Flock of Geese, Chaos of Kittens

A PERSONAL STORY OF MYSTIC MPD INTEGRATION Devlyn Rhys Young Flock of Geese, Chaos of Kittens: A Personal Story of Mystic MPD Integration, Copyright ©2004 by Devlyn Rhys Young. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, copied or reproduced in any way whatsoever, including Internet usage or other electronic means, without permission from the author, except for short quotations for the purposes of review and criticism. Legal Disclaimer All information in this book is based upon the experiences of the author. Some information is based on the author’s research and collaboration with healers and therapists. This book is a nonfiction story of one woman’s challenge to transform the stigma and obstacles of MPD into a gift of true healing and shamanic talent. Devlyn Rhys Young, BSEd., MA, FS. Counselor and Poet of Deep and Mythic Pathways, Dev has studied, explored, and experienced shamanic and spiritual traditions from Celtic to Native American, journeying the Matrix of Light since birth. She is a Faery Shaman Healer, Dimensional Mystic, and has published the following books: Myst-taken Identity, a collection of mystic poems Celtic Haiku Chronicles of Faern: Inworld Journeys to the Faery Realm Devlyn has also taught Special Education at the Junior High level for ten years, raised two daughters, worked as a restaurant manager for several years, achieved her Masters in Counseling, and is currently a school counselor. Flock of Geese Chaos of Kittens A Personal Story of Mystic MPD Integration By Devlyn Rhys Young Some days… I feel like a flock of geese: I have direction and focus, coordination and motivation. Most days… I feel like a chaos of kittens with none of those factors – just opposing needs for comforting or antagonizing, adventure or safety, company or isolation, climbing or hiding, napping or wandering, nuzzling or scratching, hissing or purring… and many times all of those simultaneously… Keeping control of my Self is like harnessing cats, but I have learned the fine art of negotiation and consensus… we have become One - One pride of kittens; One flock of geese; One. Rhys’ Pieces: a Prologue: 11/1998 Mid-morning graces the landscape; a few white puffy clouds wander across a very blue sky. A light breeze quietly plays with the seagulls. The ocean chants, in a still, deep voice, a solemn mantra of being. Here, by the western shore, we sit upon a grassy ledge, one hundred feet up from the sandy beach. The Child gathers little stones, sticks, and feathers in a pile. We ponder an empty seashell left by some creature that grew and moved on. It is what we need to do. We know we must set our own shell down: bless it, honor it, release it, and walk away. It won’t be easy, but at least it is ours to choose. We build a cairn of pebbles, in preparation for tossing them off the cliff’s edge. One for each bit of letting go. One for each tap of the past that has kept us jumping at the slightest shadow, the least noise. One for each piece of glass held so tightly in a fist so small that it has become a part of our being. One for each person, each event that caused so much devastation that we have yet to cry. We will toss just one a day. And rest. Be still. Heal a bit in God’s hand. And then, toss one more. The Gateway waits patiently behind us. It will not let us pass until we are ready. Until we have let go all our past attachments. Until we free ourselves from shame, hate, fear, grief, blame, anger, and the comfort of illusions. Our will must overcome our fear. We must step empty-handed through the Gateway: this towering rainbow arch of pulsating energy that opens onto our future. The portal itself is only large enough for one – or maybe one, and a child. There is no seeing beyond or through it. The passage requires trust and faith, free choice, and no baggage. No carry-ons. No weapons. Nearby is a sign that reads, “Check your fear at the door.”. And so we will. We are going to camp here on the grass, build a small fire, and have tea. We keep an extra cup for whomever may show up, be it an archangel or another survivor. So, if you wish, you may join us. Later, we will tell you our own story, as we lie beneath the canopy of Creation’s stars. Prophetic Vision of MPD Breakthrough: 1997 The enemy surrounds the camp wherein dwells the Earthmother near the time of her birthing; her warriors and guards cannot long keep them out – there are too many of them. Already I can hear them breaking through the lines, rushing fiercely and murderously towards her tent – but I cannot let them kill her or all will be lost – and so I weave a spell that surrounds us within an illusion of a great boulder – a glacial monolith, not uncommon on the Steppes – and so all they see is a rock though they search other tents, killing all, and grumbling in consternation. They know she was here – but they finally ride away searching for other clues. I know we cannot stay much longer – they will return – their shaman will know that we must be here, albeit hidden from view. Her contractions indicate the child comes due. She stifles her scream and her pain as much as she can. And I deliver the child into my hand. Within the hour, Elder Reindeer is at the door, calling: “My tribe is here to escort you to safety – but we must go north right now.” MPD Discovery: 2/1998 And so, what if there are many? I have trouble dealing as one. How much more would many cause? I have no idea, no clue. I still don’t even think in those terms. I can’t. I don’t know how. Sometimes I toy with the idea. Sometimes I use it as a premise or hypothesis and see where my thoughts or feelings or inner wanderings can go. But the reality of such a condition eludes my embrace. If I allow such a concept its reality, would I then cease to be? Sometimes the changes are so subtle, it is difficult to tell if there truly was a shift in characters or if it were only a change in moods or something of that ilk. Sometimes every time I turn around I react so different as to be different people. So I’ve been told. It’s very hard to see from this perspective. Is it true that whenever I am with a man long enough all I see is my father? And when I am with a woman long enough, all I see is my mother? Is that past conditioning so strong? It is strong enough to affect my behavioral and emotional responses to people and situations. And it still deeply affects all my psychological responses whether or not I allow them to manifest in a physical way. And it’s also true that in accepting the premise of this horrid, cruel, and perverse abuse I, as a child, endured, then surely such reactions are a rational response to that abuse. Still, I have put so much space between myself and reality and/or Truth, that I believe it will always remain difficult at best to accept as real all of whatever happened to the child. It is true there are extremely few memories – snapshots, in truth: times, perhaps, when I allowed reality to touch me. But I don’t remember the ocean. How odd is that! It was a place I must have spent quite a lot of time, living around Santa Monica and LA. There’s at least one picture of me there with my brother. I’ve been told my eyes looked dead in that picture. I have no memories of any people. I couldn’t draw one. I don’t remember any pets, toys, meals, parties, clothes, vehicles. How strange! It would make sense that the psyche would split or shatter or whatever under the extreme trauma it was experiencing. But not to know that, not to feel that, not to remember, or be able to experience, or anything, makes it easily put in the realm of a creative imagination, or the realm of non-existence – in the sense that one could create fictional characters to experience and deal with something one doesn’t want to have anything to do with. But supposing I do with the premise of a schism in the psyche, of a shattering of the self. Then what? What does that make the person who is writing this? How do I answer “who am I?” I’ve never had an answer to that. I’ve read enough to answer the question in spiritual ways, in philosophical ways, and even in metaphysical ways. And that, of course, is what keeps me going – gives some reason for existing, for searching, for questing farther and higher. But, in the end, it is still games of thoughts, words, concepts, and others’ Truths. When I was 18, I held no opinions, no philosophies, no ideas concerning any issues, including me. Nothing mattered – and in truth nothing really existed for me if I so chose. All my world now began in 1969 when I joined the Navy and, after boot camp, chose to create an identity, a person who accepted people without judgment, staying around those who were not hurtful or who needed me. And so, I was still a child, ‘though reborn. And as I grew, I gathered information by reading and by learning from other people and by trying to mold myself into a better person whenever I could, even if only a millimeter or a cell at a time. And I have created, or rather re-created, someone who is helpful and perceptive, intelligent and psychic, a mystic in spiritual terms. Someone with a great and elusive/illusive shield to protect whatever existed before. Now, it seems mere curiosity to journey back beyond the shield. As if there were no good reasons to discover what ashes remain. Unfortunately, what has occurred is that I have educated this re-created self to such a degree that I know quite well that to become the most excellent mystic, the most diligent disciple, the most proper conduit for the Holy Spirit, that I must become whole. I must allow God to reach purely through not just this re-created self, but allow Him access (by my choice) through the sewage and sickly debris that coat the shattered and charred remains of that other life. I cannot even think my birth-name, nevermind speak it, without feeling nauseous, filthy, and fearful. She does not exist. She has not existed for a very long time. True, I had to respond to that name. Still do. But I don’t like it. I hate the name. I despise it. Names do have power. That name, and so the child, was perverted, was invaded, was bent and twisted, was coated in human refuse, was made the performer in the most profane acts, was ultimately destroyed. Where was my mother? And truly where was anyone fitting that definition? I do not know what a mother feels like. I could never trust anyone resembling that mother-image – even anyone who was a mother and didn’t fit that early image. Because she was a Jekyl and Hyde. Because her niceness or good things never had any love or joy behind them; it always benefited her somehow. It still does today. It makes me very angry now. Then, as a child, I think I just learned to not trust the good reactions and to trust too much the bad reactions – the times when she would yell, “It’s a good thing there’s a law against murder!” Not that I would have cared if I died. I just didn’t like getting hurt. And hurting is all I ever got. When I got old enough to challenge the irrational reactions and demands and accusations, there was always someone protecting her and telling me to leave her alone – I had no right. Yeah…... I can’t ask my father any questions. He died around ‘84. Would he have ever acknowledge what happened? I can’t write much about my father. I don’t remember him before I was 8. I can’t remember anything before I was 8. And he seemed somewhat empty in the few times I was with him in the time before he died. Empty. But also there was an unnamed fear that I never could account for. As if, if I weren’t careful, something “bad” might happen. It was a vague feeling, like an uncomfortableness, an unsettling feel to the air. I don’t know. I didn’t know – until recently. Until the counseling and the energy work and the abreactions. I’m very scared about allowing the inner voices to manifest in reality. I’m very afraid that without my control, I would end up in a “nice, safe asylum” or whatever is politically correct to call it. I know they can put a good spin on the word “crazy”, and the place they put those people, and the drugs they give them to keep them “healthy and sane”. I’m very afraid that will happen. Very afraid. Still, there is a part of me that wants to take the risk because of my spiritual quest. And I guess it would be a great test of my faith and trust in God to take that leap. 2-9-2003 Five years later, I can say that the risk paid off. In full. I am one in convergence…no elimination of alters or other negative processes. I am one in myself, with wonderful facets and talents and gifts, all working in conjunction, in consensus with my healing…in the healing of the Whole and the parts, becoming more than the sum of them. The Child is free to be, and does not shrink from her Name. I am that I am. And how cool is that! Storm Warnings: Early signs of dissociative splintering Often… when it is still… and I can feel the tide of Future-Past, I know His will: and I can see the Falling of the Mast. 1990 If all that is is not reality because the self isn’t and cannot be, then what does it matter – if pretending can achieve the highest standards, if responsibility must not be sacrificed, then the self must be… and all hope shattered. 1975 When encounters with reality increase in kind and speed, the demand for rationality becomes too much for me… no time to sort out common sense, no one to understand, no place I’m free without defense, no touch I can withstand—stay with me, friend, as some relief, I need to know I’m sane, I need control of that belief, I need to feel the rain. 1978 Rainbow disintegrating into screaming, swirling pieces of maddening light; I run but there are no walls thick enough to hide behind; I know I must turn and fight; I know that they are only exploding pieces of my mind trying to absorb me til I’m as mad as they appear to be. 1979 Waterfall… melted rainbow, cast beyond the massive cliff, you’ve left your iridescent dust where shadows used to drift and turn to rust; shattered prism, held in transitory splendor by a transcendental stream, your leap to freedom renders God’s omnipotent gleam. 1975 See, down by the lake, a lone reception: the water’s unreal the ripples – deception no trees can I feel their green is transparent the ground where I kneel no grass is apparent all lies in illusions of childlike confusions… and I pray in the wake of uncertainty – my beliefs are mirages my thoughts on the wind my mind caught in barrages exploding in sin… I’ve lost what I looked for and never could gain, pretending: I knew I would melt in the rain. 1966 What seemed so easy to acquire, seems now so far away: the moment I can touch the fire, the flames all die away. 1975 Echoes are all I ever hear Reflections all I see How can I know the Truth of God? How can I know me? Walls are all I ever touch Darkness all I feel How can I know the Truth of Life? How can I be real? 1980 I remember now where it was that I had been and flourished before this was before the darkness came to keep me undernourished like it has; I cannot think not deep, not clear for I did not want to come at all – I knew the fear would conquer me against its concrete wall – and it has. 1979 River, rushing in crystal explosions white shadows embroidering your darkness passing the rock and bushes in silent emotion; I watch you run, follow you with my eyes only to realize that you must ever run ever hope to reach and touch the ocean; pure reflection of my life, is this all in vain? Are we only and forever what we seek? 1978 Trapped within the clutches of my mind, I resign finding all my thoughts unwrapped and distorted; I cannot move to break this iron mist and all my self’s creation has been thwarted. 1979 Pilgrim, what name do you go by? Which one your identity? Why do you hide in their shadows? Which one is the you I see? Which one keeps you locked in a prison? Which one is afraid to feel? Do you know which one will answer? Do you know which one is real? 1979 You think you can find my small sanctuary that hides what is left of me; you think I can let you get close enough to touch and destroy what is free; the risk and the trust are too great to accept the knife of knowing too keen; the fear is so constantly pressing down through people, shadows, and dreams; that my refuge may yet be insanity if that would just stop the fear; it attacks with such frightening images, that nothing is real or clear. 1979 I look for myself beyond my mind, knowing that such is in vain; but confusion and pretense have stricken me blind, and all becomes dark in the rain. 1979 The echoes of my mind deceive me and leave me to perish by my hand. 1979 The reflection is gone; the mirror has taken its own, replacing mine; and I cannot face it alone: not knowing who I am, not knowing where to run, not knowing how to accept all that I have become. 1979 Prophetic Remembrance of the “White Room”: ECT/EST (1954?)  I feel now that to touch pen to paper, to touch hands or any substance, is to destroy the concrete walls that protect. And yet, I feel I am no longer free to roam beyond my walls. I am surrounded and asked to surrender. They ask my rebellious spirit to die, as it surely will in their captivity. I feel I must destroy it myself, before their treacherous hands defile it. And yet, the need to survive is a strong one. The need to be accepted as I am, as strong. And yet, it becomes clearer everyday that this elusiveness does not transmit itself easily – if at all – to the maturity needed to survive in this dimension. I feel my will surrendering to the overwhelming reasons and rationalism I hear. They tell me it is time to quit running and playing games; I must become one of them. And in so doing, I must give up my freedom, my attachments to metaphysical concepts. And I do not understand. I am confused. I try to look from their perspective to see what I must do to please them and succeed. I must learn how to use the talents I am endowed with to become something special or at least useful within their domain. It is not easy, feeling so apart from what they consider reality. I am not supported in my thoughts, but tolerated. I am alone, yet unable to survive that way. I need to be accepted and understood, but I have met no one who has come from my place to theirs and survived unprejudiced. They have given up their heritage to survive. I cannot. But soon I feel I will not have much to say in such matters. My mind swirls in confusing allegiances and soon despair will drown me in its dark pool of no return, and I will become one of them. The time has come. I am at the focal point and cannot fight anymore – I do not know how. I surrender myself to a destiny I do not understand, and bequeath the remnants of a disillusioned spirit to the one who will uncover it some day. Fletcher There are many shatterlings. There are nine who are guardians. There is one who is the overseer guardian. He allows himself to be called Fletcher. He, alone, knows all the children, the shatterlings of my self. He is the guardian angel sent for this particular mission. The children gather and exist in groups, although there are a few who stay alone by themselves. The alone-ones have Fletcher as their guardian. The other nine guardians watch over two groups each. Generally, each group came about from a particular traumatic event with the strongest becoming the spokesperson. Although it is difficult to speak of my self as different selves, still it becomes a true path – if not truth. And perhaps it is just the true path that matters, for its final port-of-call is Truth. So, then, I think of Fletcher… Fletcher who really doesn’t want to be “Captain” of the “Ship” – Captain of our Crew. He never really has wanted to be Captain. Fletcher has been first mate – always finding a helmsman and captain appropriate to the situation. He seems to always appear after “sessions” with abreactions, with traumatic re-experiencing of childhood abuse. And I could hear in my head the chanting of many children: “Fletcher! Fletcher!” Because Fletcher needed to take command because I, the presenting adult, the Outworld Interactionist, was not functioning well at that point. But it has occurred to me that Fletcher was reluctant to assume command…that he does so when no one else is strong enough for the current situation…to hold everything together. So often it feels like I’m going to “nova” and explosively disintegrate all over the universe. But then, the question becomes – if the helmsman is the Outworld Interactionist, and Fletcher is not usually the Captain…who is? Ah, who indeed? Well, the answer that comes is this… that broken autistic child up in the crow’s nest – the corechild, the child of origin … there’s the original captain – locked within that tragic piece of childhood lost. What a strange vision. To the Counselor from Fletcher: 9-22-98 “You are doing a good job. You are good enough to be a captain or a pilot or even a first mate. It’s not easy to get everyone to work enough together to get the ship moving long enough in one direction to reach any destination. At first, it seemed to others that I was in charge. But I just keep up the “shield of normalcy” and try to keep the crew getting along all right. I kind of am in charge because nobody else wants to. I know how to protect the kids. It is my highest priority. I work hard incorporating your work with that. It is very important. And you are good. Thank you.” 9-29-98 “Just letting you know that things are ok. The “sea” is a bit choppy, and “storm clouds” are near, but with each mile on the journey, we all work just a bit better with each other. The more we understand each other, the better we can cooperate towards a common destination. And the more focused a consensus can be. Integrity is the password.” 10-8-98 “This is Fletcher. It is a most interesting understanding that we have come to . I can see now the web that holds our existence together within the one. I can see how we are all interrelated and interconnected. I have passed this information on to all the others, and all are in contemplation of it according to their level of awareness and growth/ healing. It has caused much concern among us – but for the good. I think that this will increase both communication and cooperation. Therefore, arriving at consensus will be more attainable for more circumstances. Although I can see myself as that main thread in the web that is all-vigilant and holds the web together, we have not discovered who the spider may be. It is true that is D’s (the presenting adult) shamanic journeys into the animal realm, she is referred to as “Spiderwoman” by them (or whomever “they” see when she journeys). Still, it is important to take only one step at a time – to be patient – to not try and push the river. The concept of the Web-within is already requiring much thought and feeling and accomodation. It is enough for now.” 10-25-98 “Almost everybody has gone to their safe places now. It is this way whenever there is a perceived threat to the ship or crew. I would think that perhaps the difference this time would be that several no longer hide alone, but have a friend, or two, or more, to hide with. It is an interesting development. I do not know when a safe harbor will be found. I suspect it will probably be after there is closure to this “freon” incident. When everyone hides away like this, it makes it very hard for me to deal with extra stress as I am already holding every bit of the ship together while providing protection and guidance.” 10-27-98 “We have encountered amongst ourselves a few children who appear to be autistic savants. Joshua is a Vienna- boy chorister who sings 1st soprano which is very high and very beautiful. Asher is a reformed Jew (by his account – accepting Jesus as Messiah) and he reads scripture in such a way as to bring it alive. Tabor is a tenor. Zack is a high-speed pilot. Tommy lives in a box (I don’t know if he has a special gift yet). Marie sits and rocks in a corner (I don’t know about her, either). And Brandon refuses to talk at all, right now. Will’m is a research scientist.” 11-7-98 “I know that it is important to have up-dates, to review where one has been and where one is now to determine how successful the journey, how deep the healing, how soon the morning light. Though there are still moments of deep despair, turbulence enough to capsize, and storms so huge that there seems to be no way out, still I know that enough has changed, enough healing has occurred, that there is hope for making home port without any casualties. It seems ironic that the successfulness of your healing is no more visible than the crew of this ship – and just as valuable. I wish there were some way I could express how much you have helped, assisted, guided, and healed so many here. As ship’s Healer, you know you are more than welcome anytime to come aboard. I would hope you would be able to remain ship’s Healer for a long time, but reality being what it is and bureaucracy being what it is, that may not happen. In that case, I would re-structure and re-strengthen the “shield of normalcy” to protect the children until we reach Home-port.” HMS Integrity: Ship’s Log: the Crew I am many, and yet one; a billion stars, and just one sun; I am splintered, and yet whole… a fractured spirit in one soul. 10-3-98 It seems that as I allow the distinct individual expression of each person, then there is a more peaceful atmosphere within the whole of me. There was a shift from one whole fractured essence to a breaking or drifting apart into the distinct fractured pieces, although the connections between still exist. In becoming aware of each personality, or rather, each person, then I allow myself to allow whoever-needs-to the space and time and energy to express whatever needs to be released. This seems to be very complex and difficult to write down. I think the actual experience of this is probably very difficult to translate into words easily understood by those outside myself. I know that there seems to be greater respect between the individuals. There seems to be greater support. And there is a general consensus that whoever has the floor – whoever needs to be expressing something – now has the opportunity to do that without so much interference, interruption, or undue influence by anyone else. So now I am beginning to know them, one by one. I am becoming aware of who they are, what kind of person they are, and perhaps their own unique story. Integrity does not mean integration. What it does mean is that each individual now has the opportunity to become who they are in truth – to be truly what they are – and in so doing, I become truly who and what I am. As the presenting adult (D), who was “created” in 1969, I still feel only about 30 years old. It can be very strange. Now obviously when others are expressing themselves, my “age” varies from toddler through adolescence. If such a shift occurs in an “unsafe” place – such as work – then there is an influence, a filter, a camouflage created, to preserve the “shield of normalcy”. This is accepted as a valid survival technique by general consensus. However, the change has been that, in “safe” places, a much purer expression or presence can be manifested, if it is so desired. And certain ones are allowed more presence outside the “safe” places. This seems to be creating a healthier environment. For as each becomes known, as each story is learned or acknowledged, as each unique trauma-drama unfolds, then healing can begin. In these letters, the silence is broken; the spell dispersed, the bindings loosened. It is not easy. It is harder some days than others. Some days it is impossible. Some days it feels suicidal to even try. But in the end, it is always worthwhile. I have many close friends and guardians in every bit of Creation – every Realm and dimension. The Lord is with me. And so it is with all whom He has directed onto my Path. I am not alone. I am just afraid. But He promised me the Rainbow and I believe Him. (D) 1998 **************** 10-25-98 Sometimes it is hard to maintain a functional attitude. Sometimes I just want to quit and leave everything behind. Not that I would go anywhere, or doing anything fatal. But sometimes I feel so claustrophic in the sense that so many things are happening all at the same time and sometimes I feel pulled to do so many things and be so many people and know so much or be aware of so much that I just can’t think that fast. I can’t react correctly fast enough. I can’t control my own life. I can’t think fast enough to be pro-active instead of reactive. I feel I am being out-maneuvered, out-strategied, out-run. I know most of this feeling can be assuaged by finding my still-point, by relaxing, by de-stressing. I know this is only panic-anxiety assailing me. But it’s still hard. Sometimes it even feels hopeless. And I never feel I can trust the hopeful moments. I surely don’t feel like a mature adult at these times. And I feel stupid being vulnerable and disabled. But still I write to you. (D) 1999 ************** (2001) I woke up this morning with a whole new perspective on life. We watched Boys On The Side, and had a wonderful after-movie special. I feel so alive. Anyway, thinking about myself, and feeling into myself, I do not feel disintegrated, or separated. I do not feel the presence of “others”. Not that this doesn’t mean that I cannot tap into them, or rely on them perhaps if I have to, but the feeling is that they are not me. I don’t know if that sounds right, but it feels right. I do have to keep reminding myself that the journey is not over, that there are many other hurdles and obstacles to get around, that I need to enjoy the calm in the eye of the storm, and get into Stillness, and self-nurture, and just enjoy the moment. My friend did remind me that this is not the end destination, just a waystation, a resting-place; and it’s important that I remember that…I’d love to hear your perspective on this. I don’t feel “others”; just me…..I kind of hope that I have not dropped into another block, and it doesn’t really feel like that anyway, but sometimes I get afraid I could do that without knowing, knowing what I’ve been doing my whole life without much awareness. You know what I’m saying? Still, it doesn’t feel that way. ********* ********* {Enjoy the quiet pools along the stream before the rapids are there again. Your journey is progressing nicely. Make sure you save your writings….The Counselor} ********** ********* I know I’m being pretty manic now, but it manifests itself in me being trivial and not being able to start or finish things and even affects the dyslexia soemtimes, which is strange. But I am having these night sweats and even during the day and then chills and like my thermostat is extremely erratic and I wondered about estrogen and all the things like that, because I really don’t have any good understanding about all that’s going on. And of course having this in the middle of trying to find some stability within such a crazy bioneurochemical system makes it even more difficult to know what’s what. I know all this sounds very erratic and that’s where I’m at; but still in some control; just my mind is like this. I hope you write back or call or something. ********* ********** On a different note, the biggest problem with what has to be done for the physical and such, is that you’re in truth dealing with the CoreChild. That’s where the issue is; not that I don’t have an issue with it. The healing, however, needs to deal with the Child; and the fear associated with what has to be done is overwhelming. However, she is willing to talk to you about it…maybe Wednesday. Hard to say, because I know she’s going to run from this. I know, on the other hand, that when my friend sat down and talked to us about menstruation in the most positive and ancient woman ways, that it did make things a whole lot easier to deal with. There are so many issues that were never resolved or dealt with that are a part of growing up female…so much I don’t know, avoided, resisted, pretended didn’t exist…but then I pretended I didn’t exist so that would make sense. Actually, I didn’t exist until you and I began that healing journey. In a sense… So you see what really needs to be done first, so that this is a positive experience and not another negative one, at least as much as can be, you know. Thanks for listening. Talk to you, later… ********** *********** I went and wrote today’s journey all out for you and for me. Here it is: (3-7-01=11: a new beginning at the next higher level) I set this journey up better, after learning and incorporating the methods used by Harner…not that I didn’t know – just that I didn’t accept its importance before. In Harner’s workshop (2-25), I accidentally walked into an extreme terror-zone…bulging door that was oozing blood, threatening to overwhelm, explode, consume me…dropped into child…fear was tangible… knocked me off-center for a few days. I knew I had to explore this at some future date. Today was it. I am printing this (originally ), rather than cursive writing, because I need to keep objective and get it written down…not fall emotionally into it. My Counselor helped me anchor in the present…to see journey as virtual reality…experience it somewhat, emotionally somewhat. I tried to set that up in my mind. I got wise…asked Puma to come with me. He’s my special Spirit animal and guardian. I never did that before in my healing. I started walking to intent- of-location/experience. Inner city. Tenements. Dark of night. Rained recently. Everything wet. Not chilling cold, but maybe low 60’s. Wearing trench coat, I think. Something like high leather/suede walking boots. I’m warm enough. No traffic on street. Street lights dim. Not much noise anywhere. Few windows with any light. Fire escapes sparkle with wet rain in the light. I walk towards left side of street. Towards one of the tenements. It has stairs leading down to basement apartment. I can see dim light through curtains/blinds/something. Pause at door. Gather strength…shielding…intent. Open door – not locked. Room is smoky..filled with several men, a few women. I can see needles – people shooting up. Not a good scene, but not the worst I’ve seen. Man speaks to me, “Are you coming in to experience this?” I say, “No; I’m just here to discover what I’ve forgotten; I need to go to the other door.” “Oh, ok; this way, then.” He doesn’t seem hostile or threatening. After I’ve said what I did, everyone goes back to their own life or whatever and ignores me altogether. I follow this guy – he’s maybe 30, kind of heavy-build, black pants, sleeveless black shirt with picture, tatoos on arms, earring, bald or shaved head. We go down this little corridor off of the back left of entry room. It’s about 15’ or so. Then there are stairs leading down. He says, “I don’t go down there; that’s not my scene.” I believe him. He leaves me (still with Puma) at the top of the stairs and goes back to his room. I look down the stairs at the door. I’m filled with dread and I can feel the fear increasing inside me. But I don’t run. I watch the door as a “demon” materializes in and about it, grinning maliciously; trying to draw me in by some malevolent hunger. But I will not be moved. He disappears. I walk down a couple of steps. I can hear the screams now; not like I had been blocking or they just started, but like I had stepped through some barrier/boundary. (my Counselor asked who the screams were; I said they were women, young people, children.) The door is dripping, oozing blood from every crack. I hold my breath. (She whispers, “Breathe.”) I open the door. I walk in. I guess I see demons because aurically, psychically, that’s what I saw, but physically it was just my father and the other men of that demon-group. All I see is blood. All I feel is blood. It’s all over me. It’s on my hands, and it won’t come off. I try to wipe off my hands, but it won’t come off. I see rape everywhere on women, youth (both sexes), and children (both sexes). There is blood everywhere. There are human sacrifices going on of all kinds. (My Counselor asks if this represents a particular event; I answer that it appears to be ALL the experiences that involved blood…) I see my father slap my mother so hard that blood spatters all over. I get some on me. It burns like acid. I can’t get it off. I am not breathing well. (My Counselor whispers, “Breathe.”) My hands are tightly clenched. (The Counselor and I try to unclench them to no avail.) I say I have to keep them closed. If I open them, all the blood will come out…like stigmata, but not. As the child, I have put my hands down by my vagina, because there is blood all over. And in this place, blood means death. I was bleeding; therefore, I was dying. (The Counselor asked me, as the adult, how I see death now; I said that I know death is just a transition – just a transitory state to moving on.) The Child, however, was in full terror of dying. She had put her hands there, and then clenched on the blood to prevent all the blood from leaving and, therefore, her dying. (I find that I clench my hands whenever I feel fear of losing control, helplessness, life being drawn out in some way.) The Counselor whispers, “Open your hands”; but I cannot. And I say that if I do, all my life-force will drain out. I have to hold onto my life-force, no matter what. She says, “Here, let’s put it back inside”, and covers her hands over my womb area. But I resist. “No; if I put it back, they will just take it. They just kept taking it, again and again, over and over.” But still she whispers, “But they couldn’t annihilate you. You didn’t die. You won. They couldn’t annihilate you. You live. You won. They aren’t here. They can’t take any more. Let’s put it back. Give your life-force back to you. Here, feel me give you some to start.” Slowly, as the minutes passed, I gradually opened my left hand and rested it on hers. Then my right, as she took her hands out of the way. I stayed like that for a long time. She whispered, “It’s time to leave.” And I can see that it is. I remember about Sandra Ingerman’s soul retrieval and find a child to come home with Puma and me. I walk out the lower door and up into the room. No one pays attention, although the tatoo-man follows me with his eyes. Although his eyes hold sadness, there is a respect for the strength he sees in me; especially having come back from going in the lower door. Pu and I walk out the door, with the child riding on Pu’s back. When we get to the street, she gets off and I hold her hand in mine. It is almost sunrise. The sky is lightening up. We head to a park. I thank Pu and ask the child to come home. I go stand in the early sun’s rays – they are a blue-lavender type. The ray I step into is almost tangible. I feel myself rising in it, up to the Upperworld. I can feel Michael steadying me. He introduces me to someone I didn’t know. It is Raphael. He has on loose green cotton pants and a raw cotton, rough-hewn shirt –a natural off-white color. His hair is a soft, wavy brown, his eyes are a kind of green-brown, and he smells of the forest. He focuses energy into that womb place. He pours what looks like grail-water all over, but he doesn’t go near the places he’s not invited…him being male and all. Mary comes over and leads me to like a hot/warm spring that is filled with grail-water. She helps me undress and get into the pool. She says that the more I allow the grail-water in, the more healing can be done. The more I allow myself to be re-filled with the life-force, the more healed and alive I’ll be. I realize that I am even clenching all myself at a cellular level – not letting my skin breathe or draw in moisture. I try to let the grail-water in everywhere. I even put some in my mouth, but it’s hard to swallow because of the fear. Still, I even dunk my head once. She helps me dry off and get dressed in clean clothes. I return on a sunbeam back to the present, to my anchor-place, to my Counselor. It will take a while ( what I call healing-lag ) before all this will begin to integrate. This is the first journey where the Corechild (Roxanne) and I (Devlyn) are basically an integral whole. This is an important step. This is a big accomplishment. In many ways. It is also the first shamanic self-healing intent journey that I have done pretty successfully. For the first time, also, I was a woman from start to finish. My counselor says she’s glad to be part of my journey. I tell her that I’m glad she’s here. Most all my journeys up to this point have been done in a genderless manner. Androgynous. More youthful boy than girl. Safer. Or very specifically, I would be neither. So this is a big transition in that sense. I claimed my Power-self this last Sunday night, in a journeying with my friend (3/4). A woman of power…dressed, in a Celtic/Gaelic sense, in a very soft, supple kind of suede cloak (it was the shade of an ever-changing, ever-shifting “purple” dragon-scale) with knee-high suede boots (light brown) made for travel. The cape has a hood (cowl) and a clasp in the front. On my left side hangs the light saber/rapier that I acquired on Friday’s journey with my other Counselor (3/2). I use a magick/mystik shield of the Basilisque’s light energy that she gave to me for general protection when going into danger. I am coming into myself…becoming who I know I already am, as I am ready to accept. The power-woman is a shamaness of Wyrd – a Celtic/Wiccan/Earth type – that is none of these totally. There is a specific connection to Weaving….that everything has a weave, to me… that everything is interconnected…all Creation…all Time…Space, and so being able to walk the Threads…being able to weave/heal where threads are unraveling, charred, knotted, leeched, or even broken…being able to walk the threads allows me to be a Web-walker through all realms and dimensions, all time, upper and lower worlds. I am as comfortable with elves as with angels as with animals, trees, humans, or alternate life-forms. I understand that absolutely everything (seen and unseen, known and unknown) is sacred and that everything is interconnected to the point of everything being in everything. The Illusion is of separateness; the Truth is that all is One. Including me. The cornerstones of healing are intention and trust. The keystone is unselfish, unconditional love. Step empty-handed through the Door – Choose healing; choose to live once more. ********** *********** Yeah, I know exhaustion is just part and parcel of all that I’m doing with dissociative reframing and emotional redefining, or whatever. Still, I have discovered that a 10-hour shift at Denny’s, a busy one, leaves me exhausted (extremely) for 36 hours. In fact, I could sleep almost consecutively for those 36 hours. Monday night is not usually busy, but it was jammed because of all the kids being back from spring break. I was down and out for all but the 2 hours spent teaching on Monday, and the 4 hours of class on Tuesday. I slept all the rest of the time and somewhat while in class. Sometime this afternoon I finally felt like I was able to feel alive. And basically, that’s what has happened on Fridays, but because it was a weekend, I never noticed it that bad. I mean, it wasn’t affecting anything. Now it affects my schooling and teaching, if Mondays remain that way, and they might. So I was concerned as to whether there actually is something not quite right. Not in the sense that I want to buy into anything, but rather to be able to say I’m not lazy, or unmotivated, or whatever. I want there to be a reason for the exhaustion. Being that exhausted makes it harder to do the interactions and abstract coherent thought that already take a lot of energy. I don’t want professors thinking I am unable to be a good counselor because I am tired a lot, or because I seem fuzzy sometimes. In fact, in my talking with my advisor today, I said that I know that boundaries and those issues are what I need to resolve; I know I am sensitive, perceptive, intelligent, and empathic. ************* ********** Good news, bad news, I guess. Seems a little much for me. Beginning to have auditory flashbacks. At least that’s better than not having had any at all. I mean, most people have flashbacks, if it’s all real. I guess the more integrated I get, the more my pockets get emptied into one place and then I become aware at some level of all the stuff that was disintegrated and dissociated out of my conscious awareness. I guess. What say you? Sounds now like I’m more PTSD than DID, even though I’m very aware of my tendency (gift/curse) to dissociate—and even having some control or choice over it… See ya, Light and Love, *********** ************ But leaving the past to the past is no different than leaving the dead to rest. The grieving process is no less different. There has to be admission of the reality of it all. There has to be grieving, and the releasing of anger. There has to be a sharing to make it real, to make me feel, to allow the tears, to release the fears. Then, I can let go. Then, the past can be the past. Pretending it has no affect on me, because it’s “time” to move on, is unrealistic in the long run. I work at my pace; traveling the path set before my feet. Tonight, I went to the “Stop the Violence” open mike at Campus Coffee Bean. You can read poems. I went. Well, I went with my friend. She has read before, about the violence of verbal abuse. I had thought I knew what I was going to read, but I started writing poetry while I was waiting. They were very powerful. They spoke my truth. And when it was my turn, I read them…out loud. And it was good. Still, the repercussions will echo for a while. But I have taken another step; another step away from the past. In my own time, in my own way, I move; and the grass grows, and spring comes once again. Devlyn *********** ************ Just a note to let you know that there’s been some turbulence. Apparently, when I was talking with my other Counselor on Thursday, and we were discussing zeroing in on the alters at ages 4 and 5, and we were talking a little about the EST…well, the conversation somehow went off on the ways of getting into a quiet, still place…you know, where the alpha and theta brainwaves help the body/mind slow way down into peaceful places. But then I said, well, whenever I can get into places like that I journey. And then I realized that I never do get still, ever; because when I get into relaxed states, I just keep on moving in a different place. So, then, she says, well, that may be because getting that still brought about the EST. I know she doesn’t realize how deep that went, and to tell the truth, I didn’t either; but today it has really been hard to function, and yesterday was kind of way-off-balance sort of day…I didn’t know what it was…now I do. At least I have a better idea; I’m sure I’m blocking a lot of it. But the main connection is in my awareness now. I guess I’ll probably be dealing with this issue with both of you Wednesday. I know it’s important but, well, we’ll see where it goes then. Just wanted this down in writing. Just wanted you to know. Devlyn *********** ********** I haven’t been listening to my heart and it has been quietly disintegrating me. My anxiety levels are ear-splitting. So I will allow my heart to speak… and then perhaps my thoughts as well. Bear with me, if you will. Sadness so profound, depths so deep there is no sound; there is no ground. Trust in shattered pieces, and the screaming never ceases within the creases of my mind. Tis illusion hurts so much, letting fear replace your touch and not my crutch. The need remains, though I have broke’ the chains… so much reclaimed; and yet your Spirit’s stance that gave me one more chance… bid me to dance, surrounds my empty dark and I would show my heart, just to feel your spark. So far from my knowing, my emotions are. Still. Beyond all wisdom and divine grace. Beyond all mystic intuition. Beyond what seems reasonable. So much healing. So much remaining. So much I seek to walk on my own. So impatient with myself. It isn’t enough to throw down the crutches. I want to walk, completely healed. But there are lessons yet to be learned. Still. I know the transference is there. How could it not be? So what? The interactive energy field contains us both, and beyond that, surrounding us, that touch of the Infinite, that touch of mystic Light, that powerful stuff that connects every molecule of every reality, wrapping everything in one great Truth. But here, now, in this present, I have set myself up with a destiny I have no clue about, and which I cannot unravel alone. Trying to do that keeps unraveling me. From my depths, I call to you… and I didn’t even recognize my own voice, my own heart. I don’t think the importance is in the energy work; the importance is merely in the connection… the conversations, the holding of hands, the melding of hearts, the weaving of Spirit, the lifting of Souls. I cannot write of this cognitively, nor practically, nor even realistically…if there is such a thing… because that is where I deceive myself, in the cognitive realm. I didn’t know all this that I have written. I’ve just allowed myself to type from the heart. Probably it isn’t a very good answer, if there was a question… That I want – no need – to see you is inscribed across the sky like a burnished brush of cirrus clouds at sunset. I can only hope that when one door closes, another one will indeed open. In any case, it was profoundly important to me to write this, and to send it to you, and to have you know my heart. Regardless of your response. The risk is inherent in our Light relationship. In my fear, I tried to deny that; to pretend I could deny it all, emotionally. How sad… to still use the same defenses after all this time… I’m sorry… and not just for this lifetime, either. I hope that I have not sealed up yet another chance for freeing myself from my own illusions. Thanks for reading this. ********* ********** {You will never be ordinary…integrated or not. And I won’t like you any less. It is a clear step forward. Let’s just sit with it in NON-judgement….The Counselor} *********** ********** [To my Counselor:Thanks for sharing the journey…thanks for being there on the Path… giving a hand, a warm support… for being able to be spontaneous… for choosing to channel healing Light… for choosing to share that with me. In between the stars is not empty space, but Love undiscernible to mortal eyes… we connect there… in a dimension of rainbow energy unbeknownst to the common wield… we have chosen well to meet again.] ********** *********  hey, the fear is not from the mpd. *********** ********* {Hey yourself, where is it from roxanne? What a neat thing, to have you write to me….The Counselor} ********** *********** somewhere inside…like inside stuff; like, I don’t know…inside the tissue, the memory, the cognition, the emotional construct, the neurological wiring…but way inside, like where the galaxies are… somewhere in there the fear is… it’s funny, but I can see now that I created all these others for my world so my world could survive, so I could survive…and not to take anything away from them…but I can see me now. But you alone also can see me now. Everywhere everyone else much too frightening yet except as I allow that perception of me to be seen. Just you. Ok. I think the fear comes through from the reality of the childhood of my world…but more… kinda metaphysical if you wish… a knowing of disintegration to occur… an anxiety from incarnating… I know this sounds silly or remote or something, but I also know the truth is in there somewhere… and it makes me afraid…but in a way different way than say a serious mental illness does… that’s just an adaptive construct… this is more… this is holistic or something. Does this sound really strange… I would very much like to talk to you… and I can be open to that at any time because I know you have more time constraints than I do, realistically. Oh, by the way, the power point went exceedingly well, was well received, was considered very professional, and stayed focused on the family dynamics angle with some individual discussion but not much. Good support and affirmation from classmates and professor. Will send it on to you after tweeking a few things. Maybe later tonight… thanks for writing back, I think things are changing again I am much more here but that of course brings about it’s own issues thanks for being here it is neat to have you write me, specifically r *********** ********** {Chamomile tea bags, warm. But think that symbolically the eyes are leaking because you are connecting events with emotions. It is alright. They need to flow….The Counselor} ********* *********  Yes, I know you are right about the emotions…I feel like if I had time and space I could cry for quite a while… but I don’t want to bring attention to myself or answer questions, except in your company. I had thought about chamomile… glad I’m on the right track. 4pm on Wednesday it is. Thanks for answering my posts. Everything is moving quite fast, quite deep. It’s good, but unsettling sometimes, in trying to keep my balance. Some of this stuff is Very Spiritual, but beyond sharing it with most. We are as one in this, but seem to resonate best with you. Thanks for the appointment. See ya, r and the gang ********* ******** {Dearest Roxanne, When one takes off the wrappings of safety, there is the experience of feeling “bare naked”. This is most uncomfortable. However, growth has already continued to take place in the midst of nakedness. Cloak yourself in the invisible cloak and rest quietly in safety and peace. You have done very well….The Counselor} ********** ********* {Your ruby stone journey was fascinating. It tells me you are putting yourself back in whole working order. My thoughts are with you. Peace in the midst of the storm….The Counselor} Andrew's Letters Hi, Miss Sue, My name is Andrew. I like you. Roxanne does, too. She cannot write. She says what to write. I like her. We play pirates. This is not a good pencil. Bye, Andrew 9-22-98 Hi, Miss Sue, This is Andrew. I am fine. How are you? Roxanne is fine, too. She sleeps more. She sometimes plays with me now. Bye. 9-29-98 I like macaroni and cheese in a box. Andrew 10-3-98 Roxanne says to tell you "oatmeal" is her favorite food. Andrew Dear Miss Sue, There is a good show on TV. It is about ships and time and knowing how to find where you are on the open sea. You have to know stars, too. It is interesting. Also, it shows clipper ships. I like the tall ships. Someday, I will go on one. Fletcher and I will be great sailors. You can come, too. I hope you are having a good vacation. Andrew 10-6-98 Do you know what happens when you're bad? You get put in the brig. Bad things happen there. Real bad. Not for nice people like you to know. Andrew 10-6-98 My favorite place to go when I want to feel safe is on the tall ship up in the rigging. Andrew 10-10-98 Roxanne say to tell you she hides in small boxes or lofts like a crow's nest high up on a mast to be safe. Andrew 10-10-98 Once I was sick. I think it was a cold. I had a fever. My head was all fuzzy, like a fog that has sharp prickly needles. I do not remember any more right now. Andrew 10-10-98 Roxanne says she does not remember "sick". She just remembers "pain". Andrew Hello, Miss Sue, I am glad that you are back. I missed you. Andrew P.S. Roxanne is glad, too. 10-12-98 I do not like Sundays. Neither does Roxanne. We do not like them at all. We just go away and play. You can come if you want. Andrew 10-19-98 Hello, Miss Sue, Everybody is very quiet now. Nobody wants to be too much out in the open. Somebody could get hurt. Most of us will still keep in touch by writing. No one wants to do much talking. We are all too scared. Andrew 10-24-98 Hi, Miss Sue, Will you write back to me? I can read now. We are having pasta for supper. It is not in a box. It is in a package. It is like a soft box. That is clever. I like cats, but I hate dogs. They scare me. Andrew 10-27-98 Hello, Miss Sue, I know we have not talked, but I watch what you do. You have helped Roxanne, and I know that is the key. I am not as important right now. You do not feel bad. Your heart is true. Someday we will meet. Andreew 11-7-98 Hello, Miss Sue, I like this new paper. I am very glad that you are my friend. I listened to what you said. It made me feel better. I sometimes think that I am not very important in the whole scheme of things. Thank you for showing me the Crystal. Andrew. Dear Miss Sue, I have a problem. I do not know how to tell. Telling is dangerous. I hide all myself away because I do not know which parts are safe to show. My feet hurt. Andrew Letters from the Girls' Gang Okay - I will not say much really bad stuff. But I feel them. But you are really not a bad person even if I think you are, sometimes. That is just because you say "Come on and say what you feel". But that is a bitchy thing to say because all the stuff I want to say is bad because of all the bad people who fucked with me. And kept fucking me, and nobody cared about me. No, just fuckin' get it off. Fuckin in the hole. Fuckin in the mouth. Fuckin however like a dog. Just a bunch of horny bastards and pussies and whores and dikes and old perverts and demons and all kinds of things. So I don't fuckin care. And there are times I wish I could go off on you just to let some of this out but see you weren't there and you didn't do nothin' and you know what It wouldn't be right either. Because no matter what fucked up people did, I don't really want to be like that. I just want to say all that so it can be said and can go away. It won't make me not fucked up but maybe I can cope better. So go for it, girlfriend. #1 Bitch Rachel 9-22-98 Well, hey, here I am again. Your favorite Rachel. You know, I haven't talked to that mother of mine in 6 months now. And I don't know if I ever want to. I can't play those fuckin' mind games - actually, it's not "mind" games because it's all emotional. She fucks up my emotions bad. Real bad. Pisses me off. Because I can't respond to it properly. I act like some hypnotic puppet - some whipped dog - some fucked-up kid so damn scared to say "no". Pisses me off no end. Makes me so damn mad - so mad. If she would just push me, attack me, touch me - I could fight back. I could give her a little of that medicine. But no, let's use a weapon - a hanger, a brush, a curtain rod. Let's use emotional arrows that twist inside and are poisoned. Oh yeah, that's more fair. Oh hell, yes! Fuck this I'm out of here. 9-29-98 Did you know there's someone here who hates you? TRACY You know, it's a fuckin' shame that I got so angry at my brother - when, in fact, I should have been angry with that fuckin' raper and pervert and with that ice cold bitch who only cared about herself. Still, the anger is there against my brother. But I don't plan to do anything with that because he's pretty fucked-up all by himself. Rachel 10-6-98 Did you know you can go far enough away that knives don't hurt? TRACY (to a previous counselor) I will be the first one to answer you. I did not think you would ask specific questions, or even if you would ask anything. But you did. About safe places. It is an interesting question to consider. We are all contemplating it. I think most of us will answer. You seem kind of unsure of yourself around us. Are you afraid? I think I might be. Maybe you are just shy. Most of us are very shy. When I need to go to a safe place - and sometimes it's only in my mind - I go to a cave. Usually, it faces east so I get the sunrise. Sometimes it is more of a tunnel than cave so it can face either east or west to always have light. Mikki I don't think I need to be saying where my safe place is. I don't think you need to know. I don't know how committed you really are to us. You don't really show too much and trust is not our strong suit. It's not even in my hand. You give me reason to trust you, first. Then, I'll consider what info I'll share. (to a previous counselor to Sue) Rachel 10-10-98 You will never know mine. TRACY You want to know my safe place? I cannot say. Micah I was sick. But I didn't dare tell. No way. No way at all. I think something was very wrong, like maybe an infection down there, you know? After a few weeks, it went away. TRACY You know what the fuckin' problem was? It was bad to be sick. It wasn't enough to be perversely coerced into sicko and painful shit. Oh no, you couldn't be sick either. Fuck no. Cuz then you might have to go to a doctor and they might find shit out. No, let's bring in one of your doctor friends. Yeah, he likes little girls - just like dad. Yeah, he'll check you out and while he's doing that, well, hey, let's get a little something because no one would know anyway -- Fuck yeah. But well beyond that yeah maybe there was an illness. Like Rebecca was really sick once. I thought she was going to die. They thought that might solve some of the problem of them getting caught, you know. It was like what an allergic reaction is because she got all scratchy and red and wasn't breathing right and finally they took her to the hospital. She didn't die but I guess she wishes she would have. I don't blame her. Rachel 10-10-98 Letters from Brett and Benj Hey, Miss Sue You do not know me yet. My name is Brett. I am too shy. That is what everybody says anyway. I just don't like to talk much. But hey, I can write you a note just so's you know I'm here. 'kay? Cool. Me 9-22-98 Hello, Miss S. I am ok. I can be ok. I am very good at how to be ok. I am very smart. I can be good with people, but I do not feel them. I do not feel at all, because then I cannot be ok. But I am smart enough to show the right feelings to people if I have to. But I do not like to. You are pretty good for a person. Benjamin This is Benjamin. Things are a little rocky right at the moment. We know where we have to go. We know what we have to do. But we don't like it. We don't want it. We are much afraid. Consequences suck. Doing the right thing in the face of authority's opposition - knowing what has happened in the past - well, it's hard. Still, we go on. See ya. 9-29-98 You know what? I guess it's not too bad to talk to you. But it is a little. Dangerous, too. You know what happens if they find out I talked to you. But, hey, sometimes it feels like I have to or I'm going to burst. Like a nova. Cool, huh? Even so, well, maybe next time I'll talk to you. This is so much harder than I thought. Maybe they won't know. I don't like my dad's brother. He likes to play like a dog and do things I don't like. I don't want to go there. Mom likes him. He fizzes her drinks. She conks out. This is not good. Bye. Brett The food I like most is hard to say. I like home-cooked meals, like Fletcher, but I prefer chicken and rice. Benjamin 10-3-98 I like string beans. I like mashed potatoes. I like home-made stuff that you like to cook. It is good. Brett Hello, Miss Susan. This is Benjamin. Did you know that even if you go away from the hurt, it is still there? That is why I keep my emotions locked away all the time. The problem is that it makes me want to hurt others so to get rid of the emotion in me. I just want to give it away. I use words so I won't physically hurt anyone. It wasn't their fault. There is so much hurt inside, I don't think I will ever be able to give it all away. I don't want to give it to you. I just go away when nice people are around. I just check their hearts. Then I know. Bye. 10-6-98 Why do people have to hurt people, Miss Sue? Why do they have to do hurtful things? Why do they do stuff when you say no or don't please don't please? Why don't they listen? You can't cry because worse things happen. You can't make any noise because even worse things happen. You have to say ok. You have to know it is always going to happen. You have to just know ok this is what they want so ok this is what I have to do so ok it will be over in a while - unless there is someone else. Then it isn't over for a longer time, but ok it just has to be. My father's brother likes boys. He fucks me like one. Like a dog. While someone does him. Sometimes it is a woman. Sometimes I just go away so I don't remember. I don't want to remember what I heard, what I felt, what I did. He said it is what good children did. He fucked my mother. When she slept, he fucked me. He felt dirtier than my father. He felt dirty like grandfather. He knew I did not like it. He said that's why he liked it so much. He said he liked me because I let him fuck me and let him get off in my mouth. Like I had a choice. We both knew mother would blame me. Besides I was already a slut. What did it really matter now? Brett This is Benjamin. I don't really need a safe place because I just go away. Well, I don't really go away. I just keep my emotions locked away. So I can't get hurt. I keep smart and distant. 10-10-98 I would guess that where I go for some degree of safety is in the land or dimension of Fey: you know, elves and such. Brett This is Benjamin. Do you know it is not a good thing to be sick. I do not get sick anymore. Once I was. But it was a long time ago. I was very sick. Something I ate was bad. It made me throw up. But it made me throw up before I could get to the toilet. Ma was mad. She hit me with a hanger. She put my face in it. She made me clean it up. I do not ever throw up anymore. Bye. This is Brett. I don't remember being sick. But once I wasn't feeling well. We were visiting my dad's brother. They let me lie down in the bedroom while they visited. I fell asleep. I became awake when I felt someone undressing me. It was my uncle. I do not know where anyone else was. He put his hand over my mouth. He put his thing in my back hole. I was scared. It hurt very much. Finally he went away. He told Ma that a bath would help me feel better. He said, "Don't worry. I will take care of it for you. You just rest." She said, ok. So he gave me a bath. He cleaned me up. He rubbed me in the front and made me put my mouth on his thing. He made a mess again. Then he dried me off and put my clothes on. He said if I told he would say that I made him do it to me and I would get beat. I never told. Bye. Hello, Miss Sue, It is good that you are back. Sometimes it is good to know someone that lets you relax your guard just a little bit. Sometimes it is good to be around someone who can feel and show it, and it is o.k. It always amazes me. Benjamin 10-12-98 Hello, Miss Sue, I am glad you are back. I feel pretty safe around you because you seem to accept so many kinds of people and so many ways of being. That means you most probably accept me. And you seems to understand love as it is meant to be understood. Bye, Brett This is Benjamin. What I remember about church that I liked is the music. No matter how primitive or shallow the people, no matter how inadequate or misdirected the speaking, the music was spiritual in and of itself. It is the only real connection for me to God, to what is good in the Universe. There is nothing else that I can feel in church, and life sometimes. I like to hear singing. I like to sing. I like the classical and spiritual music I have been shown. Bye. 10-19-98 This is Brett. Mother did not like church. Father did not like church. They looked for compromises that they could feel somewhat comfortable in, but of course there really wasn't any. Bye Dear Miss Sue, Just a short note to let you know that I am handling things pretty well, considering. I am looking forward to seeing you Tuesday. Benjamin 10-24-98 Dear Miss Sue, Things are kind of tenuous right now. Still, I thought I would drop you a line saying I'm all right. Hopefully, someday I will get to talk to you. Even that is scary, you know. Love you, Brett Dear Miss Sue, Did you know about Findhorn? Probably, yes, I think. Did you know that it worked only when humans got their ego and arrogance out of the way? The Fey realm mostly has no use for humans. In fact, they would just assume let mankind exterminate itself, except that the world herself would most likely become a victim, and because our two races share the same planet - well, they've had to step in to help or deter whatever was to their benefit. Fascinating! I like that idea. Sometimes, I think our Crew is like that in the sense that it is to our benefit to keep this being from becoming a victim. Something to do with completing God's mission, whatever that is. See ya, Brett Dear Miss Sue, I want to thank you for the healing work that you helped me with today. I know it didn't seem like I appreciated all you did. However, at that particular time and place I was not able to communicate that because I was all caught up in re-living a lot of bad stuff. In truth, it really is difficult at the time of healing. In retrospect, I can feel the healing (as much as I could) and I can be very grateful for all your help and guidance. Thanks, Brett 10-27-98 Hello, Miss Sue, This is Benjamin. You know what is good? When I listen to Bach and Beethoven. That is good. I can let my locked-up emotions ride on the notes. Dear Miss Sue, Although the journey seems endless, I know the destination is closer. Maybe not in terms of time and space. Maybe not in terms of measure or evaluation. But yet, still, there is progress. Sometimes I can almost feel it. That is a very scary thought. I am so afraid to feel anything. But, sometimes, your room is almost safe enough...your healing therapy almost strong enough...sometimes I can almost feel. I know what the key is, now. It is trust. Benjamin Dear Miss Sue, Thanks for helping me deal with some issues that have festered and hidden for such a long time. There are still some residuals and deeper, darker issues, but because you and I have broken through the barrier of "don't tell", I can believe there will be healing at some point. And that in itself is healing. Brett Dear Miss Sue, So much is happening on the ship. As if the ship itself were transmutating from wood to crystal. I cannot describe it well. And some of us as well. Maybe not real crystal. Maybe crystal light energy, or something. And my heart, too. Benj Hi, Miss Sue, It seems like we're passing through a veil. Like a dimension. Like fey. But not quite. Very similar. Very familiar. Like going home. It is like the feeling of growing wings. Brett Hello, Miss Sue, I know it is important to write to you because it is hard for me to speak to you. It is important to communicate so you can help us heal. I understand the need to behave "normally" because it keeps attention away from us, and it keeps punishment and pain away from us. There has been discussion about taking a week (7 days) to do absolutely nothing but letting go (in a safe place), of letting go of the shields, of allowing whoever chooses to come forward completely - without worrying about, fearing, over the consequences. Of course, I would want you to be a part of that. I don't know how or when this would happen, but I can see how it cold be a focal point for healing. What say you? Benj Hello, Miss Sue, So, I guess I'm living in interesting times. Certainly, from all I've heard and read it should be quite interesting. And I guess that includes what's happening in here. Trying to hold so much - so many - together with Fletch, well, it sure doesn't leave any time for my individual healing and growth - but I think that's my choice. At least for now. Benj Dear Miss Sue, There are strange things going on. Not like I can put my finger on just what it is - like what stone was thrown into the pond causing all these ripples? But surely surely something was cast into the pond. What if the pond is really the M.E. (Main Essence)? What if it's the Core connecting point of all of us? What if it's something - some sentience that's beyond all of us, just of all of us, inclusive and exclusive of all of us. Well, that's beyond me. Brett Time is a funny thing. You say all what we tell of happened many, many years ago. For us, it happened only yesterday. But it doesn't matter. Not really. It's just strange. Benj 12-15-98 Dear Miss Sue, Very interesting things happened today. Andrew had another bad night. He hasn't been sleeping well. All this morning, he was crying. Finally, D asked Antonio to go check on him. Rachel went with him. Antonio told Andrew not to worry because he was there, and he would protect him from anything. Rachel put him on her lap and rocked him until he stopped crying and finally went to sleep. They are still there. No one is quite sure what is wrong, but we know how to comfort each other. Maybe you can help. Thank you, Benj Dear Miss Sue, We have heard some interesting things for some of us to contemplate. About going into the light if we are ready and don't need or want to hang out here any longer. I see that as a possibility. We are going to discuss it and we will let you know our views. Brett Sometimes it just can't be people interaction. Sometimes I just can't be around people - or there are none around. So then I have to find something to break the cycle, something to stop the spinning, something to break the incessant call off the ledge. Sometimes I hit myself or hit the wall or something. Sometimes getting burned works. Sometimes other things. Sometimes pain. Just to shock my mind from its rut, from its track, so I can be back in the world. Brett Dear Miss Sue, Sometimes things become so uncertain that I'm not sure which direction I need to go. Resolution seems to help in deeper levels than I understand and the accompanying aftershocks seem to go on forever. Sometimes I think that being a fragment of a shattered soul is a very difficult thing to resolve. I know it is not impossible because of God's intervention and power, but for me - sometimes I just don't understand what it is I need to do, and if it will make any difference. Actually, I just needed to talk to you. Thanks for listening. Brett Sometimes, you know, you just get accustomed to knowing there's no escape and somewhere in your mind you separate from the pain and just make it another part of the environment - the outside of self - the notself. Like living. Brett I find it very interesting that when we tapped into that past-life with you - you know, on the altar - that it was the most real feeling thing I have known. As if in that instance, my mind, body, and heart were all connected and I could feel the pain, or maybe experience it. Something. It's something I don't have right now. Brett Hello, Miss Sue, It has been a while since I wrote. Things are particularly difficult emotionally right now. That is why I am in "Expression". It is difficult also because it is hard on others. This is because I am the One who shields the heart and emotions and the vulnerable parts of the psyche. So while I am in "Expression", I appear 'cold' and out-of-reach. I do not interact in any kind of emotional way. I do help us to survive, by just keeping on. I do not know if I will see you Wednesday, but I do know that you accept me as I am, and you understand what I do. That helps me more than you could ever now. Benjamin 1-31-99 CoreChild Discovery Shamanic Journey: 2-24-2001 I journeyed to the Upperworld to get some Higher Spiritual advice concerning myself. I went to my mystic place, sitting on a boulder, on the edge of the Mogollon Rim, lookingout on verdant expanse south to the horizon. Suddenly, a sparkly golden ladder dropped down in front of me, and I knew it was mine to climb. As I reached the top rung, I stepped up through what was a pool of water in a cavern. That seemed pretty confusing to me, as I was expecting something more – oh, I don’t know – light and airy and “Upperworld-ish”. I saw a woman dressed in white robes sitting nearby in the cavern. I asked her, “Are you my teacher?” There was no particular reply, as if – for her – that wasn’t the question she answered. She continued writing in the book she had on her lap, as if not really hearing or seeing me. So I walked on to the light I could see coming from the mouth of the cavern. I saw a meadow and stepped out into it. A Unicorn came over. “Are you my Teacher?” I asked. “If you want…” was the enigmatic reply. So I responded, “Yes, ok.” The Unicorn then let me on his/her back (There was no sense of gender…just great spiritual power). We flew around for a while overlooking my current ordinary landscape where I live. I saw visions of my college and diploma and other material things. Unicorn said, “These are the things you think you need. This is what you really need.” The Unicorn landed back into the meadow and walked over to where it bordered onto a forest. It started digging up something. A child. Covered with dirt, dust, leaves, and other debris. “She’s dead,” I said. “No; not yet; not quite. Give her resuscitation.” So I did. And she was a little more alive. Unicorn said, “You buried the child long ago. It’s time to bring her back into yourself. You’ve held this void inside you, trying to fill it through many different relationships and material stuff. Let’s go to the hot springs, get her warm and washed, and work on the two of you joining together, becoming one.” So the Child and I got into the springs, as I worked on opening up and letting her snuggle in. I tried to get our breaths to match, our heartbeats to match, while trying to “feel” those sensations. Then it was time to come back. The Child is still with me. Unicorn girl Shamanic Journey: 7-30-2003 I journeyed to visit with Unicorn, because I wanted to learn more about shape-shifting. But Unicorn had a different agenda. I found myself in the same Meadow, from 2 and half years ago. But there was no little baby there anymore. A young girl, maybe 7 years old, stood before me. Looking right through me. She had eyes that held no interactive life, but inner control. Her whole presence spoke of traumatic shock so deep that she stood stubborn and separate from all the world. I had dismounted from the Unicorn, who wandered carefully over to the child. She reached to hold onto the Unicorn’s sudden-appearing halter, and walked away. No speech, no emotion, no visible interaction. Nor did I feel any intuitive interaction. The connection they made was somewhere in the Spiritual Essence of Light. I felt myself become the girl, walking with the Unicorn, looking for a place to safely rest. The energy of the Unicorn radiated warmth and safety, so that, beyond the hypervigilant fear, the Child could finally rest. We curled up together with the Unicorn under a Tree, and slept. Forbidden Castle: the Castle Kids Welcome to the Forbidden Castle So what would you like to know? Who I am? Ok, I can give you that… You can call me Raven. If you want to talk to me. You can call me whatever else you like, but I won’t be there. I’m not interested in playing games, except that I’m very good at them myself. That’s how you survive. Playing games better than everyone else. There’s a lot of classic weirdos here in the Castle, just so you know. Here’s some people you might be able to contact. Kind of depends on the day, you know. Or night. Or, well, sometimes some of us live between the two. We all have nasty images in our heads, that kind of roam about the castle we inhabit. Ghastly ghouls. Nasty pictures. Blood, and gore, and body parts. Puke, shit, pee, and more puke. I mean that’s what you do when you see this stuff, or have to be in it, or work in it, or eat it… Bones sticking out and LOTS of blood. Here’s a list like I said, ok. Treyvor – Boone—Drek – Gammet—Bones – Izabel—Bastard – Rat-boy—Prevyn – Killer—Zombie – Screamer—Zero – Tufukt—Xman – Kivvy Now, those’re the main ones… ones that maybe might come out and talk… But besides all that, that’s where the anger is… The problem being that they learned all the skills of hurting people… not that you’re in danger… no, that breaks the Code. Still there’s a lot of rage, because, you know, you have to want someone else to hurt that bad, to make someone else hurt that bad, so you don’t. Yeah, we survived… all of us did. But some of us are in pretty bad shape, and can’t nobody come in and be looking because it’s dangerous in the Castle. And there’s so many hidden stairways and closets and dungeons and stuff. We don’t really want to kill or hurt or make people scream or torture or fuck or rape or stuff, but it’s in the energy to do it, just so our own pain will go away. Scary stuff, huh? Thinking twice about this? But we won’t do nothing. Don’t worry. Just that the ghosts of the stuff that happen are all over the castle and there’s never a time when you can relax or sleep or, sometimes even meditate, because if you’re not vigilant enough, they get you, and really fuck you over. That’s enough for now. Bye, Raven *************** **************** {Thank you Raven for taking the time to write. How does it feel to be on the cloud in the castle instead of on the ground. Can some light begin to enter?I’m glad you found the ship folks. I look forward to seeing you next week…...The Counselor} ********** *********** Ok, here it is . you wanted it. I know it’s probably important but not easy for me to say. There’s a lot o f darkness in here. Lots. Darkeness . but it’s no big deal and why you want to walkin here I don’t know. But if you do then ok. Darkness is good in the sense of not being bad and being invisible to bad and being able to not be wht they think you are and being able to be something else because in the dark they can’t tell who it is and someone elsse can handle the pain and they don’t know its not the same one. And when we have to be someone then we be someone new who can just get through one thing becase the things ar so bad and therere’s nothing to do for it exept just be there and get through this to the other side. We know hteres another side so we just stay here til its to the other side. We didn’t know bout the shipcrew but now we do and it’s kinda interesting because it’s like finding a lost famly and now we are together but it’sll take a whiel to get to know each other and trust but that will come because we are all family, you know what I mean I’m sure. But it’s not the best place here and there are rooms in the castle with all kinds of bad things and sometimes it’s like a maze because that’s how you outmaneuver them is the mazee and they never looked too clsoe to see who the child was and they didin’t care as long as they had someone to hurt instead of themselves or whoevr hurt them, so we just got bunches of us so we could make it to the other side and now we know there is another side because of the ship and now we can try to decide what to do because we have been so long in the castle that we don’t know nothing eles and we like the darkness and the smell of the darkness and the taste of it and it’s hard to see the sunlight and sky and colors and things besides stone. That may take a while. I am not easy to know. I don’t’ like to interact. I am angry and hurt and angry some more and I just am like the castle with lots inside but also cold and dark and musty and cobwebs and rats and bats and small pools of stagnant water and drip, drip, drip off the stone walls and whisperings in the dark and strange footsteps and darker shadows in the darkness that rip and shred and cut and then do pleasing things that turn from touch to talons and fill the insides with demons and rip out the insides and put in darker insides and ferociaous ieyes and demon mouths and spear you through with anger and hate and dark and rage and fire and engulf you and then you hang from the walls in rusty chains and they eat away at your flesh and inside and out and like prometheus it just starts all over again because someone dies and someone comes to take their place and you never really die. But when I talk to you, I am all angry and stuff and won’t like to talk about this because I just want to be angry and all of tht stuff is all in me and all us here in the castle and mostly just me can type and maybe talk but some might otherwise talk … I don’t know .. anyways, here, I wrote you a letter, see… bye, Raven ********** ************ {It sounds like you are doing good work taking care of the little ones. You are very important here. I am sending light energy to you to help…...The Counselor} ********** ********** we have some of those purplelight torches and now we have a couple of whitelight pools or something like that that holds them from Sunday and whoever chooses can go in them and go home if they want and I brought a couple of babies to put in it so they wouldn’t be in pain no more and go home; some kids go in the whitelight pool and play and get all cleaned up and healed and come back out to do their mission, whatever that is.. I haven’t yet. Ihave to make sure all the littles in hiding get found and shown the pool or get put in it. You know. Thanks for answering. Yeah, later. See ya. Ps I’m sure b/c the castle’s on the cloud that stuff can change b/c the fear is lesser but still lots of dark corners in the castle, like in me. *********** *********** {We can agree to talk and you can say what angry things you need to say and I won’t take them personally. Then maybe some of the ick can get out. See you tomorrow evening….The Counselor} *********** *********** {The snow was coming down. The roads were verrrrry slippery and the traffic going east was backed up three miles. Since I was already on the east side of town, I opted to not come in. I know your adult said it was fine.. and I wanted to thank the kids for understanding the request. I take our meetings seriously and appreciate your understanding….The Counselor} *********** ********** . Many strange issues running fast just beneath the surface; not really strange for us as far as we’ve gone, but perhaps deeper into the anger realm than I’ve run before. And other things that are not as pressing but unsettling. It really seems the “anger” card is being played, and not by any of our “acquaintances” who are careful to say that they, at least, can control it…even if the manifestation of their particular perspective of anger isn’t exactly pc. We’ll see how this gets expressed the next time we meet. So, tomorrow at 5 or however you need to have it be… p.s. not too scare you or unsettle you or cause consternation…just awareness…ok? (re-reading this letter I was picking up heavy fiery energy and I wanted to let you know you were safe – for my benefit if not for yours…) The Dungeon Danger Kids From Iz/Iznot:......... thanks from all of us.... and the ones inbetween the cracks and edges and stuff that none can see.... yeah, there's been havoc in here.... lots of yelling screaming crazy shit kill kill kill.... but no, can't .... the ones that won't overrule the ones that can't .... visions of knives blood slicing spurting screaming screaming always the screaming until the last scream races away with the last blood cell and they die at last in peace .... i can understand why people kill that hear voices like these .... somehow ihave distance or something and all the visions can drive a person insane but not this person...why i don't know .... good to talk with you.... very good .... lots of help .... who did you really talk to .... besides the three ....musketeers .... the muggy muzzled maggoteaters.... who eat the innerds where it's sweeter.... don't even try, you can't defeat her only once that you could meet her .... gone within and gone beyond .... catch a glimpse and then i'm gone .... spokesman for a withered group .... leader of a ragtag troop.... rage to pay the reaper back for leaving me to eat his crap .... rage to pay the lecher more than ever he deserved much more .... rage to pay the mother bitch who hid behind her fearful itch .... rage to pay the father queer who used a child to ease his fear .... rage to any come too close.... so maybe you would like a dose .... enough for now, time to retire .... within the blackness of this fire *********** ********** {Thank you for risking to speak out and let me know of your rage. I hear you....The Counselor} *********** *********** so, i'm aggressive .... why say that .... i wasn't even there .... did i say something .... were you looking to get something .... give it up .... do you know how deep and sharp it burns when you even think to say my name .... when you even think to say it .... cuz i know when you are about to say something close to me .... searing.... burning pain like a razor .... a fire laser razor .... do not say my name .... do not call me .... until we are in the session .... then who cares what happens .... and how to tell her not to even bring up the subject about rage and me and stuff .... she gets hung up on trust and hurt and even anger .... shit.... well, oh well .... nope ... just be careful .... it isn't an ache or soreness .... it isn't a pain or break .... it isn't a pinched nerve .... nope .... it's a laser of fire fine-tuned to cross the most sensitive nerves possible .... and then you get to imagine that that fills my mind and my skin and all the senses .... all senses psychic too .... you have no clue .... but you're the only one we trust .... you can write us .... we aren't demons.... we aren't evil.... but you can call us screamin demons if you want .... and you can say that the place we live is Hell.... because it is .... but it's here .... even if you say the time is long gone, i will tell you no it isn't because time is a cognitive construct and in my part of the cognitive paradigm we are right in the middle of the experience that keeps us captive within it .... so .... ok .... enough for now.... good night .... don't let the bedbugs bite .... good girls don't put up a fight .... Iz *********** *********** {Iz , you are. I will hold you in the violet light until the searing pain begins to recede. Then know it is you who must set aside the trap in time and let it go. You are greatly loved and we hear your pain....The Counselor} ********** *********** and you do .... violet light.... near enough.... funnyodd how it mixes with anger-red .... transmutative after a sense.... but no .... not yet .... in session.... yes we understand the cognitive construct .... but you do not unravel the web that supports you until you have another web .... in session ....yes .... but still the pictures and voices .... not so much.... thank you violet light but inside.... still violent light.... instead .... so much meaning in two different words .... violet .... violent .... but much we are avoiding .... much still in symbolic stuff .... even what is hard to tell and is told .... is not yet the true truth .... iznot ********** ********* {In peace until we meet again....The Counselor} The Healing Room Hold me forever. ("I'm holding you, Child.") I'm scared. And I'm cold. ("And I'm here.") Lead me to safety. ("Keep hold of my hand.") I'm lost in this Darkness. ("No fear.") Silence no longer- the Spell is undone: the Darkness is vanquished and Healing begun. "Healing is not somewhere we are going, but a discovery of where we already are." Empty your pockets and your hands; leave all your baggage here-- Step to the Circle in the Sand: the Gate shall soon appear. "You were taught beliefs about yourself: now is the time to question those that interfere with your growth, your self-respect, your loving, and your fun. They were wrong." Now as you move to Higher Ground, and heal yourself with Sacred Sound, see all that held you fast in fear become as dust, and disappear. Soft as the touch of wind upon the grass, the counsel of your listening awakens me from dreams, and screams, and broken glass. Mystik's World Once upon a starless time, beyond all reason, lost to rhyme, she listened, sitting on a hill within a night so dark and still that she could scry into the air and know the warning waiting there... she listened, and in soft reply, she heard the echo of her sigh. *** Soon the Myst will rise above the Marsh and all that lay hidden underneath its blue-gray shawl will be revealed to the curious sunbeams who, each day, explore anew the World beneath their fingertips. *** Can it be Truth, that which you see? when, as I look, I seem to be a person of no great import, but rather just a curious sort who's filled with words and thoughts so strange from neurons stripped and rearranged to thusly weave the Sacred Breath into the Strands of God's own Web... Can it be Truth, that which you see? or just an echo identity? *** I feel the ripples upon the Web beneath my feet, within my soul Change is coming from the depths from the dark, from the cold. Trees seem green but not according to the way you're taught; who am I at all to disagree with those who color a tree. *** Actually, the tree alone knows its shade, its way of appearing in desert or glade; the tree alone knows the color of its sigh - how it blends with sunset on a summer sky. *** "Nothing exists", I cry to the moon; "nothing will come, and none too soon; life is a chess game, and I am a pawn - take me off the chessboard so I may be gone. *** There is no light but if I choose - nothing to gain, and nothing to lose; hold tight to the morning that night never comes - I'm stuck in the rhythm of destiny's drums. *** Trust is a fabric that fashions a bridge across the gaps on my trail; yet I still deny it while taking the risk - the paradox of hawk and quail. *** God means nothing and yet means all - contains my flying and my fall, contains my shining and my dark, contains my emptiness and my spark. *** Why call when I choose to deny you? Why call when I run and hide? Why call when the anger I'm feeling won't answer, won't even cry? *** Sometimes I hurt so deeply, feel anger so strong and intense that instead of screaming, I keep it in some sort of backward defense. *** God, I don't want you to listen, to touch me or care, I don't want you to follow, or hold me, or dare... because when you do that my heart just screams "Why?" "Where were you when they hurt me? When they caused me to cry?" *** The anger consumes me and brings me to this - an absolute wishing that I'd not exist. *** I don't want to trust you and so be alive --not trusting was all I had to survive; don't reach out a hand, nor touch me in words --it's all laced with acid, the lies that I heard. Why bring me back? What reason here could ever overcome the fear? Who do you think you really are to touch the heart beyond the scar? I will not toss the words of pain at someone who is not to blame; I keep them close and hidden deep within the silence of my Keep. *** As soon as I would touch the dream and draw it to myself, a hand would smash it all to bits and I'd be someone else. *** Let me stay in this dream of trees and grass of birds by a stream -- all trapped in glass; let me stay in the place they say is real -- keeping quite separate the anger I feel. *** I can pretend; I have all along - I touch all the heights; I sing all the songs; I wander the depths and know every move - but I really don't know my own inner truth. Why should it matter -- I'm only one spark; if I should extinguish, would the night be more dark? Lost in a stream, in the River's own breath, I'm trapped by my fear in the chilling dark depths where someone would hold me and then draw me back to the pain and the draining to fill what they lacked. *** Leave me - I'm used to the cold and the dark; I don't trust the sun nor the light nor the heart; I'm used to not breathing, not being myself; so leave me - in the closet in the back on the shelf. *** Spider said: "Go write your pain. Go say the words, and sign your name. Release the knowledge you deny to give it wings and help it fly." *** You are the only one to see the depths I roam inside of me; You are the only one to call the only one I hear at all. No way I leave this closet-space No way I leave this darkened place Tis better to not live at all than answer in anger to your call. I've written enough upon my walls; I know you can read beyond the call; but whether I answer or ever return is lost in the painful lessons I learned. *** Tap, tap, tapping -- like a dare -- leave me napping: I do not care; I do not want to - can't you see? If I respond, then I must BE. Lost and lonely safe and sound within a closet I'm not bound by fear and anger in each breath by pain and burning in each step; I am alone within my Keep: protected strong -- protected deep. Go now; there's others who respond, who call your healing, who sing your song – I am alive and that's enough; I do not need to risk your love. I've come so far and yet remain encapsulated from the pain – and so my journey comes to nil, when running fast, I'm standing still. *** My life is an astral projection --a strange and mystik connection-- so I don't have to be here, nor be consumed by the fear. *** Survivor Poems Far beyond what seems to be Far beyond reality I can run And you can never catch me; Confusion rings the sun, and I No longer part of one, can die Setting free The demons haunting me; Questions crashing on my shore My mind demolished - nothing more Remaining But the silence of their wake; I seek aloneness in my grave I can if need be even save My sanity But why, and for who's sake? The raven had the answer right When in the middle of the night Spoke, "Nevermore." And left the dark room empty. Poems from the Closet Sometimes it doesn’t matter Why should I stay My world has already shattered And I’m gone away… Look what you’ve done I cannot hold you back You steal my very breath And turn my world black. Deep within you reach Touching with your slimy hand All my inner being Infected by your brand. I am forever yours Lost in your madness Consumed in your sadness You have drawn me into Your filthy breath And shut the doors. I cannot hate you enough That you will go away Or quit Or give me back my breath; I cannot cry or scream You live in my mouth Like spit From the demons of death. You fill my mouth And every cavern in my soul; I cannot breathe You have taken my control You told me lies And made me believe them In order to live And all for what? Everything you touched Spoiled and rotted and festered Such an unbelievable stench And I was your wench - A child with no identity And knew itself not. I am all covered in filth I am filled with it I am it So you have said So I believe The stench is overwhelming And all the world agrees How could they not? I am yours Because I cannot fight anymore I just let you shatter me Over and over again And anyone else who wants to What else can such a piece of trash do? There’s nothing else at all… Lost in the slime Black, ichorous slime Unable to breathe All that comes into me Is slime And it becomes who I am. I have lost myself But no matter The hands hurt less Not knowing Who it is They are hurting The pain is beyond My feeling It is beyond My feeling And I shall live In a little cave At the back of the closet In the house of pain. Suck out my breath Suck out my water Suck out my blood Nothing will be left Except the shell of a lost child. Who remembers the hand? Who remembers your name? Who remembers the terror And the unspeakable pain? None but the child In the closet’s lonely cave; None but the child That it’s too late to save. Gone from all thoughts, All touch, all breath How can you save one Who already knows death? My hands disintegrate, Dissolve into the black That crawls ever nearer my heart, And I cannot hope To recover myself From something I’m already part. It doesn’t matter, daddy, What you’ve done No one would believe me And I cannot talk anyway And you knew that And what would I say To possibly convey The terror expressed In a silent scream. You have taken what you wanted Tried to take your own childhood back By killing mine and leaving me haunted Like the dead who do not know the life they lack. I can pretend to be alive Who would really know No one is looking closely No one really wants to No one sees beyond a child That pretends to be alive Quietly pretending to breathe Pretending to sleep Pretending to be a child. From the Dark Side of the Mirror 1: Tell me in your sweetest voice what you want to steal from me – Thieving grasp wrapped in no choice, scarring my naiveté… Touch me in your gentlest way and draw what innocence remains – Hidden in the words you say is violence cloaked in velvet chains. Within the night by darkened light, he looked upon his daughter; Such innocence had no defense against the child’s own father. 2: You walked into the room so cool; you took this child for a fool You acted like I could say "no"; you acted like I was your "ho". Shattered pieces on the floor -- a child shattered, and what for? Because your daddy shattered you, I figured it was all you knew. All your words denied your heart; your actions just betrayed your part- Your guilt destroyed a child’s dream; your anger sucked away the scream. Don’t worry, though, I have survived; life does go on – dead or alive – And I have taken back control: reclaimed myself, restored my soul. Gonna take a train- the next train outta here Gonna take a train- and just plain disappear. 3: Black on black on starless sky Darkly written lullaby Draw the child who will not cry Into the trappings of your lie. Red on red on bloody hands You thought you were some kind of man Your crimson fear has carved a brand Upon my soul like a talisman. Silver mirror echoes loss Ghostly image etched in frost Shadow spirit- vacant cross Child betrayed to pay the cost. Midnight blue in vacant eyes I’m sure you didn’t realize That I would live and you would die Ironic truth you can’t deny. What did you care of love or light? What demons played your hand? You thought you killed a useless child… But guess what? Here I am! 4: I walk the sky on cloudy trails not touching ground at all; I dance with lightning, play with hail, and dare the stars to fall… I walk the night on to the moon with sunlight in my fist; I ride the rainbow through the storm, and fade into the mist. The light is on- the door unlocked: "Come home, my child, come home…" The danger’s gone and love returned: "Come home, my child, come home." F E A R False Evidence Appearing Real Yes, it’s all of that… and a bag of chips. But it’s much easier said than done; much easier heard than processed. Okay, okay; so here’s the catch. I don’t get it. I don’t GET it. I mean, I understand it; but somewhere inside it still doesn’t make sense. So where do we go from here? How do I understand fear? Well, let’s see if this does the trick… This is a spiral, integrated learning experience. Just take one step at a time; one key at a time to unlock the doors hidden in mists of memory, distorted by time and perceptions, guarded by ancient monsters that used to protect, but now control. Here we go – one step at a time: REAL: Well, just what is real? What is not real? How do I know it’s real? What is reality to me? How does my life, my reactions, my behavior, thoughts and emotions identify what is real to me? First, I have to figure out my own reality. APPEARING REAL: Okay. Maybe my reality is an illusion. Maybe I created a reality that would protect me, insulate me, isolate me, and keep me secret. And maybe that’s all illusion. Maybe I created it… created it. For my own protection. It isn’t real at all. It just appears to be real. And it was good enough for me to survive this long. And I can honor it and respect it and know that it worked. But now I need to accept that it is just an illusion. Not reality. Just appearing to be reality. I need to feel safe. I need to trust. I need to be safe and risk seeing the illusion as just that. That’s hard, too. EVIDENCE APPEARING REAL: Wow! Now I need to show myself the evidence that supports what I just dared to believe. I need to open up and see the illusion and the reasons behind the need for the creation of that illusion. I need to recognize my reactions and behavior as indicators of that falseness. I need to recognize my patterns in life, in relationships, in self-awareness that support the evidence of an illusion I created to protect me once upon a time. I have to dare to see the truth. The truth of the illusion. The truth of why the illusion exists. The truth of the support system I created to solidify the illusion that protected me so long ago. FALSE EVIDENCE APPEARING REAL: Ooooh. Now to the real kicker. The evidence itself is false. It is a false syllogism. It is a false foundation. It is a house built on sand. The evidence itself is false. Wow! Can I ever get past that? The evidence that I just finally perceived was in and of itself misperceived. Well, what in the world does that mean? I have so shielded myself from something so traumatic, that not only did I create an illusion of protection, but I also layered it with evidence so convincing that there was no breaking the logic of the lock. I have so shielded myself from the original impact that I have little idea of what the original experience was, in truth. Just scary. I created an illusion to replace the reality. I created a support system that was almost indestructible to support my illusion. I wove it in between, around, and throughout my whole being. Every response, every thought, every emotion would reflect the illusion. I built a support system that allowed me to survive. And it was good! Unfortunately, it isn’t real. It is only FALSE EVIDENCE APPEARING REAL. So, how does this all work? Well, I take this step by step – one breath at a time. It isn’t easy to reveal, to myself or my Guide, the truth that had to be reconstructed as an illusion for me to survive. It will never be easy. But the only way to unravel the tapestry is to start with one thread. To dare, to risk, to trust, to feel safe enough… yes, safe enough. Without the safety, the FEAR remains. It is the key to the whole process. Find my place of safety: then unlock the Door. It is a difficult journey, but definitely worth while. When I unravel my FEARS and reweave my tapestry, I will be SAFER. What is the common S in those words? Why, the SPIRIT that gives me hope to survive. Okay, so now I wrote all this out. And I know I need to REALLY read what I just wrote, but not just yet. I need to let this sink in for a while. It’s really too scary to think about. I mean, the reality of it all. Of all I just wrote, and said to myself, out loud, to you. I don’t want to contemplate what all this might mean, really. Maybe we can talk about this even if it’s just email. I think I need to chew on this bone, so to speak. It has sent ripples across the pond that is my soul, across the web that is my spirit. I think I am close to something, and just as afraid that I am. I could use some wise words right about now. Childhood Stories: from the core autistic child I Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. She lived in a big city. She had a brother, mother, father, and grandfather, and maybe even a grandmother. They didn’t live altogether at all. Mostly they all lived in their own little worlds. The little girl was only aware of them when she was physically in contact with them. She could sense them. She could sense their emotions. She lived in a world of intuition and never made much contact – not even eye contact, because eye contact could make you vulnerable to being overpowered by the other person. So if you had to look, you had to leave your eyes empty. Physical contact could hurt and be uncomfortable especially in this little girl’s family because the people had such powerfully negative emotions – well, not really negative, but such sadness, desperation, need, anger, and vengefulness, and especially fear. Being in those kinds of energy fields is hard to not metamorphose into the auric shape of what they were and then become them. Like that. They didn’t seem to have much purpose, much intent except to assuage their own fears and such. Always yelling at each other as if saying things louder made it easier to understand – which of course it didn’t. They had certain expectations of behavior from me, my brother, the world. Lots of these didn’t make any sense – they weren’t logical. Not that there was a choice, of course. There were no choices. But it was a certainty that if you didn’t behave according to these expectations you would be punished, hurt, raped, beat – whatever. There’s a lot of anger because of all the fear and because of all the things that didn’t make sense so they didn’t seem fair. The little girl thought everybody understood things the way she did – perceived things the same, interacted (or not) for the same reasons as she did. She thought that they could read her thoughts and secrets and hidden anger, because she could read theirs, and so she perceived she was being punished for these things. She made that connection. But she couldn’t seem to help having some not-good thoughts once in a while, even though she tried really hard. She tried to bury some very deep, but still she would get punished and so she just didn’t know what to do. Things changed but nothing changed. Then one day the little girl woke up and she was almost 8 years old. She still didn’t understand expectations and they seemed to differ from one person to the next. All the little girl knew was that it is very important to know expectations to avoid punishment. She tried to do stuff she liked but she didn’t fit in with others like her. And their expectations were not at all like the ones inside her. And she didn’t like being like them. She just didn’t fit. She didn’t know who she was or what she was or what she should do to be “right”. Nothing fit. She was confused. And it was hard to fit in and be accepted because for some reason she was not reacting like most kids her age. II There was a morning, and it had a bird. It was a pretty bird because it had lots of colors. It spoke in a sing-songy way. A tiny voice, kind of high, but not like the hysterical high of the mother. Just a way that was right for the bird. And it just talked of its visit here near me because it didn’t live here really. She said it was too dusty and moldy and hard to breathe. And she knew her home had a blue sky and this sky was yellowish-gray even though, if you lived here and was told that was blue, you didn’t know any better. She said one day I could come see for myself. But I could see the bluer sky in her mind and green leafy trees and moisture that was clean that glistened off stuff and was good to breathe. She said she would meet me there someday when I went there, and left Los Angeles. III One day, the un-noise level was so solid you couldn’t breathe. They called that “tension”. It was un-said fears that coagulated like jello and you could have walked on it because you certainly couldn’t breathe in it. It was hard to walk on because you were immersed in it and to get out of it and get on top was too hard. But if I could have done that, I could have walked on it. And if I could have walked on it, it would have been like the smog, so that on top of it was blue sky and breathing space and clouds and peace. But it wasn’t what I could do, because if I did that then I wouldn’t be paying attention to my body parts and then what happens is I trip or stumble or bump into things or trip on a cord and the lamp falls and breaks and then the mother goes hysterical and yells at a level they can hear on Draconia 5 in the Lyra system so many light years away. So you can see that it’s very hard on my ears being right next to her. Even if I go to Draconia 5, I still hear her, you know. But see, if I go somewhere like on top of the smog or tension web, then they call me clumsy and stupid and bad and irresponsible. And I know that that is what it looks like to your eyes, but it’s only because sometimes I just can’t be all here because it hurts my ears and eyes and nose and skin and insides, but MOSTLY of all, it hurts my heart to feel all the fear and anger and sadness and loneliness. So I just walk somewhere else. IV Once, you know, there was this box. And inside the box, it was quieter. I liked that box. And the closet that is here (Merritt Center) at this quiet place is cool. It is quiet, too. And even in the place out of the box, all you hear is quiet waves of conversation like a morning ocean and it is made of birds and trees and wind and sun and some quiet people (and those are hard to come by). And we are all wishing for some quiet rains to come and play with us. But it is reluctant to come because it wasn’t welcomed too nicely before and isn’t invited except just a few people do invite it. I hope it will come play with me. I like the puddles it leaves. V There was an oil slick in grandfather’s tension-world. Maybe more like naptha; maybe the whole tension-world. It could explode into flames. It was dark and tar-ry: like the La Brea Tar Pits. I saw some animals stuck in that for eternity. I knew that feeling, that kind of beingness, because whenever I was with the grandfather then I was in his tar pit and there was no escape from his world for my most self. I was immersed in it and swallowed it and swallowed in it and it was in my blood and mind and every cell was encapsulated by it and it held my heart in its tar-ry fist, but all it could do was hold it tighter and tighter like a piece of charcoal, like carbon. Now it is a diamond. Kind of ironic, huh, grampa? VI It’s a sometime thing. Being here. Being there. Who is me? Who is you? Somebody needs to care. I went to the ocean. A scary thing. So big and wild. For a little child. The ocean said, “I’m not like father, mother, grandfather. I’m more like you. And not. Well, not a lot. Your eyes see a difference when you look with your Earth eyes; not when you’re looking with your Star eyes, and most of all, looking with your Ocean eyes. Okay?” -- So I let the words float on the top of my stream and kind of filter down slowly til the words danced between the water molecules and became part of the stream. I know how to do that. But when I do that sometimes and become the stream, I forget how to get back to being me. The Ocean and the beach sand are so different – like different galaxies, but two different galaxies that are so close only the truth of Spirit breathes between them. And then with me, too. There is dialogue, interaction, without enmeshment which feels like a dolphin caught in the fisherman’s net whose careless intent for tuna disrespected the intent of dolphin and tuna, and even the ocean – silly fisherman. Mesh is sticky. But the universal dance between me and not-me is smooth. If I have a remembering and keep that remembering then it is smooth for me. If I get into fearing, then there is stickiness and friction causing sparks and land mines and trip wires and tar pits. And suddenly there is a whispering in my heart – “Shhh! Child… breathe… breathe…let go and flow on a smooth sea with a calm breeze in your sails; a gentle journey westward – going Home. Vision-Aerie Messages You can see the world...or not...like a pearl, ground by sand...soft raspings smooth it, and in the vibrations, a song...and a shining...lustrous, like the sun behind cirrus clouds, humming...because no words can express the sacred, why try? You are near me, part of me, a harmony of myself...not a reflection in a mirror, but another ray of the sun...touching the flower in yet a different way and still warm, still life-giving...like each raindrop has a different perspective of the ocean or the forest or me...you are like the world...a pearl...and in the middle of it...in its heart, there lives a song...soft, warm, sad...caged by its own making; freed by its own desire...it holds a sacred fire. ******** All the world screams a cacophony...there is no true pitch, no tone to harmonize with...the screeching of metal; the searing of toxins on sacred ground; the infusion of fear into the minds of children...flamingoes with no leg to stand on...lions lost to devouring; meteors showering the skies...and deadly flies. The smells overwhelm simplicity of hot buttered bread with metallic bitterness. Taste the ozone. And neon. And freon. Butterflies cannot even taste the pollen anymore. And just one raven sits above the door. Nevermore comes tomorrow. ********* There is no knowing who i am...i am as i become...nothing more. To think that i exist, and so i do. But to feel i exist is to fly. Do i have wings, or dream them? How many of me are there, and does it really matter? How many of God are there, and who cares? Does knowing who help me discover why? Or what? Or which way is the right road? Do i create the road? And did i create you? Did i create me? Why? Shall i make my road of dirt or water or wood or brick or cobblestone? Perhaps air, riding the wind like a cirrus cloud, intent on being itself? In the end, it is my intent...but what if i have no idea what my intentions are? I must find them in the flowers and rain and grasses and trees, in the sunset and sunrise, in the night. I must find them in your smile. ********* The noise never stops...continuous buzzing of electricity that gives me no rest...like too much salt or seasoning dampens the tongue to expressing delight n a plain ripe strawberry or apple. Cars and trains and mechanical gossip of technology that will not cease saturate my ears, and I am deaf to the Call of angels, the whisper of butterflies, the breath of the Earth. I cannot taste the moisture at dawn, nor the tingling prelude of a storm, for a steel sheen has coated the world in a fine patina of non-life. All my senses drown in the static of electromagnetic corruption. It is hard to remain as I am; it is hard to remember who and what I am. Non-life seeps into the heart like sewage in the ocean, lying foul on the bottom until the surf itself wishes to die. ********* I try to hold you gently, without affecting you...but to no avail...our energies mesh; they can do no otherwise...and so I hope to only hold good thoughts, kind thoughts, healing thoughts and feelings and vibrations. They are all me, and now they are all part of you...as you are a part of me. Somewhere in all of this, our union becomes more than the two of us...something closer to sacred, somehow...despite or because of all we are...and still I try to understand us by trying to understand me...but so much gets lost in the translation. I have no idea who I am; I only know that my heart is very sure you're part of me, and that makes me smile. ********* I find it interesting to consider sometimes being the stars and sometimes being the darkest space between them. But even more incredible is being both at once. Holding them as one within me: feeling one, feeling the other, and then feeling both -- connected as One through that sentient energy that holds all things together as One. ******** Does all inspiration come from the same place? Seems to me...just me...that the answer could be "yes" and "no"...this is in the sense that all is one...we are all flames of the same fire, so to speak. But all being unique, our perception -- our connection -- to that which inspires us, varies from individual to individual...sometimes the same "thing" may be inspirational to many others...but undoubtedly in a different way to each. Inspiration touches the heart; the heart responds. It is like an intricate weave of music and dance that, although the tapestry may appear similar, its design is unique. We weave our own tapestry and find each other woven within -- realizing that our tapestry is as much a quilt-square as the Quilt itself... ******* All galaxies, whirlpools, and spiral winds ARE alive! They have sentience...just not the kind of alive and sentience that is most often understood...the thought process, the alive process, the communication process is very different...but they are affected by the pure intent of the pilgrim who seeks their guidance and wisdom. ****** If I want for something, then I must believe I do not have it: believing that illusion perpetuates the want. ****** Behold, in the cup of my hand are all the stars of the universe, rivers dancing into waterfalls, green pastures and grand mountains, eagles and unicorns, my closest friend and fiercest enemy… so then, when I perceive the Truth, I see there is no want, only choice. ******** Intent lies at the core of the heart, but truth IS the heart… to label, name, classify…this is the human need for control, and the control is to understand…understanding lessens fear… opening to the Sacred Spiritual Myst allows me to be One with all sentient creation…it presents as "telepathy", but that word limits the truth of what it truly is… it presents as foreknowledge, or empathy, or hypersensitivity to the "cues" or "clues" given off by physical or emotional actions/ reactions…but, again, those concepts limit what is entirely spiritual (and beyond comprehension) to something understandable and controllable and therefore, safe…i am a bridge between two worlds…i dance upon the ripples of a pond, introducing it to the breeze, to the cattails, to the cranes, and deer that lap at its shore…and so i dance within the sacred force that binds all creation to its Source, and upon the ripples of creative energy that reach across all time, space, and thought…weaving a song between and among all i meet as i journey… and so, also, from that spiritual place, i can touch the scientific, cognitive word and world that claims its independence, but is truly but an aspect of the creative force that presents reality according to each sentient being’s perception…there is only Oneness, within which diversity and uniqueness presents each of us like glass chips in a kaleidoscope…there need not be separateness, just acceptance of differences… that’s all that love is. ********* I close my hand... and open it - Do you see the stars dancing on my palm? I close my hand... and open it - No, not stars…but faery folk dancing in their ring - Shall we join the fun? ********** This is to say that living in two worlds is difficult…to have access to divine and sacred and mysts of original light, and be able to express that is unwordable… but still we give what we can…it is for us to do… then in the other world, the mundane, the muggles of harry potter, to live and exist and relate to others here at home and school…that too is difficult…we do as spirit asks…we answer as we choose or as we were asked…all the spirit, all the light, is everywhere, in everything, in everyone…it shines like it rains, on everyone regardless…but some like rain and puddles…i do…as the vibrations of spirit and light around and within us and the earth and wind and ocean get higher, some cannot survive…but we can, we do…we feel, we sense, we are within those vibrations…no specific spiritual law or thought or being, but love…we go to that…we grow to that…we tell others the way…we show others the way…light and love…but most of all, trust…because that is the most difficult of all…even us, sometimes we give up…it is difficult living on this earth, this shining stone of the universe, this touch of spirit…and it is difficult to know both heaven and earth and live in heaven and earth. ******* All created life has energy. This energy vibrates. The difference in vibrations causes life to manifest as different forms: trees, animals, stones, rivers. A special and unique sacred vibration created humans. All vibration is sacredly conceived, and is associated with the divine in all cultures. All sound, vision, touch, thought, feelings, are vibrations. Telepathy is merely a matter of experiencing a wider spectrum of vibrational activity, which includes thoughts. Empathy is a matter of experiencing these holistically. If someone experiences this from birth, there is no way to understand that "others" are not also reading them. ******** It’s not quite that we seek out other peoples’ thoughts….the space – the air of life – the sparkly myst of all, where live all thoughts, feelings, wisps of communication, breaths of wishful thinking, sentient words with wings of intent…we inhale this/ we are alive within it. We hold no intent in the knowing of these…they are there, always were…no boundaries on the myst…no reason to establish them or understand the need for them…we are all one. Of course, some may use such ability for self or gain, because we are human, but most don’t, having connection/ communication with higher spiritual beings and such like that. See, so we don’t LOOK to see…we are just open to the vision, or to the thought…no intent. Now, with knowing that that is what others think, maybe that explains better or sets some both ways acceptable boundaries, not limiting reception, but honoring it. ********* This is just my take on good and evil…it is what is in my knowing…filtered through human lens…important to surround self with veil of white light when communicating, when opening self…to others, to spirit, to whatever…very important. But most important than that and beyond, is intent…focus…take the rainbow of thoughts and feelings and such and focus as through a prism to make a single light…intent: concerning what you mean to say, mean to share, wish to feel or learn…must have intent. Without shielding, without focus, Light is diffused, leaving pockets for Dark intents to slip in, to interfere, to distort, to convince truth with subtle lies…Dark can’t possess what is not offered, can’t go where not invited, can’t create or take against will…so; but it can manipulate, whisper our fears (that are only false evidence that we haven’t dealt with), and go/ do wherever/ whatever it hasn’t been directed not to. Keep in circle of Light; stay on Path of Light. We are sanctioned by the Light; we need not fear; we need only hold to the truth we know in our hearts. We will not fail, except through our own fears. This is as was "spoken" to me. I do so enjoy a hot cup of tea and Light conversations. ******* Yes, there is always a choice – but it is veiled in depths of unacknowledged, unknown fear, so that the conscious mind of the Self does not recognize the existence of choice in its heart, and cries. ******* Sometimes the change is so deep I have no clue of its happening except for the subtle ripples in the currents of my heart. ******* You are never lost. You are Here. You believe you are lost because you believe you should be somewhere else. But….you are Here. Enter then into the present of this Place like a centered and grounded stranger - confident, open, and at peace. In the present, I am not lost. Though I struggle with the maze of my journey, though I stumble on my ever-changing Path, yet I know that I am where I belong. I must give up expectations and fear and learn to live where I am. ********* The rainbow reaches out for me, grasps my hand, draws me on... Races across the stormy skies, gasps for breath, leaps beyond... ****** this is just my take on this...it is what is in my knowing...filtered through human lens. important to surround self with veil of white light when communicating, when opening self...to others, to spirit, to whatever...surround your facilitator,also; mostly they don't understand these things. very important. but most important than that and beyond, is intent. focus. take the rainbow of thoughts and feelings and such and focus as through a prism to make a single light...intent: concerning what you mean to say, mean to share, wish to feel or learn. must have intent. without shielding, without focus, Light is diffused, leaving pockets for Dark intents to slip in, to interfere, to distort, to convince truth with subtle lies...Dark can't possess what is not offered, can't go where not invited, can't create or take against will. so but it can manipulate, whisper our fears (that are only false evidence that we haven't dealt with), and go/do wherever/whatever it hasn't been directed not to. keep in circle of Light; stay on Path of Light. we are sanctioned by the Light; we need not fear; we need only hold to the truth we know in our hearts. we will not fail, except through our own fears. this is as was "spoken" to me... i do so enjoy a hot cup of tea and Light conversations... ******** although it is truth that all is one, and that unity contains all creation, all realms, all time, it is my perception that Lucifer has made several choices with negative consequences, that he is condescending toward the race of man, and subtly clever in his word. He neither heals nor advances any creation unless there is benefit for himself. Such dark intent lies within us all: that is the truth of free will. We are free to choose or not to choose: dark or light intent. We are free to look beyond any action to see if it harms another, even in a tangential sense, and accept responsibility for it, or not. Lucifer cannot wash the blood of innocents off his hands, no matter how often he states that he only helped them achieve what they wanted. He is present in all worlds, all realms, all creation...seeking to rationalize behavior that, in the aware heart, one knows has harmed someone else. The only way that he can do this is by believing his own lie. How ironic. ****** ******* see, of course it is natural to think that people are all alike and can "know" each other. but the truth is, no. the veil over the spirit mind is there for most people. but, not us. so, it just is. so, it is to not engage in playing games of "are you smart like us". that is making entertainment of us. we are tuned differently. we are not research projects. but also we are tuned into Spirit or G-d or whatever you call the Light. we know that Changes are coming. we wish we could change it all; but that is not why we are here. sometimes we get frightened by the fear in other people. the energy is overwhelming and it's hard to hold ourselves balanced in it. we are somewhat in the Spirit and Light; and somewhat in the Earth... not enough to move well or speak well or such. but we can give a message of hope. yes, things are looking bad. yes, things will get worse. but the Light of G-d says that we need to trust in that Light... to choose Peace inside ourselves and the safety in the Peace in ourselves. not to agree to fear. not to agree to fear. so very important. the Light of G-d is in control. no matter what. trust. trust. just be together in love. if we choose to show others our words, that is our choice; but we can choose not to. it is frustrating for us and for those who try to live with us and know us and communicate. but i like keyboards. but not so everyone knows. but if it helps someone, that is different. and sometimes we can see other kinds of energy, like some have said, of people who have passed from this earth. some of us can heal; some of us can move energy around; some of us do other things. it is just what is the intentl; what is the purpose, what are we here to do for the Light; that is all that is important. it is important for us to find out and fulfill. it is important for everyone. love, light, peace and hope... that is the promise. ********* yes, pure intent... essence of truth... the ocean's heart is no less pure, touched by moon or sun or storm... but the taste of bad intentions, even wrapped in silver or silk or shiny ribbons, revolts the tongue and screeches in the ear. i love hearts that sing in pureness, no matter if the one is sad or anxious or happy. to know intent is to know truth; like a facet in the crystal that is Spirit. *********** it is to answer the question of responding to what the outside says on a person or what the inside says... many see us and do not see us for real on the inside and judge from the outside... we see inside mostly; but to respond to that confuses some, no, most, maybe all. gentle pull of the tide; full moon tugging at my heart; i hear you on the inside calling,calling... but quietly still to the seeing world. i hear you crying in your heart inside,and outside beating on the windowpanes like a storm. who do i answer? whoever listens... *********** yes, i feel the shifts in earth, sea, and stars... not unlike people with distress, but vaster... if i get a taste of wet and salt and vastness, i know it's the ocean, but it is getting warmer where it was cold and cloudy where stuff has poisoned it. it is just sensing. each person has a different "sense" to them -- a different vibration -- but when there is something "out of place", i know it. the ocean and stars and such, just have a different vibration and i can "sense" when something is just not right. yes, there is a lot of geopathic stress, because the earth is our home and it is shifting, changing, trying to be "right" in its vibrations. You can teach the children to protect just the same as you do for them being around people that frighten them so... you put in your mind a veil of white light that they can put on to ease the intensity of the sensory input, and then you send that image to them. Seems to me, if you can imagine it, it's not impossible...but it's in the imagining of what I perceive as impossible that I present myself with new possibilities... The thing with quantum mechanics is that this perception bridges the "scientific" world and the "spiritual" world, in both but of neither literal definition. Every perception, every individual, has their own valid worldview, their own true cosmology. The rules of that world work within that world, but not always in relationship to other worlds or within them... generally. There are many ideas of "creation" and at least 6 billion interpretations of that word. That is why it is so important to accept individuals ( and all sentient life) as valid manifestations of Spirit, regardless of the way they communicate their worldview. I can talk science to a scientist and Tao to a Taoist, Fey to Faeryfolk, and rockness to a boulder. It's not about "rightness"; it's about communication and acceptance, companionship and compassion. What else could possibly matter... ********* The Sand moves through the Hourglass, only as God wills: faster slower haphazardly or absolutely still. ******** The Earth hums, thrums, drums… and I try to match my heartbeat to her… like two butterflies on the same path with a synchronicity unknowable to common eyes and ears. Where is the matching? — In some space between Spirit’s inhale and exhale… in some harmony incomprehensible to human cognition… do not think it… be still, and know it…be still, and hear it…between one heartbeat and the next… be still, and feel it…between the touch and the touching… it is there… the understanding of the rhythmic weave of the wings of two butterflies with a common destination: Home. ******* Light twinkles in the air beside me, and I long to listen… long to play and dance and sing with them…long to not so engage my cognition, as to integrate into the Light twinkles… and then tell their stories… to those who long to listen… ***** If I were not doing, I would be listening… and then sharing the songs I hear in the Myst of Light…not just a flowing of melody, but a dancing and singing, a story of Creativity, like carbonated rainbows, whispery joyance wrapped in the stillness of Being… a million million million universes caught in the prism of a raindrop on a sunny day… and landing on the child’s tongue, bringing her awareness of the Song. ***** And then you learn that there is no in-between. Anywhere. The song shifts into a different tempo, texture, taste… but it doesn’t stop. Ever. Michael says, “Quit thinking in separate and distinct polarities, dualities, and ideas of separateness. That is the lie. Life is a neverending story and song. The space between words and notes is just an inhalation, a spiritual bridge, some color not on your human spectrum… it is not “nothing”. It is alive… holding in that space the entirety of Spirit, and well beyond your comprehension of that Beingness. There is no in-between..................... From one purr until the next purr, the cat still lives and naps nonchalantly in the sunshine waiting for you to wake up.” MPD Slam: 2003 I The mirror shattered scattered splattered Pieces of a child, creases in the tile, Ceases to smile for a while Or even more forevermore Behind a door within a core of nevermore And all: what for? Staying praying weighing probabilities Of relativity with creativity Laced with fear Just disappear Or better yet Forget And all is gone beyond the bond Of substantial tangential memory in reverie Behind the mirror that Shattered scattered splattered Pieces of a child. II This multiplicity of eccentricity Such deep complexity In key aspects of me Just means there’s more of me Sixty-four of me And this sorority of one is Running, gunning, stunning, shunning life is Coming out in crisis The dice is sixes Boxcars to Auschwitz Corpses in ditches Crucifixes And candles everywhere Evil in the air Demons in the lair Nothing’s fair, fuck, who cares? Knives, lives, bribes, sacrifices Cold as ice is, muffled cries as A child dies Where’s the fault, or Who claims the altar? Someone must take the blame Name the shame, claim the fame, Eat the red dead bread of saving The innocent by letting the devil vent Repeatedly heatedly feeding him lethally In the guise of the guys of Christianity Insanity vanity profanity up their sleeve Duplicity that you believe Hypocrisy lost to me Multiplicity protecting me In the chilling stilling killing Of what looked to be a piece of me But in reality you failed to see the Truth of me For I escaped, and you only raped My shadow. III Change is changing Rearranging, strange renaming, Fiery raining flames reframing all I am Unplanned and banned Scanned and slammed, Stranded, branded and slandered Standard of precocity, ferocity in velocity Unbound to sound Ungrounded rarity Unfounded heresy in veritas Tip the toss, what’s lost is lost The hidden clause is stuck on pause And just because of Rightly lifted, lightly sifted, slightly gifted flaws With unrestricted shaman-shifted puma paws I’ve come undone re-spun to run A pun of one whose sun’s eclipse Encrypts the crypts of witty quips With scripts unlocking my cocoon Walking rocking clocking docking A shocking image born anew What can I do but fly the sky, sigh good-by, Get high on my survival and revival I’m alive to heal the rival Alive within myself It’s time to smile and Step on through, truth is true On either side of the Looking Glass The past is past at last And dressed in denim blue, The child you knew Is truly Me Finally free With inner reciprocity. Letters to my Spiritual Mentor 6-21-0 Dear M, I don't know if or when you will see this, or whether I will see you in person first. In any case, there have been so many things happening in the last few days...cascading like I said. I don't even know where to start. I guess the most important thing to happen occurred on the night of the 19th. The powers of the Dark, sensing -- and rightly so -- that I was completely exhausted and drained, set off an attack on me. My first reaction was an old pattern of curl up and just survive because I was so tired, and didn't feel like trying to fight or outmaneuver them. When I realized that they were also attacking C and that I didn't know how seriously that would translate into the physical, something inside shifted. I got so righteously angry (from somewhere) that I just jumped up and started being the Light Warrior that Michael has always told me I was (and I didn't believe). I really tore up some Darkness in a firefight that psychically was picked up by a friend in Texas. It was apparently a pretty awesome battle, and I truly messed the Dark up really bad. It is not important to me who sent or initiated the attack, although a few of us are aware of who it truly was, but like I said that's unimportant. What is important is that becoming the Light Warrior caused the convergence to be completed all the way. I am one. I am Devlyn-rhys. No others exist simultaneously with me. The integration is finished. We sealed it with a wonderful Celtic Christian Summer Solstice Ceremony the following night, and then a baptism of Devlyn-rhys this morning. Like I said, so many things have been happening that it's hard to keep track of them all. This is only a brief synopsis of it all. But I wanted you to know about the integration, ok? I am feeling really good. I am happy. I am alive. And I am happy to be alive. I also journeyed back to all the past places of events (so to speak), and destroyed all connection to them. I can hardly wait to see you again with all this. Take care. Be safe. In Truth, Light, and Love 10-6-0 Dear M, The Multicultural class doesn't have exams, just papers and experiential written feedback. Because of the journal writing, that professor asked me to talk to him about the issues I was alluding to in my journals, so I talked with him last Wednesday. It was pretty cool. He didn't try to tell me any different, or spin it different, or in anyway dissuade me from what I knew I had been through, and the MPD diagnosis. I felt like he acknowledged me for what I had experienced, and how I had survived it. So now, let's talk about me. In the last few days, I've had a major shift. I suddenly realized that I could remember, or at least access, all my memories before age 8. Everything was at my disposal. There was a bunch of anger that surfaced; very much a Rachel-thing. C dealt really well with it, even though I didn't want to engage anyone or anything with it. And then, I discovered that "everyone" had become able to feel (experience) what "everyone" else had; that the interconnections were all alive and doing well, so to speak. Everyone knew everything... so then, the next thing to occur was that I had a trigger flashback experience that was absolutely terrifying. When I re-experienced it, I was right back there...not through someone...not in a vision sense...not as a named child...but me, right here, right now...and I was re-experiencing the whole thing. I'm glad C was around at that time, because it would've been very difficult to cope otherwise without dissociating. This morning, I feel very quiet. There are no voices, no others, just a calm and serene feeling...quite like the eye of the storm, I suppose. I could wish it were the other side of the storm, but I have to keep reminding myself that it isn't...C reminds me, too. Still, I know I have contact with those aspects of myself that are better able to deal with heavy issues, with strength and courage to draw on. Not in the sense of needing to dissociate again, just being able to tap into those other aspects of myself, now, as I need them. Does this make sense? I hope so. I also have to reassure myself that just because I can't feel the "others" doesn't mean that I have shut them out and severely dissociated, rather it means that I believe I have finally achieved harmonic convergence, my own personal one. I pray that this is so. Anyway,I do need to get my homework done. Please take care; and every once in a while, just imagine the Rocks at Buffalo Park, and the sun and the lizards and you and me...and the Stillness of the Spirit between. I miss that. I could wish we could share an hour on your return visit, but I can see that that would be nigh impossible. still, there's nothing wrong in wishing it...love you On another note, I'm not sure how you will respond to this, but it is a pretty big deal for me. Two of my employees who have gotten engaged and made plans to marry next year have asked me to officiate at a handfasting ceremony. What an honor! It will be Wiccan-based, but very Light, and Light-centered. I intend to invite all my Archangel friends, and all their friends, and every Light entity I can think of. It's to take place this Halloween. Please pray for me, as I think I may be stepping on Dark toes to do this righteously. I am glad Manasseh is doing well, even with sock therapy. It does sound really intense...I can only imagine what my schedule will eventually look like after listening to yours. I have every faith in you in being able to succeed on this Quest to find your own Holy Grail within your heart. I salute you. Do take care of yourself. Even a little pampering when you can. I miss you as only God knows the depth of that. I could hope to meet with you up in the Rocks at some time when you pass through town in October. It should be very beautiful up there. C and I are doing truly very well. I smile more than I ever have, ever knew I could. I feel good. I feel happy. Even when I don't, I feel secure in the knowledge that there is someone who really does care about me, with no strings attached...no expectations...no reimbursements. We each wear a ring now, to respect and affirm our commitment to each other. It is truly a miraculous right. I feel only Light...and that I am hearing God truthfully and deeply. It is a good thing, no doubt. I miss you. I miss the prayer handfasting. I'll have to pick up the feeling over the net when you get a chance to email me back. Maybe throw in a prayer or two like you used to do really quietly, or maybe some musings that echo off the boulders of our Rocks in Buffalo Park. I miss your quiet and filling presence. I miss my very bestest friend, different from C as my best friend, for obvious reasons. Still, it is good with C and I. We hit snags and just work through it and go on, a little more wise and patient and understanding of the love that passeth all understanding. We are considering moving to Southern Colorado after first semester...We really liked what we saw... I was in "Canaan"...and knew the Lord would direct me to "Israel" from there. You'd have had to been there, but if you want, I could go into more detail...it was such a wondrous place we visited. Work is going as usual, although I may end up back at Milton in two weeks for I don't know how long... how much fun... Oh well, graduate orientation is Wednesday; some fun there... I miss you and love you more than I understand...it's a spirit thing, a heart thing... you are way cool, crackerjack; I need to send you a shirt with that on it: Reverend Crackerjack, in training. In Truth, Light, and Love 01 Nov 2000 Convergence The whole IS more than the sum, or at least, completely different. When I converged, I experienced terrible mood swings for the first time. I am still experiencing them. I experienced depression that lasted a long time, rather than touch-and-go. My biochemical make-up is altered. Although I could understand some of the individual make-ups and properly balance them with medication and/or activities, there is nothing to prepare me for this. The usual methods don't work well. Nothing seems to stabilize the swings very effectively. Also, the medical/biological/physical issues have yet to manifest themselves in a collective sense, except that the fatigue can hit suddenly and overwhelmingly, as can pain and soreness in various places in and on my body. Nothing emotional, nothing physical, can be dissociated out and dealt within an individual manner, anymore. I choose it not to be so. It's all there, all at once, and it's overwhelming. All the traumas that were dealt with, at first, in an intellectual counseling setting, and then in an alternative energy-moving abreactive setting, are now being revived in a unified converged person, and again seek resolution. I have no pockets to hide my fear. I used to have a pocket for each fear. Each pocket was locked. Each person had a key. Now I have all the keys, and I don't know which ones go where. And the pockets are disappearing and the fears are just everywhere. And I feel so out of control. It's noisy all the time in my mind. It's buzzing all the time along the nerves and synapses and neurotransmitters. The chemicals in my body fluctuate wildly and have no baseline. What's right? What's appropriate? Knowing the empirical norm, I know, doesn't mean it's right for me. So I'm lost. Now, I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up. I know some of my abilities, but not the range, not where the interest lies, not "what is me". One thing of importance in the convergence of an MPD entity is the self-directedness of the Core Child to healing. It's the Core Child that is the key. After convergence, there remains a SINGLE spectrum from birth to now: from the Core Child to the Functioning Adult. Now, these two perceptions must meld. Trying to meld the spectrum into a star, while trying to deal with the convergence of multiple beams of light into one spectrum, not only seems overwhelming (it is), but also impossible (or the next point to the left of impossible). Who am I, then? Some kind of conglomeration of a hundred pieces of me that weren't me for so long? And I feel like a hundred pieces of light orbiting a single soul, but in so much chaos and speed. I'm lost. I'm scared. I'm all of these, but more than just adding them up. And sometimes, I feel like none of these, because I wasn't truly them, just a bit, just a shard of mirror reflecting little bits of fear. And now I'm holding all the shards. I hold them all in my hands, and they cut me, and they hurt, and I bleed. A hundred little cuts and all bleeding. But you can't see them. Nope. I still don't let you. But I can't let me not feel. Because I do. Now. And it is harder to not show you because it's all there, all the time, not little bits that I can put in pockets and have some control over. It's all there, all the time. Overwhelming. There's still self-destructive thoughts, but I have come to know that it isn't dying I want, but just something to stop the pain, stop the buzzing, stop the incessant chaos racing through my mind, and the ever- recurring trauma-pain surfacing over and over all over my body. But I don't want mind- and body-numbing drugs (legal or other). Also, my learning ability is being compromised by small disabilities I never had to deal with. I had a pocket-alter to do that. I can't focus well; I can't concentrate long; I have dyslexic issues. My pocket-alter had no problems with concrete academics and knew gimmicks to pass tests in more abstract areas. My favorite expression growing up was "I don't know"; I'm still not sure. Even though everyone sees me as intelligent as my grades and words can show; it was just a pocket-alter. And a different pocket-alter to associate with people. Because it was demanded; because it was expected; because I could end up in EST if I acted autistic, so I don't. Or at least my pocket-alter didn't. Now I have to prepare myself to deal with people in social settings; not so much in friendship settings as I must have learned something, or am a highly functioning and evolving autistic child within a gifted and highly adaptable functioning adult. Who knows? 11-2-0 I wish I could think of something original to say, but I am going to repeat myself: STAY INSIDE YOUR CIRCLE OF LIGHT. Be still and patient. Listen. Wait. Watch. Don't be tempted to step outside. Be still. I will keep you in my prayers. Blessings,M 11-7-0 Hi... Because I saw myself being tossed about by waves of chaotic energy within and beyond myself, I decided to do something about it. Doing a lot of research in areas of anxiety, mpd, autism, and that spectrum, I began noticing some similarities in the nutritional programs that were offered. Taking from them what I could handle right now, I set about setting up my own framework. No, I'm not into exercise right now. However, because of the workman's comp. injury, I am getting physical therapy from a young woman who uses whole body healing, massage with chiropractic work, and a very good understanding of physiology and the interconnectedness of, and within, the body. And she is in Flagstaff. That was difficult to find. Easier in Sedona. Anyway, I have gone to her twice, and will go again tomorrow. Not only was the shoulder and collarbone areas out, but my ribs are a mess; and I can see, as she manipulates to put them back in place, how much it has affected my breathing and posture as well. I have realized that, at some point in my childhood, my bottom rib was broken and pops out of place often. There appear to be other hairline fractures, as well. To my knowledge, I have never broken any bones as to go to a hospital. As to the vitamin/mineral program, this is what I have done. In the morning, I take a multivitamin (even if it is a children's chewable) along with a Vitamin C (250) and a B6 (100). At night, I take another C, and Magnesium/Zinc (400/15). I have been doing this since 11/2 and things have been very balanced since then. In fact, yesterday and today I have not had to take any Robaxin at all. I could have taken them for the muscle spasms, but I didn't need them for anxiety, and so I just didn't take them because it was important to see how I could respond to everyday living and the stresses inherent within that. I have decided today to take an extra C at midday. I have not had any swings in the past week. I have not had much anxiety at all in the past week, just a little Sunday because I dressed up, but all that actually felt comfortable and professional and not really a problem. I guess this is all to say that, at the moment, things have taken a good turn. I am feeling good (not counting the shoulder/rib pain). I do take turns taking aspirin, advil, hydrocodone, and tylenol, so as not to overload my kidneys, or be stupid. I did not take tylenol pm last night, which was a first in way too long a time. It wasn't a deep and restful sleep, but I did sleep. I think as I progress with this program that that will come, too. Everything else is going ok. I am managing school. I am managing work, so to speak. C and I are still doing very well, communicating being the bottom line. I'll talk to you later. Take care. May God and Goddess bless, what sun and moon caress, where nothing's more or less, and Love holds all the rest. 2-10-1 Dear M, Sorry I didn't get together with you the last time you visited. It was sure good to see you though. Seeing you reminds me of how far I have come; reminds me of the long journey I have traveled...I tend to forget how far I have come, how much I have done; I focus on how much more needs to be done, what isn't fixed yet, what isn't in harmony yet, what's still wrong. I know that I am very fortunate indeed to have C in my life, as she can remind me, without allowing me to sink into what-ifs, or what-nows, exactly where I am. I have also seen a tendency to perceive MPD only from my perspective. And I guess that's not unusual, but I am beginning to see that perhaps I have been luckier than most who experience this, or blessed, or something. The co-consciousness has seemed to allow me to keep some kind of moral compass, some kind of spiritual rudder in my life. Even though it didn't always seem like I had any...at least at those times I would seek out others who I felt did. I am learning a lot more as I go along on my journey, some of which can be disconcerting but nevertheless is progress. I have discovered that I can still "become" some of the alters that are/were aspects of me. And I can "become" them as completely as before. But the understanding and control behind this is that I have a knowing that they are in essence all aspects of me. It's just that sometimes I have a need for them to interact when it is too intense or too triggering or, you know, just too much in some way. Also, if there is an issue that I just need to work on, and that is still too painful or intense for me to work on, or that I have no memory of, well, then I just call on someone who did experience that somewhat successfully. The cohesiveness remains; the harmonic convergence still holds within itself all and yet one. Too far beyond words. I just can say what I experience, and think about the experience, in terms of what is occurring within me. Anyway, take care. Miss you much. Miss the meetings at the Rocks. Talk to you later. 10-10-1 Dear M, I forgot to tell you what happened... because, as usual, I have some interesting communions. Anyway, I came to an understanding of "sin", as it applies to me. My "sin" is directly proportional to my belief in the separateness of all things -- of Creation. There is no separation; we are all One -- with everyone, everything, God, Jesus, good, bad, whatever... God created all from him/herself, so logically, there IS no separation. And yet, so much of what I believe (and others), so much of how I act, how I think, how I feel, comes from believing in a separateness. The Truth is, there is no separateness. Everyone I know, and the millions I don't, everything that exists, known and unknown, is within me... as if they were aspects of me (like MPD), which in truth, they are! The more I meditate on this, the deeper the knowing goes, the heavier the turbulence in my soul, and heart, and mind, because SO MUCH of my own disbelief in me and who I am, and how I interact with others, and creation, comes from that belief. That belief in separation was rife in the Old Testament. Jesus tried to teach otherwise, but also was misunderstood. So I came to see that my "sin" was only, and completely, my own belief in my separateness from the Creative Source. Then, in reciting the Lord's Prayer, I perseverated on the line "as we forgive those who trespass against us" ( I mean, I finished the prayer, but that line get echoing through my mind). And I realized that I needed to forgive those who also believe in the separateness and act out of that belief, not being aware of its lie. The next thing I knew, was that I was being "shown" a "vision" of myself as a "river". That the river accepts into itself whomever steps, jumps, wades, or pees(sorry) in it. The river has unconditional acceptance. The river KNOWS the Oneness, and that there is no separation... therefore, no judgment. So, for me, that day, I could accept some of the people who seem so negative and hurtful into my sphere of energy, my Circle of Light, just as they are... and not be changed, triggered, angered, frightened, or judgmental. It was a fascinating experience. So, when it was time to partake of the Eucharist, Yeshua, my blessed friend, said that it was the "trailmix and juice" for the beginning of another long journey. Pretty cool, you think? Thanks for listening to me. MPD and Shamanism 2003 Psychomorphism The Process of Dissociation By Devlyn Young In lower East Manhattan, a young woman wakes up in terror, finding herself in a place she’s never been and doesn’t remember traveling to. She finds a suitcase, open at the end of the bed, with clothes in it that she would never wear in public, or even buy. She sits on the edge of the bed, confused and weeping. In Chinle, far out on the Navajo Reservation, a grandmother rushes to the door of her hogan, hearing her grandson scream in pain. By the full moonlight, she sees a wolf attacking him, and shoots the wolf dead. She tends to the bites and claw marks on her grandson that night, and calls for the Tribal police to come. They find only the body of a man, shot through the heart, with a bone bead clasped in his hand. Braving the chilly Minnesota snow, a young man starts his old Chevy truck. He is heading to the city’s theater for the night’s performance. Modest in his manner, he has no idea of the depth of his acting gift, which holds audiences spellbound by his ability to so completely mold himself into his characters that they forget it is just a play. A young woman, following her call to the Incan shamans of Peru, has learned not only the art of entering a creature’s mind, but also of becoming one with it. She soars out above the gigantic figures drawn on the Nazca plains, and finally comprehends their meaning. She has not just left her body in trance; she has manifested into another form. Psychomorphism is a change in the shape, or state of being, of the mind. In certain teachings, the mind is considered to be everywhere present in the body, and so this change – this shift – also occurs everywhere in the body. Psychomorphism is the subconscious ability of an individual to so transform thoughts, feelings and behavior as to present as an alternate and distinctly different individual. In shamanic ceremonies, all participants – including the Shaman – perceive this psychomorphic shift. In dissociative disorders, however, this process is most often triggered by actual traumatic situations, and is repeated as often as is deemed necessary for survival, thereby creating many alternate selves. Each projected Self is created specifically to endure a particular situation and thus can present as a different gender, age, and sexual orientation, as well as having different allergies (or none), medical conditions (such as diabetes, high blood pressure, myopia), and different physical, emotional, and intellectual attributes. This change is usually perceived by others, but - in dissociative disorders - is generally never known to the Original Self. However, unlike Shaman shape-shifting where the Self never loses grasp of its own Identity, dissociative transformation often occurs at the expense of the original Self’s identity, causing its extinction, repression or permanent alteration. If it is simply repressed, then there exists the opportunity to access it, and – perhaps – heal the Whole. Dissociation, then, is the identifying behavior, while psychomorphism is the process involved. Each represents, respectively, the manifestation and the executive process, used by the individual to cope with core issues and the systemic belief system. We know that dissociation is the disruption of the integrated functions of consciousness, memory, identity or perception. This disruption may be sudden or gradual, transient or chronic. In the process of psychomorphism, this dissociation is not linked to any neurological discrepancy, medical condition, or substance use. It is rather connected to the pre-disposed ability of an individual to so transform, under actual, threatened, or perceived traumatic situations into another person or entity. In any such exposure to trauma or triggers, this psychomorphic process becomes automatic and beyond the control of the Original Self. Ramifications of this include the likely use of shifting in all future events, whether the threat is actual or perceived, until the individual no longer reacts in any other way. What has come to my attention is the similarity of the evidence and manifestations of MPD to those overt mannerisms of the shape-shifting shaman of indigenous cultures. As I mentioned earlier, in this shamanic process, not only does the shaman believe, perceive and attain a different “identity”, but the observers themselves also perceive and believe that exact change – that transformation into a “new” identity. There are no observers who are not touched in some manner by this. Such shamanic transformations are documented in indigenous cultures, like Peru, Haiti, the Amazon, North America and Wales, by Michael Harner, Alberto Villoldo and Brian Bates, to name a few. This psychomorphic, or shape-shifting, ability is a controlled and focused activity, consciously sought and attained in an intentionally altered state. It is used commonly for healing and learning, although in the hands of selfish individuals it can be used to harm, or even kill. In the Western technological society, such controlled and focused talents are usually found in individuals who perform activities that utilize camouflage or deception, like acting or espionage. In the case of a person with MPD, however, this process seems to be a subconscious, uncontrolled, and unfocused reaction. The psychomorphism is often triggered as a protective agent against traumatic events – a subconscious reaction to actual and/ or perceived threats to the individual’s safety, throughout their entire life. As healing is attained, the dissociative individual may achieve more awareness, focus and control of this psychomorphic activity. Indigenous cultures rely on the Shaman (or similar-type person) to understand the psychomorphic talent present in an individual, nurturing and refining it, with long hours spent on experiential instruction. This person is not shunned, exiled, or treated as if insane. Such earth-based societies understand all things – all Creation – as being interconnected and having some Spiritual intent. That’s why Shamans, who understand the deeper purpose of all things, are honored and trusted by their communities. The Shaman who can shape-shift does so with the knowledge that, as all things are One, he or she can become as one with anything else – like Wolf, Eagle, or Badger – for a particular intent and period of time. The significant difference is that they do not lose a sense of their own identity. In contrast, in the Western medical model societies – and currently in assimilated acculturated native tribes, the MPD person is labeled as “disordered”, “dysfunctional” and “incapacitated”. At the point where this psychomorphic activity impairs the functioning of an MPD individual – at home, work, school, or other important social interactions – intensive individual psychodynamic therapy is typically advised, sometimes in conjunction with less traditional energy-work. As the “presenting” Self and alternate selves take turns shifting into social awareness and presence, to cope with the daily concerns of life, none hold any permanent identity. They usually develop self-medicating and self-numbing behaviors in order to deal with this sense of inner emptiness, loss, sadness, overwhelming pain and fear, and unexplainable rage. These are directly associated with the division of self from self through psychomorphic activity. In a healing sense, this knowledge can facilitate reason and purpose for convergence of identities by demonstrating the “issue” as a positive gift. Bringing unhealthy and non-productive behaviors to the attention of the “presenting” Self, and restructuring that particular response system, has some influence on the behavior of the other selves. However, true and sustainable healing can only occur within the Original Self. This is not to say that the “presenting” Self can’t, in and of itself, develop and maintain appropriate and productive behavior. But an extensive and pervasive healing – that is more than trappings or “smoke and mirrors” – must come through communication, and cooperation, with the Original Self, using a clear understanding of the psychomorphic Gift. This occurs as trust is built with the counselor or therapist who holds a nurturing, non-threatening space in which all the presenting “others” – as well as the Original Self – feel accepted and safe from danger. The psychomorphic ability will continue to give protection, until such safety and trust is accepted as real, and the Self of Origin chooses to heal. There appear to be phenomenological similarities between the shaman shape-shifter and the person with dissociative identity disorder or MPD. While there do exist identifying symptomology and descriptive factors concerning MPD, the crux of the issue – the processing etiology of this adaptive response which I call “psychomorphism” – is conspicuous by its absence. Understanding the phenomenology behind this psychological manifestation currently seems directed by research that either “rules out” or “finds similarity to” previously documented disorders or diseases. Careful empirical observation and identification of symptoms, reactions and effects on physical, mental, and emotional behaviors are documented to determine whether someone has or does not have such a disorder. But the process is still unknown. Understanding the underlying concept of psychomorphism gives clients a key to unlocking their own healing by presenting an opportunity for success. However, in the majority of cases, there is no communication or consensus between the Self of Origin and the “presenting” Self, nor among the different alternate Selves. If there is some continuity (defined as co-consciousness), then a subconscious thread of the original Self can be accessed within each alternate Self. Using some kind of contract, like an MPD Code of Honor, can help unify a diverse community of individuals, and create a common goal of “wellness” for the Self. The goal of successful therapy would be to develop such continuity and communication, including the knowledge of psychomorphism as the key and focus to healing. Currently, there is no known data concerning the absolute correlation of the shamanic shape-shifting ability and the evidence of multiple personality disorder – nor whether all those identified with MPD actually have the psychomorphic ability of a shape-shifter. It may be that some other factor is involved. However, as there is a significant similarity in the presentation of these two phenomena, such a study seems appropriate and meaningful for the healing and functioning strategies of those who have been diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. Perhaps some kind of collaborative study could be designed and developed between medical anthropologists, who are more familiar with how indigenous societies identify and nurture shamans, and Western psychologists who are interested in exploring this connection. With such a collaborative effort, perhaps the true significance of psychomorphism – in the healing of dissociative disorders – can be discovered. Journey Within 1-18-4 On a guided visualization, I am called to go to my ‘safest’ place. I go to the Elf Village of the Oberon, where I have a home. It seems, however, that the Elves have created a new dwelling for me, more toward the edge of the Village, replacing my Room near the Royal Palace. In consideration of my continual Journeying between my world and theirs – and to accommodate guests other than Fae – they have built an extraordinary Treehouse for my Home, through which the Veil traverses. This will make it easier and safer to allow all my family and friends to visit and be a part of my Home, while protecting my Fae visitors as well. It is incredibly beautiful. There is a porch – or external catwalk – completely surrounding my new Home, so that I may sit outside on either side of the Veil. As I sit on the Fae-side porch, I notice that what appear to be windows are actually sheets of delicate energy. What fine magic the Oberon has allowed to be used here! As I am resting on the porchwalk, I open myself to experience all the mystical bonds of energy between the natural world and me. I can hear the singing, taste the light tingling, see the luminous threads that are living and breathing within, without, and beyond me. While I am relaxing into this most wondrous feeling, I see a sparkling crystal quartzite Path leading out into the Sequoia trees. I know that I want to follow it, and so I do. After a while, I catch a glimpse of an immense waterfall in the distance. Traveling closer, I realize that there is a castle at the top of the cliff where the waterfall begins its Song. It is made of the same crystal quartzite as the Path. As I near it, I see that there is no gate, and so I cautiously walk into the courtyard. I follow an Inner Calling to the top of the Highest Tower (the castle’s Crow’s Nest – obvious in Knowing of me). I enter the Room. Many friends and Inner Family members joyously greet me. Then I see the Child – “Hope” – sitting serenely across from the Doorway. She beckons me to come, sit beside her. She gives me a Gift, and – in return – requests to travel with me to experience the world. I am pleased to have her journey with me, and open the Gift. It is a compass. But it is a non-directional one. There are no cardinal points – no “North” – on it. I am puzzled, and ask her about it. She says that it is a compass that points in the direction of Highest Good. We leave the castle together, and begin journeying upon the crystal Path. It leads, after about a mile, past a Cottage. We are called to visit there, and meet an older woman, full of love and joy and peace. She invites us in for cookies and cocoa, which the Child enjoys immensely (and so do I…). Then, she gives me a Gift (and a bag of cookies for the Child), and we set off again on the Path. I open this Gift, as we wander farther on, and discover another puzzling tool. It looks something like a flip-open cellphone or PDA. Minute directions indicate that, if a name is entered or if the device is aimed at a specific entity, it will show exactly those aspects that are also my own… like seeing myself in another. As we walk about another mile down the crystal Path, we come upon a Time-Space nexus, a node of exquisitely gentle yet powerful energy. Appearing before us is my future Self. She says she is called “Lady Silverhawk”, and she also gives me a Gift. She says that when I finish this Journey that is who I will be known as. I will have shifted up a third in the vibratory energy tone of Creation. She tells me the Path continues, but my Journey ends just beyond the Sequoia tree ahead on the trail. She explains that my Gift is a small mystical multi-faceted crystal ball. When I focus on a specific facet – representative of a specific entity – I will be able to see how they see, feel how they feel, and experience the reality they have created for themselves. It will enhance and deepen my Knowing… that All are One, All are Me, I am One, I am All… and that I need not choose loneliness anymore. Then she dissipates into the Myst, and I am left alone with the Child. I ask the Child where she would like to go, as the Journey ends soon, and she replies that she has chosen to remain in my heart. So saying, she turns and miniaturizes the Cottage, placing it in my heart as well, and then asks me to hold her. I pick her up, and then watch in amazement as she diminishes in size to but a tiny flame of bluish-white light. She enters the Cottage, and settles – as a Child – into the lap of the Old Woman, quietly napping in her rocking chair. Rhys' Pieces: Epilogue To shift and see within my hands not emptiness but fertile lands, not craziness but autumn's dance, not fearfulness but daring chance; to shift and feel within my heart the gentle touch of all thou art, and not the gritty sand of thirst, that tempts my soul to something worse; to shift and know within my mind not separateness but Weave divine, not differentness but Self unique -- One with the Word that Spirit speaks. 11/2003 Journey to the Center of My Earth: A Shamanic Experience 4-20-4 I was sitting on a boulder on the edge of the Cliff, outside the Elf Village. Despondent. Not at ease. “What’s the matter, Little One?” “I am not at peace, Master.” “And do you understand that?” “I am aware that I must know my own Peace, to be at Peace. I’m aware that I must know myself to be safe, to find safety within myself, to ever find it outside myself. I am aware. I do know. I understand the concept.” “And yet…” “And yet I cannot find Peace. I would guess I have yet to experience my Peace, and I cannot know it until I have experienced it. In some way.” “That is true. With all your studying and journeying, with all the inner depths and darkest challenges you’ve taken on, with all the risk of dealing with your own demons, yet you have still an inner bastion untouched by your work.” “Too true… I think I will go fly with Ikthar, my Sky-dragon friend, for a while, to calm my thoughts and anxieties.” “Yes. Go then. Another adventure calls you.” And then he disappeared. In the blink of an eye. I whistled (in my mind, for I’m a poor whistler) for Ikthar, who presented himself directly, rising abruptly on the cliff’s updraft, as if he had been waiting. I climbed aboard and fastened myself in, leaving enough slack to stretch out prone upon his back, feeling the wind in my face… my arms outstretched, as if flying. A sudden microburst caught us both off-guard, tearing me from his back. I was freefalling, and he was spiraling awkwardly towards the earth below with a rip in his wing. I reached out, as if the air beside me were but a curtain of diaphanous material, and saw it rip vertically with me, as I fell. As realization dawned that I was causing the rip, I grabbed a hold of the “material”, trying to wrap it about my hand and slow my fall. With intent, it actually worked and I was jerked suddenly, pulling my shoulder hard as I stopped. I knew this was no time to look down (mid-air) or use logic of any sort. I pulled myself into the ripped area and found myself on a very narrow ledge of rock. The gaping fissure next to it kept my eyes looking further ahead, where I noticed that the whole area was dimly lit, radiating off reddish-orange rock walls, crisply striated like a mixture of jasper and tourmaline. Both beneath and above the ledge, the rock ran vertically beyond sight. Off to my left, there was nothing but the blackness of space. Forward, the dimmest of light seemed to beckon. The ledge was too narrow for me to look behind myself, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, anyway. Carefully, I shuffled toward the light, which fortunately grew brighter after a while. Soon, I came to the edge of the path, which ended far up in the face of yet another cliff. I looked out onto a place I had never been before. The vista extended before me for miles, in an awesome sparkly greenish-silver forest growing all the way to the horizon. I was aware of a thundering rumble of many voices nearby, and finally realized that this cliff I was on was the home of a multiple waterfall, or a family of waterfalls. Only a few feet to both the left and right of me, their Presence resounded within and around me. Looking down, I noticed that their Journey lasted perhaps a good thousand feet. I looked around and behind me. There was nowhere else to go. I breathed and relaxed into this Place. Soon, I was able to see the luminous fibers of energy here… and found one close enough for me to grab hold of and rappel down with the waterfall. I leaped… … and landed knee-deep in a side pool, missing the boulders, rapids… and grassy bank. “You could’ve landed over here, you know, and not gotten so wet.” I heard the light melodious voice, touched with humor and concern, and turned. I could see nothing but bright white light, and squinted my eyes closed. Again, the voice. “If you open your eyes under the water, it will help you see in this Place, by washing away the stuff from your other Place.” And so I did. This time when I emerged from the pool, I was a bit more able to focus. I saw a ‘person’ … somewhat a blend of Human and Fae, but neither. Silverish-green aura wrapped like clothing about ‘him’… and he seemed to blend into the environment to a point of invisibility. I pondered about the energy, for ‘he’ had a slight taste of masculine energy (from my perceptions) mixed in a curious blend with feminine energy, as well. “It is a short walk to my Home, if you would like to rest.” He spoke, not only as if he had expected me, but also as if he knew me, my thoughts, my feelings, my innermost self. “Of course, as you know mine. Once you trust yourself. And, yes, I speak out loud for your benefit.” Soon, we came to his Home – a magnificent structure that seemed to be a weave of the environment – with its own sentience created from the interactions of the sentient forms woven into its Self (best description that can be explained in words and Human concepts). My clothes, however, were still damp, as I had journeyed this day in my denim jeans and jacket. I was a bit chilled although the outside temperature was mild. I noticed a fire warming his Home, giving off soft light, but it was not like any fire I had known or seen. “It is of crystalline composition. These crystals grow quickly here, and then they decompose – so to speak – giving off heat and light. When they have become dust, they begin rejuvenating. It’s not important why (he was reading my mind…). It just is.” I sat before the “fire” fascinated, and realized that my clothes had completely dried before the fourth ascension of the crystals. “Care for some refreshment?” he asked, quietly with careful invitation. I knew that in the reading of my thoughts and interpreting the deep-carved sacriglyphs on the walls of my heart, he was aware of my issue with fear… my search for peace and safety. “One brings the other, you know. Once you find Peace, safety will not be an issue.” He offered me a cup of some effervescent clear liquid. “Taste it with your tongue, or with your thoughts, or what you refer to as psychic abilities. You will know the truth.” He seemed to know more about me than I did. “You asked for a teacher.” I knew he was right. I knew this Place was right. I knew this Journey was right. But I was more scared than I had ever been in a long time. “That’s because you have chosen to cross into the Space of your Fear. That’s because you seek Peace. You are in the midst of your Fear energy.” “Then, who are you?” “Your Guide; your Teacher… by your request.” “But this place doesn’t look like Fear.” “Ah, but it feels like it, yes?” “Very much so.” “That’s because your Fear exists beyond what you can see and hear and feel. And I can help you discern the evidence and identity of your Fear, if you want.” “My trust evaporates within me like mist in the sun.” “I know.” “I even fear you.” “I know.” Suddenly, there was a transparent wall of energy completely surrounding me, imprisoning me. Panicked, I yelled at him, “What have you done?! And why?!” “You did it.” “No! This wall! This trap! You did it! What is it?!” “You created it as soon as your fear took command here.” He continued, “In this Place, your thoughts and feelings, all your Knowing, manifests in realness, as soon as the intent is created.” “I didn’t think this thing up!” “Oh, but you did,” he calmly replied. “Your intent blazed through your fear. Actually, it’s quite good, what you’ve done. Perhaps a bit too solid to breathe through, though. You think?” Again, his voice resonated with that quiet humor laced with deep concern. I slowed my breathing. I began to visualize this shield I had manifested as more like the Unicorn netting about my Elfhome. I felt the air moving within and around me once more. Then, I looked at him and said, “You have the Power to override my manifestations, don’t you?” He looked carefully at me, and somberly said, “Yes – but not without your consent. Not without invitation to do so. Protect yourself as much as will make you comfortable. Nothing, but from your own thoughts and feelings, will interfere with your Journey here. I promise, even knowing your issue with trust. Regardless of what you encounter or experience, I will not interfere except by your request or invitation to do so… because this Journey and my Guidance exist solely by your request. It is my honor to walk it with you.” I sat down, again, by the Fire, and sipped from the cup he had given me. “Stay with what is comfortable. Keep your shielding intact. Do not attempt to go beyond what you are ready for, not even to please me or dare yourself. Just be who you are. Be comfortable in the midst of your fear. That is the key.” “When will we be moving on – journeying and such,” I asked quickly. “Why not stay here?” Again, panic coursed through me. And I watched as my energy field once again solidified. I struggled to calm my breathing, and loosen my own cocoon. He quietly asked, “Where can you go, and not carry your fear? You trick yourself into believing that if you move, you will keep ahead of it – and once you stop, it will catch up to you.” “So…,” I mumbled. “And so it is,” he replied patiently. “It is catching up to you, by your belief. But in your deep Knowing, you know it is here within you.” “Yes, inside me, like an alien lifeform, like some perverted monster eating away at my bones and muscles, my blood and breathing – eating away my mind until I am insane. I have to keep myself- my mind… busy, always busy, so it cannot – so I cannot – hear the munching, the tearing of cell and tissue membrane, the acidic disintegration of all I am. If I can keep on moving, keep busy enough, I will die before I go insane.” “And if you stay here, and fight it, I will remain with you. I will give you sustenance. I will hold you. I will provide the hope for you, that – no matter what – I will be right here. Now is the Time. Here is the Place. Stand, and face your fear.” “I cannot stop it from overwhelming me. I have no power. I am helpless.” “Let it come.” “No! Are you crazy?!” “Furl your sails. The wind is too strong. Let it blow through.” “It will destroy me.” “Not if there is nothing to destroy.” “Quit speaking in symbolisms!” “Give him the ship.” “Fuck you! It’s mine! Tell him it’s mine! Tell him to leave me alone!” “You tell him.” “He isn’t listening!” “No, he’s listening, but to his own fears, his own voices. They are too loud. He cannot hear you.” “Tell him to stop!” “He isn’t listening; you told me yourself.” “You’re God! You can make him listen. You can make him stop!” “No, I can’t.” “You won’t!” “I gave him and you free will. I can’t.” “It’s not fair! You’re going to let him hurt me! You’re going to let him do all this, aren’t you?! You’re going to let all this happen, aren’t you!? I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Look at what you let happen! Even with the Demons! Even with Lucifer! Where the fuck are you??!” “I’m holding you, Child. You asked to understand. You asked to experience the worst fear, so you could find the greatest Peace. You asked me not to interfere…” Sorrowfully, he continued, “… and now, we meet again in this Place. Not that I haven’t been with you all the while. But it’s in this Place that the Fear feeds on you.” “I still don’t know how to find Peace within that Fear. I still barter and manipulate and use all my strategic intuition to deal with it. It still overwhelms me.” “But now you know how to stand in Love and Light. You have journeyed, until you remembered again. If you can avoid the Storm, do so. But if you can’t, then stand still and become the Beacon of Light and Love that you are. Most of who are Dark will steer away… but those who reach, those that try to touch or get too close, you must enwrap with Love. It is all you have, but it is all you will ever need to win. Return every hurt with Love; with every cut send Love back to the cutter. There is no better Way. It is all I have to give to you. It is all I am. Let go, and give Love.” “I’m afraid.” “And I’m here.” “Can we still go on some walks, anyway?” “Yes. They can be your reward, for there are things here beyond your wildest imagination… and I would know that. Fun things. Adventure.” “Ok. Can we rest now? Will you draw some protection around me, if I request?” “Of course.” And as I snuggled in amongst the many comforters and blankets, I felt the gentle warmth of his Spirit surround my Shield, like the soft warm light of the Fire. And I slept. Caterpillar I have seen the vision of butterflies From here on my lunch-time leaf, But real as it seems I am dumbstruck By a feeling of disbelief. What link do they touch within me? I seek to deny their power; I hide with the fear of my Knowing – The leaf in my mouth turns sour. I have heard the summon of butterflies And find that I must now move: No more tis enough to be who I am Accepting a self-warped truth. I weave, with doubt as my shadow, The fabric of Death’s dark womb, Tucking in strands of hopeful thoughts, Til I am all consumed……………. …..time stretches so everlastingly like waves on the shore of my being, til I’m touched by the warmth of coming dawn, awed by what I’m now seeing: Wings! I have wings! And the freedom To attend to the desperate cries Of my kinfolk who wander, still seeking The secret of butterflies. Wings 6-9-4 I have learned to fly now. I have come to realize that I have wings. I have to understand that not only do I know how to fly, but also I can fly. And so, I have begun practicing to fly. Flying to strange places and times and dimensions. Flying within and beyond myself. Flying alone and with another. I have learned to enjoy the flying, if not to trust it completely. And now, I find a troubling aspect. I cannot fly without the wind beneath my wings. Without the wind, I do not remember that I have wings – that they are real – that they belong to me – that I deserve them. Without the wind, I do not remember how to fly – that I can fly – that I belong flying – that I deserve to fly – that I am a flyer… not only imagined, but in truth. Without the wind, I doubt myself, I lose myself, I disintegrate into tiny pebbles on the ground that have no belief in wings or flying. I believe that I disillusion myself, in order to survive, in order to maintain, in order to live. I believe that I deceive myself into believing I do have wings and I can fly. I deceive myself into believing that I have a great imagination, that I can be real in dreams and fantasy realms… but here and now, I am only pebbles on the ground, dreaming I can fly, and waking up on the beach in the hot sun, tucked in amongst my kind, realizing it was only a dream. Of course, I can’t fly. Pebbles can’t fly. And those whom I would tell, would laugh, would say, “Liar; pebbles can’t fly.” And when the words wouldn’t stop me from saying it, they would attack, saying, “Liar; pebbles can’t fly, and if you keep saying that, you will get hurt.” And then, when the threats wouldn’t stop me from saying it, they would hurt me, saying, “This is what happens to liars.” And, after a while, I wouldn’t tell. And finally I believed them. And I was sad. I knew pebbles could fly, because I had. But now I couldn’t. And I didn’t. And finally I came to believe them… almost. Just one little pebble holdout. Still. MPD Code of Honor 1. The bottom line for all entities, in all ways, in all actions, must be for healing: both the healing of the whole, and the healing of each individual. 2. The discernment, accomplishment, acceptance, and reverence for the interconnectedness of all entities must be a priority. 3. The respect for all entities, without judgment concerning their means of survival, is non-negotiable. 4. No one entity, nor group of entities, shall prohibit, influence, subvert, or interfere, with any entity’s desire to make and hold contact. 5. Communication must be established, maintained, and encouraged, between all entities, although Outerworld contact is not required. 6. Reverence and respect for the Light in all entities must ever be preserved. 7. As much as each entity is able, honor, integrity, and peace, must be kept. 8. All entities must be willing and open to nurture and/or be nurtured, as is needed or wanted, in the Innerworld and the Outerworld. 9. All entities need to work toward maintaining the integrity of the corporate Whole, in the functioning and living in the Outerworld. 10.The Core child is the singular, most important, entity to be reached and healed; to be encouraged to make contact, communicate, and receive the love given in trust and Light… Open the heart of the Core child, and so open the gateway to true healing. 11.Establish, then, that contact be made as often as possible with the Core child, acknowledging and identifying her, helping her retrieve the lost pieces of her soul, kept in covenant by those who stepped in to keep her alive. 12.Remind the Core child, in gentle and continuous ways, that in truth all the entities within this corporate Whole are aspects of her own incredibly courageous Self. 13.Permission must be asked for and given before healing work is undertaken: consensus, individual, or Core child. 14.Bless the child; bless the children; bless the journey; let go and receive Love. 15.Begin another journey. 16.Pray. ... and so She walks in Peace… needing not to DO anything, but BE her own Shamanself. For such walking creates ripples of Peace, touching the shores of diverse persons and sentient entities, touching the shores of Time and Space, touching the shores of distant seas that wash upon the hearts of all... healing, calming, birthing, breathing, cleansing and renewing ALL... no exceptions. Devlyn Rhys Lighthawk, Elc’yrr © 6/23/2004