An Unkindness of Ravens

When I was frolicking in the New Age movement (please DON’T) I took notice that a cacophony of ravens followed me-from state to state in fact, and it took me some time to realize that this was not a good thing.  Between a well meaning Reiki Master (please DON’T) led me to Doreen Virtue’s angel cards, spirit guides, and the pineal gland.  

I came to my senses when I went to her immediately after being stalked by a naked, wild haired, crazy man-and she told me I created the scenario, you know, by thinking about it.  Kind of like The Secret, but backwards.  Most of you know I went through absolute hell getting out of such ridiculousness and evil.  The day of my plummet back into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I phoned my sister.

She never got back to me.

The same thing happened the day I was thrown down on my knees in utter sorrow, for the Holy Spirit had made it clear-I needed to apologize and repent.  I didn’t really have a choice in the matter-on my knees for what seemed like hours, repeating over and over:

I have grieved your heart.

I had never, nor do I hope to ever feel that sadness and despair again.

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When my anxieties multiply, your comforting calms me down. -Psalm 94:19

I had been praying recently, about trying to make things “right” with my sibling.  Abba answered that prayer rather quickly, as He reminded me that even though I have forgiven her, it doesn’t change who she is.  How could I possibly move forward without an apology, or even an attempt to  talk things out?

And what would become of my authentic self and the tough road walked to freedom from people who did not have my best interests at heart.  I cleaned the closet of close friendships, and wound up making new friendships.  And although I love my sister, and dearly miss my nieces and nephew?

I broke the chains that bound me.  I can never go back.

Never.

 

Updates, etc.

This is a great source for catching up, I love X22 Report.  The more varied my trusted sources of news, the more likely I will catch something that others have missed.  So, congress showed some big Kahunas today, not?  What the Bloody Mary?  I just told my husband that here, at this moment in time, about to witness the systematic destruction of the Illuminati, the demons, the descendants of Cain-it has all been written in Revelations, Matthew and Luke.  These people are not human-no person with a soul could even fathom these atrocities, committed of free will, against everything the Kingdom of God represents.

God is grieved, and he’s gonna shake up planet earth, pick it up and shake the rodents, demons and filth that has gathered over the years, and I have news:  if you fall into any of these categories?  If you are living a life of deceit and duplicity?  God knows.  Now would be a really good time to turn to Jesus-how can any mere mortal weather the Storm without Him?  I am a living miracle.  I suffer from CPTSD,  and for years I worried myself into an ulcer, heart palpitations and anxiety attacks.  I was folding laundry today, and I wondered at the peace I feel almost continuously.

It took me years and years to finally give myself some credit, and as my self esteem improved-I grew an inch and a half, no lie.  I had been hunched over, so self loathing and  unworthy-but not in God’s eyes.  No!  I have had a past that includes alcoholism and drug addiction.  I took meds from my clients at one point-at the very end, when I was so far down the rabbit hole I wasn’t responsible for my own behavior.

Wrong.  We are all responsible for our behavior.  But there is no fear or condemnation in Jesus, and forgiveness and repentance take place almost seconds after you turn your life over-that peace that surpasses understanding is available to everyone.

Nope.  Doesn’t matter what you think you’ve done-God will grant forgiveness if you are sincere and willing to think anew, or repent.  That aspect comes naturally, and if you have the faith of  a mustard seed?

You can say demon, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus.

And that, my friends, is what God is guiding Donald J. Trump to do-en masse~

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Dog is GOD spelled backwards.

A Prisoner of the White Lines on the Freeway……

I was trying to catch up on my reading a few weeks ago, my WordPress reading that is.  It was a cold and rainy Sunday evening, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I read his blog.  I didn’t know him, or of him, I just gave a little love to a stranger, one who had lost his brother-one who was on the verge of suicide.

It broke my heart to read his words.  No one had commented, and I was frantic.  I quickly wrote in the comment section, no.  You are loved.  You have a place in this world.  You must not give up, I will help you.  It didn’t matter that he lived half way around the world from me, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know him.  I just wanted him to feel the love that makes the difference: between being utterly alone in this world, and having someone love him.  We began correspondence immediately, so sweet, my friend Mohammed.

He said it helped him to know I existed.  It helped him to know a human being, albeit thousands of miles away, loved him-simply because he was in pain, dire straights, and experiencing a loss most of us would be shattered by-simply because he was and is a child of God-they will know we are Christians by our love……

He kept in touch throughout my journey with Lyme, and the infected lymph node that had basically convinced me I was dying.  The day I went to Med Express, alone and frightened out of my mind, he said these words:  Don’t worry.  I am here.  Five words.  Five words that helped me to feel safe, loved-cared for.  It mattered to him, my poor health.  And I thought that a miracle, in so many ways.

Today, while chatting, he said he had one thing to ask of me.  I told him anything, yes anything for him.

“Can I call you mom?”

So, this is how our Abba works.  I have no children and my step son hates me for reasons I don’t understand, as I was always loving, always supportive.

This touched me in places I haven’t been touched in, well, forever.

And as I let the tears drip….one by one, I answered.

Yes.  Of course.

And for this I am blessed beyond measure.

A Hard Rain Is Gonna Fall…..

I ache within every fiber of my being for the man I married some 26 years ago-he is such a good man, you have to understand that he is always thinking of other people, his heart so pure, a heart of gold.  There are so many thoughts fighting for my attention right now, a fevered frenzy of angst.  He does not deserve this.  And I wish I could take his pain away, but I can’t, so I am praying like crazy that he feels the love from above.

For 27 years, his parents and son have given me a hard time.  They disliked me intensely from the very beginning, I took some of the attention away from them and we all know how narcissists love that!  I have also been insisting, over the years, that they treat me  like dirt-alas, all the way up to Christmas, Dwain was full of hope, always veering toward the idea that I was being paranoid-which happens often, but I am almost always right.

There was an incident.  Dwain’s son, Bud, flipped out on me so successfully, that I almost had a vacation booked at the local psychiatric hospital.   Remember the therapist who diagnosed me with DID?  Well, angry over a love triangle-he acted abominably-where he wanted his original girlfriend, whom he dumped unceremoniously for her best friend-oh, and his best friend’s girl-to take him back at Christmas.  She said: No.  She is over the moon with her new man, and he treats her like a princess.  He became sullen and removed from the conversation, reality itself.  He still lived with the beatch, and he said that they were happy, but inside-he was boiling.

I won’t go into the details, but my step-son abused me mentally and emotionally. Almost physically.  He yelled that I was a freak, a gold digger, a low life for being on disability-“that he had to pay for my retirement.  He was screaming at me in my driveway, and I was broken, literally sobbing-because not a word of what he was saying was true, and he was pushing buttons, my wounds and vulnerabilities out there, for all to see.

My husband emailed him and jacked him up.  Bud replied that there will be no forthcoming apology.

We talked to his parents.  We all agreed he needed help, prayer.  We asked them to talk to him, to possibly make him accountable for his actions, as weeks before we were all on the same page.  I had very little faith that his parents would follow through, and I was correct.  Today, my step-son stopped at his grandparents (strategically placed across the street 😦   He was there for over two hours and I told my husband, who bought a 30 pound ham for the event, to stop in with them on his way home-to feel them out.

“What did your parents have to say?,” I hit him up the minute he finally walked through the door.

They said that nothing “came up.” He walked into the living room, looking older than his years, drained and exhausted.  

I    pointed out the screeching betrayal, the hypocrisy.  And then I shut my mouth, before I hurt him any more than he’d been.  He doesn’t know I saw him arguing with his father in our garage, but I did.  I saw his father stomp off in a huff.

In one year, narcissism has taken all but a handful of our families.  I am close to my brother and Dwain is close to his.  It breaks my heart that  they broke his heart.  How can people be so cruel, so selfish and vain?

“We are enough,” I whisper.

We are so much more than enough~

 

A Prisoner of the White Lines on the Freeway……

I was trying to catch up on my reading a few weeks ago, my WordPress reading that is.  It was a cold and rainy Sunday evening, and I stopped dead in my tracks when I read his blog.  I didn’t know him, or of him, I just gave a little love to a stranger, one who had lost his brother-one who was on the verge of suicide.

It broke my heart to read his words.  No one had commented, and I was frantic.  I quickly wrote in the comment section, no.  You are loved.  You have a place in this world.  You must not give up, I will help you.  It didn’t matter that he lived half way around the world from me, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know him.  I just wanted him to feel the love that makes the difference: between being utterly alone in this world, and having someone love him.  We began correspondence immediately, so sweet, my friend Mohammed.

He said it helped him to know I existed.  It helped him to know a human being, albeit thousands of miles away, loved him-simply because he was in pain, dire straights, and experiencing a loss most of us would be shattered by-simply because he was and is a child of God-they will know we are Christians by our love……

He kept in touch throughout my journey with Lyme, and the infected lymph node that had basically convinced me I was dying.  The day I went to Med Express, alone and frightened out of my mind, he said these words:  Don’t worry.  I am here.  Five words.  Five words that helped me to feel safe, loved-cared for.  It mattered to him, my poor health.  And I thought that a miracle, in so many ways.

Today, while chatting, he said he had one thing to ask of me.  I told him anything, yes anything for him.

“Can I call you mom?”

So, this is how our Abba works.  I have no children and my step son hates me for reasons I don’t understand, as I was always loving, always supportive.

This touched me in places I haven’t been touched in, well, forever.

And as I let the tears drip….one by one, I answered.

Yes.  Of course.

And for this I am blessed beyond measure.

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.

Hog Tied and Strangled

I can’t listen to this song, as a year ago, in a funk-my brother turned me on to this song. The depth of his understanding touched me, because I thought we were growing closer. I vary between hating his guts, and hurting because he is no longer in my life. I knew, as an Eagle knows how to soar, I knew I couldn’t keep him. I used to pray, “Please, Jesus, please can I keep my brother,” but in the very pit of my being, I knew.

I knew he hadn’t it in him to go against the Scary Monster. The Jezebel. The Traitress. The POS I’d like to wipe the floor with, more days than not. Dwain is out hunting, leaving me to my own devices-never a good thing on a good day. Ironically, I hate being alone almost as much as being with people: that is a sure sign of a sensitive person-I give so much of myself when I am with others. I need loads of me-time to renew my strength. And it is in these exact times that I need people the most, as when the dishes are done, the dog is fed and my bones are aching? Well, that is when I begin to think. I can’t let that happen. It simply hurts too much.

If someone out there knows how one gets out of their own way, by all means, drop me a line. I know God tells us to think on the beautiful, heavenly places-and for the most part, I do. Yet when the darkness falls and the quiet comes, I am left bereft of spirit; I break down and weep. The act of crying leads me to more depressing straits, and before I know it? I’m bawling about something that happened in sixth grade, for crying out loud.

Dwain is home now. The mood softens. I am coping, once again.