Death and Rebirth

First, a note.

This occurred somewhere around July 1st while we were being held in Puerto Rico. We had been starved down by about twenty pounds in ten days; verbally and emotionally abused, and we’d tried to escape, walking for three days – evading murderers and criminals and those who had been sent to tail us – for indeed, this was a ‘lesson’, not an escape – as I (and we) were to find out later . . .

We had, as stated, walked for three days – hiding out in the bush, eating whatever we could find. We had a knife (stiletto) with a two inch blade (razor sharp) which could also function as a lighter – however, the lighter did not work. We also had about eight hundred dollars stashed about our person along with our ID and passport card . . .

That we had been drugged there is no doubt. Someone down the line had been feeding us drugs (when they weren’t busy trying to feed us rotten fruit and other inedible goods). That much is certain – the blood tests when we got back from there indicated a ‘high liver function’, which means we must have been given something . . . a poison, perhaps, a psychotropic drug no doubt.

Now – another brief note – I’ve been a ‘druggie’ before – a real intravenous junkie, and have tried almost every drug under the sun – LSD, meth, qualudes, etc. This was nothing like any of them.

So let us go on . . .

On the third day, having walked until my feet bled and glued themselves to the soles of my shoes – having walked from one end of Caguas valley to another – I gave up. I had attempted to call my wife but the phones were not working. I had attempted to hail a taxi but was ignored. And I had attempted to have several store clerks call both my wife and the man who had done this to me many times – but as soon as I indicated I wanted to use the phone (offering fifty dollars to do so) – the clerks suddenly forgot their English and no one would let me use their phone.

Somewhere around the Botanical Gardens I recognized where I was at. The man who I’d come to visit (and who had subsequently done all these things to me) had taken me there, where he’d made a point of pointing out what was edible and what was not. We were intensely curious – so much so that it drove this man nearly insane. (And that’s the truth of it, not that he wasn’t – and isn’t still – insane.) We walked a bit further and found a store. There I convinced the clerk to call my friend.

They came and picked me up about an hour later – my friend and a friend of his. They were laughing as I hobbled to the car, feet oozing blood. They didn’t bother to help me in – instead, they piled in the front and began talking as we made our ride.

I won’t pretend that I understood everything they said, but my friend had made a point of teaching me certain words. One of them was “guerra” – War. Slumped in the back seat I heard them say that – and how they had ‘followed’ me – shadowing me all the time – and they laughed as they recollected my spotting the pillows they’d thrown out on the road. Apparently they’d become concerned because I was not stopping (the pillows were, from them, a signal to ‘rest’.) And they mentioned that I’d seen the messages marked in concrete. I heard that one quite clearly (“Papo”). Then they went on to say something about “General”, “AntiChrist” and again “guerra”.

We arrived without incident at the house where I was being kept. The men never spoke to me, but they were quite respectful. While in the car I had realized what was going on: they meant for me to be some kind of “Anti-Christ” or “General” in their “army” for some war. And I knew what I must do.

Getting out, I strutted up to the iron grate that served as a door to the residence. I waited for them to open it. They did – bowing slightly (and perhaps slightly mockingly). I coldly walked past them into the house, feeling my other ‘self’ rising up. HE knew what to do. After all, HE was the King of Lies.

“We must fool them,” I could hear myself thinking. “We’ve got to get them to believe we are on THEIR side . . . that THEY have won . . .”

I went into the bathroom as they left, locking the iron grate behind them. And I slowly removed my shoes – ripping them loose from the torn meat on the bottoms of my soles – and listened to the car go down the drive. I slowly undressed, every muscle . . . not sore, but not good. Turning on the cool water I stepped in . . .

and cried.

No, cried is not strong enough a word. “Wept” perhaps – but even stronger. Sobbing? No, sounds too ‘fairy’. But I cried over the ruin of my body – the scars, the blisters, the sores. The wounds. The Mikie inside me cried, remembering his body of youth. My Soldier cried inside, remembering his strong arms. And we ALL cried inside over the ruin of this body . . .

After awhile we stopped crying. A long while.

And we hadn’t cried in over thirty-eight years. That’s how bad this was.

Or maybe it was the drugs.

Anyway, we went and laid down . . .

and then it began . . .

Before I begin, I must say: I don’t know how to describe it. I really don’t.  There simply are not WORDS for some things – and what happened ‘next’ is one of them – and so much OF what happened during this . . . ‘thing’ – is beyond words.  We gave up words on this.  It was all about “feeling” . . . but different.  Strange.  I know we may have been on drugs – not of our own choice or volition – but that doesn’t exactly change what we experienced. For what we experienced was God.

Only that’s not fair . . . not right.

What we experienced is what it means to BECOME a god . . . and an awareness that there is a bit of God all around us . . . inside as well . . . endless love and something else . . .

an infinity of being . . .

It started simply enough. We were not dreaming; we were wide awake – but something was happening inside of us. A “seperation” of beings, of ‘selfs’. A gradual disjointing of . . . everything.

All our knowledge passed before us. Our lives whirled in our head . . . for a moment a memory or a piece of knowledge (“what is a star?”) would flash through our head . . . and then it’d be gone, as though it was there – but something we’d never learned . . .

Everything ‘flashed’ before us. I could feel my body ‘fading’ – heart slowing, breath dying . . . until there was just “me” . . .

The last thought I had before “I” went away was that I had learned “too much”. That there was such a thing as knowing “too many things” about . . . everything . . .

and then . . .

we (I) winked out of existence . . . in a way (there are not WORDS for some of these things – explanations fail . . .)

and then we knew . . .

infinity.

The cosmos stretched all around . . . my ‘body’ was but a dim sensation on the edges of perception – but it “wasn’t there” – not anymore. It wasn’t mine – it was just a chunk of meat I lived in . . .

and the sensation went on . . .

and things started being explained to me . . .

I don’t know how,

I don’t know why

but we experienced what it means to become a god – one of many here in this universe and beyond . . .

We found out a lot of things….

And then we reassembled . . .

This was the strangest thing – and the thing which changed me the most.

IT HEALED ME.

I cannot stress that enough. It ‘absolved’ me of …. all my blindness, my shame and sense of worth and self-being . . .

I got to “pick and chose” as the knowledge came back . . .

“Shame” (from our childhood pasts) . . . “No, don’t want that thing – .” Off to the discard pile.

“Love.” Definitely want that (I was feeling it through and through) . . . keep that one.

Hatred. Anger. Bitterness. Sexual desire. Desire for anything . . . on and on it went – one thing at a time – not the ‘loss’ of knowledge – but the acceptance of what had happened . . .

There are not words for this sort of thing. But I got to where I simply did not care about anything anymore – anything except love and forgiveness and understanding . . .

And I have never been the same.  From that point on I was HAPPY – happier than I’ve ever been in my life!  Total happiness, encompassing happiness.  I no longer cared what anyone thought . . . all I could feel was love for . . . everything.  We no longer cared that we were multiple – it made sense, for in us were our souls and multiple being – and god.  We could talk to him directly (believe what you want – the ancients used to believe this kind of thing …. didn’t Noah or Moses talk to god?  If so – why can’t I?  Why do you think “I” may of been denied this??? Simply because you feel YOU are??  It doesn’t work that way . . . you gotta ‘feel’ him….)

For three days (more!) this went on . . . this gradual ‘death’ of being – then this ‘rebuilding’ of self and system. Over and over again we “died” . . . “went through this process” . . . and moved on. Faster and better each time – healing over and over again. . .

Until we got here.

Then something happened. The medical establishment kicked in and ruined this sort of process. (Thank you – said quite bitterly by me and the rest of myselves) – for ruining this process . . .

For we had known what it is to become god

We had learned infinite forgiveness, infinite love . . .

We knew what was going on . . .

And we had to leave.

Which we did sometime later (after we’d cursed this dude and his momma died – something he blames US for – for I think he, too, believed that he and his group had done what they had set out to do: create a “god” and then destroy him – all but the evil parts inside – and then they were going to ‘use’ him – or me, rather – to further their goals either in Bolivia or Columbia South America . . .)

But the thing is: we’ve changed.

We no longer hold ourselves accountable for the abuse which happened to us – not then, nor those things in our childhood . . .

We forgave – and forgive – everyone their transgressions and their sins; however, that does not mean we aren’t going to punish them – not for ‘their own good’ – but rather to teach them a lesson . . .

And we left that man there, escaping once again . . . making our way on foot with the help of many people, it seems! (Thank you very much – and why were you thanking ME? What for?) For everywhere we went – even to the airport – people were thanking me. For something. What . . . I don’t know. . . but it was there. It wasn’t part of my imagination, nor was it some hallucination coming on . . . we know what hallucinations are like, and this entire trip wasn’t one of them . . .

And we are . . . cured of some of our issues. The childhood ones definitely are gone – no more shame about our pasts; no more anger towards our abusers (well, perhaps some – but in a firm way, the way a father would feel towards his children when they’ve done something bad). No more “shutting up” about some things – however, we’ve learned to keep quiet about some others (the above ‘god’ thing being one of them).

But there is no doubt . . .

The entire experience changed me (us) in some entirely fundamental way . . . we are ‘healed’ and we are ‘better’, though nobody is perfect (including our god, in our own opinion). . . .

Whutta rush . . . whutta ride . . . and a method of healing I wouldn’t recommend for anyone . . . unless you have a strong heart and a strong constitution and a different way of ‘being’ . . .

and to this day, while ‘hidden’ within us, is that thing . . .

the Godhead and the Love and the Truth and the Being . . .

and we love Him and ourselves and you are a wonderful being . . .

even if you don’t think so yourself. . .

(smile. God’s words, not mine. Believe what you think; think what you are . . . and perhaps, one day . . . with a bit of luck . . . you’ll understand.)

Trust me.

You will.

Sincerely,

Jeff & Crew et all

a wonderful being

and a changed one at that.

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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