Sexuality: Just Fleeting Thoughts

Fleeting Thoughts on Wanting " MORE"

• Ug h............. thats right - Ugh..have been looking back at my original concept of the blog to keep myself on track andwhat is the boom-ma-rang issue: is always intimacy and sex. I'm past the anger stagethe grief stage and still looking up a brick wall called " Impossible" . Is it really?
  

Can I change my paradigm from Impossible to Possible?
The Chicken or the Egg / Sex and Intimacy

* Special Newsweek Report: Can Ritual Abuse Survivors Have A Healthy Sex Life?*

• All of these promises to myself. #A. I will not be a statistic. #B. I will not allow anyone the opportunity to think," Ah How Sad, look what it ( Abuse) has done to to her"- including myself.
  

What is More? and How do I re-define it?
I am not willing to pay the price of my abuse anymore. this is like carrying a dead weight tied to my leg all of the time. and at some time i realize there is the moment of realization that I have the power to brake the chain and take the dead weight off. I don't want it anymore.

• & I am a sensual/ sexual being and i want ............ more.............. ;)
  

Looking for My Father as a Young Man.

" Tears Are Prayers"
Jacobo Timermen
Prisoner Without A Name: Cell Without A Number

Since my last visit I have been periodically listening to my meditation
cassette tapes. Sounds of Waves, Ocean and old tapes on meditation instruction that I had on cassette sort of things. In one Meditation I was hiking on a think lush grassy path and found my father sitting on a bench as a young man in his WW2 Uniform sitting on a white iron bench in A pretty english garden.

And I tell him that I am Debbie his youngest Daughter -I've come from his future and into his dream time & and that I need to sit with him in the Garden.
He sits without seeing me
and i am trying so hard to get his attention and just like I'd told him at the Nursing Home, when I was stroking his hand singing the parts of "Pennies in Heaven" that I can remember, and Fred Astaire dances on the freshly cut lawn with his long coat tails flying while he sings and dances.
My father smiles

I'm saying, " Penny for your thoughts-
Penny for your thoughts Daddy.

At the Nursing Home it is Music Time as I walk in I watch my Father pretend to read the Music Sheet- Alert while sitting up in the bed as Honky Tonk Old Time Christian Music Plays on the Piano. My Father is an Atheist but now it doesn't matter anymore. Music is just Music.

There is an elderly woman frail but with a patch over her left eye standing up with her arms raised , slowly swaying back and forth in time with the melody: dancing.
My father reaches for my hand and holds it.


My father loves me

& i have let him

Mysterious Skin.

Mysterious Skin
by Scott Heim

has been one of my latest reads this month and was doozy of a read. Hauntingly, the novel seemed to linger in my mind for quite some time after having completed it. I had learned of the book by listening to an interview of the author on National Public Radio & consequently ordered the book from the Library.

It begins with the following Sentence:

" The Summer I was eight years old, five hours disappeared from my life"

It is a very poetic book about the sexual abuse of boys by their baseball coach. Specifically 2 boys and how later in life they experience memory, One thinking that he has been abducted by aliens and the other with memory but with a life out of control with teenage prostitution .

This a work of Fiction and yet I felt that the author very eloquently portrayed the process of
memory especially trauma very well.

the book made me re-look at my process of memory. Memory for me came first in Levels of the severity of abuse. for example: I always had the memories of Domestic Violence in the House and of being molested by my father. By the time that I realized that I had significant holes of lost time in my life, old memories s seemed burst open in a flood of waves.

It wasn't until the early 1990's that I began to work on any Ritualistic Abuse Issues-

One boy in the movie thinks that he was abducted by aliens.. some may think that strange but in actuality when one remembers abuse it is stored as memory of the individual at the developmental/ cognitive age the abuse(s) took place .

1965 or 1966 at 6 yrs old
.
In my own experiences of memory. I first began to remember crawling up the out side cement stairs up from under the basement of the Apartment block that we used to live in up into the play area in the back area. It's a fragment of memory that doesn't last long but is so crystal clear as if I can touch the the green fir trees standing protectivly around the steps. Wet earthy pine smells.There is a surealistic quality to it.Next were the memories of the Janitor giving me candy and various incidences of feeling very fearful of him. My mother discovering me with a pair of scissors after literally chopping off some hair. A play area- the thrill of moving up up away like a kite flying up while on the see-saw and arriving back on the ground only to pull myself back upwards into the sky.
Remembering where the Janitor kept his stash of liquor and lastly the memory of waking up downstairs in the basement in an empty old room lying down on my back looking up at the ceiling, not knowing how I got there.

The very last segment of memory is hazy as if there was a dense smoke or fog and i am moving
myself through it out towards the side door towards the outdoors. I am focused on the door and the light of a sunny day and am not sure if I am walking or crawling.

I believe that is fair to say that I had been sexually abused by the Janitor but I still do not remember exactly what took place down in the room in the basement nor how long that he kept me there.

My memories are experential and sensory as I don't remember any words.

In addition:
and in my opinion all memories of trauma will not be rememebered like regular memory, because it is traumatic nature.

d

After the Visit.

Glad that I went back up to visit both my parents and my brother N.
I drove straight out the Assisted Living Community where my mother lives and together we drove up the mountain to see meet up with N. and visit Dad for Fathers Day.

Visiting Daddy requires to much taking in: that I find my self going on a little automatic and then getting in touch with feelings at a later time.

My father has lost quite a significent amount of weight and that was the big thing to take in . He looked so fragile and his memory seems to exist in the present. So if I had visited on Monday, he wouldn't remember the visit by Tuesday.

We rolled him out on a Wheeling bed out side / Mum fretted that he had lost his watch& N commented that we would find him another one. Dad can't read time anymore but N. always puts a new one on his wrist if it gets lost.

I'd say we had spent a good long 2 hrs up there and as we got up to leave ;I rubbed noses eskimo style with my father.

Walking into the Nursing facility it felt like being amongst souls who were waiting to just continue living or to die. Thats what hit me when i arrived back home. Old Age. Alzeimers, Dementia is a long drawn out death. How much he is aware of now : I don't know/ but can tell the difference with the medication.
I am wrestling with God. It is great that the creator of my understanding can handle an argument. All those years growning up with my father in rage i would think of all the terrible retributive things to happen to him that would make me feel better. That was my understandable thinking while a Teenager but now in my mid 40's / i hear my voice crying out, " Bu-bu but I didn't really mean it. I didn't really fucking really mean it. Please, please don't make him suffer".

I honestly say that I love my father even while acknowledging all of his past amibiguities.

Visit?

On to my parents tomorrow for a Fathers day visit and spending a little time with N.
my brother.

Wild,Wild Week

As the title suggests this has been a very wild week.
The 2nd time this month that I've had flashbacks- although- this time too - they are associated with very specific events.

Went Swimming & dam... I dont' know what I must have done have been to have felt so much frigging pain. The only reason that i came up with was that I over did it..just laps.
The following morning I awoke/got up -out of bed/ walked around to the drawer & Bam/ The most excruicating pain just exploded from my neck.

===============================================================

That was the event
and this was the association that I experienced in flashbacks.

Electric Shock to the bottom of my feet/directing me to another memory of N. experim-
enting with the wires from his electric train-set to my fingers/ How much does this hurt?/Back to the 1st line-the soles( souls) of my feet are hurting but i don't remember pain-just struggling to walk on the sides of my feet~ sleep deprived/Intermittant sleep deprivation. Night without end. fear of death/fear of the body falling apart/loss and grief . Weaving thru the memories of a lost child /bubbles in a fish tank.

==================================================================


A few years ago I went to an Orthopedic Hand Specialist due to the large knots on my hand after painting. After looking at the X-ray he asked me, When had my hand been broken? I still don't remember.

What do I do when I need to nurture myself espcially when it to issues of pain.
I imagine taking myselft as a child up in my arms in a sort of "Pieta" and slowly pick her up and gently rock her back and forth in warm bath water.

Philosophy 101

Saw this while driving over to the library today on a church bullitin board.
Love is the way to dissarmerment. Henri Nouwen. i like it....
usuall i drive to the library on another route. Funny. I always look for a cement garden bunny on the way over and felt disspointed when I couldn't find it on my last drive over to the library. A Goodluck Talisman of sorts. oh well.. :)


I have just compeleted the book, " Trauma & Recovery: the aftermath of violence-from domestic abuse to political terror."

The following is an exerpt from the book that I believe is very interesting.

Chapter 1: A Forgotten History
" The study of Psychological Trauma has a curious history-one of episodic amnesia. Periods of active investigation have altered with periods of oblivion. Repeatedly in the past centruy, similar lines of inquiry have been takenup and abruptly abandoned, only to be rediscovered much later. Classic documents of fifty or one hundred years ago often read like contemporary works. Though the field has in fact an abundant and rich tradition, it has been periodically forgotten andmust be periodically reclaimed."

"This intermittent amnesia is not the result of the ordinary changes in fashion that affect any intellectual pursuit. The study of psychological trauma does not languish for lack of interest. Rather, the subject provokes such intesnse controversy that it periodically becomes anathema. The study of psycholigical trauma has reapeatedly led into realms of the unthinkable and foundered on fundamental questions of belief.


Out of the entire book these were the most important paragraphs that seemed to reflect the dissapearance of the R.A movement. Was American Culture ready for the these severe histories to come up the surface of its consciousness?
The way that I had remembered it was the issues of the sexual abuse survivors that had surfaced in the 80's , the the survivors of incest ( The Courage to Heal: Ellen Bass ), to the issues of sexually abused boys ( Victims No More: Mike Lew), then it seem to uncover the
movement of survivors abused in the Catholic Church. ( SNAP) and lastly came Ritual Abuse.
but something happened with Ritual Abuse that still concerns me. What happened?
Did the Media exploit the issue and create big scare. The sensational books that came out at that time were creapy. An excellent example is: Satan's Children- ironically a book that was suggested to me to read when I had called an area crisis line. 20 years ago there were no books for survivors to read that were not sensational. I remember feeling somewhat confused because even though the person on the crisis line thought it was a book to suggest. I didn't relate to the Title.

My Barn Having Burnt to the ground . I can now see..............

Today the Demolition crew has completed taking down the burnt Apartment complex across from me & it does remind me of this Haiku. My Barn Having Burnt To The Ground I Can Now See The Moon.

I don't know who wrote it. Issha or Basho..? Basho is my favorite of the two. but never the less the new view is quite different and acually very nice in addition the eradication of the nasty looking burnt structure that stood only last week. It was like watching a visual metaphor come into likeness as I saw more into the distance each time a part was downed.

and of course there is so much more light..
I am a light fanatic of sorts. My living room has two large Windows- as I prefer lots of open space and light.

It stems from having been put down in the blackened basement over night with out the lights on. What could I have done to deserve being locked up in the basement ovenight. A child takes on the blame, but as an adult it takes some time to detach from all of the cobwebs to understand that there was no reason and even if there was one: its meaning existed only in the mind of the persons who put me down there.

so- I just decided that it was absolutely okay to always want open lighting in my adult spaces.


What does a Ritual Abuse Survivor Read?

There are two books that I have read: that I can say that I enjoyed and could relate to as a Ritual Abuse Survivor.

The first was : The Blindfold's Eyes: My Journey from Torture to Truthby Dianna Ortiz,
and the second was The Sparrow by MARY DORIA RUSSELL

both of these books are about Coming to turns with severe abuse ( torture) one is autobiograpical and the the later is science fiction and both in their own way look at how one
struggles with faith . I found the Blindfold's Eyes to be insightful,inspirational and Sparrow
the same . The sparrow looks at issues relating to recovery form severe sadistic abuse from the viewpoint of a Priest who was sexually abuse, prostituted and tortured.

Torture abolition and Survivors Support Coaltion International

Personal Responsibility

I remember when I was involved in intense Therapy. It always seemed to me that I cycled from Depression, Hoplessness to Anger and Rage to Frustration and then back round the circle again. Each time the circle spiraled round another cycle I got closer to its core.

I was experiencing so much frustration especially in the area of Intimacy Recovery as it was mentioned that this was usually one of the last core issues to deal with.

and I still struggle with the meaning of Intimacy and Physical closeness in my life.

The hardest thing to awaken to is the realization that no-one can fix the damage except myself. My Offenders can apologize a thousand time over- but that won’t fix the damage.

That is always a hard one to wake up to and I continually re-examine it.

The Whisperer Who Hides Away

I love this prayer-
there is another one that begins with the following Phrase:

“ I Take Refuge
in the Lord of the dawn.”

this is the one phrase that I sometimes say if I am up early drinking my java in the morning watching and meditating on the early morning summer song s of the birds.

Because I am a sparrow.



Humankind
In the Name of God, The Compassionate, The Merciful
(1-6)

“I take refuge
in the Lord of humankind,

the Ruler of humankind,

the God of humankind,

from the evil of insidious suggestion *

that whispers in human hearts

from demonic and human sources.”

* from notes = insidious suggestion “ The Whisperer Who Hides Away”
from: The Essential Koran: Translated & Presented by Thomas Cleary.

I rescued a lost dog yesterday. wandering around the apartment complex.
hungry and running around loose.
Without thinking much I went in a got a bowl of Water and fed it left over chicken from the night before .
&
Arrgh…… and the dog stuck to me like glue . Good fella…... Part Shepherd/Part Rotweiller mix… very sweet dog./ loving and friendly -I tried telling it to, “ Go Home.” but it just sat down watched me and then followed me back into the apartment. So I gave it temporary Shelter/ Found its rabies vaccination shot info on the collar and made a call to animal control to find the owners phone # .It took a long enough while however, but did locate the owner. J who would pick him up the next day.
So.. I gave him temporary shelter . The experience was surprisingly a very nice and pleasant short break from the two cats.

on the other, I was
sensing a deep set feeling of guilt for feeling that I had abandoned it even though I had not . Emotionaly the experience hooked into a deep core of old stuff. Feeling responsible for an animals suffering. I must admit that I didn’t see it coming as I’m not in the habit of rescuing animals.

my experiences of abuse and cruelty of animals: All cats.


In a lot of the Ritualistic Abuse , but not all, I was blindfolded and taken down to the house basement. In the Basement late one night, blindfolded for a long period I was told that I was waiting for Satan. Blindfolded for long periods of time my fear level hitting up and over the roof. The waiting, anticipation and excruciating anxiety is profound. The Voices of young people around me that I cannot see. Finally a young voice pronounces that , Satan has arrived. I think I hear the click click of hooves and my memory fades into as fear escalates into the lost time not recovered Zone

Later I had realized that the click, click sound was the next door neighborhoods dog;
Henry, A black Labrador/ I think.

Either that or a staged sound effect.

I was thinking of the Phrase: The whisperer that hides Away ,that resides in human hearts- from the Koran.
well, thats who came to visit my brother and his friends while they were on drugs.


Trying to decide weather to drive to Chattanooga or not this weekend or perhaps just the day .

Went to a march for Victims of Sexual Abuse and actually enjoyed the walk. up and over Shelby bridge up to the Rape and Sexual Abuse Center itself. There were painted T-shirts from a Clothes line project and actually were the best part I’d thought as they so eloquently spoke for themselves .
The group was small . That was my disappointment. I would have had all kinds of media there.
The following day was a Sunday, afternoons that I assist with the Homeless downtown but it was difficult arriving there as the March Of Dimes Community March was taken Place. I had noticed how organized it was, It looked like the entire community was out for the March of Dimes !. What would it take to kindle that kind organizational force behind the the Rape and Sexual Abuse Center. How much I’d like to watch that amount of people marching for the RASAC in Nashville.

I wonder how involved the Center is involved in the Vic’s of Trafficking in the Refugee Population , In addition to meeting the needs of the non-english and limited English speaking communities in this area.

Is there any Coalition Building between all of the various Sexual Abuse Recovery/ Advocacy Organizations here in the Area.? Do they need to learn about one another.?
Is it working on multi-cultural sensitivities and does the crisis line now have at one Spanish speaking person on the crisis line.? Questions/Questions/ Nag Nag Nagging at me.

What Would Emma Do?

What Would Emma Do?


*"I want freedom, the right to self-expression, everybody's right to beautiful, radiant things." *
Emma .Goldman : Living My life

I love this quote: " If I can't dance its not my revolution".


That’s right- WWED…
Emma being Emma Goldman: Anarchist, Feminist, Revolutionist and Agitator.
after having read her book “ Anarchism and other Essays”. I had discovered what I really needed the most was a Female Role Model. A Female Intercessiary of Sorts. The Female Side of Jesus of Nazereth/ or God/ Sophia .I’ve read numerous philosophies that point out the ideas of God having many children : Jesus of Nazereth, Muhammed , Bhudda , Martin Luther King and Malcom X, etc… So why can’t Emma be a daughter of God? So for some there is the Virgin of Guadalupe and so for me its Emma Goldman.


" We Americans claim to be a peace-loving people. We hate bloodshed; we are opposed to violence. Yet we go into spasms of joy over the possibility of projecting dynamite bombs from flying machines upon helpless citizens."
Emma Goldman : Circa early 1900's

Putting Humor aside:
I have been reading some about Oscar Romero and Liberation Theology/ Anarchy and Christianity.

over and out,
d