Destiny

September 13, 2023

Had a rather bizarre dream this morning which will probably not be described well. I think instead it will be a summary and a possible idea as to the message. 

Looking back the dream seems to tell a story parallel to mine in some respects. There was a boy whose identity and looks were changed when he was very young. He grew up believing the changed image was his true self – all would be well for him as long as the way he was taught to think remained in tact. However, when he became an adult, there were noticed some fractures in his facade and he began to question them. This meant jail time for him, not in a regular prison, but he was confined and beaten, tortured in an attempt to return his thoughts to believing in once again his altered personality. They did everything they could to deter him from remembering his true self, but to no avail. Then one night he found a way to escape from his prison as he was chased by the woman charged with guarding him. He ran out of the complex through a large bay door leading him out to a brutally cold environment, very different from his home. He stopped, unsure where to go from here, there was no cover to protect him from being seen and he was not dressed for the bitter cold. Would he survive?  He turned to face the woman who stopped chasing him, her weapon in hand, he was defenceless by all accounts. She was poised, ready to overtake him, though in that moment, the message was delivered as I came out of the dream. Did her hesitation suggest she would let him go to face risking his life in this terrible cold, or would she bring him back into the compound to receive his punishment?  It seemed either way would be a win for her and those she worked for. The message for me was to understand, I too stand in his position of escaping from my prison only to realize the journey from here is not simple or easy. Will they let me go believing there is no longer a threat to them, believing the secret will die with me? or will they continue with their tactics meant to ensure I remain “disappeared” thus making my story irrelevant, never getting shared in the way which would bring true freedom and important change?

Inspired by an episode of the show “Rose and Maloney”:

Yes I understand hate, not because of the color of my skin, my culture, religion or my country of origin. My understanding comes from the lessons of those whose hate for my father became directed at me. They tried to force their hate on me, manipulating me to think as they do, behave as they do, trying everything possible to do so. In the end all I learned to hate was ignorance. 

Fear lives in our mind, hate lives in our solar plexus, it is directed from that powerful section of our body. Love lives in our heart, the most powerful of all. Without our heart pumping blood through our veins feeding the rest of our organs, we would not exist. Everything depends on the beating of our heart to work. Fear and hate block our heart from the truth we are all light beings coming from one source. Hate and ignorance are learned and are a choice. Learning to control what people see can be both beneficial and corrupt depending on the reasons behind this action. I believe we all show others what we want them to see about us, it is the intention which matters. For example: when I walk out the door to begin my day, the mask goes on to hide what I don’t want others to see or feel. Only the very astute pick up what’s underneath the facade. 

Everyday I hear the gunshots that killed my father and the man who took his place during the first 2 years of my life. Every day I hear my screams begging the men pouring gravel over my fathers body to stop. Every day I feel the depth of the cold air on my skin, in my body and feel the confusion as I watch the woman who became the only mother I ever knew, fall from the plane to her death. Her smile as she fell from my sight, is etched on my mind forever now. Yes I share these stories, however do my best to shield the people I see each day from the emotions connected to those memories. I do my best to hide my need to scream at times because of the frustration of not knowing enough about my past. I stop myself from yelling at those who say they are just like me, or worse those who insist out of ignorance what I say has no truth to it.

If it was possible, I would challenge those people to carry my memories and emotions attached, for just 1 day. Then I would watch as they fight to get back to the surface like me, overwhelmed by the grief or the fear, triggered sometimes by the most innocent behaviour from others. Then tell me my story is not true! At home I just allow myself to feel what I cannot openly express when I’m out in the world, as I’ve trained myself to turn those emotions off like a switch. Fear is more difficult to control, to pull away from. Hate felt from others is too heavy to carry, threatening to suffocate me – I have to get rid of it immediately. Hate grows without us noticing sometimes, it strikes like a lightening bolt or a sudden clap of thunder, the very suddenness combined with the hollowness felt after leads us to believe it didn’t take hold. Yet the smallest fragment can become a force. 

The year we moved to Maple Creek, the year 2011, I had a 13 pound tumor removed from my belly. It was attached to my ovary. The doctor was so amazed, having never seen anything like it in her career, she took a picture and showed it to me, something I wish I had not seen. However it was in the end good for me to have a visual representation of fear, anger and hate and the way it grows in our body preventing us from living a balanced life. It reminded me of an alien egg, alive with everything negative stored in my body over the years. After it was removed, the relief was palpable – the emptiness left room for positive change. It has been a long road as I learn to reject the negativity, remain positive and continue standing outside of the victim circle. 

The woman who fell from the plane loved me for the first 2 years of my life. I wish I did not see her falling into an abyss, or watch her husband get murdered, but I did. Taking me into their home meant sacrificing their lives, yet they did it willingly. She smiled at me as she fell so I would not be scared, but I was scared because I could not see where she was going or why. This means I also carry the guilt of knowing what they sacrificed, something felt for so very, very long without knowing why. Had I not remembered this, the courage to live each day may very well have left me. Before the memories, there was just this invasive sadness which could not be explained, this fear which made no sense. So as difficult as it is to remember such tragic events, there is a gift attached to them. If you cannot see the truth in my stories, it is because you are like I once was, unwilling to see. We tend to see what we want to see in order to protect ourselves from that which cannot fit into our protected life. If it challenges our comfort or asks us to change how we’ve always thought, or see what we cannot face, then we dismiss it as untruth, because that is easier by far. We can carry on in our protected bubble of ignorance this way.