Post 242: Still, I Walk On

Dear Angels,

I don’t think I was meant for this earth. My heart is too big and aches too much.

I try to pull myself out of sadness but my efforts are to no avail.

I let go.

I let God.

I try and try.

I sit in emptiness and silence.

I sit in prayer.

I hope and wish and dream.

I try once more.

While I am not tough, I recognize I am brave.

I stand acutely aware of the dangers of life and the inevitability of dying. Change terrifies me, yet my very existence is encompassed by constant change. Still I walk on.

I am bombarded by my mind’s connections, the branching out of complex thoughts in order to make some sense of concepts and happenings. My thoughts, a web, upon a web, upon a web, spinning out exponentially and infinitely with no end, exhaust me. Still I walk on.

The only way to stop the thoughts is to distract. And while the thoughts are endless, the distractions are finite, and have a built-in ability to expire. Expiration leaves me weary and more fearful. The expiration of distraction, too, becomes a fear. Still I walk on.

My empathy depletes my energy sources. With the onset of pain or tragedy, I am left spinning in emotions, uncertain of how to assist, and where to start in the process of uncovering all the information buried beneath layer upon layer of soul-tears. One event turns and quickly bleeds into another—a river of sorts surging and bursting at the bed’s seams and pounding upon terrain after terrain, forging new ground and new thought. Still I walk on.

I see the eyes of the victims of life, hollow, afraid, alone. I understand isolation is a disease of our time, as well as a lingering disconnection. Still I walk on.

Everywhere is poison: food, medicines, waters, earth, animals, man, filled with poison.  Poison as substance and poison as thought. Still I walk on.

I long to sprout wings and hover above, to glide and bless the suffering. I long to weave magic, to soothe and comfort. I long to place a salve of love and salvation across humanity. Still I walk on.

I don’t know where to place my angst, my fear, my pain. And I refuse to pretend life is easy and happy. I question and question: Can I be light and be sad? Can I be light and be confused? Can I be light crying from within the darkness? Still I walk on.

I beg in confusion, and in my absence of vigor and vitality, depleted and drained, I weep. “Give them hope and strength. Show this world, so long emptied of hope a vision, a sign, a destiny. Point us to the path of light.”

And though my feet our weary and my head heavy, still I walk on

With lantern in hand, with angels at my side, I stand motionless, a light to the path, as still, I walk on.

Post 241: Brain Pain

Sometimes I have a good laugh at myself, like when I think back to the other day, (actually it was several days in a row), when I told myself I didn’t need to verbally process anymore; that after 240 days of blogging, I was good to go; that everything had been cleared and cleaned out of my head.

I actually believed I was no longer troubled with thoughts and logical reasoning and cluttered ideas and inspiration and nonstop jibber-jabber of the brain. I was a housewife, a mother, a cleaner of all things grime and cooker of all things organic. I wasn’t this complex person requiring repetitive time of deep processing.

HA! I shout HA!

I actually thought I am entirely NT (neurotypical) and I’ve created all this Asperger’s mumbo-jumbo in my head. I actually thought and thought and thought…until I realized I was thinking an awful lot! So much so, that I likely had Aspergers.

And I got all twisted in my thoughts, again analyzing that perhaps I was trying on the persona of an Asperger’s person for size, actually inhaling and emulating Asperger’s traits because I needed an identity to function in life. That in truth, I was perfecting said Aspergers, as Aspergers was my new inspirational role.

Yes, I’d garbed the facade of an Aspie woman to the state of complete life-like amazement.

And if this be true, if in fact I was a woman convincing herself she had Aspergers, so she knew who to be and how to act (role) in order to function, was that insanity?

And what is insane? And who isn’t insane? Or more so, who is sane?

Then, after hamping (think of my thoughts as a mad, bad ass hamster on a wheel), I concluded, like I have done more than a trillion-dozen times throughout this blogging endeavor, that if indeed I was once again taking on the persona of Aspergers to feel safe in the world, as I need a role to feel safe, then indeed I had Aspergers. Brain Pain!

Hmmmmmm.

So last night, I’m thinking, at the late hour of eleven o’clock as I’m watching reruns of the show Glee, and getting all tingly like I get when I hear good music, that I ought not have coffee after the noon hour because then I can’t sleep and my thoughts speed up like Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory.

Then I’m thinking, I relate way too much to characters on television, and how much more superb and brainiac-ish if I related to characters in books. But I don’t. So I’m stuck as a character on television.

So as I’m processing, basically alone, as the rest of the household is sound asleep, including Spastic Colon, aka: my labradoodle Violet, I’m starting to get stomach pangs of growing anxiety, dread, and fear. I’m telling myself it’s the dang coffee, as well as my binge into the wheat-zone. (I try to avoid gluten as it increases thoughts of impending doom….like dying of toe fungus or a nose pimple).

I keep reassuring myself all is okay. That much of what I’m experiencing is bio-chemical, while cursing to the star-fairies: Why do I have to be so fricken sensitive to everything on this planet! But the reassuring (and cursing) isn’t working, because the episode of Glee happens to be about the adorable school counselor having OCD and taking  medication to ease her symptoms.

And I get so tangled up on tiny-amounts-of-anger when I hear the overdone generic fallback, over used by psychiatrists (when speaking of medication) for over a decade now, that hums to the tune of: “If you had diabetes, you’d need insulin. This is no different.” And in my mind, I’m screaming, “Dang straight it’s different. Diabetes is proven and shown on blood tests. It’s in black and white. Plain as day. Mental challenges (issues, trouble, illness, etc.) are not that black and white. It’s not so simple!

And that got me thinking, do I need medication? My husband would shout an adamant NO, as the last time, some six years ago, I was on low dose anti-depressant I ended up with suicidal thoughts. My natural path doctor would concur, and advice continuing my strict diet of healthy eating and supplements/herbs.  But beyond that, what would other professionals think? And what are the professionals’ experiences? And how do they know what’s best for me? And who knows what’s best for me anyhow……  And all these thoughts spun off a minute-long section of a comedy/singing/drama show I’m watching on the boob-tube.

At this point I’m exhausted, but too awake to sleep.

Next came the wave of panic that ensued after I opened an envelope—an envelope from the university I attended for one semester when I was stuck on working towards a second master’s degree; until I was humiliated and discriminated against by the professor(s), and high-tailed it out of the university on my own therapist’s advice, and my inability to stop my crying and my trembling-fear of returning.

Months later, in reflection, I realized, if the terror at the college hadn’t occurred, likely this blog would not exist….so alas, I understand.

The panic I felt upon opening the envelope was energy related to the university.  The university had sent me another bill; a bill that is likely a mistake on their part; which means, once again, I’ll have to play phone tag to try to clear up the financial issue. And this sets me into coffee-plus-wheat induced terror state.

Impending thoughts:

1) What if they are right and I owe that money?

2) What if they are wrong but don’t figure it out and it goes to a collection agency and their error ruins my credit?

3) Boy was I rude when I left that message on the phone to the finance department tonight. Is it okay to get mad? I rarely get mad? What type of example am I setting? That’s not me. Should I apologize when they call? Why should I apologize? Everyone gets mad once in a while. His Holiness the Dalai Lama even says so.

4) The last time they said I owed thousands of dollars, I took them on their word and wrote a check, and then they sent the same amount back to me. What is their problem.

5) Wow, I still have lots of unresolved issues around the university. Maybe I should have sued them. No. That’s not right. That doesn’t feel right. I wonder how much money I might have gotten. Hmmmm?

6) Why is this bugging me so much? I have Aspergers, so the envelope was unexpected…surprise equals panic and fear. Answer: Unresolved financial matters makes me nervous. It is hard to relax until the situation is resolved. I  feel wrongly misjudged and like I did something bad when I haven’t done anything wrong. I am looping on the word “Collection Agency” if not paid by October 21,2012. How could I pay that fast when I just got the envelope?

And now my brain spins on numbers. Months. Days of the week. And back to the money numbers. Round and round with digits and doubts.

7) Deep breaths. Maybe I do need to still verbally process through writing. Maybe.

Post 240: The Wow Factor

Wow! I’ve really found myself again.

Transformations and transitions have been powerful.

I looked through some photo albums this early morning and I actually remember joy and happiness and love. I see the person I was and am. I see what a wonderful, nurturing mother I was and am. I see how beautiful I was and am.

I spent so much of my life doubting my exterior and internal beauty.

I’m realizing I am beauty.

I have energy. I’m motivated. I’m excited for life. I’m hopeful.

I recognize my challenges, but carry a hope that all will be okay.

I’m counting my blessings and recognizing what a glorious life I’ve had.

All in all, every wish I’ve had as a child has come true. And every goal I had as a young adult has been met. I know if I died today, I would be content.

I have helped people through my various vocations and writings.

I have reached out.

I have been caring and thoughtful.

I have placed others first, but also learned to pamper and love myself.

It really is quite glorious.

I’m at a time in my life where I am learning to appreciate my uniqueness and also recognize my commonalities with other people.

I am less rigid and structured, more able to relax and understand my thought processes. More able to accept who I am and what I am.

I am even able to look in the mirror and like what I see.

So much growth.

I am very pleased

view from my home in the early mornings

I’ve spent the last two weeks reawakening and cleansing the energy in my house through the practice of feng shui. And I’ve reveled in the process, spending some nine to ten-hours straight some days working on the house. (Can you say “fixation” ?) The inspiration and motivation to clean and organize my home came after more than five weeks of being couch-bound and sick from a series of infections, the longest standing being viral bronchitis.

Symbolically and energetically, while facing physical health challenges, I cleared out much stagnant energy within my body through my constant coughing and removal of chunks of phlegm. (Pardon that visual image.)

Now that my interior being has had a good scrub through, I am setting about to clear out the gunk from the exterior of my life.

Everyday I cleanse my home, I feel lighter and happier in spirit. I have more clarity than I have experienced in years and have been welcoming many gifts through this energetic cleansing process.

I feel reconnected to a part of me I haven’t felt in years. I am reawakened myself in my ability to recognize the effective and beneficial parent and homemaker, friend, and spirit I am.

*as a side note, both days I cleaned my study, the feng shui area for prosperity and money, I was rewarded within hours with unexpected monetary awards.

Observations:

Removal of dog’s crate, his winter jacket, and blanket from the house. (Scooby passed away in February, shortly after starting this blog.)

Release of grief and sadness.

Welcoming of acceptance, love, and peace.

Bagged and boxed up items I’ve been saving for years, incase I ever need them.

Release of thoughts of scarcity and not enough.

Welcoming of trust and abundance.

Removed dirty plunger, stagnant water, scissors, dirt and debris, and clutter from heart-center of house in utility room.

Release of death, destruction, and stagnant emotion.

Welcoming of clarity, newness, and beneficial flow of energy.

Balanced water elements of bathrooms with earth elements such as floral design, stripes, blue and green, and pottery.

Release of flood of emotions and drowning in worries.

Welcoming of nurturing, calmness, and grounding.

Bedroom cleaned and stripped of clutter and most décor.

Release of cluttered mind and unrest.

Welcoming of deep breaths, deep relaxation, and sanctuary.

Children’s bedrooms cleaned and unneeded items given away.

Release of attachment to greed, distraction, and confusion.

Welcoming of having enough, freedom to move and create, and satisfaction in simplicity.

Underneath kitchen sink cleaned of scum and cleaning supplies removed and placed elsewhere.

Release of need to hide the whole of me. Release of burden of poisonous thoughts.

Welcoming of safety, love of self, and emptying of garbage.

Storage closets organized and cleaned out.

Release of past regrets and the need to hold on to the past. Release of cluttered emotions.

Welcoming of order, structure, and ease.

Front entry cleaned and organized.

Release of fear of people and rejection.

Welcoming of friendship and happiness.

Expired supplements and medications discarded.

Release of pain and suffering.

Welcoming of health and wealth of energy.

Cooking pots and pans, canned and boxed food organized.

Release of dread and confusion.

Welcoming of nutrition, clarity, and fortification.

Décor and gifts I kept out of guilt.

Release of pressure to please, fear of hurting others, and retention of unhealthy relationships.

Welcoming of beauty, joy, and pleasure.

Mementos taken off shelves and out of closet, and then boxed.

Release of fear of losing past happiness and hope.

Welcoming of present happiness and merriment.

Sorting through photo albums and photos.

Removal of past untruths.

Welcoming the beauty I was and am. Welcoming the wonderful memories of the family I have helped lift and raise.

Post 239: I Don’t Know You

I don’t know you.

I think I do, but I don’t.

There is so much about you unspoken, unseen, untouched.

And I long to reach these places,

to dip inside you with the full of me,

with every inch of my being and penetrate the ocean that is you,

the one that rises and falls,

ebbs and flows within.

You see, you touch me, you reach, you penetrate,

you dive, you dip,

you even fall into me.

I feel you plunge.

I feel your soul purge,

and your tears,

I catch them,

and my ocean is fed.

I am filled.

I am chosen.

I am one with the essence of your waters.

Until you wake, and look upon me,

and do not know me,

do not choose me,

do not wish me to be the one to carry your dreams.

And you run, like the weather runs in season’s change,

reforming without ever going,

so that what I see and feel, and even breathe, is still you,

but everything around has shifted and altered,

everything different.

Where there were flowers the leaves now fall,

where there was warmth, the snow covers,

And coldness wraps and invades, and eats away,

at me.

Yes, me.

This woman who thirsts for the places she cannot travel.

Whose mouth waters at the very sight of the one she cannot see.

Whom senses eternity in the acorn she holds,

in the sky she evaporates in her mind,

and the outline of the shadow where you almost stand.

Post 238: Seeing the Future


I believe in precognition and seeing the future. I believe in knowing people from another time or place. I’ve had dreams since I was a young girl of future events. When I was a child, I would predict the death of my pets. Later, I would foresee car accidents. As an adult, friends would appear in my dreams and tell me about what was happening in their lives. Months before I knew my family and I were moving to Washington State, I saw our future home, our future town, our future landlords, and a future car accident, in a dream.

In my early forties, when job circumstances altered for my husband, I utilized the change of employment tide to encourage my husband to search beyond California for work. For years, I’d felt called to move up north to Oregon or Washington. I longed for the clean air, the thick forests of trees, and to be near water.

A week into our job search, my husband was contacted by an old colleague via email. The colleague and my husband hadn’t spoken in years, and she did not know my husband was job searching. At this exact time of our search, she happened to email a job possibility in Washington State.  As it turned out the job did not pan out. However, a week later, once again the same colleague emailed with another job.

This time, after extensive interviewing, my husband was offered a job in Washington.

Months before we ever started considering the real possibility of moving out-of-state, I had dreamt of our soon-to-be home in Washington.

I remember because I awoke with a feeling of knowing after the dream and had later phoned my mother to tell her the details of the dream.

I had dreamt of a house set up on a hill with many large windows overlooking a beautiful body of water. A woman and her husband, both dressed in Hawaiian attire, had greeted us at the door of the home. The woman had shown me around the house, as if I was to live there. She directed me to look over the water and said: “This will be a place of healing for you.”

Then she pointed to walking trails and a local farmers market. I remember thinking how odd to have a farmers market outside your window. At the end of the dream, there was a flash, and I saw a vehicle crash, with images of tires rolling and a huge impact. I woke up bewildered and startled.

Fast forward months later, in the state of Washington on a mad-dash, house-hunting weekend, we (family of five + my mom) just happened to be one of the first families to query about an advertisement about a home for rent. Though after learning over the phone about the circumstances surrounding the home, we deduced it wasn’t the right timing for us to move into this particular house: they didn’t take dogs, there was no fenced yard, and we weren’t certain about the area. Regardless, the homeowner who had placed the advertisement on a whim felt an immediate connection to me over the phone.

The landlady insisted we come over to meet her. She wanted to at least show us around the neighborhood. When we arrived, she opened the front door and said, “Welcome home.” Upon seeing one another, we both instantly felt we had met before.

The house was like the house in my dream, set upon a hill with large windows over looking the water. I soon learned the owners were moving to Hawaii. Later that day, the landlady took us to the local Farmer’s Market.

We rented the house pretty much on the spot, despite the timing and perceived conflicts. Not waiting more than a few hours to make up our mind. We’d make the situation work. We made an immediate connection with the owners.

Before the move, my husband had to go up north to work, a month prior to the kids and me arriving. During my husband’s visit to the house we were to lease in Washington, the owner told my husband this: “I really like your mother-in-law, I really like you, but I am giving this home to you because I feel it will be a place of healing for Sam.”

I had never told my husband the words the woman had spoken in my dream; only my mother had known.

All the pieces of the dream were fitting together, except for the car accident I had seen.

I’d mentioned the accident to my mother, and was nervous to drive my children on the eleven-hour road trip back up to Washington.

A few days before I was to drive to Washington, I drove to the bay area in California with my mother. While driving on the freeway, I panicked, turned to my mom and, after reminding her of the dream,  said, “I have a lot of anxiety right now, with all of these trucks and large vehicles around us.”

Minutes later, a tire on a truck blew, directly in front of us on the freeway, and pieces of rubber flew out. We were fine, and the anxiety left.

I tried to convince myself that the tire blow out that had just occurred was the accident in my dream. After all, it was in the same time period. Even said so this to my mother.  Close enough, I told myself.

Still…..the feeling remained.

A few days later, on the way up north to Washington, with the van jammed pack with people, animals, our belongings, and a friend who was coming along to assist, we stopped at a hotel in Oregon. The hotel staff confused our reservation and gave us an inadequate sized room.

I decided it was best to leave the hotel and travel more. I wasn’t tired, after all.

Back on the road, during our search for another hotel, I was in the fast lane, moving along at an average speed, when directly in front of me, some four to five car-lengths ahead, an old-style silver motor home blew a tire.

Large chunks of tire came flinging towards our windshield, bumped off the van, and splattered and spun down the highway.

A knowing came over me: a remembering.

I gently hit the brakes and turned on my hazard lights.

The motorhome driver could not gain control. The vehicle started wobbling to the left, to the right, and back and forth, tilting this way and that, faster and faster, and closer and closer towards the road. There was nowhere for me to go. Cars were breaking behind. And there was a steady flow of traffic to my right. The shoulder to my left was a ditch of dirt. At my speed we’d crash, if I tried to pull over in the dirt.

I watched trembling, as the motorhome started spinning like a top at full speed, backwards towards us. I thought this might be the end. If that vehicle hit us, we would be crushed.

Seconds passed in slow motion.

I took a deep breath.

An hour before I had told my friend sitting in the passenger seat that because of my prior dream months ago, I felt protected on this journey.

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

The motorhome made a final spin before it tipped over onto its side and did several three-sixties, turning round and round, crashing and crashing, sending up clouds of dust.

At first I feared the vehicle was coming towards us. But it slid rapidly on its side, across the ditch, in a direction horizontal to us, all the way across to the other side of the freeway and oncoming traffic.

With a loud thump, the motorhome came to its final landing.

People from all directions came running towards the vehicle to help. I pulled over to the right side on the roadside, too shaken to move. Then my friend sitting next to me said exactly what I needed to hear. She said, “You know, if it hadn’t been you directly behind the motor home, if someone else had been driving and following closer behind, it could have been a lot worse.”

Her words comforted me.

I realized then that no one outside of the occupants of the motorhome had been involved in the collision. No fender benders, no spinning off the road, no severe braking. Everything around had remained calm.

Post 237: Your Words

Sometimes the hardest thing about blogging is the readers’ comments.

When I read comments, in fact when I read any words, each word resonates energetically with me.

For the most part, some 99.5 percent of the comments I read on this site are supportive and kind. But there is always that half percent, that few that seem to rise above the rest, like serpents from the murky waters, and shatter what joy was carried with their jagged teeth and rugged scales of anger.

I can feel the anger in certain words. I can feel judgment, dismay, demise. I can feel jealousy, confusion, and mental clutter. I can feel some need to challenge, fight, or crush.

I have to remind myself that others’ words are not a reflection of me. I have to shake myself much like a dog, and flick away all the leech-like fear seeded in some comments.

I have to remember whomever writes words that are not beneficial to my spirit is in desperate need of hope and love. I have to remind myself that their pain is my pain. And the best I can do is to pray for the individual. To visualize the person finding support, clarity, and a release from whatever holds him or her prisoner.

Your Words

Embrace

Reject

Hurt

Enchant

Love, love, love

Pierce

Words from air

Words from mind

Words that soar out

To feed upon

To enrich

All these words

Souls

Dancing on the pages of my endless sky

Like clouds at sundown

Fading after their last performance

Some bleed upon the horizon

Seep into the waters

Some drift away

Ideally

What words

Must I scribe

To show the power

Of word essence

How spirit

How position

Oozes out of letters

And finds substance

Format

Life

With hands that harvest or hold

Create

Anything imagined

Inside this heart of mine

Post 236: I BE RED!

I BE RED!

Yes, me!

I’m telling myself this, again:

For you Little Sam.

For no one else.

Post whatever you want.

Write whatever you want.

This is for you.

Stop doing everything for the world.

Stop thinking about the observer, the outsider, the watcher.

The only person looking

Is YOU!

So, post your hair if you want to!

Materialistic

Stupid

Silly

Waste of people’s time….

Seriously.

For someone who tries so dang hard not to judge others

You sure judge yourself harshly

all the time.

Let’s stop that.

Okay?

Just Be.

Stop worrying about results

About thoughts

Yours and theirs.

The key is to unlock the inner critic

Then you can unlock the outer

Love yourself like you love your dearest friend

Be gentle

Be kind

And most of all

Live

My dear heart

Live!

Post 235: Halo Gone

I had a halo this morning:

I wrote a short post about it.

And received wonderful, wonderful comments.

Then logic set in.

At first I thought a bug flew around my head really fast before I took the photo of me with my I-Phone.

Nope.

A couple of hours later, after some reflection, I got the keen idea to go take some photos without me in the bathroom.

Would the pink light still be there?

Yep!

It has to do with the way my bathroom light bulbs reflect in the room.

Sigh. No halo.

No angels.

So panic set in.

I couldn’t be presenting myself as having a halo or little pink angels, when in actuality they were light bulb filaments reflecting in my bathroom.

I had to delete the post ASAP.

That’s how my mind works…and body responds. Any form of dishonesty, even unintentional or accidental, or not really even dishonesty to begin with but a mistake, and I FREAK and go into repair/fix mode.

So I deleted the original post for 235 of my tiny pink angels.

Sigh.

Deep breath.

Shaking off unneeded guilt and fret.

Then I had more time to think.

I may not have a halo that I can visibly catch on camera.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t have one.

And it doesn’t mean those little lights weren’t a message of sorts.

For a couple of hours, I was a believer again.

For a couple of hours, I thought I was protected and loved.

For a couple of hours, I thought I was special.

And then I realized…..

It wasn’t for a couple of hours

It’s been a lifetime

With or without proof

 

 

My mother used to work for Virginia Satir. This old plaque hangs in my kitchen. 

(My husband says: “Maybe that halo is yours. It just stays there in that spot!”—hopeful soul.)

Post 234: Demons, Darkness and the Light

Demons, Darkness and the Light

You know those days, or time periods, when a bunch of crap just starts to happen, kind of like you’ve dropped an explosive device down the deep stench of the outhouse and a volcano of poop is erupting?

Do you know too that moment when you can step back away from the ego-self and observe your own being, while distancing yourself from the mess that in reality is an illusion? How you can then, with decisive and heartfelt action, breathe in what appears to be filth and smell only succulent roses?

I’m stepping back. And I’m admiring the wonders of this experience labeled life.

I gather I’m under attack of some sort. Whenever I am entirely honest and come from a place of pure truth, as I did in my latest writings, something always counters me.

I don’t mean to sound “far out there” or “super spiritual,” but truth be told, I’ve been countered since I was a young child. And I’ve been placed in events that have directly challenged my strength of will.

By the age of nine, I’d undergone losses of grand proportion, including the loss of two fathers, one through my mother’s second divorce, a man I’d never see again, but once when I was almost an adult, and the emotional loss of my biological father, whom, for the majority of my childhood, I only saw a few days a year. I suffered the loss of my kindergarten teacher when she died of cancer. I suffered the loss of my best friend in kindergarten, Keith, who moved to Hawaii. I suffered the loss of my step-sisters and step-brothers, when our family broke apart; they being the only siblings I ever had. I suffered the loss of my best buddy of three years, who was more liken to a sister, because she was the daughter of my mother’s boyfriend, and I spent most nights and weekends in the same bedroom as her—lost her when her mother “kidnapped” her one day; the last day I ever saw her. I suffered the loss of pets that I would foretell dying in my dreams. I suffered the loss of childhood with the complexity of my thoughts, and an understanding of the vastness of the universe and consequences of social norms, that far surpassed the thinking of most adults. Suffer I did. And all before the first decade of my life reached completion.

I teeter not upon the other violations I experienced, choosing not to go into detail, but instead say that along with the losses, predators found me, and made me victim.

At the age of ten, life didn’t get easier, in fact the trials continued, one after the other, without pause for retreat, without rest, without rescue.

I grew into a woman matured in an untimely fashion by the pangs of this world. I grew into a child, who born sensitive and hyper aware of the spiritual world, became hyper afraid of the earthly world. My fear manifested itself into a grandiose, potentially explosive, bang of illusion associated with death and illness. Everything imaginable was out to destroy me. Who implanted this seed, I do not know, but it remains to this day my greatest internal weed, with thoughts of my demise recycling and winding through my mind sometimes emotionally choking me up to a few hundred times hourly. How to stop this fear has been my quest since I was nine. I have truly died a thousand and one deaths, each minute reminded of my mortality and fragility.

The only thing that stops the thoughts is being immersed in a fixation or passion. The issue then becomes that I am escaping the present to avoid my thoughts, and in fact not really here at all.

I have grown tired of this battle. So very weary.

In truth, I have traveled a tiresome path of challenge after challenge, emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually. I have been persecuted at all levels.

At age elven, I would awake to demons dragging me down my bed or to the hell fires roasting my body. I’ve been visited by spirits I would call “evil.”

My father had told me as a teenager, when I’d undergo the extreme nightmares, the visitations, the precognitive dreams, and such, that I was a beacon on a hill and that my bright light would attract the good, but with this, I would also attract the bad. I believed him. I still do.

My outer-body experiences started when I was very young. I would wake up trapped in my own body, able to see everything about me and hear, but unable to open my eyes. My father could leave his dream state and body, travel to another room in the house, and upon awakening tell all of what he saw and heard.

For me, I have visions, I see what will happen, or what might happen. I see car accidents, deaths, tragedies, sufferings, and sometimes, though rare, cause for celebration.

There was a time, I sat alone in a room with my father, and when he asked, “Can you tell me what you see when looking at me? And I responded, “Yes, to your right, there is a demon there, sitting and trying to control you.” And my father answered, “Yes,” pointing to the exact spot I mentioned.

Again, another time, my father said to look in a mirror at the end of his hallway and tell him what I saw. I told him a green like lizard-like alien with yellow-orange eyes, and he again responded “Yes; that is what I see.”

My father is quite sane. With the whole of my heart, I believe he was not inventing things. He is above all else extremely honest, blunt, and direct. I fear, though, he still has that demon sitting at his side.

In his house I was never safe. When I lived with him during my college years, I was always frightened to sleep under his roof. I would hear “get out” when I entered his bedroom, though no one was home. And strange events happened, like the television turning on by itself and flicking channels or a spirit holding me at night using the exact same words to speak to me as she did to my father.

“Oh her. Yes, I know her. She comes to me at night in the same way,” my father would say.

Once a well-known and established religious sect tried to recruit my father, based on his connection to the spiritual world. “Quickly, come here,” father would hear, before stealthy escaping the waiting area. “We found one of them!” Them referring to psychic and able to astral project.

With all the challenges and arguably unusual (and sometimes unspeakable) occurrences in my life, I’m growing tired of what I see as servitude through sacrifice. I definitely feel as if I have the soul of a martyr. I say this with no pride.

I tried for many years to heal my soul, to fill some gap or hole, so to undergo a life of simplicity and easiness.

I’m quite the expert in mankind’s current way to better one’s self, and quite the expert on the shortcomings of such solutions.

I’ve come to the conclusion that my soul and personhood does not need fixing.

I am realizing that the most advantageous action for me to take is to continue to be authentic and shine my light. To continue, regardless of the consequence, to be truthful in my personal experience.

I am listening to my angels.

I’ve been called since I was little to help. First with animals, later with the elderly, homeless, non-English speaking immigrants, and children, and now female adults.

Being called to help and shine my light for no other intention but to help is just who I am.

I think, no I know, I scare some people. They just don’t get me.

They don’t understand why I do what I do.

Why I write or have this drive to reach people.

They don’t understand honesty.

They don’t understand goodness.