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"In the Beginning"
by Brandon Dey
This is a story that comes from the beginning of my time here on earth in this incarnation I hope you inJoy it..
* * * * *
I have a lot of memories from the earlier stages of my life. It’s funny, looking back with the help of my elders, namely my mom and dad, how different things can be from the child’s perspective than the adults'.
For example, my memory of my dad leaving when I was just about a year old is very different from “what happened”, according to both of my parents. My memory is that dad left because he wanted to do “other things”. I didn’t know what these other things were but when I went in to heal this wound at a later age, what came up from my body's emotional memory is the feeling that he wanted to be “a guy”, and do guy things.I want to tell you how this memory surfaced, so many years after it was buried, within. I was doing self therapy at the age of 23, because I was feeling so much anger that I just couldn't explain or understand. When I went 'into the emotion', it was this anger that guided me In. I couldn't understand why I felt all of this rage but it was clearly directed toward my dad. It just didn't make sense. I had already done so much work around forgiving him that I had no idea where this primal anger was coming from. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I sat on my yoga pillow and I began to rock and hug myself, welcoming the anger and all of the emotions. I welcomed the story, too, so I could understand the rage. The story was very simple. It was like a little picture show of him leaving and the raw primal rage was how I felt, not being able to walk or talk and express my desire for a Family. I was carried out of the house by my mom, but it Felt to me like he was leaving.
In fact, this is what he did. He moved from the small town where we lived, to the big city of Charleston (the Illuminati's "Holy City"), South Carolina. For those of you who can read between the lines, I'll tell you two things that started in Charleston: The Civil War and The so-called Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. Yeah, the Holy City for WHO?
He had a pool table in his home, and a roommate that he drank and partied and smoked weed with. He led the single man's life, dating women and having fun. But in hearing the story from mom and dad later in life, what very clearly happened from the adults’ perspectives is that my mom left my dad. She left him because she was afraid of his rage. He was a rageaholic, as mom put it. I say all of this to say; who knows who is seeing things in the clearest, purest and truest way? It’s easy to say that we create our own reality but when the chips are down, who are you going to believe? My story or theirs? Who saw it more clearly, the young child who couldn't even walk and talk yet, or the adults? In my reality, it looked like he left me. They essentially agree on the overall narrative and both of their stories are the exact opposite of mine. I’ll give you a little context of how drastic the difference is. My dad, five years or so before this, was in a terrible motorcycle accident. He was run over by a little old lady who did not see him. This must of been truly awful, and it was a trauma that shaped his life. I’m sure having one’s leg crushed just has to be real terrible. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of something like that. But his real trouble started with the surgeon. This guy, this “doctor” was supposed to be a specialist when it came to bones but this ignorant and arrogant asshole would not give my dad a bone graft. For some reason, he refused. Even though my dad wanted one and asked for it because he needed it, he didn’t have anyone to advocate strongly enough for him to get that bone graft procedure done. So he went through a lot of pain due to the insensitivity and inhumanity of another being who had positioned himself in a place of authority in a system, the medical system, that was geared toward the allowance of neglect for the human spirit and abuse of our divine body temples. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not making a broad generalization about doctors. This means to be a healer so I know that there are a lot of good people on this earth who chose the career of Dr. to express their want to help others to heal. I’m not talking about them right now; I’m talking about the cunning ones, the ones who put on the white suit but never see the light. They know soooo much but completely ignore the intelligence instilled unanimously in EVERYTHING. Some of these guys are so stupid that they could never even begin to figure out how the body works. These mental jerkoffs are insecure little boys' club members who are in the business of abuse and usury, dominance and submission. They are much more interested in taking other’s bodies apart than in letting their own bodies teach them about healing. This isn’t even an option to them, nor is it a necessity. They don’t need to do that to position themselves in a place of dominance, which is their definition of power. They don’t want to use the same intelligence that is born in every animal and every tree and blade of grass and every earthworm and every rock and every being everywhere in this universe . They would rather be smart and we all know the problem with smart people; they know too damn much.
Anyway, let’s get back to my dad. He didn’t get that bone graft that he begged for and that he desperately needed. Because of this, he went years pulling himself around on a mechanics dolly…. You know, the ones that mechanics get under cars on? He couldn’t even walk for quite a time and he was in bad shape when my mom came into the picture. She dressed his wounds but he had a terrible, excruciating and debilitating bone disease called osteomyelitis. It’s a degenerative bone disease that eats away at the marrow. Apparently it’s one of the most painful things one can experience and there is no relief besides a morphine drip. Now I believe that I would know how to handle this but he certainly didn’t. He suffered suffered and suffered. In fact, he almost lost his leg to this disease. If it weren’t for the star nation people taking him onto their ship and installing these little cones into his leg, he would have certainly lost it. That leg was just not healing but while I was in my mother’s womb, he was taken on some kind of space craft and these little cones that were shaped like the tip of the pencil were put all around that bone, and the leg healed. Later on, when he got x-rays, doctors would ask if he wanted them to take those cones out and of course he always refused.
I say all of this to say that my dad really really really believed that he wanted my mother to stay with him. Yet fate had something else in mind. Or did it? If my dad created his own destiny the same way that we (like to believe) that we create ours, then he wanted the freedom of the single life and to be a guy more than he wanted to be a family man. I’m not judging him, because I love freedom too. I’m just saying; if this manifestation maxim, that this creation process starts in our imagination is real LAW, then the same principle holds true for my father. We all go through these traumas when we are young. We go through it and most often, we bury it, hoping and praying that one day we will be strong enough to uncover it again.
For example, my memory of my dad leaving when I was just about a year old is very different from “what happened”, according to both of my parents. My memory is that dad left because he wanted to do “other things”. I didn’t know what these other things were but when I went in to heal this wound at a later age, what came up from my body's emotional memory is the feeling that he wanted to be “a guy”, and do guy things.I want to tell you how this memory surfaced, so many years after it was buried, within. I was doing self therapy at the age of 23, because I was feeling so much anger that I just couldn't explain or understand. When I went 'into the emotion', it was this anger that guided me In. I couldn't understand why I felt all of this rage but it was clearly directed toward my dad. It just didn't make sense. I had already done so much work around forgiving him that I had no idea where this primal anger was coming from. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I sat on my yoga pillow and I began to rock and hug myself, welcoming the anger and all of the emotions. I welcomed the story, too, so I could understand the rage. The story was very simple. It was like a little picture show of him leaving and the raw primal rage was how I felt, not being able to walk or talk and express my desire for a Family. I was carried out of the house by my mom, but it Felt to me like he was leaving.
In fact, this is what he did. He moved from the small town where we lived, to the big city of Charleston (the Illuminati's "Holy City"), South Carolina. For those of you who can read between the lines, I'll tell you two things that started in Charleston: The Civil War and The so-called Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. Yeah, the Holy City for WHO?
He had a pool table in his home, and a roommate that he drank and partied and smoked weed with. He led the single man's life, dating women and having fun. But in hearing the story from mom and dad later in life, what very clearly happened from the adults’ perspectives is that my mom left my dad. She left him because she was afraid of his rage. He was a rageaholic, as mom put it. I say all of this to say; who knows who is seeing things in the clearest, purest and truest way? It’s easy to say that we create our own reality but when the chips are down, who are you going to believe? My story or theirs? Who saw it more clearly, the young child who couldn't even walk and talk yet, or the adults? In my reality, it looked like he left me. They essentially agree on the overall narrative and both of their stories are the exact opposite of mine. I’ll give you a little context of how drastic the difference is. My dad, five years or so before this, was in a terrible motorcycle accident. He was run over by a little old lady who did not see him. This must of been truly awful, and it was a trauma that shaped his life. I’m sure having one’s leg crushed just has to be real terrible. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of something like that. But his real trouble started with the surgeon. This guy, this “doctor” was supposed to be a specialist when it came to bones but this ignorant and arrogant asshole would not give my dad a bone graft. For some reason, he refused. Even though my dad wanted one and asked for it because he needed it, he didn’t have anyone to advocate strongly enough for him to get that bone graft procedure done. So he went through a lot of pain due to the insensitivity and inhumanity of another being who had positioned himself in a place of authority in a system, the medical system, that was geared toward the allowance of neglect for the human spirit and abuse of our divine body temples. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not making a broad generalization about doctors. This means to be a healer so I know that there are a lot of good people on this earth who chose the career of Dr. to express their want to help others to heal. I’m not talking about them right now; I’m talking about the cunning ones, the ones who put on the white suit but never see the light. They know soooo much but completely ignore the intelligence instilled unanimously in EVERYTHING. Some of these guys are so stupid that they could never even begin to figure out how the body works. These mental jerkoffs are insecure little boys' club members who are in the business of abuse and usury, dominance and submission. They are much more interested in taking other’s bodies apart than in letting their own bodies teach them about healing. This isn’t even an option to them, nor is it a necessity. They don’t need to do that to position themselves in a place of dominance, which is their definition of power. They don’t want to use the same intelligence that is born in every animal and every tree and blade of grass and every earthworm and every rock and every being everywhere in this universe . They would rather be smart and we all know the problem with smart people; they know too damn much.
Anyway, let’s get back to my dad. He didn’t get that bone graft that he begged for and that he desperately needed. Because of this, he went years pulling himself around on a mechanics dolly…. You know, the ones that mechanics get under cars on? He couldn’t even walk for quite a time and he was in bad shape when my mom came into the picture. She dressed his wounds but he had a terrible, excruciating and debilitating bone disease called osteomyelitis. It’s a degenerative bone disease that eats away at the marrow. Apparently it’s one of the most painful things one can experience and there is no relief besides a morphine drip. Now I believe that I would know how to handle this but he certainly didn’t. He suffered suffered and suffered. In fact, he almost lost his leg to this disease. If it weren’t for the star nation people taking him onto their ship and installing these little cones into his leg, he would have certainly lost it. That leg was just not healing but while I was in my mother’s womb, he was taken on some kind of space craft and these little cones that were shaped like the tip of the pencil were put all around that bone, and the leg healed. Later on, when he got x-rays, doctors would ask if he wanted them to take those cones out and of course he always refused.
I say all of this to say that my dad really really really believed that he wanted my mother to stay with him. Yet fate had something else in mind. Or did it? If my dad created his own destiny the same way that we (like to believe) that we create ours, then he wanted the freedom of the single life and to be a guy more than he wanted to be a family man. I’m not judging him, because I love freedom too. I’m just saying; if this manifestation maxim, that this creation process starts in our imagination is real LAW, then the same principle holds true for my father. We all go through these traumas when we are young. We go through it and most often, we bury it, hoping and praying that one day we will be strong enough to uncover it again.
This memory of dad leaving is a memory that I uncovered, right around 2002. I did this after learning a technique from a friend named Arol. I say she was a friend, and she was. She was also a bit of a bully and a tyrant but in a world starved of wisdom, I take useful knowledge wherever I can get it and I’m so grateful for my friend Arol, bless her soul.
So she told me that our bodies hold all the memories of everything that ever happened to us and she taught me how to access the energy to heal the deepest wounds. We can follow the pain, the hurt and the emotion of that, to a place we’ve been before. We can ride the wave, this wave of intelligence that is within, and the pain will point us directly to the source. All we have to do is to focus and let our bodies FEEL in every cell, the feeling and the emotion of what happened. We have to LIVE IT, again. We do this because we didn’t have the tools and in some cases, the time and space, to heal in the same time that we were being traumatized.
So in this case, I had been doing work around healing my relationship with my father for a couple of years very consistently. I worked and worked on it in the dream world and in my awakened state because I didn’t like to feel bad about anyone, much less my dad. I had already decided that I may never have a relationship with him and so I didn’t talk to him and I was totally okay with that. I worked out our relationship without him. So this was like a really deep thing that took me years to get to. There was a very deep pain that I couldn't shake and I felt a very deep anger toward him, no matter how much I justified and forgave his behaviors. In order to heal this anger, I chose to follow it and sadness Inward. I sat on my pillow and I rocked. I held myself and I rocked and I moaned and I let myself cry like a baby as I remembered the feeling of him leaving. I didn’t know much about the world when I wasn’t even one year old yet but I knew what it felt like that my dad had created a life without me at the center and I was angry in a very primal way. I was so angry and so helpless to do anything about it. I couldn’t even talk and be understood and so I cried and I hurt and then I buried the hurt that just wouldn’t go away and obviously I buried it with the intent to uncover it one day so that I can understand the things that nobody explained to me.
So if you ask me, my dad left me and mom because he wanted to be free; although I’m happy to let people go with their own narratives. I love freedom too.
Now I ask you, "Who knows the beginning of anything?" I am giving this example to illustrate not only how little we know, but how little knowledge matters when it is not based in experience. One thing that is often said by the wise is that truth is stranger than fiction. The older and more seasoned I become, the more this seems like an absolute truth, or Law. Truth is always stranger than fiction. I think it would be best at this point to give you some context so that you can understand what kind of being I was (and am). For the first couple of years in my life, I was like a little sponge and I just soaked in my environment. I really lived in another world. I had friends that you just wouldn’t believe were real! Like the bees… I was friends with these bees that were as big as buses! They were so big and they rode on these bee highways that were at times, more like expressways! They showed and taught me about community and they were always busy and joyfully working. I know this sounds strange but Reality, for a young One, it's strange and magnificent! There are secrets that only a child can know. To remain inclusive, I'll say “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven”. One reason that I was able to stay in this magnificent other dimension for so long was that, for one thing, it took me quite a while to become able to communicate with adults. My older brother was my translator, as my parents say that I spoke with something like an English dialect that was nearly impossible to understand. He understood what I would say and, bless him, he would become very upset that others did not.
So I was what they would call “slow to develop”. I was slow to walk and slow to talk. I like to think that I was taking my time and of course, I was gathering information. Slow and steady wins the race. I was figuring things out in the same way that every child figures things out. Once I began to really understand the game, then I began to move much more quickly. To put everything in a nutshell so far, in the beginning I was gathering information. I was gaining an understanding about how things work. I was seeking and finding the answers and often I was seeking and not finding the answers. In this process I began to understand some things with a great deal of certainty. These things proved themselves to me to be true. I didn’t understand why these things were true but reality is stark and sometimes harsh, and pain is a wonderful teacher. Here are some things that were absolutely clear to me:
1. People were separate from themselves. My mother, my father, my stepfather, my brother, and almost everyone that I met and/or knew intimately were separate from themselves. What I mean by this is that in my experience, it was as if I was talking or in relationship with someone who was covering up the real Being. It was like talking with the wizard's projection in the Wizard of Oz but I could never reach the person behind the curtain. People were separate from themselves. This was very clear to me and was a deep concern of mine. I tried to help these loved ones, but had almost no success. There seemed to be nothing that I could do about this, no matter how much effort I put into it!
2. I too would have to separate from myself, eventually, if I was going to live. I knew this would have to happen and that there was no way around it. My goal has always been to help make the world into a better place, to help create heaven on earth and alleviate suffering for those who do not want to suffer. To do this, I knew I would need to be an adult and have adult powers.
3. Adults could do what I called “think for themselves”. This was like an amazing magical power! Mom could want to go to the store and she could get in the car and drive to the store. She didn’t need to ask anybody or get any kind of permission from anyone! This was a god-like power that I took definite note of.
4. I too had a magical power, a secret sacred power. That power is my Imagination. I could use this power to create my future.
5. In putting all of this together, I could also see that something very dangerous was happening. I was forgetting things. I was forgetting things that I had experienced, things from the past. I absolutely had to stop this from happening because if I wanted to accomplish my mission, there were certain things I simply could not forget.
With this knowledge, I started to spend a lot of my time burying memories deep into my mind. These memories were of both traumatizing, confusing events as well as the experience of Original Self. I started to drill myself and imagine my future as an adult-god. I would put these memories so strong into my future that I could never forget, as the most important thing to me was to remember Original Self. I would do it in this way: I would imagine that these memories were like little jewels, like they were living rocks and I would plant them in the soil of my mind. And then I would imagine being a grown-up and coming across this memory either through digging it up or noticing it while I was passing by or just reaching out from an adult place and taking hold of the memory. And then I started to think, 'well, what if things get really bad as an adult; then what'? I imagined all of these scenarios, good and bad, that I could go through and in every scenario I would pick up the memory. It would be a happy joyous day and the happiest thing in my life was finding this memory or it would be a sad day and I would be crying and my puddle of tears would uncover this memory... Or I would be trapped in a dungeon or a deep pit and I would lift up a rock or look beneath my feet and BOOM! There was that golden memory. So I did this over and over again. You could say that I was a master of preparing for the worst and expecting the best. That’s what I did and in every scenario that I can imagine, I came out the winner. I would All Ways, REMEMBER! It’s interesting because later on in life when I started to practice martial arts, one of my favorite things to do was sword fighting. I bought two foam swords and I would go to the beach at least a couple of times a week and sometimes, just in my backyard, and I would imagine every different attack that could ever come at me. I would imagine hundreds of ninjas attacking me and I would fight them off and slay the lot of them. It was 100 or 200 or 300 to 1 and I would come out alive in victory every time. This is why I was sparring blue belts, as a white belt, and winning. It was embarrassing to the leader of the dojo so he had me sparring only with brown and black belts, in the end.
So that’s what I did as a child; I imagined every possible outcome and in every different situation, I came out the winner. I think now is a good time to make it crystal clear what I was the winner of, because it was like a game and indeed life is like a game but it’s a game for the gods. If you play like a mortal, pain is what you get. The winner is like Neo from the Matrix. The winner is the One. We are all born knowing that we are the One but to me that was not nearly enough because I could see that one day I would forget this and nothing else mattered to me other than remembering what happened so that I could be the One, with full adult god-like autonomy. This is the game and I was a very serious player. Honestly, I still am. I planted these memories and prepared for when I would have to separate from myself in the same way everyone around me already had. This happened eventually, when I was eight years old so I’ll get into that later.
I would imagine my future and the only way that I would ever imagine it was remembering what I put there for myself to remember. It was as if I left myself absolutely no option but to remember these memories, to come across them, to dig them up, to have them in my face in a way that I could never ever ignore them. I would imagine myself in the worst circumstances as an adult where it was like “how is he ever going to remember”, and then I would remember. I would pick up the treasure, the fruit, sit beneath the tree of my past and remember, remember, remember. This was an absolute obsession and I spent a great deal of time exercising in this way. I don’t know another way to put it other than to say that I buried these living thought forms and I made sure that one day, when I became an adult god, I would embody these living thoughts once more. Its a GOOD THING that OCD wasn't around back then, along with these numbing drugs. I would have fit the bill, hands down.
Here is one of those memories that I buried so deep, and in such fertile soil, that I could never forget. I was three years old at most, possibly two. My stepdad walked into the front door of our trailer. Yes, I lived in a trailer. I think he came home from work, but who knows? The man lived more than one life. So he walks in the front door and looks at me and this thing, this entity, what looked to me like a hologram flew from him and it hit me like somebody had hit me with a bat. This entity, this hologram, it attacked me. Now, adults might not have been able to understand me at this age, but I had a voice and I understood me. I knew my voice. I was good and loving and I wanted good for everyone. I was literally incapable of creating a negative thought. But this entity had another voice. It’s voice was, to me, dirty, mean and completely foreign. This was an antagonistic spirit. Now I tried and tried and tried to wrestle this being away from me, because it was alien and insidious. I would get it off of me and as soon as I turned my back it would be on me again. It was attacking me, relentlessly! The thing about this malevolent entity is that it’s job, it’s only power, was to trick me into thinking that it’s voice was my voice. This became one of my first big problems because this thing wasn’t going anywhere. I could not get it off of me or out of me despite tremendous efforts on my part. I had no adult help or any help at all that I could see! So I had to deal with this in two different ways. For one, I had to never ever forget what had happened and the second thing I had to do was to find someone or something to help me get this predator separated from my original Self, the oneSelf. In this quest I knew that one of those factors, remembering what happened, was totally up to me. The other, this was something different. Here is where my search for God began.
My family went to church sometimes, like maybe once a year. My mom thought she should take me to church but because her devout Christian parents endorsed and perpetrated her sexual abuse and the sexual abuse of all of her siblings, she really thought the whole thing was horse shit. But she still told me that there was a God and she was a goddess to me, having brought me into this world, so I never doubted that what she told me was the truth. With this knowledge, I began searching for God. Where else would I start but in the place they called his home, church. Now you may laugh but I was asking to go to that darned place and when I would get there I would look under the pews and under people’s shoes and I would crawl around and even look up on the podium and in the preacher's face and I would look in the stained-glass and I would look in the ceiling and in the carpet and I would look in everyone’s faces and in the songs they sang and I would look in the air. I distinctly remember looking in the bathroom and in the water in the urinal and sink! I would literally look everywhere for this God because I needed help and I knew that only something as powerful as God could help with this problem that I had. What an utter disappointment this was. This was a tragedy for me and it was almost unbearable. Besides my father leaving, this is the first heartbreak that I remember, having looked for It, week after week, for months on end. Thank God, in retrospect, I lived in a Cedar grove. The only comfort that I had was in talking to God in the wind and in those trees.
I loved everyone. Like many people who were raised in small town America, and America at large, my family had many secrets. So I was always kind of looking around for those secrets. I would look under the sheets, and the cabinets, I would look in the rug and under the sofa, I would ask the dogs and the birds and the cats and the trees, and of course I would ask the people that I knew as my family. The secrets remained but I was a Seeker. It's such an interesting part of our nature, how we can search so hard for what is right in front of our faces. So many seek God, as if IT is somewhere but not Here! What I learned much later in life is that the secrets my family held were largely around the rampant sexual abuse that had happened to everyone and that no one talked about. To the best of my knowledge, I never guessed that because I had no context for it. I just loved everyone.
So in this case, I had been doing work around healing my relationship with my father for a couple of years very consistently. I worked and worked on it in the dream world and in my awakened state because I didn’t like to feel bad about anyone, much less my dad. I had already decided that I may never have a relationship with him and so I didn’t talk to him and I was totally okay with that. I worked out our relationship without him. So this was like a really deep thing that took me years to get to. There was a very deep pain that I couldn't shake and I felt a very deep anger toward him, no matter how much I justified and forgave his behaviors. In order to heal this anger, I chose to follow it and sadness Inward. I sat on my pillow and I rocked. I held myself and I rocked and I moaned and I let myself cry like a baby as I remembered the feeling of him leaving. I didn’t know much about the world when I wasn’t even one year old yet but I knew what it felt like that my dad had created a life without me at the center and I was angry in a very primal way. I was so angry and so helpless to do anything about it. I couldn’t even talk and be understood and so I cried and I hurt and then I buried the hurt that just wouldn’t go away and obviously I buried it with the intent to uncover it one day so that I can understand the things that nobody explained to me.
So if you ask me, my dad left me and mom because he wanted to be free; although I’m happy to let people go with their own narratives. I love freedom too.
Now I ask you, "Who knows the beginning of anything?" I am giving this example to illustrate not only how little we know, but how little knowledge matters when it is not based in experience. One thing that is often said by the wise is that truth is stranger than fiction. The older and more seasoned I become, the more this seems like an absolute truth, or Law. Truth is always stranger than fiction. I think it would be best at this point to give you some context so that you can understand what kind of being I was (and am). For the first couple of years in my life, I was like a little sponge and I just soaked in my environment. I really lived in another world. I had friends that you just wouldn’t believe were real! Like the bees… I was friends with these bees that were as big as buses! They were so big and they rode on these bee highways that were at times, more like expressways! They showed and taught me about community and they were always busy and joyfully working. I know this sounds strange but Reality, for a young One, it's strange and magnificent! There are secrets that only a child can know. To remain inclusive, I'll say “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven”. One reason that I was able to stay in this magnificent other dimension for so long was that, for one thing, it took me quite a while to become able to communicate with adults. My older brother was my translator, as my parents say that I spoke with something like an English dialect that was nearly impossible to understand. He understood what I would say and, bless him, he would become very upset that others did not.
So I was what they would call “slow to develop”. I was slow to walk and slow to talk. I like to think that I was taking my time and of course, I was gathering information. Slow and steady wins the race. I was figuring things out in the same way that every child figures things out. Once I began to really understand the game, then I began to move much more quickly. To put everything in a nutshell so far, in the beginning I was gathering information. I was gaining an understanding about how things work. I was seeking and finding the answers and often I was seeking and not finding the answers. In this process I began to understand some things with a great deal of certainty. These things proved themselves to me to be true. I didn’t understand why these things were true but reality is stark and sometimes harsh, and pain is a wonderful teacher. Here are some things that were absolutely clear to me:
1. People were separate from themselves. My mother, my father, my stepfather, my brother, and almost everyone that I met and/or knew intimately were separate from themselves. What I mean by this is that in my experience, it was as if I was talking or in relationship with someone who was covering up the real Being. It was like talking with the wizard's projection in the Wizard of Oz but I could never reach the person behind the curtain. People were separate from themselves. This was very clear to me and was a deep concern of mine. I tried to help these loved ones, but had almost no success. There seemed to be nothing that I could do about this, no matter how much effort I put into it!
2. I too would have to separate from myself, eventually, if I was going to live. I knew this would have to happen and that there was no way around it. My goal has always been to help make the world into a better place, to help create heaven on earth and alleviate suffering for those who do not want to suffer. To do this, I knew I would need to be an adult and have adult powers.
3. Adults could do what I called “think for themselves”. This was like an amazing magical power! Mom could want to go to the store and she could get in the car and drive to the store. She didn’t need to ask anybody or get any kind of permission from anyone! This was a god-like power that I took definite note of.
4. I too had a magical power, a secret sacred power. That power is my Imagination. I could use this power to create my future.
5. In putting all of this together, I could also see that something very dangerous was happening. I was forgetting things. I was forgetting things that I had experienced, things from the past. I absolutely had to stop this from happening because if I wanted to accomplish my mission, there were certain things I simply could not forget.
With this knowledge, I started to spend a lot of my time burying memories deep into my mind. These memories were of both traumatizing, confusing events as well as the experience of Original Self. I started to drill myself and imagine my future as an adult-god. I would put these memories so strong into my future that I could never forget, as the most important thing to me was to remember Original Self. I would do it in this way: I would imagine that these memories were like little jewels, like they were living rocks and I would plant them in the soil of my mind. And then I would imagine being a grown-up and coming across this memory either through digging it up or noticing it while I was passing by or just reaching out from an adult place and taking hold of the memory. And then I started to think, 'well, what if things get really bad as an adult; then what'? I imagined all of these scenarios, good and bad, that I could go through and in every scenario I would pick up the memory. It would be a happy joyous day and the happiest thing in my life was finding this memory or it would be a sad day and I would be crying and my puddle of tears would uncover this memory... Or I would be trapped in a dungeon or a deep pit and I would lift up a rock or look beneath my feet and BOOM! There was that golden memory. So I did this over and over again. You could say that I was a master of preparing for the worst and expecting the best. That’s what I did and in every scenario that I can imagine, I came out the winner. I would All Ways, REMEMBER! It’s interesting because later on in life when I started to practice martial arts, one of my favorite things to do was sword fighting. I bought two foam swords and I would go to the beach at least a couple of times a week and sometimes, just in my backyard, and I would imagine every different attack that could ever come at me. I would imagine hundreds of ninjas attacking me and I would fight them off and slay the lot of them. It was 100 or 200 or 300 to 1 and I would come out alive in victory every time. This is why I was sparring blue belts, as a white belt, and winning. It was embarrassing to the leader of the dojo so he had me sparring only with brown and black belts, in the end.
So that’s what I did as a child; I imagined every possible outcome and in every different situation, I came out the winner. I think now is a good time to make it crystal clear what I was the winner of, because it was like a game and indeed life is like a game but it’s a game for the gods. If you play like a mortal, pain is what you get. The winner is like Neo from the Matrix. The winner is the One. We are all born knowing that we are the One but to me that was not nearly enough because I could see that one day I would forget this and nothing else mattered to me other than remembering what happened so that I could be the One, with full adult god-like autonomy. This is the game and I was a very serious player. Honestly, I still am. I planted these memories and prepared for when I would have to separate from myself in the same way everyone around me already had. This happened eventually, when I was eight years old so I’ll get into that later.
I would imagine my future and the only way that I would ever imagine it was remembering what I put there for myself to remember. It was as if I left myself absolutely no option but to remember these memories, to come across them, to dig them up, to have them in my face in a way that I could never ever ignore them. I would imagine myself in the worst circumstances as an adult where it was like “how is he ever going to remember”, and then I would remember. I would pick up the treasure, the fruit, sit beneath the tree of my past and remember, remember, remember. This was an absolute obsession and I spent a great deal of time exercising in this way. I don’t know another way to put it other than to say that I buried these living thought forms and I made sure that one day, when I became an adult god, I would embody these living thoughts once more. Its a GOOD THING that OCD wasn't around back then, along with these numbing drugs. I would have fit the bill, hands down.
Here is one of those memories that I buried so deep, and in such fertile soil, that I could never forget. I was three years old at most, possibly two. My stepdad walked into the front door of our trailer. Yes, I lived in a trailer. I think he came home from work, but who knows? The man lived more than one life. So he walks in the front door and looks at me and this thing, this entity, what looked to me like a hologram flew from him and it hit me like somebody had hit me with a bat. This entity, this hologram, it attacked me. Now, adults might not have been able to understand me at this age, but I had a voice and I understood me. I knew my voice. I was good and loving and I wanted good for everyone. I was literally incapable of creating a negative thought. But this entity had another voice. It’s voice was, to me, dirty, mean and completely foreign. This was an antagonistic spirit. Now I tried and tried and tried to wrestle this being away from me, because it was alien and insidious. I would get it off of me and as soon as I turned my back it would be on me again. It was attacking me, relentlessly! The thing about this malevolent entity is that it’s job, it’s only power, was to trick me into thinking that it’s voice was my voice. This became one of my first big problems because this thing wasn’t going anywhere. I could not get it off of me or out of me despite tremendous efforts on my part. I had no adult help or any help at all that I could see! So I had to deal with this in two different ways. For one, I had to never ever forget what had happened and the second thing I had to do was to find someone or something to help me get this predator separated from my original Self, the oneSelf. In this quest I knew that one of those factors, remembering what happened, was totally up to me. The other, this was something different. Here is where my search for God began.
My family went to church sometimes, like maybe once a year. My mom thought she should take me to church but because her devout Christian parents endorsed and perpetrated her sexual abuse and the sexual abuse of all of her siblings, she really thought the whole thing was horse shit. But she still told me that there was a God and she was a goddess to me, having brought me into this world, so I never doubted that what she told me was the truth. With this knowledge, I began searching for God. Where else would I start but in the place they called his home, church. Now you may laugh but I was asking to go to that darned place and when I would get there I would look under the pews and under people’s shoes and I would crawl around and even look up on the podium and in the preacher's face and I would look in the stained-glass and I would look in the ceiling and in the carpet and I would look in everyone’s faces and in the songs they sang and I would look in the air. I distinctly remember looking in the bathroom and in the water in the urinal and sink! I would literally look everywhere for this God because I needed help and I knew that only something as powerful as God could help with this problem that I had. What an utter disappointment this was. This was a tragedy for me and it was almost unbearable. Besides my father leaving, this is the first heartbreak that I remember, having looked for It, week after week, for months on end. Thank God, in retrospect, I lived in a Cedar grove. The only comfort that I had was in talking to God in the wind and in those trees.
I loved everyone. Like many people who were raised in small town America, and America at large, my family had many secrets. So I was always kind of looking around for those secrets. I would look under the sheets, and the cabinets, I would look in the rug and under the sofa, I would ask the dogs and the birds and the cats and the trees, and of course I would ask the people that I knew as my family. The secrets remained but I was a Seeker. It's such an interesting part of our nature, how we can search so hard for what is right in front of our faces. So many seek God, as if IT is somewhere but not Here! What I learned much later in life is that the secrets my family held were largely around the rampant sexual abuse that had happened to everyone and that no one talked about. To the best of my knowledge, I never guessed that because I had no context for it. I just loved everyone.
*Bless his soul! Neil, my dad, left his body on Christmas eve of 2018. He visited me within hours of leaving the body and this was the first time I ever saw him in a Perfect Body! *