Journals, Letters
I have been looking through my old journals from the 90s and am struck by how many dreams I was having at that time. So many dreams contained animals, birds and feathers. While the dreams themselves were about me trying to solve the problems I was facing with people or personal issues, always there was representation from the animal world. I considered these gifts that came to me offerings of encouragement, giving me strength unraveling the truth as I kept going.
Some of the dreams foretold events while others told stories not unlike fairy tales, lessons about life. At times I left my body at night. These occasions were confusing for me because although I knew I had left my body and my spirit was somewhere else, I did not remember where I had gone or why. Sometimes I would see myself coming back through a tunnel of sound and always I would feel myself return to my body. At this time I would come awake and be very, very cold. There was nothing I could do to warm up even on a warm night curled up to my husbands warm body. It was like being in shock and I would be shivering uncontrollably, my skin also ice cold.
One of the rare times I specifically remember an ‘out of body’ experience was when I traveled to Africa. Without the particular journal at hand I cannot say precisely when this occurred, but I do know for sure I left my body and found myself in a foreign country. I felt it was Africa but I do not have anything to base this on, other than the two women I went to see were black. I was in a tent somewhere very warm and there was a woman on a bed who was very ill, perhaps dying. The woman at her bedside recognized me saying, “Gabriel, you’re here.” I smiled at her because I was so happy she recognized me, and also because I was so happy to see her.
When I came back I did not know her name or where I had been. I understood I was there to help the woman who was ill, although I am unable to recall if I had the skill to make her better. I think of her often and hope I was able to make a difference and wonder if ever she thinks of me.
It is only recently I have begun to wonder if the woman at the bedside was one of the twelve who encircled me as a baby, laying in the water of the cave where they were gathered. This would certainly explain my recognition of her as well as her expectation of my presence. To this day I can offer no alternate explanation for this experience, but I do remember the beauty of the gift and how much love I felt for this woman and my gratitude for being there. It was truly a wonderful experience.*
Some of the dreams that were more like memories would leave me quite afraid and uncomfortable; memories of soldiers from different countries and speaking a different language. Always in these dreams I was a captive and there were abusive acts being done to other captives.
Often I had dreams of having a baby and having to protect her, or I was given a baby to protect. Acknowledging my issues of abandonment it makes sense I would have dreams requiring the protection of a child, whether it was someone else’s or my own.
I have letters both from Helen and Ellen being told I am delusional and crazy to think I was not born to this family. Yet they produce absolutely no proof this is so, refusing my repeated requests for evidence. There are conflicting stories about the scar on my face, no one seems to know how I received it, but the answer came to me in a dream. There were conflicting stories about my the nonexistence of my given name, and the fact I had no birth certificate. I was accused of being a drug addict, an abusive and neglectful mother, and basically just a crazy attention seeking woman who had lost herself in mind altering drugs, something I have never taken.
Considering at the time of receiving this particular letter from my supposed sister, I did not even take aspirin let alone hard drugs or drink alcohol. I was in fact walking and riding my bike everywhere, taking dance lessons three times a week, and teaching one class. I struggle to understand where the notion I walked around with greasy hair and unkempt clothing came from.
I was friendly with our neighbours and had a busy life. My hair remained blonde until I gave birth to my last child when a lot of red came out and I developed a bit of curl, something I did not have growing up. I was often (and still am) complimented on my beautiful hair and never in my life did I become this person that Ellen described.
This family was expert at twisting facts and using psychological warfare to break my spirit and push me into silence, so as hurtful as this letter was to receive, it was not really a surprise. I now had proof these are the kind of lies my children were exposed to during visits with their father and in the company of people claiming to be family. This was one of the contributing factors of my concern for their safety, being taught false memories. The reality of who we were as a family was being persistently eroded into a facade …something which would prove very useful in a crucial time to come.**
The letter from Rheann stating I was her mother only by blood was hurtful and quite unfair, especially given our history, but comparing the two letters (from Ellen and my daughter) striking similarities are apparent in the personal attack asking me to come back despite my so called horrible behaviour, so long as I come back alone.
I also have a letter from The Church of Later Day Saints (LDS) of my genealogy request to acquire information regarding my (supposed) family history. The letter came from the department of Special Information Services (SIS) in Salt Lake City and the information it contains cannot be revealed without the explicit permission of the person who provided it. The senior ladies who helped me at the Nelson LDS church did not know of this department, enquiring what it was on the phone to LDS Headquarters. In all their time conducting genealogical research for the church, a period of some forty years, this had never occurred to them before.
In that instant our great hope for answers were dashed, leaving deflated over what was potentially a home run opportunity. We well understood their confusion since we had been hitting this wall at every turn, this official denial a locked door beyond which we could not pass.
Helen told me to check with her doctor and the hospital where I was born, however she was unable to recall the doctors name at that time. I had, however, already tried that when I first discovered my lack of birth records. I was told by the hospital there were no records for the year I was born, they had all been archived and were not accessible. They gave me no options for obtaining a copy, I was just shut down, so no answers there.
Years later at the age of seventy-eight Helen did reveal her doctors name. I would assume if the man was still alive he would likely not recall a particular birth more than forty years ago. I find it very convenient they refused to give me samples of hair so I could have them DNA tested. Instead they suggested I send my hair sample to them and pay for the test, or to have Rheann and Helen tested. Neither of these situations won my trust, nor would they have been done honourably given their manipulative history and the many discrepancies I had already uncovered.
*see Fragments, Chapter II, page 85
**see Family Attack, Chapter IV, page 126
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