To the person who left me the comment about the Be Nice post:
I would like to amend the part where I said that I had never in my entire life intentionally hurt another person. I was incorrect in saying my entire life. What I should have said was almost my whole life.
There are 2 people I can think of in my past that I intentionally hurt. I was a teenager at the time of one of the incidents. And the other was provoked by the person involved.
I never meant to insinuate that I am perfect in any way shape or form. I am not perfect, far from it. Since I do not know your name I can not know exactly what you are speaking about. However, if you would like to discuss the matter, write to me. Let me know who you are. I would like the chance to know what it is that I have intentionally done to hurt you . Give me the chance to right my wrong, so to speak. I am not afraid to face whatever it is. Are you?
I promise I will keep your identity private. I will never mention anything we talk about to another person. It will be just between you and I.
I apologise to anyone whom I may have hurt intentionally or unintentionally. If you want to talk let me know. I am here.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Inner Peace
The sun is setting over the water,
red, gold, and pink hues paint the sky.
Salt dances in the air, titilating my senses.
The sand is still warm around my feet from the sun
beating down upon the beach earlier in the day.
Footprints are the only reminders of civilization.
Now it is quiet.
Just the waves and me.
The rhythm of the waves is so comforting,
enticing me to let the waves caress my body,
as they sing their soothing song to my soul.
How could anyone ever leave such a place?
A place so beautiful and so peaceful.
I am alone here, yet I do not feel alone here.
The sea gulls overhead soaring and swooping
Keep me company and I can talk to them without fear.
Here I am not afraid. I am never angry,
Because here there can only be peace.
Peace in this world, peace in these sounds, peace within my soul.
red, gold, and pink hues paint the sky.
Salt dances in the air, titilating my senses.
The sand is still warm around my feet from the sun
beating down upon the beach earlier in the day.
Footprints are the only reminders of civilization.
Now it is quiet.
Just the waves and me.
The rhythm of the waves is so comforting,
enticing me to let the waves caress my body,
as they sing their soothing song to my soul.
How could anyone ever leave such a place?
A place so beautiful and so peaceful.
I am alone here, yet I do not feel alone here.
The sea gulls overhead soaring and swooping
Keep me company and I can talk to them without fear.
Here I am not afraid. I am never angry,
Because here there can only be peace.
Peace in this world, peace in these sounds, peace within my soul.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Be nice. Is it really too much to ask?
Sometimes I wonder about the cruelty of others. Why do people cause others pain? Relationships go bad and everyone wants to blame the other person for the problems instead of just taking responsibility for their own actions. I just don't understand this way of thinking at all.
I have strived my whole life to be nice to other people, to always do what my mother taught me. To follow "The Golden Rule" so to speak. That doesn't mean that I have not made my share of mistakes, but I can honestly say I have done my best not to intentionally hurt someone else.
I don't lie to others, or tell them things I do not believe to be true. I do not lead others on or intentionally mislead them into thinking that I am something more than what I appear to be. I do not hide my personality from others hoping that they will like the me I have made them think I am. I do not try to manipulate others into doing what I think they should.
People I know have been hurt intentionally by others to the point where their trust in others is damaged beyond repair. Changing the image of themselves and others in devastating ways. They build walls to protect themselves from being hurt again, without realizing that the walls meant for protection do more harm to themselves than protect.
My heart aches for the unnecessary damage we do to each other on a daily basis in the name of love, happiness, hate, and anger. Why must we be so judgemental to the people we claim to love and care about? Why can't we just love and be loved in a simple and pure form?
My wish for the world, is for people to be pleasant to one another. For peace and happiness to be the focus of our lives. For everyone in the universe to be able to experience the feeling of being loved completely for who you actually are, and not what you could become. To find a simple love in its perfect, most pure form.
I have strived my whole life to be nice to other people, to always do what my mother taught me. To follow "The Golden Rule" so to speak. That doesn't mean that I have not made my share of mistakes, but I can honestly say I have done my best not to intentionally hurt someone else.
I don't lie to others, or tell them things I do not believe to be true. I do not lead others on or intentionally mislead them into thinking that I am something more than what I appear to be. I do not hide my personality from others hoping that they will like the me I have made them think I am. I do not try to manipulate others into doing what I think they should.
People I know have been hurt intentionally by others to the point where their trust in others is damaged beyond repair. Changing the image of themselves and others in devastating ways. They build walls to protect themselves from being hurt again, without realizing that the walls meant for protection do more harm to themselves than protect.
My heart aches for the unnecessary damage we do to each other on a daily basis in the name of love, happiness, hate, and anger. Why must we be so judgemental to the people we claim to love and care about? Why can't we just love and be loved in a simple and pure form?
My wish for the world, is for people to be pleasant to one another. For peace and happiness to be the focus of our lives. For everyone in the universe to be able to experience the feeling of being loved completely for who you actually are, and not what you could become. To find a simple love in its perfect, most pure form.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Endless Nightmare
The theater was located in the oldest part of the city, one building of many in a treasure trove of architectural history. Stepping inside was like walking through a time portal. The moldings and archways dated back to the early 1900's. Red plush carpeting and modern seats were the only reminder that we were still in the present day.
The usher led us to our seats and as we were sitting down a force stronger than anything I had ever encountered catapulted me back up the isle. I knew I shouldn't have come here tonight. Feelings of apprehension warned me before I even stepped inside. I should have gone with my instincts, but how do you explain my natural gift to a first date, in a world that doesn't accept the unusual. I could not just blurt out to him, "Oh I'm so sorry I can't go into this theater, because I am psychic and I have a bad feeling." Anyone passing by would have called the police, or worse my date might have, and I would have been committed.
As I hit the floor, everything around me changed. I was no longer in a theater. I was now in what appeared to be a hospital corridor filled with screaming people. I could feel all of their pain. I could hear all of their thoughts. I felt as if I too would go crazy from the madness suddenly thrust upon my mind.
I was the woman in the wheelchair, screaming for someone to help me to the restroom, but no sound could escape from my mouth, no muscle could move my staring eyes. The man sitting on the floor rocking back and forth crying for a little girl he would never again hold, and a woman he would never kiss again. The girl locked in a room slamming herself against the door in vain. My nails ripped out and bleeding from days of clawing at the walls trying to scratch my way out of my own mental hell. The boy laying in my own feces, muscles so tight and deformed I could not care for myself, dependant upon a nurse who detested her job and my existence. A woman strapped to a table, attached to wires, as the evil maniacal doctor "treated" me with his electric-shock therapy.
I could feel everything, it was all happening to me. I vomited from the smell and the horror inflicted upon my body. I had just wanted to see a show. Why did I not listen to my earlier feelings? Now I was trapped in this mental hell for God only knows how long. Please God, I beg of you to deliver me from this nightmare any way you see fit. Kill me if you must, but please, please let the torture end. I cried out in my mind begging for His mercy, praying for a miracle to no avail. I was thrown once again into another tortured soul.
I was a woman hanging from the rafters in a basement torture chamber. Leaches all over my body sucking my life force, watching as they swelled with my blood, in the name of "medical advancement". The child plunged repeatedly in ice cold water, because he spoke out of turn to a doctor and needed to be "saved from his mental illness". Wondering why my mother and father didn't care to come save me from this hellish place. The girl trying desperately to get away from a group of drunken orderlies on the night shift. Trying to scream through the hand over my mouth. Unable to move, suppressed by their hands as they each took their turn. Almost dying when they were finally finished.
How much more would I be forced to take? How many more spirits would show me their horrors before I would be free? Please, dear Lord, set me free!
The man who heard voices, laid out on a table as the doctors drilled through my skull, to scrape out the sickness in my brain. Leaving me like a child when they were through. The fourteen year old boy whose mother caught him in "sexual sin" and sent him to the hospital to "save his soul". Feeling the doctors carve my manhood bit by agonizing bit, curing me of my affliction.
STOP! I demanded in my mind. I cried for what these souls had gone through. I wept for what they were still enduring. This endless loop that they must suffer, living through their own hell over and over again for the past hundred years. Finally, they had found someone to share their pain, but would I survive to hear them all? Would they kill me before I could escape to help them? They all died at the hands of these tormentors. Would I be next? Oh, God I hope so! Anything to escape this spiritual prison.
Never have I seen anything as violent as what these spirits had endured. I have known I was psychic since I was eight years old, and I have seen my share of repulsive things. I have helped spirits move on after numerous cleanings, however, I have never experienced this much terror at one time nor in one place.
My mentor had told me once about places that existed, where the souls were trapped, and horrors so atrocious I would not want to survive the experience. She told me about how her friend had seen one such place in Germany, a result of the holocaust. I could not recall how her friend had escaped, just that it had been horrible for her, and she was so weakened by the experience she had been hospitalized. After her experience, the girl had refused to use her gift any longer.
I started to float up to the ceiling. Flying above the heads of the tortured below. The people started to fade as the light I was flying towards got brighter and brighter. I blinked, trying to focus on what was in the light. Did I die? Was this to be my end? As my senses became clearer I could hear people talking. I think it was my mother and father. But they were not dead, so how could this be? I blinked my eyes and held very still. It was my mother talking. I stared up at the ceiling tiles, white and porous above me, afraid for the first time in my life that the dead may have followed me.
I turned my head hoping, praying that I was alone. I was in the hospital. An IV attached to my arm. I looked past the IV pole, and into the sweet smiling face of my mother. There were tears in her eyes as she clung to my hand. She was telling me that she was thankful I was alive. She and my father had been so afraid for me. Afraid I would never come back to them.
The doctor entered and I started to panic. I didn't want anyone to touch me. After what I had just seen all I wanted was to be out of the hospital. I would probably never see a doctor again. I knew in my mind that the place I was just in was no longer in existence. That all of those people had died a hundred years ago, but I still could not completely suppress the apprehension I felt for the medical staff right now.
I sat up too fast, grabbing onto my mothers outstretched hand. The sudden jolt of pain throbbing in my head had me lying right back down again. "Take it easy. You have been in a coma for a couple of days now. You need to give your body time to adjust." the doctor explained.
Two days! Two days! I was in shock. I survived two days of torture from an endless number of souls.
The doctor explained that I had fell over in the theater and wouldn't wake up. Someone had called 911 and I had been rushed to the hospital. The doctors had performed every test in existence trying to figure out what had caused my lapse. They could not find any explanation. He wanted to know what I remembered.
I clutched the blanket to my chest, as panic seized my lungs. Suppressing the terror that threatened to steal my breath, eyes wide as I looked right at him and lied. I remembered nothing. He looked at me curiously, said to get some rest, then departed my room.
Looking at my mothers tear streaked face, desperately clinging to my hand, as if she would lose me if she ever let go again, I was reminded of what loving me had cost her everyday. "What aren't you telling him?" she asked worry evident in her weathered features. How many of those lines had I put there over the years?
"Mom, I can't go through it again. Please just know that it has everything to do with my gift, and nothing to do with my health."
"Darling, whatever it is you can tell me. I may be able to help you."
"Mom, that theater used to be a mental hospital, in the late 1800's early 1900's. The souls there are trapped, and I just lived through their every torture. Please don't ask me about this ever again."
"Okay, I won't, but maybe you should confide everything to Samantha. I am sure she would be able to help. It's not healthy to keep it all inside."
"No, Mom, that place isn't safe for anyone who is psychic. All we can do now is pray for God to help those souls." Thankfully she didn't press the subject. I knew that I would convey the endless nightmare to Sam later, and she would want to go help the spirits trapped. I also knew it would be the first time I would not go with her and the other cleaners to help.
The usher led us to our seats and as we were sitting down a force stronger than anything I had ever encountered catapulted me back up the isle. I knew I shouldn't have come here tonight. Feelings of apprehension warned me before I even stepped inside. I should have gone with my instincts, but how do you explain my natural gift to a first date, in a world that doesn't accept the unusual. I could not just blurt out to him, "Oh I'm so sorry I can't go into this theater, because I am psychic and I have a bad feeling." Anyone passing by would have called the police, or worse my date might have, and I would have been committed.
As I hit the floor, everything around me changed. I was no longer in a theater. I was now in what appeared to be a hospital corridor filled with screaming people. I could feel all of their pain. I could hear all of their thoughts. I felt as if I too would go crazy from the madness suddenly thrust upon my mind.
I was the woman in the wheelchair, screaming for someone to help me to the restroom, but no sound could escape from my mouth, no muscle could move my staring eyes. The man sitting on the floor rocking back and forth crying for a little girl he would never again hold, and a woman he would never kiss again. The girl locked in a room slamming herself against the door in vain. My nails ripped out and bleeding from days of clawing at the walls trying to scratch my way out of my own mental hell. The boy laying in my own feces, muscles so tight and deformed I could not care for myself, dependant upon a nurse who detested her job and my existence. A woman strapped to a table, attached to wires, as the evil maniacal doctor "treated" me with his electric-shock therapy.
I could feel everything, it was all happening to me. I vomited from the smell and the horror inflicted upon my body. I had just wanted to see a show. Why did I not listen to my earlier feelings? Now I was trapped in this mental hell for God only knows how long. Please God, I beg of you to deliver me from this nightmare any way you see fit. Kill me if you must, but please, please let the torture end. I cried out in my mind begging for His mercy, praying for a miracle to no avail. I was thrown once again into another tortured soul.
I was a woman hanging from the rafters in a basement torture chamber. Leaches all over my body sucking my life force, watching as they swelled with my blood, in the name of "medical advancement". The child plunged repeatedly in ice cold water, because he spoke out of turn to a doctor and needed to be "saved from his mental illness". Wondering why my mother and father didn't care to come save me from this hellish place. The girl trying desperately to get away from a group of drunken orderlies on the night shift. Trying to scream through the hand over my mouth. Unable to move, suppressed by their hands as they each took their turn. Almost dying when they were finally finished.
How much more would I be forced to take? How many more spirits would show me their horrors before I would be free? Please, dear Lord, set me free!
The man who heard voices, laid out on a table as the doctors drilled through my skull, to scrape out the sickness in my brain. Leaving me like a child when they were through. The fourteen year old boy whose mother caught him in "sexual sin" and sent him to the hospital to "save his soul". Feeling the doctors carve my manhood bit by agonizing bit, curing me of my affliction.
STOP! I demanded in my mind. I cried for what these souls had gone through. I wept for what they were still enduring. This endless loop that they must suffer, living through their own hell over and over again for the past hundred years. Finally, they had found someone to share their pain, but would I survive to hear them all? Would they kill me before I could escape to help them? They all died at the hands of these tormentors. Would I be next? Oh, God I hope so! Anything to escape this spiritual prison.
Never have I seen anything as violent as what these spirits had endured. I have known I was psychic since I was eight years old, and I have seen my share of repulsive things. I have helped spirits move on after numerous cleanings, however, I have never experienced this much terror at one time nor in one place.
My mentor had told me once about places that existed, where the souls were trapped, and horrors so atrocious I would not want to survive the experience. She told me about how her friend had seen one such place in Germany, a result of the holocaust. I could not recall how her friend had escaped, just that it had been horrible for her, and she was so weakened by the experience she had been hospitalized. After her experience, the girl had refused to use her gift any longer.
I started to float up to the ceiling. Flying above the heads of the tortured below. The people started to fade as the light I was flying towards got brighter and brighter. I blinked, trying to focus on what was in the light. Did I die? Was this to be my end? As my senses became clearer I could hear people talking. I think it was my mother and father. But they were not dead, so how could this be? I blinked my eyes and held very still. It was my mother talking. I stared up at the ceiling tiles, white and porous above me, afraid for the first time in my life that the dead may have followed me.
I turned my head hoping, praying that I was alone. I was in the hospital. An IV attached to my arm. I looked past the IV pole, and into the sweet smiling face of my mother. There were tears in her eyes as she clung to my hand. She was telling me that she was thankful I was alive. She and my father had been so afraid for me. Afraid I would never come back to them.
The doctor entered and I started to panic. I didn't want anyone to touch me. After what I had just seen all I wanted was to be out of the hospital. I would probably never see a doctor again. I knew in my mind that the place I was just in was no longer in existence. That all of those people had died a hundred years ago, but I still could not completely suppress the apprehension I felt for the medical staff right now.
I sat up too fast, grabbing onto my mothers outstretched hand. The sudden jolt of pain throbbing in my head had me lying right back down again. "Take it easy. You have been in a coma for a couple of days now. You need to give your body time to adjust." the doctor explained.
Two days! Two days! I was in shock. I survived two days of torture from an endless number of souls.
The doctor explained that I had fell over in the theater and wouldn't wake up. Someone had called 911 and I had been rushed to the hospital. The doctors had performed every test in existence trying to figure out what had caused my lapse. They could not find any explanation. He wanted to know what I remembered.
I clutched the blanket to my chest, as panic seized my lungs. Suppressing the terror that threatened to steal my breath, eyes wide as I looked right at him and lied. I remembered nothing. He looked at me curiously, said to get some rest, then departed my room.
Looking at my mothers tear streaked face, desperately clinging to my hand, as if she would lose me if she ever let go again, I was reminded of what loving me had cost her everyday. "What aren't you telling him?" she asked worry evident in her weathered features. How many of those lines had I put there over the years?
"Mom, I can't go through it again. Please just know that it has everything to do with my gift, and nothing to do with my health."
"Darling, whatever it is you can tell me. I may be able to help you."
"Mom, that theater used to be a mental hospital, in the late 1800's early 1900's. The souls there are trapped, and I just lived through their every torture. Please don't ask me about this ever again."
"Okay, I won't, but maybe you should confide everything to Samantha. I am sure she would be able to help. It's not healthy to keep it all inside."
"No, Mom, that place isn't safe for anyone who is psychic. All we can do now is pray for God to help those souls." Thankfully she didn't press the subject. I knew that I would convey the endless nightmare to Sam later, and she would want to go help the spirits trapped. I also knew it would be the first time I would not go with her and the other cleaners to help.