The Beginning…….the End,
and
Everything Lost in Between
By: Gabriel
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the people from my early childhood, whose names I do not even know. But they gave their lives for me, for their belief in a cause greater than any of us……freedom.
It is dedicated in particular to my father whose spirit has been the guiding force in my life, whether I knew it or not. His dedication to the truth, to freedom and to a fair and just world for us all, is behind this publication. Without his love, I would have stayed in the comfort of my ignorance.
Preface
When I was three years old I was kept in a room with beige walls, and a bed, nothing else. There was no window for me to see the outside world and the lights were kept at the same level constantly, also preventing me from knowing the time or perceive the passing days.
I have a gift, which often felt more like a curse, but in many ways if it had not been so abused in my childhood by these people it could have been very beneficial. Now I am mostly afraid of it, having never been taught how to cope with what happens.
If the average person has a sensitivity perception level of about 30-40% out of 100%, then mine would be 120%. So in other words, I sense frequencies, sound, lights, smells and emotions that the average person is not even aware of. In my adult years I was very emotionally crippled by this gift because as I said, there was no one to guide me through the experiences. I feel other people’s emotions and carry them as if they are my own. When the iridologist explained this to me, it was so I could learn to identify and separate what did not belong to me. I was carrying such a heavy burden and it was depleting my energy. At the time I had gone to see him because I did not have the capability to go up more than one or two stairs before resting. My adrenal glands had collapsed. He told me the trauma connected to carrying the burden began when I was 2 years old. This was not a guess, it was what could be seen in the patterns of my eyes – this is iridology, the study of the eyes.
At the time I did not understand what could have happened to become such a heavy load. As the memories came back however, I began to see what he meant. In the past few weeks, I have seen with even more clarity how my gift was used against me.
My captors knew about my gift and this is why I was kept in the room. When they would come for me, it was to witness someone’s rape, torture or death. Those closest to me were among those I witnessed. The closer I am to someone, the easier it is for me to feel them, so being witness to my caregivers torture and death gave me unbearable pain. I felt what they felt as if it were happening to me. The incidents which happened during the time I spent in that room were carefully stored away in a safe place of my mind, but the burden lay silently on my shoulders. The shaman who did my ayahuasca ceremony, said he could not see my face, but I had long beautiful waves of white hair. My hair represented my beautiful history. That he could not see my face indicated my burdens have been great, and indeed they have.
I am telling my story from the perspective of woman and child, the same person, yet the adult does not recognize the child as being herself. There is familiarity, but the connection to her child self has been severed, the spirit shattered into a thousand pieces. The dreams, visions and memories over the years eventually bring the two back together as one. The spirit may always show the cracks, like the lines in a puzzle, but the woman at last sees who she was before the room…..the beginning.
In my mind I see a room full of demons, but there are bursts of light also. There is a guardian at the door of the room, protecting me from what’s inside. He is given the order to allow one of the bursts of light out. He must be very quick and strong to get the door closed immediately, once the light breaks free preventing the demons from escaping.
The room is in my mind, the guardian, someone I have named my spirit husband, the demons, all the difficult, horrible memories. Of course the bursts of light are the beautiful memories, and in this way I am able to visualize my situation in an acceptable way. This way of seeing my ability to create the room in the first place is what gives me the idea for this book. I find myself full of admiration for the girl I was, the strength of spirit and mind, able to create the room in order to survive with so much of her childlike qualities intact. Still, I feel separate from her, it seems easier to walk beside her, unable yet to accept it is myself I am admiring. I do hope the book helps, especially those who have difficulty understanding how the mind of PTSD sufferers may work, accepting it may not be this way for all of us. It is in the understanding we are able to have compassion and the ability to be of greater assistance.
Everything that was lost in between may not be fully recovered, but there is understanding bringing me to…….the end. It feels as though there are many more years before the end is realized and complete, so the story will continue long after the book is finished.
Table of Contents
15 – Part 1: The Room
16 – The Adult…..the Room, Ecuador
16 – April 30, 2020
24 – Journal Entries
24 – 1998
25 – September 18, 2002
28 – January 1, 2003…28
32 – February 20, 2003
36 – June 18, 2007
40 – The Adult…..Ecuador
41 – Dreams about the Room
45 – The Adult……Ecuador
46 – Journal Entry
46 – 1989
49 – June 11, 2009
53 – Part 2: My Birth Father
53 – The Adult…..the Room, Ecuador
54 – May 2020
59 – Journal Entry
59 – February 3, 1997
60 – The Adult……Ecuador
62 – Journal Entry
62 – November 23, 1997
67 – The Adult, Ecuador
70 – Journal Entry
70 – 1998
72 – The Adult, Ecuador
74 – Journal Entry
74 – November 14, 1999
76 – The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
78 – The Adult, Ecuador
78 – Journal Entry
78 – December 6, 1999
80 – The Adult, Ecuador
82 – Journal Entry
82 – July, 2002
85 – The Adult, Ecuador
86 – Journal Entries
86 – September 27, 2002
89 – November 1, 2002
91 – February 16, 2003
95 – The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
95 – Journal Entries
106 – April 12, 2003
108 – June 21, 2003
110 – July 2, 2018
114 – The Adult……Her Journal, Canada
114 – September 12, 2018
118 – The Adult……Her Journal, Ecuador
118 – December 12, 2018
124 – Part 3: South American Bird Spider
124 – Journal Entries
126 – February 4, 1999
128 – August 27, 2008
132 – August 31, 2008
134 – January 7, 2009
137 – March 8, 2017
141 – The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
147 – The Child……the Room
147 – The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
153 – Part 4: Surrogate Parents
153 – Journal Entry
153 – June 13, 2004
156 – The Child……the Room
157 – The Adult……the Room
163 – Journal Entry
163 – September 10, 2017
165 – September 10, 2002
170 -The Adult, Ecuador
173 – The Child……the Room
176 – Journal Entry
176 – September 19, 2015
179 – Part 5: Surrogate grandparents
179 – Journal Entry
179 – March 5, 1995
183 – The Adult, Ecuador
183 – August 9, 2008
186 – The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
190 – Journal Entries
190 – November 6, 2002
192- December, 2017
198 – January 12, 2003
201 – October 7, 2007
205 – Part 6: My Birth Mother
205 – The Adult, Ecuador
206 – Journal Entries
206 – October 16, 1998
209 – April 14, 2000
214 – June 20, 2002
216 – The Child……the Room
217 – Journal Entries
217 – August 28, 2002
218 – September 9, 2002
219 – September 18, 2002
220 – September 22, 2002
222 – The Adult, Ecuador
225 – Journal Entries
225 – May 6, 2003
227 – The Adult……the Room, Ecuador
231- Part 7: Angel My Horse
231 – The Adult…….the Room, Ecuador
231– June 22, 2020
240 – Journal Entries
240 – August 8, 2002
242 – August 10, 2002
242 – December 18, 2002
247 – Part 8: The “Grandmother” Dreams
250 -Journal Entries
250 – July 4, 1993
253 – March 28, 1997
256 – Walkabout Entries, Dates Unknown
269 : Conclusion
269 – The Adult…..Ecuador
269 – April 22, 2020
271 – Dragon Dream
Part 1;
The Room
The Adult…..the Room, Ecuador
She had trouble with these dreams, wondering how they fit into her world, right from the start. It is only in her isolation here in the Andes the connection at last makes sense. Her sensitivity level being what it is, she had been able to connect with people she may or may not have known, because the scene was described to her.
The chair terrifies her when she thinks about it, even now. How does anyone make sense of this?
April 30, 2020
Psychic Abilities
I dreamt of a house, one I’ve seen or dreamt of before. It is a square, 2 storey home with an attic. There is a beautiful veranda with a section leading to a greenhouse. In the dream, there are actually 2 homes in 2 different locations, owned by 2 different people, but almost identical. One woman visits both homes in the dream and I joined her for the first time seeing them both.
Travelling to the house, was an interesting experience, one I hope I can describe properly. The woman who was taking me to the second house was telling me she knew things about my mother. She had a driver, we were riding in the back of her car, leaving me with the impression the woman had a certain status. She was asking me about my psychic abilities, taking me off guard, not realizing I had anything to share. Apparently my mother had certain psychic abilities, something not known to me before and so coming as a bit of a surprise.
As she talked, telling me a rather strange story, the landscape previously seen from the car window completely changed – I began to see a skull in the water. She was describing this scene to me, this skull, it’s location in the water and saying it was made of gold. There were indications of a road further leading into the water past where the skull rested. She explained this was Aztec gold, as if this was an important detail for me to understand, but I didn’t. What was strange is this all seemed to happen so naturally, this ability to see so clearly what was being described to me, so I struggled to remember if this had happened to me before.
We continued to to the house by the water, and because of what she had mentioned about my mother and her abilities, it occurred to me this house may be connected to her. Had she once owned this house, or at least lived here for a period of time. Did I stay here when I was a child? Is this why there is such comfort and acceptance from the moment I first lay eyes on it?
In the dream it was my first visit to this home, however it was a place I could feel was loved by me. There was water nearby, a lake or wide river, maybe even the ocean. There is a sense I belong. The idea of living there gave me peace. The woman I am with wants to interview me about my (2nd) book, the 2nd interview of the day. I’m kind of pumped about the interviews, hoping this will bring me some income and sustainability. The woman had so many questions and there was this feeling she should have known the answers, so I was beginning to wonder if she had read the book. The dream ended with a feeling of discomfort.
Going back to sleep, she begins to dream again, but this time it was not such a pleasant experience. The dream was too complicated to try and explain in detail, but the important aspect seemed to be related to someone else’s story, and once more about her ability to see and feel their experience.
There was a group of us sitting in a room, we were an audience, but it was a video we were watching. The man being interviewed was a professional fighter. He had extensive injuries from all his years of fighting in the ring, so he was asked why he did this to himself.
As he explained about his childhood, about the beatings for not being strong enough, I began to cry. People sitting in the room with me began to get uncomfortable. It was obvious they could not understand why the man’s story was affecting me so strongly. To them it made no sense, I was the only one crying. For me though, it was as if I was experiencing everything he described going through – it became my pain as well.
Then I began to see the trailer he lived in as a child, the trailer he has also chosen to live in as an adult. There is a unique emblem by the door of an animal which clearly identifies it as the same trailer. In my mind, I could see he was a happy boy with a wonderful imagination. He was skipping and running towards his home, and as he did, several different animals poked their heads out of the various windows. They were eager for his return, perhaps he had been at school. The animals which included a panda and a giraffe, however, were in his imagination.
Reaching the trailer, his whole demeanour changed as he realized his father was home. The next image was of his small body on the ground under the door step trying to sleep. His punishment for something done or not done, was to sleep there after his beating, which left him with a black eye. I was overwhelmed in the dream by my grief for this boy. We seemed united through the pain, feeling his reminded me of something from my own past. In the dream, I knew what happened to me, but the information was not carried outside the dream. There was a feeling of confusion upon waking.
Writing the dream in her journal helps her analyze the message. It seems to her, it is not so much what happened, but realizing the extent of her capabilities. In other words, the ability to absorb what others feel. This was something explained by the iridologist many years ago. As a child, she could only imagine the difficulty of having such a gift during her time in the camps in Argentina. Feeling the pain, the worry, the fear of those around her, holding onto the emotion, guilt and sometimes shame, not understanding how to let it go.
This makes her wonder if some of what she thought happened to her as a child was actually the sufferings of someone else, carrying it as if it was her own. It is difficult to explain this kind of connection, but it is as if she is in their body, feeling what they feel. So there could be transference from such an experience as a child – without the guidance of someone showing her how to separate herself from the experience, not carry it.
The iridologist gave a simple explanation which helped her understand. He said even before I walk into a room, I would know if someone had had an argument. Even if that argument happened before arriving at the party. Despite them smiling, laughing, having a good time, she would still feel the residue of their argument, not knowing who it belonged to. The problem lies with her inability to distinguish who the tension belongs to, carrying it as if it were hers. He explained this was something she must learn to identify because it was affecting her health, the stress causing her adrenal glands to collapse.
As she enters the stories into her manuscript, she has a new perspective, there is hope she can release more easily now what doesn’t belong to her.
Over the months since the completion of her book and writing the script for the documentary, she has put quite a bit of thought into understanding the memories. What the woman in the car from her first dream, helped her remember, was her ability to see so vividly what was described to her as a child. This makes it easier to understand many of the journal entries. Already she feels the burden carried for so long has lifted somewhat.
Journal Entries
1998;
The Chair
In the dream there is a small girl sitting in an unusual chair. This chair was in a room with windows all around, it was like being in a glass cube. I know the girl is me, but it is all so strange and I don’t understand what I am watching as I dream. There is something like a large needle attached to the base of my spine as well as my neck at the base of the skull (it hurts to move). Also there is a cap type device that comes down over my head and there are straps holding my arms and legs in place. It is important I do not move. I was about three or four years of age and am clearly frightened. The next time I had a memory of being in this chair I was about six years old.
There was a sudden zap of electricity going through my upper left arm into my heart, and then across my chest, connecting with my right arm. This also goes up the arm into my neck forming a triangle, it is quite painful.
There is an adult version of myself in my head who is alerted to the danger the child is in. The child can hear the adult calling for them to quit hurting her, “Please, pleeease, Stop!” When she tries to help she (the adult version) is raised off her feet and rendered helpless.
Seen through my eyes while in the chair are two men, but I am not sure who they are. I can see my reflection on the glass window which the men are standing behind.
There is more information in her journal, but she is unwilling to share the identities of the people she saw while in the chair. It is too crazy. Rewriting this dream, she begins to wonder if the pain she often gets lately in her chest is related somehow to what happened in this chair. Does it also explain the horrible pain she gets in her head sometimes, which can last for up to 3 days.
What did they do to her?
September 18, 2002
The Burial
This dream is one of the most difficult for me to look back on. At the time I had no idea who was being buried, nor could I hope to understand why I had to be there, helplessly watching. I knew only that it was an act of cruelty and was completely overwhelmed with the horror of seeing this person buried in this manner. I am still wrought with grief as I recall the event, a moment in time from which I feel I will never recover, for I now know who it was in that mass grave and why I was made to watch.
Once I had calmed down, I again fell asleep and dreamt of a man being buried. It was as if I was watching through a glass wall or window, she is reminded of the glass chamber with the strange chair. They were pouring gravel over him and I was banging on the glass and yelling at them to stop. No one seemed to hear me. I woke up at that moment wondering if those men realized what they were doing, leading me to believe this was not a typical burial.
Whomever it was they were pouring the gravel onto meant a great deal to me. I believe I felt he was still alive, not being of an age I could comprehend the finality of death and the burial ritual. I am not certain of my age in this dream as I was watching through the eyes of my younger self, as if I was actually there reliving that moment in time. I would have been about six years old when my father was buried in this way, something I did not learn until the year 2017.
Now awake I realized for certain I knew this person, and that it was a cruel and intentional act. I just could not understand at the time of the dream why I would know them. Was I present for this burial as a child, forced once again to watch someone I loved treated with such cruelty?
Another experience meant to traumatize me, stopping me from remembering him. The memory safely locked away in my mind. I was watching this through a child’s eyes, but able to remember and understand it as an adult.
January 1, 2003
Troops in Africa
There is much I cannot remember of this first dream, I imagine because of the pain I was feeling at the time, but also it was quite abstract and seemed very disjointed when I woke up.
I was at my ballet class when several men came to get me and take me away. I was about twelve years old. I’m not sure where they took me, it was a strange place I didn’t recognize. There was a big house by the ocean which we entered and they took me downstairs where I expected I would find myself in the basement.
But it turned out to be a whole different world, which is difficult to explain because it didn’t make sense. There were all kinds of animals like at a zoo. The only animal I really remember seeing was an elephant but I know there were many others. It was very distracting, there were so many unexpected animals. I question now if the animals were there for experimentation. Outside there were sand dunes and you could walk out on them, down to the ocean.
Suddenly I experienced a great deal of pain in my forearms, especially the left. I’m not sure what they were doing to me but it was very painful, in fact it was so painful at one point I blocked out everything that was around me. The pain started in my wrist and seemed to be in the veins of my forearm, but not going any higher. The pain finally woke me up at which point it stopped, which was a great relief. This pain seems familiar, similar perhaps to what I experienced before when I was in the strange chair with the needles.
I did not want to go back to sleep, laying there with closed eyes, trying to relax. I began to see a movie though I was not asleep. This was not pleasant at all, but I was helpless to stop it. There was a small troop of black men in uniform and they were being fired upon. I made the assumption at the time this was Africa, but I couldn’t tell where. Some of the men managed to get to cover behind a small building, but the last man did not make it.
I could see his face was all mangled and bloody. He was disorientated, not sure where he was and didn’t seem to know what happened to him. He went down on his knees and then was shot in the chest. He fell on his left side, dead. I forced my eyes open and got up, not wishing to see anymore.
I could only wonder what I had just witnessed, and why. These many years later I know my father fought in Africa and am wondering if this had something to do with him and what he may have experienced. This was not a dream, but a vision, a connection on the spirit level. At the time I was just left with confusion, lack of understanding, yet I also realized there was significance to receiving the message. Another thread tying me to a story already written, knowledge I already had, but had stored away in a safe place.
The dreams have all led me to understand my parents were both political, not married to each other, and from different countries. While I have no physical evidence of who they are, dreams/visions like this are proof enough for me.
I say this because these stories I now read many years after going through my journals, discovering they relate to actual events—articles written about my father when I was only a child. The dreams came to me mostly from 1997 – 2010, allowing me to finally connections between the two ,late in the year of 2017.
Interestingly enough, the people who I believe are my true parents also began appearing in the news on dates coinciding with several of the dreams I was having. This really made me stand up and take a good look at what the dreams were telling me, still forging the connections of this new reality. I can only ask myself why I would have been given these dreams if they did not relate to me personally in some way. What would the purpose be if I am not connected to these people?
February 20, 2003
Execution for Betrayal
Though I could not make sense of or comprehend it at the time, knowing what I now know, this dream has great significance. It is more than amazing to be looking back through these journals so many years on and see the breadcrumbs leading me where I am today.
It would be difficult to expect anyone to believe in this story. I have actually lived it and still have moments that give me pause. What I have come to understand over time is that whether someone else believes it is not as important as myself accepting what I went through. Either way, I feel this is a story which can benefit others. We all have been through difficult times. How we choose to deal with each situation is what is important. Our choices define us.
I know I will have trouble properly describing this dream because it was so detailed and involved, and I do not have the skill to do it justice. However, there is enough on the page to describe the event and hopefully express its significance. The rest is in my heart.
I believe it was a memory, but experienced in the context of a dream or vision, because once again it was in black and white. Plus I saw it through my eyes as if I was there. Secondly, when I woke up the back of my head was buzzing, something that continued for quite some time after waking. It was uncomfortable, and I could not explain it.
The dream took place in the late 50s or early 60s judging by the cars and style of the clothes. I was watching as a man who appeared to be a peasant, who looked Spanish (Mexican), shot another man, execution style. I was holding a woman’s hand who I presume was my mother or someone I was very close to. It was clear the man who was shot was a traitor, involved with something having to do with the President of the United States. At this point I did not feel I could properly describe what was going on as it seemed too complicated to write down. Another confusing thing to me was the importance of my being witness to the event as if I had a connection to one of the people.
The second part of the dream was about a different man who was in some way connected with the man who had been shot. The strange thing about this was the man had computers, which looked very much like the laptop computers in use today. Of course back then computers weren’t commonplace or portable, so I’m not sure why he had such a modern looking device. Also, when he was discovered he had several boxes of files he was trying to hide, unsuccessfully as it turned out.
As always I feel connected to the people I am seeing, but their identities elude me. I feel I should understand who they are, there is familiarity, but having always sheltered myself from news stories, politics I would not even know where to start looking.
June 18, 2007
The Jungle
It had been a difficult night for sleeping because of a rainstorm with lots of lightening and thunder. My sleep was interrupted several times, but I began to dream when I did fall into a deep sleep. I had trouble remembering it all but feel there is something very significant in what I retained.
The dream took place somewhere in South America, in the jungle in an unidentified country. What I remember is a tribe of indigenous leading someone…a man.
What I do remember took place in a clearing. There was a feeling of danger, but from whom or what I couldn’t say. There was one man from the tribe who I felt was their leader. I believe he had his family with him, or at least his infant son. Perhaps the families were traveling together though it is unclear to me now.
This leader or chief was about to pick up his son when he was shot in the chest. I saw him stumble and fall back, arms still reaching out for his child. The child was brought to him to hold before he died. There was another man travelling with this group who I couldn’t see (as though I was seeing events through his eyes) and he was keeping a journal, recording the important details of his journey. The journal seemed to be important for me to remember, a connection that would make sense to me at some point in my life. He had drawn a sketch of this Indian who had been killed and it was this picture that held me to the dream. I felt I should recognize this man with the journal and understand why he was making this record. It seemed important I didn’t forget this picture.
I could not remember the details about why the man was shot, by whom, why they were there in this spot, or whether anyone else was shot after I woke up. I believe the sketch and the man with the journal were the aspects of the dream that was of importance. Perhaps the man with the journal was part of the reason the Chief was killed, but I don’t know for sure. How this incident relates to me in my life, I cannot say.
I have some thoughts today about why this dream may have been important to receive. I have been drawing for many years, the act so instrumental on my healing journey. When I think of this dream and consider the value of the journal my father kept, I can comprehend the importance of keeping a record. My artwork is on reflection, my journal. I believe there is a direct connection between my art and this story I am telling. One day I hope my journal will be understood by those closest to my heart, just as I imagine my fathers journal was read by those who needed to understand his journey as well as his reasons for making it.
I believe that one of the main reasons my fathers memory remains alive is due to the journals he kept on his travels. His story is still being read today, people trying to understand his motivation and his passion, even though much of what he wrote remains secret.
For me, had I not kept my dream journals much of what has been written for this book would have been lost. It has been a great comfort to go back and read them and make sense of what was happening. Like my father, I kept a record of my journey, this in itself being an invisible connection. Journals were vital in both our lives.
The Adult……Ecuador
These were difficult dreams to transcribe in order to add to the book. She had not looked at them since they were written so many years previous. Loose pages found and scanned into her computer just before leaving for Ecuador. Reading them now she wondered if they needed to be added, they were terribly difficult for her to process. In truth, she wanted to close the file folder and pretend she didn’t know the dreams existed.
But they are part of what she went through, they explain her fears and her inability to trust people, for their deceptive qualities are clear in these entries.
Dreams about The Room
She had several dreams about the room, all of which were very difficult to remember and write about. It seemed a place out of time where she never knew what would happen to her or when. She had to be on her guard at all times, prepared for terrible things to happen always.
The room is always the same, there are no changes with the light, the colour of the room or the amount of furnishings. With the exception of the one time she was given the kitten to play with. She had nothing to help her pass the time while there. Just the bed against the wall where she imagines she spent all her time.
These entries were made she believes while on the road, or at least at a time when she did not have a journal to write in, so the pages were actually only found just before moving to Ecuador. Unfortunately though for some reason she did not write down the dates on these loose pages, so she will have to estimate the year they were presented to her in the dreamtime.
Even today as she types the dreams into the script, she feels the fear, tastes the sulphur, and is sick to her stomach from the words in front of her. The connection, although forgotten for many years, is renewed in an instant.
On this particular visit to the room, I was sleeping. I woke up suddenly, my inner radar alerting me to someone approaching the room. I am very frightened, my heart pounding so hard that I feel as though it will burst through my chest. So much fear!
I do not know if this next entry was part of the dream just mentioned, but I believe that it definitely was connected to the room because I wrote these dreams all together in point form. I think this was because I did not have a journal and was trying to keep dreams of a certain theme together.
I was taken from the room to be witness to this event. All that I remember about this particular dream was what I witnessed happen to two birds that I felt were my friends. Perhaps they were like my kitten, given to me only to take them away in the form of brutal torture. These birds reminded me of the two budgies we had while living in Saskatoon, only they were larger. Suddenly shots were fired from someone beside me aimed at the birds. I saw feathers flying with the wing of one bird dangling as the helpless birds ran in circles. I was screaming for them to stop, but it is too late, the birds are gone. After there is a very strange taste in my mouth like sulphur and salt, a very weird combination. Also my tongue is very swollen, but I’m not sure why. This taste carries into the next dream which must have happened the same night.
…………………..
In this dream I am in the living room about to watch TV. A man comes into the room with a box, something he wants to show me. Ever hopeful, I am thinking this is a good surprise, maybe because of where I am, a place where so far I have not had a bad experience. I see a small duck come out from under the box somehow and it is literally falling apart. I don’t know how to explain what I saw, but it is like it had been burned with acid or something the way it was falling apart. One of it’s wings was falling off it’s body and all of it’s feathers were wet with some kind of liquid. The bird is alive and in so much pain and I am holding my hand over my mouth screaming NO!!! I could not sop what was happening though, the damage was done before the box was brought into the room. As I am watching I get the same taste of sulphur in my mouth as well as the swollen tongue which lasts after the dream is over.
…………………..
The Adult……Ecuador
The first two entries about the room, still confuse her. The emotional connection unbelievably strong after so many years. For this reason alone she decides they are important and should be included. This third entry was very difficult to read, and made her feel dirty inside and out.
The poem was written in her diary, before the divorce to her first husband was finalized, so she is sure this was an exercise from her group therapy. The classes were attended during that period of her life, as she struggled with her own past, as well as the recent abuse of her 3 year old daughter. Writing became instrumental in helping her to exorcise the ghosts, a tool learned while in group to express her tangled emotions. At that time she was still unaware of her traumatized childhood. She had no memories of her life really, before the age of 7.
Journal Entries
1989
Poem
A little girl
Her bare bum in the air
A man laying on her bed Watching
Smiling
False love
Confused mother
Now I am sick again
At the time the poem was written, she was obviously struggling to deal with what happened to her as a child, the poem expressing the violation. But what fascinates her is she did not have the actual memory when she wrote the poem, it was something she felt, the need to share it, strong without really knowing why. The poem was forgotten. Years later she receives the very disturbing dream, then several years following that, she discovers the forgotten poem. For the first time she is able to truly see how the subconscious mind works when dealing with trauma. She feels cold inside as she reads the entries again.
In this dream I am picked up by a man who puts me on his lap. I am naked from the waist down and made to straddle this man’s crotch, wrapping my legs behind him while he is holding my bum.
Somehow he gets his penis out and I can feel it big and hard as he slides it between my legs. It ends with a wetness that I can feel between my legs and the crack of my bum which makes me feel very uncomfortable. I do not understand what just happened.
There were just no words to describe reliving these memories and she was grateful for the beautiful surroundings here in the Andes. Grateful also she was not working, trying to suppress how she was feeling, the emotional turmoil felt in this moment. Looking at Imbabura, it’s majestic beauty, it was difficult to conceive of such cruelty, the contrast dramatic, no shades of grey. Her desire to curl up into the fetal position trying to find comfort and protection from the cold memories, very strong.
June 11, 2009
Dream of Being Raped
This is a hard dream to remember and rewrite. I look back on some of these dreams and now feel for certain they were the easiest and least threatening way for me to remember pivotal events of my life. Somehow, even though it is horrible to see these things happen to someone else (like watching a movie), it is removed, placed at a distance outside myself as if it wasn’t real or couldn’t happen.
But the feelings attached to the memory of the act are too strong to brush aside in that way. The reactions of what my body remembers is not a lie, and however difficult it is I realize the truth of it. It took me some time to calm myself down when I awakened. My mouth was so dry and my heart was racing from the fear and the pain I felt. There is much about the dream I cannot remember, I’m sure because the ending was so dramatic.
It felt like I was at a battle scene although I don’t know who was fighting or why. Again it was a foreign country, the climate warm and the style of buildings very different from those in Canada. We were outside what looked like a castle, but it was someone’s home, very big and elaborate.
There was one man in particular I recall, he seemed to be in charge of what was happening. I said some things to him that really did not make much sense, having to do with him being such a cruel man and that his outward beauty was such a waste, a facade for the evil it housed.
I was being led away somewhere and was then forced to watch something about to happen. A young girl with us was being held. She was so lovely with long curly hair, and skin that was light brown. They were holding her and someone was stripping off her clothes. She was screaming for them to stop, struggling to get away. None of us could help her and I was crying for her. I called her name which was Maryam.
The leader came up behind her and she began to really panic, now knowing what was about to happen. I was also panicking, wanting to do something to save her, but I could not. He came up close behind her, putting his arms around her saying, “Now, just be calm, this will all be over in just a few minutes.” I’m not sure if it was his voice, his arms around her, or a combination of the two, but she suddenly became very still and quiet. Then I found myself looking at her vagina, and I became confused realizing I was looking at myself, the hair belonged to me not her. I could feel I was bleeding and this made me panic, screaming, NO! I woke myself with a scream and was fighting under the sheets, waking Patrick as well. I could not understand what had just happened, but I was terribly frightened by it.
As I write this now I am wondering if Maryam was indeed there and we both were subjected to the same fate. This somehow makes it easier for me to accept this situation, believing I was not the only one facing this cruelty, acknowledging after all these years the experience and the pain was mine alone to bear. The mind is amazing in the way it protects, shielding us from harm. So much time has passed since the actual act, but also since the dream reminding me of it. Still I feel the emotion and pain as if it happened only yesterday. Our mind allows us to hide the truth, but the memories remain despite our best efforts to lock them away.