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I replied to Roark's post a couple of threads down and thought it might not be spotted so here is the copy.
http://prem-rawat-talk.org/cgi-bin/anyboard.cgi/forum?cmd=get&cG=8373130313&zu=3837303130&v=2&gV=0&p=
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Lexy, I am sorry you had such a miserable time. It occurred to me that there are several salient drivers of what we experienced at the hands of GMJ/K world, and that the expectations we came with and our life experience
prior to GMJ determined so much of what we experienced and how long we hung in there as well as how we now
see it. Our approaches obviously varied
from person to person. Here’s a shot at defining some of the key drivers and over-simplified descriptions of what might be extreme versions of each: 1.
Desperation Level: There were those that were
feeling pretty desperate and alienated, maybe doing too much in the way of
drugs and/or alcohol, had near-death experiences, were frightened of our
prospects and not too settled in life.
Then there were those pretty happy, healthy folks. To the desperate, it was a way out, and to
the healthy, maybe it seemed like a cool idea, dropped their guard to believe in
a guru or maybe were drawn by the humanitarian angle. 2.
Place-in-life: Some had great careers, a good education or were
still in school, were well–off and on a creative track. Some were floating on the surface, without
interesting prospects, not particularly engaged, had no money or not
interested, without much ambition and such.
Some gave up a lot and some not all that much. 3.
Family life: Some were part of close-knit
families and/or had families of their own that they gave up most or all
of. Some were not particularly engaged in
or even at odds with their families, and had no compelling relationships. 4.
Avatar-friendliness: At one extreme, there were those that saw
GMJ/K (“it”) as a new religion, with a new and improved god-man avatar to follow
unquestioningly that would deliver salvation. At the other end of the spectrum, that perhaps here was a spiritual practice that provided a methodology to go
deeper into understanding oneself and what the hell is going on. 5.
Psycho-baggage:
Some had deeply–held religious beliefs, unresolved
problems from crappy family lives, the tendency to be a perpetual victim and empower others with their welfare, and other troubling psychological issues that
fueled a compelling neediness. Others
had grown up with good family dynamics, were pretty non-complexed, had the
ability for clear and objective thinking, took responsibility for themselves and were generally pretty healthy. 6.
Jail Time:
Some got in and then left the cult fairly quickly,
within say ten years. Some got stuck for decades, say forty. 7.
Nepotism:
Some had family members, spouses and/or
good friends that were involved and influenced them to participate, and others
did not. Some had marriages and deep
friendships that would influence them to continue to participate, and at the
other end of the spectrum some had strong input and support from loved-ones to
leave. I bet that we could almost come up with an algorithm that
shows, based on gradients of the above factors, the degree of fun or despair we
experienced there, how long it took to get away and also how difficult it’s
been to deprogram and move on. I also
bet that our expectations for how glorious he was and how much we trusted and adored
him is almost directly proportionate to how much we might now hate him, and
so on. For me, oddly enough, my meditation actually became a key
practice that allowed me to recognize the bullshit (you may have to trust me on
this one, LOL). Interesting that I pretty much had a great time, and you
‘lost your soul’ (although I am not sure how that actually happens and what
that might actually mean, especially I am not sure what the word ‘soul’ really means). Would you please explain that one to me? I also remember the last program I attended, and how
sickened I was by the combination of syrupy, slo-mo darshan videos coupled with
underlying major-chord devotional music as an obvious nod to feel-good brain-washing
with “you are my everything”-sort lyrics. The oppressive dynamic of devaluing us and what we were
capable of was a real double-whammy, and I recall was very hard for me to
transcend. I was actually really shocked
when I started to have success in business, and shocked by the emerging idea that
the universe would work with me! instead of reducing me to a heap of rotting vegetables
(although am pretty sure I remain an unlit match and at least I have that to
look forward to, maybe at the moment of death??). But there was absolutely this baked-in concept
under his leadership that our lot was to just be damn grateful to have someone amazing
and doing great things in our lives, in lieu of being amazing and doing great
things ourselves. Or, to have the
freedom of dropping the insidious need for all that amazingness and greatness
stuff. But I recall I had a lot of fun, silly me. M
Modified by roark at Sat, Jul 15, 2017, 15:40:14
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Sure all those factors are relevant to our cult experience I expect.
There's also the theory that we all have a baseline happiness that we revert to. People lose a limb and generally recover from the shock and revert to their familiar level of happiness in 6 weeks or so.
I have mostly happy memories of my Dickensian school, and can say I had a good time, even though I went through frequent periods of daily canings by the headmaster. (I don't enjoy canings!)
Maybe, Mr Roark, you are basically a happy fellow, who adjusts to his circumstances. You'll spend time relishing anyhow. You'd probably be good company in a life-raft, but a pain to be around when some proper wallowing in misery is called for.
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Hi John,
I just wanted to comment on school canings - my brother went through the same thing with the deputy head at his preparatory school - 8 years old sent to boarding school and caned almost daily. My father thought this was a good thing. I thought it was terrible. I always thought it had more to do with the good looks and irrepressible nature than infractions of rules.
There was a swimming pool at that school. We were there and there was a sports day going on and it was after the swimming when some boys were playing in the pool that they discovered a dead cow on the bottom. Even back then and I must have been very young at the time, but I remember thinking how dark the water was that we didn't see it.
Talk about Dickensian.
I admired the teenagers in our generation who challenged that whole system after being subjected to it as boys.
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Howdy,
Not sure about all that, as I certainly came to the table with my own demons. Likely my mild retardation plays in my favor though, softening the blows.
M
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You can't have it both ways Roark - either you believed in GMJ or you didn't.
From what you say further down the page I would guess you did - why else acknowledge his leadership?
I bet Lexy can remember having fun too - of course we had fun but really with hindsight that was despite Rawat not because of him.
If I hadn't joined up with a cult, I probably would have remembered to go back to college at the start of term instead of going down to London to get initiated into the holy knowledge of God.
It doesn't mean I regret my life as it is. I wouldn't be where I am without it. I wouldn't know who I do. 
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no honestly, Roark, i wrote that post just before going out and when I looked at it later, I thought - Huh?
Mainly what I am saying is that from what you say at the end of your post, it seems clear that like the vast majority of us you did believe in GMJ. So to say, in effect, 'I wasn't upset when I left because I never believed in him, it was the spiritual practice that attracted me' doesn't cover it.
I had this argument going for years after exiting with a friend who would say that he only believed in Rawat as if he were generic - it was the guru not the person.
And he could go from the dinner table of a premie friend to a non premie friend to an ex-premie friend. Quite successfully, I thought. But you know, eventually, however it happened I don't know but the point came when he had to accept he had been fooled like the rest of us and it did hurt his feelings.
Modified by lesley at Mon, Jul 17, 2017, 16:09:21
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Lesley
Those bullet points I wrote up were very generic and to point out drivers, and personally, I am all over the charts on the various 'drivers'. I never said I did not 'believe' in him, but what believing in him means varied a lot from person to person, and what we thought we could get from him varied a lot too. For example, I never thought I could get a cool afterlife from him, nor thought he was the exclusive 'master' / avatar here on earth (whatever that meant). And my opinions of him changed a lot over time, and not in just one fell swoop of aha.
Anyway, its good we don't all have to see it the same way, I mean, could we possibly?
M
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well see, there you go again - what do you mean you believed in him but didn't think he was The one. Why not moonlight with the Rev Moon then?
Even if you wanted to make the case that you need brand loyalty - pick a guru, any one will do, then you're still left with Rawat being the one you are taking guidance from as if he were the one and only one.
I dunno, Roark, I just think when it comes to knowing who is your The one - all them gurus can go hang, they're a bunch of parasites.
So yeah. of course we don't see things the same way - we're all in our own heads, looking through our own eyes - and I think it helps when we can corroborate, when the different views cohere.
But if they don't we can learn too by determining why they don't cohere. terrible business really but worthwhile, imo.
Or anyway it is an instinctive thing, or driver (?) and I believe, through countless corroborations as well as experience that accepting a guru as your One is gonna hurt at some point - you have been subjected to a deception and it hurts to realise that, it hurts to feel how incidental you were.
all the best.
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Hi roark,
Could you...or anyone who cares to...please say more about the belief in "a cool afterlife from him"... Was that just meant to be a random 'for example' or was it a specific part of your premie experience that you didn't latch onto...like the whole Master thing for you?
I ask, because your words jumped out at me  and I've been meaning to ask, but thought I'd find the answers on my own with better research...but life gets busy, and I go in spurts of being able to handle my dad stuff a lot, to not at all, only being able to handle myself. I just haven't done the digging...but I'm wondering about the specifics of what the guru wants people to believe about the afterlife.
I understand, that spiritual salvation is promised...that you go to god through guru, through thoughts of guru at time of death...is that right?
But what exactly does that mean? Is there a specific version of a cool afterlife from him that is taught?
Is suicide ok in premie dogma? As in altruistic or sacrificial of sick minds? Any mythology of what happens to suicides at all? My catholic friends worry about his soul, my Wiccan friends reassure me that his soul will go again and again until it succeeds...what would the guru tell me?
I know my beautiful dad was really sick, I do. His weight of sorrow far surpassed mine...and mine is ...well...I'm not going anywhere, but I'm committed to a heavy and sorrowful existence. (Not to say that I don't find light and beauty too...you all know that). I'm wondering though...what could my dad possibly have thought was going to happen with the Rose and that picture of the guru in front of him at his suicide...what story was his dark mind clinging to?
Any insight is awesome and appreciated on the deepest level!
Also...not needed, just welcomed detail. I'm good with my beliefs and my path to forgiveness...the comfort I get here is more than enough already...these are small curiosities if anyone cares to fill in blanks for me...that's all, it's not a deep seated need for more medicine, you all do enough by sharing and I've extrapolated about as much as I can through that...I was just prompted by the phrase 'cool afterlife from him'...sounds like there's more to that
Thanks and be well, Genny
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Big Hug! It wasn't a real focus. No emphasis though Samsara/reincarnation/ karma. Your beautiful father just thought (disabledly) that he could solve his unsolvable issues by leaving this world via the young "savior" living and not just a concept. The living 🌹 was his price of admission/exit. Thanks for asking. As always, I really don't know as opposed to Wiccans and Hindu-like practitioners too knowledgeable to admit it's just beliefs. I'm sorry for your continued pain
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Big hug right back OTS, thank you so much! I'm so glad you're here.
Something keeps telling me to post this excerpt from the book. I don't know if it makes sense to put it here or not, I just can't tell...i do mention the DLM and guru, briefly...but this is my childhood, in an attempt to describe who I was on the day of the suicide. It's long...a lot to unravel...and I'm still not sure why, but every time I see you post, something tells me to share it...so, without questioning the logic of it anymore...here it is. Like the rest of my stories it's unedited and raw still. I wanted to polish and finalize it before putting it here...but again, something tells me...
it's for all of you if you're interested of course, and opinions are always welcome...if something doesn't make sense I love to know.
Take care, love, Genny
***
Autumn
"I care not much for the man's religion whose cat or dog are not the better for it". Abraham Lincoln
I used to love autumn. It's gloriously beautiful here in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. You get to go back to school...wear your favorite sweaters and boots...carve pumpkins for Halloween...the crisp cool air begs for the return of your favorite comfort foods. Every year I'd marvel at Mother Nature's transformative colors...are they real?...so beautiful, and the air smells so good...yeah, autumn in Colorado, what's not to love? These things are all still true of course, only now the beauty is veiled to me. Now, I hate Halloween. Such a shame considering how sacred it is in Nature religions as the day that barriers between worlds are lifted, and how much fun it is for children of all ages. Now, I have to work hard to remove the veils and search for beauty. Autumn, for me, is tainted with the anniversary of my beautiful Father's brutal suicide. One week before Halloween, in my twelfth trip around the sun, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Oh daddy...
His suicide was traumatic for all of us of course. For me though, aside from losing my dad, the worst part was dealing with the precognition of his death I had the day before. He, She, It, They...?...the Universe tried to warn me. Even went so far as to start whispering psychic notions to me a short time prior...so that I'd recognize the feeling. I didn't. When I told everyone at school that my dad had died, I thought I was lying. I had no idea why I said it. It just blurted out as an explanation as to why I was crying so hard. I wouldn't remember the real reason I was so upset for another 27 years. I had no clue that I knew. I had no clue that my lie wasn't a lie. I had no clue that my lie wasn't the cause. I had no clue how I was going to get out of my lie. I was relieved for a funeral to take care of it...sick. Oh Genny...
I couldn't believe it, he only just came back to me, I didn't get enough yet. I didn't have enough time to memorize his voice...his face...his spider tattoo...his stories...his embrace. If only I'd known, I wouldn't have forgotten anything...I'd have memorized every word...I'd have NEVER allowed myself to lose the turquoise butterfly ring he gave me...if only I knew that I knew...how much I'd need anything he touched later in my life. If only...
But I should start closer to the beginning maybe...1968.
1968 is famous for many things, depending on where you were in the world. Baby boomers were changing the way we do just about everything. Experimenting with sex, drugs, and rock n roll...war...religion. In Prague, it was the Russian invasion. In Vietnam, it was the Tet offensive. Here in the states, well, it was the "summer of love". My mom had met my dad in their first year of college, fell madly in love, and I came along the next summer. Happy little family. I was completely unaffected by their divorce a couple of years later. Seems my parents were much better friends and co parents than lovers, and I didn't even know they weren't 'together'. My earliest memories are of my dad...sitting on the couch playing guitar...coming over to give my mom "paper"...("that's not paper daddy, that's money"  ...meditating...going to satsang.
That's what they call it..."satsang". Literally, "in the company of the absolute (or highest) truth". It's a lot like going to mass. A bunch of people gather in a man made building dedicated to god. They listen to a man explain said god to them, and they believe this man when he tells them that he is closer to god than they are. They worship their god together. They sing and dance and trance...and when service is over, everyone knows how much closer to god they are than everyone else. They are the chosen ones. Everyone else is scum. They are the ones who have it right. They are the ones who will fix the world. They are the ones who can truly know god...if, of course, you give everything to the man...the one who knows god better than you do. Or, in this case, boy. That's right...people all around the world were mesmerized by the wild imagination of a 15 year old Hindu boy, who at 8 years old upon the death of his father, proclaimed himself to be "The Perfect Master and Lord of the Universe"...and people believed him, including my parents.
It was 1972, and spiritually hungry souls all around the world were rejoicing at the earthly arrival of the best thing since Jesus Christ or The Buddha himself. The Guru Marahaji Ji and his Divine Light Mission were here to "explode a giant peace bomb" over the world...according to their sacred text, "Who is Guru Marahaji Ji?". He made it all the way from God's Kingdom, or India at least, to Denver, Colorado to set up DLM headquarters. Hooray! I partially blame WWII. It created a generation so huge that chaos was bound to ensue. All it took was one guy. One guy got stoned, meditated with a Hindu and saw god, and an entire movement was created. What was cool to one, was cool to many. Pretty soon thousands of people were convinced that they, too, would know god and all his glory, if they were in the presence of the guru. If they had no earthly possessions or un enlightened family members weighing them down. If they worked hard enough for the mission and made enough money to support the guru (he likes jets), well then, they too would know god.
I was so young, I didn't know about any of that. I only knew that at satsang, it was always "up to me". My mom would bring pillows for me, and I could either dance with the grown ups (a lot of them at the time, looked like the Hare Krishnas) or curl up with the pillows and sleep. So early on, she was planting the seeds for freedom of independent thought...thanks, mom! At the festivals and "darshan" (any event in the guru's presence, later reduced to referring only to the foot kissing ritual), hundreds to thousands of "premies" (devotees) would desperately try to gaze upon him. Early on in the movement when it was still steeped in Hindu tradition, the guru would be dressed up like the Hare Krishna, and paraded through the crowd on a litter or chariot covered in roses. The premies would know how special they were if they were lucky enough to get a rose or some Indian treats thrown to them...and the ultimate goal was to get close enough to kiss his feet. Little as I was, I never saw the guru as anything more than a man. There was so much excitement all around and people would gasp and faint when he came close and I was totally on board with catching roses and treats, but I was NOT going to kiss his feet...ew!
"Premies", so called for the Guru Marahaji's given name, Prem Rawat. (Prem also means love, and premie is also lover of love, or lover of god...I know, try to keep it straight...cults are noted for taking ordinary words, applying some secret elitist meanings to them, forcing an explanation of a lot of words...sorry but that's what they do). He actually goes by many names, and has been called every name in the book. From Perfect Master and Lord of the Universe and "Greater than God" to spiritual predator and pedophile harboring coward. To me, he's just the piece of shit who took my dad away from me, twice.
I didn't feel abandoned by my dad when he left us. I missed him a lot for sure, but I understood that he went to be with the guru. I understood that that wasn't for us, anymore. As the movement grew and the premies were pressured more and more to give up their entire lives and devote themselves completely to the DLM, my dad fell deeper and deeper under the guru's influence, my mother started waking up. She just couldn't get on board with the concept of total devotion, and giving up control of her life. The biggest and most important event in human history, "Millennium '73" in Huston, Texas, barely even registers in her memory. Twenty thousand Blissful Premies were there, sure that with the presence of thousands of enlightened souls and the guru himself, the Huston Astrodome would spontaneously levitate, and maybe even fly off into outer space! When I ask my mom about it, all she remembers is a boring drive to Texas, away from her beautiful mountains. It wasn't long after that that we left the cult. My dad believed that he needed to forsake everything not associated with the guru and went to live in an ashram. That was the first time the guru took my dad away.
Aside from missing him, my childhood, very much unlike his, was truly beautiful. I was never hit or kicked not once ever.
Although, there exists an audio recording that might suggest otherwise. At two and a half or so, I was the flower girl for my 'Aunt' Karen's wedding. Mom's best friend from childhood and maid of honor when she married my dad...and the person responsible for my awesome imaginary friends. I don't know what happened, we practiced everything just fine the night before...but I didn't throw any flower petals, I cried the whole way down the isle...and when I got to the front where my mom was, I was supposed to go stand by the bridesmaid. My mom was gently nudging me in the right direction. On the tape, the everlasting evidence of true love, all you hear is, "NOOOO!! Stop kicking me, Mommy!" Sorry Karen.
(While I'm at it, I should also apologize to you for the 'Boo-Bee incident.' Boo Bee...the answer to "What do you call a scary bee?"...a joke her husband Rick told to a group of friends as I sat on her lap...as soon as he shouted "boo-bee", I turned around, ripped oped Karen's snap down blouse exposing her completely, and shouted, "Boobies!!" I'm sure you can imagine the laughter...sorry Karen).
My mom and her friends and my grandparents did a great job creating lovely and endearing memories for me to draw upon. Without realizing, she was already at work saving my life, showing me how sweet it can be, what to strive for in my darkest hours that would come. She worked really hard to make a good life for us. We weren't rich but I wanted for nothing...ever. I was never without a Kitty cat. When I wanted a bunny for my 6th birthday, I got one! Thumper. I loved him so much. For some reason, I asked my mom how much he cost, to which she replied, "All my pennies". For years I thought you could take how ever many pennies you had to the bunny store, and they would give you a little white bunny. He eventually went to live on the magic farm...you know the one.
I was spoiled for sure, but not rotten, rather, sweet. I was shown love and respect and gratitude, and how to be that way with others in turn. My imagination was never squandered, encouraged even. I was never told that my imaginary friends weren't real, even though they were alligators. Whenever we were crossing a street, my mom would have to scoop them up and carry them across, cause it was safer that way of course. Going onto elevators was fun for her I'm sure, as I would insist that she hold the door open for them until all their tails were in all the way...which she did happily. We went on fun road trips, even went to Disneyland. I couldn't wait to meet Eeyore! I wouldn't fly without my giant stuffed pink snake and Micky Mouse ears. I'd sing at the top of my lungs whenever John Denver came on the earphones..."He knows my Dad"! I tell her now, "Oh mom, I'm so sorry, I must have been so embarrassing"...she says, "Oh no honey, everyone loved you. The stewardesses (sign of the times) thought you were adorable"! Oh Mom...
I went to a really sweet, small private school until fourth grade. It was converted from an old Victorian mansion on Lafayette street in the heart of Denver. I remember loving my teachers so well at the Humpty Dumpty School. Hmm, Humpty Dumpty...
"...had a Great Fall..." Mother Goose
I did see my dad again once when I was about 9. His grandmother passed, my Great Grandma Grace. (My other great grandma was also named Grace ). He came to the funeral, I was obsessed with him...couldn't take my eyes off. Every time the minister (preacher, father, religious leader guy) said to pray, the grown ups bowed their heads and closed their eyes...I immediately turned back to look at him...couldn't get enough. It mattered to me not at all that I wasn't doing what the man said. I knew God didn't care if my head was bowed or turned around. I guess I didn't realize how hungry for him I was until I got just a little. We ate coconut cake together, and he said how much he'd like to take me fishing someday. My mom gently warned me about broken promises. I wouldn't see him again for another two years.
It was around then, age 9, that I had a very memorable experience with blatant divine intervention...though I didn't know it at the time. I knew what happened was amazing, but...divine? It was a terrible car crash. It was February and very snowy and icy. In fact, all the car accidents I've been in were due to winter weather..I didn't even remember this one until I sat to write about the one in Durango when I met my Angel, Fred. Anyway, I was in the back seat, and my mother was in the passenger seat of her friend Darcy's tiny Volkswagen Rabbit. She was driving us to my grandma's house, where I waited for my ride to school. We were 1 1/2 blocks away when the car refused to stop at a stop sign...there was just too much snow and we slid straight through the intersection. Just then, a giant Mack dump truck came crashing into us on the passenger side. There was no stopping it...and there was no contest. The little car ended up on the lawn of the house up on the left side corner. The only thing stopping it from crashing into the house was a row of snow covered bushes. The passenger side was completely caved in...totaled. Darcy had bumps and bruises. My mom suffered a severe case of whiplash and a terrible concussion with years of lasting ramifications. I was thrown around the back seat, but protected somehow...and I walked away without a scratch. No one could believe it. I can only imagine my mother's relief.
It was also around this time when my beautiful soon to be step-dad, Chuck came into our lives. He was a lovely man...troubled, but lovely. I was starving for a father figure, and for my mom to be in a relationship. He came with so much love, there was never any doubt about it. He would have done anything for us. He came with a baby daughter, Rachel...two Great Danes, Princess and Roscoe...and a tabby cat named Tiger, who had a police record. Heaven.
******* Chuck answers the knock at the door, to find a uniformed police man...
"What can I do for you, officer?" "We have a complaint against your animal, sir." "Really? The Danes are always in the yard or inside...one of them just had puppies...and they're the best behaved dogs ever! Gentle giants." "Um (his belly shakes with laughter as he purses his lips to contain it), it's not the dogs, sir, um (barely controlled giggles from this oh so professional man), it's your cat. Apparently, it's been harassing (laughter...deep breath) it's been harassing your neighbor's dog. (At this point, the laughing is no longer controllable). Ok, you've been cited, sir, please mind the cat (knowing exactly how absurd that is!)...have a nice day".
He goes back to his patrol car, shaking his lowered head...onward with the days business. Chuck, dumbfounded, is left with a ticket for Tiger, and a great story!
******* Sadly, alcoholism would be his downfall. Even though we watched as it slowly killed his father, twice, he just couldn't find the self love required to defeat it.
The first time we mourned the loss of Chuck's father, Irv, it was a mistake. He was so drunk that he passed out on the streets. Another drunk who looked exactly like him, drunk, stole Irv's wallet. So when they found him dead, well, we got the call as his next of kin. We had every reason to believe that we were looking at a ghost when he showed up a few weeks later looking for...I don't know what. Soon after, he broke into Chuck's van, used for work and Great Dane rides, to sleep in one night, and thought a fire would be just the thing to warm it up a bit. Never occurred to him to knock on our door. Never occurred to him that a fire would only grow. It never occurred to him, that his only son would forgive him. Irv ran, leaving us to figure it all out. When Chuck went looking for his father, he was fuming, heartbroken. Irv was flat broke, we have no idea how he got the gun. Oh Chuck, I'm so so so sorry you found your dad...that way. One for you, two for me.
They couldn't bear to tell me about the suicide. In fact, they didn't. I was about 15, my wound was so raw still, and though I loved Irv cause he was Chuck's dad, I understand why they didn't feel obligated to be so honest. The story was, that Irv died of alcoholism. They had no idea that I overheard the conversation. My chamber of dark inner secrets grew heavier...and I let them believe in their protective half truth. Chuck only got worse from there. Before that though, we really were a happy little family for about 6 or 7 years. He and his animals and his love helped us create a lovely home, for a while, when it counted the most. ******
My first experience with psychic awareness was soon after we all moved in together, around ten years old. It was like a little metaphysical tap on the shoulder. "Pssst, pay attention, he's here for you". I heard it. Dismissed it as fast as I could question it. Anyway, the little blue car drove on, so, whatever...keep walking, you're almost home. It was such a beautiful summer day and I was thoroughly enjoying my walk home from the pool, and my innocence. "Pssst, he's waiting for you...he only drove up one block...run!" Huh, he did stop again, it does seem like he's watching me...hard to tell...oh, there he goes...ok, well, you only have two more blocks, but this is weird. If he does it again, stops at the end of the block, then maybe I'll just turn right, and then you'll have to double back. Ok...see what he does...
I didn't know how to listen. It was too late, he was backing up to me already. In my state of innocence, I thought...maybe he's lost. When he called me over to the car I went. I thought I could help the nice old man with white hair and black horn rimed glasses. I knew I was in danger by my intuition, but I still didn't listen...why didn't I listen? I asked myself that question for years...I still ask it today sometimes. That has been my biggest challenge in coping with psychic awareness my entire life...knowing when to listen...when is it real, when is it not...how do you know? Well, this time it was real...my first experience of beating myself up for not listening...first of countless times.
As soon as I got close enough to see the display on the passenger seat, I knew he wasn't a nice old man. He was a sick fuck...with a bunch of porn, an exposed erection...and a gun. I was paralyzed with fear. Shaking and crying I still heard 'run, run...', but his gun pointing at me was louder. I stayed and watched him masturbate just as he ordered. I was completely shocked as he chipped away at my innocence one stroke at a time. Gave him exactly what he wanted. Why didn't you turn right, why didn't you turn right...why why why? Other than running home as fast as I could after he left without touching my little body, and calling my mom in hysterics, I don't remember much else...about that time. The second time it happened to me, I was a few months older and a thousand years wiser.
This time, I was riding my bike...again, only one or two blocks from home...in the other direction. I 'heard' the car pulling up next to me a moment or two before it actually did...my initial glance back saw nothing. Thought nothing of it. Suddenly the old brown station wagon was right there, driving alongside me on my left...same scenario, through the passenger side window. A young(er) man yelled out asking for directions to the library. His English was so broken that I had to stop and say 'what'? As he started to repeat himself, I saw the all too familiar motion of a sick fuck jerking off in front of a little girl. I shot him a look of disgust and rolled my eyes...seen it already asshole...and sped off on my bike as fast as a super hero. This time my mom and Chuck were home to pick up the pieces...a little more innocence shattered all around me...and I never saw a man more enraged. He demanded a description of the car and the man and the direction to go...and went flying out the door. Chuck was not an outwardly violent man, he was an emotional drunk...all of his violence was directed inward...but...I have no doubt that had he found that shit brown station wagon, we'd have been visiting him in jail for a time. Yeah, we moved.
******* Listen
Little ones, lovely ones Listen to you soul Self preservation is your only goal
When it tells you there's danger Don't waste time making sense That will come later when it's not so intense
When it tells you to run Don't listen to your doubt Do what it says and just get out
Instead of looking back To wonder, "Why did I stay?" You can look forward, cause "Thank God I ran away!"
Little ones, lovely ones Innocence is your role Always always Listen...to your Beautiful Soul!
******* It was a cruel summer for sure. But not without certain gifts. This would be the summer that my Dad "came back". Back from his mission with the Guru. I couldn't wait to hear all about it, and to welcome him back into my life with open arms. I could hardly contain my excitement as I waited for him the first time he came to pick me up on July 1, 1980 at 11am mountain standard time. It would be the first of several lunch dates, at 'our place', Mama Elena's. A popular little Mexican restaurant on Colfax Avenue...known as 'the longest commercial strip in America'...it's reputation ranges from skid row to hip Capital Hill on into gangland and back out into strip mall suburbia...east to west, ever changing and growing. He loved that place, I loved any place as long as I was with him. More than anything, I wish I could remember more of those dates...more of our conversations...more of him. I don't. Not yet. I can only recall one conversation, but I can recall it like it was yesterday, every word just about. It was the best conversation ever.
As we went to work getting to know each other, he wanted to know if I believed in aliens. I said sure, why not. (In our house, the line of thinking was that the Universe is so vast and unknowable, that to believe we are the only ones in it was incredibly arrogant...and, my mom saw a UFO up close in her backyard when she was very little). Do you? He explained to me that he knew for sure that they existed, and that some of them were already here...had been for a very long time...and many of them look just like we do...and he had seen two. "Wow, so how did you know they were aliens"? I only remember how he explained one of them...he was very tall and thin, taller than tall human. His clothing was from another time in the past, Victorian maybe, formal anyway, and he wore a tall black hat. He was walking toward my dad and as they passed each other, my dad turned his head to keep his gaze on the interesting being, who just vanished into thin air. Poof, gone. He thought and felt that it was beautiful...the experience and the being. He then told me of his gift. "Did you know that I am a psychic?"
In my very limited understanding of what that really means, I thought it was the coolest thing ever...to know the future and read minds and talk to ghosts and heal the sick. I was beaming with pride, so excited to know more, and smart enough to prepare for disappointment, just in case. "Wow! Really? Can you read my mind"? I was amazed and even more excited when he said, "Sure, think of something". I'm thinking, ok, it can't be too easy...something weird and specific...something from school...that's it!...we just learned about the possibility of life on Mars, plants from subsurface ice or something...so that was my thought, "Plant life on Mars". He looked deep into my eyes, the ones I got from him, and said, "Plant life on Mars"...verbatim...I was stunned and delighted and said, "Do it again Daddy"! Quickly racked my brain for something even weirder, and my goofy kid brain came up with "Clown life on Jupiter"...he smiled and said, "Now you're just being silly". We finished our Mexican food...it was the best day ever. It stung a little when I noticed that Mama Elena's had closed many years later.
There are a few more snapshot memories of our short time together in my brain's forefront, they're so fragmented...still. For my 11th birthday, he picked me up in a van he was driving for work, a bakery. It smelled so good, and there were almond croissants in the back...he said it would be fine if we had one...I can still taste it, so yummy. That was also the time he gave me my stuffed red lobster, and antique red hot holder...a cute, tiny glass candy holder in the shape of an elf riding a rocking horse. I wanted to die the day it broke. I had that broken glass in my life for twenty years...broken doesn't always mean trash.
Things were good, really good. We had a new house, I started Junior High in a new town, suburbia, and got to work making new friends. We had a full, happy home. Except for Roscoe. He died of heart failure when my mom and I were away on vacation. We came home to Chuck's sad heart, it failed a little too. That just meant we had plenty of room when we learned of another Great Dane who needed a home, Ace. He was papered, stunning, with cropped ears...poor baby! Shiny, sleek black with a white star on his chest...Ramshead Ebony Ace Star...big beautiful beautiful boy! He fit right into our 'zoo', that's what we called it on the box of personalized pencils we had made, "The Zoo. Charles, Rebecca, Genny, Rachel, Rhiannon, Tiger, Princess, and Ace". Heaven. And...AND...just to make sure it really couldn't get any better, my beautiful father had come back to me. Perfect...everything to look forward to...not even the stupid flasher on my way to school could break my spirit...seen it already asshole.
The day my life changed forever was a beautiful, perfect Colorado autumn day. I love autumn...the air smells so good...the changing leaves are so beautiful...what am I going to be for Halloween this year?...I'm not a kid anymore, I can't be a cute bunny again or a ballerina or a Genie...maybe a witch!...this year, in my new level of school where we get to have our first school dance...the Halloween Ball...maybe a boy will like me...maybe this is where I'll meet some more nice girls...the walk home was just beautiful...Sunny...all the decorations adding to the excitement of future planning...everything was perfect...except for one thing...what am I going to do about my LIE?...why did I say that?...how do I fix it?...why did I say that...you're such a baby...crying cause Mrs. Daugherty yelled at you for being late...why did I say that...why..."My Dad DIED"...Oh My God, how do I fix that?
As soon as I walked in my door I knew SOMETHING was terribly wrong. Besides the weight of the AIR...my Grandma was there with Chuck and his friend Larry. "Hi Gramma! What are you doing here"? "I just came over for a quick visit honey". Ok, now I know something's wrong...gramma just lied to me...right to my face...whoa, whatever it is, it's bad. My grandmother didn't drive, someone had to go get her, and it had to be planned. It's not like she ever just stopped by on her way home. She knew to not let me look at her for too long...I knew she was protecting me from whatever had the grown ups so weird...Chuck saves her...
"How was school, Sweet?"...that was his nickname for me...Sweet... "Fine what's going on." "I just need a few moments with grandma...mom's on the way home and Larry's gonna take you to run some errands...okay?" Ok, this is bad...do they think I'm stupid?...I never go anywhere with Larry, they're trying too hard to be normal...ok...oh this is bad, but don't press Genny, let them have their secrets for now, mom will tell you...just play along...just play along..."Ok! Let's go!"
Poor Larry...he was just a sweet guy who's drinking buddy had a step daughter. He didn't know what to do with me, but he did his best to stay light and joking and silly for me. He took me to the store...the liquor store...for a Pepsi. Ok, this is bad...I thought we had errands...a Pepsi?...from a liquor store?...you better brace yourself Gen...what could it possibly be, this dark dark thing...what on earth are they gearing up to tell me? I kept trying to figure it out, to be prepared...the worst thing I could think of was divorce...that's it, oh my god, are they getting a divorce?...I thought everything was fine, they seem happy...oh no, my poor mom...I bet it's a divorce...but we love Chuck...oh no...
When we got home, Mom was there. Ok, this is it...this is it...she's gonna come to you in a sec...ok, just tell her how much you love her, that you want what's best for us too, that we'll be okay...can I still be friends with Chuck?...do we get to stay here?...she's probably so sad...it's going to be ok Mom...we have each other.
"Mommy?" She reaches out for my hand..."Come on baby, let's talk..." ...Baby?...oh shit...this is bad... Hand in hand we go to the downstairs living room next to my room, and we sit on the couch. The air is so sad and heavy, there are already tears building in my eyes..."What is it Mommy?...are you ok?" ...here it comes...here it comes...brace yourself...here it comes...ready for the D word to come out of her mouth... "I need to talk to you about your Dad honey...um, he died yesterday..." "What...WHAT...Daddy?...no...no no no no no no...no...what happened?" "Oh my baby...I'm so so so sorry, he committed suicide baby...I'm so so so sorry..." "What...WHAT...Daddy?...no no no no...no. No. No daddy...why...no no..."
...oh no...oh no...I'm psychic too...oh Daddy...no..no... ...and I ju s t sh a t te r e d
Blackness is all I have in my mind when I search for anything that happened after that. I have no idea about any of it until Halloween. They made me take Rachel trick or treating, they wanted so bad for me to have something normal...sweet...so I found my costume...and couldn't do it, I was just too sad...but Rachel is still so little, she shouldn't suffer just cause I do...I put my witch mask on and my black fur coat...maybe just a few houses...for her. I took her around for little while, I wish I could remember her costume. And then, just to seal the deal of innocence lost, I got my very first period. I thought it supposed to be a good thing. I used to love autumn.
******* Things ~ And Apple Pie ~ And Inheritance
Hand beaded teeny tiny baby name bracelet ~ safe Butterfly ring with turquoise wings ~ lost! oh my god, lost...went with the innocence Red lobster stuffie ~ safe Elf and rocking horse glass candy holder ~ when it broke I did too, it was the cat! Bear! Handmade, his own hands, frame holding a picture of two grey kittens ~ MIA, it's 50/50 50/50 that I know where it is, 50/50 that I hate myself a little Pocket watch, one that saw his end ~ safe
Wedding Band ~ safe For my 30th birthday, my mother gave me the wedding band that my dad gave her. It's simple, elegant, beautiful. White gold, tiny gorgeous diamond in the center of an etched, eight pronged star. Safe. In the blue elephant ring box.
Even though I worshiped the ground he walked on, my Dad and I weren't physically close. At least, not the way that would allow for me to pick up on subtle mannerisms, and develop like tastes. He was in my physical life for such short periods of time. Psychically, we're connected at the heart, but it's not the same. It was always so funny to me that we have a shared food issue. I didn't even know about it until years after he died, it was in a story my granddad told about him. It seems my dad didn't like apple pie. Granddad would say, "who doesn't like apple pie for god's sake?!"...I can hear him now..."son of a gun". We all know it's full of nothing but goodness...delicious apples, cinnamon, sugar, flakey buttery crust...mmm, smells like heaven...anyone would want a piece, right? Especially a small boy. Even one who already knew that he didn't like it, would be tricked into believing he did by the aroma and reactions of everyone around him. Even after his father warned him that when he didn't like it, it wouldn't matter...you order it, you eat it. 'It looks so good, smells so good, everyone else loves it...I'm sure I'll like it this time!' "Yep, I'll have one please "! He hated it.
I couldn't believe it, the exact same thing happens to me all the time! To this day. I actually have to make a point to remember that I don't like apple pie...really, Genny, you won't like it...I know it smells good, I know you think it will somehow be different this time, but it won't, remember last time?...trust yourself for once...you won't like it! Don't get the apple pie! At least I don't have to worry about being forced to eat the entire pie and getting really sick should I ever throw caution to the winds and decide to try it again...it smells so good, looks so good...maybe...maybe just maybe I'll like it. I'll order a piece from somewhere on your birthday this year, granddad...maybe.
Green eyes ~ safe...cried an ocean of cleansing tears for humanity to swim in. Psychic symptoms ~ thanks?...yeah, Thanks!! ...it would be the only way for me to know you, Daddy, so...painful as it can be, thanks for the inheritance.
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Hi Genny, My reference to the afterlife was just hyperbole, and
related to the variety of expectations we may or may not have put on GMJ. I think some of us transferred our Christian
ideas of salvation to him and saw him as a modern day Christ, with all that
talk of bringing peace to the world and coming with more power than ever……etc My own recollection is that once when asked about what happens
after death, he answered something like “Ask Pan Am (Airways)”, a flippant
reference. It seemed to me that he
scrupulously stayed away from the subject, including past lives talk and such. Pretty much kept it at the getting ‘happy’
and ‘peaceful’ level in the current waking state arena. I am sure there are others on the Forum that
can recall more on this subject, and I would interested to hear what they have
to say as well. I don’t have a ‘likely story’ or a strong belief on the
subject myself. I recently wrote the following paragraph as part of a letter
to friend about the death of my father. Over time, my father became a born-again Christian, a real Benny Hinn,
Jesse Duplanis-loving evangelical from Southern Baptist stock. While
questioning how a guy like this could actually be my dad, I argued with him
incessantly. Then, as his life wound down in his eighties, I actually
felt happy that he had his religion that gave him so much certainty and
comfort, and shielded him from so much fear of the unknown. I was with
him continuously during his last days, and the only one with him when he
died. It was amazing, horrible, glorious, tragic and ecstatic. As
he approached the final stage of congestive heart failure (taking zero
medications or otherwise mind altering medicines), he seemed to retreat into a
clear, thoughtless awareness that poured from his eyes. I am almost
certain that he did not even think about Jesus towards the end, and his very
ability to think and recollect anything had been undermined by his
condition. On the morning of his very last day, with me having taken up
vigil in the barco-lounger next this bed, I saw that his eyes were open, so I
leaned my face directly over his, and when he was able to focus his gaze in a
shift of recognition, I said “Please don’t hate me because I’m beautiful”, and
he laughed, or did a reasonable facsimile of laughter given his
condition. I found it amazing, beautiful that he could find humor in his
last moments. At some point the clear awareness pouring from his eyes
stopped pouring, and he died on his back looking like a king in repose.
Anyway, I have become more and more tolerant of delusions around the nature of
the universe, particularly with respect to afterlife. I do feel one thing very strongly: that your father wanted
you to be happy and would not want you to continue to suffer because of his death
and the way it happened. A beautiful poem by Pablo Neruda just came to me, and I’m
not sure I have this completely right, but this is what I remember: When I die, succeed me with such shear force that you waken the furies of the pallid and the cold, From south to south, lift your indelible eyes From sun to sun, sing through your dreaming mouth. I don’t want your steps to falter I don’t want my heritage of joy to die, But do not call up my person, I am absent. Live in my absence as if in a house so vast, that inside, you may pass through the walls and hang pictures on the air. Live in my absence as in a house so transparent, that I lifeless will see you living. And if you suffer my love, I will die again.
Warm regards, Mike
Modified by roark at Mon, Jul 17, 2017, 22:45:14
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Dear Mike,
Thank you for responding so richly, I had to read your post a few times it moved me so deeply that my tears kept getting in the way.
The letter excerpt about the death of your father is so beautiful. It should be published, and I'm honored that you shared it with me and us. "Amazing, horrible, glorious, tragic and ecstatic" indeed. It's what I call 'death, done right.' What a gift, to 'go' in your own bed, with your son right in your face squeezing the last drops of laughter out of you...and to say good bye. I hope I can give that to my mom when the time comes for me to be brave.
I too, am becoming more tolerant of delusions about universal nature and afterlife, especially the people for whom Heaven and Hell are so very real. My catholic 'aunt' is one of the best people on this planet, and after years of telling her that, I recently blurted out, 'you are definitely going to Heaven' and I finally felt heard. That is what she related to as the best way to express love and gratitude.
I was just thinking that the DLM would have had some kind of story about death, but your recollections are right in line with what I found too...not much. And his flippant comment about asking Pan Am...what a fucking jerk. He was so mean to such sincere people, I (we) can think of fifty ways to answer such a question with kindness and peace. Or, you know, a sincere I don't know...but I imagine the guru probably never said such an honest sentence in his life.
But you all do!! I can't thank you enough Mike for everything else...I feel your warmth, that poem is stunning, healing...
I know my dad wanted happiness for me, thanks for reminding me. Easy to forget. I look for joy in very small things and I do experience happiness from time to time . But Life wants me to understand suicide. It's constantly thrown in my face, and I'm here to make sense of a non sensical thing. My Dads, was just the first of many in my life...all men. Six of them. And those are the close ones...many more through acquaintances. I've yet to hear of another suicide done with a picture of anyone, let alone a spiritual figure head. I haven't gone looking either, I'm sure there out there...but it speaks to the level of the twisted nature of a dark mind...especially one that's been numb for a decade by blind devotion and forced bliss.
And when I read your post, it did seem like hyperbole at first, but then something about it seemed a bit deeper and like I said...got to wondering again...what story was he convinced of...maybe I missed something along the way like an unspoken yet widely accepted afterlife thing. So, I appreciate the clarification on the unclear.
I hope you're doing ok with losing your dad...not missing your arguments too much
Love, Genny
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Hey Genny,
Thanks for your kind words.
My dad moved on a while back, but there will always be some sadness there(borne of love).
GMJ seemed to stay out of the deep end, I suppose wise given the inconclusive nature of what the hell happens after death. I flat-lined for awhile twice, once in a car crash and another time from hypothermia and had profound experiences both times, and in addition some very odd 'altered states' and such. Having said that, you won't catch me speculating about what is on the other side. Maybe another Forumarian will remember more about what he said on the subject.
BTW, I looked up that poem to make sure I had it right, but I did miss an important word. The sentence is: "I don't want your laughter and your steps to falter."
love, Mike
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First of all let me express my deep gratitude to you and Genny particularly, for your deeply moving and inspiring posts. Such authentic voices. Others too like OTS have touched me profoundly. My two pence worth on the subject of PR's coverage of death includes at least three examples. First of all, when asked what happens he said " Die and see" Ha ha ha, such a wag! I also remember another occasion in Miami or maybe Long Beach, when he talked about being asked about it and then went into graphic detail ( he was trying to be funny) about what the undertaker will do to your body. Including hosing you down and flushing out all your bodily fluids.. Hilarious 😂.
Then again in India in the 90s I heard him say that if you think of me in your dying breath you will come to me. Or words to that effect.
No, he never had anything of value to say on this subject.
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He talked about death for years, themed events weren't called that then. He would just obsess over a subject for a long while, believing he had such a lot to say that was meaningful. It is a testimony to hypnosis and brainwash that i cant recall much of what was said about death or after life at all. I do recall him hammering home the fact that you think you're eternal but you're all gunna die. he smiled a lot about how people squirmed. Maybe that is why he kept it up for years, the entertainment was in watching us squirm. Once we'd been hammered into insensibility he had to find another topic that would make us uncomfortable as he sneered and laughed at us... cue cheat and deceit, or the failure of human relationships to be of any lasting value. I did read something he said in a magazine, an interview I think. Someone asked him if he was afraid of dying. He said something to the effect that the power that had taken care of us in the mothers womb, he had no reason to doubt it would continue to look after us after death. That was in print so maybe thats how I remember it. No hypnosis involved. It was a fairly sensible response I thought, but as usual giving nothing away about his beliefs on the subject.
I think part of the reason for no specific ideas on this subject as with many is he was/is trying to catch all religions in his net, all beliefs can fit, because he wants to feel like king of the world with people of all religions following him. His words are general and broad and enough to make you feel inadequate, but with enough hooks where you can hang any hat and still believe in him. It's a numbers game and an ego boost. Those are his only 2 reasons for doing anything
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Thank you dear SuzyQ, your insights are so profound and I really appreciate them and you!
Love, G
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Big hug, thanks so much for your memories.
And at the risk of repeating myself, what a fucking jerk! "Die and see"... Ok, you first and I'll see ya there...maybe...
I think it's pretty clear that the sentiment of thinking of him in your dying breath, is the part my dad clung to...he was dark and ready to go anyway, but I'm sure that belief made pulling the trigger easier.
I guess I get jealous...that the gurus painful bullshit, the steep price you all paid for love...that you never got...was more appealing to my dad's sickness than the overflowing love from me, the free stuff, and guru kept him blind to it. I know it's not rational, but it still exists.
Thank you for helping me deal with it, love, G
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Hi Mike,
Wowzers!! Flatlining at all, and twice at that...sure glad your lines started dancing again
I'm going to post another of my stories here for you all, inspired by you. I never came that close to finding out about the great mystery that awaits us, but I've flirted with IT's friends...and this tale of one of my car crashes introduces us to a man who danced on the other side for a minute too...
Thanks so much for sharing, I'd be curious to know if you remember how you felt upon waking. Love, G
The Ford F-150
New Years Eve, in my 26th year, I met an Angel named Fred. He was disguised as a Vietnam War Vet turned mountain man recluse. He was tall and thin, with long greying beard and hair, gruff and weathered, maybe even a little scary looking to some. But I took one look at him and I knew what he was. There was absolutely no doubt after only a few minutes of being with him. There were other, other worldly beings there that night too, but Fred was the only one I could see.
It was 1995 about to be '96, and I was driving this crazy cool retro 1978 Ford F-150, that came to me for the sole purpose of getting me, my meows, and my things to Durango from Denver, I'm sure. It was red and white, and gigantic. Driving along the curvy mountain roads listening to the mixed cassette tape Kendra made for my move, I felt like a child playing around in granddad's truck. Singing along to Sonja DaDa and Peter Gabriel...it had a lot of give in the steering wheel and it was bouncy and fun to drive. Until one day I put my hands on the wheel and I saw it...the crash...at the time, I didn't understand this part of the Sight, but the thought dawned on me, 'if I loose even the slightest bit of control, that's it, no getting it back.' So I called my Mom, told her about my fear of crashing the truck, and she agreed to help me find a new car after the new year. The snow so far that year had been fairly mild, so there was no problem driving the twenty minutes into town to ring in the new year in my new home town. By the end of the night, I was in the best condition of all the friends so I drove everyone home, safely, and decided to take one of them home with me for a little roll in the hay. It maybe wasn't the best idea considering that we just met a couple times before, but Chris was a very nice guy, we were young and free and the chemistry was great, so why not, right? Well, God had other plans, and pretty much said, "NO!"
The road from town to my little house at the base of Missionary Ridge north of town was a winding, dark, sparsely populated, twenty minute haul along a mountainside creek. It's a runoff from the Animas River ~ River of Lost Souls ~ which was frozen over in parts and running in others. The mountain and occasional houses were on the right of the road, the creek and land of the animas valley on the left. The land was covered in snow, but the roads were mostly clear, mostly...the black ice came out of nowhere, and before we were half way home we were suddenly 'flicked off' the road! You hear it all the time, "it happened so fast, yet in slow motion at the same time," and it's so true! The whole incident took probably less than 2 minutes, but time was suspended. As soon as I felt the ice and the control slip out of my hands I knew it was going to be bad, there was just no good place for the truck to go...my vision was coming true and I just told Chris to "hang on, fuck! Hang on," cause we were going down and there was nothing I could do.
I have no idea how far down the road we went, we spun around twice I think, maybe three times, went flying off the road to the left and landed engine first down into the bank over the partially frozen creek. I didn't know this until the guy at the wreck yard told me later, but the truck, obviously totaled, landed at a 45 degree angle and it took several bigger trucks to dig it out. The first crew on the scene the next morning wanted to know 'where the bodies were' it looked so bad. Neither one of us had seat belts on, I don't think there even were any in the truck, and we were told that both of us should have shot straight through the windshield. But we didn't. Chris was still on the passenger side of the seat when we landed, and I was trapped on the floor of his side with my head on his lap. It was the loudest silence I ever heard. And then the reality of what just happened sunk in..."Are you Ok?" over and over and over...Jesus, did I just kill this sweet guy?
No, he was ok. But he did hit his head by his eyebrow, and he was bleeding pretty bad and lost his contact lens so he couldn't see and was freaking out a little. "Was I Ok?" Um...No, I wasn't, so much pain...not sure, I think I can move...we have to get out of this truck...Chris is freaking out...have to help him...can't, too much pain...now what?
I was so scared, so shocked, (and in actual shock from broken bones), and so guilty and responsible for this disaster, I had to help him. The driver side was caved in, I learned later that it was the engine pushing through the dashboard, and we had to use the passenger door, no other way out. From the floor I could reach the door handle which broke off, but he got the door open...somehow...it was wedged into the trees hanging over the creek. He still couldn't see, so he kinda backed out, feeling his way with his feet...only to discover that we were over the creek at such a bad angle that navigating out would be tricky. It was freezing and I was in kinda bad shape, and he was really starting to panic about his lack of sight...it was not going well and I was powerless. And then, in the dead, darkest winter night, as he was hanging half in and half out of the truck, his finger was guided amidst the wreckage directly to his lost contact lens, on the truck floor. He used the snow to clean it and the blood, got it back in his eye, got his bearings and his sight back, realized he was fine and completely took over our recovery mission. ...ok...finally...I can take stock of my own damage and try to get the hell out of the truck.
This was bit before everyone had cell phones, so we absolutely had to get back up to the road for help, just hoping there would be someone else out that far and that late. It was my neck and shoulder that were injured, so with Chris' help I was able to climb out and through the trees ok and we made it to the road. It was so dark and cold and eerily still, so calm and quiet and oddly beautiful after the noise of what had just happened. You couldn't see the carnage from the road, it was the same old winter wonderland it always was, unless you were us. We saw it at the same time, in the distance straight ahead, the most beautiful little porch light for us to follow. We got half way up the driveway, I looked up, and there he was...this tall, thin, long haired shadow in the light waving us forward. He had heard the commotion, was up anyway and he was waiting for us. He said to Chris, "Yep, she's hurt, get on in here." We got to the steps and I looked up into his gentle eyes and asked him his name, "Fred" was all he said as he took me under his arm and so, so gently led me to sit by the fire he made for us, while Chris used the phone.
His place was exactly what you would expect from a bachelor mountain man, stuff everywhere, everything old but perfectly functional, the man cave vibe for sure but not dirty or disgusting, it was warm and caring. Even his 'porn' was good, just nice pictures of naked ladies in respectful poses over by the bar. As I was sitting there by the cast iron fire place, looking around and explaining to Fred, who was standing right over me, what happened, I noticed his dog on the couch across the room, and he had some kind of contraption attached to him. He told me of how his dog broke it's back and that the Veterinarian really didn't think he could recover well, and thought euthanasia might be best. Fred had the vision to build a wheelchair of sorts for his beloved pooch, and give him the support and time he would need to heal instead...and it was working. Right then I saw another layer of this man's kind soul and I fell a little in love. He went to get the dog so we could meet, and as soon as he got a foot or so away from me, the pain that I had somehow forgotten about came rushing back to the forefront and I just went, "whoa, what the fuck?" and almost threw up it was so intense!
He came back over to me, apologized, and held his hands over my shoulder, maybe 6 to 8 inches, and within seconds the pain started flowing right out of my body...and he was responsible. Fred was just standing there, magically drawing the energy of pain right out and pushing the energy of medicine right in...I could actually feel the flow. I was stunned, it was incredible and unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. It was amazing for Chris too, I saw him watching in awe, and I just looked at Fred with wonder and gratitude through my stream of tears, and he knew I needed an explanation...
It turns out, he had been in his own, much more horrific accident about six months before. He was out riding his motorcycle and got hit by a car, and spent two weeks in a coma. He doesn't have a memory for what happened to him in that time, but when he came out of the coma he found himself to have what he called "significant healing powers." It was truly surreal and beautiful and amazing, and so was he! The whole time he was near me, I was ok. Otherwise, not...he had total control of the pain I had from a shattered clavicle and two slipped discs.
He was incredibly shy and reserved, I somehow assumed that he might be traumatized by his time in Vietnam, so I never encouraged him to do more with his gift. He seemed content to be alone with nature and his animals and a few close friends...he didn't need the intrusion of miracle seekers I thought. But I was truly humbled and grateful that he would share his gift with me. I thanked him as appropriately as I could in that moment, and vowed to keep him forever in my heart. We were so far out of town that an ambulance would have taken longer than the accident crew, so the tow company sent us a ride to the hospital, and we left. I took a long hard look around so as not to forget the landscape, I never want to forget where the Angels live.
Chris took over from there. Away from Fred, I went into shock again, the pain was unreal and it was all I could do to stay awake. And even though he got a scar instead of getting laid, Chris was amazing. He did all the talking and paperwork at the hospital, stayed with me through the whole night and never blamed me for any of it.
When the police came to do their thing, the officer felt so bad for us, he basically just said that we suffered enough and that the only thing he had to report, was that I didn't have insurance...I let it go because I was getting a new car in a few days. He wrote a ticket which sets a date for court, said he thought the judge would be lenient if I just told the story, wished us happy new year and left. No accident report, no DUI test, not even a slap on the wrist...the court date on the ticket fell on a Sunday, it was automatically dismissed from the court..like it never happened.
I had to sign the title of the truck over to the wreckage yard to cover the cost of digging it out of the frozen valley. I was sad to see it go, I only had it for a few months and I poured so much cash into it just to get to Durango...but when I saw it, I almost threw up. The sorrow of a minor material loss shape shifted into something much bigger and deeper...I can't even name it in one word. It became painfully obvious why everyone was treating me the way they were...the extra kind eyes and lingering smiles, the non ticket ticket, the no charge except for the title wrecking fee...all of it. The groundskeeper just happened to have grabbed the box of Kleenex on the way to the yard as he escorted me to my baby to say goodbye. I asked him where it was, he gestured to the unrecognizable mangled pile of metal right in front of me, and my heart sank. Jaw dropping, gut wrenching, oh my god are you fucking kidding me shock. I had no control of the stream of tears he knew I'd have, and he just nonchalantly handed me the box.
I'm sure I couldn't say anything other than 'oh my god.' He so sweetly patted my good shoulder and said, "Yeah honey, we're all real glad you're here...I'll give ya a few minutes." And he left me alone, to mourn the truck...and say whatever I needed to say to God. One of my favorite TV characters said it best when his brother in arms asked him if he believed in miracles. He said, "Nope. Seen 'em though." That anyone walked away from the twisted and torn and demolished Ford in a past life hunk of old dreams, was nothing short of a miracle, and I graciously thanked the powers that be for wrapping their miracle around me, and said goodbye. The slipped discs, broken collar bone, the lost truck, and eventually lost friends, all seemed heavy at the time. Looking back though, they were a small price to pay for being graced with the friendship and protection of an Angel named Fred...and whoever lives by the creek on his land in The Animas Valley Of Lost Souls.
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Hey Genny, great story, thanks.
Car crashes are so obtuse, off-topic, no? Seemingly senseless, destructive vignettes that change so much so quickly. I love the line, "Nope, seen em though, spot on.
Do you happen recall or know a band around Durango named "Ralph Dinosaur and the Fabulous Volcanoes"??
M
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Great name for a band! I do remember them, but in name only...I can't say that I actually remember seeing them play, there were so many really cool bands from the area, and many from other states that were drawn to the mountains
Those years for me are crystal clear and a big blur at the same time...
We never missed Wise Monkey Orchestra, The Psychadelic Zombies or Leftover Salmon
G
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Hey, good names all.
Ralph has had a bit if a cult following himself in that area for many years (nothing in a spiritual vein however), and is an old buddy of mine. Just thought you might have run into him, he is interesting and hard to miss.
M
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Genny, that is such a wonderful heart warming heart breaking story. Words almost fail me.
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Enjoyed your story Genny.Thankyou.
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Thanks for the account of your father's death. It's one of the sweetest and intimate pieces I've ever read.
With love,
Cynthia
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Thank you dear Cynthia
It means so much to me, and I appreciate having you take the journey with me
Love, g
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That's sweet of you to say. Thank you for your contributions here, too. I enjoy reading your posts.
Be well,
Cynthia
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