

[PurpleLama]

I teach Ascension Reiki, and I have witnessed dozens upon dozens discover all manner of psychic abilities they never thought they had, before.

[PurpleLama]

Half of it is the attunements we give, which raise vibration, etc. The other half is people coming to believe that they can do it, if everyone else in the room is doing it, and they all insist I can too, then why the heck not?

[another bob]

I teach Ascension Reiki, and I have witnessed dozens upon dozens discover all manner of psychic abilities they never thought they had, before.

Thanks Fred and PL!

Reminds me of a time when I was working in Boston, maybe '77, and a few of us were given free passes to a Silva Mind Seminar. It was kind of rudimentary, but near the end of the seminar, we were all given five index cards with people's names on them, and we were asked to diagnose their illnesses remotely, with only the name (and maybe the state they resided), but nothing more to go on. Well, I felt into each name on the card and wrote my impressions of their particular issues, and when we were finished, the facilitator went through each card, and asked how many had said "cancer", or "broken arm" etc, and my jaw dropped when I realized that not only had I gotten all five right, but so had at least 2/3 of the class of about 30 people!

[Flash]

In 1988 I found myself a new, beter paid job, and it looked as though our financial troubles were over and that the future was going to be rosy. Then my wife got arrested for stealing a lare number of cheques from her employer. My world fell apart, I was an honest man (too honest if truth be told), and to have the person closest to me behave like this, and publicly humiliate me to boot was too much. But ... I stuck by her, visited her in prison every fortnight for 6 months, kept our home nice, wrote to her every day and basically poured all my love into her. There was no-one I could talk to and I suffered her imprisonment in silence.

Anyway, in May 1989 she was released from prison, and I was the happiest man alive. In July, the agency I was contracting through had a big bash at a country hotel, and we went along for a good night's celebration. I was happy to have my wife back with me, and happy we could be together and have fun. During the eveining, I also danced with maybe 2 or 3 other women, quite inocuously, but when my wife and I got to our hotel room, she went ballistic (and believe me, she was one argumentative, obnoxious woman) she was screaming at me and accusing me of everything under the sun, and then she slapped my face. Something snapped and I had her on the bed, with my hands round her throat, strangling her, and I meant it. Then I saw the look in her eyes and stopped.

Did the same thing to my sister after a huge argument, she would bitch bitch bitch and bully me and I would not have the necessary agility with words. So I jumped on her to strangle her. But her eyes made me stop too.

However, I was only 6 years old. Never ever did that afterward. She remained a bully to me all the subsequent years.

[PurpleLama]

Welcome, Flash!

[RunningDeer]

Thanks for a clear picture and correction, Fred. Geez, yes, yes, and yes! to tools. The ones that we have and more and more are awakening too. Such as these:


- claircognizance via knowingness

- clairvoyance via visual
- clairsentience via feelings
- clairgustance via taste

- clairaudience via sound

- clairscent via smell
- clairtangency via touch

Cheers,
WhiteCrowBlackDeer


@ sleepy. We're all psychic, it's inhehent by birth, but it's been long forgotten. It's there in all of us, but it tends to be ever so subtle. One of the things that really got the ball rolling for me with all this stuff, was going to a 3 day Matrix Energetics seminar back in '08. A fascinating education in quantum physics/healing, combined with exploration of the realms of infinite possibility. You all probably see me use that term "infinite possibility" quite often. Well, that's where I got it from.

Anyway, they teach hands on, how to tune in to our faint inner senses, and trust them. With a group of maybe 300 people, there were times where they would have us get up, mingle around, and team up with various people to practice on/with. After many inconsequential sessions, I was still convinced psychic type stuff only happened to other people. Well finally one session I got paired up with this girl, and we were to slowly scan with open hands each other from head to toe, not actually touching, and then stop as soon as something, no matter how seemingly bizarre, came to mind. Then we were to tell that person something about themselves from that.

It's kind of shy at first, and we each had a couple of turns to no avail. Then, I scanned her once more, just before it was time to retake our seats. I really let my mind go this time, loosened up, and started once more from her head area going downwards. I got down to the mid arm area, felt something funny, shrugged it off as nothing, and continued on down. Going back up, at mid arm area, same thing, that ever so faint funny feeling.

As I was pausing and wondering about this, I must have had a funny look on my face, because she asked me "well, what is it?". Slightly embarassed because I just knew it was nothing, I told her anyway. "It's probably really stupid, but I keep getting something about your elbows, both of them". Her eyes got wide as saucers, and her jaw dropped. "Oh my God, when I was a little girl, I fell out of a tree, and broke both of my elbows. They still hurt sometimes!"

THAT'S how sensitive this stuff can be sleepy. Like WCBD (Paula) was saying, trust your instincts. And relax.http://nexus.2012info.ca/forum/images/smilies/newadditions/smile.gif

Cheers,
Fred

[RunningDeer]

I teach Ascension Reiki, and I have witnessed dozens upon dozens discover all manner of psychic abilities they never thought they had, before.

Thanks Fred and PL!

Reminds me of a time when I was working in Boston, maybe '77, and a few of us were given free passes to a Silva Mind Seminar. It was kind of rudimentary, but near the end of the seminar, we were all given five index cards with people's names on them, and we were asked to diagnose their illnesses remotely, with only the name (and maybe the state they resided), but nothing more to go on. Well, I felt into each name on the card and wrote my impressions of their particular issues, and when we were finished, the facilitator went through each card, and asked how many had said "cancer", or "broken arm" etc, and my jaw dropped when I realized that not only had I gotten all five right, but so had at least 2/3 of the class of about 30 people!

I’ve been a card carrying member of Silva Mind Control since 1972. The name on the card said “Joshua,” (forgot the state). Before his name was spoken, I began to have trouble sitting up. I felt dizzy and like I was choking. My tongue got in the way when I tried to talk.

Then, I applied the helmet technique. Where I put an energetic helmet of Joshua over my head. A visual popped up. He was a little boy about 4 who was mentally challenged, with poor balance. I picked up that there were things he wanted to say but it was frustrating to him that he couldn’t express. I had a sense that there were great ideas locked up. But by that point I felt like I was making up a story.

The information provided was Joshua was either 4-5 years old (I forgot exact number.) and mentally challenged.

At that time, Michael, my son, was about 10 months old. He had a growth near the corner of his eye. So I used one of the healing techniques from the seminar which was simply see it not there. So I did. I forgot about it until a couple of days later. It was gone. Only one application needed, or more precisely stated, only one belief needed.

I don't recall the percentages, but our group had great success, which served to reinforce the belief and its applications.

[another bob]

I don't recall the percentages, but our group had great success, which served to reinforce the belief and its applications.

Great to see you also had that experience, Paula! Sheesh, there was such an explosion of new paradigm stuff coming out of that time, it was breath-taking. Of course, a lot of it has disappeared over the years, or gotten commercialized into pablum, but it was certainly exciting seeing and participating in so much expansive thinking and visionary considerations. I think people who did not live through the Eisenhower years cannot really appreciate the groundbreaking movements that we saw -- so much profound change in such a short time, both at the micro as well as the macro level! My sense is that the years to come will be even more dramatic in that respect, and it's great to be sharing these changes with folks like the Avalon crew!

Blessings!

[Flash]

I have a few awful feelings stories, here is one I just wrote to Norman who was inquiring about help for a child disappearance;

No, the children skills are alright (those that saw the little girl disappear in a white van). She must have known the person, unless she was a risk taker of something very attractive got her in.

I am not an intuitive, so I cannot help in this.

I wish children and any kidnap would stop all over the planet. You would not imagine how much training I had given to my daughter when she was 5 on being kidnap, because in America, there is 1 pedophile out of 600 people. In my neighborood of 3 steets with buildings and houses, this makes about 3 pedophiles.

Add to the the organised rings, this makes a lot.

Something almost happened to my daughter when she was 4, at the doctor's office. We were waiting for her to be called and there was a couple wainting with other peoples around. Then the men from the couple got up and came over to us and ask me if he could play a few magic tricks to my daughter, since waiting was so boring. I said yes. Then he plays few tricks and if is delighted. Finally he bend to her levels and pushed her legs. She said "mommy the mister is hurting me" I looiked at him and he said he was only trying to start a new trick did not mean hurting.
Then he asked my daughter where she is from. She answered Canada. He asked where her dad was. She said Turkey. He asked me if he was living there. I said no, he is back tonight. He asked for her name, she gave her usual name (but not her legal first name). By that time, I realised what was going on. He was doing the verbatim of what I had heard on Oprah Winfrey show, all the questions probing and the physical harm to see if she would speak out. Finally, we are called by the doctor's office, they call her by her legal first name and family, a name, she has but never used and her family name which is not on the phone book. They guy tells me "oh, you are ms A. B (both my daughter's names)" which I am not, here woman keep their single name. I was so glad my daughter had given such an vague description of her place of living, she did it only because we were back from months of living in Turkey and it is what she would answer over there.

We got in the doctor's office and I tell the doctor that he has a pedophile amongst his clients. He did not believe me. I gave the description, what else could I do. We get out the office and go to the crowded elevator. I get in with my daughter all squeezed in, not noticing anything wrong and as we get out, this guy is there holding my daugther's hand. I almost fainted, took her other hand and walked out fast pulling her, he was following holding her hand still. I told him I was parked way out, he said he was parked here, he could drive us to my car. I said no thanks I will walked.

We got in the car, I made a detour to make sure I was not being followed, and my daughter was saying "I like the mister, I want to see him" to which I responded "no darling the mister is a very bad man" and she argued "no, I like the mister, I like the mister, you are bad".

I could not believe that in such a short time with few interactions, he had hooked her already. Believe me, whatever you teach your children, they still might be grabbed, those pedohiles are that agiled with them.

Well, one of my little stories.

[Ron Mauer Sr]

Fred,

Couple of things we share. I've done skydiving (1977), twice on a static line, and Matrix Energetics (2007). Dr Bartlet pulled me out of the audience for his first demo. I was one of the few who did not fall down on the floor laughing.

Didn't expect to die with either experience. Although on the first jump out of the airplane I would not have cared. I was going through my first divorce.

Ron, M.S.U.

[Fred Steeves]

Fred,

Couple of things we share. I've done skydiving, twice on a static line, and Matrix Energetics in 1977. Dr Bartlet pulled me out of the audience for his first demo. I was one of the few who did not fall down on the floor laughing.


What a trip Ron, I was one of the only ones who didn't react either. When he pointed at me to come on stage, I was like oh boy, what's it going to be like to be rolling around on the floor in hysterics, in front of 300 or so people, doing something silly. It didn't happen.

In hindsight though, I see something special did indeed happen in that time/place, it just wasn't in the way it was expected. Little did I know that me, Young Grasshopper, was already on his way down the wishing well, just didn't know it yet.(LOL)

Cheers,
Fred

[Arrowwind]

[Then, I applied the helmet technique. Where I put an energetic helmet of Joshua over my head. A visual popped up..

I learned almost the exact same technique in '75 from a Minister of Religious Science in a little church I used to go to for healing work and study... except we didn't mess around with a helmet... we put people's whole heads on. It too was very effective and we used it to read peoples minds and to make diagnosis with a high degree of accuracy amongst the group so i know the reality of what you speak of. When I worked as a nurse I had a lot of hangups about sticking people with needles and I selected jobs which avoided it. Then the day came when I could avoid no longer... so I found a nurse who was pretty expert in making a stick even in difficult veins... I put her head on and had 100% success... except in one case where I failed so I went and got her to do it and wouldn't you know it...she failed too... after that I used the technique to actually mentor myself in other aspects of my work though selecting folks who knew the job well by putting their heads on. Before long I didnt need to do it much at all. It was like before long I could just say to myself, how would Dr So and So do this or counselor so and so manage that... Its an advanced form of modeling where you interface energetically somehow... and always with the intend of "the highest good for all" when it is done.

A more recent group that teaches the technique is called Theta Healing.... I learned this stuff for almost free...now it costs a bunch of money.. shame shame shame.

[1inMany]

This isn't going to come close to what you guys have shared, but you know what I wish I could do on this blank canvas? Take the color of guilt and add every color of light there is until it looks like the dew in the morning. Like a beautiful jewel. And then I would paint the canvas with something that was once painful, a reminder of the painful, but now beautiful and integrated. And I would absorb this beauty with all my senses and fill myself up with it.

Love you guys,

[another bob]

This isn't going to come close to what you guys have shared, But you know what I wish I could do on this blank canvas? Take the color of guilt and add every color of light there is until it looks like the dew in the morning. Like a beautiful jewel. And then I would paint the canvas with something that was once painful, a reminder of the painful, but now beautiful and integrated. And I would absorb this beauty with all my senses and fill myself up with it.

Love you guys,

That is beautiful, Sister, and a much appreciated creation for our canvas!

Blessings!

[RunningDeer]

[Then, I applied the helmet technique. Where I put an energetic helmet of Joshua over my head. A visual popped up..

I learned almost the exact same technique in '75 from a Minister of Religious Science in a little church I used to go to for healing work and study... except we didn't mess around with a helmet... we put people's whole heads on. It too was very effective and we used it to read peoples minds and to make diagnosis with a high degree of accuracy amongst the group so i know the reality of what you speak of. When I worked as a nurse I had a lot of hangups about sticking people with needles and I selected jobs which avoided it. Then the day came when I could avoid no longer... so I found a nurse who was pretty expert in making a stick even in difficult veins... I put her head on and had 100% success... except in one case where I failed so I went and got her to do it and wouldn't you know it...she failed too... after that I used the technique to actually mentor myself in other aspects of my work though selecting folks who knew the job well by putting their heads on. Before long I didnt need to do it much at all. It was like before long I could just say to myself, how would Dr So and So do this or counselor so and so manage that... Its an advanced form of modeling where you interface energetically somehow... and always with the intend of "the highest good for all" when it is done.

A more recent group that teaches the technique is called Theta Healing.... I learned this stuff for almost free...now it costs a bunch of money.. shame shame shame.



Hi Arrowwind,

It sounds like the head and helmet technique is the same, just different vocabulary. I'm a big believer in just keep things simple. Get out of the way and so it is. Period. Otherwise for me, I'm in my head with a check off list. Ha!

BTW: That was a heart touching piece you wrote earlier on Pandora's Box. And thank you for the acknowledgement. Peace...

[CdnSirian]

I don't have a story but a confession:

I am not enlightened. I have no recollection of any past lives. I have never traveled outside my body. (I don’t even like flying in planes). When I read Carmody’s posts, half of the time I don’t understand them. I have tried meditating only to find myself aware of the refrigerator humming or the clock ticking and I have never been connected to “the one,” “the universe” or whatever it is I am supposed to connect with. I have instincts but I am not psychic and often I find myself to be bad judge of character. I have never met an alien and I have never seen a UFO. I have never seen anyone turn into a lizard. I hear there are 11 dimensions but I have never been to parallel universe and I am probably pretty 3D. Sometimes I think others aren’t as enlightened as they think they are or they wouldn’t be so mean. I didn’t know I had an ego body but if I do I hope it is in better shape than me.

I do believe we are all connected and that much of this enlightenment stuff is just another way of saying love yourselves so you can love others.
In some ways I believe I am awake but at times reading in this forum I feel very sleepy.

Maybe you're just "right here right now". The goal some strive towards for lifetimes...

[CdnSirian]

Pandora’s Box


Paula’s experience spurred this writing. It’s not a commentary on her words in any way
but only a reflection it stirred within myself
within my own hall of mirrors.



The experience of Death is the most profound of all our teachers. It is the most feared and the most respected. The most dreaded and the most celebrated, right next to birth in its impact and importance. I’ve never had the challenge of facing the death of one of my children and even writing these words brings a sense of trepidation. Because I have been so intimate with death and those who are walking the death walk I have examined many possibilities for my own, but also for my children and it is my most dreaded fear, beyond my own, beyond my husbands, beyond all else and fierce enough if unchecked could wreak havoc with the world. Regardless, I’m pretty good at stuffing it in a box and ignoring it. There is no therapy, no psychological perspective, no self realization, no letting go that can resolve or remove it. It feels ingrained into each cell of my body, visceral, palpable, when I allow myself to entertain the thoughts and the only place I've found to keep this fear in control is within a tightly sealed box.

Like the pandora’s box, I keep it well hidden, away from strangers, and most of all away from my children. In effort to protect their innocence and fearlessness they will never know about its presence and I think I am doing what countless mothers do. Keeping the stiff upper lip and the perpetual smile on as they go through the escapades of life. No one knows about this box,except me.

Why is it that one should have such fears, locked in a box? Is it normal orcrazy? I tend to think that that countlessmothers carry these fears... repressed, hidden, covered with platitudes of lifeand living. I know this box became very real for me the day our neighbors son,two doors down, was blown away on his front porch in a racially motivated driveby shooting. My own children were both under five years old at the time. Theirswas just becoming a young man, at 20. I SAW clearly just how vile the world could be and how that vileness could turn on you or anyone in a split second, without warning, without mercy, without even a fleeting thought towards the beauty and wonder of life it destroys.

Why did this happen? Will it happen to us? To my child? The only answer I could come up with, was yes, in this world, it could happen, at any second. Be ready, but most of all live life without fear for if you don’t each day is stolen from you, and the shadow of death has already taken the very best away... so I keep things locked in a box, deep within, and live each day like that box does not even exist. I hope to die with it unopened, unrevealed and untouched by the experiences of this life. I hope to never need such hope for survival and healing… that kind of hope that intrinsically comes with our sealed box.

These boxes come into our lives in many ways. I don’t think I was born with mine. It seems like it was acquired, that it came with the territory of living, agift of experience, born out of observation of reality. Mine came from a driveby shooting. Other mothers, they get their box in other ways. Some inherit them from their own mothers, seeing the death of a sibling, worries and fears regarding disease and accidents and falls, and so many things that can steal a child or any loved one for that matter. All the potential realities of death seem senseless and even endless, all of them are sudden and shocking, even if well known in advance. In my work I’ve been able to peer into many a mother’sbox as they have dealt with it blowing open in their faces. On these days I have gone home and thanked god, thanked the universe, thanked all the powers that be in my circle of self that it was not me and mine…at least not today andI have grieved for those who’s day it was, which is in reality a grieving for oneself within our interconnected humanity.

It is always someone’s day and we must remember that lest we become too complacent and too trusting and too confident in life. We must be ready forthat box to fly open and know that we will somehow survive it. Our inate ability to survive, it seems, is the only power we really have to endure and still the healing takes much longer than the mere survival, but in time we can close and hide the box once more and live life in the sun, and pretend to forget for a time that death and its minions are stalking us all.

From Wiki:

“In classical Greek mythology,Pandora was the first woman on Earth. Zeus ordered Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship,to create her, so he did—using water and Earth.[4] (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pandora's_box#cite_note-3) The gods endowed her with many gifts: Athenaclothed her, Aphrodite gave her beauty, and Hermes gave her speech.

When Prometheus stole fire fromheaven, Zeus took vengeance by presenting Pandora to Epimetheus, Prometheus'brother. With her, Pandora was given a beautiful container which she was not toopen under any circumstance. Impelled by her curiosity given to her by the gods,Pandora opened it, and all evil contained therein escaped and spread over theearth. She hastened to close the container, but the whole contents had escaped,except for one thing that lay at the bottom, which was the Spirit of Hope namedElpis. Pandora was deeply saddened by what she had done, and was afraid that she would have to face Zeus' wrath, since she had failed her duty; however,Zeus did not punish Pandora, because he knew this would happen.”

I was delivered such a box last year. My child is ok today, but I'm still in recovery....I truly thought I would die.

I am speechless at all your stories, all above. I have a slow reaction time to this kind of sharing...I might get a story or two out eventually. But I am awed by the experiences and the revelations. Thanks all.

[mosquito]

I'll spare the details, just that one was from slipping down the face of a fifty foot cliff....

Ah, OK, I can definitely relate to that one .....

Me too !!!

I and a group of friends were on a retreat in Wales, and one day we were walking along the stream in he valley, and when we decided to go back, we thought it would be nivce to climb out of the water. So we climbed about 10 feet up onto a ledge, and saw that there wasn't really an easy path back. The way back down looked a bit risky, lots of loose stones, and yours truly is a coward, so I suggested we carry on up, and walk back along the top. The others all agreed. It soon became clear that we'd bitten off more than we could chew, especially me, with no head for heights, AND wearing wellington boots, 2 sizes too big for me. The angle of this hill must have been at least 50 degrees, and here we were crawling up it, on all fours. I was petrified, underfoot was very very unstable, loose earth and tiny pebbles, and I was holding onto very short strands of grass in order to keep from falling to my death. At 1 point, we looked across to the nearest road, wher a crowd had gatheed on the bridge to watch these 4 idiots doing goat impressions. We managed to have a good laugh thankfully. I had to really push through the fear and eventually we got to the top. The message I'd been getting from the beginning was "don't go back". Which I should have applied to a life situation that I was in the midst of .... but that's another story.

Nancy: - Another mind blowing story, I agree with Bob, your autobiography would be a great read !!!

[mosquito]

This is becoming a very healing thread, it's so moving to hear people's stories and to see what being human is really all about, thank you everyone for sharing.

Back to when my first wife was in prison ...... This ended up being an incredibly transformative event in my life. During the first week of her imprisonment, I went to visit a homoeopath she'd been seeing, and my life changed. I'd always wanted to be a doctor, but after a disastrous childhood and a school life that taught me nothing, I gave up on that dream. But here I was, in November 1988 in an office in Watford having the veil lifted from my eyes - I could practise alternative medicine ! I eventually decided to study Chinese Medicine, which was a wonderful journey for me, and I never looked back. It wasn't just a different medical paradigm that I became aware of though. My wife would tell me about books she'd read which she wanted me to buy, books on all sorts of esoteric stuff that I'd never before heard of, and I slowly became aware of an alternative way of viewing the world. I also had my eyes opened to the layers of society I didn't know existed. I learned all about the underclass, the people that the media doesn't tell you exist, about the injustices, the fit-ups, about the mother and baby unit in Holoway prison. I also saw people who were less fortunate than me struggling to visit their loved ones on a regular basis (they don't imprison them near you, they send them as far away as they can), and most of these people had more dignity than any of the self-proclaimed "elites", and I respected them.

It's often tempting to look back on life and think about our "mistakes" and to wonder what would be different if only ...... But my attitude is that something is only a mistake if you allow it to be. Whenever I start to think "what if .." I always tell myself - "look at where I am NOW, what I have, what I'm doing. I'm really blessed, and every event on my path has led me here, so none of them were mistakes".

[another bob]

It's often tempting to look back on life and think about our "mistakes" and to wonder what would be different if only ...... But my attitude is that something is only a mistake if you allow it to be. Whenever I start to think "what if .." I always tell myself - "look at where I am NOW, what I have, what I'm doing. I'm really blessed, and every event on my path has led me here, so none of them were mistakes".

Great insight, wonderfully articulated!

Blessings!

[Eram]

So wonderful to read al your stories people.
Just wonderful.

Nothing serious or life challenging comes to mind, but I have a story of a lighter kind to share today.


Help from the other side

Some 12 years ago, my grand dad past away.
He fell from the stairs and broke an arm and had some bruises. He was 87 at the time and in good health.
In the hospital though, he declared to visiting relatives that he had done in life what he wanted to do and that he now wished to be with his past away wife again, who died about 8 years before that. His condition was still good and a full recovery was eminent, but his wish to leave here and reunite with his wife simply made his body gave up and he died in the 2 days to come.

I was unaware of all this. I only knew that he had an accident and that he was recovering in hospital.
At the night of his passing, I had a dream.
My grandparents made a big deal about throwing family parties every now and then, so that all of their children and grand children could meet and have a great bonding day.
This dream was in a party centre where they used to have their parties. I walked around there, having fun and every time I walked passed my grand dad, he would grab me and give me a big hug, which was not quite like him (not his type of giving affection).
After he did this several times, I began to be suspicious about it and turned to him and asked what this was all about.
I looked up at him, while he was hugging me and I saw two eyes with the brightest loving light in them and all he did was looking down at me from his 6.5 foot hight. He didn't say a word. I was filled with deep feelings of love and saying goodbye.

The telephone woke me up the next morning and it was my father and I instantly knew that my grandfather had passed away.
He didn't needed to tell me.......... I told him.

I was still in my years of apathy and feeling depressed at that time and I thought it a good idea to write a letter to my grand dad, asking him for support from where he was now. I threw the letter next to his coffin while he was being buried and I forgot all about it.

6 years later, my dad called me and he was a bit clumsy and shy to tell me what he had to say.
In a conversation with some friends in a restaurant, he met a woman and he suddenly felt a uncontrollable urge to ask her for her e-mail address to give it to me so that we (me and this woman) could make contact and see what happens. a match making kind of action.
This was very unusual for my dad and I was not very receptive for this kind of pushing around or help or whatever. I didn't feel comfortable with it at all.

Well, I mailed her anyway, just out of courtesy, because she was probably expecting it....... The rest is history....... We live together now with 2 beautiful children.

In the early stages of our relation we went to a woman who makes beautiful power shields (native American style) to buy one.
She is also clairvoyant and while we where telling her how we met, she suddenly asked me if my grandfather from fathers side was still alive.
I told her that he died some years ago and she then told me that she felt that it was him that had done the match making through my father. It was him who channelled through my father to make this happen.

This woman did not know and we only figured it out afterwards that both my grand dad and my girlfriend had worked in the police force. The name of my late grand mother is Marie and my girlfriend is named Marieke.

I always feel and felt that this relation with her saved me in a way and the birth of my 2 children certainly did.

So, 6 years after my plea for help, my grand father showed up and answered....... big time!

Go figure!

[HURRITT ENYETO]

I don't have a story but a confession:

I am not enlightened. I have no recollection of any past lives. I have never traveled outside my body. (I don’t even like flying in planes). When I read Carmody’s posts, half of the time I don’t understand them. I have tried meditating only to find myself aware of the refrigerator humming or the clock ticking and I have never been connected to “the one,” “the universe” or whatever it is I am supposed to connect with. I have instincts but I am not psychic and often I find myself to be bad judge of character. I have never met an alien and I have never seen a UFO. I have never seen anyone turn into a lizard. I hear there are 11 dimensions but I have never been to parallel universe and I am probably pretty 3D. Sometimes I think others aren’t as enlightened as they think they are or they wouldn’t be so mean. I didn’t know I had an ego body but if I do I hope it is in better shape than me.

I do believe we are all connected and that much of this enlightenment stuff is just another way of saying love yourselves so you can love others.
In some ways I believe I am awake but at times reading in this forum I feel very sleepy.

Thank You Sleepy, awesome post :)
You just summed up a fair few of us there I reckon :)
And anybody who claims to be 'enlightened' isn't. If they were, they wouldn't be here would they!
So don't worry about it, your pretty well switched on methinks :)



Hurritt

[Fred Steeves]

It's often tempting to look back on life and think about our "mistakes" and to wonder what would be different if only ...... But my attitude is that something is only a mistake if you allow it to be. Whenever I start to think "what if .." I always tell myself - "look at where I am NOW, what I have, what I'm doing. I'm really blessed, and every event on my path has led me here, so none of them were mistakes".

I concur in spades my friend. Wouldn't it be a nightmare to find yourself old, dying, and reliving all your "mistakes" as regrets? Gives me the shivers.

One of the worst "mistakes" I ever made was joining the navy back in '93. But you know what? If I hadn't, I would never have met my lovely wife of 14 years. Funny how these things have a way of working together, the sacred dance of dark and light.

Say, wanna see a funny? Here's my boot camp picture. (LOL)

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[sleepy]

Arrowind,

I also have what I shall now refer to as Pandora’s Box. And just to have the box cracked open was so horrifying and frightening, it gripped me with a fear that ran down to my bones. I guess I shall share a story. A story felt by many in my community and some were not able to slam the box shut.

It is a story about my one and only child. My beautiful daughter, she is a big movie buff and goes to all the premiers. The movie theatre closest to her home is the Century 16, movie theatre in Aurora, Colorado. I knew she went to the movies that fateful night of the Aurora shootings and as soon as I saw the news I was consumed with fear and desperate to reach her. I called her and she didn’t answer her phone. I can’t even put into words the desperation and terror that filled me. The fear was palpable and it was all I could do to function. Time stood still and I thought I couldn’t breath. Please dear God do not let this be happening. I ran upstairs to wake my husband and tell him what was going on.

The news was not any help. What I did know was that there were unidentified bodies still in the theatre and that my daughter did not answer her phone. Yes, that morning I opened Pandora’s box. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was scared or hurting in her last moments and I went all of the places that a mother dare not tread.

My husband was going to her apartment and I was going to wait by the phone. And then the phone rang. My beautiful, precious child said, “Mom I am O.K.” I was filled with joyous relief and I could physically feel the fear drain from my body. In an instant that joyous relief turned to sorrow for all of the loved ones that would not get that call.

I was able to slam Pandora’s Box closed that day and hide it away, hopefully forever. But it is always there. It is the price we pay for loving someone that much.

@ Paula, if I may call you Paula, Mom to mom; I am so very sorry for the pain you went through.

[sleepy]

Another Bob,

“Enlightened behavior”, I like it and I strive to behave in a way that is loving and or enlightened. I guess when I say sleepy, I don’t mean in the physical sense. Uneducated or ignorant is what I am referring to.

As Fred says, “@ sleepy. We're all psychic, it's inhehent by birth, but it's been long forgotten.”

@ Fred I believe this to be true but I have never tried to tap into it. Maybe what I call intuition is pshycic ability. I guess I am uneducated in this area. Something I think I should look into. My daughter tells me I am very pshycic but I never believed I was. Hmmmmm.


@Cdnsirian,
“Maybe you're just "right here right now". The goal some strive towards for lifetimes... “ What a lovely thought. Thank you.

@Hurritt,
“Thank You Sleepy, awesome post
You just summed up a fair few of us there I reckon
And anybody who claims to be 'enlightened' isn't. If they were, they wouldn't be here would they!
So don't worry about it, your pretty well switched on methinks ”
Who Knew? And all this time I was worried it was just me.

My Sincere gratitude for all of your replies and to everyone sharing.
sleepy

[another bob]

Here's a tale Purple Lama might especially appreciate:

In 1970 I was fulfilling my Alternate Service obligation to the Government by working as a Child Care Counselor at a residential treatment center for pre-teens in Ukiah, CA. During that time, I was renting a small cabin about 5 miles outside of town for my days off. It was situated near a vineyard that backed into rolling hills, and the nearest neighbors were about a mile away. I had inherited it from another counselor who had burned out emotionally after two years at the center, and had returned to his home in the mid-west somewhere to recuperate.

Along with the cabin I had unwittingly gained a small, non-descript cat who wandered around the premises spreading cat hairs. Chronically allergic to cats, I tried to avoid this character, but he was apparently oblivious to my health issues and persisted in his shedding. Eventually, I felt that I needed to take more decisive action. As he was nonchalantly lounging on a widow sill one sunny morning, I scooped him up and carried him out to my car. Discerning my intent he offered a mild protest, but my resolve was firm, and I would not be dissuaded from my chosen course.

I drove four or five miles up into the hills to release the little fellow into the next phase of his earthly destiny, reasoning that he was semi-wild and independent anyway, and would likely adapt without much effort to his new environment. The hills were stocked with abundant rodent life, and he had already demonstrated his skills in that regard by occasionally depositing mice cadavers at the cabin’s front door. Without much ado I bid him good luck and happy hunting and then drove off, forgetting that things are not always what they seem to be.

The cabin itself possessed an odd quality, as if it was simultaneously appearing in this as well as some other, invisible realm. Not only the cabin, but the surrounding hills themselves seemed to evoke a subtle mix of mysterious intuitions at a subconscious level that I had difficulty accessing. Initially I ignored these whispers, speculating that perhaps they were just the lingering vibrations from an ancient Indian encampment in the area. I had recently begun practicing Zen meditation, and attributed these perceptions to the mere play of mind. Sometimes we can be rather naïve in our assumptions. One day I was to find out just how much.

It was a beautiful early afternoon in Autumn. Northern Californians called this time Indian Summer and, although I never knew the derivation, it seemed like an appropriate designation for this lovely season. I felt like a hike into the hills behind the cabin that day, and started off along a deer path that wound lazily up through the oaks and manzanita shrubs that thrived on the hillsides above the vineyard. Curiously, as I passed by certain random trees I felt a strange sense of apprehension just below the surface of awareness. It felt as if they were somehow conscious players in a spell that was being woven around me!

I had spent a good deal of time in the woods, and in fact had lived as a hermit for six months in the Sierras during the previous year, but I had never felt anything like this before. As I proceeded further into the hills, I began to sense an ambiguity about my orientation and, to my growing dismay, eventually realized that I was lost. I had been wandering around in circles for over an hour, and had no idea now how to continue. I found a rock outcropping to sit and ponder the situation, but as I took my seat I noticed a group of large buzzards directly overhead and was instantly aware that they were keen on some sort of rapidly approaching death.

My hair literally stood on end as a series of violent shivers churned through me, and without further thought I jumped up and began to run! It didn’t matter where – I just had to move, and I let my body take me on whatever course it would. Time played havoc in my mounting panic, and it was nearly dark when I finally – gratefully – reached my cabin, slammed the door behind me, and exhaled. Whatever that was, I believed that I had left it behind in the hills.

I was mistaken. A deafening series of clashing cymbal-like sounds, accompanied by blinding lights and shrieking howls, started encircling the cabin – slowly and methodically at first, but soon accelerating into a dizzying rush that threatened to sweep the cabin itself into a tornado whirlwind and whisk it from its foundations into the open maw of chaos and catastrophe! The walls began to vibrate fiercely, and then something told me: “Here it comes!”

Suddenly it was dead quiet. Too quiet. I now realized to my mounting horror that I was no longer alone in the cabin. Some kind of dark and menacing force was materializing in the corner across from me. A pitch-black shadow was growing before my startled eyes, blotting out the faint light from the window and creeping across the ceiling, walls, and floor towards me. I stood paralyzed in fear as my eyes darted helplessly in search of some escape. Suddenly spotting an opening, I raced towards the hallway leading to my bedroom before it too was swallowed up in the oncoming shadow. Slamming the door, I dove like a child under the bed and waited there, shivering uncontrollably.

Suddenly sensing movement to my side, I inadvertently banged my head on a bed board in startled shock before realizing that the creature next to me was the cat! The cat! Somehow, over the course of several weeks since I had dropped him off in the hills, he had managed to find his way back to the cabin, slip in through an open window, and was now calmly stretching and yawning next to me! I was incredulous – so much so that I had even momentarily forgotten the terror that was now pressing ominously against my bedroom door.

With feline grace the cat then stood up and padded in a most regal and dignified manner to the edge of the door that stood between us and the relentless psychic pressure being applied from the other side. Pausing there, he then tilted his head back and let out the most piercing cat screech I had ever heard! The echo of his shout seemed to reverberate through the whole valley, and then there was complete silence. I listened for any sign of the horror that had invaded the house, but heard nothing. Crawling out from under the bed, I proceeded carefully to the door and, opening it gingerly, found no evidence of anything amiss. The cat scampered into the living room and pounced up onto the couch and resumed his relaxed pose, as if nothing extraordinary had just transpired.

After looking around to inspect the place, I peeled off my urine-soaked pants and headed into the bathroom for a long shower. When I had dried myself off, I went to the kitchen cabinet and found some herbal tea. I brewed a cup and then joined the cat on the couch. He climbed into my lap, meowed, and together we kept vigil until dawn.

As the brilliant morning sun streamed through the windows, I was engulfed in a mood of deep peace. Outside, a family of deer was grazing near the window, and the valley was filling with gorgeous birdsong.

Since that night, I have never been troubled by allergies to cats, although I do pay more attention to where I am going when walking in the woods.

[modwiz]

Time to post and run. Having a blast at Omega Institute. Joined some musicians for a night of music. Many nervous on stage and you will see my focus holding things together. Composing the set list helped me to uncover a small booger in my psyche from around age 16. All fixed now.

Sorry, no traumas to report. Worked out my childhood awhile ago. Try it, you might like it.

Here are two pics from last night. Enjoy. Back to lurking for me.

1848618487

And then...........I went home.

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[RunningDeer]

@ Paula, if I may call you Paula, Mom to mom; I am so very sorry for the pain you went through.

Yes, Paula is fine and it's nice to hear Mom again. Thank you, sleepy, who's not so sleepy. http://www.pic4ever.com/images/bliss.gif

My heart goes out to All that experience the fine line of wanting to protect their children and still let them be who they came to be. And trust their children’s free choices to direct them towards the Greater Light and understanding of this silly illusion of play.

@ Fred, sailor dude... cool then... cool now. http://emoticoner.com/files/emoticons/smileys/big-smile2-smiley.gif (http://emoticoner.com)

[RunningDeer]

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Wilderness%20and%20Space/unity.gif

[Flash]

Diagnosed at nine with Juvenile Rhuematoid Arthritis, I was subject to treatments that were rather crude, and often painful. Three times a week I had to walk up the street a block to the County Hospital to sit in whirlpool baths, have heated parrafin layered on my hands like gloves, endure strange smelling ointments rubbed on my joints that was so strong I could actually taste it as soon as they put it on me - and it tasted like rotten fish, seriously. I recall sitting hunched over in the whirlpool bath, a huge stainless steel affair, hating every moment of being there, horrified at seeing the bits and pieces of previous patients' (burn patients I think) skin circling around and around me. The stainless steel vat that they used to heat the parrafin wax often malfunctioned, overheating the wax that I would be dipping my hands in over and over to build up a hot wax glove, so to speak. I often left the treatments with first degree burns on my hands and forearms. The physical therapy included being manipulated in all directions in order that my joints wouldn't become 'frozen' into place and unusable. Preceeding the therapists doing this, I was wrapped-up in heated pad-like devices, dozens of them all over my body, and they were frequently over-heated, burning my skin. It was outrageously painful, but all so very necessary, or so I was told. The strange thing was, the conflict came in for me because I really liked the people who were my physical therapists, but I hated and feared the pain that I knew I would have to endure at their hands. The walk from my house to the hospital up the street was like walking a slow frightening 'death march' to a dungeon of torture. I had to go alone because both of my parents worked. I was torn by this conflict at nine years old. These people were some of the few people who actually understood what I was living through, and they were thus my comrades, my friends, and yet they were also the ones from whom I received some of the worst pain, and the greatest fears and trepidations. This was the time when I began having regular nightmares of being tortured and chased by strangers, nightmares that plagued me for almost my entire life. PTSD, of a kind is what I find it to be.

I was diagnosed with the same at 71/2. I could barely walk, when I could (I would walk on my knees, my bump). Had a few treatements with strong antibiotics, but by then, we were living far from the city and could not have the extended treatments. Plus, money was very restricted at home. Somehow I recovered after months and months. So I went through the pain of the illness, but not too much of the treatments. However, I never felt like anybody understood anything about what I was going through. I also wonder if I did not get this illness (a true illness my immune system could not fight) to releive my mother of being in a wheelchair - like I would not walk in her place. When I had this, she was walking again.

I am sorry for your pain, knowing intimately what it was.

[sleepy]

Another Bob,

What an awesome, well written story. Maybe you should write a book.

[Arrowwind]

. Yes, that morning I opened Pandora’s box. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was scared or hurting in her last moments and I went all of the places that a mother dare not tread.

.

Horror, sheer horror. Yes, that is a pandora's box event, sleepy.

The last pandora's box event I had, after moving away from that place where we were ducking bullets too frequently was when my two boys were in high school. They had just inherited their grandmothers Taurus and taken to driving up to the ski valley after school to snowboard with their night passes. They generally got home at 9pm.
but this night they didnt return as scheduled. There had been a snow storm on the mountain and the road down from the resort was steep and certainly dangerous, with frequent accidents, avalanches and misadventures. By midnight I was in a cold sweat. pacing the house. looking out the windows for the very first glimpse possible of the car. When they finally did get home they did not recieve a joyous reception but my rath for they could have called me and they didnt. I was so upset that I didnt sleep at all that night.

After this I had a long talk with myself. Boys will be boys you know and they live in a different reality than I do. I nailed pandora's box shut and it hasn't opened since....but with what you went through, I think the nails probably would bust out!.... so I dont really know if its possible to keep the dam thing shut permanently. Events and concerns that might have cracked the box open in the past are not occuring, replacing fear with rationality mostly, I think. .... rationality... a defense mechinism to protect us from the concerns of all the potential realities that surround us.

[sleepy]

You guys could make a person learn to love the "Thank you" button.;)

[RunningDeer]

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Wilderness%20and%20Space/unity.gif

[PurpleLama]

Here's a tale Purple Lama might especially appreciate:

<snip>

Since that night, I have never been troubled by allergies to cats, although I do pay more attention to where I am going when walking in the woods.

Thanks, bob, I remember you sharing this in another thread that seems so far removed. I appreciate this story very much, I have had the experience countless times of my own kitties eating "brownies" and chasing off various wandering nasties. Also, the sense of magic and awe in the woods you describe is virtually unavoidable to me, even in sight of the house. Just being in the midst of trees transports me into the between, as it were.

As an aside, I am surprised at Paula's self control being confronted with new pictures of the bass playing hottie.

[modwiz]

As an aside, I am surprised at Paula's self control being confronted with new pictures of the bass playing hottie.

You are a funny man. Gee, maybe I didna try hard enough, LOL Too much mirth? :noidea:

One more try and poof for me. :pound:

18491

[another bob]

...I have had the experience countless times of my own kitties eating "brownies" and chasing off various wandering nasties....

Ah, Brother, I have been very lucky with magic animals! I was once confronted by a magic squirrel who helped me realize that my life was going in the wrong direction. I'll see if I can dredge up that story from my files ...

Blessings out in your woods!

PS: great black tights, Rad!

[RunningDeer]

As an aside, I am surprised at Paula's self control being confronted with new pictures of the bass playing hottie.

You are a funny man. Gee, maybe I didna try hard enough, LOL Too much mirth? :noidea:

One more try and poof for me. :pound:

18491

And that is it...self control! I was afraid that he'd scoot off. So here's me saying it...still a hot, hottie!

[RunningDeer]

If you look closely, ModWiz's aura comes through on the left side of his head, or maybe not.
It could be a blurred pic. Either that or he and his girl are energetically in sync.

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Photoshop/hot_hottie.jpg




As an aside, I am surprised at Paula's self control being confronted with new pictures of the bass playing hottie.

You are a funny man. Gee, maybe I didna try hard enough, LOL Too much mirth? :noidea:

One more try and poof for me. :pound:

[Sebastion]

Anotherbob, there is something here that needs to be understood about cats which has eluded me for years! A little follow-up story to yours:

I woke up in the middle of a very lucid dream. There had been a knock on the door and my wife and I had gone together to answer the knock. (in the dream) She arrived just a head of me and opened the door. She turned abruptly and said "It's here" and walked away. I stepped to the opening and simultaneously a young black kitten jumped into my arms. I began to cradle it and looked up to see who was standing in front of me at the door. It was a tornado of vile, and evil energy and it encircled me immediately.

I felt the cat curling up in a ball in my arms and looked to see he was as peaceful and contented as he could be. Something told me that under no circumstances was I to let go of the cat, even if it was to protect it from the evil that had surrounded me with such tornado like fury. I then knew that somehow this little kitty was MY protection from that fury.

When the evil itself knew that I would never let go of that little kitten, it seemed to linger just a bit and then, just like that, it was gone! That's when I woke up, sweating heavily and grateful to no end that we had survived that onslaught!

[ViralSpiral]

And then...........I went home.



and what, prey tell, is that?!?

http://i49.tinypic.com/1jozy9.jpg



Another Bob,

What an awesome, well written story. Maybe you should write a book.



I ♥ Bob's writing.

Hey, and thanks http://www.millerfilm.com/spacelinks/wink_emoticon.bmp

[sleepy]

Another Bob,

What an awesome, well written story. Maybe you should write a book.



I ♥ Bob's writing.

Hey, and thanks http://www.millerfilm.com/spacelinks/wink_emoticon.bmp[/QUOTE]

You are welcome. Where is that button?

[another bob]

Anotherbob, there is something here that needs to be understood about cats which has eluded me for years! A little follow-up story to yours:

I woke up in the middle of a very lucid dream. There had been a knock on the door and my wife and I had gone together to answer the knock. (in the dream) She arrived just a head of me and opened the door. She turned abruptly and said "It's here" and walked away. I stepped to the opening and simultaneously a young black kitten jumped into my arms. I began to cradle it and looked up to see who was standing in front of me at the door. It was a tornado of vile, and evil energy and it encircled me immediately.

I felt the cat curling up in a ball in my arms and looked to see he was as peaceful and contented as he could be. Something told me that under no circumstances was I to let go of the cat, even if it was to protect it from the evil that had surrounded me with such tornado like fury. I then knew that somehow this little kitty was MY protection from that fury.

When the evil itself knew that I would never let go of that little kitten, it seemed to linger just a bit and then, just like that, it was gone! That's when I woke up, sweating heavily and grateful to no end that we had survived that onslaught!

Wow, George, that was amazing -- we seem to have both been very lucky in the cat department!

http://i50.tinypic.com/2j0ed0p.gif

[Chester]

Yo Friends - please, don't shoot the messenger... I am just doing a favor for a friend.

This is directed to Modwiz - "Eagle said your sperm lottery showing again"

again, I have NO clue wtf... just following orders - Enjoy the Day

[sleepy]

I knew it. As I posted in the message in a bottle thread. "You can check out any time you like but you can never leave." And it is by the the EAGLES. enjoy.

lFlPC3h3Z2Y[/YOUTUBE]

[RunningDeer]

I’m calling this little guy, Pumpkin Head. Pumpkin for short.

http://avalonlibrary.net/paula/Animals/big-headed-kitten.JPG

“Animal Spirit Guides,” by: Steven D. Farmer, PhD. - (particle list)

If CAT shows up, it means:

- This is a period where self-sufficiency and trust in your own capabilities is necessary.
- Honor your sensuality by dancing slowly, with graceful and easy movements, and by enjoying touch and physical intimacy.
- Listen closely to your intuitive guidance, as it’s most likely an ancestor who’s one of your spirit guides trying to communicate with you.
- This is a period of magic and mystery for you, so pay attention to signs and omens that will guide and direct you.
- Whatever you’ve released - relationships, material goods, self-defeating habits - will soon be replaced with something or someone entirely roe suitable for you are presently.

Call on CAT when:

- You feel so wrapped up in someone else’s life that you’re not sure where you begin and the other ends.
- You’re in an intense period of self-reflection, exploring some new dimension of yourself.
- You’ve been working much too hard, and it’s time to play.

If CAT is your POWER ANIMAL:

- You’re introspective and listen to your own internal guidance more than others’ advice.
- You’re independent, sometimes to the point of doing exactly the opposite of what others expect or want you to do.
- Your most creative work is done at night.
- You move gracefully and naturally, exuding a mysterious sensuality.
- At times you come across as rather self-absorbed, seeming oblivious to those around you.

L.
P’er :wave:

PS Use what fits & assists and chuck the rest.

[PurpleLama]

I don't just seem oblivious.

¤=[Post Update]=¤

If cat shows up, it means:

Feed me.

Water me.

Pet me.

Scoop the box. Now.

All of the above.

[another bob]

Most of us, it seems, have had ambivalent relationships with one or both of our parents, and I was no exception. My Dad used to take the four of us kids on camping trips during the summer, but my Mom didn't go with us, because she claimed she needed to stay home and take care of her invalid mother (my Grandmother). That rationale seemed more like a false excuse, however, since my Grandmother had full-time nursing service.

It was only after one such summer getaway that I realized, to my horror, the true reason she didn't want to go with us. When we returned that night, so proud of the ice chest filled with trout we'd caught, we were greeted by an angry drunk who had taken possession of my Mom. I was only about 9 at the time, and at first couldn't make sense of what had happened to her. Only a few years later did I learn that she was a closet alcoholic, and moreover, had an allergic reaction to alcohol which rendered her into the most obnoxious and belligerant sort of drunk one could imagine. I was deeply embarrased by her antics, especially in front of guests, and so grew somewhat cold to her -- really just turning her off in my mind and emotions.

I left home at 13, and so was spared the long-term exposure to her illness the rest of my family had to contend with, but when I returned to the West Coast after years in the East, I was to have one final encounter that deeply impacted me, and it was filled with unresolved issues that were brought to a shocking head.

Once back in the San Francisco Bay area, I bought a house that was only about an hour away from my folks. Part of the reason I had returned to the West was through a magical series of events that included being recruited to a very lucrative position with a West Coast company that was too attractive to be turned down, and part was to be with my Dad, who was terminal with multiple cancers.

Once back in California, I met my Twin Flame by Grace, and left my first wife within a month to move in with my Beloved. We had already grown far apart emotionally, which made the change a bit easier, though it took her some time subsequently to get over the sense of rejection. For me, there was really no choice.

When I visited my father, the day he was told that he only had a few months left to live, I also mentioned to both parents that I was leaving my wife for another. My father approved, knowing how unhappy I had grown with my previous relationship. My Mom, however, was furious (because I tapped into her own abandonment issues), and proceeded to head to the pantry to anesthetize herself.

I remained in the living room, talking to my Dad, until I decided to check up on Mom. When I got to the kitchen, I noticed her passed out on the pantry floor (a familiar sight, and a big deja vu) and I figured, "There she goes again . . ." and returned to inform Dad that she was passed out. We both then went back to the kitchen, and it was then I noticed that, when she had passed out, her face had landed in a small waste-basket that was lined with a plastic bag, and that she was suffocating. I quickly pulled the bag away and called 911, while my Dad looked on in disbelief.

The paramedics arrived quickly, but she had gone into a coma. After a few days in the hospital, we were told that she was brain-dead, and so it was decided to remove the life support. I gave a eulogy at her funeral, and tried to put things in the most understanding and forgiving light, but I felt disturbed for some time afterward, even experiencing some guilt for my part in the drama, until a rather remarkable series of events transpired that change my attitude.

My Beloved and I had rented a small apartment, and she used to get up early and make coffee. My Mom had been the same way, getting up and making the coffee early, before the rest of the house awakened. Mazie had never met my Mom, but there is very little obscuration for her between what we know as "this world" and the "other side" (probably due to her tours there, as well as her subsequent yogic immersion). Anyway, Mazie began getting visits from my Mom, in the form of a palpable sparkling energy, and my Mom told her that everything was cool, that she was happy about our union, and that we could be at peace about the whole deal. This went on for a couple of weeks, until we were all satisfied that all was well. Then she moved on. Bless you, Mom!

[NancyV]

Thanks, Bob, great story.
:kiss:

[ViralSpiral]

Up and down like a yo yo .... from Modwiz's rendition of Robin Hood, men in tights (great pics btw, ta) to Bobs beautiful sharing. Luv ya Bobby-man (shhhhhh, dont tell Mazie) :)

Great thread. Thanks Fred!

[RunningDeer]

I want to say something profound, but nothing comes. http://www.pic4ever.com/images/computer3.gif Raw and powerful story. Thank you, Bob.

[another bob]

I want to say something profound, but nothing comes. http://www.pic4ever.com/images/computer3.gif Raw and powerful story. Thank you, Bob.

Thank you, Sister -- I know a lot of us have parent issue/stories, maybe I have opened a page others may want to take up on on?

Blessings!

[modwiz]

And then...........I went home.



and what, prey tell, is that?!?

http://i49.tinypic.com/1jozy9.jpg



It is a coyote pelt. One of my totem animals. A gift from my species control neighbor.

[RunningDeer]

My sister (G) had tossed a white blouse in the washing machine while we all visited at my parent’s place. Her plan was to leave from there to her restaurant job. I should point out that it was a Sunday and no stores were open back in the late 60’s. Also, we were brought up with these rules. Quote: “Children are seen not heard.” “Speak when spoken too.” “When I says jump, you say how high." "Think like a man and act like a woman." (that last one the craziest one)

I’m about to leave when G comes up from the laundry room, red faced and choking back tears, though not doing a very good job of it. (We weren’t allow to cry.) She was holding her white blouse that now was a putrid brown color with clumps stuck all over it. My father had tossed a shag rug in with her blouse.

His solution was to dig into his pocket, crumple up some paper money and toss it at her. With a tone of contempt, he said, “Here, buy three.” G’s on her knees collecting the bills and crying and explaining that no stores are open and she didn’t have time to shop.

My two youngest siblings stood at attention, watching. I stepped forward without knowing what I planned to say. It was for my siblings, not the blouse. (of course you know that) I looked my Dad in the eyes and said, “Money can’t solve everything.”

He raised his hand at me, but I’m 19 now and have my own apartment. In that moment several ah-ahs just went bing, bing, bing: I realized I was taller than him now, I can ward off his blows now, I knew he wouldn’t even step beyond the threat, and I also knew, he knew. Which was confirmed by his command to sit down. I simply told him. “No.” and continued, “Money doesn’t fix everything.”

Again, he commanded to sit, only this time, he stepped back and put his hand over his heart and said, “I think you’re giving me a heart attack.” I zinged back, “No, you are not. You’re faking.” He then added a stumble while he backed away still clutching at his heart, with a bit of a groan and plopped into his La-Z-Boy recliner. I couldn’t resist one last zinger, “Faking it. You always use that excuse.”

I picked up my things and walked out the door before he had the chance to kick me out. It wasn’t until I was safely across state lines that my whole body began to shake, my heart pounded right out my chest, and had I not been driving, I would have done a victory dance.


http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/DANCING_BABY.gif
http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/images-2.jpg

[modwiz]

Yo Friends - please, don't shoot the messenger... I am just doing a favor for a friend.

This is directed to Modwiz - "Eagle said your sperm lottery showing again"

again, I have NO clue wtf... just following orders - Enjoy the Day

It means I have to shower. :p

[another bob]

He raised his hand at me, but I’m 19 now and have my own apartment. In that moment several ah-ahs just went bing, bing, bing: I realized I was taller than him now, I can ward off his blows now, I knew he wouldn’t even step beyond the threat, and I also knew, he knew.

Thanks so much, Paula!

The violence always disturbed me too. I realize that my father was beaten by his own father, so I had some sympathy, but still . .. I remember being chased around the house, while my father was lashing out at me with his belt, which he withdrew from his pants like a saber. When I hid under my bed, the belt couldn't quite reach, so he removed his heavy shoe and threw it at me (this was all because my mother had heard that I was playing with a boy who was considered a juvenile delinquent that day, and so reported my crime). I was about 10. His shoe almost put my eye out, and later he apologized.

However,the next day he thought about it some more, and decided I should be disciplined further. I was out in the backyard when I saw him pick up a baseball bat and hurl it at me with full force. Time slowed down to a crawl as I watched the bat tumbling over and over in the air, heading directly for me. At the last moment, I leaned slightly to the right and the bat barely nicked my ear. If it had impacted, I probably would not be typing this.

After that, my father apparently felt mortified, and went into the garage where he painted my name in white onto the black garage wall. I guess that day the demon left him, since he never hit my younger siblings, and never felt compelled to go after me again either. Bless you, Dad!

[Ron Mauer Sr]

Wow ... the stories here are incredible. My experience with parents was not so bad, but for some reason I want to post a few.

My father was always taking a nap after returning home from work. He would get furious if anyone made a sound loud enough to wake him up. One time the dog woke him up. While screaming at the dog and pulling the dogs choke collar as the dog was doing his best to go the other direction, I intervened. This skinny 14 year old told his dad to pick on someone his own size. Lucky for me, he just turned and went back into the bedroom.

Mom was out of the house working a part time evening job at a radio station. Dad was already upset with Mom, thinking she was having an affair, when his anger turned to my 13 year old sister and threatened to kill her. I don't remember the details but I was told that I, a skinny 15 year old, intervened and protected my sister. My sister never recovered from that emotional experience.

My father was taking his after nap snooze sitting in a chair at the corner of the dining room. He would doze off, his head would hit the wall, then the process would repeat. Of course I though this was very funny. I must have laughed too loudly because as he woke up his right fist caught my ear and the air pressure broke my ear drum. Later he never accepted the fact that he did that.

Visiting Florida with my parents when I was 15 or 16 years old, I did something to displease my mother. She hit me in the eye with her fist and temporarily damaged the muscles that controlled eye movement. That hurt for many days. Later she never accepted the fact that she did that.

Once Dad and Mom divorced and Dad lost control of me, we became friends. He never remembered the rough spots.

Many years later I shared my plans for building a passive solar house on some undeveloped rural acreage that I owned. Mom said if I gave her land she would build a house and leave it to me in her will. Then she changed her mind and wanted to convert the solar house plans I had made into a duplex. She would pay half of the construction cost. She wasn't able to contribute a full half but it was close enough so that I could still afford the mortgage payments. Things were OK for a while until I started dating. When my girl friend and I were leaving for a beach trip on a holiday weekend, Mom suddenly and angrily demanded half the value of the house plus improvements she had paid for. There was no way that I could afford a refinance. So Mom hired a lawyer to sue me.

Things eventually worked out. I married my girlfriend. Mom moved out and got all that she asked for without going to court. I did not want to fight my mother, a sick old lady who had a history of winning law suits against other people.

When Mom was dying of cancer, she asked for my assistance and received it. Although our relationship improved since the proposed lawsuit, it never returned to what it once was.

[another bob]

Wow ... the stories here are incredible. My experience with parents was not so bad, but for some reason I want to post a few.

Really appreciate these glimpses into your family life, Ron! Thank you!

I think people were more conditioned to hitting back in the day, and a stigma has since developed about that, for good reason, of course! Watching the old movies, it was even considered a point of humor, like the way Jackie Gleason would threaten his wife Alice on the Honeymooners, for example.

Blessings!

[1inMany]

This is not a story about me, it is a story about the power of love.

A few years ago, I was going about my daily life when I got a phone call from my niece, Melinda. It was quite out of the blue, as I had not seen her since she was a little girl and she was now a grown woman of 22 with two small children. She wanted to make the four hour drive and come visit. My girls, being 14 and 11, were bouncing off the walls with excitement. In fact, only in the midst of this kind of excitement can a four bedroom house get clean in two hours…days before the visit. As her visit approached, she called to ask if it would be okay if she brought her older sister, Brianna, who we had also not seen in years. Little did we know our lives would be drastically changed for the next six months by this little change in plans.

About four hours into the visit, when evening was setting in, Brianna began to open up about her current life situation. She had three baby boys, twins about 18 months old and another about 8 months old. What a handful! The father of these boys, with whom she and they lived, was a drug addict. His drug of choice was heroin, but anything he could get his hands on would suffice. She had found the toddling twins playing in one of the bathrooms with used syringes, needles intact and uncovered. This man believed the boys needed discipline, and his idea of discipline was to give them a harsh beating followed by placing them in their cribs for hours. She had very few maternal instincts, but she did want to go and comfort them. He would not allow it. This man had a habit of disappearing for days at a time, during which escapades had as much unprotected sex with “crack whores” as he wanted. He had once held Brianna by the neck up against the wall until she passed out. When she came to he was having sex with her. And, sigh, he had also raped her on occasion.

Upon hearing about how her life had unfolded, my heart was broken. Truly broken. But what sent me over the edge was when I found out that those baby boys were at home with him while she came to visit. And they were alone with him. She had no other way to ask for help. She had to walk to a pay phone to make contact with anyone, all three babies in tow, and of course she never had enough money for diapers let alone for a pay phone plus the paranoia of getting caught was debilitating. So in order to reach out to anyone, she had to leave them behind. Within an hour, Brianna and I were in my car on a four hour road trip.

I will skip the ordeal of how we got the babies, it involved Children’s Services, his out of town family, and a lot of fast talking. They didn’t have a chance when MamaBear came out. We left that state with all three boys. It was a very light trip, as the boys owned no toys or books. I think we got the playpen and some bottles. And that was the darkest house I have ever stepped foot in. In my entire life. The twins had cribs in one bedroom, with one window that was covered. I know there were Angels watching over us that night, as Brianna and I slept on the living room floor. (If that bastard thought I was going to walk out of that house without those children, he was sadly mistaken.) Two of the boys took to me like white on rice  The third, one of the twins, was special. I gave Brianna the baby and I knelt down to meet the second twin. Brianna said, “Don’t be offended, he really does take to people quickly.” I looked at this little Angel, he looked into my soul and smiled. And ran into my arms. Brianna’s jaw was on the floor, but I was not surprised. What did surprise me, though, was that this was the only smile I saw out of any of the three of them for the next week.

I took Brianna under my wing and taught her what it is to be a Mom. She had never known how. As a result, these children did not smile. They did not giggle or laugh. And they did not speak. All they knew to do was cry. And all she knew to do was spank, though she knew the man had gone too far.

In the time they were in my care, Brianna learned the joy of having children. The children learned to talk, to giggle, to tickle, to play, to dance, to behave (with not one finger laid on them in my house). Brianna learned how to care for another human being, how to nurture, how to get mundane chores done with three babies…things like doing dishes and cooking while the baby bounced in the seat blabbering happily and the twins sang songs and “helped.”

When that was in place, I helped her find a job. She not only learned to love, she excelled at it. Oh, she was an exhausted ball of nerves, for sure. But she was doing it all…taking care of her children in every way, being a loving and doting and nurturing and fun Mom while working and keeping up after every single need everyone had. Then came a place of her own.

You might wonder what ever happened to her. Does it matter? I mean, really matter? She never forgot a single thing she learned while she lived with us, and still once in a while I hear from her how grateful she is to know how to adore her children. That’s what matters.

I have never felt so grateful in my life as I am to have had some little part in that “miracle.” Not me, but through me.

[1inMany]

Well, I have to add...it is also a story of strength. The inner strength that we have but somehow do not know it. Her strength, my strength, and the strength of my husband and daughters.

She was able to get a tiny apartment within walking distance of a day care. Slight clarification, it was probably a mile away. We got her a stroller for twins, and the twins sat in the back and the baby sat in the front. In Texas, in Dallas actually, in August...she walked those three babies to and from the day care. During the day she took several buses to get to and from work until she, eventually, got a running car.

I kept her under my wing, of course. One time I visited them in their little apartment, and she gave me a gift. It was a frame with a picture of her and the three boys in it. Man, she looked worn out and those boys looked...well...like they were ready for a nap. And she had an exhausted smile on her face, arms around all three of them. I cried, of course. But I asked her what she saw in that picture. She said she looked tired. I said that I saw strength in that photo, and one day she would look back on that and realize how strong she is.

And she has. She has mentioned that quite a few times. And when I look at the picture, sitting in the window sill over my kitchen sink, I see a miracle.

[Arrowwind]

If you look closely, ModWiz's aura comes through on the left side of his head, or maybe not.
It could be a blurred pic. Either that or he and his girl are energetically in sync.

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Photoshop/hot_hottie.jpg




As an aside, I am surprised at Paula's self control being confronted with new pictures of the bass playing hottie.

You are a funny man. Gee, maybe I didna try hard enough, LOL Too much mirth? :noidea:

One more try and poof for me. :pound:

OOH! and its red! I had noticed that too.

[modwiz]

Parents. I picked them for their genetics and the ability to stifle me in my early years. Too early an emergence for me would have led to disaster. I was crucial for them to be heavy handed.......and they were. Like any performance, flubbed lines, miscues, wrong notes, they happened. The hindsight of it all is pleasing in the extreme. Little deviation from plans and side trips have proved useful. Any other view of my childhood would leave me disempowered. The lessons of childhood are about having no power. Adulthood is about being in your power. I have a rich life ahead of me and the minutiae of my childhood would be like the clothes I wore then. Useless baggage and sentimental trinkets. I remember the good parts because the past is a flexible as the present and future. Timelines run backward as well.

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here. I hope this thread provides some balm for the soul and found paths for healing.

Apparently, according to Write4change, I won the sperm lottery. Sounds messy to me.

[RunningDeer]

http://avalonlibrary.net/paula/Lucy/angel_wings.JPG


This is not a story about me, it is a story about the power of love.

A few years ago, I was going about my daily life when I got a phone call from my niece, Melinda. It was quite out of the blue, as I had not seen her since she was a little girl and she was now a grown woman of 22 with two small children. She wanted to make the four hour drive and come visit. My girls, being 14 and 11, were bouncing off the walls with excitement. In fact, only in the midst of this kind of excitement can a four bedroom house get clean in two hours…days before the visit. As her visit approached, she called to ask if it would be okay if she brought her older sister, Brianna, who we had also not seen in years. Little did we know our lives would be drastically changed for the next six months by this little change in plans.

About four hours into the visit, when evening was setting in, Brianna began to open up about her current life situation. She had three baby boys, twins about 18 months old and another about 8 months old. What a handful! The father of these boys, with whom she and they lived, was a drug addict. His drug of choice was heroin, but anything he could get his hands on would suffice. She had found the toddling twins playing in one of the bathrooms with used syringes, needles intact and uncovered. This man believed the boys needed discipline, and his idea of discipline was to give them a harsh beating followed by placing them in their cribs for hours. She had very few maternal instincts, but she did want to go and comfort them. He would not allow it. This man had a habit of disappearing for days at a time, during which escapades had as much unprotected sex with “crack whores” as he wanted. He had once held Brianna by the neck up against the wall until she passed out. When she came to he was having sex with her. And, sigh, he had also raped her on occasion.

Upon hearing about how her life had unfolded, my heart was broken. Truly broken. But what sent me over the edge was when I found out that those baby boys were at home with him while she came to visit. And they were alone with him. She had no other way to ask for help. She had to walk to a pay phone to make contact with anyone, all three babies in tow, and of course she never had enough money for diapers let alone for a pay phone plus the paranoia of getting caught was debilitating. So in order to reach out to anyone, she had to leave them behind. Within an hour, Brianna and I were in my car on a four hour road trip.

I will skip the ordeal of how we got the babies, it involved Children’s Services, his out of town family, and a lot of fast talking. They didn’t have a chance when MamaBear came out. We left that state with all three boys. It was a very light trip, as the boys owned no toys or books. I think we got the playpen and some bottles. And that was the darkest house I have ever stepped foot in. In my entire life. The twins had cribs in one bedroom, with one window that was covered. I know there were Angels watching over us that night, as Brianna and I slept on the living room floor. (If that bastard thought I was going to walk out of that house without those children, he was sadly mistaken.) Two of the boys took to me like white on rice  The third, one of the twins, was special. I gave Brianna the baby and I knelt down to meet the second twin. Brianna said, “Don’t be offended, he really does take to people quickly.” I looked at this little Angel, he looked into my soul and smiled. And ran into my arms. Brianna’s jaw was on the floor, but I was not surprised. What did surprise me, though, was that this was the only smile I saw out of any of the three of them for the next week.

I took Brianna under my wing and taught her what it is to be a Mom. She had never known how. As a result, these children did not smile. They did not giggle or laugh. And they did not speak. All they knew to do was cry. And all she knew to do was spank, though she knew the man had gone too far.

In the time they were in my care, Brianna learned the joy of having children. The children learned to talk, to giggle, to tickle, to play, to dance, to behave (with not one finger laid on them in my house). Brianna learned how to care for another human being, how to nurture, how to get mundane chores done with three babies…things like doing dishes and cooking while the baby bounced in the seat blabbering happily and the twins sang songs and “helped.”

When that was in place, I helped her find a job. She not only learned to love, she excelled at it. Oh, she was an exhausted ball of nerves, for sure. But she was doing it all…taking care of her children in every way, being a loving and doting and nurturing and fun Mom while working and keeping up after every single need everyone had. Then came a place of her own.

You might wonder what ever happened to her. Does it matter? I mean, really matter? She never forgot a single thing she learned while she lived with us, and still once in a while I hear from her how grateful she is to know how to adore her children. That’s what matters.

I have never felt so grateful in my life as I am to have had some little part in that “miracle.” Not me, but through me.

[RunningDeer]

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood.
It's been 17 years that I've lived where I am. Even as I write this I pull out my calculator to check the math. It was yesterday that I moved. Years before, 20 + 17 to be precise, I'd drive past and it seemed way, way far away. It had a haunting feel to it. Strange language in my explanation. But now I know why.

Three months after my son's passing, I made the decision to make a start fresh. I went to check out an apartment and a dark grey cold feeling came over me when I pulled into the driveway. I cried. I made the assumption I wasn’t ready, yet feared that I’d be frozen in a time that no longer existed.

It took two more months before I witnessed “the me” pick up the local paper, open to a page and the only listing I saw out of 50 or so was a phone number to call. My fingers dialed the number and was invited to check it out. Just as Lori gave directions, this place popped into my head. No need for directions.

I stepped inside and knew it was mine. From newspaper to agreement, it took less than an hour. That weekend I moved. Through the night, I tip-toed around so as not to wake the neighbors, all boxes unpacked, books stacked, cupboards and closet filled and curtains hung.

This place has magic. Some day it won’t. It will happen as quick as it did when I moved in.

[another bob]

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here..

Rad, why not write a bit more about your vision of an empowered adult? The thread is, as we called it, a blank canvas, awaiting any brushes, to paint with whatever colors, so if you feel it has so far been imbalanced in one direction, start it going in a new direction. That's what the freedom of a blank canvas provides!

Blessings!

¤=[Post Update]=¤


...And when I look at the picture, sitting in the window sill over my kitchen sink, I see a miracle.

Sister, truly grateful for your addition, and a fine example too of empowering! Really appreciate this story, and your role in the rescue of your relatives! Beautiful service, Thank you!

Blessings!

[Chester]

I always take the threats of suicides by others completely seriously, because even if they don't truly want to die, sometimes they accidently kill themselves.

Having never had the first suicidal thought, hopefully I'n not speaking out of place here. But, from what I have gathered over the years, people who are truly suicidal don't generally talk or brag about it, they just do it.

I had a (former, long story) friend who for years on end would start blabbing after a few drinks, about how miserable his entire existance has been, from the very get go, and how he's just waiting for the right time, or the right excuse, to finally off himself. I had really gotten tired of hearing this over time, and then one night he and his wife were over for the evening and dinner.

In he starts: "Oh poor me, I'm just gonna end it all one of these days soon, and have this poor miserable life over with once and for all". "That's it" I thought to myself. "Enough!". I went and unzipped the old pistola from it's pouch, handed it to him, and demanded: "Here, let me help you. Go out in the back yard and f*****g do it then, I'm sick of hearing your poor me suicide bulls**t!"

Make no mistake. This is by no means how I would ordinarily handle that type of situation, but I felt I knew the man well enough, and that this might just make him think about what he's saying a bit more consciously.

He became very sheepish, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He quickly handed the gun back to me, changed the subject, and I never heard him mention suicide again.

My father... around 1975 told me a story one day. He told me he was age 33 and was sitting on the toilet with the gun in his mouth. I wasn't sure why he told me that story.

It was on Tuesday, June 26 of 1979 around 11:00 AM when he called me at my bookstore job and told me he had to fly to Louisiana to get some money for some bookies he owed. He had lost his beloved wife just 3 months before (cancer). He said he would call me the next night and if not, for sure would be back Thursday. I knew something was wrong. I implored him to let me go with him. He told me not to worry, that he had an armed security guard accompanying him. The last words he spoke to me were, "I want you to always remember, I always love you." Those exact words. No call came Wednesday. On Thursday he was a no show. I called the family lawyer. He told me if he's a no show by that evening to call him Friday.

Friday came and he was still a no show. I called Rust (the family lawyer) and he said he would go to my Dad's apartment/office and see what he could find out. I got a call at work at around 12:30. "Chester, please. come to your Dad's apartment." The boss who had received the call whispered something to his son, Mike. Mike said, "Come on Chet, I'll drive you over there." I knew my Dad was dead.

When we got close I saw a few police cars and an ambulance. I ran out of the car and somehow Rust was coming out the door and grabbed me and told me while looking upwards, "Chester, your Dad's dead." I tried to go in and he and a policeman restrained me.

In many ways one never forgives themselves for not listening to their inner voice. But I know now my Dad is fine, he is just somewhere else. I also know he knows I always love him.

[RunningDeer]

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood.

Wild woman’s spiritual journey is the courageous steps taken or what would appear to the outside world as absolutely crazy. Life experience is synonymous with spiritual path.

18 years old walk out the door with a brown bag bag filled with clothes and a couple of books. Hitched a ride to the next state over. Fresh start.

Filled my 1963 VW with my 3 1/2 year old son’s things, pot and pans and some clothes and drove away from a marriage and brand new home that became just a house. Fresh start.

With one more semester of college, the TV switch began to smoke and flame. I was afraid it would explode. Grabbed my son, while he grabbed his teddy bear and watched as it went up in flames. The volunteer fire department wouldn’t come out because of 3 false alarms that day. 85-90% loss of "things". Fresh start.

I was in a physically abusive, live-in relationship (not for long) where it was safer for me to jump from my second story window. And that I did. And promised myself never to do it again... Never broke that promise. I was out by month's end. Fresh start.

2nd marriage of 17 years, left it all, except the queen size brass bed, clothes, books and pots and pans. We are still dear friends. Fresh start.

I walked away from the security of a job and chose to live a small, fulfilled life. By today’s standards, I’m poor but I feel like a millionaire. The label is “retired” with a small business in an apartment. I spend most of my waking days in reflections, reading, writing, walks, all the stuff that everyone else does, but now have more time to do it. Fresh start.

And I am still saying that I would not change one second of my life. I know of great sorrow, great forgiveness, great compassion, and great love. And I am all of this because of the gift of real life experiences. Life experience is synonymous with spiritual path. And I would say, I still get scared, but I continue to over ride it knowing that I always, always land on my feet. I can’t explain it. There’s a part of me that watches as this Paula steps out and moves forward. There’s an inner knowing that the foot knows which direction to go in. And I’ve noticed that as it’s happening, I’d swear that I’m flying. My stomach is in joy mode. My mind, like a tethered balloon say, what's happenin'? All while chuckling with glee. And the hardest thing is to know what and when, yet I trust that it’ll unfold as needed.. A journey ... I know not where next, yet.

Tank’s all gassed up though. Fresh start.

I say, do not fall into the trap of security and things...Life is too short. Life is too precious. Give yourself permission to be a quick study and move on.

[another bob]

I must have read some bit of Eastern philosophy about needing to go beyond the mind in order to discover the natural state of true freedom. In any case, I began pondering that concept, until one night, sitting out on the front porch of my parent's house, I found myself utterly absorbed in the inquiry, forgetting all else. No matter how deep I seemed to go, however, I would still keep coming up against an impenetrable wall that prevented me from going any further.

I was just coming to the recognition that mind cannot be used to transcend mind, when a family member called out for me. It felt like they were miles away, but the voice was insistent, and finally I came around. They said, "You better come and see this on the TV -- Bobby Kennedy has just been shot!"

With that, my inquiry into the nature of mind got momentarily put on the back-burner, but it would not be long before such an investigation coincided with my commitment to social service.

Growing up in San Francisco, with a fervent social worker activist for a mother, and a live-in grandmother who had been instrumental in founding the Women's Benefit Association (an early pre-cursor of the modern Women’s Movement dating back to the '30s), I was naturally inclined to a service orientation. With my own 7 years in a Catholic Seminary during the turbulent 1960’s, timed with the Second Vatican Council, when fresh voices within the church were speaking the Liberation Theology, I was moved to explore a fresh connotation to the service ideal that related directly to the oppressed and needy.

All around me swirled an immense energy of change, of consciousness re-inventing itself, wild, often conflicted, and vividly alive. For most, this all amounted to some kind of problem in need of a political solution, and plenty were suggested. I was more interested in the source of the dilemma, rather than the mere symptoms. I had I learned early on that any particular social manifestation was the play of dependent origination, a constituent component of a greater whole, and that’s the vision that beckoned me – the unified principle, the basis.

For a long time – ever since a dramatic experience at the age of 8 rocked my young mind – it seemed like everybody was performing. All were busy pretending to be students, protesters, cops, teacher/preachers, soldiers, radicals, politicians, talking TV heads, holy swamis, rabbis too, humans doing what they do, but the closer I looked, I could not find any enduring reality in this earnest charade. It was all a bit ridiculous, in fact, but what was I?

Was I the one who sent my draft deferment back to the draft board, naively accompanied by a love poem? Was I the one who, consequently, stood in front of that same board one evening, on the verge of being shipped off to Viet Nam, inquiring together on the real meaning of serving one's country? Was I the person classified then as a conscientious objector? Was I in fact any of the characters who subsequently went on to pursue the right action, the right service, in whatever way the dream moved, weaved, twisted and turned, or none of them, none of that at all? I didn't know, I wanted to find out, and so I delved deeper and deeper into the inquiry. The quest was not just for my own satisfaction, but I realized that, unless I was able to come to terms with what’s real, I could never hope to be of any true service, but merely compound delusion with more delusion.

Rather than providing me with answers and solutions, however, that inquiry methodically stripped away the pretense of knowledge itself, drilling down through the stratified layers of borrowed notions, subtle programs, and second-hand beliefs to the core story of “me” and “mine”. There is a pain that burns, when everything we once may have cherished is revealed to be illusion. I had to come to terms with that, to live unafraid in the unknown, to love, unafraid, in the unknown, regardless of current circumstances and conditions breezing across the dream screen. What’s eventually discovered, if we follow all the way through, is that Awareness alone remains, empty even of any emptiness -- both the origin and destination of the whole functioning totality of universal manifestation. Such a realization was still far beyond my ken, and the fullness of its recognition and consequent embodiment certainly still is, but “the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step”, and how else would it or could it be?

When I finally returned to San Francisco in late 1969 after spending months as a hermit in the high Sierras, I moved in with some friends I had met while still a seminarian, and who were active in the Peace effort. They lived in the Haight-Asbury District – the colorful home of the Hippie Movement. One day I picked up and read the Bhagavad Gita – an ancient Hindu Bible -- and this little book had a profound and lasting impact on me. As I read the verse:

“He who does My work, who is devoted to Me and loves Me, who is free from attachment and from enmity to all beings, goes to Me.”

a resonant epiphany rang in my heart. I proceeded to look up meditation in the phone book, found a Zen Center nearby, and began studying Buddhist practices geared towards the discovery of the truth of one’s own nature. To really serve others, I realized that I needed to “know myself” first, and this seemed like a good place to start.

Many of my friends were now experimenting within the growing counter-cultural movement sweeping the nation, and I found myself living right in the epicenter of it. I eagerly drank in all that this new world was serving up, but what most appealed to me was the focus on universal love woven within the songs and proclamations of this emerging vision. Nevertheless, I had learned by now that vision without action is a dream, just as action without vision is a nightmare. I was still propelled by that early call to “do something” about all the suffering around me.

At the time, the Viet Nam War was in full flare and, having forsaken my theological deferment upon leaving the seminary, I soon became the recipient of the dreaded draft notice, requiring me to report for a physical in preparation for induction into the army. I did not want to shoot people, I only wanted to serve and nurture them. Consequently, I applied for Conscientious Objector status, necessitating an appearance before the Draft Board to argue my case.

When I stood before the esteemed assembly of citizens who were trying to turn me into a weapon in thrall to the military-industrial-banking complex, I explained as patiently as possible how wrong-headed it would be to send me on their killing errand. Apparently, my sincerity was convincing enough to Board, and so I began 2 years of Alternate Service as a Child Care Counselor at a residential school and treatment center in rural Northern California for emotionally scarred pre-adolescents.

I was assigned to a group of 10 very unhappy, abused, and bewildered boys that I came to love, and I carefully watched over them, and also made sure that they ate properly. I had the kitchen substitute fresh fruits and vegetables for the standard white sugar and flour products, and eliminate institutional processed foods as much as possible. Rather than letting them sit around and watch violent cartoons on the weekends, I would load them into the van and take them to the parks and beaches of Northern California, and let these inner-city kids get the feeling for the freedom to be found in nature. At bedtime, I would give them tender backrubs, and tell them little stories to ease them into the night.

It quickly became apparent to me that the common source of these kids' disturbance was a profound wound at the emotional heart of their being -- they had found out early, and invariably violently, that they were not loved, and so I was moved in my way to address this with them, and by grace I was opened to a previously unplumbed depth of my own heart to compensate or balance the hurt in theirs. I literally fell in love with them, to the point that they recognized my love for them as real, and their behavior began to modify as they came to trust this love.
Of course, I was totally delinquent when measured against the conventional medical establishment's rules and standards. In the evenings, we would all do a bit of guided meditation, and they fell asleep without being dosed with their prescribed sleeping pills, and in fact I gradually stopped giving them their anti-psychotic meds, because they had ceased their acting out and were developing relational skills which allowed them to deal with their anger and frustration in a more natural manner.

Within several months, my group began to stand out from the others at the treatment center, since there were hardly any episodes of violence or acting out that characterized the other units' daily behavior. In fact, we all had more and more pure fun together, and were eventually touted by the administration as an example of successful "rehab" work to visiting authorities. After about a year, the staff psychologists decided to study my group in depth to determine why they appeared to be making such rapid progress, compared to the other units, and of course that's when they found out I had weaned the boys from the heavy chemical straight-jackets that had previously been used to artificially manage and control their behavior. I had replaced drugs with hugs, more hugs, a natural life style, listening, yes, and even meditation - I had begun studying Zen with Suzuki Roshi at the time, and applying his teaching to child care, and they all loved their morning and evening "mendatation".

Naturally, the bureaucratic shrinks were flabbergasted, and promptly fired me. The dear children all gathered a petition on their own to keep me there, but I had violated the prime directive -- do not mess with the pharmaceutical protocols, regardless if they're poisoning the children!

As grace would have it, I soon thereafter got a letter from the Government indicating that my services were no longer required to fulfill any remaining Alternative Service duties, and so my next stop turned out to be Mt. Baldy Zen Monastery. I still often think of those kids, and so many millions more like them, and how rare it is in this world that even a handful come through to peace and rest, all armor laid down like Prasad at the feet of the Beloved.

[Chester]

Another strange twisted part to it. My step-mother had pancreatic cancer. They had given her all sorts of pain medication yet she refused to take any of it.

The afternoon of the day she died, her Mom, who had been with her for the nine month ordeal of comforting her daughter through the stages of her death, I and my father were in the master bedroom when she asked my father while looking straight at me, "Sam, what did you do with Ginger's pain drugs?" Clearly she was worried I might steal them and oddly the thought had never occurred to me.

My Dad replied, "No worries, I flushed them."

Clearly he had decided already what he really was going to do with them. That's how he went out. I recall cleaning up the small bloodstain on his desk... I assume where his head had laid... the blood from his hemorrhaging via his nose or mouth or maybe his ear.

I added this because of the irony that Ginger wanted to experience her last days as coherently as possible. Everyone said how weird that was. Yet that act gave Dad the weapon he needed which he would not have had otherwise. Something tells me they are together and smiling.

[Arrowwind]

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood..


An empowered adult. I see these stories as a reflection on finding power, our challenges, the tyrannts that repress us, our fears and how we overcome them. Great learning for anyone on a path. Each story is an intimate mirror. We all have stories of power that we rarely discuss with anyone, never mind taking time to write onto a page and we all have stories of how we found our power or lost it as the case may be, as well as what kept us from knowing it. Its an endless road getting though the obstical course on our way to enlightement... and enlightement is like a forever unfolding flower, its beauty and power keep growing and opening and opening and opening... and along the way we keep advancing and learning, overcoming that which holds us back by entering new experience, new pathways of revelation, unshakling ourselves from imposed or chosen limitations through the grist of living experience.... for me, I know I still have quite a ways to go regardless of how blessed and forgiving my life has been. I have stories of power, and I will share them as time goes by. Otheres here do also.. takes time to get your feet wet when things so intimate as these kind of stories are told.

[another bob]

An empowered adult. I see these stories as a reflection on finding power, our challenges, the tyrannts that repress us, our fears and how we overcome them. Great learning for anyone on a path. Each story is an intimate mirror. We all have stories of power that we rarely discuss with anyone, never mind taking time to write onto a page and we all have stories of how we found our power or lost it as the case may be, as well as what kept us from knowing it. Its an endless road getting though the obstical course on our way to enlightement... and enlightement is like a forever unfolding flower, its beauty and power keep growing and opening and opening and opening... and along the way we keep advancing and learning, overcoming that which holds us back by entering new experience, new pathways of revelation, unshakling ourselves from imposed or chosen limitations through the grist of living experience.... for me, I know I still have quite a ways to go regardless of how blessed and forgiving my life has been. I have stories of power, and I will share them as time goes by. Otheres here do also.. takes time to get your feet wet when things so intimate as these kind of stories are told.


So very well said, Thank you Sister!

Really appreciate your wise and wide embrace here!

Blessings!

[RunningDeer]

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Wilderness%20and%20Space/unity.gif

[Arrowwind]

DarkNight – Chapter One - 30 years ago - a true story

I had already been a year and a half into the mysteries of living in Taos when I came upon this 100 year old adobe that set close to the edge of the rim road in Arroyo Seco and the nearly as old woman who resided in it.

I was being cast out of Ski Valley, or so it felt in the moment. The woman I had been sharing an A frame ski lodge with just up the road from the little town center had asked me to leave. I had never been asked to leave anywhere before so it was a new state of considerations to contend with. My usual insecurities came to the forefront. Not good enough, not smart enough, not friendly enough,not nice enough. The thought forms that resided within were surely my enemies that I had battled with countless times before. So often that they seemed more like old friends, those whispering voices that confirmed to me my due place in the world.

But the other voices that I had been calling in were much stronger now. I had walked much. I had walked the world. The roads of Arroyo Hondo. Of Colorado.The mountains of California and Montana. I had walked and walked and in silence enough to know that who I was was not those voices nor the images they attempted to project upon my person hood, upon my very soul. These voices were just reminders of who I was not and never was. They were just the few remnants of the battles in my head that had long plagued me but were now mostly gone, lost to the endless roads and forests of my walk.

I now walked the rim road towards Taos Mountain along the cliff down to Valdez.The beauty of the place filled my cells. The smell of earth, my senses afire.The colors of life shined upon my eyes. You could stand on the rim and look out to the horizon to the edge of the world and there at the edge was always a display of form, color, contrast, fire and water, air and earth in always a new dance. My senses reeled. I would forget the voices in my head and know my part and place on this earth. I would caste my sight over the valley below. Valdez,Valley of the Witches and wonder how life there differed from mine. What mysteries, what untold secrets and conspiracies resided in the mud houses below?

Here I stood above, impervious to the histories and scandals. Independent of social dictates. Somehow for the first time in my existence I felt I was free. Free of it all, even the voices, although still there, did not rule me. Like any other evil in the world it may be there but does it rule you?

The 100 year old house was surrounded by an adobe wall with a gate that faced towards the front and the west of the house. There were huge cottonwoods to the south side. It looked unkempt. As though it were almost melting into the ground destined to return to its source.

There behind the gate a white light appeared bobbing up and down. “Who goes there and WHO are you? ’’ the pointed questioncame at me like a slung arrow. I was just walking down the road minding my own business.

I approached her then, seeing now her face fully and her crown of white hair reflecting the afternoon sun.. “I had heard that there was a place for rent down this road. Have you heard of it?” I asked the old woman as she opened her gate.

She was short with glistening white hair, cut much like the Dutch Boy on the paint can. She was wrapped in a shawl of many colors of jade and rose, turquoise and sunset. Her feet where knurly, wrapped in Birkenstocks. Her cheeks were distinct red circles as though made by old fashioned rouge pads. “No” she said. “But you can live here”as a broad smile crossed her doll like face.

Hmmm. I thought. Perhaps this is it. She opened the gate further and I entered.

“I have a room for rent. It is $100 a month. You are welcome to stay as long as you want but this is not my house and at any given short notice you may have to leave. I don’t know when that may happen, It could be anytime but perhaps not for a long time. Is that agreeable with you?”

I told her I would have to think about it. The next day I moved in.

The house was a traditional old adobe with a few quirky additions. The central room held the main sitting area and kitchen. Off to the north and the south were two bedrooms. Up a step or two to the west another room that I was essentially forbidden to enter as it belonged exclusively to her daughter.

And the house smelled of cat urine. And try as I might I could not eliminate it.The boncos in the main living area were covered with old woven pueblo blankets and pillows and some woven things that looked more like they were from Oaxaca.If you washed them the cats would just return to do their deed. And there certainly was an abundance of cats and periodically a litter of kittens to amplify the aroma. After a while I gave up and learned to surrender to the dictates and spirit of those who preceded me.

Aside from this one distraction that was somehow surmountable for me the house wastfull of interest. Everything was old. And everything had a name. Well most things anyway. Some things, Kathleen said did not merit a name. The cups and plates, the table and cabinets. Book stands and shower room all had names. The outhouse was Acrapolis and the old Ashley wood burner was Cherokee.

Kathleen was old. 84. She had been around some. Educated and lived in Berkeley but originally from the area of North Dakota where those characters from Little House on the Prairie found their origin. She said in fact that she knew the family which the story had been written of. After the death of her husband and the raising of her children she had decided to commit her time to learning and telling stories, which she did often. She had many stories and sometimes she would have little gatherings in the main room of her home of local storytellers and those who wished to learn the art. No one special really. Just local folks with a story. I even tried my hand at it a couple of times. Stories were fine but not of particular interest to me. Sometimes the ending of a tail was so preposterous or just plain flat that I wondered why I sat there to listen at all. But the stories I loved from Kathleen the most were of real life. She would tell me of everyone she knew and how perhaps they got to be where they were.

I’ve always been aware that my life was a precarious spiritual journey. Although I did not always affirm and conclude daily that this is what it is all about. I would have, on occasion, great moments of revelation that would dazzle and excite me and incite me on to the next awareness even across long periods of what seemed barren experience. Within those long drawn out segments of barren experience, I came to realize, was the making for the next revelation. Revelation is perhaps a strong word. Things would not always be earth shaking and full of jubilation or excitation or blinding light. Most often just a simple awakening from a series of experiences that showed me some small truth about my reality. Living in that house with Kathleen seemed to condense my experiences. Seemed to speed things up. Seemed to catapult me into some of the larger questions and acts of faith. In and around Kathleen and her home is where I would do my battle of light and dark,face the dark night of the soul and win.

It was close to winter solstice. Taos and its surrounding areas are the darkest places I’ve even been at this time of year. The night would be pitch. It was hard sometimes to find my way from the house to the car. The darkness was thick like a sheet of black velvet across your face. It almost had solidity to it.The flickering light from the kerosene lamps, the smell of its oil burning, the black soot upon the walls, all worked to create a sense of place, a sense of warmth in the dark and chill of winter nights. It became my welcome refuge,much like the feeling of an animal warding off the winds and weather in its cave.

My room was large enough, with a double bed, a wood burning Franklin fireplace,adobe walls, vega ceiling, adobe floor. The walls were thick and could keep out the bitter cold of the 7,400 foot altitude in the winter. Always there was the adobe dust that settled about on everything. Here you lived, breathed and resided in the earth. You are always aware of the elements nipping at your heels, making you get up and move, to contend with the forces that challenge and would overcome you quickly and without mercy if you allowed them. The morning excursion to the ****ter was always my first reminder. My daily wake up call.The Acrapolis, that on first hearing its name, mustered up images of old Greek ruins of dignified stature, was in fact the outhouse some 60 or so paces from the back door. In snow, wind, rain, pitch of night, there it beckoned you to its place of personal sanctuary.

Then there was wood. This sacrifice of wood. The daily chore.. The splitting, the hauling. The smell of it. The feel of it. The Zen of it. The endless flow. Like a river of wood from the back entry where the stacks stood to the mouth of Cherokee who consumed fiercely and regurgitated its ash upon all the shelves and seats and curtains throughout the house. I did this chore for Kathleen. I did it for myself. But clearly for Kathleen. And others came too, from the neighborhood and participated in the Zen of wood.

But the house was good and strong and deep walled and even in the darkest of the months the house could go unattended several days without freezing. So if for some reason on any day you could not manage to muster any further than your chamber pot you knew the house would endure the cold and you could pick up where you left off the next day or the next with the Zen of wood. Some mornings when Kathleen was away and an early rise took me off to the Ski Valley to work,the house went without heat. I would fire Cherokee every other day or so. And bury myself in my room next to Franklin and there I would meditate, write and too often, sober up.

Drinking was a new experience for me. Not that I hadn’t drank before. But I had never drunk with any regularity. Here it was every evening. Wine. Too much wine. And when Kathleen was home she would break out the bottle of sherry that somehow seemed to be bottomless. We would sit in the night with Cherokee blazing. Kathleen at the kitchen table, her preferred place and me in the high-backed stuffed chair,each with our glass of sherry. Everything in the room looked so old. The books shelved from the floor to the ceiling in covers of leather with gold print.Other paperbacks yellowed with age and smelled of mold. Many of the books I had tasted, a page here and there. At times it seems that the books spoke through their covers, beckoning and reminding that their story was not yet fully revealed to me as heir gold letterings would glimmer in the firelight. Then Kathleen. You could feel the spirits of a 100 years dancing around her stories. Sometimes the night would be filled with her stories. Other times we left each other to our own thoughts or books.

One evening Kathleen told me that there were forces in Taos and especially Arroyo Seco that were dark. But that she had friends here who looked out for her and she looked out for herself and those who were in her home. She also told me that she was once attacked by a witch but through prayer and ceremony over came her. Witches were known to fly at night in the skin of an owl she said.. She filled her home with a protective light, but she was not sure if she could maintain that protection if she was away. She was warning me. She was going away for a while. A few weeks. Just a little trip to China. She would be back in due time.

In the spring the cottonwoods outside my bedroom door bloomed. They sent off so much white fluff that the ground, as it budded forth with new life, would seem to be covered in snow again. One early morning I got up to look out the window to the back. There was Kathleen in the grassy area between the house and the Acrapolis,raising her arms to the sun as it came over the mountain in the east. The dew on the remains of last year’s plant life glistened as though they were made out of stalks of crystal glass. Green things were sprouting from the ground. White fluff from the cotton woods glistened in the air about her as though she had pulled the very stars out of the heavens to encircle her. Everything looked aglow with yellow and white and green. There she was amidst the light and life of spring, spinning, dancing, with her shawl of many colors flying in the breeze.I could see she was singing but could barely hear her. This went on for a few moments then she was gone. Off into the Acrapolis.

Oh! Ok. Just a little trip to china. A few weeks, a month, and she wanted me to look after the place the best I could but she could not be sure that I would be protected. She would fulfill her longtime dream to go to China and collect stories there. To see the great wall. To dance upon it. That I would even entertain the thought that she was too old for such a trip was not permitted. I remained silent until it was time to wish her good travels.

Shortly after the weather just started to get warm Kathleen set off for China and a new litter of kittens were born. I had the house to myself and them. Still I was drinking too much but I never drank so much that I felt I couldn’t drive. I was always very careful of that. But it was enough to make me feel unwell often. I was not holding any light.

The first morning after she departed I was home to stoke Cherokee and look after things, tend to the kitten box and make sure all was well. I got up to make my way to the Acrapolis and gazed into the card board box full of fuzzy little kits to find 4 heads and one decapitated body and a bloody mess. Shocked and nauseous, I ran into my room and sat on my bed to gather myself together, which didn’t take long. That mess was not to remain in my house a second longer. I threw on a jacket, grabbed the box and took it to the cliff just outside the walls of our adobe compound and threw the box and its horrific content over, down into the Valdez, the Valley of The Witches. I went back and sealed any entrance a cat could enter by, smudged the house and spent too much time wondering how such a thing could occur.

That night while sleeping I was awakened buy a noise at my bedroom door. Not the door to the main room but the door to the outside as all the bedrooms had. I immediately felt afraid, which was not like me to do but my nerves were still on edge a bit from the horror I had found in a box earlier that day. I got up and when I saw that nothing was there I returned to bed. A few minutes later the noise came again but then passed and I went back to sleep.

Suddenly I was awakened by a terror! A man had come through the door and thrust himself upon me. His weight held my bones fast to the bed. I could not move. But this was not a man. It was something else! Something that more that terrified me but horrified me. This spirit or energetic thing that had passed though a sealed door was entering my body. Not physically. Not like a ****. But energetically he was pushing his way into my spine, up my spine in to my head. I started to scream. I could feel my mouth wide open but no sound came out yet a horrific scream came out of my psyche that propelled this entity out of me and back though the closed door.

I got up to check the door. It was locked. My mind was spinning. It was so cold.I threw some wood on the smoldering fire and quickly returned to bed.

I lay there almost paralyzed in fear. But the alcohol from the night before combined with the exhaustion of my struggle to throw that thing off soon sped me off to sleep as though it was just a bad dream.

But soon into sleep it came again. This time I felt no weight on my bones just this thing trying to get into me. I could see its face and it looked every bit the demonic face that you would see in any medieval book and it intended to devour me. To take me over. To enter my spine and push itself up. Again I started to scream and no voice came out but it left anyway only to soon be upon me again.This time the battle was waging fully. My will alone could not chase it out. So I did what I rarely ever did in my life. I prayed and to a god I did not even align myself with. I prayed that Christ would confront this enemy and caste it out for all eternity. As soon as the thought form of Christ entered my mind my mind was filled with a blazing cross. My mind filled my whole body and my mind had become a cross of blazing all consuming light. Instantly this demon, this impetus retracted and convoluted upon itself as it seemed to be energetically sucked out through the door and back into the night.

I was never bothered again.

After a few weeks Kathleen returned from her China trip. I came home from work and found her lying on the floor on a pad next to Cherokee. There she slept for almost 3 weeks. I barely saw her stir. I would make tea for her and leave it with little sandwiches before I left in the morning. In the evening it would be gone. But not a word from her. Just sleeping there on the floor for many days.Finally after a few weeks of this I came home to find her up and having prepared a small dinner for us and the stories of China started to come. I listened and saw through her words a very foreign land revealed to me over the course of many days and dinners.

Finally,“Well tell me. How did my house do when I was away?”

Still that night disturbed me. I had come to realize that it was a true power struggle and it had fully stopped my drinking. It was some days before I found the words in me to tell Kathleen what had happened and only this most direct question brought me to it. I told her of the demon at the door and how it tried to enter my body, and I told her of the cross of light.

“Humph.” This meant that she was going into some serious consideration of the event.

“Well? What do you think?” she finally said.

“I think I had a battle and that I won. I think that I didn’t know how to win but I won anyway.”

“Well,of course you knew how to win! You thunk it! You thunk that cross! Nobody else. Pretty good for someone who is not a Christian, I would say. You seem safe to me now. I would say that you seem much stronger and clearer.”

“I don’t drink anymore. That’s for sure. I think that drinking made me vulnerable.”

“Perhaps.Most likely, I would say so, but I told you that there are dark forces around here and that I couldn’t hold the light when I was so long away. I think that demon had probably been looking for a way in for sometime. I’d been bothered here before. When I first moved in. I had to work hard to seal the house and the property corners. Down there in the valley there is trouble and they don’t like people of light coming around. I and a few others have had to stand our ground here. Such as it is here in Seco,really for much of Taos, but it has been getting better these last few years.”

“Before,when young people first started coming here there was lots of trouble. Hippies found dead on the roadside. Lots of trouble that no one ever got to the bottom of. It was a real battle going on for land and power. But I think some of the problems have faded away, either by death or surrender, I’m not quite sure.Anyway, I hadn’t heard of such a direct assault like you got in a while”

“So what comes for you next anyway? It feels like you are at a portal. But to what?”

“I don’t know,” I said. "I really don’t know. I feel strong and clear now, like I have a part of me that had always been missing, but I don't know where I am going. One thing I can be quite sure of is that something is coming my way. I feel a change a coming."

[Arrowwind]

Trying to fix the font size above but having no luck. any admistrator please help.

[ThePythonicCow]

Trying to fix the font size above but having no luck. any admistrator please help.

Fonts "fixed" :).

Well, fonts removed ... but at least it's readable.

[modwiz]

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here..

Rad, why not write a bit more about your vision of an empowered adult? The thread is, as we called it, a blank canvas, awaiting any brushes, to paint with whatever colors, so if you feel it has so far been imbalanced in one direction, start it going in a new direction. That's what the freedom of a blank canvas provides!

Blessings!


Bob, I believe 9eagle did that and I witnessed the results. I have a lower pain threshold than her. I see nothing but woe and demonization in pursuing your suggestion. It is a noble one, however.

[another bob]

Bob, I believe 9eagle did that and I witnessed the results. I have a lower pain threshold than her. I see nothing but woe and demonization in pursuing your suggestion. It is a noble one, however.

Many felt well served by Chelley, although I understand her reluctance to return. I assure you there will be no demonization on this thread. It's for adults only, so maybe reconsider if you are ever so moved, and watch how things develop, you may be pleasantly surprised, Brother!

Blessings!

[Flash]

Parents. I picked them for their genetics and the ability to stifle me in my early years. Too early an emergence for me would have led to disaster. I was crucial for them to be heavy handed.......and they were. Like any performance, flubbed lines, miscues, wrong notes, they happened. The hindsight of it all is pleasing in the extreme. Little deviation from plans and side trips have proved useful. Any other view of my childhood would leave me disempowered. The lessons of childhood are about having no power. Adulthood is about being in your power. I have a rich life ahead of me and the minutiae of my childhood would be like the clothes I wore then. Useless baggage and sentimental trinkets. I remember the good parts because the past is a flexible as the present and future. Timelines run backward as well.

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here. I hope this thread provides some balm for the soul and found paths for healing.

Apparently, according to Write4change, I won the sperm lottery. Sounds messy to me.

It is fine if childhood trauma have been processed instead of repressed. As long as they remain repressed though, it is difficult to have a true fully empowered adult. If this thread help the remaining processing for some, great, lets do it. Sometimes just opening up to others does the trick.

I am happy your childhood has been processed Modwiz. Great to have one at least who is empowered.

[sleepy]

Another Bob,

What an incredible story. I do enjoy your writing. I wonder how your boys are doing today. Have you ever thought of looking them up? They were lucky to have you.

Arrowind,

First off, thanks for making that font bigger. Thanks to Paul too. This was another fabulous story. “So, what comes next for you anyway?

Edit to add: Missed a few posts. This thread is growing. Thanks to all for sharing.

[Arrowwind]

. “So, what comes next for you anyway?

.

Chapter two is not yet written. It may never be written. Thats the real dark night of the soul story and rebirth and Im not ready to put it in print... dont know if I ever will be. It almost like a diamond that I hold inside of me, precious and very personal.

[sleepy]

. “So, what comes next for you anyway?

.

Chapter two is not yet written. It may never be written. Thats the real dark night of the soul story and rebirth and Im not ready to put it in print... dont know if I ever will be. It almost like a diamond that I hold inside of me, precious and very personal.



While that is disappointing, I totally understand. If you ever decide to write it, I would love to read it.

sleepy

[RunningDeer]

Parents. I picked them for their genetics and the ability to stifle me in my early years. Too early an emergence for me would have led to disaster. I was crucial for them to be heavy handed.......and they were. Like any performance, flubbed lines, miscues, wrong notes, they happened. The hindsight of it all is pleasing in the extreme. Little deviation from plans and side trips have proved useful. Any other view of my childhood would leave me disempowered. The lessons of childhood are about having no power. Adulthood is about being in your power. I have a rich life ahead of me and the minutiae of my childhood would be like the clothes I wore then. Useless baggage and sentimental trinkets. I remember the good parts because the past is a flexible as the present and future. Timelines run backward as well.

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here. I hope this thread provides some balm for the soul and found paths for healing.

Apparently, according to Write4change, I won the sperm lottery. Sounds messy to me.

It is fine if childhood trauma have been processed instead of repressed. As long as they remain repressed though, it is difficult to have a true fully empowered adult. If this thread help the remaining processing for some, great, lets do it. Sometimes just opening up to others does the trick.

I am happy your childhood has been processed Modwiz. Great to have one at least who is empowered.

Make that at least two, Flash. Even in my younger years I was empowered. I wore the colors of the rainbow across my body, but my spirit was never broken. I never wavered from what I believed to be right and true.

I agree that it is critical to rid what holds one back from seeing their beauty. It takes an empowered being to be vulnerable enough to clear the gunk, or admit to themselves when something isn't working. It takes guts to change and to forgive. It takes courage to live one's Truth, even if it means walking the path alone.

[another bob]

Great to have one at least who is empowered.

Anyone who steps up to share their story here is empowered, imo.

Anyone who even makes the effort to appear here in this realm is demonstrating a power that is rare throughout the whole universe, so I just don't buy any put-downs that might arise from some arbitrary and conditional interpretation on somebody else's level of personal freedom.

The proclivity of humans to pass judgmernt on each other is one of the great diseases of the mind, and the root of most of the strife we witness daily on this rock. Let's rise above that.

Blessings!

[another bob]

Another Bob,

What an incredible story. I do enjoy your writing. I wonder how your boys are doing today. Have you ever thought of looking them up? They were lucky to have you.

Thanks for your kind words, my Friend! It's been nearly half a century, and I long ago lost track of the fellas, once I entered the Zen monastery, then moved to the East Coast, where I started a new life for the next quarter century, which was also filled with many endings and new beginnings. I pray that they all had the opportunity to keep what they had learned when we were together, and build on it. Blessings to them all!

[Chester]

Nancy: - Another mind blowing story, I agree with Bob, your autobiography would be a great read !!!

What would the title be? Clearheart? I had the same wish when I read your post, Nancy. And you are an excellent writer and you also love to write so... anyways, justonewish from justoneman

[Arrowwind]

It seems that there have been times in my life when my psychic or spiritual connection to the Universal Intelligence was strongly connected. I often attempted to create my reality through affirmation and prayer. It became so evident to me "knock and it shall be opened, ask and you shall receive" was not just a catchy phrase, it is a truth. My greatest errors was in forgetting this truth, and stumbling though life without consciously asking. In loosing memory I lost much along the way.

When I was young I wanted to know if reincarnation was true. I longed for an answer. I wasn't interested in reading about it or what other people thought and especially, intellectual treatise was extremely boring. I wanted to experience it and to KNOW. The desire and affirmation that I would eventually come to know became deeply seated in my being, but yet not really dwelt upon. Just there in the background, day after day, month after month, Merhr Baba was speaking to me, repeating over and over in the recesses of my mind… Know Thyself, Know Thyself. So I called out to know about reincarnation, myth or reality. Show me the cards point blank.

Shortly there after, while traveling in Mexico with new friends in a little town called Mulege, one of my traveling companions told me that she had been experimenting with hypnosis and regression. I asked her to try it on me and so we did.

It was about an hour and a half session on a beach near the water. I seemed to go into the 'dream' easily. Events entered my mind and as she guided me a story came forth. Sometimes there were periods of silence, as I was trying to discern what it was that I was experiencing so I could speak it. She said at times there were painful expressions on my face. I had recalled a life near Washington. At the time I thought it to be Washington state in 1853. But as time passed I came to realize it was Washington, the Capitol.

My first memory was sitting on a small cliff in fog, looking out over a river. I was waiting and watching for a ship. I remembered going there often to wait and watch. The ship I sought never came. In time I came to know that my husband was lost at sea. John. He was my husband, a sailor, we had a small farm along what I now believe to be the Potomac River, but during the regression I could not say this.

I remember looking at my hands which were with long thin fingers that apppeared dried and worked to the bone with earth filling the cracks and nails. I had two children. The eldest a boy. He believed his father to be a sailor but I knew it was not true. His father believed him to be his son.

The real father was an abusive minister of a small Baptist church. My uncle and I would go there when I was young in his horse drawn buggy pulled by a gleaming black mare. My uncle, who had some moderate wealth which allowed him to almost, but not quite be a gentleman farmer, raised me until I was 14 when he died. I had no recall of my parents. At this time, afraid and alone I fell into the arms of this preacher. Some time later I became pregnant. I remember clearly the day I went to tell him about the baby. He stood in the doorway of the church and cursed me and condemned me to hell and told me I was evil and said I should never cross his threshold again. His name too, was John.
A few weeks later I married another man named John who came to spend much time at sea. We had the land my uncle left me and we worked it hard.

One winter when he was at sea our young daughter died. The ground was frozen hard, and the weather bitter. I was isolated in our cabin like home in the country. Our elder son was already off working for others having left home at the age of 12 or 13. It was so painful. I remember wrapping her body in white cloth and opening the wood burning stove and stoking it high. I put her small body into the flames and closed the stove. My grief was immense.

Sometime after this my husband never returned from sea. He never knew that our son was not truly his.

Later that night I walked upon the same beach. I still felt to be in an altered state. Life seemed more alive and my very being somehow felt more real. The stars shone brightly above and the Pleiades was high in the sky. I gazed into it with longing for understanding. Suddenly I was struck by knowing. I knew that it was from within the Pleiades that my origin came. I was looking into the place in space that was my homeland and it was like a funnel or channel of knowing connected me to those stars. An inner voice said this is where your soul is from, come to earth long ago to serve humanity. You will be with humanity till the work is done. You chose this of your own volition.

Several years went by after this regression. I often thought about it but there wasn't much to research as I had no conclusive addresses or name and no internet to gain access to a world of information. I did finally come to believe that I had a small farm along the Potomac River, that in those days had many canals connecting to it and was developed for ships to come up a ways for the trade of goods. This was the only thing I could figure from research. The state of Washington in 1853 was way too undeveloped for the lifestyle I had on this farm at this time.

I went on in my current life to develop and interest in a type of alternative medicine. While attending a class in San Francisco about 2 to 3 years after the regression I connected with the teacher. There was an instant draw to one another although I would not say it was a comfortable attraction. I will not tell you his name for his privacy, or anything about his current life.

One day he came to visit me up in Sonoma County where I was living at the time and we went for a walk along the beach where the Russian River meets the sea. I asked him if he had a belief about reincarnation and he said no but that some of his friends did and that they insisted that he go see a very well known psychic. They even paid his way as he had refused to put money into such misadventures. I had not told him my story of regression.

So what did the psychic tell you I asked? "Well," he said "I was told that my name was John and it was very unusual as I was a sailor and a farmer at the same time. I was lost at sea in 1853." With this statement he picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it hard and far into the water.

1853 – one hundred years before my current birth year, 1953.

I was about ready to faint. Breathing hard trying to contain myself. "Well, do you believe it?" I asked. "I don't know. I have no memory of it" he said. "Its just a story I don't relate to."

I said nothing. It was as if I could not speak. I could not say what I thought. I was dumbfounded. I said nothing.

A few weeks later I went to see him in San Francisco. We tried to be close but it just was not working. Eventually I did tell him my story. But I could not tell that the son that he had thought was his was not. I think he thought I was a nut and fabricating the whole thing.

Eventually on my last visit to him as I walked out the door I told him. The son my husband thought was his was not. The son you thought was yours was not. I left and I never saw him again.

But even today he haunts me, the person he was and the person he is. One day I was seeking confirmation to a decision I was trying to make about work. It was a big decision and one I feared I could not stand up to fulfill. I asked spirit to show me a sign that this was the right thing for me to do. Shortly after I went out to a friends house, with the need to make this decision on my mind, as well as my supplication to spirit. I sat down in my friends house and opened a magazine that was laying there on the table. I opened it directly to a full page photograph of this man who had come to visit me in Sonoma county, who told me that he was a sailor and farmer in the 1800s, this man that I believed was a reincarnation of a previous mate.. The article was about his work and the importance of it as an alternative modality. I knew instantly it was the sign to make my decision to go and start my new adventure into healing and that is another story.

Later, a year or so later I came to find out that the man I had been living with during the time of my regression, and whom I was now separated from and whom I had taken great measure to get far away from which entailed my move from San Deigo to northern California had come to meet this teacher of alternative medicine in San Francisco and they had struck up some sort of friendship. So do souls travel in connected circles? Judge for yourself.

Sometimes I feel very attached to this story being true. It has framed much of my life experience, so much so that I have been resistant to researching what little there is in the story to make confirmations. So today I decided I would look into the wood cook stove that I cremated my child in. I have been absolutely unsure if wood stoves even existed in 1853 and I was afraid I would find that they didn’t exist so I have long avoided looking into it.. so I just went on line and found something similar to what I saw in my regression. Here it is. And its funny you know. See that little lacy looking sidebar on the stove? I recently selected a wood stove for my home that one can do some cooking on top of also if need be. It has options of sidebars similar to that shown in the photo below and I really really wanted them, even just one if possible, but at $200 a pop I had to let them go, with some regret. The stove I recall did not have the upper boxes.
http://www.antiquestoves.com/wood%20cook%20stoves.htm


And then I found this one which is also similar. The one I recall was not near as ornate nor did it have the tall back as seen in this one and the other photo.
http://www.antiquestoves.com/historicstoves/index.htm (http://www.antiquestoves.com/historicstoves/index.htm)

Another interesting side note is that my current husband in this life is named John also. We met about 8 years after the regression.

[sleepy]

Arrowind,

After reading this story, it made me think of some things in your last story. You wrote about the Zen of firewood. You also said you would “bury” yourself next to Franklin and meditate and often spoke of Cherokee. Just kind of thinking out loud.

I was happy to wake up to another story. Thank you

[sleepy]

Great to have one at least who is empowered.

Anyone who steps up to share their story here is empowered, imo.

Anyone who even makes the effort to appear here in this realm is demonstrating a power that is rare throughout the whole universe, so I just don't buy any put-downs that might arise from some arbitrary and conditional interpretation on somebody else's level of personal freedom.

The proclivity of humans to pass judgmernt on each other is one of the great diseases of the mind, and the root of most of the strife we witness daily on this rock. Let's rise above that.

Blessings!

Another Bob,

You do have a way with words, eloquent as always.

If I may add my opinion, I find all of your stories empowering, a joy to read and written by the empowered.

Bless you all

sleepy

[sirdipswitch]

I walked into the arena, it was jammed to overflowing, with more than 30,000 people, in anticipation, of the Grand Gathering, which is a challenge for the Crown of our Kingdom. It was first formed by the King, at the very beginning of His reign, in order that any Rebel who wished to challenge the Throne, would have the means to do so, leagally. In order to prove His worth as absolute ruler of His people, He would have to prove His ability to take on all challenges to it. It was set up as the King, against the leader of the Rebellion, and 15 of his top warriors, in a fight to the death, with swords, as was done in the old days, before modern weaponry. In the center of the arena, there was a hundred foot cicle, formed by the Royal Guard, in the center of which, were the sixteen Rebel challengers, standing in the required four groups of four, with their leader in the last group. I passed through my Royal Guard, to view the challengers. I then turned around to face the Captain of my guard. He smiled, I smiled, I removed my Royal Cape, and drew my sword. I then turned to do battle... oh but wait... you wanted something from this life, right? Fred...

OK, I was in this pizza parler with my new Bride,(of one month), and we had just found a table, where I "parked"her, and went to the bar to get us a couple of mugs of dark beer. (mmmmm dark beer, sooo good) I came back to the table, and there was some jerk leaning on it, trying to pick up on my wife. I set down the mugs, and told him, "that's my wife you're talking to." and he said "shut up fat boy." (Yep, I've always kept a little bit of a belly, cuz it works as camouflage for the six pack underneath, and the girls don't get so excited. cccc.) I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up, then slammed his face into the table. He came up all bloody, with both hands to his face. I put my left into his gut, and he folded up, puking his guts out, and I then gave him a blow to the side of his head, and he dropped in lump, into his own puddle of vomit. I held out my hand, and helped my wife out of the booth, and we headed for the door.

Fat boy my a**. I was an ol farm kid, and at that time, a truck driver, and no, we didn't have power steering back then, so you needed to be far stronger than most, or you wouldn't be able to even steer one. It was that very strength that made me dislike fighting, (I never liked to hurt people, and would normally talk my way out of a fight, so that I wouldn't have to hurt anyone.) but this guy was after my wife. He "needed" a lesson in manners. ccc.

[sleepy]

sirdipswitch,

You are funny. You should finish the first story it was good.

[another bob]

Arrowwind, amazing tale, Thank you for probing into this so thoroughly! I can certainly relate to travelling with a soul group, recognizing a number of my current relations as characters from previous lives here. For example, I recognize Mazie's grand-daughter Ryder (now 11 mo), as my own maternal Grandmother. She had quite a remarkable life last time around, which I may share something about here at some point.

Sirdipswitch, Thanks for joining in! I know you have many fascinating stories to share, and looking forward to hearing more, as the spirit moves you!


Blessings!

[another bob]

At the Catholic elementary school in which I was enrolled in the 1950's, the usual curriculum routine was occasionally set aside for "Audio-Visual" presentations. Students were gathered into the auditorium, lights were dimmed, and the whir of a film projector signaled the beginning of another movie about precautions to be observed in the event of a nuclear attack. This one was different, however. I was 9 years old, and as I watched the flickering images of babies, covered with swarming flies, dying of starvation in some country I had never heard of, my own young heart was burned. In fact, by the end of the film I was on the verge of passing out until the lights came on and an earnest missionary appeared in front of the assembled students. As I listened intently to this Soldier of Christ, the mission which was soon to dominate the first half of my life took form. In a fantasy vision of service not unlike dressing the sacred wounds of Jesus, the task before me was suddenly and undoubtedly made clear.

The missionary promised that, if each student was able to somehow contribute $5.00, they would be able to adopt one of these "pagan babies". Not only would it be "saved" but, as a side benefit, each child would get to share the name of the contributor who had donated the sum.

Five dollars seemed like a lot of money, but no obstacle was going to deter me in my newfound crusade. I immediately threw myself into a fervor of coin collecting. I started out using all of my milk money, but found that wasn't nearly enough. Every minute another child was dying! I began going into my father's pants pocket at night, after my parents went to sleep. Each time I would take just a few dimes or nickels to contribute, reasoning that they didn't need the money as much as the pagan babies. I approached all of my visiting relatives, as well as my parents' friends, soliciting spare change for the mission. I would search the street on my way to and from school, looking for any fallen coins that might go to the cause.

Soon I broadened my view to include the neighborhood as potential recipients of goodwill. I began to take my bagged lunch and parcel elements of it into people's mailboxes as I walked up the hill to school. I felt that it was better for me to go hungry than to have anybody else in the world go hungry. By the time I arrived at class, I had an empty bag but my heart was a little fuller.

Next I got a job as a paper boy, rising when it was still dark to travel the streets delivering the news and forwarding my earnings towards the pagan babies. I felt that I was doing something, but it was just not enough. The pagan babies needed all the help they could get.

The nuns were amazed at my fund raising. Somewhere in Africa there were now, hypothetically, at least a dozen people bearing my name, saved from a life of certain starvation. I did not feel good about this, however. There were so many more! So many! It seemed the task was hopeless. How could I save them all?

Meanwhile, my parents started getting calls from the neighbors, thanking them for the bananas and sandwiches, but asking for the rationale behind such postal contributions. When my father and mother confronted me, I told them about the starving children, the desperate suffering pagan babies. They were not as convinced as I that giving my lunch to the neighbors was the best tactic, nor were they amused when I confessed that I had been taking their money to fund my campaign to alleviate world hunger.

I sank into a profound dilemma about the whole thing. I wanted to give everything -- my life even -- to save others from suffering. I could not bear to see anyone suffer! I felt no peace, knowing that the pagan babies were crying for milk somewhere. The situation seemed unresolvable.
By the time I turned 13, I had already decided to enter a Catholic seminary to become a priest and dedicate myself completely to a life of unselfish service. Everyone seemed to agree that this was the best thing, given my unusual inclinations.

Over the course of the next 7 years in the Seminary, I spent a great deal of time studying the various texts, performing the many prescribed rituals, and was always at the top of my class academically, though I found that the more I examined this religion, the less I was convinced that it had any actual merit, beyond serving as a social control mechanism operated by questionable people with even more questionable motives. Finally, I asked for a personal interview with the Archbishop of San Francisco. This went rather poorly, and I left with the clear sense that this person had never actually experienced anything that he preached about. He was dead inside.

After too many years in the belly of that monstrous beast, I walked away disgusted with the whole rotten institution and moved to the high Sierras to cleanse myself, spending the next 6 months living as a hermit in a small tent by a river. This was quite refreshing, and then one day an old friend dropped by to visit, and left me with a copy of a book on Zen. I devoured this book, since it was like a reminder of my time prior to getting involved with the salvation-business. When I came upon one particular passage – a little poem about trees just treeing – everything suddenly fell into place. How obvious it all was!

Not long afterward, I returned to San Francisco, looked up “meditation” in the phone book, and came upon the San Francisco Zen Center. I called them up, they said “Come on down!” There I met Suzuki Roshi, and I became his student that night. It was the right thing to do!

What followed included a stint as a Child Care worker (to satisfy the requirements of Alternative Service to the Government), then several years as a Zen Buddhist monastic, which in turn led to a career as a successful businessman pioneering the introduction of Natural and Organic foods in Supermarket formats across the country. It seems I still wanted to feed the people, so I figured it might as well be with the best food I could find.

Somewhere along the way a simple recognition dawned. There were no fireworks, no lightning bolts or anything dramatic – just a clear and obvious realization that my whole life-long quest was based on a false premise. All along, I had assumed myself to be a separate individual, trying to bridge an assumed chasm in my own being. I had superimposed on this simple being all sorts of beliefs and solipsistic judgments about myself as the one who is "doing" all of this, and then projected that dreamy made-up stuff out into "the world" -- as if "the world" was somehow separate from myself. All along I had been repeatedly graced with clues, but I have always been a stubborn sort. In my earnest fixation on an idea of what I needed to become, I overlooked the plain and simple truth:

You can’t become what you already are. You only need to cease presuming yourself (and the world) to be that which in reality you and it have never actually been.

As layers of self-inflicted dilemma melted away, I finally realized how arrogant my stubborn belief had been -- the assumption that I could ever be in a position of "saving" anybody. The story I’d been acting out was full of holes. As that house of cards came crumbling down, the whole fictional fist of contraction loosened its grip.

How could I have ever imagined myself to be in any kind of position to impose my will on life! When I realized that I was the Pagan Baby, everything returned to an ordinary happiness, fatefully interrupted by that schoolhouse movie so many years ago. I was somehow gracefully relieved of the concern that anything be other than what it is, that I be anything other than what I am.

I could finally stop pretending. I could peel off the various costumes, or perhaps maintain the costume -- knowing that it is just a costume, and even enjoying the unique beauty of this and any costume. Lately all these costumes seem to slip off on their own accord. All is getting done, mysteriously.

Like melting snow in warming spring streams, the fascination with any destiny dissolves in the flow – gradually, almost unnoticed. Chronic reactivity gathered from past experience ceases to be recycled. The sense of individuality persists, but sifted now within the context of awareness, of space with no borders – changing perpetually, in harmony with simple circumstance. Here is where we always meet. Here is where this love is real.

The dream we dream of this life is a small shadow, arising in a vast space of awesome mystery. There is not even one molecule that is not permeated with the most amazing heartbeat of Life living us, just as we are. We can go anywhere, already realizing that there is nowhere to go! We can do anything, already realizing that "we" are doing nothing! There are no barriers in life, except what we imagine in our innocent misunderstandings. Even these are perfection and grace. There is nothing to save. There is neither freedom nor bondage as we’ve imagined. In reality, we’ve always already been free. In truth, all is well.

[RunningDeer]

http://i1262.photobucket.com/albums/ii610/WhiteCrowBlackDeer/Wilderness%20and%20Space/unity.gif

[another bob]

Here's a little change of pace for our canvas, just captured a few moments ago out our dining room window:

2-W1QnVOh9w

[Mark]

Wrote this a while back, thought it might fit here. Bless.


His Mother's Son

“What’s that?”

I looked. “What.”

She pointed, “There.”

At the time I lived on 7th Street, in Bloomington, Indiana, just off campus in an old, turn-of-the-century 2-story home that was drafty but comfortable, my room the biggest in the house. She was my new girlfriend, curious about everything. I had the place set up nicely for a Grad student a nice rug, my computer and desk, an easy chair, a full-size futon close to the ground – Japanese style – and a bookcase with textbooks, some esoteric mainstays and…

“…my Ouija board.” I chuckled and shook my head.

“It doesn’t work,” I stated matter-of-factly and returned my attention to her.

“Oh, ok…hey, stop that!” She giggled and the subject was forgotten.

A year later and we were married, living on 17th street, still in Bloomington, in the bottom-floor apartment of a small, 4-unit complex that fronted a wooded, shady hill and a small pond that housed what seemed to be a multitude of bullfrogs that would serenade us all night every night during the summer. My office was in the rear of the apartment in what would have been a second bedroom, it’s south-facing wall a sliding glass door.One night she walked in and saw the Ouija sitting on the top shelf of one of my storage areas, and so I told her its tale.

I had bought the board when I was stationed in Germany. Over the years, I had used it a few times. In Germany, another soldier and I had tried to use it and I remember feeling contempt when I could feel him trying to push it, in order to make it seem as if it was working. With two people sitting next to each other, fingers on the planchette, it is easy, you see, to tell when force is coming from another person touching it. Another time I’d used it with Claudia, the night we became a couple. It hadn’t worked with her either and we’d sat in the candle-lit darkness looking at it, and each other, finally leaving the board for other, less boring pursuits.

When I left Germany and the military I took the Ouija to school with me and can’t remember using it at all at Prairie View, down in Texas. For a long while it sat on a bookshelf, a derisive conversation topic, gathering dust and acting as a placemat for drinks and other intoxicating substances. i kept it because it was cool, a Ouija board made by Parker Brothers no less, a game sold in stores around the country. So when I moved to Bloomington to attend IU, my opinion of the Ouija was quite loud and decidely decided.

“Let’s try it, then. I’ve never tried a Ouija board before,” she said, looking at me with a smile on her face, her eyes twinkling.

I laughed and agreed, certain that it would be a repeat of the same old disappointing experience. If the old adage that you have to believe in it for it to work were true, then we stood no chance of experiencing otherworldly visitations that night, because I was dead certain that Mr. Ouija was a bunch of hooey, bunk, a sham, or that I had absolutely no psychic ability at all.

So we got the candles and I lit them, turned off the lights in the apartment and sat on the ground in front of the patio door, grinning at each other. I felt a little excitement because of the drama of the moment – as we sat there, together, on the brink of the unknown – but dismissed it, calmly explaining to her the process of touching the planchette lightly, invoking protection and querying the Ouija in the attempt to call forth the spirits. She smiled and asked questions and I could tell that she was a bit nervous too. I felt a foreshadowing sensation of realization and regret, knowing that she would be disappointed when it didn’t work.

Playing the moment for all it was worth I placed my hand on the planchette, nodding for her to do the same. She did and we sat there, in the flickering light of the candles, watching the board intently. Arriving at the dreaded moment, I asked the board,

“Is there anybody there?”

We waited – I, with bated breath – for what seemed like an eternity and then, after what had to be only a few seconds, slowly, gently, the planchette began to move. My immediate shock was immediately offset by my mind, whirling with the implications and I quickly calculated the possibility of her moving it. No, i decided, it was not possible. Our fingers were touching it lightly and I could feel no pressure coming from her side of the planchette. The instrument seemed to glide under our touch, moving, indeed, of its own volition. Obviously it moved toward the “Yes” located in the top right-hand corner of the board.

She and I stared at each with wide eyes, and then returned our attention to the board. A bit nervously I asked, “Who do you want to speak to?” The planchette began to move again, still slowly, tentatively, under its own power, and spelled out my name.

“Who are you?”

The Ouija responded, “Big Momma.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I felt tears rising and my throat choking up. She told me she loved me, and that Big Daddy was there with her. We stayed on the Ouija for a bit longer, asking questions. I tested the entity for specific knowledge, which it was able to answer without hesitation. Not long after, we put it away, both of us amazed by what had transpired that evening. It was apparent that what I lacked in psychic abilities, she had in spades. The Ouija responded to her touch like a puppy to its Mistress, the spirits crowded around, jostling each other in their eagerness to speak with us, to cross that boundary between life and death, even if only in the limited constraints of a wooden board inscribed with magical, machine-marked symbols of ancient conception.

Over the next few weeks, we played with the Ouija many more times, almost every night. She took the Ouija over to her friends houses and played it with them, coming home and reporting about crazy spirits casting murderous spells, prophesying confusion and ugliness and I began to feel a seed of something cold born, deep down in my soul as I would nod and smile, laughing along with her as she related the details of her Ouija adventures.

I spoke to Big Mama and Big Daddy again once or twice, and met my Guardian Angel, Xavier, a 9-year old Caucasian boy who had died in the 1800s, and who had been with me for years. I knew about him because Karen, an ex-girlfriend of mixed native/African-American ancestry had actually seen him with me, and described him to me as well as drawn me a picture and told me his name. We met her guardian angel, a 7-year old girl named Tagazana, who had lived in Sumer. They told us that Guardian Angels were always children who had died violent deaths, and I have believed that ever since. Other entities visited, some claiming to be wandering spirits who lived in the void between worlds, while others were lost, their imprints weak, the planchette barely able to move between letters. She spoke to her mother, who had passed when she was a small girl and we both reveled in this ability, enjoying it, not realizing that the more we used it, the more visible we were to entities on the other side of the board, and we relaxed our vigilance, I’m sad to say, sometimes forgetting even to invoke the spirits of protection as we hastened to see who would come to visit us next.

And then, one night, as we sat before the board, we were visited by a seemingly weak and tentative spirit. I asked, “Who have you come to visit?”

“You.”

“Who are you?”

“Mae Mae.”

I frowned, attempting to remember someone named Mae Mae, and shook my head. “I do not know you, do I?”

“Yes, you do. I love you. Good bye.”

“Good bye.”

“I love you. I love you. Good bye…”

Puzzled by the strange visitation, we put the Ouija away and sat down to watch some television. About an hour and a half later, I received a phone call from my mother, who was crying. I knew it was bad news and listened as she told me that my Great-Aunt Mamie had passed away earlier in the evening. Stunned, I could barely stand as I realized that I had spoken to her just as she crossed over and I let the tears fall, as I am now, sending her love and wishing her a safe journey into the next world. I didn’t tell my mother that story for years, not wanting to upset her with the direct evidence of my transient adherence to Christian spiritual prohibitions.

And so it had gone, the spirits gathering around what must have seemed to them to be an oasis of light in the grey haze of purgatory, a light concentrated on her – and me, peripherally – coalescing into an intimate gathering of intention that bound us together as One as the time period allotted this experiment came to its inevitable close. She reveled in her gift, her ability to ‘speak to the spirits’, to be able to ‘call them out’ an expression of her general charismatic ability, a psychic energy that she exuded and that drew people to her like magnets; a strength and ‘soulfulness’ that was, apparently, strong enough to even reach past the boundaries of the physical world. It is what had drawn me to her as well and I loved that strength, saw her as the epitome of womanly power, Eve to my Adam, life partner and mother of my children, eventually.

Another night, and surely, just another spirit. We sat in the usual spot, our fingers on the planchette. I asked, as always, “What is your name.”

“Nina.”

Immediately, I realized something was different. Nina was strong. Stronger than any spirit that we’d ever met. Our fingers barely touching the planchette, it virtually flew across the board, making the circuit between letters at lightning speed. I felt that something I’d felt weeks earlier rising again, this time fast and cold, pervading my entire body. Cold sweat rose on my forehead as I heard my mouth ask, “Who are you here to speak to?”

“Her.”

She perked up and I looked at her, wondering if she felt the same thing I was feeling. She was smiling, watching the board, intent, not paying me any mind. Nina’s message came through the board fast, loud, and clear.

“No man is good enough for her.”

That knot of coldness lodged in my throat and I sat there, silent, as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“No man is good enough for you.”

She looked at me and laughed, but I was in no mood to reply. She asked, “Do you mean my husband?”

The planchette flew up and to the left. “Yes.”

Summoning the will from somewhere, I asked, “Do you mean any men? Her father? Brothers?”

Again. “Yes. No man is good enough for her.”

She was getting stronger. The planchette was moving faster as she began to repeat herself, “No man is good enough for her, no man is good enough for her, no man is good enough for her, no man is good enough for her,” over and over until I, repulsed and scared half out of my wits half-shouted, “We release you, spirit!”

I sat back, my heart pounding, looking at her. She smiled nervously back at me, giggling a bit. The strength of Nina had surprised us both, but the feeling of danger that I felt regarding her visitation was not shared by my wife. As years passed between that night and the present, whenever I’ve brought it up, she has laughed it off, but I wonder, who Nina was, and why she said what she said. I also wondered if she truly came to speak to her, or if she was, indeed, speaking to me.



That board got burnt out back, on my little smokey grill, that night. I knelt solemnly before it, sending up silent prayers and listening to the bullfrogs groan, poking it with a stick until it was nothing but ashes.

Ten years and three children later, we now live in San Marcos, Texas, where I attend school, completing a doctorate in geography. We have two older girls, nine and five, and a boy, two. Earlier this evening as I drew a bath for them, the feeling of the Halloween season finally hit me, full force. I walked outside into the brisk evening to look up at the moon, and caught my breath as I saw that it was surrounded by a single, rainbow ring of brilliant colors.

The cusp of Fall always leaves me breathless as my body and scorpionic programming resonate to the imperatives of the stars and seasons, the darkness of the oncoming winter preceded by this timein-between, during which the door between worlds opens and fetid gusts of infinite possibility emerge upon wings of black promise, flying into our dreams, whispering secrets of lust and desire blowing cold, echoing foreboding across the starless moors of restless nights. I I remember Nina, as I often do and shiver, perhaps from the cold, realizing that this was the time of year that we had spent that fateful time with Mr. Ouija. Sober now, I rushed back in to the warmth, and my children.

The oldest has washed her brothers hair, leaving it in curly waves that flow back across his skull. She laughs, shouting, “He looks like a girl!” I chuckle and agree, placing their towels around their shoulders and sending them into the Master bedroom to lotion up and get dressed for bed. The boy runs as soon as I take him out and proceeds to run back and forth in the hallway, preferring air-drying, I suppose, to the warmth of his duckie-towel.

After removing them from the bath I begin cleaning up after them, shaking my head as I pick up pants and underwear, using the floor rug to sop up the water they’ve left on the floor.

“Come back here, Nina! Nina!”

I slowly walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where the children are alternately lotioning and dancing, playing and laughing as the boy jumps around. I look to the oldest, who had shouted out that name.

“Who are you calling that, baby?”

She pointed at her brother. “Him! He looks like a girl!”

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “Why did you choose that name?”

She pauses for a moment to really think about it then shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels right.”

This, from the little girl who remembers what happened to her before birth, and whose dreams come true. I look at the beautiful boy, laughing and shouting as he jumps on the bed, my heart, my soul and know, that even if I can’t, he will always be there to protect his mother, no matter what dark days may come. I release the coldness with a deep breath and rush over to hold him close as he laughs and screams, “Daddy, daddy!”

I smile, reveling his proximity and love. And even though he is born partly of me, of my flesh and blood, I know, with a certainty that defies the laws of the physical universe itself, that he will always, and forever be, his mother’s son.

[another bob]

Wrote this a while back, thought it might fit here. Bless......

You've left me speechless, Brother!

What a dazzling piece of writing, and engrossing portal to the Mystery!

Deep Bows for your kind sharing!

Blessings!

[RunningDeer]

It is what had drawn me to her as well and I loved that strength, saw her as the epitome of womanly power, Eve to my Adam, life partner and mother of my children, eventually.
Rahkyt, powerful, poetic, intrigue, tender... I need a thesaurus.

[Arrowwind]

What great stories we are collecting! Im tempted to load on one after another but I think its best to stretch things out so we can keep a good thing going and perhaps entice others to join in ... and I do admit that most I have and will share are not written at the spur of the moment.. if they are I will say so cause its generally someone here who inspired it... Ive never shared any of my written stories with anyone before... not anyone.

OOPs ... an exaggeration It seems. I have shared my "Ship" stories before, oh well.

[TargeT]

The lessons of childhood are about having no power. Adulthood is about being in your power. I have a rich life ahead of me and the minutiae of my childhood would be like the clothes I wore then. Useless baggage and sentimental trinkets. I remember the good parts because the past is a flexible as the present and future. Timelines run backward as well.

I write this because I have not witnessed discussion of an empowered adulthood. I feel like a different species reading the stories here. They hurt my heart and seem so needless. I realize, my life is a blessed one and perhaps it is not one that others can pursue. I would like to be wrong, but the numbers indicate a trend.

I will retreat, count my blessings and leave some here. I hope this thread provides some balm for the soul and found paths for healing.

Apparently, according to Write4change, I won the sperm lottery. Sounds messy to me.

I agree, as I read this thread it seems that I must be living a "vacation life" as I've not really had anything happen that compare to the stories here, on one hand I feel like I'm missing out, on the other I am glad that I have missed out.

its hard to calibrate my perspective but threads like this definately help, thank you all for sharing your stories.

[Mark]

Most people who choose the sciences as a field of endeavor do so because they want answers to the mysteries of life. They have some general idea about God, Existence itself maybe and some questions about where we come from, what are we doing here, or they want to know the answers regarding aspects of the physical world, the human body, mental or chemical makeup. All good questions, but my own personal reason for choosing the oldest science (Geography) was because it was an holistic science and, to my young reasoning, it would allow me to learn a lot about a lot of things and never to be limited in my research interests. Even more particularly, by choosing such a broad field, I thought that I would be able to learn the truth about the mysteries that I have personally experienced in my life.

For me, God was never a question. Raised in the church, every sunday, cub, webelo and boy scout up to explorer, the path my parents set me on was about as mainstream, middle class, mundane African American as possible. But growing up in so many different locations around the world, experiencing different cultures and having strange experiences during the days and the nights throughout it all went beyond everything that anyone else in my world could explain to my satisfaction. And so being the perfect, secretive little double-scorpio I was, my true interests remained unknown to everyone around me as I learned to play the game of normalcy to the best of my ability, which was, actually, not very good. LOL

I don't have many stories of this overt nature but the ones I do have are remarkable in that they have been signposts meant for me and my understanding only, to confirm to me, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the esoteric, the psychic, the alternative and paranormal, were and are real.

So for me, the science must confirm my lived experience. If it does not, it is the science that is lacking and the path forward can only lead through the alchemical and shamanistic realms of direct, subjective experience.

Even the mundane aspect of daily life is magical if you look closely enough at it. Are paying attention to the Now moment and the surroundings. There will always be synchronicities and wierdnesses for those who are attuned to it. Little things that you might miss if you are thinking about the past or the future, what happened yesterday at the job or who just wronged you and what you're going to do to them in revenge.

The fact that so much information is now available that was not to the general public in decades and centuries past is proof positive that the times we are living in are portentous. That we are on the brink of a precipice, a waterfall of information bytes, leaping, flyng, screaming into an abyss of light.

Science and religion as signifying institutions of culture beholden to a certain psychological meta-narrative demands slow and gradual change until that cascading point has been arrived at and the flow of information finds a new baseline mean, ratcheting general and collective consciousness up higher and higher with each iteration.

Applying both to life are the point. The only point to them. Tying us back to that ever-shifting baseline, keeping us grounded as we actually soar up a spiral updraft of spiritual progression despite our best efforts to remain ignorant and safe.

[Arrowwind]

I worried about those pagan babies, too. (Saint Mary's Academy, Bay View). The nuns must take a Guilt 101 to prepare for the classroom.


Yep them babies got to me too. I had one in Guatemala for a while.

[another bob]

What great stories we are collecting! Im tempted to load on one after another but I think its best to stretch things out so we can keep a good thing going and perhaps entice others to join in ....

I hear ya, Sister, and you make a good point! You sound like a Gemini, a communicator, and I can so relate! I'll savor each of our stories as they come up, and give Thanks for our diversity, as well as the unity behind that individual uniqueness.

Blessings!

[another bob]

The fact that so much information is now available that was not to the general public in decades and centuries past is proof positive that the times we are living in are portentous. That we are on the brink of a precipice, a waterfall of information bytes, leaping, flyng, screaming into an abyss of light..

So agree, Brother! And Thanks for expressing it so well, and so lyrically! The danger, of course, with so much being available from the legacy of cumulative wisdom is the possibilty of over-load, which can be even more confusing and dis-orienting than not. The key is to use the new downloads as a mirror, testing it all within the framework of our own inherent "knowing". After all, the whole body of sacred testimonies and knowledge is just a small drop in the ocean of our own true nature, but it can be used judiciously to pry open some of those doors we've had locked for so long that we've forgotten that there is a treasure waiting for us, right in our own home!

Blessings!

[Arrowwind]

Science in an of itself never was all that interesting to me. To many lies reside in that dicipline... a dicipline on how to scientifically doupe the people is what it generally seemed to me.. and granted I know there is some good science out there. It is evident in the world around us .. in all the stuff that science does that really works but.. to me science needs to be much more objective and responsible in its realtionship to politics, economy and businesss and especially in regard to Mother Nature herself.

In my line of work I have seen science heal and I have seen science kill and I have seen science more often than not lead to chronic degeneration that interferes with life and creation and growth and prosperity of health and spirit. In this regard it takes out more than all the wars, than all the HIV, than all the malaria... than all of it. You just name it and it has done this though the the lies and misinformaiton the corporations of science have promoted to sway the people from the truth with intent to keep the almighty dollar flowing into their "scientific" coffers.

[RunningDeer]

Back in the summer of 1986, through power naps and contemplation and watching pictures come across my mind, a story wrote itself. It was before I had a quality computer, so I backed up my material on to a tape recorder.

I submitted the finished product to several places. Letters that came back explaining that it didn’t fit the sci-fi genre. While waiting for the “next rejection”, I discovered an old bookstore. Books ‘talk’ to me. This one particular one, on the top shelf said, “Pick me, pick me.” I was dumbfounded, because it was about two different expeditions that came up with the same conclusion. I don’t recall the title but it was something like “The Hollow Earth”. Their accounts had been woven into my writings, where ships were sucked into this vortex at the poles. Tall people took care of the shipwrecked castaways and sent them back, with only a vague recollection and a pack that no one was to speak of it.

I write this because my book was about how one society was driven below the Earth to live out their days. They had radiation poison and were deformed. This class didn’t have access to the medications. Unbeknownst to the “elite” above, this society thrived and used materials from their environment and healed everyone. Their intuitive powers where just a part of who they had evolved into. This race was thousands of years old and many lived to be 700-800 years. By the twentieth century, their mission was to come to the surface and assist individuals who exhibited love, kindness, generosity, etc. The goal was to prepare them to help others that were awakening. Too, the ancient society were preparing to come up in larger numbers to integrate above. The ending was that those with evolving energies joined with the ancient society in their world because to many were not ready to let go of the anger and fighting and class divisions.

I’d be the first to admit that by today’s standards, it’s elementary. Back then, at least for someone like me who only read philosophy books, it was an interesting journey. I rationalized that I was influenced by films and books such as, “The Lost Horizon”, “Shangri-La”, “The Kin of Ata are Waiting for You.” But there were details that were different from this material. A couple of years ago, I came across, “The Hollow Earth,” by Dianne Robbins. That book has some similar information. It served to confirm what my gut and experiences told me some 24 years earlier. On some level, I seem to recall this even when I was young.

We are those ET’s waking up. We are the ones to raise the vibration within ourselves here on Mother Earth. Open to the possibility. It will show itself. Even more so now with this new energy that’s unlocking the strands of DNA. Opening up the charkas. Or however you perceive it. Spend time and energy on what’s within or ultimately not within.

The renewed Mother Earth is a place where all are ageless, total health, loving communities, manifesting whatever is needed, surrounded by beauty and air filled with fragrances, and thought communications with all life.

[Mark]

You could substitute "Religion" for science in your post, Arrowind, and be telling the exact same truth.

Which was actually the point of my post.

Science and Religion.

As institutions that collectives build in order to point the way for individual work.

Each is, truly, an individual endeavor in the end.

Science and Religion - in general and as an indication of the propensity of human-kind to question their perceptions and environment - are grade school level understandings, the work to manifest them in an everyday real-life manner is the rest of the education. Putting them both together is an holistic and synthetic perspective on life and as such is multidimensional in nature, encouraging lateral rather than hierarchical thinking patterns and habits. This means employing the tracks, science and religion, not in an objective way, but in a subjective way, and by so doing, merging them both and engaging in a middle path between the two. Objectivity is an illusion anyway, the double-slit experiment proved that at the quantum level and the alchemical truism, 'as above so below', is the macro version.

That is my personal experience and take on it.

[Arrowwind]

I hear ya, Sister, and you make a good point! You sound like a Gemini, a communicator, and I can so relate! I'll savor each of our stories as they come up, and give Thanks for our diversity, as well as the unity behind that individual uniqueness.

Blessings!

Actually an Aries with an Aquarian North Node. That about says it all for me.

http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3288/3377/400/552608/photo788.jpg (http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/3288/3377/1024/156680/photo788.jpg)
http://raginguniverse.blogspot.com/2007/03/north-node-in-aquarius-or-eleventh.html

[Arrowwind]

You could substitute "Religion" for science in your post, Arrowind, and be telling the exact same truth.

Which was actually the point of my post.

Science and Religion.

As institutions that collectives build in order to point the way for individual work.

.

I understand what you are saying but I dont really relate to religion. I relate to spirituality, a whole other ball of wax. Religion is relegated to the dark ages of consciousness, in my mind anyway. I relate to science much better than religion and spirituality above all.

[Mark]

I understand what you are saying but I dont really relate to religion. I relate to spirituality, a whole other ball of wax. Religion is relegated to the dark ages of consciousness, in my mind anyway. I relate to science much better than religion and spirituality above all.

To-mayyyy-toes, To-maaaa-toes.

Of Rocks and Willow Trees

Even rocks have religions: of spring rain and moldering eons, sifting through layers of sedimentary deposit in search of soul’s salvation. The monumental girth of mountains, such stupendous avatars of a pebble’s truest aspiration, soaring heavenward, thrusting forth shards and stones of Gaia’s uttermost solidity, sharing the secrets of eternity’s whispered words in sublime syllables of synchronicitious portent.

The songs of willows, branches swaying gently, sighing, in the breeze of the wind’s soft and sensuous caress, calling out to the myriad species of tree, deciduous and coniferous alike, dryads locked within, beautiful, brown skin gnarly and wondrously intricate, chuckling and spinning tales of wonder and amusement as the moon and the stars look on from above.

Watery denizens inhabit the depths, oceanic or stream-bottoms strewn with the refuse of life’s open call, evoking Creation herself in waves and currents of cacaphonic complexity, swirling in confusion as anthropomorphic anomolies add ascerbic emanations to the stew of chemicals and molecular potions brewing magical concoctions beyond all perceived purpose, or even the most febrile of humanistic portents, doomed by specied miopia to organic obsolescence.

The airs and aethers converge, multi-dimensional existence exuding essence, permeating creation, space extended beyond material condition into spirituality beyond season, evoking dichotomous reasoning combined, resolved by resolution in the choir of Earth’s multitudinous denizens, singing praises to Heaven above.

All of God’s creatures rejoice in Creation Eternal, life manifest as conditional consciousness, urges and genetic predispositions crystalline in purpose, pure, apriori spirituality coalescing in momentous occasion, codified as religion surpassing intergenerational denominative descent in approximation of ascention, the goal of all life, all incarnation, all re-creation.

Life as manifestion upon the physical plane negates specied egocentricity, the grass, the seas, the sky and the trees, all possess the conscious ability to Be, all they are, truely, seeking elevation and solace beyond these shores. Freedom of choice, the knowledge of Good and Evil, black and white, yin and yang as the blessing – and curse – of humanity complicates reality, the mores and traditions passed down through the generations denied validity by the radical evolution of egocentricity, decrying the existence of spirituality, elevating the Cult of Me, mistaking subjectivity for objectivity, denying the connection between We…

…sublime simplicity, indeed. Close your eyes, open your hearts and feel the need, to connect and share, in both love and warfare we seek belief in something higher, better, truer. While deep inside we know that it is all so simple, to follow the example of the birds and the deer, the insects and plants, to grow and to live, secret destinies realized beyond the mind and its convolutive meanderings, realizing that even the rocks have religion and know neither Heaven nor Hell.

[another bob]

Of Rocks and Willow Trees

Even rocks have religions: of spring rain and moldering eons, sifting through layers of sedimentary deposit in search of soul’s salvation. The monumental girth of mountains, such stupendous avatars of a pebble’s truest aspiration, soaring heavenward, thrusting forth shards and stones of Gaia’s uttermost solidity, sharing the secrets of eternity’s whispered words in sublime syllables of synchronicitious portent.

The songs of willows, branches swaying gently, sighing, in the breeze of the wind’s soft and sensuous caress, calling out to the myriad species of tree, deciduous and coniferous alike, dryads locked within, beautiful, brown skin gnarly and wondrously intricate, chuckling and spinning tales of wonder and amusement as the moon and the stars look on from above.

Watery denizens inhabit the depths, oceanic or stream-bottoms strewn with the refuse of life’s open call, evoking Creation herself in waves and currents of cacaphonic complexity, swirling in confusion as anthropomorphic anomolies add ascerbic emanations to the stew of chemicals and molecular potions brewing magical concoctions beyond all perceived purpose, or even the most febrile of humanistic portents, doomed by specied miopia to organic obsolescence.

The airs and aethers converge, multi-dimensional existence exuding essence, permeating creation, space extended beyond material condition into spirituality beyond season, evoking dichotomous reasoning combined, resolved by resolution in the choir of Earth’s multitudinous denizens, singing praises to Heaven above.

All of God’s creatures rejoice in Creation Eternal, life manifest as conditional consciousness, urges and genetic predispositions crystalline in purpose, pure, apriori spirituality coalescing in momentous occasion, codified as religion surpassing intergenerational denominative descent in approximation of ascention, the goal of all life, all incarnation, all re-creation.

Life as manifestion upon the physical plane negates specied egocentricity, the grass, the seas, the sky and the trees, all possess the conscious ability to Be, all they are, truely, seeking elevation and solace beyond these shores. Freedom of choice, the knowledge of Good and Evil, black and white, yin and yang as the blessing – and curse – of humanity complicates reality, the mores and traditions passed down through the generations denied validity by the radical evolution of egocentricity, decrying the existence of spirituality, elevating the Cult of Me, mistaking subjectivity for objectivity, denying the connection between We…

…sublime simplicity, indeed. Close your eyes, open your hearts and feel the need, to connect and share, in both love and warfare we seek belief in something higher, better, truer. While deep inside we know that it is all so simple, to follow the example of the birds and the deer, the insects and plants, to grow and to live, secret destinies realized beyond the mind and its convolutive meanderings, realizing that even the rocks have religion and know neither Heaven nor Hell.



That is really one of the most beautiful songs I have heard here at PA, and so more bows for your magic way with the word weave!


:rockon:

[sleepy]

I feel like I am reading a living novel filled with great pearls of wisdom.

[Mark]

Ditto, Sleepy. TY, BrotherBob, you know how it is, we makes it do what it do cause we got to. LOL I feel blessed to share space and time with this collective of souls, there are no accidents. I've read all 11 prior pages to this thread and agree that there is an amazing depth and breadth of experience being shared. The current weaving is elaborate, the shuttles click and clatter as the loom of life builds a tapestry of pain, wonder, love, heartache, death and life above all. To contribute to it is an honor.

[another bob]

Night Nurse

2009

Since retiring from my career in the Natural and Organic Food Industry, I found that I still needed to augment my retirement savings, and so I found a residential treatment center for advanced Alzheimer's patients nearby to where I had settled in Paradise, CA, and spent afternoons and evenings helping out, several times a week.

At work one night, as I was going about my appointed rounds, the night-duty nursing supervisor approached me in the hallway, inquiring:

"Have you ever wondered, Bob, whether this world has an actual objective reality, or is it all rather a subjective fantasy of interpretation on perception, perhaps experienced as the momentary collusion of various transient and dependently-originating conditioning factors with certain impersonal vibratory sensations and neural thingamajigs?"

I paused for a moment to fully savor the expression on the face of a small dog peeking out from a patient's room. Then, in my best Rastafarian inflection, I quietly (so as not to wake the people already sleeping in their rooms down the hallway) sang back in reply,

"Night Nurse, Night Nurse --
Only you alone can quench this thirst . . ."

She smiled for a moment, then suggested that I not give up my day job, to which I replied that, since retirement, my night job is my day job. Not to be deterred, she pressed on mercilessly with her ticklish investigation:

"If any arising phenomena came forth and un-systematically did something that could be described as a probability distribution, would you express a preference for some particular outcome?"

"Ah," I replied, "it's been many years now since I've been fooled by that kind of stuff!"

With that exchange, we dispensed with any further water-cooler small talk, and she asked if I would turn around so she could see the back of my t-shirt (slightly stained tonight with some liquid remnants of a patient's dinner tray).

It read:

"All phenomena?
Your own mind!"

A moment of silence followed, the little dog yawned, and then she mused, as if to herself, "So neither real nor unreal, hmmm? Perhaps one could say that the non-existence of any objective reality simply indicates that things in themselves have no enduring or independent existence, just like us. Moreover, in thus contemplating the totality of phenomena, we are contemplating the totality of Mind. All apparent phenomena are intrinsically void, and yet this Mind with which they are identical is no mere nothingness."

"So you say," I grinned as I walked away – I still had work to do.

[Arrowwind]

Of Rocks and Willow Trees



Rahkyt, your mailbox is full and I cant pm you. You may not even get this notice of quote.

[Anchor]

I agree, as I read this thread it seems that I must be living a "vacation life" as I've not really had anything happen that compare to the stories here, on one hand I feel like I'm missing out, on the other I am glad that I have missed out.

its hard to calibrate my perspective but threads like this definately help, thank you all for sharing your stories.

I feel the same as you. It occurs to me that the challenge in this case is to spend more time on the details, since our easy rides give us more opportunity to examine them.

[Chester]

Of Rocks and Willow Trees



Rahkyt, your mailbox is full and I cant pm you. You may not even get this notice of quote.


Here's an idea... try and leave him a visitor message about the full mailbox... and that way he gets the notification too. Just an idea from your friend, Chester

[Chester]

Naturally, the bureaucratic shrinks were flabbergasted, and promptly fired me.

such is the destiny of a quantum being... just being.

justoneqb

[Kiforall]

An American reporter carries out an interview with two white women in an area of UK that is literally under the control of Muslims. Parents and children live in fear of leaving their homes. Interview very quickly becomes uncomfortable to say the least.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2iJBO2bEYQ&list=FL2mn_uo62SKg9RJZNpdrobg&index=1&feature=plpp_video
I lived 4 miles from here (Burnley) about 14 years ago. At that time, in Nelson, I lived in the last 'white' stronghold and I also went from being able to walk safely around a reservoir with my two greyhounds, to being scared to leave the back street.
Having just managed to resolve my racist issues and feeling very positive in doing so, I find myself wondering whether having an unconditional love for these people is going to put my freedom at risk.
Are these factions not the negative entity/energy that the creator allows us to destroy?
As I've posted this in 'blank canvas' I hope it does not offend anybody. It's more my intention to receive guidance on my spiritual path, which has just taken a couple of steps backwards.

[another bob]

As I've posted this in 'blank canvas' I hope it does not offend anybody. It's more my intention to receive guidance on my spiritual path, which has just taken a couple of steps backwards.

Good inquiry, Thanks!

Let's face it -- humans have a hard time getting along, even in relatively harmless social situations. Add in the combustible elements of politics and religion, plus unprecendented global demographic change, and we have a sure recipe for conflict. Moreover, even the greatest peacemakers this realm has ever produced were essentially impotent when it came to pacifying their own followers, much less those with conflicting creeds.

This world is a war planet, there is no getting around that, and it is likely to remain so as long as folks invest in exclusive beliefs and separatist creeds. Our job here is not to make the place into a heaven realm, but more to understand where the root of the conflict lies, learn how to behave, and expunge greed, envy, intolerance, and hatred from our own hearts.

In doing so, it demonstrates that we have been paying attention and learned something, and so are prepared to graduate from kindergarden and expand out into a more mature curriculum.

Blessings!

[Kiforall]

So more to acknowledge, understand and accept but remain true to yourself?

[RunningDeer]

So more to acknowledge, understand and accept but remain true to yourself?

Hi Kiforall,

Anything that comes up, I'd turn it into a challenge to change within. It’s on-the-job-training for: the inner judge, heart light work, and awareness of and to process feelings. Also, continued empowerment, refinement and alignment of self with Higher Self.

Peace,
WhiteCrowBlackDeer

[Chester]

So more to acknowledge, understand and accept but remain true to yourself?

I think its a real tricky one. Balancing one's responsibility towards their family with what they might be able to risk. If I had no family that depended on me, I am certain I be far more proactive. I am uncertain if that would be a wise idea nor if it would do any good. I have no answer. Very tricky one IMO. Good question Kiforall. Chester

[Arrowwind]

Living to Die

Reflections On the Life and Death of Ed B****

By Arrowwind

This surely is going to be an experiment for me. For sometime I have been thinking of writing about my work as a hospice nurse. I put it off and put it off. Over the last 4 years I have managed to pump out a whole three pages or so. So this will be my attempt to create from a vision I have had for some time.

What brings me to writing today is Ed and his family. I don't know them really. But this past couple of weeks I have been intimately involved with them all as Ed lay on his deathbed. We have become close. We hug. We look into each other’s eyes deeply....perhaps looking for the answers that words cannot say.

My intuition is ever so keen sometimes. When I first heard of Ed down in room 105 I dreaded going down there. I just knew something was happening down there that was intense. I didn't know if I was up for it or not. Sometimes at work the best way is the simple way. Always the kiss acronym runs through my mind like a mantra, "keep it simple stupid."

But duty commanded. So I went down there to see what as up, what I could possibly do for Ed and his family.

Sometimes when you see someone for the first time you get a sense of them. Sometimes you are instantly attracted. When I saw Rita, Ed's daughter, clipping down the hall early one morning that was the sense. She was dressed in her earthen colors. Turquoise necklace, I always notice jewelry. Hers' was nice. You could see she was sensitive to color and form. She was one of those exceptional people who just always look like they were kissed by the sun, or is it the light in her eyes that I feel the heat of. Anyway, Rita whisked by down to the other unit to visit her dying father that day. I didn't know either of them but I knew right away that it seemed that I already knew Rita.

Ed got moved to my unit. So this first day I walked into Ed's room there sat Rita. Alert and fully attentive. She was there to serve her father in any way she could. And I was there to serve Ed and consequently because she belonged to Ed, I was to serve her in any way I could.

My, Ed is something. As of this writing he isn't dead yet although he sincerely wishes he was. Ed was quite confused the first time I met him. He looked really bad. His lung cancer had moved all over his body and was especially giving him pain in his right shoulder. He also appeared agitated. Restless in his bed. There was no peace. He was weak, hopeless. His wife came in and quickly explained that just before his admission that he had had a bleeding problem in his gut. They couldn't get it to stop bleeding. A result of narcotic use and constipation or maybe the cancer. Who knew for sure? They had stopped looking for causes a while back. The doctors who put him on narcotics failed to mention that constipation and bowel obstruction were serious side effects. (Forget the cancer. Lets just let you die of bowel obstruction.)

Well, by the time he got to us in Hospice he had decided not to eat anymore. He didn’t want to go through that bleeding thing again. He was just taking sips of fluids. But now how he talked of food! You could see in his face the relish of different culinary delights as they passed through his mind. He wanted some food. So I said Ok, lets have some. We have fresh halibut tonight with mashed potatoes and a garlic butter sauce, asparagus. You could see his eyes light up. After analyzing the pros and cons of trying to eat again he decided he'd give it a try. It tasted so fine but he just couldn't get past a few bites. This was his last meal and although he couldn’t really eat it he said it was wonderful. It did appear that Ed would only be with us for a few days.

By profession, Ed was a scientist and he spent his career working for Hercules on rocket design, dipping his hands into vats of toxic chemicals for countless years. Little did they know then what they know now. Rita said that many of his co-workers had been taken by cancer. At 75, Ed out survived most of them.

As a scientist, Ed had a meticulous and calculating mind. He liked records, data, experiments and hypothesis. The honed skills acquired over a lifetime continued to play out in his activities of dying. We will measure his fluid intake, the percentage of juice to water, all the cups will be labeled, urine measured, days counted, narcotics tabulated, experimental dosage with various activities to ascertain the optimum dosage and timing. This would be a scientific dying experiment.

That first day Ed looked up at me from his death bed and ask me how long. Oh, how I hate that question. How long? How long! How am I supposed to know how long? Ok, gotta get a grip. Here comes the prepackaged answer....."Well, Ed. Let's take a look." I do a brief assessment of his physical status. He has a fever. His knees are cool. He's alert, confused, anxious, and still quite sane. " Ed, to me it looks like it could be pretty soon, a few days maybe. You have a fever and we see that a lot in people who are beginning to actively die. A fever, I think, means that you are getting pretty toxic inside and that your immune system is responding by trying to burn those toxins because you know, the liver and the kidneys aren't working so good anymore." I glanced down at his urinary catheter. It was filled with thick sediment sludge.

"Well, this is good news." he said. "I think I am ready." He slept a good part of the day. Yep, He'd be gone in no time. Later that afternoon he asked me why he felt so groggy. He said that he felt like he wanted to be more alert, not sleeping so much. "Well, Ed, you’re dying. It’s normal to sleep a lot when you are close to dying"

"If I could just feel more clear mentally it would be better" I promised him that I would check his medicine record to see what they had been doing over the past few days and especially at night.

He hadn't been getting much in the day but at night he was getting lots of ativan. We decided to cut that does in half and see how he would do tomorrow.

The next day he was much more alert, not very confused at all. And the day after that even better. Suddenly he was wanting to get up out of bed and go out into the garden with his family. This was no easy task as the cancer had eaten at his spinal bones and there were compression fractures. He had to wear a clamshell brace to hold his spine upright. Getting it on and then off was a delicate procedure so as not to cause too much pain. But there was success and he did go out to the rose garden with his wife pushing him in the wheel chair. It was worth every ounce of effort because when he returned he was just overjoyed with the garden and the beauty of life. It was a good journey for him, regardless of how small it was.

That evening just before the end of the shift Rita and I sat together and talked about Ed, about life, about medical care in general. Her concern for his good passing was utmost in her mind. She was seeking a way for him but didn't really know what the way was, but who did? Not me... not anybody I knew, but perhaps, Ed.

YOU KNOW, IT'S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE

I had had a few days off and when I returned to hospice and went to see Ed he had a distressed look on his face and immediately told me “ I’m so thirsty. Just terribly thirsty. Can anything be done about it?”

“Well, lets have a drink” I said. But Ed had gotten the impression from somewhere that he shouldn’t be drinking. He had had some swallow difficulties and the thickened water and juice was not palatable to him. He had stopped drinking. I handed him a cup of water and he readily took it down, and another and more before the day was over. No swallow difficulties noted. He was grateful that a way was found to alleviate his dire thirst.

This was the beginning of Ed's long journey into dying consciously. I say it is the beginning because this is a different time than discovering the disease, than seeing the doctors, than endeavoring to get better, than acknowledging that he was dying.

For five weeks Ed went without food and drank only fluids, mostly water and water diluted juices. When he fully entered into this phase it was as if he had a small resurrection. Suddenly he was wanting to get out of bed every day. Wanting to put his clamshell brace on and to go and to be in nature with his wife and family.

It seemed that he had some joyful days in this few week span. Barbara, his wife would go with him and sit by his side in the garden. She would paint watercolors of the garden and pasture. It is a beautiful sight with the Wasatch Mountains in the near distance. The horses would come galloping by or leisurely grazing. Ed would gaze upon the beauty that surrounded the hospice. If you didn’t know better you would not think you were in the middle of Salt Lake City, but rather in an exclusive retirement home out in the distant mountainous countryside.

As a hospice nurse you must wear many hats if you are to serve your patients well. I have a lot of hats that I change around as families and patients require, taking them on and off as I go through my day. I can do the Jewish thing, the Mormon thing, the Catholic thing, the Hispanic Catholic thing (which is different) as well as the agnostic and earth based religions. I have had several Native American patients and families and have felt that I could support them in their process well enough. To serve them best it requires an understanding of their belief structures and to be able to talk in the symbols and language that gives them a sense of place and support as well as continuity with their life long endeavor which is now approaching the day of reckoning.

But with Ed I needed no hat. Even though Ed was Catholic I needed no hat and I guess it was because I did not see Ed wearing a hat. Ed was just Ed and it was clear that what ever Ed believed to be true or important in this world it would not interfere with whatever you felt was important or true. The things that were of import were based in ecumenical principle, yet broader, beyond any Christian doctrine. I guess you could just call it unconditional love and service.

Ed did love his Christian faith and much of his later years were devoted to celebrating the stories and practices of faith in his artwork and for social change. And I can not say whether Ed's faith led to his love of humanity or whether his love of humanity lead to his faith, But you could feel a lot of love there just for the taking. When ever I went in to see Ed I would come out feeling that I received much more than I could ever give. It’s difficult to exactly pinpoint why I felt this way. Most of the time nothing really happened short of swimming though a sea of loving acceptance intermingled with the struggle of pain and crazy mind of a dying man.

Control was an issue Ed had not resolved. He was a very skilled and talented scientist and artist. All things were measured, graded, worked upon till perfection, in his silent determined act upon the material at hand. This was done in his work as a scientist and then continued on in his work as an artist. Now weakness had overcome him and there was little to control left. Just as the cups of water and juice would be labeled and measured all events no matter how insignificant would be recorded in his notepad and if he was to weak to write for himself a dutiful family member would take on the task. Many pages were filled in his notebook of events as insignificant as the tossing of a penny. But then again events also recorded where we may never understand the significance of to him.

Sometimes Ed wanted to talk directly about death. Somewhere in his third week of water only he asked me what it would be like to die. How could I say? I did not know, not having been there recently. Then I understood that he didn’t really want to know what it was like to die, he wanted to know the events leading to death.

“Well, Ed” I said. “I think it may go like this for you. When you first came here to us in Hospice we thought you were going to die right away. You were very lethargic and confused. We were pretty sure that your time was going to be very short, but remember how we decreased your medications at night, and then you were more alert in the day. It seemed like you were getting better? When you get close to death it will return to how it was before we decreased the medications. You will become very weak. You will stop drinking again. You will no longer be able to get up. We will give you lots of good oral care. We won’t let your mouth get dry again. But it will be as though you are going to sleep. I do not think you will have much pain. Your pain is pretty well controlled when you don’t move much so maybe pain won’t be a big issue for you. But if it is we will give more medicine. Your breathing will become more labored and you will probably disassociate some from your body, it may be like you are here but your are not here. Like you are separating from here. I am not sure this is how it will be but this is how it seems like it is for a lot of people.. It will be like you are going to sleep and waking up to a new reality. Your spirit may start to separate off from your body. That which links you to your form with start to dissolve. You may be very conscious of what is going on, but in your spirit mind, your soul mind. We will work to make your body as comfortable as possible.” Ed seems very relaxed when I told him this.

This was Ok. This he could do. He thanked me for telling him. Perhaps it helped him to feel like he had a little control just in knowing.

A day or two later I was visiting Ed to see if there was anything I could do help him to be comfortable. He was in a very quiet mood. I leaned over him and talked to him quietly, and he reached up, looked me in the eyes and caressed my face. It was like all the love I could possibly know poured into me. I left the room and made my way to the restroom as fast as I could, my private retreat during duress, and cried.

It was during this time period that I met his daughter Annie who had come from California to visit. Like with Rita I had this feeling that I knew her. She was so familiar I certainly had crossed paths with her before, perhaps in California when I lived there, in my wild youth, perhaps at some tribal gathering. Anyway, it took some time to confirm that we were perhaps more of a kindred spirit than I realized. She was gone before I understood.

At one point all four girls, Annie, Mary Jean, Rita and Carol were sitting on the sofa in front of the windows overlooking the meadow. I walked by and for the first time fully realized that Carol was Ed’s daughter too. I had seen her come and go a few times but had not connected with her. But there they all were, together, as I observed them as I walked by. You could see their harmony and friendship and even their physical similarities. They were like 4 different flavors of the same person. Later that day Mary Jean confided to me that her husband of 18 years was Annie’s ex and that all things were well. Well, why was I not surprised?

On my very next visit Ed was just in dire duress. His cycling mind was getting the best of him. He was not in control and it was freaking him out. Anxiety was overcoming him. He wanted to know how things were going to be done, recorded, just how all that was to happen would happen.

He was definitely in mental and spiritual angst. The family decided to try a homeopathic remedy called arsenicum album. To our dismay it did not work and perhaps even made it worse. A likely case, as I realized later that his constitutional remedy was probably arsenicum album and an aggravation of mental symptoms is commonplace when given the constitutional remedy and generally a welcome sign, but not welcome under these circumstances. The ativan brought relief quickly. You could see Ed just kind of sink down into the pillows as his mind relaxed. Creative imagery was now effective. You could wisk Ed away into postive creative imagery and his daughters were good at it. You could just see his face soaking up the good vibes from the beautiful women surrounding him.

We gave Ed more ativan after his crazy mind episode. And the family took away the note pad assuring him they would write down anything important. But right at this time the pain seemed to be increasing. We had to give more pain medication that was administered by a little pump called a PCA pump. The medicine went in through a tiny needled located on the fat on his belly, what little there was left of it. Although Ed didn’t want the taint of drugs affecting his mind it could no longer be avoided. Anxiety can be a ruthless demon and we had to free Ed from it the best we could. I always advise patients and family that anxiety is often a mental reaction to physiological changes at this point in the process of winding down. It is not a purely psychological disorder but a physiological response to dying that has psychological effects upon the nervous system. Ed was always inclined to create a very methodical and controlled reality to sustain his creative endeavors. But this excessive level of anxiety and need to control beyond his normal expression.

THE ART OF DYING

It was again time for my weekend away from work. I went to Ed to say goodbye again for how much longer could he last? He would likely be gone before my return in four days.

But upon my return there he was sitting there just smiling, and talking. And Taking notes. This time I got to know his daughter Mary Jean better, another kindred spirit. Sometimes the energy needs to disperse and move in other directions. Mary Jean and I shared stories about work, family, travel, jewelry, and other life adventures.

I must say a few words about Barbara. Barbara is Ed’s wife. They have been companions since high school and now neared their 52nd anniversary. Barbara seems to float on air. That is the first thing you notice about her. She floats, her arms swirling through the air, propelling her forward or steadying her balance. It is as if she dances without music, without concern for eyes. She moves in her own grace and timing. All the staff was taken with her. Unlike Ed, she is a creature of spontaneity. Nothing is measured. Nothing counted, of course unless at the request of her husband. Then she dutifully does the task. Among many things, Barbara is an artist and a free spirit. Through out her stay at Ed’s bedside she would watch for the play of light upon the masonry or in the trees, take out her little watercolor pad and paint. She had even found a comrade in the arts, a family member to another patient to sit and paint with her.

When she and Ed took their daily stroll into the garden Ed would dream into the mountains and meadows and Barbara would paint. Before her days were done at the hospice she had a collections of colorful paintings in her small pad. As time went by it became evident too that many pads of drawings marked the events of Ed and Barbara’s life together. A couple of these drawing pads were shared with me, especially Ed's pen and ink drawings done on their inspirational trip to Italy. Ed came home from Italy and became a marble sculptor.

Ed spent his last years working in marble and other stone. Religious themes seemed to attract him. There in his room leaning against the wall was a collection of newspaper articles and photos of his work. He had done relief sculptures of Saint Catherine and Saint Francis. These two exquisite pieces reside in the Newman Center at the University of Utah. Other carvings were done also. Very fine, in marble. I so much enjoyed seeing the relief in marble of the woman’s face with hair coiled. It reminded me of Leonardo Di Vinci, but it was Ed. Ed loved beauty and all that he touched he brought order and beauty to.

A few days later another patient a few doors down passed on. She had some wonderful fragrant white Chinese lilies. Her family asked me to find some other patient who might enjoy them. I thought that perhaps they should go in the commons area so many could enjoy them but the family took the time to say that they were to go to another patients room if possible and actually said it three times to me. Oh, that magical impact of three strokes. So I took them to Ed but could not mention that they came from a recently deceased person. I didn’t want to ruin or taint the intent so I let him think they were from me. Ed was just thrilled with the flowers. He was so responsive to their beauty and fragrance. Many times over the next few days he thanked me, and I did not feel without guilt. Little did we know at the time that these lilies were to be a pathway between father and daughter. It made me realize that this family member of another patient perhaps knew, if but unconsciously, the need for these flowers to be placed in another patient’s room. Three times she asked. “please take these to another patient.” Really, just what it took for me to “get it.” I am glad I chose to respect her wishes now, instead of disregarding her words and putting them in the commons area, as had crossed my mind. It was definitely a little learning experience for me in respect for others wishes. We cannot always see and know the intent and purpose of all things and we must trust that wishes are potential realities yet unexplored, often very good realities.

The next couple of days on Ed's deathbed were a time of realization that things were now truly slowing down. With increased pain and weakness he could no longer rise to go out into the garden with Barbara. He seemed to require more reassurance that all was well or going to be well. More time for visualization of great things to come. Of summoning peace and relaxation, for guided meditations, religious readings. Many people came to read to Ed. He kept the prayer of Saint Frances of Assisi by his bedside. The rosary was always close at hand. Much active praying and between the prayers time for humor, and questioning and long gazes into the eyes of family members and to smell the lilies. He was now at the end of his fifth week of water and diluted juices for sustenance only.

You know, back in my yoga days, I would read about the saints of India doing long fasts and drinking water only. They say it often brought enlightenment. At the ashrams that I lived in, sometimes I would encounter a daring soul well into a water fast. Always their countenance radiated. Always they astounded me with their sense of peace. Always they made me wonder about the body, its function, its needs and the interface that the soul plays with it. Here in Ed I could see it again. I cannot say if it was his dying, his fasting, his overall spiritual journey, but I could see a man on an exalted journey. It seemed to me that these five weeks of water was a time of reflection, integration, evolution and expanding love within Ed that persisted regardless of his declining physical health and the symptoms that it brought. And in its fullness and beauty it touched anyone who came close who was even just slightly open to it. It was, I am sure, a miracle for his family, truly a great parting gift and like a living painting, a masterpiece in the art of dying.

MOVING ON

I wish I could have been there when Ed passed. I would have liked to try to help make it perfect for him but it was not meant to be for me. But for Ed, maybe it was perfect. I do hope that it was and I will choose to assume that it was as perfect as a passing could possibly be.

Normally I do no attend wakes or funerals or viewings for my patients. It’s just too hard on me. My main intent is to be stable to do my work. All the rest I leave to others, the grieving, the family connections, the continued support. When they leave the hospice on a gurney I am done with it. I do not do this out of dispassion. I do it for survival. I do it so I can go to work and continue to maintain objectivity and rationality. Hospice work is not easy work and there is a lot of emotional stuff flying around that one can get sucked into and get caught up in in a very negative way if not careful….At least this is how I see it for me, in the way that I process and integrate life experience.

But with Ed things are different. With Ed I felt compelled to go to his funeral and so I did.

The Newman Center is located next to the University of Utah. Designed to be an outreach for students, the church also has a healthy and active congregation that is involved in many fine charitable and social projects. This is where Ed and Barbara had devoted time to their spiritual work. It has a good vibe in there and a very different feel from the old Italian Catholic church that I was raised in as a child.

Needless to say, and in my usual mode, I cried through most of it. If you knew me you would know that there really is not any other response that I am capable of under such circumstance. Crying is an unsettling experience for me and when I do indulge in it the ramifications last many days. I don’t seem to know how to cry for just one incident. All the tearful experiences seem to be re-grieved. It can get overwhelming. I directed as much focus as possible staying on Ed and his family, not allowing old stuff to enter the picture, but it was not easy.

Some of Eds marble relief work is on the back wall of the church. It is really quite beautiful. Saint Catherine of Sienna and St Francis of Assisi. Since I did not know much about Saint Catherine I had to explore. In many ways she is the spiritual counterpart and complementary of St Francis of Assisi. Reading about these saints is another reflection of the person that Ed was. This was what he contemplated and valued and saw merit in.

When people die I think it is of great value to have them surrounded with the presence and sounds of life as much as possible to keep them in the moment of the here and now as they work to move into the next dimension. To have beaming eyes to look into, to have old and weather worn hands, young and tender hands to clasp on to. To be surrounded by one’s own creation in children and friends, art and music, all the expressions that had been of interest and value but for Ed, I think he would be thinking most about his children. One man could not have done better.

After the ceremony members and family gathered in a great room outside of the sanctuary. It was at this time, and I am slow to catch on to things sometimes, that I realized that this man who was now there at the funeral, who had been visiting Ed at the hospice, had been neglected by me. I did not understand that Bill was Ed’s son until very late in the journey. As a hospice nurse I felt that I had failed him. I did not extend to him the support that I tried to extend to the others and I am sorry.

Looking into the faces of the children and especially his wife, Barbara, I could see that this was as joyous an event as it was one to be grieved. How emotions can mix up and you come out with something unexpected or not of the common cloth. I wondered at that time if Ed just stuck around to help create this very moment in this very way.

Now, after the ceremony, there was talk of visitations. Seems that three of the daughters had some kind of visitation from Ed soon after his passing. One, through the sign of a rainbow, another through the scent of the lilies that Ed had so appreciated in his last days, another, his presence at the foot of her bed. These stories, expressed with wonderment seems to bring more mystery and satisfaction to the soul and reinforce the dream and wish that life is eternal and our connections strong right through the souls passage into other worlds.

It seems to me that Ed came to hospice ready to actively die but then went about creating a reprieve for himself. Five extra weeks of reflection, learning, bonding, communing with nature and preparing for death seemed to be created out of thin air solely for the growth of his soul and that of his family’s soul. In those days of pain and anguish there was revelation and joy, renewal of faith, acceptance of the inevitable and hope for the hereafter. Ed died about as conscious a death as possible and in this he has become a way shower to those who received the gift to observe, and now to those who read this testimony.

addendum: Ed was so talented and so kind and touched deeply all the caregivers at ....... Because of this there is a memorial to him in the Hospice Center Arboratum (Bell Room) displaying his religous art and newspaper clippings of some of the events of his life. He gave a stone carving to the facility that now lives in amongst the jungle of plants to be found there, a carving of the Green Man that stands about 18 inches tall. They generally represent rebirth and have a strong connection to plant life.

The Green Man
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Man (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Man)

[Arrowwind]

"So you say," I grinned as I walked away – I still had work to do.

Ya, I know, nurses can be pretty weird...;)

[another bob]

So more to acknowledge, understand and accept but remain true to yourself?

Sounds good, but what self will you be true to? What is the real nature of this self?

Start there, with that inquiry, and if you are courageous enough to persist to the point of direct revelation, the rest will follow naturally, spontaneously.

Blessings!

[another bob]

"So you say," I grinned as I walked away – I still had work to do.

Ya, I know, nurses can be pretty weird...;)

Tell me about it, my ex-wife was a Labor & Delivery Nurse, though she always claimed I was the weird one. Come to think of it, she may have had a good point!



:whistle:


PS: I wanted to Thank you for your Hospice Service, and beautiful story too! Good Work, Sister!

[sleepy]

Aarowind,

I am so glad that you are sharing your written stories because they are very well written and beautiful stories.. Hospice workers are angels. My limited experience with the death of a loved one was not beautiful. How wonderful it is that you help make that difficult time easier for the dying and their family.

Fred, thanks again for the blank Canvas and a place where people feel safe and inspired to share

[Sebastion]

I have to say that anotherbob's post here and Ron's earlier post regarding facing your inner beast has had me thinking deeply the last day or two. Methinks Bob's statement about this being a war planet has tremendous merit. Knowing myself as I do, I don't think I could have made it back to this side of sanity if put in the same position as Blackheart, Nancy's husband.

Many times during my young and testosterone filled years, I listened to many men tell of what their wife's had put them through. I had no problem telling them that if it was me who was being put through that, well I would have to put my wife and her lover in their graves, no question and no doubt in my mind. Many times I said to myself and out loud to other men what I would do if confronted with similar circumstances and I was very sure about it, well that is until those circumstances actually happened to me.

As it turned out, I done the opposite of everything I always said I would do. Life has taught me over the long haul that sometimes we win by allowing ourselves to lose. Had I reacted violently in those moments, as the beast within me was wont to do desperately, I would have lost it all and my life as well in the process. It seems this is a war planet, designed to teach one how to tame the beast within you. It is only after the long haul that I have been able to recognize that, surprisingly so.

It seems in some respects, my life this time around was to get control and tame the beast. It has many faces and many guises and is a powerful aspect within humans, at least it has been that way for me and others I have known.

My thanks to Ron and anotherbob....






As I've posted this in 'blank canvas' I hope it does not offend anybody. It's more my intention to receive guidance on my spiritual path, which has just taken a couple of steps backwards.

Good inquiry, Thanks!

Let's face it -- humans have a hard time getting along, even in relatively harmless social situations. Add in the combustible elements of politics and religion, plus unprecendented global demographic change, and we have a sure recipe for conflict. Moreover, even the greatest peacemakers this realm has ever produced were essentially impotent when it came to pacifying their own followers, much less those with conflicting creeds.

This world is a war planet, there is no getting around that, and it is likely to remain so as long as folks invest in exclusive beliefs and separatist creeds. Our job here is not to make the place into a heaven realm, but more to understand where the root of the conflict lies, learn how to behave, and expunge greed, envy, intolerance, and hatred from our own hearts.

In doing so, it demonstrates that we have been paying attention and learned something, and so are prepared to graduate from kindergarden and expand out into a more mature curriculum.

Blessings!

[another bob]

The first radio show I remember hearing was The Shadow, circa 1951. Because radio shows required visualization based on memory association, my 3 year old imagination was inspired to add some emotionally-reactive interpretation to the echoing sound of a creaking door opening, accompanied by a voice of barely-contained and mounting mania expounding the ominous conclusion that "Only The Shadow knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men."

At about that point I lost interest in being scared witless and wandered off to contemplate this new experience of self-projected fearfulness in the comfort of the kitchen, where my Grandmother was baking something fragrant. The stress from the fear-poison in the body was felt as myself, so I must be the body. Being the body could include stressfulness, but the stress was also something I was adding to experience. That's about as far as I was willing to go with the inquiry for the time being. I didn't want to stay inside, in the shadows, since it was so sunny outdoors, and I was ready for some sky.


It took a few years until I felt up to confronting this fearfulness. I was about 6 or 7 years old, but somehow able to convince my parents to let me stay home alone while they went out for the afternoon with my siblings to do some shopping. I just felt like being alone, seeing what that was like.

I was watching some television show (we had just got our first TV), while the evening slowly crept up on me, like the San Francisco fog stealing in from the Bay, when it suddenly struck me that it was now pitch black night, and that I was in fact alone. My first reaction to this realization was to ease under the couch pillows with the remnants of my potato chip bag and wait it out. This seemed like the best strategy, until I heard a loud noise in the basement.

I tip-toed across the room, and then down that infinitely receding hallway to the door leading to the basement. I had never been in the basement by myself at night before – in fact, I don’t recall ever having been alone at night before that night, and certainly not with something potentially dangerous in the basement.

Now it seemed that I was compelled to open that door and investigate my fear, and it truly felt as if there was no option for me but to do just that. Moreover, something decided to up the ante, and have me go down the basement stairs without turning on the lights. I simply had to go right to the heart of the fear, descending into the pitch-black unknown, as a kind of test for myself – a test to see what would persist past my resistance, my fear.

I took one stair at a time, and with each step, the intensity of the foreboding grew, until it seemed as if I could go no further, so overwhelmed was I by the natural motive to fly right back up the stairs, slam the door, and scream my head off. But I didn’t. I just kept going, until I finally reached the cold damp floor of the basement, and realized I was shoeless.

Now things had become almost hallucinatory -- I was in total darkness, shivering uncontrollably, and movement further into the palpable darkness of that basement seemed to take forever. With each step, a little more of my courage was sapped away, until I finally found myself standing in the heart of that bardo, pressed in on all sides by the excruciating weight of all fear itself, and yet, I was not being harmed, I was fine, I had stood in the midst of my mind's own terror, and I was not obliterated.

The spasms of fear had wrung themselves out, and I was left just as I am. This was so interesting -- I just stopped and felt myself as unassailable beingness itself. All the terror had simply been a projection of my own mind, and the recognition of this fact seemed incredibly liberating. I felt a luxuriant warmth spread throughout my body, and a simultaneous deep relief.

I am not sure how much time had actually passed while I stood there, but I was shaken out of my trance by the loud noise of the garage door suddenly being flung up, and the headlights of my Dad’s Buick beaming in at me, flooding the room with battery-powered radiance.

My father jumped out of the car and ran to me with an incredulous look on his face, asking me what I was doing in my bare feet at night down in the dark basement.

I looked up and said, “I heard a sound. . . .”

[Jenci]

Fred, thanks again for the blank Canvas and a place where people feel safe and inspired to share


It's a safe place ....but with a warning in the OP from Fred which says
"If you're faint of heart and easily offended, please, this thread is not for you. So don't complain."

I'm not sure what you call that, lol, but I do see a lot of people moving out of their comfort zones here. Perhaps there is safety in numbers in doing that.

As individuals if we are to learn and grow, all aspects of ourselves need to be examined, including the dark side. Feeling that we are not alone in having that dark side can enable us to look honestly into it.

This is a great thread even though it has taken me ages to read. I'm usually a skim reader but these stories are not for skimming over.

Thanks all.

Jeanette

[Arrowwind]

In Native American tradition there is a ceremonial work called the Talking Stick. I have had opportunity to do the Talking Stick with indigenous Native Americans as well as a variety of groups who have taken on the Talking Stick process to bring a group into symmetry and balance, to do really heart to heart communication, to reveal our most inner places so that we may learn from one another in a beauty way. I have been involed in a Women's Talking Stick for some time now... We call ourselves "Sisterhood of the Traveling Talking Stick"

There are few rules to the Talking Stick but they are important guidelines.

When you have the stick you speak from your heart.
When you have the stick you are not to be interrupted by anyone for any reason.

When you receive the stick and it is your time to talk it is not your place to make criticisim of what the speakers before you said.
It is only your place to accept where their heart is at that point in time and to ony express your own heart.

The Talking Stick is not a place of judgement, criticism, arguement, putdown.
It is a place of support, encouragement, understanding and acceptance.
It is not necessary to verbalize support to another for merely being in the group is support
and continued respect is that support.

and lastly, what is said during a talking stick is not taken outside of the circle.

This Traditional Talking Stick has endured over centuries amongst many tribes across Turtle Island
It is a way to counsil and to speak ones truth, to inform others of your inner heart on any topic.
It has been used to resolve many types of conflict as well as to create new ways of being for a group

So far we have been sharing our relfections of life through writing... and of course writing will be the main way and means on this type of format. Let us respect all writing here for being what it is in the moment. Let us realize that it is only a snapshot in time of one persons experience in life and reflection. Let us realize that we dont have to criticize , we dont have to judge, we dont have to pick things apart for accuracy, spelling, syntax, truth, honesty, morality, dogma, philosophy.

Blank Canvas can go any which way we want it to go. We have many places to argue, confront, criticize, judge, and put down on this forum... but we have had nothing like this.

Someone said to me today - "The longest journey there is is between your head and your heart".

[sirdipswitch]

I was 11 years old, we lived on a farm, and next to it was a Cemetery. For some reason, my parents enjoyed walking through it in the evenings, in the summertime. We ha da big Family BBQ, on a Saterday, with all of Mommas realatives, and there was a bunch. Probly about 25 or 30.

That evening we took the "walk", to have some fun, with a couple of Mommas cousins from Missouri, who were scared sh*tless, of Cemeteries. When finnaly back home, those two cousins, were talking about how brave they were, and us kids dared them to go over there now that it was dark. Well, their bravery changed rather quickly, and they said that none of us kids would go over there either, and then the challenges started. Everyone started challenging everyone else.

Then money started to hit the table. Mommas cousins, said they would each give Dollar, to whoever would go over there in the dark. My oldest cousin, who was 13, the same age as my big brother, who I had thought was the bravest thing on two, but refused to go, stated that he had started to peal an orange, and then put it back, and that whoever went, would have to go bring back that orange. The orange, was over on the other side of the Cemetery, in the Chinese section. (The Chinese, always put food on the graves of their lost love ones.hmm.)

The money on the table kept growing, and yet noone was brave enough to go over there for it. 10 Bucks, they said. everyone was still shaking their head no. I stepped up and quietly said that I would go bring back the orange. Everyone went nuts laughin over that one, untill 5 minutes later, when I put on my coat, and headed for the door. My aunt, Mommas sister, had 4 boys, the oldest of which was my big brothers age, the next was my age, then the two little ones, each two years apart under me. All six of us headed for the hole in the fence of the cemetery.

When we arrived at the hole, I didn't even stop. Just went right through and kept going. To stop and think about it, would have been instant defeat, and I had to do this. I had to show them "All", what little bobby was capable of. Little did I know, that it would be the longest walk of my entire life. cccccc. When I got back to the fence, onone was there, they were to scared to even stay there and wait for me.

When I walked it the house, with my orange held high, nobody said anything. I walked over and picked up my 10 bucks, and smiled. Momma, quietly said: "What took you so long?" I said: "I walked." My Mommas cousin, that had started it all, reached in his pocket, and came up with another 10 dollar bill, and handed it to me, saying: "You deserve this, for bravery, in the face of terror." Momma, had one of the biggest smiles, that I had ever seen on her face. She died, 6 months later.

[sleepy]

The Last Time

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."…William Congreve

As I stood before the Justice of the Peace, eighteen years old, pregnant, and thousands of miles from home, I was madly in love with my betrothed. Young love; it burns with passion and lacks all common sense. My first clue that there was big trouble in paradise was three days after my daughter was born and we were released from the hospital and waiting for my husband to pick us up. He never came. I managed to get a ride home and found him sick from an all night binger.

After a few months of being married, I realized that this wasn’t what I had signed up for and I spent more time leaving my drunken husband than I actually spent with him, but I always went back, until the last time. I had gone back to my hometown and lived with my mom for six months. I had a job and a car and I was settling in to my new life as single parent. My husband called almost daily begging me to come back with our daughter and be the family that we were supposed to be. That is what I wanted and I was so happy that he realized what he would lose if he didn’t stay out of the bars. He had missed his daughter’s first steps and her first birthday. I actually felt guilty about that.

So, I sold my car, quit my job and went back. He had moved us to a nicer apartment and was staying out of the bars and I had my happy family. He had to leave town almost every other weekend to pick up supplies for his job in a neighboring state. I would cook him meals that he would take with him and all of his favorite treats. I was happy, my daughter was happy and he was happy. I knew I made a good decision in giving it another shot. He had changed. I had a part time job, purchased a car, and was settling in to the life I wanted.

After about seven weeks of my newfound bliss, one day when he was out of town, I was dusting the top of the refrigerator and found the letters. Apparently, less than a week after I left him to go home to my mother, he had moved in with another woman. Every other weekend he was not driving out of town but spending the weekend with her. I always wondered if she enjoyed my cooking as much as she enjoyed my husband. He was due back home in about an hour. I stewed and the rage grew. I packed up my daughter’s clothes and my clothes and loaded my car. I was going to be gone before he came home. As I was putting my daughter in her car seat, he pulled into the parking lot in his van.

My intentions truly were to just drive off into the sunset but that is not what happened. As he stepped out of the van and came towards me, I picked up a large rock. It was heavy. He was a good distance from me but I threw it with everything I had and I aimed for his head. Gravity did what gravity does and the rock hit him where the infidelity started. He was bent over in agony and I got in my car and backed out of my parking spot. My intentions were to ride off into the sunset but again, that is not what happened. I do not remember making a conscious decision to do what I did next. I would never put my child in danger but on that day I did. Instead of just driving off I drove right into the middle of his van crumpling the doors and smashing the front of my car. Then, I backed up and drove off into the sunset. I am not normally a violent person but obviously, I can be. I was twenty years old at the time of this incident and I would like to think that with age and wisdom comes more self-control. I hope this theory is never tested.

[another bob]

The Last Time

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."…William Congreve..... I am not normally a violent person but obviously, I can be. I was twenty years old at the time of this incident and I would like to think that with age and wisdom comes more self-control. I hope this theory is never tested.

Strong story, Sleepy, and Thank You for sharing it! Realy appreciate you taking the effort to examine that part of your life here with us!

It seems that most of us are here for the purpose of self-discovery, to see what we are made of. This is what life's tests are comprised of, and as we get clear, we come to recognize that we ourselves are the authors of those tests.

The ego function is like a tool in this respect, in that it digs into the nooks and secret crannies of our being, to shine a telling light and reveal to us just what we are really all about, when push comes to shove, as it were, and then its purpose is fullfilled.

We will continue to be tested until the reason for the test is rendered obsolete, in the light of our own stable awareness and adaptation to the higher stages of our development.

Blessings!

[sleepy]

Another Bob,

At that time in my life, it really felt like my world was ending. I do believe that now....I know better.