I assumed people with fancy houses and nice cars were trust fund babies or terrible people who profited off the backs of hard working people like myself. After years of struggling, Dan and I have built something wondrous together. It's difficult to accept. We have a magnificent home and gorgeous children who have grown into interesting and exceptional adults. We have health and wealth and happiness. How the fk did this happen?
By deferring our gratification, driving crappy cars, saving our money for projects that would pay off later, and living below our means, we managed to invest enough to become "comfortable." We can take a break. It's so hard to relax when we've been busting our butts for so long. I don't even know how to stop. I think about what I should be doing to work more, to produce more, to sell my wares, my time, my skills and to continually contribute to our "bills" fund. Thinking about making more money by side hustling is what I have been doing for 3 decades. And it has finally paid off. But now, I have to force myself to take real breaths. I just learned how to breath properly in the last year or two. I have been taking trauma breaths my whole life. You're supposed to take a breath with your diaphragm and your stomach. Who knew? The more healthy I become physically and mentally, the more terrified I am that I will have to face my truth. I need therapy. I have so much accumulated shadow and darkness in my soul that I am afraid the dam will kill me when I finally open to a professional. I am afraid to cry. I can't let go, because there might not be any me left afterwards. But for now, I'll make an appointment with an orthotics person and help these tired, feet, and maybe get some new sunglasses.
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I attended an event in Auburn about five years ago and sat in the second row. It was a healing ceremony with deep throat singing and harmonic chanting. Halfway through the ceremony, the man in front of me, my shield from the direct power of their work, was sobbing aloud. Tears poured from my eyes, but thanks to that man, I was able to do it quietly. How does the ceremony pull the pain and sorrow from our souls? I didn’t even realize I held any. Whatever spiritual sickness I carried, left my body peacefully in the salt water through streams down my face. I didn’t even bother wiping the tears away. The poor man in front of me was profoundly impacted. He couldn’t stop crying. He tried to hold it in, but the struggle created gurgling, slobbering noises. That could have been me. My daughter, who was about 11 years old at the time, wasn’t affected at all. She watched in amazement snapping her focus back and forth between me, the man and the monks.
These monks are legit. Last year, one of my best friends was dying in the hospital suffering from a COVID related stroke and heart attack. He was not likely to recover. The monks were in town and happened to be doing a ceremony for the “Dead or Dying.” I texted my friend’s wife and told her I was going, and praying for Andrew. That ceremony was intense. I have experience with Thai Buddhist ceremonies, having attended weddings, holidays and funerals in the temple that my mother and grandmother attended. These services require kneeling and chanting for extensive time periods. It hurts your feet, your ankles, and it is difficult to stay still or concentrate on anything except the bodily discomfort. If there is a way to sit correctly I don't know the secret. I constantly shift, and move my legs from one side to the next. The monks sit on an elevated platform, and we sit below them. They get to be in criss-cross applesauce, but because we have to kneel to the ground at intervals during certain parts of the ritual, we sit on our legs and feet. There’s pain and numbness. It distracts me every time. The Buddhist ceremonies take anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour, depending on the reason we gather. My husband and I had a traditional Thai wedding. My maid of honor’s legs, right above her feet, were literally bleeding from kneeling for so long. Our best man had to take a break to walk behind some bushes and vomit. In retrospect, I understood why everyone else in my Thai family chose to have “American” weddings instead of doing a traditional Thai ceremony. The Tibetan ceremony for the “Dead and Dying,” was an extensive full hour prayer. There were no breaks, they just busted right into it. Though we were sitting upright in Western style chairs, to sit in this type of meditative state for an hour is difficult. I prayed with all my heart. My friend, Andrew, was in need. His family would be devastated without him. The chanting intensified, and I focused on solidifying with the monks' process. I felt it. It was an emotional work out, heavy and it strained my psyche. I couldn’t or wouldn’t break concentration. Near the end, after 55 minutes of strenuous and continuous prayers, I saw Andrew’s spirit in a dark blue empty space in my mind’s eye. He was lying flat, mummy like, floating, and fully wrapped in spiderweb thin, golden threads. I watched each strand of the web being carefully pulled off him with the sound of the chanting. He slowly spun, staying horizontal, assisting the unraveling. It was a process that continued until no strands remained. When his body was free, he suddenly sparked alive, was animated, and floated upwards, rapidly. He was smiling, and he looked at me lovingly. I knew it was him, not my own projection. I felt his message, “Stay in touch with Sharon. Check on the kids.” I agreed mentally. Then he kissed his bicep and flexed at me. WTF? That was completely unexpected and unlike the Andrew I shared art, sipped tea, and hung out with for 20 years. He was raised by a sweet English mother, and was a little more conservative than your average American male. I loved to tease him about flatulence and other things that made him uncomfortable. He surprised me with that bold gesture. The ceremony ended and I contacted his wife. She had been at the hospital with him. While her best friend played a harp at his bedside, Andrew had just passed peacefully. When I told Sharon about the vision, she said they paddle boarded together often. Andrew would kiss his bicep, flex and then ditch her in play. That was a message for her through me. What a blessing to be able to confirm that Andrew was free, on his way, and going wherever it is we go when we die with peace and love. What does POA mean? It's the Power of Attorney. It means someone who takes over someone's estate. You would think my mother's trust would protect her. Nope. They erased it. Eradicated it. Bloodsucking liars win this round.
I had a realization after visiting my mother in the Rehabilitation facility, every day for the last month, spending hours before work and after work giving the nurses a break and giving my aunts a break, that I wasn't giving myself a break. My mother got an infection in her knee after having surgery. Her blood pressure was through the roof. She was panicking and not able to sit still to let her leg heal. She was not used to being heavily sedated or medicated. I felt so bad for my mom. She's in stage 4 of Alzheimer's. She told me she didn't even know she was having surgery. Her sister told her they were going to the hospital to visit a friend who had a stroke. Then they sedated her. She didn't deserve to be lied to and manipulated. I tried to help her a year ago. I hired an elder lawyer, I made an appointment with her doctor. I wanted to protect her. She was losing it, mentally and had lost her capacity. Her greedy sisters circled like vultures. They wanted her money, her properties and her jewelry. They illegally assumed proprietorship of my mother's belongings. They lied to her about me, and tricked her into signing forms giving them conservatorship. She was already declared incompetent, but her doctor said she was still able to choose where to live. She moved from her home into her sister's home. I hoped they would care for her properly, and I did visit. An advocate from the county checked in on her too. She seemed well enough, even calm. She started seeing a psychiatrist and was medicated properly. She was calm and content until someone had the idiotic idea to give her, a person with Alzheimer's, surgery then rehabilitate her in an unfamiliar surrounding. For two hours before I went to work I would sit with my mom and keep her company so she wouldn't over use her knee and the healing process could begin. I would also go after work every day. They gave me a weeks notice that she was having surgery. I didn't have enough time to plan, get days off from work. Stressed out every time I left the facility. She would call me non stop in a panic. My mom was zonked the first few weeks. She wasn't used to taking pain pills or anything for that matter. I would put on Thai music or movies that she liked, chat with her and redirect her. I toileted her at least once every visit. She couldn't even stand the first few days. Thank goodness she was able to hold her bowels long enough to get to the toilet in her wheelchair or walker. Four hours a day I was assisting my mom, and then she got a fever in the facility. One of her sisters told the nurse that her POA, changed her status to DNR. That's Do not Resuscitate. We actually don't know what her true wishes are because she doesn't have capacity. And why was it changed? They don't give a crap about her, only her monetary value. Did they write themselves in as the beneficiaries of her property? There is no doubt. And where were they when she was confused and reinjuring herself in the rehabilitation facility? Mom said she was coming home with me. She admitted that she made a mistake. She said her sister was stealing from her and using her to collect welfare for the entire house. I don't have the physical space for her anymore. Since she moved out, we have taken in my husband's mom. It's a three bedroom home and we also have a teenager. Three rooms, and 4 inhabitants, We have a full house. My mom wouldn't listen. She demanded I give her a key to the vehicle. She hadn't driven in over a year, her license was taken away legally because of her dementia. But she was done being abandoned in a rehabilitation facility. In her mind she was ready to go home. She'd drive, even if she forgot where she was going. I promised her sister was getting her room ready and it would only be a week more. The rehab was also a nursing home for the elderly. My mom wanted out of there. She was agitated and refused to be redirected. With her blood pressure problems, it was concerning. I had to pick up my daughter. It was late and she had just finished work. The nurse said my mom was fine, and that she'd watch her and keep her in the facility so I could go. I haven't gone back since. It's been four days. I feel guilty because my mom didn't deserve what they did to her. I doubt they'll leave her there because then they'll lose the Social Security check they steal every month. And the caregiving cash they get from the county as well as Cal Fresh and whatever scheme they have played will go to the facility instead of their greedy pockets. They hid $30,000 in cash, my mom's money, in their safe. My mom sold a property right before her abduction, or the move. It's never been about the money for me. It's my mom. They all did this together and they can deal with it together. I can reassess my own priorities and stop assisting those who have done nothing but deceive and create unnecessary catastrophes for me and my family. My mom thought she was dying, on drugs, after the surgery. She repeated that she wants me and Emerald to have her money and her jewelry if "anything happens to" her. It did happen to her, and we only care for her welfare. Her money and her jewelry mean nothing to us. The hags can fight over all of it. And they can wipe my mom's ass. Dan has adopted a gremlin. I know that isn’t a nice thing to call his mother, but I have never been one for social niceties. Her saving grace is that she’s pretty low key. She stays downstairs, and eats what we give her, except the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She is deaf, so we can be as loud as we want and do what we have always been doing, like stomping around, having loud sex (Dan wishes), being weird, whatever. His mom is physically handicapped, so she is unable to walk upstairs without a direct invitation. Dan drives her upstairs a couple times a week to bathe. She doesn’t feel safe in the downstairs shower. It’s not designed for her condition. She’s also missing teeth and has no dentures. That does nothing for her outward appearance. She came with nothing but the clothes on her back. It’s been a month. So far, we're hanging in there.
Our home is large enough to separate the two spaces, so it’s more like she’s moved in next door, to a lower apartment. Dan works downstairs and has been doing the majority of the work to assist her. She basically watches TV and sits all day. Or sleeps sitting with her mouth open. And she gets her exercise by walking to the porch with her walker (that we found) to have a smoke. Dan’s mom called him because she was in a homeless shelter in Oregon. She lived in Oregon her whole life. I think she did a lot of meth. In the twenty three years that Dan and I have been together I met his mom 3 times. When James was three she appeared with a friend, crashed at our place for a couple days and partied like it was 1975. This included cheap cigarettes and canned beer on our dime. Before leaving, she hit us up for cash, for “a grave marker” for Dan’s sister that passed away 40 years ago. Then, when Emerald was about the same age, 3 years old, 10 years later, she popped over again. And she hit us up on her way out using the gravestone scam. That only works once. The third time she was brought over by her sister, a truck driver, for an almost normal visit. We had a barbecue at our home and I met his aunt and some cousins. They lived fifteen minutes away, but I had no idea they existed. None of the family members on Dan’s mom’s side ever called us. We all barely know one another. It is awkward, but most families that don’t communicate are. I think a giant bottle of Costco Vodka was demolished on that visit, and that pretty much sums up our acquaintance. Dan was raised by his grandmother and his father. His father died when he was 21, and we started dating when Dan was 24 years old, 3 years later. I adored his grandmother, who we cared for in our home for 5 years. She read so many books and we bonded. I love books too! Grandma was into romance novels and the National Enquirer. She was kind of a racist Oakey, but so was her entire generation. She wanted to "give" Dan the house, but we had to buy off her shitbag, conservator daughter who sued us for $75,000. We didn't fight it because the money was supposed to pay for Grandma's care. Surprise, her kids were selfish, greedy assholes and dumped their mother in a home, her greatest fear. Before grandma was taken, she and I would chat about Dan’s childhood. She loved him so much, she put him up on a pedestal, “Danny was such a good boy.” Dan’s grandmother was a kind person, and she raised Dan to be the giving, loving, hard ass person that he is. She gave us a piece of paper with her signature willing her gold ring to her grandson, John. The aunts stole it. I never met Dan's father in life. I’m a medium, so his father has appeared to me numerous times. Once it was to stop me from ruining one of his recipes, and another time it was to stop me from breaking up with Dan. He would also rub my head like I was a dumb baby. I sensed he was a decent person. When Dan’s mom visited, I felt Dan’s dad’s love for her, so I gave her a chance. And I’m still giving her a chance. Or trying in my own weird way. She just eats, hobbles around, smokes and poops. Maybe she’s not a gremlin. But she’s driving Dan a bit crazy. I think there's this karmic circle where the roles are reversed and you have to care for your kin. I kind of had a revelation, moving back to the hill,, and now it's Dan's turn. But I watched him already do it with his grandma. I guess his tests are still happening. I have been working and taking care of our teen. I was assisting my mother with her knee surgery, but I’ve tapped out. My mom and her sisters can live in the bed they made. I’m going to watch everyone else eat crap now. Dan had enough on his plate without having to adopt a grown ass woman who made poor choices. They were practically strangers and now they can get to know one another and finally have that mother and child bond. WOW. Cringe if you want to. The plus side is that we’re all learning sign language. I’ve read that new skills are necessary to fight the onset of Alzheimer’s. And Dan likes driving to Yuba City for his mom’s medications. Fun outings and tales of the People of Walmart, who could ask for more? A few years ago I made a resolution to write. And I pulled out a musky, 15-year old draft of a true story about my gay cat's love affair. Then I illustrated it and printed hard backs and soft copies. Some supportive and wonderful friends even bought them. Done. It was wonderous to finish it, though I never really tried to publish. I just wanted to finish a project. With adult ADHD this is a major accomplishment. Writing has always been a secret desire.
I ran into a friend, ten years ago, at our 20 year high school reunion. She told me she worked as a writer in San Francisco. I was so excited, how wonderous to pursue that career, the one I secretly coveted. She told me something I wrote, when we were children, inspired her to follow that line of work. That filled my heart with so much happiness. I had it! The magic really was inside of me. I asked her what it was like to be a writer. It was the dark door I never opened. I was afraid to write because I didn't want to fail. She said it was "lonely." She had no husband. She had no children. And she was okay with it. Choosing art, a second option, instead of writing was my correct path. I do love writing and I can do it at my leisure. When I am in the midst of a torrential downpour of ideas, and I'm writing almost as fast as my thoughts flow and my husband or kids walk in and interrupt, I lose it internally. That is what she was talking about, the loneliness, you can't be bombarded with other people's needs or noises and still be successful at writing. The emptiness allows her to finish the pages. Families are loud and annoying. The presence of their energies, their needy little bodies and loud music or voices can enrage some ultra sensitives like myself. But I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. Since painting is something I have practiced and honed, it is easy for me. I can create lesson plans, paint and still hold a conversation with people around me. I can do all the things to run a successful business without gagging or alienating the ones I love. Being an only child with a mother that battled mental illness, depression (and my poor little body), and a workaholic father who was never around, I was always alone. I wrote songs in my mind, and sang them to the trees. I climbed and and bashed around in the woodlands, with occasional company, friends or cousins, but for the most part I was always alone. I didn't mind, but I wasn't socialized properly. I had the manners of a mongrel and a rebellious nature when directed by anyone in authority. I had dreams, though. I dreamed of having a family, a real family that loved one another and made time for one another and even hugged. I never told anyone, because my sarcastic mouth would make a self depreciating joke about that hole inside, but that is why writing is so important. Without a proper therapist, just books and friends that stay up telling stories in the middle of the night, I just did what I do and somehow created the family I always wanted. It is absolutely perfect for me, rough around the edges, but so full of love. I have so many godchildren, and great godchildren that I stopped counting after 17. They give me so much happiness that I could honestly pass away at any time and be 100% fulfilled in life and complete. I don't want to be a writer anymore, I just want to be me. My resolution is to continue to be. It is absolutely thrilling, the concept of changing our bodies, minds and spirits because a new year approaches. What do you want to do? This is our opportunity to dream, open our souls to our deepest desires, and let them pour out of us and become reality. I was a tom boy, swam in nasty ponds, had rock fights and punched people. You can not climb a tree wearing a dress, so there was no point. I never minded being covered in scabs and bruises. Who hasn't had five concussions and been knocked out 5 times? My cousin teased me the first time I wore a dress; I was in high school. He said that's the moment when he realized I was a girl.
It was fun to dress up in high school. I played with make-up a little, and didn't know what the heck I was doing. Because it was the 80's, people were doing the new wave punk shadow with wild bright lines that extended to the brow. It was ridiculous and fun, but it got old fast, because I was lazy. I minimized the time spent foofing and maximized the output. Black eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss; good to go. Perfect for the next 20 years. There was a show on television where women would attempt to get assistance, in their broken down cars, or get any kind of service without wearing make up. There were 3 times likely to be ignored and were passed over when they didn't wear make up. Mind blowing! Now I wear make up just in case I break down. I might need help with all the crappy cars I drive. I learned how to put on make up from a YouTube tutorial I watched about fifteen years ago. Make up artists transform dumpy girls turn into princesses. Magic make up can make all our ills go away. You see it now with the filters. When people think I look great, it's actually quite the opposite. When I'm feeling great I barely wear any make up. I don't need it, I'm content. If look like a slob, covered in paint clothes, wearing flip flops and my hair is a mess, don't worry, this is my happy place. "Are you sick?" Only of being judged. When I apply layer after layer, and dump so much spackle on my face that I don't recognize myself in the mirror, I'm in a dark space. If you think, "Woah, Anita looks one step down from a drag queen, or a prostitute," I'm hiding somewhere in there. Please be kind. It feels like the world is balancing on a tightrope, between terror and ecstasy. Every morning I wake with hope, seeing the sun again. We had a dry and desolate winter, but the light reminds us of what is still glorious. There's chirping birds, butterflies and bees. They're bouncing from flower to flower, and right now everything is green. We're still here. We are surviving.
We might have to adapt a water wise desert lifestyle. For now I'm going to just go with the flow. Maybe it's not water anymore, perhaps the wind flow. Lost a very close friend recently, and have been tasting mortality. It hovers in the wayside, peeking in with a sharp, shooting pain somewhere unexpected in the limbs or organs. And usually at 1 AM. I started writing about my childhood, a compilation of life tales, got 60 pages in until I realized when if I actually finish it, I might drop dead because there's nothing left to say. “I need to practice with eight people in person and 20 people remotely to get my healing certification. Can you be one of my hands on people?” Of course I would assist my best friend of 45 years. She had been doing Brazilian Spiritual Healing with a prayer group for almost ten years, and she had recently enrolled in something called Geo Love Healing. She said it was an advanced course she had been taking for the past few months and she had just returned from a gathering of healers that met from around the world to learn this new technique.
I read about Reiki and other energy work, and have always been interested, but not enough to do anything about it. I considered becoming a Reiki Master when Amy Allan, from the Dead Files, said people needed to hire energy healers to get spirits out of their home. That was a certification I could get behind. Then I would finally get paid. Making and hustling art is not like winning the lottery. But I looked up the coursework to become a Reiki master and I never followed through. Someday, I thought, but then forgot. It was no surprise Joy would be doing this type of work. She has always been a healer. Since we were children she had attempted to heal my allergies, my bronchitis, and my sprained or broken body parts. She always brought me delicious morsels, made from scratch (with love), teas, healing tinctures, plants, honey and flowers. This lady is a mother robin and the world is her nest. She had four of her own children and stayed home for their entire childhoods. When I expressed how hard staying at home was for me, she countered she loved it and it was the most wonderful thing in the world. My friend radiated love and goodness from her soul. Joy smells like fresh baked bread and she feels like a warm embrace. Four years ago I broke my ankle, it was a rotten, swollen, purple, blasted bubble. She was at my house in minutes, rubbing it gently and lovingly with castor oil, giving me homeopathic arnica, icing my ankle, elevating it, doing what she always did, helping me heal. This year my health care provider told me I needed a blood transfusion and to drink liquid iron that made me nauseous and caused my teeth to turn black. I was diagnosed with severe anemia. Who showed up at my house that night with raspberry and nettle leaves, beet roots and other iron rich vegetables, and even a tea infusion pot? She even brewed it for me, showing me how to get my hormones in balance, naturally. Joy, of course. I never had to go to the hospital, was able to dump the liquid iron poison and I felt like myself in half the time the doctors said it would take. When Joy asked if I’d be her test dummy, I jumped at the chance. It is exciting to support her during her personal transformational process. She’s finally doing what she was born to do. She is learning to heal herself by healing others. Joy’s pure and spiritual nature will finally have an outlet. This woman has never put herself first, as long as we’ve been friends. She always put her kids, her husband, her friends or her animals first. She’s doing it for all the right reasons, to make the world a better place. I love her so much. I waited for her call. When she contacted me, I was watching my great God niece and nephew. Their grandmother, my cousin, had just passed and their dad needed some processing time. I waited until we all had adequate time and space, and then made the appointment to go to her house when the kids returned home. Joy thought we may need to reschedule as I had the little wild ones overnight, funeral arrangements to plan, people to contact and cleaning to do. It’s always a good time to get energy healing, though, and it was self care Sunday, so I thought, screw the dishes in the sink, then flew to her new place, only 30 minutes away. She had just moved into the cutest little studio apartment. I was excited to see her new space. I wasn’t sure if I was at the right place. “Flying lessons?” Adorable seasonal décor, but it looked like someone had lived there for a while, not newly moved in. It was all hers. She made everything feel so homey. I brought her a housewarming plant and it fit right in with her other patio plants. She verbally welcomed it to her home, and then brought me inside for some mint tea and conversation. The space was clean, and I felt like I was at home, though it was my first visit. We chatted about our journeys, personal growth and our own practices of self healing. I felt so comfortable. We shared our goals and spoke about painful obstacles we have already faced and where we were currently directing our energies. I was working on forgiving the man that raped me in childhood. Joy is releasing her own insecurities, and has thrown herself into her courses to become a master healer. She will be certified and regularly practicing soon. Joy works as an office manager but has been an X-ray technician and dental technician. Spiritual healing is more suited to her personality. I would know, we’ve been friends for my entire life. The healing began when Joy set our intentions, speaking aloud that we were working with only the most evolved and highest order of healing entities, and our creator. She directed me to open my heart, and instructed me to allow spirit to work through her into me. She explained I might experience physical sensations, visual phenomenon or emotional release; tears and even anger. She said there may be deep rooted trauma that could possibly surface. She related it would be temporary and every person experiences the healing in a unique way. My eyes were closed, and she guided me to open my heart. I witnessed a glowing light of shining green sparkling from within. I was lying face down, on a comfy quilt covered mattress. This is the standard position I get in when I have acupuncture or massage services. She placed another quilt over me and wrapped me up like I was a morphing caterpillar within a snuggly cocoon. As she began the work, the colors transformed into a turquoise blue, white, then yellow. After about ten minutes of this meditation, I witnessed a dark reddish mud color that slid down, from my head to my lower back. It turned black and went into my legs then to the soles of my feet. During this time I could feel physical sensations. The tips of my right fingers and my forearm started to become numb. Then one of my ovaries pulsated, just a bit of pressure, and then the sensation moved into my feet. My right foot felt warm then burned hot. In my mind's eye the bottom of it was pure black. My eyes were closed but I wondered if Joy was standing right at my feet doing her work. I didn’t peek, I just remained still. In guided meditative practice videos, they always say to “Go back to your breath,” if your thoughts drift to other places. I have adult ADD, so I need this kind of specific guidance. Thinking of chores? Back to the breath! You forgot to grab dental floss when you stopped at the store. Back to the breath. Did you make that deposit? Back to the breath. I sat still and let my mind wander to a million different things, but kept returning back, where I was supposed to be, in the breath, with the body and I saw the energy transform. As the black in my feet started dissipating, the heat from my soles faded away. A waterfall of tiny golden white strands of light cascaded down from my head to my feet. It stayed for a few minutes and I could follow each individual thread if I wanted to. Everything went dark, but not uncomfortably. A radiant, dark blueish, purple light surrounded me. It felt like floating in space, I was detached from my physical body. I have meditated before and have experienced different visuals and color sensations, but have never experienced this before. I could feel my body, but my spirit seemed elevated. I would equate it to floating in a large body of water. I was in that space for a while, then I became aware of a soft, fluffy lavender color, which looked as if it felt like down bedding. It was such a contrast to the dark blue space, and I welcomed it. I smelled something then, a scent that I can only describe as "home." The odor was comforting, and it reminded me of a mixture of cedar, sandalwood and fresh baked pastries. I wasn't sure if it was the place I was in, or if it was in my mind. With the awareness of the scent came another color, a reddish brown, orange; it was warm like sun drenched adobe. I felt comfortable, safe and loved. Joy informed me gently that the session was complete. She spoke softly and quietly. I noticed the ethereal music playing in the room. The temperature was cool. She directed me to take my time, to stretch out my physical body as needed, and to come back into myself at my own comfort level. We shared in detail what we experienced during the session. Joy explained what she was doing during the same parts of the energy healing when I saw each color. Her experience and mine were incredibly parallel, the points of interchange and timing were exact. She was surprised at how aligned our energies were. There was no strong separation between her force and mine. She expressed that she had done many healings and that it was completely different than what she had experienced in the past. She noticed that my energy was pushing back in my shoulder area, and she had to work harder to get my energy to flow freely without resistance, especially in that area. I have numbness and pain and get regular massages. I had acupuncture to remedy the circulation issues in my fingers and arm because of knotted muscles in my neck and right shoulder. Massage therapists have said they could feel the tightness and knots. That is where I have the most pain in my body. Joy felt that push back. She also explained what the golden strands of light were used for, how that energy blasts through, cleansing and pushing the toxic elements from my spirit body then filling me with healing light. She thought it was wonderful that I could see the actual work that she was doing. Joy shared that when she accidentally used her own energy, she recognized it, then surrendered the work to spirit. That was the remote healing process. My spirit was moved into a bubble. That was during the time I felt my body go "into space." When I transitioned from floating in dark blue space to seeing a bright fluffy lavender squishy cotton type fabric, Joy said she was actually wrapping me (mentally) in a blanket of healing lavender flowers. The correlation wasn't surprising, but it was confirmation that the healing was working and our energies were completely aligned. Lavender is not a common color during my meditation. We shared our experiences, going back and forth about what happened when I saw things and what she was harnessing at that time. She noticed I had an excessive amount of spiritual cords she had to remove from my lower back. It didn’t hit me until I was almost home, what those cords were doing there. She said usually she will find them in the heart chakra or crown chakra region. They are attachments to other people, alive or crossed over. I knew mine were from my husband who experiences severe pain in his lower back region. I’m a physical medium, and sometimes when I stand too close to him I’ll feel a jolting painful sensation there. I’ll yell at him, to stop giving me his pain, it’s an ongoing joke. “Take my pain!” but I try to give it back to him. Thank you, Joy, one point for me. He'll have a hard time getting another cord there, now that I'm aware. Joy explained that after the session I could experience a wide range of physical sensations, from exhilaration to vomiting. She expressed that I may feel energized and wonderful or exhausted and ill. She recommended I drink a lot of water. I do that anyway. She advised me to take it easy and take time to process anything that may arise in my body, mind or spirit. I went home and finished the dishes, I couldn't help it. I felt lovely. This was an unexpected gift, and a successful therapeutic experience. I have been working on myself for the last ten years, with much success, using meditation, journaling, massage, yoga, exercise, nutrition and art therapy. I had never experienced an out-of-body floating in space consciousness before. It was wondrous and a substantial intimacy. I felt very connected to the universe. Love overflows in Joy’s work. Because I went into the session without expectation, I was elated with the results. There were honest concerns that the black tar pulled from my soul that slid out of my feet would somehow attach to Joy, but she was very upbeat and positive that she was protected, and the working space was secured. She claimed any toxicity would go where it needed to go and be lovingly healed. I could not have asked for a better Geo Love Practitioner. I felt safe and comfortable in her hands. Every step throughout the process confirmed her loving spirit is capable and talented. Joy is doing what she was born to do. Three of my paintings burned in the River Fire. The pieces were with my family, in their homes. They weren't the family that I was born into, but the family that adopted me when I was young and had not yet found "my people." They are my people.
I was nineteen when I started seeing Bob. Bob had one arm, sparkling eyes and a dynamic personality. He was super charged and never quit. He was funny, loving and and everyone was drawn to him, a magnet. When we were together we could communicate telepathically, I know it sounds strange, but I believe we had many lives together. We were together for six years. During the time I was with Bob, his family embraced me with open arms. They were the most loving people I have ever known. They merged and blended with my family and though Bob and I separated, the bond of our families never did. His sister is still my sister. His parents are still my parents. I adore his brothers, and their wives. All of the children, even Bob's. call me Auntie. I never thought twice about leaving the paintings. During the time I was with Bob I painted these pieces. They were a self portrait series when I was getting my Art degree at Sacramento State University. His little sister got the pieces that have the images of me praying and screaming and Bob had the tiger. Since I made them when I was in school and they were assignments, I wasn't really attached to them, but I liked them enough not to paint over them. Then, I gave them away. The ones his sister had, at least were gifts. In the midst of a bad break up I made Bob pay me for the tiger. The art was created 1998. When I ran into Bob right after the fire, I asked how he was. He said he was surviving. His house burned down, they lost everything they had, but his family was safe, thank goodness. They were all out of the house when it happened. He told me the tiger painting burned. My automatic reaction, I said it was a "sucky" painting anyway, probably the first thing I ever painted. I watched his face fall. He liked it. He lost something special, something he cared about and cherished. There are so many of those things that are valuable in ways that can't be explained. Monetarily, it was only worth a couple hundred dollars, but to him, it was a connection to a part of our past that can never be replaced. When I went home that night I realized his sister's house that also burned down, next door, had a painting as well, and his mom and dad's house had another of my paintings in it. They were also next door. Three houses, three paintings, all gone. Nothing left but ashes. These weren't just normal people. They were all volunteer fire fighters. They were EMT's. They donated to their community and took care of people with special needs. There isn't a better or more family on the planet. They have a go fund me page set up, and if you are so inclined, please help. Thank you. gofund.me/7ce6c4e5 The paintings, like all their belongings, can be replaced by other paintings. What was will never be again. We're going to rebuild, together, as a community. I gave Bob's eldest daughter a new painting, one that she told me she liked. I know it doesn't make up for losing all her belongings, but she knows she's loved. One little thing at a time. Failure is inevitable. My eyes are finally dry. Exactly four years ago, today, my family uprooted from the comfortable home that we had renovated in Sacramento to move to Nevada County to care for my mother.
Our new home was my mother's home. My dad built it in 1987. It's big, it's unique. We're getting used to it. My mom almost lost the property to the bank because she borrowed over a half a million dollars then gambled it all away. Dan and I purchased the home, so she wouldn't have to move into her boyfriend's trailer, but begrudgingly, because the state of repair was incredulous. We are not rich, and now we own a battered, dilapidated disco mansion in the hills. Who would have thought? And Dan is the best unpaid "Dandyman" in the world and he's fixed so many things I can't even begin to describe them. The scope of work has been ungodly. Dan didn't want to do it, but he liked the idea of helping my mother, leaving the city, and moving our family to a safe, old fashioned environment with better schools. We were thwarted with every step. My mom fought me before I even came through the door, as it was barricaded by couches and came with 5000 square feet of hoard. Every bag of unused clothes, TV, table, dresser or couch I donated to goodwill or dumped was met with a screaming childish fit. I had seen "Hoarders" enough times to pretend to care. The psycho stress out can cause blood pressure issues, and I found out my mother's blood pressure was off the charts. As a rapid cycling bipolar, she should have been medicated. She refused all medications with the exception of her blood pressure medication. I don't know if she took it, but she said she did. We endured the fights, suffered the ongoing daily battles and remained steadfast in our goal to make the home livable. I left just enough knick-knacks and random spaced out items to keep her comfortable, and removed just enough for me not to twitch with clutter stress myself, A locking door to my mother's giant suite allowed her to hoard whatever she wanted in her room. She stockpiled furniture and created piles around herself. Those piles grew without my knowledge, as other bedrooms, the kitchen, home offices, family room, dining area and living room were cleared. It took these last few years to realize my childhood trauma, the pain of existence, mass amounts of spiritual baggage and my deep rooted psychic wounds were NOT MY FAULT. My mother was never kind to me, not even when I was a baby. My father confirmed that she was "jealous of the attention I got" from him or from anyone else. Thank goodness I came back to the hill, otherwise I would have continued to carry the burdens of my many disorders. I would have never properly nursed or healed the festering wounds of my childhood. The last four years of torture has been worth it, because I am mentally, spiritually and emotionally healthy. They call it "shadow work," diving deep into past traumas to rediscover and unpack, then dump the baggage we hide in the closet of our souls. It was cathartic to have other witnesses who saw the daily behaviors of a rapid cycling, bipolar suffering from psychotic delusions. My mother was and still is the definition of a raving lunatic. I got the brunt of the attacks. But I knew what was coming. And I wasn't 3 or 4 years old anymore. I was no longer afraid of her rage or alienation. I don't know if the Alzheimer's disease made her behavior better or worse. She believed she saw me and her boyfriend of 17 years having sex in the laundry room. He's 78 years old, and a very kind and caring gentleman. But that broke him. He left. They are no longer together. He explained he just couldn't handle the thought that the next person she would accuse him of being with might be my 15-year old daughter. So he moved back to his small trailer in Sacramento, alone and defeated. My mom tried to attack me, yelled and screamed in my face that she saw us, and there were multiple witnesses to our sexual encounter. I was actually pretty proud of myself, as I reacted to her violence with love. I offered to drive her to the doctor's office so we could discuss the situation with a health care professional. I explained she was having a delusion and we could get her help. She stomped off and refused to look at me or speak to me for over a month. I had to give my teen daughter the food trays and coffee to deliver to her because she remained angry and upset about the made up incident. Over eight months later she found something of her boyfriend's in her room and gave it to me. "You can give it to him when you see him in Sacramento." I told her I hadn't seen him since she kicked him out. She did not believe me. She believed we were having an ongoing affair. Every day my mom accused one of my family members of stealing her jewelry, her money, her wallet, her purse, her car keys or even her make up or hair dye. She lived in a locked room. It was filthy in there. She constantly hid and misplaced her items. I always responded, "Clean your room, you'll find it." I tried to remain calm and kind, but my husband got snappy sometimes. He'd say no one wanted her things or she should go to her room. But I still tried. I quit my regular job at the school as a behavioral assistant and declined another position that was offered at a fancy "School of the Arts," because I needed to care for my mother. I took a part time position that was less demanding and worked only two days a week out of our home. Five days a week I made my mother coffee, breakfast, lunch and/or dinner. I catered to her needs, and deflected the accusations with love. It was tiring, but she is my mother and I felt I was doing God's work. I used to work as a social services advocate and I loved that position. If I could care for other people's parents I could surely care for my own, no matter how unkind my mother was. When my mother looked me in the eye and asked why I ripped the diamond ring roughly from her finger at 7 AM that morning and then ran out the front door down the road, I knew she was declining. I explained to her that I was outside taking photos of my garden at the time she believed I had accosted her. She said if it wasn't me it was a lady that looked just like me. I convinced her it was a bad dream, and we eventually found her ring on the floor under her bed. From that point on her delusions became worse. She lost items daily and began having more lucid hallucinations. I contacted an aunt who is the director of social services at a local nursing home and rehabilitation facility. I asked her about our options. She told me my mother was never kind to her and she wasn't interested in helping. She said there was one doctor in Nevada County willing to assist dementia patients and it required her referral and $400 cash for a meeting. I told her it wouldn't be a problem, but we both knew my mother would refuse to take any medication. My mom's doctor had given her pills to stave off the Alzheimer's a few years before and she refused to take them. She would not admit anything was wrong. She insisted she was fine and also continued driving, though she got lost driving to her sister's house which was less than a mile away. Her sister's husband texted me when he had to drive to go find her and lead her home on multiple occasions. As my mother's condition worsened, her greedy sisters began popping out of the woodwork, expressing that they believed my mom owed them their father’s portion of a home in Thailand, his portion being $10,000. He died in the early 2000's. They could have brought this up with my mother during the last 20 years, when her brain was still actually working, but they waited until she was showing major signs of Alzheimer’s symptoms and obviously suffering memory loss from the dementia. My grandfather was a poor and miserable little man without a penny to his name, because he mooched off of others, their claim was ridiculous. I found out from my father that my dad had actually purchased that home and my mother received it as part of the divorce settlement. Grandpa would have been lucky to have two nickels to rub together. I do remember him having to pay $10,000 for a rape/molestation settlement a few years before he died. Could that have been where the money went? Look, ladies, so lucky, I found your money! My mother's sister brought opals to my attention that my mother sent to her favorite cousin's daughter, with love. Her cousin took her in, and cared for her for a month when my mother was visiting in Thailand, and when my mother returned from Thailand, she gave the opals to her willingly with full forethought of gratitude. My mother's sister believed she was somehow “owed” those opals because she offered my mother money for them and my mother declined to sell them to her because of a superstitious Thai belief about who should wear opals. She thought she was doing her sister a favor. The opals would be bad luck for her sister because sister's birthday was not in the "lucky to wear opals month." I was livid when I found out my mother's sister used my mother’s key to get into my mailbox and search for my mother’s stimulus check to “pay my mother’s bills.” When I asked her to give the key back, she said she didn’t have it. I checked my mother’s key ring and searched her vehicle. She did not have her mailbox key. Her sister also convinced my mother to put all her cash in a safe, at her house, to protect the money. My mother is currently being sued by Bank of America for $16,000. She owes five times that to all the major banks. She defaulted on multiple credit cards with Chase, Wells Fargo and others. She's on a fixed income and retired. There's no more money. My mother was vulnerable. I tried to protect her. I took her to a lawyer and we began the process for conservatorship. I gave the lawyer $1000 to do it legally. Before the meeting I asked my mom to grab her wallet in case we needed to show or copy her ID. She couldn’t find it. We searched for an hour, and I told her I’d help her look later, after the meeting. We went home, and I helped her look for her wallet until 12AM, over ten hours. We did not find it. The last time she used it was when she was shopping with her sister, the week before. I did find $3000 cash that she had lost about 9 months before (gambling winnings) and I put that in her safe with a lot of jewelry I found stashed all over her room. It wasn't valuable jewelry. At 1230AM my mother's sister called. Whatever she said to my mother put her into a frenzy. She started yelling and ripping her room apart. I told her I was going to bed because we had a doctor's appointment the next day. The doctor’s appointment was the second step of the conservatorship process, per the lawyer. My mom was angrily throwing things around her room looking for the missing wallet. She had previously accused me of dumping her purse on her bed when she was looking for things, and then 10 minutes later couldn't remember that she had dumped out the contents and was angry with me. She couldn't remember doing it, so it automatically was one of my family members, though she was in a locked room. We never have had a key to her room. She believed people were going into her room and trashing it. We were very "disrespectful." I was used to the abuse and the accusations so I just went to sleep, like every other time. My mother believed I threw things all over her room while she slept that night, because she did not remember doing it. In the morning my mother wouldn’t look at me or talk to me, she refused to let me drive and took off without me. I followed her in my vehicle. Her sister was sitting, waiting at the doctor’s office with a stack of paperwork she had filled out with my mother weeks before. Her sister was not invited to the doctor’s visit, but apparently she had assumed conservatorship without my knowledge or consent. When we started discussing the recent events her sister told the doctor, in front of my mother, that I was hiding my mother’s wallet to keep her from driving. I told her that was a ridiculous accusation, as I had searched the room with her for ten hours. Her sister also said my mother was perfectly capable of driving. Because my mother’s blood pressure was so escalated and the doctor did not want to become involved in a family dispute, I stepped away from the situation. I asked my mother what she wanted to do, and she said she wanted to live with her sister and she wanted her sister as her conservator with her physician as the witness. I took back the paperwork the lawyer gave me, that I had given the doctor to fill out. He said he had already filled out those same forms a few weeks before with my mother and her sister. Though I had been caring for my mother for the last 4 years, her sister had also filed paperwork with the county to collect "In Home Health Care" monies to care for my mother. I went to the lawyers office and was able to get $500 back. She charged me for two consultations and the work that was already done. I rescinded my stance. I no longer wanted to be her conservator, if that was against her wishes. The sister that was the director of social services had helped my mother's other sister file everything legally. I stopped by Adult Protective Services in Nevada County to investigate some sort of recourse, and they said they were unable to help if my mother was not being physically abused. My mother's sister came over that night and grabbed my mother’s safe and took it to her home. I cried all that night and the next day because I felt I failed my mother. I was two months too late, and unable to protect her from her manipulative, greedy family. I do believe my mother's brother in law has my mother’s best interest at heart and that he will look out for her financially. He is a good person. My mother has been staying there for two weeks. I opened communication with her brother in law. He stated that my mother will get mad at them and want to come home. That is no longer an option. If her sister wants to care for her, she needs to do it at their place. While I dealt with the endless accusations and burden of caring for my mother full-time, her sister capitalized on her property. Now, I am free. It feels surreal, and I am still in shock from the entire parody of events. I will attempt to communicate with my mother's brother in law so I can visit my mother maybe, eventually, on holidays or even help move her items over there as smoothly as possible. I forgive them all and wish them well. Maybe this is for the best, as they grew up together and somewhere in her heart and soul, if she has one, I think my mother's sister must love my mother. My mom is wrapped up in the web of a master manipulator and she is too mentally ill to help herself, but I can finally take a breath. I hate losing, but what did I really lose? I did my best. My mother's disease progressed greatly and she is painfully difficult to communicate with. I hope she will be happy. Her newest delusion and the reason she wanted to leave is that she believes I dumped her bathroom trash on her when she was sleeping (what?!) and have been driving her car (only drove it once to take her to see the lawyer). It will be something new next week, and I wont be around to hear it. I will make sure that someone is still looking out for her and I’ll be there for her, and call the cops and report elder abuse if they treat her unkindly. She will no longer be in the house she loved to hate for over 32 years. Now, I can dump this hideous hoard in their driveway. Enjoy it all, my greedy garbage eaters. You earned it. |
My mind wandersI write whatever I'm thinking in no particular order Archives
July 2023
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