Into His Arms…

I have to start out by telling you I have consumed my happy juice and am a bit crosseyed at this time.  But praise Jesus, for he has given us every herb, plant and fruit bearing tree so that we will live healthy, peaceful lives.  Medicinal.  Used for my CPTSD, it can take me from despair to joy, and that my friends is worth its weight in gold.

I’ve been thinking about what is happening in this world, and obviously, it all but freaks me out.  After watching a video I shouldn’t have, I was overwhelmed-feeling as if the entire three ring circus was on my back.  First sad.  Then frantic.  Then Jesus.

I tell him, Jesus! I am clinging to your robes today, I need you badly!

These are the times when I run, full throttle, all engines on to God.  I picture myself running in to his amazing hug, and hear him say There, there child.

I can’t do this Jesus.

I know too much, why do I know so much and when did you make the decision to take a scaredy cat like this girl, and lead her in the direction of Doom.  Real news.  Investigative reporting.  I have felt the Holy Spirit driving me in this direction, and some days?  Down with the ship I go.

He never pushes, never demands.

I come to the realization that He alone is my Lord and Savior.  He will not leave me nor forsake me.  He is in control.  

I take a long hot shower.  I plug in my tiny white lights strategically placed all over my home, to give comfort.  Put some cinnamon on the stove.  And then He takes me back to who I was before I got clean.  I am profoundly grateful.

I fall into His arms.

Jacqueline

 

We are in the midst of a glorious snow storm, so I bake cookies, do research, take the pup shed hunting.  I am like a child when it snows.  Yesterday?  We took to making a snowman, and I made snow angels, for the first time in years. 

Presently, Jesse gnaws on frozen fox, I am beyond horrified, tell him to come, drop it, good boy.  We hunt five square miles of prime shed territory on two different plots of land.  I grumble that my hands are empty.  I apologize to God, thank him profusely.  I feel like a shmuck.  He has blessed us abundantly, with the things that truly matter in our lives-family, a loving marriage, food on our kitchen table-the very same one as in my childhood- I simply can’t bare to replace it.

The word on the street is that dysfunctional families raise dysfunctional adults.  The friends who don’t fill that shoe are few and far between.  So, what happens when your very best friend is dwelling in the silent place, and you are incapable of helping her.  You can’t wrap your arms around her, like you want to-because she’s a bit too restrained.  She is holding you at arms length because her relationship with her father was complicated, she suffered.  You are working through boundaries and self esteem issues after a life time of narcissistic abuse.  You have ended lasting friendships with people who refused to take you seriously, or took you for granted.

 

But this girl?  You just can’t shake her-you have become as close as your familial histories have allowed you to be.  She has always taken you seriously, and always respected you.  It just hurts too much when she forgets our plans, or fails to return numerous attempts to ask about her well being.  I do not judge her for this, she is hurting and I hurt for her.

You love her and hope that she knows this.

Sometimes there isn’t an answer.  Maybe you need to let go and let God.

So you decide that you will not allow her to slip away.  You take a step back and give her the space she needs.  You miss her, but know-deep within your very soul, that she is in the arms of the angels.

Jesus has this.

 

Hunger Strike

 

Here I sit, fresh off of 8chan, and my mind is blown:  not that I didn’t know that Chris Cornell didn’t kill himself, I knew alright.  And here’s the shocker:  Chris knew, and maybe he knew too much.  Pay attention to the words:  I am a lyric junkie, yet in my wildest nightmares, I had no idea.  I had no idea that the Illuminati ate children.  Never even heard a rumor to that affect.  They say that only those with “eyes to see” can understand the severity and depravity of these facts.

Chris was telling us that he wasn’t about to join the diabolical crowd.  Is that why they murdered him?  I simply do not know.

Awaken

The Illuminati has infiltrated governments across this planet.  Latin for ‘enlightened ones’, the Illuminati was founded in the southern German state of Bavaria on May 1, 1776, by a religious law professor named Adam Weishaupt.  The 20 year old believed that through enlightenment, society would have to become more orderly and efficient.  He incorporated mysticism, to add intrigue and make the group a mysterious enigma, wrapped in cloaks and daggers.

This system was based on the Freemasons’ structure of orders and ranks.  His first group contained five members, all given aliases to provide a modicum of anonymity.  Weisthaupt  chose the name Spartacus.

Professor Weishaupt, as it turned out, was a huge control freak.  The initiation rites prospective members endured included bizarre costumes and chilling ceremonies.  By 1779, there were only 54 members.  Everything changed when Baron Adolph Freiherr von Knigge.:  a renowned diplomat and Master Mason occultist with connections to numerous secret societies.  Von Knigge was very successful in his recruitment of new members, including royalty, powerful politicians and leading Freemasons.

The Illuminati Hierarchy

Weishaupt’s model for a New World Order involved three basic classes:

Class 1-he called this the “nursery,” consisting of Noviciate, Minerval and Illuminatus Minor.

Class II-the “blue lodge” (Masonic) categories of Apprentice, Companion and Master-separated from the higher “Scottish” grades of Scottish Novice and Scottish Knight.

Class III-the Mysteries: Priest and Prince, followed by the more enigmatic Mage and King.

So, in essence, when Jim Carrey appeared on Jimmy Kimmel to discuss the “Illuminutti” conspiracy freaks, his agenda was clear-to disparage and discount the very organization that donned him a High Priest of Satanism.

Don’t let anyone call you a conspiracy theorist if you mention Secret Societies.

They ain’t so Secret any more.

 

 

Stay By Your Fireside Bride

 

Awhile ago, maybe six or so months-I prayed to God for an expansion of my awareness, a ripping of the veil, if you will.  My experience two years ago, culminating in a devastating loss, was nothing short of having a sixth sense.   I took pictures of angels in my back yard, on a dreary, foggy day.  As I sat at my pc, writing, the Holy Spirit urged me to stop what I was doing, grab my zoom lens, and snap a picture-directly into a heavy mist.

I didn’t question it.  I took the camera, lifted it to my eye, and promptly had a near heart attack.  White Crosses.  A dozen of them.  I took the camera away, saw nothing.   The magic happened when I saw the footage-angels, in my estimation.  God was signaling to me that although I was in the New Age, getting Reiki treatments, and burning sage while uttering a prayer so evil I could only find part of the Latin translation on the internet-He was protecting and loving me right then and there.  I had no idea at the time that the origins of angel and tarot cards, angel readings, crystals, totems, mediations, yoga, sage burning and the third eye?  It comes from the occult, and it’s easier than you may think to allow demons into your life, home and relationships. Turns out, after my stalking experience, I ran to my Reiki friend, who very lovingly prayed it over me in my hysteria.

It was so beautiful in Latin, and I asked for its meaning, but Lila didn’t know.  She learned it from a fellow Master.

It took me months to forget this mantra, so I won’t go looking for it.  I searched the internet for days, finding nothing but the (I kid you not) score from Damien.  Another story for some other time, back to my blog.

Around the time of the angel sightings, I began experiencing a thinning veil, an eye for another realm so to speak.  Synchronicities, premonitions, impossibilities.  A knowing that I simply can’t put into words.

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All of these things were happening as my relationship with my sister began to spontaneously combust.  Reeling from that alone, I was later blindsided by her systematic destruction of my relationship with my niece, Godchild and nephew.  And when that wasn’t enough?  She took my brother as well.  Gut-wrenching melodrama was the theme of that Summer.  I relapsed.

I am sitting at my perch, at the end of our couch-a few moments ago.  Did you get that text from Craig (my brother) today?  I think that one of your aunts died.

Stunned, I said:  “I only have one aunt.”

My Aunt Irene is now in Heaven, with her beloved husband who passed just months ago.  They say it was her heart, which was shattered by the death of my Uncle Bill, I am certain.

The tears didn’t come at first, which didn’t surprise me-I had only met the woman a handful of times.  Same with my cousins, same with Uncle Bill.  You see, my dad and his brother were estranged-Bill was a born again Baptist, dad was an alcoholic agnostic.  I remember every year at Christmas, Bill would send my dad Baptist Digest.  It always stung a bit, when the magazine hit the bottom of the trash can.  I didn’t, no, couldn’t understand why my dad didn’t spend more time with his family, even if they lived in upstate New York.

You see, it takes an orphan to see what family truly means.  And from where I stand?  Family is everything.  It is my opinion that we become who raises us, whether we fight it or not-the cycle of abuse is the hardest one to break.  I don’t judge my sister, and I have forgiven her-she did not choose her childhood, and I think she bore the weight of the dysfunction.  I know that she loves me, and I know that she hates me.  I also know that I am not yet strong enough to reach out, but pray each and every day that God provides a way for us to coexist-without it costing my mental and physical health.  I learned that lesson with the loss of what is hopefully the last toxic relationship with the worst narcissist I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.

In the name of Jesus I break the Spirit of Jezebel that erodes familial love.  The slithery, dangerous one shall not prosper here.  Drink the blood of Jesus, Jezebel.

My heart reaches out to all of you who know this pain.  We are not an exclusive group, the victims of Narcissistic Abuse.  The crowd is growing, and we have so many excellent resources to choose from.  Below is one of my favorite videos about family relationships.   Angie Atkinson is wonderful, accessible on YouTube and she maintains multiple support groups.  The point is:  don’t try to do this alone, remember that even when your family hates you there will always be a bond through God and blood.  They love you, but in their own way.  It’s up to you to decide who you can and cannot live without.  God works miracles in our lives, each and every day.  Don’t give up hope-not a good place to be.  I take things one day at a time, and reflecting on how incredible my life has become since my rebirth?  I know that the Alpha and the Omega, who created Heaven and flat earth, 🙂  He has my back, always.

The best we can do is put it in our Abba’s sturdy hands-and know that he answers each and every one of your prayers; in a way that will enrich and embolden you.  He will prosper you in all of your ways, just go to Him.  He’s within you, beside you, and best of all?  For you.

They Call Her Out by Her Name…..

I have been having what some would call “hearing hallucinations,” and I know they are real, as real as the grass in the yard, the puffy clouds on the horizon, and the Spring peepers who cry out their mating call at this time of year.

Okay, how do I explain the inexplicable?  I’ll have to go back to the early days, circa 2013, after an incredibly stressful demolition of our church, by Christian Hypocrites who simply took over, spewed their venom and caused one of our pastors to turn to Atheism.  I was distraught over what I then thought to be the end of my life as I  knew it.  I got sober in this chapel, every single person knew my story and they showed me love and grace, not harsh ostracism.  The travesty is, we were beginning to do some amazing spiritual work……we were in sync, and you could feel the Holy Spirit-lifting us up and out of our day to day lives.  And then:  Kaput.

I began to experience a strange, but lovely thinning of the veil, if you will.  I began finding feathers in crazy places-different colors and hues.  I collected twenty of them and put them in a crystal glass.  No explanation for how they came to be in the middle of my bedroom floor; no cat toys missing pieces, no feathered anything to be blunt.  I did not realize they were feathers from the Angels at the time, no not until the last feather was gifted me:  a large, purple beauty, somehow I knew that this would be the last one, and it was.  I have brought these feathers to bedside vigils, to give others the hope of better days to come, when we are once again home, the complete and unwavering love of God, His mercy and forgiveness.

Shortly after the last feather appeared, I had been toying with the New Age.  I came out of that nightmare unscathed, but now things were getting downright eerie.  Five minutes before I was stalked by a half naked man, causing me horrible PTSD symptoms, I heard my angels wings.  So loudly, I turned around as I expected to see a Vulture, or other huge bird looking at me.  Instinctively, I knew what it was.  I believe I was guided by the heavenlies that day, and I have good reason:  the Conservation Officers were doing their annual trail checks that day, and I had the good fortune to run out of the woods and into the arms of the officer who took the case.

One day, I was absolutely driven to get up off my buttocks and take a picture of my back yard.  It was a dreary rainy day, and there was nothing to see…..but listen to myself I did.  As I brought the camera to my eyes, I saw 6 or 7 white crosses-along the garden plot.  If I took the camera away?  Nothing.  Each time I brought that camera into focus, I saw the white crosses, and I felt protected, if not a little shaky.

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Yesterday, while getting out of the shower, I heard those wings again.  I knew the angels wanted me to know they were with me, which scared the bejeepers out of me.  What now?  Why now?  I had to sit for a spell and calm myself down.

So, it is evening and my husband and I are preparing dinner.

“Honey, you know if you need to talk about the Bud (formerly known as my stepson) debacle, I know how much you’re hurting.  I want you to know that I am here for you, and if you need to vent, please do so.”

What he said next was so crazy making, so vile and putrid and everything that goes along with the loss of a child.

“I text him, last week.  I jacked him up and he said there will be no apology forthcoming.

No apology?  That man-child stood in my garage and screamed cruel and untrue things, called me a freak, told me the whole family thought I was a freak.  And, as it turned out, he was plenty pissed that I am on SSI, as “it’s not fair I have to pay for her income with my taxes.”`  He was this close to hitting me and when I went to go inside, he came after me and I just waited.  If he hit me, then I could go to court, get a Protection From Abuse-hey, I’ve suffered worse things, believe me.

I have made the decision that he is dead, dead to me for all intents and purposes.

You see, what seemed to irritate him most? That I had suffered CPTSD, and depression.  Apparently he thinks I made it all up; that after owning my own businesses and working (often two jobs at a time) for 40 years, I just decided, as if upon whim, to close shop, be lazy and ruin my husband’s life.  How could he be that cold?

And then the inevitable kick in my aching groin:  “Bud will be at mom’s for Easter, with his gal pal extraordinaire, the woman who was the icing on the cupcake of his disaster, the woman who so eagerly took what was not hers, her best friend’s boyfriend.  Don’t get me wrong, Bud is responsible for his own actions, but being the raging narcissist that he is?  He will never take accountability.  He ruined his own life and he should have thought about that before he let his penis do his thinking.  Sorry, I’m a bit rough around the edges today.

Father, forgive him, he knows not what he does.

She talks to angels, they call her out by her name.

Spirit in The Sky

Starving artists, one and all
Hear the caw,
The Raven’s call.

Charcoal paintings,
Photographs-
They beckon,
Mother Nature laughs.

The faeries dance
On fallen pine,
they bring such joy,
they’re friends of mine.

A bubbling creek or
mourning dove,
all are signs that
from Above,
You aren’t starving
after all,
but yearning for what’s free,
the love.

The Christ Child

Be patient with me, I am mid allergy flare (stupid dust from the wood stove) and my eyes are closing as we speak. I haven’t written in some time, as I try not to force anything, if I don’t feel it? I move on, baby, I move on! Plenty of things to keep my busy around a mildly run down farm house. A two hundred year old one, at that. I need to paint, my entire house no less-and have a kazillion things to fix, mend or glue. I mean, bathroom floor, refinishing our hardwood floors, the list goes on.

As it turns out? I love this old house. I treat her with kid gloves, and in return she gives me joy amidst the toil, a thank you of sorts, for continuing to love and respect what she once was, what she will be again, some day. I have done almost everything humanly possible to create a warm and inviting space-big, soft blankets strewn across our leather furniture. Each room an individual feel, no two rooms alike-that’s for sure. I suffer from depression at times, and it is my prayer to refinish her in a way befitting of her old, stoic beauty.

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This is our view from the deck at the pond.

So, finally getting to the point, I want to tell you that I was not myself over the last few weeks. Seasonal blues, combined with the side effects from my recent head injury and ensuing concussion (nausea, mood swings, headaches, and fatigue)put me in a place of utter despair.

I gave it all to God, and that helped immensely. Yet I still felt deeply saddened, as if the grief were going to swallow me whole-suffocate me with its deadly black cloak. I didn’t want to do, be, talk to or even participate in the holiday festivities. I had been depressed around this time of year before but this year? I had the added burden of wondering if we should be celebrating this holiday with pagan origins. I look at it this way: we know that 12/25 is not the date of Christ’s birthday, but we are celebrating our Lord and Savior as tradition has taught us for eons. I got into a quarrel with a Youtuber named Daniel Lee of Torah Restorations Ministries on his channel. This is what transpired, the cause and effect of an almost-ruined Christmas Eve:

Me: Merry Christmas Steve! (talking to another subscriber, not the MAN himself)

DANIEL: HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY SAY THAT TO SOMEONE KNOWING WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT SATANIC RITUAL ABUSE!! DON’T CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS, MICHELE, DO WHAT JESUS DID, PRACTICE HONUKAH INSTEAD!!!

I want to preface the next few paragraphs by telling you that I was a big fan of his channel, and we had grown to be like brother and sister. So much so that he was planning on staying with us this Spring, as he tours the universities of the East Coast to preach his message.

Me: Daniel, calm down. I’m not judging others, not my job, and Merry Christmas? Really, Daniel.

DANIEL: NO! YOUR HUSBAND AND YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER….BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!

It was brutal, and on Christmas Eve, no less.

I dressed, unceremoniously for Christmas Eve service, we had to be early, as we were helping set up. I slowly went around, to each window, and plugged in the gorgeous wreaths. Nothing. I sat in the chapel while the band practiced, hoping the music would inspire me. Zilch.

Nope, it looked like I wasn’t going to rally for the cause. Christmas would come and go, and I would be left in the dust, blindsided by regret and pain. I held back tears as I sat for the service. The evening was beautiful, and as I watched the children take the stage in a haphazard way-I leaned forward, in order to see, in order to listen.

I watched as my pastor, Tony Blair, looked at the children on stage. His face softened, his eyes grew moist. He gazed at those precious little people, with such tangible joy and love-it was heart wrenching.

There are good people in this world-well meaning, honest human beings who truly care about the least of these. The world became a brighter place, instantaneously. As we lit our candles, one by one, I had drifted off to the landscape of the starry night in Bethlehem, and the very thought of the Christ child lifted me up and out of my inertia, my numbness.

Back at home, hours later, I sat in the dark and took in the beautiful Christmas tree, my dog and cats asleep beside it, dreaming of sugarplums-no doubt. I say there for some time and prayed.

I felt a bit of childhood whimsy, the spark of pure adrenaline a kid feels when they even think of Santa Claus. But this time? The floaty stomach and profound love in my heart was due to the love of my Lord and Savior, my Prince of Peace, my evening song-Emmanuel~