Soma
Resources => Stories, Writings and Other Snippets [Public] => Topic started by: Ke-ke wan on February 04, 2011, 01:07:59 PM
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Certainly, I wont post the entire thing in here, its too big, but I thought I would add a few new pieces as I work on them.
I've got just a few chapters left to write. But I've been stalling, reluctant to re-live some of the scenes. Obviously recap of the events is important, so I buckled down and wrote one today. It's rough draft, still.
I’ve Fallen, but I’ve got to get up
It was late at night; Myron had been drinking as per usual at this time in our lives. On this particular night he had also done some LSD. I had been around him before when he had been doing hallucinogenics and he didn’t usually become violent. Usually I could breathe a sigh of relief if he was doing mind expanding drugs because I knew I’d bee safe. For whatever reason, these types of drugs took the pressure off Myron and the fear out of me, for I knew he wasn’t going to get angry, he wasn’t going to explode and above all else, he wasn’t likely to hurt me.
At this time we were living in a double-wide trailer just outside of town. It was less than a ten minute drive, so close enough if we needed anything but also nice and private. Oh how Myron loved to have his privacy.
Myron had decided, quite late into the night, that we had to go to Granny’s house to get something. He had stashed some dope, cocaine I believe at Granny’s for safekeeping and now found himself in dire need. I needed to drive him to the farm right away. Of course, I obliged.
Once at the farm, Myron began rummaging around here and there, behind washing machines and freezers and inside of cardboard boxes in the storage area. No matter where he looked he could not find his package. I had no idea where it was and no matter how many times he asked me, I couldn’t tell him where he had put it. Heck, I didn’t even know it existed until he confessed to hiding it.
As much as I could, I helped him try to locate this thing that had his coke hidden inside of it. All I knew was that I was looking for some sort of silver coloured container, with cocaine inside of it. As the search wore on, Myron got extremely agitated and I was beginning to get nervous. Now, what had been a relatively calm search had turned into a catastrophe! Overturned boxes, contents spilled on the ground, displaced furniture, broken dresser drawers, motor vehicles torn apart. Anything that had been in the basement that night was not safe from being destroyed. Everything that got in his way, was torn to pieces or thrown on the ground.
Sometime during the search, Myron came upon the litter box belonging to our Cat “Billy”. We had only been living in our new trailer for two days and for some reason I had overlooked bringing Billy’s litterbox to the new pad. It was badly in need of a cleaning. Myron was quick to point out how much the litterbox stunk and was also quick to blame me for not cleaning it sooner. Nevermind that I had just moved all of our belongings, by way of a small Hyndai Pony, load, by tiny load, from Granny’s basement the trailer and then totally unpacked and put it away all by myself. Nevermind that I had also been working a full time job at the same time and Myron was doing not much but drinking and partying. And nevermind that Billy was an outdoor cat and wouldn’t really need the litterbox at the new place anyway. It would be just as easy to dump it out and forget about it.
But Myron wanted to make a point. And make a point he did. He dumped the dirty litter all over the floor of Granny’s basement in a dusty smelly cloud and, when I attempted to comment, he got extremely angry and demanded I find “The dirty flowering cat!” I knew Billy wasn’t at the Farm, so wasn’t worried for his safety, weakly pretended to look for him just to keep Myron from exploding. “Where the flower is that filthy cat, Lor? Where the flower did he go?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. By this time, fear had begun to paralyze me and my vocal chords barely worked. All I could manage was to squeak out a small “don’t know.” It was a lie, I did know full well where Billy was, but certainly was not going to divulge the information with Myron on a tirade. Who knows what he would do when he found the cat? What could he possibly have planned?
In his search for the cat, Myron came upon many animals; the farm was quite full of cats and dogs at that time, good for micing and guarding. Most of the animals scattered when they heard his voice. They knew to fear when he got this way. Patches, Granny’s old Blue Healer, though was unfearful of Myron and happened to get in his way, this night. Before I could fully realize what was happening, Myron was roaring at Patches “Patchy get the flower over here you stupid flowering dog!” The situation had quickly turned into something so very ugly!
Myron picked Patchy up from where he was now cowering at the bottom of the front door stairway, walked up the stairs with the dog, yelling and cursing the whole way. As if Patchy somehow was responsible for the dirty litterbox. As if Patchy would somehow help him find the cat. “flowering dirty cat! flowering filthy animals!”
My fear, once only paralyzing my voice, was now paralyzing my entire body. I had a deep sense of foreboding about what Myron was going to do to Patches. My senses failed me though as I tried to rationalize. Myron had had Patches for many many years, he was his faithful companion. Surely he would never do anything to harm him. My eyes, though, overrode any of the rationalities I was making as I ruefully bore witness to what he was about to do.
Myron picked up Patchy, not a small dog, just like he was a rag doll, packed him up the stairs to the balcony and swift and mercilessly as I have ever seen dropped Patches two stories down to the Orchard ground below. For a long while, Patchy did not move. Nobody moved or spoke. I don’t know if I was even breathing. Time seemed to stand still, frozen as I was, frozen as Patches seemed to be on the ground below me. Minutes, frozen seemed to turn into hours with nobody moving a hair. I was beginning to wonder if Patch was able to move. Terrified of moving myself, I desperately wanted to go and help him, but was torn between wanting to help the dog and fearing for my own safety if I was to do so. Finally, Patch moved a muscle. He tried to get up on all fours but was unable. He moved into a slinky crawling position and slowly inched his way out of sight.
Patchy’s movement seemed to break the silence of the moment and Myron snapped back to reality. His anger was back with a vengeance. The mission to find the dirty, smelly cat, still foremost in his mind.
He ordered me to get in the car and drive to the trailer. “I’m gonna get that filthy flowerin’ cat yet!” So, drive to the trailer I did, the entire time hoping and praying that Billy would be nowhere in sight when we arrived.
Sadly, as soon as we got to the trailer, Billy was sitting on the front steps as eager as he ever was to greet us. My heart sank. The thought of what Myron had just done to Patchy his beloved companion made me sick to my stomach and the fear of what he would do to Billy, a small cat, was nearly too much to bear.
Swiftly, wasting no time at all, Myron jumped out of the car, grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck, threw him in the air, bellowing “you filthy flowering cat!”.
I ran to Myron, in a feeble attempt to stop him from hurting my cat, but not in time to do much but make him angry. As if in slow motion, I stood by limply as Billy soared up into the air and then back down toward Myron. Like a football player, about to make a play, he kicked poor little Billy right in the midsection. I didn’t see where Billy landed and almost didn’t want to. The entire scenario was sickening and gut wrenching. First lovable old Patchy had been injured at the hands of Myron and now my poor little kitty. All I could do was hope that Billy was okay, but knowing myron’s strength and seeing the force of the kick, my hope was quickly overshadowed by a sense of guilt and doom.
Myron then ran out toward the trailer shouting “I’m getting the flowerin’ gun!” At this point, terror was flowing through my veins like fire. I had no idea who his next victim would be, but could only hope that nobody got in his way. Then I remembered I had locked the trailer door. Terrified that he would get to the locked door before I could open it, I ran as fast as I could up the stairs to unlock it. I was too slow. Myron reached the locked door before I could get to it and as he tried to knob and realized it was locked, let out a scary bellow “Open the flowering door, CUNT!” I fumbled with my keys, but just couldn’t get them into the lock fast enough. Myron pushed me out of the way, throwing me down the stairs and then busted the door open with a shoulder thrust.
I’m unsure how long I was on the ground. But came to realize that my head had landed on a steel rim from a tire. The pain was excruciating and I could feel warm blood dripping onto my face and down the back of my neck. I felt the back of my head with trembling hands to find a huge gash from where I had hit my head on the rim. I was dazed and confused, but tried to get up. Dizzy from the blow, I grabbed onto the stair railing and attempted to walk back up the stairs. I looked in the still open door of the trailer to see that Myron wasn’t in there, but was already sitting in the car at this point.
I got back into the car, per Myron’s barked out orders. This time I was in the passenger seat. I could still feel the warm blood trickling down my head, and starting to congeal so I pulled my hood over my head to try to hide it. And as we drove back to the farm, Myron had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the rifle. Like a scene from a bad movie, he was shooting with his left hand and guiding the car with his right. Not caring what the target was or how many other cars were on the road, Myron fired shot after shot out the driver side window, sometimes hitting stop signs and sometimes hitting nothing at all.
By the time we got to the farm, my fear had once again paralyzed me and I was unable to get out of the car. Immobilized by my terror I could only watch in horror as Myron got out of the car waving the shot gun in the air and shouting “Wake the flower up Granny! Wake the flower up!”
“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Three shots fired into the wooden front door of the farmhouse left a deadening echo in the Orchard and a gaping hole in the door. Silence, like a knife, cut through the midnight air. With no words at all, Myron got back into the car and put the gun in the back seat. A hush descended upon us as we drove back to the trailer, Myron snapping back into an ordinary, non-violent mood as if none of this had ever happened. I, with dried blood, crusty all over my hair and face, tried to make sense of the night, but could not.
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Horrendous...
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Writing is not a bad way to exorcise the past.
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Writing is not a bad way to exorcise the past.
It's been one of my greatest tools, so far. :)
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Interesting, how you make this stuff the business of people around you.
Really? And how do I do that? By writing a book about my experiences? It's cathartic for me to do so. There is a lot of energy still stuck and bound in that area of my life. It takes a lot of work to free it and writing is one way for me to do so.
I doubt that I have the power to make it anyone else's business. It may spark emotion in others, writing does that. How did it make you feel, I wonder?
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Really? And how do I do that? By writing a book about my experiences? It's cathartic for me to do so. There is a lot of energy still stuck and bound in that area of my life. It takes a lot of work to free it and writing is one way for me to do so.
I doubt that I have the power to make it anyone else's business. It may spark emotion in others, writing does that. How did it make you feel, I wonder?
Well, it did not make me feel at all - I remember your previous installments of this stuff to know what is in there.
When you made it public previous time (about five years ago), you said you were writing a book with the purpose of telling your story to the world - in other words, you were perpetuating your story.
When you were asked then as to why you were posting this stuff (the intent behind doing it was clearly not about getting rid of it, but about eliciting pats on your back), you did not answer, but stopped posting it.
Now it is back again. Your horror story. Knowing the strength of your subconscious, it is completely reasonable to ask why?
Mind you that remembering the story in itself is merely a precondition to pulling the energy back. The latter is done through breathing.
As you opted for resurrecting the post I opted not to post, be prepared for more questions like that.
It is not the act, but the intent behind it that matters and I deeply wonder about yours.
Re-telling the story might serve as a good tool (no argument with Michael), but the intent determines with what outcome and why.
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You're a funny guy Juhani. You complain that I am not doing the work
And yet when I share my process, you criticize.
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PS, not that I owe an explanation, but writing this book has been difficult. I've struggled with it over the years
But I know when it is time to work on it. That time is now. You are free to doubt my intent, however this was a promise I made to myself and know that
I need to keep it. Once the book is finished I have more healing to do before I can move to a deeper level of forgiveness--
Of both Myron and myself.
Like I said before, I'd appreciate if you'd mind your own business, Juhani. I understand your view and further comments are not necessary.
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You've made clear your intent, Lori - and I know how hard it is to follow through. I've had similar stories myself which I've kept buried, from myself.
You won't know the outcome until you complete following it through. So I'm for us all standing back and giving you the opportunity. May it serve as the exorcism and liberation it should be!
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I understand your view and further comments are not necessary.
Then don't be so desperate to invoke them.
Instead of fussing around, getting stuck in thorns and complaining, simply do your job.
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Writing about intense events from our past is a very effective way to 'pass them out' of our energy body. This is why DJ recommended Carlos publish his notes.
It's not just a matter of writing, but of sharing with the world.
I have recommended many here write their stories, but so far Lori is the only one who has done this in a book form, aside from me. Writing and sharing here in Soma is also effective, and is why I encourage members to 'tell their stories' in Soma. Even if that doesn't elicit great response, it is still very efficacious.
There is a strange heaviness that comes from hoarding intense memories. Soma's intent is for personal growth, and thus everything that happens in here comes under that umbrella. That is quite different to telling your stories to friends at coffee or at a party - such telling is about identity reification.
There is the danger that such reification is also brought about from telling in Soma, but on the whole, so long as the story telling has the purpose of dedicated depth, as opposed to superficial restating of old stagnant preferences, then the exorcising of energy bubbles in our being will ensue.
There are many members in Soma who don't have the courage to speak of their emotional life, just as there are many who don't know how to get in touch with their emotional life, and thus deny it is happening at all. For those who have dug and exposed their underbelly, it is quite obvious when someone is blocking the natural expression of their emotions. It comes out, but it comes out distorted and destructive, in ways that the person often attempts to project onto others.
It is far better to just fess up to these intense moments in life - spit it out till there is no need to spit it out.
Don't fall for the belief that your past traumas are too personal or private. Write it down and share it. But write it down thoroughly - including all the small details - go into it in full detail. No good just talking quickly or obscurely. Don't hang on to it like some precious secret that you feel you don't want to burden others with - that is a ruse. In fact we love to harbour our dirty little secrets, as it oddly makes us feel special.
Now that Juhani has put himself forward, I presume he is happy to be used as an example. Juhani has his own emotionally traumatic past, about which he has only spoken in a private folder. That is fair enough - everyone has a right to request their upsetting details be kept private. However that isn't sufficient if we are speaking of purging the subconscious energy bubbles.
Firstly it's not sufficient to speak in general terms - it has to be done in great detail, such that the past is brought back to life. It has to bring up the entire emotional life of that past event. It is best, as Lori has done, to pick off single events, and describe them in detail - try to mention all the little side matters, like the colours of things, or smells, or a person walking by etc.
Secondly, it has to be shared with a wide group - the request that things be kept secret is just another way of keeping them. To set them free we have to tell the world, without fear of being quoted outside a small select group.
So I have a recommendation to Juhani. That he start to write about his traumatic past events in this way. And to first test the waters by posting them here in Soma.
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So I have a recommendation to Juhani. That he start to write about his traumatic past events in this way. And to first test the waters by posting them here in Soma.
Why would I do it for a second time?
I went through my life story systematically from 2001-2004 (but started the preparations and learning the methods earlier). Wrote it down and pulled the energy out. When doing recap was on the agenda, I posted about it - described the sensations and methods. Now I recapitulate every single day.
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Then don't be so desperate to invoke them.
Instead of fussing around, getting stuck in thorns and complaining, simply do your job.
Okay Juhani stop being so stupid. You are being very stupid.
Lori is just as much a part of Soma as you, and she has every right to post her story in here if she likes. You can choose to read it or not read it. I choose not to read it because I cannot read stories of abuse. I don't want to hear about what Lori went through, I want to hear about her life now, and all the trials and tribs with. That is my choice to do so, as I have a right to read what I so desire. But Im not going to be so arrogant like you to chastize Lori about her "Intent." Her intent is very clear: it is like a recapitulation. So get over yourself Juhani, and if there is something you would like to see, post it. If you don't want to read something, don't read it. But put a sock in it either way, K? Okay.
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Here is a short snip, near the end of the book that describes my intent -- what I am striving for and what I hope to gain from all of this.
Besides the dreams, there were a few areas of my life in which Myron haunted me, or the thought of him spilled over into my daily life. Sure it was usually in the back of my head, not foremost in my mind, but the truth is it was a very long time until I could truly say that a day went by that I didn’t think of him, or his actions or our horrible life together.
Sometimes, even though he was many miles away and we had been separated for many years, he would find a way to sneak back into my life. He’d find a way to torment me across the miles and make sure that I wasn’t living a peaceful, easy life.
So it was one Summer day, all was quiet in my house, the kids were playing outside and I had a day off from work. I was going about my business in the usual way, a little housework, some surfing the internet, a little working on some of my books. Suddenly, out of the silence the phone rang. And with that ring came an eerie sense of dread. A feeling I knew too well yet still sometimes forgot to pay heed. And so this time, when the phone rang, I answered it.
What met me on the other end was Myron’s gruff voice, accusatory, icy and critical. I knew the voice all too well. And even after months – perhaps years of not speaking with him, his tone was the same, his demeanor hadn’t changed. He was still angry, still unhappy, still intimidating. It was obvious from his words that he still blamed me for his not being able to see the kids. And he wanted me to know it.
I listened quietly to his harsh words, thinking momentarily that I should stand up to him, should stick up for myself. I pondered telling him that Jake’s real birthday, which was apparently the reason for his call, was August the 12th , 2 days ago and not the 14th like he thought. But I remembered all the times I had reminded him of this fact only to have my words fall on deaf ears. So I said nothing.
I contemplated telling him that there was no need for him to raise his voice to me, to talk to me in such a manner. But it was a fleeting thought and my fear and insecurities took over and I said nothing. I clammed up, my jaw jammed and I stood dumbfounded on my end of the conversation, just as I had been all those years ago.
Wishing I hadn’t answered the phone, I was frozen in my footsteps and my jaw was wired shut. There were so many things I wish I would have said to him, things I wish I would have done, or wouldn’t have done. I wish I wouldn’t have answered the phone. If only I had just let it ring. But I didn’t. I answered the phone.
I answered the phone.
That one phone call led to a small setback of sorts. It led to a partial regression in my self esteem, self worth and in my being able to trust those I was close to. But thankfully as time wears on, each minor setback gets smaller and smaller every time.
One day I know, Myron will call and I will answer the phone. And I’ll be calm, cool and collected as if I were talking to a vacuum cleaner salesperson. I won’t get anxious, my heart won’t begin to race and I wont feel fear boiling in my veins. I’ll be nonchalant and confident when I hang up the phone after having spoken with Myron for the very last time and I’ll say to myself with pride “I answered the phone. Yes, I answered the phone.”
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Okay Juhani stop being so stupid. You are being very stupid.
Lori is just as much a part of Soma as you, and she has every right to post her story in here if she likes. You can choose to read it or not read it. I choose not to read it because I cannot read stories of abuse. I don't want to hear about what Lori went through, I want to hear about her life now, and all the trials and tribs with. That is my choice to do so, as I have a right to read what I so desire. But Im not going to be so arrogant like you to chastize Lori about her "Intent." Her intent is very clear: it is like a recapitulation. So get over yourself Juhani, and if there is something you would like to see, post it. If you don't want to read something, don't read it. But put a sock in it either way, K? Okay.
I deleted the post Lori quoted above. She as a moderator of this thread put it up there.
I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she apparently wanted to me to post here.
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Why would I do it for a second time?
because it's obvious the job's not done.
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One day I know, Myron will call and I will answer the phone. And I’ll be calm, cool and collected as if I were talking to a vacuum cleaner salesperson. I won’t get anxious, my heart won’t begin to race and I wont feel fear boiling in my veins. I’ll be nonchalant and confident when I hang up the phone after having spoken with Myron for the very last time and I’ll say to myself with pride “I answered the phone. Yes, I answered the phone.”
(note - must fix that JS file)
This post is interesting. First I'd be inclined to say, 'just hang up a soon as you know who it is'. But as I read on, I realise you have to get through this in your own way.
It is true you should be able to listen to him and it only makes you feel mildly impatient this idiot is still carrying on in the same way.
To do that you have to process his enchantment. You need to become impervious. To do that, I sense you may need to return to the events when you first met Myron - the initial spark events - when it was positive. You have to write of the good times as well as the bad.
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(note - must fix that JS file)
This post is interesting. First I'd be inclined to say, 'just hang up a soon as you know who it is'. But as I read on, I realise you have to get through this in your own way.
It is true you should be able to listen to him and it only makes you feel mildly impatient this idiot is still carrying on in the same way.
To do that you have to process his enchantment. You need to become impervious. To do that, I sense you may need to return to the events when you first met Myron - the initial spark events - when it was positive. You have to write of the good times as well as the bad.
I'll keep that in mind.
I deleted the post Lori quoted above. She as a moderator of this thread put it up there.
I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she apparently wanted to me to post here.
I'm not even really sure what your point is here, but I'll try to respond to what I think you are saying.
I responded to something you said, quoted it and replied to your own words. I see that it was later deleted.
I am not a moderator of this thread, I have no more control over it than you do. No special powers. :p
Do I want you to post here? Not particularly. Like I said, your comments to me are rude and unnecessary. The fact that you have so little compassion that you feel the need to criticize and complain about my chosen method of healing a past trauma is unfathomable to me. I tried to understand what must be going on in your head. However, that is not for me to do, so I shall leave that up to you and continue on with my own work and hope that you will take Michael up on his challenge and do the same.
Great synchronicity! This is my quote of the day (via Facebook)
'What angers us in another person is more often than not an unhealed aspect of ourselves. If we had already resolved that particular issue, we would not be irritated by its reflection back to us.'
Simon Peter Fuller
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Windows shut tight despite the sweltering heat
And doors locked, barricaded speak of a danger imminent
Cell phones plugged in turned on
Neighbours in the back and on both sides are on high alert
The broken sleep I do manage to get is interrupted
Time and again
First by a faint noise outside
Is that him? Is he here?
Then by two dogs barking down the alley
Are they warning?
Finally by a shadowy figure faintly visible
Behind the grape vines of the house next door
Startled, relieved I breathe
I knew he was near
The lump in my throat and pit in my stomach assured me
He was on his way
These warning signs have yet to steer me wrong
Though I know he can see me watching him watching
He does not turn or look away
Smugly, slyly he continues to stare me down
As if invincible above any law
A steely calm begins to wash over me
Survival instincts take over
Replacing the tension, nervous fear of falling asleep
Lest I awaken to find him
Once more
In my house
In my bed
In me
The coolness brings with it thoughts, nay wishes
That have danced round my mind
Countless times before
Memorized by now, each one of them
I am certain I could execute
Each and every scenario
Effortlessly emotionless perfectly
Never am I disappointed nor disgusted with my self
For plotting such deadly scenes
For, the woman trapped inside me
Who devises these schemes
Would die the very instant
Such a plan was executed
Thus giving birth
At that same moment
To a new life
A new
Fearless
Me
*** The good news is that I am now able to read old passages and chapters with little to no emotional reaction. At one point re-reading the words after writing them had me feeling all the emotion and physical sensations that I felt at the time the incidences occurred.
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*** The good news is that I am now able to read old passages and chapters with little to no emotional reaction. At one point re-reading the words after writing them had me feeling all the emotion and physical sensations that I felt at the time the incidences occurred.
That is good news!
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That is good news!
Yes, thank you <3
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*** Author’s Note ***
The day that Willow died was just a couple days after Christmas, it was cold outside and snow blanketed the ground.
My brother Shawn and a good friend, Cam stopped by to see Myron and took him somewhere. This relieved me immensely. I was often glad to have him gone for the day. To be alone, just Jakob and I with no stress, no worries, just free to be ourselves with no fear of Myron’s actions or reactions. I asked no questions about where they were going to or when they would be back, just smiled to myself and secretly prayed thanks for the opportunity to spend some quality time with my son.
As Myron was leaving he stopped in the basement to pick up a package. He was taking with him the body of our dearly beloved Willow. Willow’s lifeless body fit inside a shoe box, she was still so small, with no chance to grow into the large dog she would have become. As I watched the three of them walk away, Myron, Cam and my brother, I could see that Cam was now carrying the box. I watched with a heavy heart and pit in my stomach as Cam put the small shoe box in the back of the truck. “Good-bye little Willow. We love you!” I whispered through sobs.
To this day I still believe that no words were spoken about what was in the small shoe box. And just how Myron got the package to Cam's property and buried it without telling either Cam or my brother what was inside is still a bit of a mystery. But in those days, many of us sometimes just preferred not to know what Myron was up to. I guess this was one of those times.
But what's most disturbing to me about all of this is how the box with our puppy inside it was discovered the following Spring in Cam’s back yard. Luckily Cam had found the box and not one of his children. I can only imagine the horror and trauma it would have caused if young eyes and hearts would have witnessed what Cam had discovered that morning.
Once the snow had melted on Cam's property he found the small shoe box, unburied, half on top of the earth. Believing that Myron had completely buried his box last Winter, Cam was unsure where this box had come from. But as soon as he opened the box to see what was inside, the memory of that strange day last Winter came flooding back.
“What was it, Cam?” I inquired, only half wanting him to tell me, half believing I already knew the answer to this question.
At first he didn't want to tell me "You don't wanna know Lori." He repeated a couple of times "You don't wanna know!"
"It was Willow, wasn't it Cam?" My jaw dropped and my heart sank. And once more that sickening feeling in the very pit of my stomach. I knew it was, Willow. I felt the answer to the question before the words had even left my lips. . But what I didn't know, yet was the state that Cam had found our puppy's body in.
It took a while for Cam to be able to tell me the details of this story. Visibly upset, his hands were trembling and his voice was choppy- shaken.
Not only had Willow's head been severed from her small puppy body by Myron's deadly hatchet, but so, too, had each one of her tiny little paws.
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'What angers us in another person is more often than not an unhealed aspect of ourselves. If we had already resolved that particular issue, we would not be irritated by its reflection back to us.'
I like this!
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I deleted the post Lori quoted above. She as a moderator of this thread put it up there.
I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she apparently wanted to me to post here.
Why would you delete a post? Deleting posts is a lame thing to do. You type it out, say something, then erase it like nothing ever happened? That's dumb. You shouldn't delete. If you put your foot in your mouth (which you did) then you should leave it.
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Why would I do it for a second time?
I went through my life story systematically from 2001-2004 (but started the preparations and learning the methods earlier). Wrote it down and pulled the energy out. When doing recap was on the agenda, I posted about it - described the sensations and methods. Now I recapitulate every single day.
You're a teacher, Juhani. You're on the verge of being a Great one. Do you think this would make your purpose complete?
When I dropped back into to soma, after being away, I sensed your change and saw a layer of what I thought was amour. I noticed your energy had transformed ... felt very good ... but it still has some kind of sticky protective film, like a heavy duty sunscreen .... hard to describe, sorry.
As I read Lori's words, my first thought is how this would be helpful information to someone that is currently in an abusive relationship ... she is also a teacher. When published she will share her story with the world ... the ultimate recapitulation for a writer. Maybe as an offering and a final recap she will burn the original manuscript ... heh, disc ... whatever.
That's my preference ... write, draw, paint and then shred and burn ... no punctuation, no eloquence necessary ... an offering to the Universe from whence it all came. I'm not a writer or a teacher. My un-importance in the entire scheme of things melds me into the fabric ... none of it makes sense in human words, because it's not demanded ... not today, anyway ...
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There are many members in Soma who don't have the courage to speak of their emotional life, just as there are many who don't know how to get in touch with their emotional life, and thus deny it is happening at all. For those who have dug and exposed their underbelly, it is quite obvious when someone is blocking the natural expression of their emotions. It comes out, but it comes out distorted and destructive, in ways that the person often attempts to project onto others.
I have been thinking about it lately, that i would wish to hear more personal stories here. Noone never really speaks about themselves. Well, almost noone :) Yeah Lori has been the most open i guess. There is much sharing of music and poems and news and pictures and so on... but where are the people?
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Maybe as an offering and a final recap she will burn the original manuscript ... heh, disc ... whatever.
Yes, Angela! I plan to do just that. In fact, the cover of the book, shows a picture of a Woman (storyteller) around a fire, (burning the script!).
When I dropped back into to soma, after being away, I sensed your change and saw a layer of what I thought was amour. I noticed your energy had transformed ... felt very good ... but it still has some kind of sticky protective film, like a heavy duty sunscreen .... hard to describe, sorry.
I like the way you describe this. . Thanks for sharing Ang.
I have been thinking about it lately, that i would wish to hear more personal stories here. Noone never really speaks about themselves. Well, almost noone :) Yeah Lori has been the most open i guess. There is much sharing of music and poems and news and pictures and so on... but where are the people?
My opinion:
It would be nice if folks would share more, however in the past, some have tried and have gotten 'persecuted' for it by some members (I use this word because of the drama triangle I just posted.) Some don't feel safe to share? I can't say for all, but I know this to be true for a few because members and ex members have shared this with me.
I know that I used to not feel safe enough to share and would often post, delete, post delete. It's been a huge work in progress on my throat chakra to get to the point where I share because I want to and regardless of how the sharing is received. I'm not sure that anyone else wants to face that. Sometimes it gets heavy.
<<<EDIT>>>
Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned anything, no intention of stirring up shit.... but it's out there now. And it is what it is. :)
.. but where are the people?
And I wonder, too. Toltecs talk about personal history and being too accessible, so is it looked at somehow as weak, or not conducive to personal growth to share too much of oneself?
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Yes, Angela! I plan to do just that. In fact, the cover of the book, shows a picture of a Woman (storyteller) around a fire, (burning the script!).
:-*
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I share - I have an active blog full of the stuff - but I do share cautiously, I admit.
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I share - I have an active blog full of the stuff - but I do share cautiously, I admit.
Maybe... but i have been feeling like it gets kind of lost in the middle of the poems and birds and weather and stuff like that :P
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Maybe... but i have been feeling like it gets kind of lost in the middle of the poems and birds and weather and stuff like that :P
Can't really help out here, that you lose it in the midst of poems and pictures. My world isn't that important to Soma - but I share it nonetheless. Maybe you'll see it next time.
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Can't really help out here, that you lose it in the midst of poems and pictures. My world isn't that important to Soma - but I share it nonetheless. Maybe you'll see it next time.
Poems and pictures and whatever people are posting are ok, but i'm triyng to say that they are not YOU. When we talk about some action going around our life, then these are just outside activities and events. For an example if i post some photos i have made or pictures of something i have made, then i guess there is not much me or my path in them either. I'm not a big sharer either, but when something is really bugging me i can throw it out without being afraid what someone might say. The point is i guess, that it kind of feels like hanging around strangers for i don't know how many years. Actually it is of couse not that dramatic, but a tiny sensation...
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Poems and pictures and whatever people are posting are ok, but i'm triyng to say that they are not YOU. When we talk about some action going around our life, then these are just outside activities and events. For an example if i post some photos i have made or pictures of something i have made, then i guess there is not much me or my path in them either. I'm not a big sharer either, but when something is really bugging me i can throw it out without being afraid what someone might say. The point is i guess, that it kind of feels like hanging around strangers for i don't know how many years. Actually it is of couse not that dramatic, but a tiny sensation...
There's a lot here, which will end up sidetracking Lori's thread, but let me share a few responses.
If you share your photos or things you have made, or even what has struck your fancy per something someone else has made, that is your path, your life. It's not the whole thing by any means, but what is?
The main point in what you're saying is that you do not fear what someone else will say if you share regarding things that are "bugging" or concerning you. That's good! Because there have been whole periods here, not the least of which have been epitomized in the altercations with Juhani and Lori, wherein folks do not feel safe here to bare the unbearable. We could have a whole thread as to why that could be, in the evolution of our communication.
And then again, some readers are more shrewd/perceptive than others in picking up on where someone is coming from. Also another topic...
But that "tiny sensation" of which you speak, wherein we are all strangers after all these years: I'd say that could be true, to the extent that we cannot ever really completely know another. Even if we are living with the other person and see the other every day, face to face.
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Why would you delete a post? Deleting posts is a lame thing to do. You type it out, say something, then erase it like nothing ever happened? That's dumb. You shouldn't delete. If you put your foot in your mouth (which you did) then you should leave it.
My post was up for less than a minute. :)
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because it's obvious the job's not done.
I respectfully disagree, but I would not go into detail.
Besides, I'd not put up here anything related to recap, or anything else I would not like to publicize widely. This place (i.e. Soma) is a place where one should not post things one is not willing to express literally anywhere else (in your own words).
So there's a clear line I would not cross (any more).
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There's a lot here, which will end up sidetracking Lori's thread, but let me share a few responses.
Yes, maybe you could make another thread somewhere and transport unrelated posts. This is an interesting issue for me, and i might have more thoughts...
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My post was up for less than a minute. :)
It doesn't matter if the post was there for one minute or one year, you spoke the words (typed) which means you thought the thought. What's interesting here, and of value I think in your healing is to see why you felt that way. Take me out of the picture Juhani, because this has never been about me, and why do YOU feel this way? I find that question fascinating....
On another note***
Dreams are changing again. For the better.
In the beginning, I was plagued by many nightmares. That is actually what prompted me to dig deeper into healing myself from these experiences with Myron.. so many nightmares.
When I began recalling, the nightmares got worse and often I would recall things in Dreaming that I had completely blocked out in real life. As the years went on, there were many many nightmares in which Myron was the bad guy. Lots of fright, lots of blood and hurt. After a while I learned that I could fight back in dreams, that I could stand up to Myron in dreaming so I began to work on that.
Sometimes I would just voice an opinion, or sometimes I would physically fight back, something that I could never do in real life for so many reasons. Once, in dreaming, I killed Myron, by slashing him with a sharp object. In that Dream he morphed into Jesus Christ when he died. That was a pretty big dream for me.
Lately, that is over the past few months, now that I've opened up "Fireside Woman" again and starting writing more, the dreams have changed again. Now, when I see Myron in my dreams, I am not running from him, I am not afraid of him and I am not trying to injure or kill him.
The dreams I have had with Myron lately have a very different theme to them. In these dreams, Myron and I have gotten back together, we are living peacefully, though at times it feels awkward upon waking. And in these dreams, there is no fear, or abuse or violence. Just a normal healthy relationship. I think that's a step in the right direction, as far as my healing goes.
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The dreams I have had with Myron lately have a very different theme to them. In these dreams, Myron and I have gotten back together, we are living peacefully, though at times it feels awkward upon waking. And in these dreams, there is no fear, or abuse or violence. Just a normal healthy relationship. I think that's a step in the right direction, as far as my healing goes.
Sounds like it Lori that's good!
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He is merged with your animus. All the men in your life merge with your animus.
As you release the toxic energy stored around Myron, he will become more like your animus in your dreams - typically takes on changes within the same dream. Then you will stop fighting Myron in every man you meet, and 'your' Myron will become a positive force in your subconscious.
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He is merged with your animus. All the men in your life merge with your animus.
As you release the toxic energy stored around Myron, he will become more like your animus in your dreams - typically takes on changes within the same dream. Then you will stop fighting Myron in every man you meet, and 'your' Myron will become a positive force in your subconscious.
An excellent description/summation ... thanks, Michael.
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When I dropped back into to soma, after being away, I sensed your change and saw a layer of what I thought was amour. I noticed your energy had transformed ... felt very good ... but it still has some kind of sticky protective film, like a heavy duty sunscreen .... hard to describe, sorry.
Found this for Juhani ... sorry to muck up your thread, Lor
Amour ---> shiny
Sticky ---> silk
Sun ---> gold
(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e9/Common_crow_pupa.jpg)
A chrysalis (Latin chrysallis, from Greek χρυσαλλίς = chrysallís, pl: chrysalides) or nympha is the pupal stage of butterflies. The term is derived from the metallic gold-colouration found in the pupae of many butterflies, referred to by the Greek term χρυσός (chrysós) for gold.
When the caterpillar is fully grown, it makes a button of silk which it uses to fasten its body to a leaf or a twig. Then the caterpillar's skin comes off for the final time. Under this old skin is a hard skin called a chrysalis.[2]
Because chrysalides are often showy and are formed in the open, they are the most familiar examples of pupae. Most chrysalides are attached to a surface by a Velcro-like arrangement of a silken pad spun by the caterpillar, usually cemented to the underside of a perch, and the cremaster, a hook-shaped protuberance from the rear of the chrysalis at the tip of the pupal abdomen by which the caterpillar fixes itself to the pad of silk.
Like other types of pupae, the chrysalis stage in most butterflies is one in which there is little movement. However, some butterfly pupae are capable of moving the abdominal segments to produce sounds or to scare away potential predators. Within the chrysalis, growth and differentiation occur. The adult butterfly emerges (ecloses) from this and expands its wings by pumping haemolymph into the wing veins.[3] This sudden and rapid change from pupa to imago is called metamorphosis but metamorphosis is really the whole series of changes that an insect undergoes from egg to adult.
When the butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, usually it will sit on the empty shell in order to expand and harden its wings. However, if the chrysalis was near the ground (such as if it fell off from its silk pad), the butterfly would find another vertical surface to rest upon and harden its wings (such as a wall or fence).
Moth pupae are usually dark in color and either formed in underground cells, loose in the soil, or their pupa is contained in a protective silk case called a cocoon.
It is important to differentiate between pupa, chrysalis and cocoon. The pupa is the stage between the larva and adult stages. The chrysalis is a butterfly pupa. A cocoon is a silk case that moths, and sometimes other insects, spin around the pupa.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pupa#Chrysalis
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It is not the act, but the intent behind it that matters and I deeply wonder about yours.
Why? Why do you "deeply wonder" about Lori's intent?
That's actually quite an important question to ask yourself.
Personally, I don't give two hoots about Lori's intent. Not that I don't care about Lori, because I do, in a strange sort of way... notwithstanding that we have never actually met (in so-called 'real-life' anyway...)
Lori telling her story seems to help in her healing; I've certainly felt the difference over the years.
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@ Ang ... don't know why you would say you aren't a teacher, or that you aren't on your way to becoming one.
@ Daphne ... we're always so much richer for your input here!
@ Lor ... when you come back, let me know if you want to separate out the posts you originally intended to share per the Diary.. We can make a few threads out of this one, easy.
Love y'all, V
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@ Ang ... don't know why you would say you aren't a teacher, or that you aren't on your way to becoming one.
I'm teacher to my son Rudy, my last responsibility on this earth. I remember Gurdjieff talking about that. The rest is commentary ... I'm enjoying 'commentary' ... it flows.
@ Daphne ... we're always so much richer for your input here!
Yes ... nice to see you Daph ;D