The Raw and the Cooked

Did you ever have someone impact your life so greatly that all that you experienced…every part of it…reaped havoc on your soul for all of your days?

There once was a girl, 14 years old, sad, but hopeful…hopeful someone would come love her and heal her heart.  Hopeful that she could survive. Her mother was a drunk and a drug addict, who never protected her, and at 14 she was on her own.  Not knowing anything about living, but very well schooled in surviving, this was all she could do.

There once was a boy, 16 years old, angry and disturbed.  His father was a drunk who used his fists on his mother.  He told the girl he loved her and her heart swelled.  Then one day, her lip swelled and her body bruised, and she knew fear.  Fear that was stronger than all the fear she had felt before.

She dressed as he said, talked as he said, did as he said, and cried and cried.  One day he asked, “Why do you always cry when we make love.”  She learned to lay still and say nothing.

She learned to run and hide when he became angry, and she was never ever, ever to tell.  One day, the girl woke up and she knew something was different.  Time had slipped by and she had swelled, and bruised, and hidden a great deal now.  She was more afraid than ever….because she knew that she was different now.  Her heart swelled.  Suddenly, she felt love!

Soon her breasts swelled, her belly swelled, and her ankles swelled.  All day, every day, she thought about the baby.  All day, every day, she was afraid for the baby.  There was a day when he came to her and threw her to the ground.  “It’s time for you to die.”, he said, and told her how he would kick the baby out of her.  She lay on the ground holding her belly protecting her baby.  She was already eight months along.  She believed he would eventually kill her.

He threw all her belongings into the street and shut the door behind him.  She stood there in the middle of the night, cold, and afraid.  She picked up her things and walked away.  It was snowing and dark, but she felt better for walking.  She passed her parents house, and kept going, because she was unwelcome there.  She flipped them the bird.

She walked all night until she arrived at her aunt’s house and there she slept on the floor.  She tried to leave him, but he followed her.  He always followed her.  He followed her to work, he knew when she got her check and made sure he brought her right to the bank to cash it.  “Here is twenty dollars for you.” he would say.  She would be grateful.  He followed her when she was walking down the street, on the bus, or just in the bathroom.  One day he came in while she was using the toilet, he peed on her, and then just walked away.

He followed and watched, waited and accused, he hit and he screamed and he said “Get in the back seat, you slut!”  He did what he wanted…even when she choked.  He did what he wanted…even when she cried.  He did what he wanted.

One day, a baby girl was born and he wouldn’t let her hold her.  He took the baby and he told the social workers that he didn’t know what was wrong with her and how she wanted to leave him.  A woman came by to tell her to be nice to him, that he was trying so hard to love her.  Once they were home, he forgot all about them for sometime.  Then she was alone with her baby.  She sang to the baby and wrapped her in swaddling blankets, she fed her her breast milk and tried to stay healthy.

One day he was angry again, and he went to take the baby.  The baby was on the bed and could fall off, but she grabbed him and wouldn’t let go.  He punched her and punched her, but she wouldn’t let go.  He punched her in the stomach until she could not feel it anymore.  He punched her until he was tired, but she wouldn’t let go.  “I won’t let you hurt my baby! “, she yelled.  She stayed up at night thinking of ways to escape.

She went to the nuns, but he found her and brought her back.  She asked her dad for help, but his wife answered by calling her “Whore!” and shutting the door on her.  She went to the police, they took reports and put them in a folder.  She got a restraining order, but he broke into her new apartment and held her there and took their daughter.  He ripped out the phone and took the baby into the other room and wouldn’t give her back.  He stayed there for hours.

When she left her house he was hiding in her bushes….she ran and ran…she ran to the police station, but they “couldn’t do anything” because he was not there now. His brother knew the mayor of the town (yes, really!). They kept taking reports, but they could never find his folder when she needed it.  When she was on the bus, she watched constantly to see if he was following behind her.  They went to court.  She told social workers about being raped was told “You picked him!”, and “None of that matters!”  “Does he hurt the child?”

“No, he has not hurt the child, but I’m afraid he will.”, she said.

“Well, that is not good enough.”

They went to court over and over and over.  She kept losing her job for absences…he made it hard on her.  He said he was being denied his visits so he got more time. He assaulted her daycare provider, but the woman didn’t want to see him “go to jail over it.”  He yelled at the pediatrician because “he had rights and he wanted to see the little girl’s medical records, and Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

The girl was becoming a woman now and when the doctor called her to explain what happened, she asked for his help, but he did not want to “get involved in that!”

She got a lawyer, but couldn’t pay him.  His lawyer was paid by his well-off brother.  She asked some people to help her.  She asked someone to “take him out of the picture”….”give him a warning”….but they looked at her like she was crazy.  She didn’t feel crazy, she felt fear.  She called an abuse shelter, but they didn’t take women unless “they were currently being beaten.”

She called social services to get help.  She was getting an interview to tell her story! Her drunken mother called the social worker and told them horrible stories.  “She was only trying to help!”  The social worker cancelled her appointment.

The girl, becoming a woman, felt like a helpless child and cried and cried.  She was fired from her job.  She would get strange phone calls in the night…breathing…listening….waiting.  They went to court again. It was the last time.

“If you don’t stop coming in here, and straighten out your own issues, we will make your child a ward of the state!”  He would get her!  He would get her!  He would get her!

There was no help, no job, no place to live….she moved into a slum apartment building, with a slum landlord, and slum drug-dealers.  Someone was shot in front of her house.  The girl who was now a woman,  felt fear and she cried and cried.  The little girl was four now.

She had a new boyfriend and decided to get married….could he protect them?…would he protect them?.  They would have more money and she could work again.  She survived.

He didn’t protect them and he didn’t help.  He didn’t do anything. The woman had another little girl.  Now there were sisters..she taught them to love each other…she taught them to be careful…very, very careful…they had a code word for was banana.  She watched and waited and prayed every day.  Take care of my baby.  Please take care of my baby.  They moved away and she hoped it would be too far for him to travel, that he would give up.  It wasn’t and he didn’t, and when she was 12 the little girl asked to not see her father any more.  The woman, could finally breathe just a small breath at a time.  Small breaths…small breaths…small breaths.   Two years passed by and they had not seen the monster.  The girl, now 14, had been going to therapy for some time.  She was “better” now.  The woman got a divorce from the man who didn’t protect them.  He did even less and still didn’t protect them.  When she asked him to check on the children when she went to school at night, he said he would, but didn’t.  The girl, now 15, and her sister, now 11 stayed home alone.  The girl, now 15, had her first boyfriend.

As sometimes happens in divorce and otherwise….the children were confused, upset, and sad.  They pointed fingers.  “Tag!, You’re It!”  As sometimes happens in divorce and otherwise, the woman was depressed and would sometimes stay in bed, she had trouble managing money and paying for their needs.  They survived.  She didn’t know how to teach them to live.

The little girl, now a woman, married her high school sweetheart when she was just twenty, she had a beautiful baby girl, and was a good mother.  The woman did not know how unhappy her daughter was.  She did not know that the daughter was drinking or feeling depressed or that she was having difficulty.

The little girl, who was now a woman was drinking away her memories.  The little girl drank too much and too often.  The little girl was suffering and trying to do everything right, but didn’t have the support she needed.  Things happened that shouldn’t have, and the little girl’s family came apart at the seams.  The sister went one way, the girl went another, the mother went this way, and the little girl’s little girl went to live away.

The woman cried.  She cried until she had no more tears.

The little girl came to the woman and told her she remembers, she remembers what her father did to her.  The little girl, who was now a woman cried and was very frightened.  She didn’t know what to do.

The mother cried, but it didn’t help anything.  The little girl, who was now a woman drank, but it didn’t help anything.

The little girl, who was now a woman hated her mother……why did you let that happen to me?

The woman, who was no longer young, or a little girl tried to explain all that she did to keep her safe, but it didn’t help anything.  The woman knew it was her fault too.

They yelled and swore and left each other, and now the little girl is gone, the little girl’s little girl is gone, and the woman stands alone.

Crossing the line..

Sometimes we are where we are and not able to shift from that place. Perhaps we are feeling something so intensely that we cannot find our way out of the paper bag. We have been taught to step back from others’ necessary experiences, acknowledge it for their journey, and allow things to play out as they need to.

Where is the line in the sand, and what do we do with the very real pain of watching someone we love in pain. After all we are truly human still and our emotions are real. We know that fear is an indication of being on the wrong path. This is something I share with my clients always. There are only two things to experience in truth….fear or love.

Watching someone you love go through the feelings necessary to heal them is extremely difficult. When do we step in? Is there a time to step in? I believe the line is when there is a life or death situation.

Okay, lets examine that….we know, that life never ends. Is it not then the choice of the person whether or not they want to opt out? Is death an experience of change or an experience of ending…and what is that end?

What I know is that life never ends. That here in this world we experience a physical life, and have an experience of physical death. What does opting out do for us?

I don’t feel that we are punished, that we go somewhere to suffer if we have not finished our life here. I don’t feel that we will create horrible karma for ourselves. However, I am reminded of something a friend of mine said to me not too long ago. I over-heard him talking about Gary Zukav. Gary Zukav was a very important beginning to my spiritual journey, as I felt my beliefs were being shown back to me in his books. I cannot quote exactly what he may have said here, but the gist is: those that choose to opt out, are not harming themselves so much as creating a void.

If you think of “A Wonderful Life” with the actor Jimmy Stuart, he asks that he was never born, and an angel comes and shows the character what life would be like if he had never been born. This is the result of opting out. It is not that we are punished for our choice, but that we are now absent. The ghost in the room, so to speak (hopefully, not the actual ghost in the room). I think that we would realize significantly that our reality on this side was just one of the things we agreed to experience before coming here.

So, here is the puzzle. If I have a soul contract with you, and you choose to opt out, are you now missing from my scenario or was my soul contract to have you missing and experience that??

I think in the end, that we can look at these experiences as having multiple layers and multiple realities….does this make opting out okay? I cannot even consider the amount of pain and loss I would experience if someone I loved chose this. I cannot think of it because it brings the highest fear possible to me. I cannot act from fear. This is the one thing I have learned that possibly can help any situation.

No matter how you feel, how fearful, how painful, how lost….ask…ask for someone to help raise your light. Having just consulted with one of the most respected channels I am aware of, I received my answer. Here and now I know that my job is the same as it has always been.

Use my words to raise the light, not allow the dark to be spoken, but to speak the truth that I know, regardless of what the belief is of those that are even the closest to my heart. To pretend or to hold back that light is not helping myself or any other. This world needs the light to bring awareness to the fear.

Fear is our illusion, what we put into play for our experience, but the game has changed. We do not have to live in fear. We can change that into love and light. I know this to be true and my words will be comforting, loving, and light….

To those I love the most in this world, you know who you are:

There is light around us, beautiful and loving. We are capable of being lighter beings who choose happiness and wholeness over pain and illusion. Only you can choose this for yourself, but I will not speak of pain to you, for you are only love to me. You are beautiful and I love you with all of my heart. You ARE capable of a good life, a strong life, a beautiful life, a happy life….you do not have to stay where you are in your head. I hope you will allow me to help you in love….not in fear…fear cannot be our way. The only way through is to acknowledge our light and allow that to grow within ourselves.

Special thanks to Lee Harris and the Z’s for answering my question today. Namaste.



Violence of the Mind

I have long been drawn to certain books, movies, poetry. Darkness. I preach the light now, but I have been drawn always to the dark. The sting of familiarity, the pain of remembrance, the closeness I have felt to the characters. The deepest pain helped me to release my own. The most raw and open encounters were a mirror to my own expression of the dark pain I hid inside myself.

I am still drawn to certain pieces of dark expression. You may notice this blog includes the dark and light side of myself, as well as life. It’s the expression of the war that sometimes still resides inside me. The war of the wounds v. the light. The light heals, but sometimes I prefer to wait out the day with the blinds closed against my own salvation. I prefer the quiet gloom to the sunny, social vibe. The dark keeps the secrets.

I have many favorite movies I would watch over and over for their dramatic quality and painful moments. The movie Philadelphia was one I would watch to help me alleviate my own feelings of pain. My favorite scene: Tom Hanks listening to beautiful but anguished opera; turning painfully into his own personal dance with death and loss. Tragic and beautiful. The music, the cinematography, the acting. Raw enough to evoke the tears I needed to shed.

Although Philadelphia was not a violent movie per se, the acts upon the character in the movie were acts of hate. The virus that battled the character’s body was insatiable in its quest to end it’s host’s life. It ended in death.

Action films, murder mysteries, tv shows such as: The Vikings, TrueBlood, Dexter, The Americans, Criminal Minds, 48 Hours, Locked Up, American Horror Story, The Killing, The Following, Spartacus….you get the idea. These are my chosen favorites. If you were to watch them you would see much blood, gore and killing. I also like the sci-fi channel, Natgeo, the History channel, cooking shows, and romantic comedies….I hope that helps.

My favorite authors of fiction are: Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Anne Rice, Edgar Allen Poe….again, you get the idea.

My favorite style of music: alternative, punk, emo….I think by now, you get the idea.

If I were to be judged by what I choose to watch, read or study….what would you think? Feel free to fill in the blank.

What is the truth? I grew up in a violent household were drugs and alcohol and abuse were normal ways of being. At a very young age, I was extremely neglected and abused physically, mentally, and sexually. I grew up in pain, in silence, and eventually anger. However, my heart survived. I survived.

I survived, but did not learn to live. I was depressed, melancholy, sometimes suicidal, angry, and afraid of everyone, and almost everything. It has taken years of conventional therapy, many therapists, and 4 years of an extremely painful physical disorder to help me see light. It is the work I do with energy, and my ability to help others that has given me my life back. I can honestly say that only 1 of the many therapists I have had since the age of 14 has been any help. When I reached her, I was distraught with pain and confusion over what was happening to my body. She felt it was unimportant and detrimental to my well-being to re-live any trauma, and began teaching me relaxation techniques for my mind and body. She followed me through my experience of awakening to the light, and acknowledged my progress along the way until she pronounced: “You don’t need me.”

Has violence in television, movies, and books ever made me violent? No. Was the true violence inflicted on me damaging to my sense of self, my ability to express myself, my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual well-being. Yes. I am not just a survivor; I was once a victim. I also carried my victim flag high for all to see.

Now, I suppose I am a survivor, but more, I am a teacher, a counsel, a friend, a loving soul who has healed many wounds within myself, and helps others to learn to heal themselves. It has never been the fiction that has hurt me. Not the movies, the tv shows or poems. The violence came from hands that were meant to be there to love me. Did tv, movies, or books influence the violence that took place in my family. No. The people who were abusive and ill in my family …were sick. I did not carry the abuse down to my children, but I was not a perfect parent. I was a parent who had a lot of fear of the world, and worry about the safety of my own children. I was a fearful parent. I worried excessively over my children. Did this affect them…of course it did. Did I try to hurt them. No. That was the last thing I would want, and yet you cannot hide damage as deep as mine was. Of course, it touched our lives.

Although, I may have used sad movies or stories to release some of my own personal feelings that were locked up inside me….it was through tears and emotion that I shed these feelings. Would another person see these images or hear these tales and resort to violence or abuse to demonstrate their own inner feelings. Yes. I definitely feel there is a relationship to the expression of damaged feelings and damaged relation to images of violence and written word. However, the damage must exist to begin with, the desire to act upon the feelings that already exist. Art imitates life. Does life imitate art? Art is the self expression of a human reality into a fictional reality. We hurt each other when we are hurt or we hurt each other when we cannot feel.

In the television show, Dexter, Dexter Morgan is a serial killer. He was 3 years old when he was locked in a storage container full of his mother’s blood after she had been murdered within his and his slightly older brother’s view. Dexter is adopted by a police man on the scene, who we later find out was having an affair with his mother. At a young age, Dexter’s adoptive father realizes that Dexter is a sociopath and teaches him to kill without being caught. He gives Dexter a code to live by: only kill those that deserve it, other killers, rapists, drug lords, etc. Dexter eventually ponders the thought that if his father had not taught him to kill…. could he have gotten help??

I guess we won’t know….this is the last season of Dexter. He has always been the hero of the story with a “dark passenger” in tow. It will be interesting to see what becomes of him in this last season, but he will be missed.

Dexter is an example of a tv show that could shape a young or sick mind. His character was taught to kill, and cover up the traces, by a law official. Talk about permission.

I can honestly say, I have never killed anyone. I don’t plan on starting anytime soon. I would guess that the risk factor for me to inflict violence on others would be staggeringly high. No thank you.

Today, I seek the light, the knowledge of the new, and exciting day before me… I accept the responsibility of myself, my life and my words and actions. I forgive myself and any other who may have harmed me in the past and I am free. The experiences I have had in my life eventually brought me to the light. The acceptance of myself, the love of myself and others, the ability to share my experiences without shame in my heart, and bring good to the foreground of my life. The dark is on the back burner these days. I find life full of a little bit of everything and I don’t need a butcher knife to express myself. Instead, I choose deep breathing, meditation, and soul searching. I share the truth here. The dark and the light. I’m not afraid of either.

I am still watching the last season of Dexter!