[They] Want You Deaf, Dumb and Blind

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I apologize for not writing more often these days, but the truth of the matter is this:  conservatives are being attacked and censored on every level.   I have spoken of this in previous blogs, but now the Cabal is desperate, unhinged you might say.  They are desperate to keep you brainwashed, terrified that the truth will have a domino effect on evil players, demons if you must know.

Perhaps 10 to 25 percent of you are woke to the truth, maybe not.  I can tell you that my awakening came after years and years of drinking, drugging and messing around with the New Age.  My story is not unique, not by a long stretch.  Sadly, there is a population of vulnerable, impressionable peeps out there-they have been abused their entire life, be it physical, emotional, sexual or circumstantial.  They fly to the “answers” they have searched for their entire lives, and I was one of those victims.

In 2015, I attended a funeral for a young man who happened to be my friend’s one and only son.  We sat in the balcony, and when Sherry walked into the chapel?  Every muscle in my body tightened.  I dug my nails into my husband’s thigh, trying to stifle the scream I felt surfacing-Jason was her only son:  an expert on motorcycles, a truck driver found him in a ditch, on a sunny day.  Sherry received the news while grocery shopping, when a friend called to voice her sympathies.  A part of my heart died that day, and my life took on a frenetic rush to prove that life on this planet had purpose.  

“This can’t be it, Jesus.  Why are we here?  Seems a tad more like hell on earth, not life.”

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Already suffering from CPTSD, my life became smaller by the day. I had no hope, no courage, no vision.

During the funeral, I was startled to find the woman behind me had placed her hands on my neck.  She began gently massaging my scalp, and I retreated in a not so nice way-as if to say-look lady, I don’t know you and why in the harry are you TOUCHING me?

“Honey, this is Lydia.  I went to high school with her,” my husband whispered.

The very same Lydia who sold gorgeous, handsewn purses made from old wool sweaters?  That Lydia?  I had heard of her wares, and she was quite renown in our sleepy little town of Kleinfeltersville.  Everyone loved Lydia.

As an artist, I am drawn to others in the field.  I envied her, it seemed she had an idyllic life.  But why was she massaging a stranger’s neck?

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I’m studying to be a Reiki Master. Why don’t you come by for a free treatment?

Lydia explained that she was studying for her Reiki Master license.  All “treatments” would be free, at least for the coming month.  As a victim of narcissistic abuse, I had plenty of healing to do-was this what I had been looking for?  I jumped at the chance to see her home, let alone receive Reiki (I had no clue what it was, but my mind is always open)  I was not disappointed on my first visit.  Lydia sat down with me, I glanced at her kitchen table and noticed a deck of what I thought to be tarot cards.

Ten years prior, I had been at a superbowl party in which there was a “psychic” in attendance for the party goers.  Hounded by the host to go up and be “read,” I finally caved.  I had attempted to have my palm read years and years ago, in a tiny flat on South Street, in Philadelphia.  She read my sister well, so I was excited (and terrified) of what she would say to me.  She took my palm.  The look on her face said stranger danger, and before she could scream GET OUT, we headed down the steps, taking two, three at a time.  My sister laughed the entire way home, but I was tormented.

Why would she kick me out?  She told me to call her and she would explain, but that she could not be in my presence.  It wasn’t until years later that I realized a very, very important fact:

Practitioners of black magic, fortune telling, Reiki, or witchcraft simply can’t deal with the children of the Most High.  They know who we are, and they don’t mess around with God-even if they worship satan, they know who we are.   It’s as simple as that.

My visit with the super bowl psychic proved disastrous as well.

“I don’t like tarot cards, or having my palm read,” I explained.  I told her of my past experience.

“Oh, I know why she did it, but that was cruel.  You must have been frantic,  Nothing to fear, let’s get started.”

As my heart began to pound out of my chest, she shuffled the cards.

“Pick one.”

Long story short, I picked the death card.

“Within the week, someone will die in your home.”

Well, that made me fly up out of my seat and run to my husband.

Honey, I thought you didn’t believe in psychics, that isn’t going to happen.

Two days later?  My beloved Dalmatian, Chipper, began having a series of strokes.  By the third day we had to call the vet, and he lapsed into a coma in my lap.  I sat there for five hours, legs numb, railing at God.

The poor dog was diagnosed with encephalitis, a brain swelling.  The trauma hit us both in the face, like a bowl of ice cold water.  In my grief, I had more questions than answers.  I will never forget that day, the darkness, the heartache.

After a few Reiki “treatments,” I found myself becoming more depressed by the day.  I would have days that were so dark?  I couldn’t move, get out of bed, even feed the animals.  I tried to reach out to others, but no one had a clue what I was talking about.  Black crows followed me everywhere, and I mean a murder of crows.  Snakes were found in my kitchen, one dead, with his head sticking up as if he were warning:

Something wicked this way comes.

To be continued.

Love Is Wild……

What is love, really? And how do you know if you’re on the right track, if you are loving someone enough, or …in a way that tells them they are loved?

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not anger,
nor does it boast.

This is what we find in our bibles, and make no mistake-God meant what he said, but how many of us can rise to that place? For me? Love is compassion. Love is validation. Love may take it up a notch or two-as lovers are passionate, and the frenzy can make us crazy. My husband and I still rant and rave, but at the end of the day? Love, somehow prevails. I remember not so long ago the days of begging him to love me, and now the tables have turned-love doesn’t hold anything over your head, and if you wax and wane poetic, but have no understanding or compassion, what does it amount to? Dust. Dust in the wind.

True love allows the other person breathing space. It listens, nods its’ head in sorrow, puts you in the shoes of the lovee.

Don’t you speak over my words. My reality is hard won, and I won’t trade my newfound jewels for stones-not today, not ever~

What She Said…

Have you every dry cried?  It is a phenomena I had never experienced until this day.  Apparently, I’ve no tears left to weep-and that is why God led me to Thessalonians.  Paul speaks passionately about the truth and how raw the need for transparency in a fallen world.

I admire the heck out of Roseanne.  She has been through the ringer, and then some.  I think she exudes God’s wisdom and grace.  She means so much to me because she is gutsy, and that is so very rare in today’s pansy ass environment.  How can people not see this?  How could you allow your child to be taught to bow to Allah?  Or learn about the eleventy hundred ways to identify:  God bless them they must be so confused.

Roseanne is right on the money.

This is about the children.

I am joining this community of women, as we are growing in numbers and strength.  In the days and months ahead, may we comfort the mothers who blindly followed the vogue, the trends, the Joneses.

I would much prefer a bitch slap, but hey-you can’t have everything.

Wild Child

 

I remember my sister and myself, attending a party years ago; my childhood friend Mark was dating a real hum dinger-no one particularly liked her, but she was honest, in a crippling kind of way.  I overheard this observation:

Well, if it isn’t Twisted Sister and Little Bo Peep.

I knew I wasn’t meant to hear her, but I have bionic ears.  My husband marvels at the fact that even when the television is playing at a deafening  volume, I can hear a tiny field mouse in a bag of chips on the other side of the house; or the kitchen door alarm, dryer buzzer and what the neighbors are discussing at any given moment in time.  I kid, of course-I don’t want to know what my in laws talk about, believe me.

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Here is a random, blurry picture I took, with a random pet’s foot.

Anyhooser, as I was saying, this girl Mark was dating had no clue who she was messing with.  My catchphrase used to be-

Don’t F with a mother F-er. 

and I had the reputation to boot!  I have never taken kindly to the idiocy of some people, and quite frankly?  I told people off with wild abandon.  But there was a missing link, alas, I could not do the same with the people in my life that needed to be kicked in the ass; and then, later in life?  The codependency.  In essence, I pick my battles with great care-but I can be one scary bitch if I need to be.

Yes, I have an Irish temper, yet God has carefully redirected my rage via hiking, gardening and Kayaking.  I grew up in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania-best known for the Court at King of Prussia.  I lived there before the mall, when there was nothing but the Valley Forge shopping center.  As I grew closer to graduating from high school, I knew from a place deep down inside me, that I would not stay.  The mere thought of running into the cheerleaders who had turned their nose at me for years- in some run down 7-eleven, whilst buying a pack of Marlboro lights.  I think you smell what I’m about to step in: I was a wild child.

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The simple things are the most breath taking~

I was a loner as well, still am, to this day.  I could lose myself for hours in the woods-and back then, there was little danger of being kidnapped, bludgeoned or left for dead in the middle of a country road (that happened years later, when I was hit be a drunk on a Harley.  I was the drunk on the road)  Good times.

As a child, I questioned everything.  My poor mother must have wanted to shove a sock in it, on more than one occasion.  One day, I was about four (so the story goes) when I stormed into the kitchen and announced that I would one day be living on a farm, and nobody was going to change my mind.  It gives me chills that I ended up doing just that.

A farmette,  but a farm nonetheless.  An outdoor cat colony (thirteen at present) and indoor cat colony of four, and a golden retriever.  I live in Amish country, and haven’t returned to King of Prussia since my father passed away-no reason to.  I remember sighing with relief, when we made frequent trips to see daddy, once we took our exit on the turnpike.  Once you take the girl out of the city?  It’s virtually impossible to get her back.

As I have grown in my faith I have learned, and on some level always known, that my peace and joy would come from the simplest of things: a snail shell found in a corn field, the ice formations on maple leaf, the snow fall on a Winter’s day, a spider’s web of antique lace.  I recently wondered to myself if I would ever grow up, and the Holy Spirit led me to this bible passage:

How many are your works, Lord!  In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.                                                         Psalm 104:24

Look at life through the eyes of a child-and there you will see His splendor and majesty.

Be blessed~

Destiny is Calling Me…

I don’t quite know where to begin, and my mind is racing in seven different directions, in seven different languages. 🙂

I am not fond of speaking of my past, in terms of the darker days. I feel a chill in the air, my mood plummets to the pits of hell-but God took me through those fires for a reason, and I know that my story is your story-you, the addict. And by addiction I don’t mean to chocolate: I’m talking drinking to the point of blackouts; stealing medications from clients; multiple “accidents” and that feeling in the pit of your gut-your guilt, coupled with the pain you are self medicating.

Nasty. Putrid. Bleak.

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“How could I possibly clean myself up? What would I do with all of my raw, searing pain? How could I cope?”

Beloveds, listen to the wise old hoot owl-learn from my mistakes. I spent years running from a traumatic childhood, turned to booze and men, then pills and cocaine. I married the man of my dreams (ok, he is seriously on my nerves today-but we made vows and stuff)and when I had life by the balls? I washed it down the kitchen drain; hook, line and sinker. Ten years of my life are missing, literally. Yet, I am just another sinner, clawing my way out of the rat race; running at warp speed to what I had no idea at the time.

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I ran into the boys from Teen Challenge, an amazing program of hope and sobriety for men of all ages and backgrounds, who have failed in all previous attempts to get sober. Every holiday we see them at our local grocery store. I listened to their stories, we laughed-and cried together. I have an innate connection to the broken-I always will. Even without their stand and wares? I could have picked out those men in a heartbeat.

Addicts have a tell, and it takes one to know one. It’s all in the eyes-which speak to me in various ways. Today it was the look of the haunted. I knew immediately that they were just beginning their journey; the look of sheer panic, yes. But something about them stood out, as if they were old souls or friends I hadn’t seen in some time.

“I just got out of prison, was there for two years. Lost my family, home and job. I tried every program out there, and I relapsed every time-it is an absolute miracle that God found me when He did. It’s Jesus that makes all of the difference! I have my family back, ma’am. And you know who the glory goes to, now, don’t ya?”

Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you. -Deuteronomy 31:8

Every day you don’t take a drink is a miracle.

Be miraculous~

I Cut You Off……..

I have NEVER heard of this band, but I can tell you this-I will be listening from now on.

When it comes to Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I know a few things, and what I know brings me to my knees. The echoes of earlier years, when she and I were close and loving. The survivor’s guilt I feel, which makes no sense as I didn’t get away unscathed-anorexia, bulimia, OCD, CPTSD, alcoholism, depression and crippling anxiety? Yet I worry about the fate of my sister, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.

I miss her.  There, I said it.  I cannot fathom going through the rest of my life without her, yet I cannot fathom my life with her.  A lose-lose if there ever was one.  What I would love to do is help her, but she was never one to want my assistance.  I want to tell her that everything will be okay, it’s not your fault, just tell the truth and we as a family will deal with the repercussions.  I want to tell her that God has broad shoulders, and that we can talk it out.  I want to pick up the phone and call her, almost did the other day.

How can I have a relationship with her and remain sound of body and mind?  How could I learn to trust her again?  What will become of my family?

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This is what victims need to come to terms with: whether you lose a lover, a mother or a friend-you are losing the idea of who you thought they were.

And if you offer a hand to help them up and out of the muck and mire? Be prepared to see them walk away, because they don’t think they need help-they don’t think they have done anything wrong. Their brain is misfiring and they will think absolutely nothing of dragging you down with them, so FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT to ensure that you are physically, emotionally and spiritually prepared to go to war.

Then, once you have gone no contact? Enjoy the return of your creativity, self esteem and individuality.

No one can do this for you. Just remember: you are missing the ghost of the person you thought them to be.