Mother held me as waves washed over me, and I drifted in and out of consciousness. Was I really on the shore? Strange, I had never seen the ocean in person, just on TV. I was dying. I was young, about three, maybe four. I looked up into her eyes. I thought, “Mommy, why do you want me dead?” I was burning up. Perhaps I was delusional. I looked deep into her eyes tried to find her soul. “Mommy, why can’t I find you?” Her eyes were blank like she wasn’t anywhere in her body.
“Bill, can you take her up to the bed, please?” she asked. I was so tiny; they carried me like a baby. My room was the furthest away, but Dad took me as if I weighed nothing. I’m not sure how long I remained unconscious. Knowing my ETs and guides, they did a lot of repair work on me while I slept. And while I survived, the drama left psychological scars. I became afraid to eat anything, and I eventually came out the other end as an extremely picky eater.
Food doesn’t touch other food on the plate.
For many years I couldn’t mix my food. Mom had to serve me one item at a time. I would eat everything; then she’d bring me a clean plate. No foods could touch each other, and no juices or gravies from any foods could connect, so Mother dutifully served each item separately on a clean plate. I could not change my habit, led by “irrational fear,” that I held deeply rooted inside me. But despite my food compulsion being illogical, it was there nonetheless.
No tapioca pudding
From that moment on, I would never eat tapioca pudding. Maybe that was the source of the poison. I could, however, eat vanilla or chocolate. But I refused tapioca, even if someone else tasted it. So I started rejecting a lot of foods at that time. And I didn’t have a wide range to start. My minimal diet was unhealthy and led to a lifetime of illness and malnutrition.
But no one noticed or seemed to care. Psychology was not popular in those days. Only crazy people went to shrinks, and no one in my family was about to admit anyone needed to see a shrink.
Maybe my sickness wasn’t intentional and was an accident, perhaps food poisoning. But why did Mom have a dead look in her eyes? Where did she go, and what was she thinking? Trust broken, from then on out; I could never entirely depend on my mother. And where was my family? Why didn’t they notice?
And what a shame, for I was so young, I was home alone in her complete care for hours on end. And it’s hard to believe my mother was that much of a monster. We did love each other, and we had many good years where we were best friends before she got dementia. So maybe there was something else going on? And of all the things to remember after all these years, why this?
Mom and I did not bond at birth. She never let me live it down that she was sick her entire pregnancy with me. She told me several times that mine was the most painful birth of her three children. At least she didn’t blame me for her weight gain, which many people do to her children. When angry, she’d raise her skirt, revealing bloody panties as if her period was somehow my fault. I thought for a while there that perhaps I wasn’t hers, but I’ve done my DNA tests, and my chart clearly shows I’m related to my parents on both sides of my tree.
Something happened to my mother that she was so abused, split into her alters, and wanted to hurt me. In psychology, we understand that what one does to others is often done. Would I have been so unreasonable to my children if I had any? I believe, on some level, I so profoundly imprinted my distress at the hands of a crazy mother that I didn’t want to pass any potential insanity on to children.
Hard to write
This part, the dark side, is always the most challenging part to address. Yet we live in the continuum between good and evil, and the microcosm reflects the macrocosm. We are all of it. What seems external is part of the self. As above, so below. As within, so without. Own it all, and you are free.
Demonic
The part you suppress or repress that you deny eventually becomes demonic and threatens to destroy you and your entire ecosystem. On a planetary level, repressed sections threaten the world and the ability to exist as a planet or a species. Balance in all ways at all times. But how do we obtain such goals when so much seems out of our control? Do we, in reality, actually have control over much at all?
Last night I had a dream.
In the dream, all the evildoers of the planet who threatened to destroy our world, the United States, our democracy were rounded up and publically hung. At that point, my dream became lucid, and I began a dialogue with my guide. “Surely, there is another way to correct course for our planet. Indeed, we don’t have to kill all those who would overthrow the government, but we could send them to Mars and create a colony like Australia had Botony Bay.”
“But there are millions of them. They threaten to destroy our world. Hanging the quickest way. We do it in public, and everyone watches as they did before, and that’s a deterrent to alter behavior or die.”
I saw an image where gallows stretched from one end of the White House to the other. People lined the streets to watch, and once they witnessed one group getting hung, they had to rotate to the back of the line if they wanted to watch any more. All who defied the government, the criminals, traitors, and insurrectionists, were brought up to the nooses. Group one hung the traitors, group two cut them down, and group three hauled them away. Then, more were led to the gallows and nooses placed around their necks. It was gruesome and went on for days with no end in sight.
“How awful,” I declared, “Certainly, there must be another way. We must be able to rehabilitate these people.
“Washington is only one location. Every state capital and city in the USA and worldwide is doing the same thing. There are millions of traitors.”
Now I’m really in a dream that’s going super dark. It’s late, almost 9 AM, and I’ve been sleeping way beyond my usual wake-up time of about 7 AM. I must’ve been making noise because Mocha, my part Siamese comes up and chirps at me, waking me up. She’s in my face, not diplomatic at all. She doesn’t meow; she chirps, which sounds like a bark. So I respond to her demand as she won’t stop until you do.
I’m still processing that dream. It’s like a nightmare, but lately, reality’s turned super dark, so I have nightmares within nightmares. And writing this book, there were many parts of my life, especially my dark childhood and where it seemed I had no control.
So life goes on like an endless Groundhog Day, year after year, life afterlife. But in between, we have some fun, joy, laughter, tears, and find love in the strangest places, when we need it. So we carry on.
But I just wanted to add that I find it essential to address the dark and the entire continuum. For we are all of it, and without the polarity, our paradigm does not exist. But maybe we eventually outgrow it, move on and become conscious.
I look forward to that time, be it this lifetime or another. But, I must do each day for now, for tomorrow may never come to Janet, but it may come for my soul.
