Crib Stories...

Crib Stories…


When I was very small…still in diapers…still in a crib…a Voice spoke these words to me:


“You will not be having children.  That is for other people.  Your life will be about other things.”


The Voice was gentle, kind and authoritative.  Not quite male or female…

After that, and for some time afterward, I was shown a series of mental pictures of what they had in mind.

I remember seeing foreign lands and a sense of great potential to help on a large scale-IF I could keep my path straight.

For someone born into the kind of family and circumstances  I was, it was a huge stretch, not only of imagination, but of luck.

But a seed had been planted and a kind of Knowing resulted.   I was blessed with a good intellect and high energy.

It was up to me to do the work and make use of opportunities as I could find them.  I KNEW that. 

How did I know that?   I just did…



I was actually quite happy and excited that my life would be different and that I would be free to do bigger, more important things.

There were plenty of children here, already…the beginnings of overpopulation.

The ones that were already here needed better tending. as it was!  These things were crystal clear in my mind.



As I grew up, I knew that I would have to find a way to not have children. That would take an extreme effort at that time.

I would have to become a nun or a scholar or both…maybe a missionary.  Not many women were exempt.

I learned early on to keep my feelings and thoughts to myself. To act otherwise was to court all kinds of unpleasantness.

I didn’t play with dolls like the other girls nor did I play house incessantly.  That sets you apart pretty quickly.

My nose was stuck in books, quiet pursuits, not chatty ‘silly’ things.  I wasn’t going to play out a fairly mindless script.



The Voice came to me a second time…not too long after the first time.  It instructed me in these words-still vivid…

“The greatest cause of suffering on this plane is the misuse of sexuality…

There was a pause.  “…and you would be well-advised to steer clear of it.”



Those words came as quite a shock. Though I was so young, I knew enough about life to think that war might be the greatest cause of suffering.

Or poverty…  I never would have arrived at this!   But it was uttered with such gravity and certainty.  It was THE bottom line.

My place within the scheme of things was clearly suggested, as well. 



Now why would a child be told such things?  Who is doing the telling?

It would be many decades before I would be introduced to the idea of guides and master teachers.

Pretty serious stuff! 

One might ask why  a baby would be told such things…

And yet, I was…



Those words ‘bent’ my life.  Those words put me on my path.  They rescued me from pain and distortion.  They gave shape and purpose.

They were deep and clear at the time and they had the desired effect.  But they were overrun and nearly lost as I grew up.

At times they were only a dim memory that I myself discounted at I sided with the culture that says children are ignorant-blank slates.

I was 40 before I finally recovered them, dusted them thoroughly and began to give conscious heed to them…conscious respect.

By then I had done some living and I could see plainly that whenever I heeded the Words, my life went well.

When I deviated from them for any reason or failed to take them seriously enough, my life became a disaster.

In fact, I almost lost my life on more than one occasion.

You learn to take Spirit at its Word.

I also made mistakes along the way of misinterpreting the message.

For instance: while the message about not having children was clear enough, I failed for a time to appreciate those for whom it was a calling.

That is not to say that most are called.  Most people just fall into it unthinkingly or because it is expected of them.

The lives they secretly and really wanted to have are shoved aside, their gifts and talents buried.

The message about the misuse of sexuality as the greatest cause of suffering was underscored so strongly

in my life through the attempted sexual molestation of my stepfather (which began early in life) ,the perverted sexuality of my 1^st husband (a preacher’s kid)

and the general callousness and depravity of most men, that I nearly missed the flip side of that coin.

As time went on and I took the issue of sexuality up with the Creator, I was to find that the RIGHT use of sexuality is incomparably beautiful, powerful,

full of mysteries and potentials beyond most people’s imaginings.

 

 

What Children Know...part 4...Remembering...

To give another example of what kids know, I’ll share some of my own story…

Sometimes it helps to jumpstart one’s own remembering to learn how another person got there. 
Some of these realizations are universal in scope.  After all, we have a lot in common.  They ‘fit’. 
Some of you will relate…others will not.  We all have our differing experiences…

First sensations… First memories…

Too loud!  Too bright!  Too harsh!  I jump uncomfortably at everything.
I don’t like this place.  What is the matter with these people?! 
Why is everyone so mean to each other? 
(I feel everyone’s emotions-much of it negative)
I am getting filled up with all these bad feelings…waves that I can’t stop or block.
I have to empty myself of everyone’s bad feelings…I can’t handle all of this…
It is making me sick and nervous.  I cry.
I am afraid of these bad people…
They are stabbing each other with their eyes, punching with their smiles!
I feel like I am in an insane asylum. 
(Now how did I think in such clear terms?  But I remember thinking that quite clearly…)

 

They do ugly things to their bodies (like smoking). 
They make ugly sounds and they like it!  (fighting-swearing)
They want me to be like them, but I will not!!!  
They try to break me down to their level, but I will never go there.
I must fight.
I am soon so miserable, surrounded on all sides, that I can only dimly recall that this is not all there is, but I fight for the goodness inside me.
I must protect it, keep it alive, don’t let anyone see it or they will try to destroy it.
They take pleasure in destroying the good.  I don’t understand.  I don’t understand…  I cry.

 

Desecration is the word I use now as an adult. 
What is it in people that seeks to destroy innocence?
To slap a child that smiles or experiences too much happiness.
To give alcohol to a baby or an animal…  To inflict pain… 
To harm their bodies in so many ways? 
To ruin and mar a clean slate…
There is something evil at work in bringing a child down-in desecrating something pure. 

 

In Bali, a child’s feet never touch the ground for the 1^st year of their lives,
because it is recognized that a soul freshly arrived from heaven
will need time and gentle handling to touch this earth. 
They are lowered slowly and gently into this world…as they should be.
It is not easy to tackle this existence….especially if you are born more sensitive than some…

 

I remember vowing with all my strength that I would NEVER go down.
Even if they succeeded in breaking me or making me do bad things like lying or beating another child
I would not go all the way down.
I would resist, I would pretend…but not very much. 
I would not debase myself or let myself be debased by them. I would somehow stay clean.
I did not want their ugly, unhappy lives with all the fighting and broken down existence.
I did not like the lives they made.  I wanted no part of them.  

 

Don’t go Down, I told myself over and over…don’t go down!

 

Still when I look at people today with their mean lives, disheartened situations,
their distorted bodies, half-destroyed minds and deadened spirits,
I still see the broken down children who were not born that way. 
They were not helped into life.  They were desecrated and beaten down until no memory remains. 
Their dead eyes say so much…
They think this is who they ARE.    It is never true.  But the evidence seems overwhelming.

 

I like to think of the kirlian photography examples of a living leaf surrounding by a strong,
clear white radiance. 
When the leaf is plucked from the stem, it’s radiance diminishes somewhat. There is a little loss of life, but it is still there.
Then that leaf is torn nearly in half.  A chunk of it is missing.  The torn leaf is photographed
once more. 
The shocking thing to all who see it is that the original aura of light that surrounds the leaf
remains whole and perfect!
I think that is true of us, as well.  Life has torn some pieces, an injury occurs, sexual abuse is enacted, 
divorce and death and heartbreak take their toll, but the Original Spirit..the Life Force remains
whole and alive.
What is done TO us does not destroy or even much diminish us. 
If we hold that picture in mind we are still viable. 

As Marcus Aurelius said…"Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears."

As the story goes, as a young and precocious child, I practically began speaking in sentences. 

Given my interior world, that was altogether natural. 
I thought in sentences from the start.
I thought in direct concise concepts. 
Words came later, as needed, to impress something on my waking mind. 
As a baby, I remember having very strong, clear thoughts about the world I had just entered. 
Strong opinions, too.
I remember thinking that I had landed in an asylum of sorts...a world-wide asylum
with few places of sanctuary.
I felt assaulted by the harsh noises around me.  The unbridled insensitivity of most people. 
The crudeness of life and the loutish behavior of people was a constant source of shock and dismay.
I felt a great desire to flee or at least to hide. I spent a lot of time hiding, in fact.
And a lot of time planning my escape.
My mother seemed to sense my delicate nature and she was my early refuge.
She knew what was needed...that is, until she caved in herself.
She took me aside often to reassure me and she tried to protect and nurture, even champion me.
But my dad decided that I was too sensitive and that I needed to be broken of that.
He made it into a family crusade  I was oversensitive… too pure…too fussy.  I was crazy…
Something was wrong with ME for not liking his touch (read molestation), his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke, his beatings doled out daily, our inability to have 'fun' with him in the following moment when his temper was spent.    

Why was my dad so bent on destroying my sensitivity?

Well, that sensitivity was getting in his way.  I felt him.  It was easy.
We children see without meaning to.
A child’s purity just naturally irritates someone who doesn’t want to be seen.
For instance, I always knew when my dad was sneaking around with other women.  
When he was picking a fight with mom so she wouldn’t catch on to him…
or when his guilt was too much…
or when he wanted a reason to leave the house for a few hours to see yet another woman.
Innocence speaks loudly, apparently…
How was I to know?


****
On a lighter note, I was generally spared the banality of baby talk. 
Only the occasional relative or neighbor would coo over me in that strange way that they have.
I always found it ridiculous and demeaning, something to be endured.
I hated their touch, their smells, their rough handling, their horrible manners!
Why did they think they had the right to do that to me?!
I couldn’t wait to get them out of my face!

To this day I still rankle at this ill-conceived practice.  
Children should never be forced into the clutches of anyone they are uncomfortable with-
for any reason.
A parent should protect those boundaries until a person can confidently do it for themselves.
Instead, our families encourage the breaking down of those boundaries.
Untold damage often results.
It is said that 80% of us have been molested…pretty heavy stuff!   
This is where it starts...