Lost Yet Found: My Inner Journey – Part 1

“Now, each event of which you are aware is already a translation of an inner event, a psychic or mental event that is perceived by the soul directly but translated by the physically oriented portions of the self into physical sense terms.”   Seth Speaks, the Eternal Validity of the Soul by Jane Roberts

As a child I had several experiences of “seeing things”.  One vision was lovely and comforting yet the next one was frightening.  So much so that I built up a resistance to seeing things.  I kept an eye out just in case something scary tried to appear, to let the bad things know they weren’t welcome.  Which worked, mostly.  Only a few managed to get through the barrier over long periods of time.

I also carried an image in my mind of a closed door at the end of a tunnel with a light shining from beneath it. Even though I wondered what was behind the door I had no intention of opening it. I was afraid of what I might see.

All of which began to change after I married and had children.  I began to question my former beliefs. Things I had assumed to be true.  I started on a long journey of self-discovery.  What did I know for sure?  Not much.  Eventually I opened the strange door in my mind.  I would later learn it was the first of many more to come.

I tackled the subject of religion.  I’d grown up in the Protestant church but had been impressed by a visit to a Catholic church with a friend.  I loved the grandeur, the ceremony, the priests in their robes, the beauty and elegance.  I made an appointment with a priest. I told him I was considering raising my children in the church.  He said I would have to become a Catholic first and gave me some materials to take home and read.  I read the material and realized I couldn’t believe all of it.  Since he’d said I had to believe what was in the materials, I realized I couldn’t become a Catholic.

The children’s father left such decisions to me.  They were still toddlers, all four under five years of age, the third and fourth being twins.  So I felt we still had plenty of time to decide which church to join. Meantime we said grace at meals.  At Christmas time their father read the story of Christ’s birth to them.  They were, of course, sweet adorable children. I was very proud of them.

One day it came to me that all I really had to pass on to my children was who I was (since I had no wealth).  I not only should be a good example but also improve myself, try to become a person with the qualities I wanted to pass on to them.  Having always been an avid reader I read many of the self-help books popular at the time.  But I also read books which helped me to understand myself.  Which led to the next door in my mind.  I would open it to rediscover my early intuition and spirituality.

In the late Sixties and early Seventies Jane Roberts was contacted by an entity who called himself Seth.  She began writing the Seth books.  As I read them I found answers to many of my questions.

To be continued

 

 

No,Trump, Doctor Ford Did Not Make a Mistake

Thank You, Dr Ford

Thank you, Dr Ford, for giving me the courage to post my own Me Too experience.  I thought I had not let the experience affect me.  But then I witnessed your integrity, your bravery and knew I too, must speak.  I know you speak the truth but that you’ll become the focus of unfair attacks by those with less courage and more spite.

For any former Facebook friends who may read this, I also quit FB last week.   I enjoyed many of you but at my age I need to refocus my energies.

Is The Me Too Movement Over?

Is the Me Too Movement over?  Is it too late, or is there a place where I can sign on.  I recently entered his name on Google and learned he died six months ago.  No, he wasn’t the one who did it to me but he was the one who changed his mind and finished destroying my self-esteem.  His obituary said he was 86 years old and had a full life.  Well, bully for him.  Although I’m not quite 80 I’ve had a full life too.  I had no choice but to go on.  What else do you do?  You pick up the pieces scattered about, grin and bear it.  Roll with the punches.

We had met and he’d romanced me, making me feel so loved!  Treating me like a lady. But we double-dated one night with his friend.  His friend told him.  Later I noticed a change, asked what was wrong.  He told me.  The friend had recognized me.  He had arrived at an alumni party of fraternity brothers and their dates.  I was passed out and they were searching for my panties.

Humiliated?  You bet.  All I remembered was arriving with my date, having one drink and waking up the next morning, sleeping bodies scattered about.  I woke one and asked him to take me home.  What else could I do?  It never occurred to me something had been in that drink.  I’d never heard of such things.  I assumed I’d had too much to drink.  As usual I blamed myself.  I’d learned early in life that anything that happened to me was my own fault.

I’d like to blame him, even though he’s dead.  Kick him in the gut for assuming I was trash, not the “nice girl” he had believed me to be.  But instead I hope he had a miserable life, married a girl who was actually a hooker, found out on their wedding night (since she wouldn’t let him before) that she was not a virgin.  I wish all kinds of evils on him for the time I suffered, licking my wounds until, on the surface I healed yet went on to make a few more bad choices.

But you know what?  I wouldn’t change the results of those later choices.  Because I’m a survivor.  I learned to love that innocent, naïve girl that I was.  Welcomed her into my life.  Along with the one who at age fifteen successfully fought off an attempted rape. I hit him over the head with my shoe and threatened him with my brothers.  “By God,” the asshat said.  “I never thought I could get a virgin!” and begged me to marry him.  The answer of course was ‘Hell no.”

To Think That We Saw it on Maplewood Drive!

Today I dare to express a little sentimentality to all those erstwhile dwellers of the old neighborhood, who allowed us into their lives, as they brought their love and blessings to the blue house.  Which began as white and changed to gray, but still remains blue within our memories:

     ODE TO THE BLUE HOUSE

    A little magic wrought

As sight unseen and ears unheard

A tiny tear escapes, without a word

T’was only yesterday

The children ran

Waving stop! stop! at the ice cream man!