Fear is a tiny and unreal space that you have set aside within yourself.

Jesus through John

  Jesus Audio Blog for Saturday May 6th

There is only the One.  All that exists is contained most lovingly within the One, eternally, and without break or interruption of any kind.  There is no outside, both inside and outside are just imaginary concepts that were helpful within the illusion as you constructed it and set up the boundaries within which you chose to play your games.  It has been a very effective place to play your games because it has seemed so real to you.

But that realism has come with a heavy price of pain and suffering that has lasted for eons, feeding on itself voraciously, and it is now time for you to release yourselves from the nightmare of chaos, confusion, and conflict that it has become.  All games have to to have an end, otherwise they would not be games, and when they reach that moment…

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Monsters are real….


I know too much. After reading about one survivor of the most horrid, most devastating abuse, I realized that my own long ago abuse at the hands of my parents is in fact, literally nothing compared to what is really going on in our world. My experience is that any person who tells of their abuse is usually not lying about it. We are all left to make our own conclusion when we come upon a survivor’s testimony.

This is my conclusion which you may not agree with. That’s ok because this is my blog where I vent my feelings. You don’t have to read it.

Metaphorically speaking, the abuse that I endured left me with a limp caused by a fairly hard kick to one of my legs. Comparatively, the systematic abuse and mind control perpetrated by a long list of notable and highly influential ‘people’ that live in and run our current world, left this survivor armless and legless. Her limbs were sawed off in tiny increments causing the worst ongoing pain I’ve ever even contemplated. Not to mention what they did to her mind, her soul, her ability to feel human.

I don’t even know how she is still alive. This group of pedophiles has turned sexual abuse into a way of life, fully supported and condoned.

But alive she is and she told. Her testimony is there for anyone who wants to know. Of course, her high level and socially prominent abusers are right there to say how crazy she is, what a fertile imagination she has…all the things deviates say to discredit the victim. This is not new. These denials make it easier for the average person to walk away and say, well I guess we’ll never really know the truth and then we can blindly go on with our lives.

I’m left with the knowledge that if she could survive what she was put through, surely I have nothing to complain about. I recognized some of my abuser’s tactics in this expose’ of unwavering violence and sadistic torture, and I now fully understand my place in this shadow world of degradation. I got away easy.

I get that survivors of sexual abuse deal with the aftermath in whatever way they can. Some never get past the violations and relive the trauma every single day of their lives. Once I read this victim’s statement I came to the conclusion that I was one of the lucky ones.

I walked away from my abusers and started a new life unchallenged. Once I left, the abuse stopped. Even though I felt like the hunted for many years, the reality is I wasn’t being hunted. This emotion was a by-product and it was only my perception, not my reality. Did it fuck with my life? Yes but with time and effort I have come to a realization that no-one does anything wrong given their own understanding of their world. This is a hard statement to hear for many abuse survivors, but it helped me to get out of victim mode.

After reading this woman’s story, I now must look with new eyes at what happened to me. The people who abused me were amateurs, giving out exactly what they themselves had endured. Hurt people, hurt people.

The ‘people’ who abused this woman and countless others are Professionals of the highest order.  This very large group of monsters still exists, functions and thrives unchecked, continuing down their giddy path of unmentionable horror. New victims are born every single day, their future as a plaything for monsters guaranteed. Their survival as human beings not a factor.

I beg of you, watch out for the babies in your life. Be relentless in your vigilance where children are concerned. Be prepared for the amazing ability of abusers to hide their crimes and program their victims to protect their secrets. If you think something is wrong, you are probably right. Sexual predators will go to any lengths to protect the sadistic torture of the kids they abuse and never underestimate their ability to continue along even after being caught. It’s always the one’s you would never, ever suspect.

If you have the stomach, you may want to look at this story. Even if you think you can handle it, I can guarantee that you really can’t, the details, the players, the victim’s, so beyond our ability to comprehend this truth, that when you read it you may unwillingly divorce from reality and step into the world as it really is. You will perhaps finally understand the true meaning of the word “victim”. Then what?

You, like me, will know too much. Proceed with caution. Put the following sentence into google, if you dare.


P.S. This essay is my opinion based on my research. I really don’t care if you believe it or want to ‘help’ me by de-bunking this information. Whatever your opinion of this is, Please Do Not respond with pessimistic problem solving or concern for my state of mind bullshit. If what I’ve written doesn’t seem like truth to you, I say good day to you, please just move along, keeping your opinion firmly tucked in.



I Love Lucy


I have a new friend. Her name is Lucy and she is a horse. She is much taller than I and she weighs around thirteen hundred pounds. She is barefoot and munching on something every time I go to spend time with her. Lucy lives about one quarter of a mile from my house and even though she’s been there for about two years, I just never noticed her, until one day when I was sitting with my friend Sue lamenting about a similar relationship that never got off the ground. Then my friend said have you ever seen this particular place over on White’s Path? I drive this street fairly often, usually going way too fast to notice much of anything, so I said No I haven’t seen it and will you take me there. So we jump in my car and lo and behold, there she is. I jump out of the car and as I approach both Lucy and her best friend are watching me. I start to wave my hand wildly at them and they wave back at me like we are long lost friends.

I had been dreaming vividly for the past couple of weeks about a horse. A brown and white horse and in the dreams she is saying to me, here I am, love me, pet me, bring me candy.

So as I approached Lucy I recognize her as the one in my dreams. I am overjoyed and I proceed to make friends with her owner Carrie, all the while I am just staring at Lucy and I can feel her emotions. As I look over her meager accommodations I hear Lucy tell me she likes it here and that it suits her just fine. Lucy tells me she is a loner and I immediately connect with her on this, I too am a lone wolf of sorts. Her paddock is the size of my kitchen and she just about fits in her barn where she can indeed turn around and even lay down in there if she wants to.

Carrie is a devoted horse lady having had horses and chickens and many other types of animals in her life since she was little. Carrie rides her bike every single day to Lucy’s place, rain or shine, snow or sleet, she treks to Lucy where she mucks out the enclosure, spreads out the hay, fills the water bucket, brushes and grooms her and also spends a lot of time and energy raking and clearing the overgrowth and rocks and metal and glass that surround the home made quadrangle Carrie has cobbled together. She has a pad set on some pallets where she can rest in between all the work she performs.

Carrie has a paralyzing condition known as a panic attack disorder. She also has a daughter who is enduring the exact type of cancer that I just recently went through. I have a large, deep scar on my chest where the chemo port used to be and she notices this and asks me about it. As I answer her questions and she tells me what her child is going through, I realize that she is taking comfort in the fact that I am here and cured and healthy. During this initial visit I end up staying there for almost four hours. Carrie shows me how to brush Lucy and how to pick some grass that she likes and how to not get kicked or spook the horse. I am enthralled and right there I pledge within my heart to become a regular part of their lives.

This little story is a beautiful example of how the Universe answers prayers. I prayed for a horse to love and I got a horse and a human who needed to know that her daughter is going to be well someday. In the dozen or so times I have been back to the stall, Lucy and I have shared some beautiful healing moments for both of us. Carrie gets to ask me questions about cancer, treatment and whatever helped me through my own illness. Carrie has taught me so many things, not the least of which was when she showed me how to hold and love a chicken. I am forever grateful for these new friendships and I give thanks to the all knowing Universe for these precious gifts.


Hi God, It’s me

Dear God,

I am in a jam. Mentally and physically, stuck in a hard rutted jam. This letter is to you my father, I know you exist, I know you live in my heart, but I feel so far from you. I admit it is all my fault, this rut. I expect the benefit without the mental work that is required. If my mind is a battlefield, then I am a sorry soldier who lacks the ability to rise above the fray.

The simple reason might be laziness, followed closely by fear, which is not anyone’s fault but my own. Of the many ways one can choose to live, I have chosen to be alone.

As in, no romantic relationships whatsoever, no real friendships that require my ongoing participation. I live this way but I am not particularly lonely ninety eight percent of the time. Oh sure, every once in awhile I feel a bit lonely. Most of the time I don’t care.

I can never seem to forget that the loneliest I ever felt was when I was in a close relationship with another person. That type of loneliness is the very worst feeling ever, surrounded by ‘friends and/ or ‘family’ and realizing that no-one cares what you have to say unless they can use it against you at a vulnerable time.

Hermitism is my chosen lifestyle, because of how I’ve been treated before. I know you don’t agree father, right there in your bible it says: let them hit you on the face as many times as they want. If they steal your shirt, let them have your coat, too.

It is simply too much effort to let another human have access to my feelings and inner life, as it gives them power to abuse me. I am a delicate soul who can’t take the back and forth of human interaction. I talk too much, trust too fast and I assume I will be valued, but that is not ever the case.

This results in a solitary existence and I feel the burden of that a lot lately. I don’t even value myself so how on earth could I ever expect differently from other humans. I obsess about everything, having made up arguments and conversations with people who will never know how I really feel. I have not been sleeping much lately either, and I am sure this is part of the basis of my mental discomfort.

I have not been reading your word lately, because it gives me a thousand questions that cannot be answered or even asked. Here’s one that stops me every single time I think about you: why are you so vengeful and arbitrary in scripture? I can’t read on for two minutes without seeing your “fury, your judgement, your shame and reproach, and why why why did you pick Israel as the chosen people?

Even when you are ‘comforting’ you are judging us for using this free will to do something you don’t agree with? This bible seems to be a story of contradictions that I cannot reconcile in my mind or my heart.

Alongside your ‘ I won’t leave you or forsake you for any reason’ are statements of anger, of judging, of retribution, of darkness….

I like the story of the dead, dry bones, but why did you do that? Why? Where did those bony dead people go after you resurrected them? This bone story is part of Ezekial’s dream, right? When is the story fake and when is it real?

I also was fascinated by the story of Job. You and the devil decided to mess around with this guy’s life just to see if he was really dedicated to you? You killed all his family, gave him a terrible case of shingles, took away everything he worked for just to prove his faith? Wow, sounds really mean. I know, in the end he got back everything he lost and then some. Still, just because you can do something doesn’t always mean you should…Just my opinion.

When I ponder these questions I become angry and depressed. This is something I can’t do, try to ponder out the reason we are all here playing this dreadful game of life. I feel I can’t know too much. There are so many voices, so many religions, so many opinions, how can one know what to believe? This is why I stopped reading the bible.

I am overwhelmed and under supported and it is all my fault. I don’t know how to maintain relationships, because when I am outside of anyone’s presence, including yours, I don’t know how or if I should proceed.

I’m not calling after them, but they are not calling after me either. I don’t know if they even want to  be friends with me because I am not friends with myself?

This human experiment is taking its’ toll, father. Any bit of assistance would be greatly appreciated. How about lunch, next Thursday…are you free?

Love, Me


the teardrops run down

and fall off her nose

she cries in dark corners

where nobody goes

you can follow the tracks

from her eyes to her chin

years upon years

of letting them win

and her eyes tell a story

of anger and pain

you think that she’s happy

but just look again

and the scars of her past

hidden under her clothes

are a roadmap to places

that nobody knows

her smile is now painted

she’s a master of disguise

and you can see it all

just look in her eyes

Familiar Encounter


Looking through the glass not as darkly as yesterday, I contemplate what is happening right in front of me. This morning the sun is shining and the colors are dense, the green grass looking as emerald as Oz.

So far I’ve spied a turkey stealthily slipping through the far edge of the yard. A female robin, dull browns and reds, pecks for slimy earthworms in the lawn along with a handful of pesky squirrels rooting the rose bushes for whatever they buried last fall. The brilliant blue jay lands on the water dish left up all winter. It’s full of pine needles and dirt but he doesn’t care, he dips his yellow beak and takes a hearty swig.

A woodpecker brat-tat-a -tatttting on the metal chimney cap for the second day in a row puts me in remembrance of another such painful nightmare involving a winged wackjob. As I run out the door to scare away the lunatic fowl I mutter under my breath, I will put the hurt on this bullshit if I have the chance.

Once before, not here but in the duplex before this place, a woodpecker woke me every morning at precisely 3am pecking on the sill board in my second story bedroom. I started going to bed super early in anticipation of this varmint’s head rattling wake up call. Three weeks in I am starting to lose my mind, I decide it’s me against the pecker.

Still in the black of the early morning, I lie awake in wait for the confrontation. I used to sleep topless back then,, my 38 double d’s swinging loosely in the wind. I am exhausted from lack of shut eye at the beak of this ass-bird. When I am over tired, I become wildly irrational and episodically violent. I doze and wake in an uncomfortable cycle of anger and revenge. I am armed, dangerous and half asleep when the enemy lands and starts his assault………………..


I leap from the bed, pepper spray can in my tightly clenched fist, long hair wildly swinging, boobs banging into my armpits, I throw the window open wide and I lean out the window and am face to face with my abuser….we look deep into each other’s eyes, mine crazed, red and swollen from these nightly encounters, his small, dark and beady not quite understanding what his fate might be.

With fearless grit and determination, I raise my weapon, take good and careful aim and with all my strength I empty the noxious liquid directly into his woodpecker face. It’s a direct hit! I watch in gleeful joy as he spirals all the way down two stories onto my front lawn and lands with a surprisingly loud Thud.

Smugly satisfied with my valiantly successful effort to incapacitate this varmint, I flop back into my bed and promptly fall asleep.  The insidious invasion of my precious sleepy time has been contained. I am victorious.

I awake many hours later to what appears to be a war zone. The curtains have been half ripped off the wall, the window still wildly flung open, the screen is just gone. On the floor is the used container of pepper spray. As I groggily intake the mess, the encounter returns to my memory with amazing audacity. Instantly I remember the horrific shellacking of the feathered invader and I run to the gaping window hole and look down to where I saw the pecker plummet to it’s probable, justifiable death.

It’s gone…as in, Not There. I am uneasy as I throw on clothes and go down to hunt for the refugee from hell. Where is this lunatic lurking, I wonder as I search all over the immediate area. I search my memory banks along with the lawn area, did I dream this warlike encounter? No, I’m certain it actually happened. Then where is this damn bird??
This last question will never be answered. Perhaps a coyote came along and ate him, possibly he recovered from his pepper spray assault and flew far away to a less dangerous window sill. I won’t hear from this particular feathered foe again, or will I? Is this new pecker some brazen long lost relative come to invoke some depraved bird brained revenge? All I can say is, look out woody, now I have a taser……..

The Little Soul and the Sun…..

The Little Soul and the Sun”

by Neale Donald Walsch
Illustrated by Frank Riccio


Once upon no time there was a Little Soul who said to God, “I know who I am!”

And God said, “That’s wonderful! Who are you?”

And the Little Soul shouted, “I’m the Light!”

God smiled a big smile, “That’s right!” God exclaimed. “You are the Light.”

The Little Soul was so happy, for it had figured out what all the souls in the Kingdom were there to figure out. “Wow,” said the Little Soul, “this is really cool!”

But soon, knowing who it was was not enough. The Little Soul felt stirrings inside, and now wanted to be who it was. And so the Little Soul went back to God (which is not a bad idea for all souls who want to be Who They Really Are) and said, “Hi, God! Now that I know Who I Am, is it okay for me to be it?”

And God said, “You mean you want to be Who You Already Are?

“Well,” replied the Little Soul, “it’s one thing to know Who I Am, and another thing altogether to actually be it. I want to feel what it’s like to be the Light!”

“But you already are the Light,” God repeated, smiling again.

“Yes, but I want to see what that feels like!” cried the Little Soul.

“Well,” said God with a chuckle, “I suppose I should have known. You always were the adventuresome one.” Then God’s expression changed. “There’s only one thing…”

“What?” asked the Little Soul.

“Well, there is nothing else but the Light. You see, I created nothing but what you are; and so, there is no easy way for you to experience yourself as Who You Are, since there is nothing that you are not.”

“Huh?” said the Little Soul, who was not a little confused.

“Think of it this way,” said God. “You are like a candle in the Sun. Oh, you’re there all right. Along with a million, ka-gillion other candles who make up the Sun. And the sun would not be the Sun without you. Nay, it would be a sun without one of its candles…and that would not be the Sun at all; for it would not shine as brightly. Yet, how to know yourself as the Light when you are amidst the Light–that is the question.”

“Well,” the Little Soul perked up, “you’re God. Think of something!”

Once more God smiled. “I already have,” God said. “Since you cannot see yourself as the Light when you are in the Light, we’ll surround you with darkness.”

“What’s darkness?” the Little Soul asked.

God replied, “It is that which you are not.”

“Will I be afraid of the dark?” cried the Little Soul.

“Only if you choose to be,” God answered. “There is nothing, really, to be afraid of, unless you decide that there is. You see, we are making it all up. We are pretending.”

“Oh,” said the Little Soul, and felt better already.

Then God explained that, in order to experience anything at all, the exact opposite of it will appear.

“It is a great gift,” God said, “because without it, you could not know what anything is like. You could not know Warm without Cold, Up without Down, Fast without Slow. You could not know Left without Right, Here without There, Now without Then.”

“And so,” God concluded, “when you are surrounded with darkness, do not shake your fist and raise your voice and curse the darkness. Rather be a Light unto the darkness, and don’t be mad about it. Then you will know Who You Really Are, and all others will know, too. Let your Light shine so that everyone will know how special you are!”

“You mean it’s okay to let others see how special I am?” asked the Little Soul.

“Of course!” God chuckled. “It’s very okay! But remember, ‘special’ does not mean ‘better.’ Everybody is special, each in their own way! Yet many others have forgotten that. They will see that it is okay for them to be special only when you see that it is okay for you to be special.”

“Wow,” said the Little Soul, dancing and skipping and laughing and jumping with joy. “I can be as special as I want to be!”

“Yes, and you can start right now,” said God, who was dancing and skipping and laughing right along with the Little Soul.

“What part of special do you want to be?”

“What part of special?” the Little Soul repeated. “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” God explained, “being the Light is being special, and being special has a lot of parts to it. It is special to be kind. It is special to be gentle. It is special to be creative. It is special to be patient. Can you think of any other ways it is special to be?”

The Little Soul sat quietly for a moment. “I can think of lots of ways to be special!” the Little Soul then exclaimed. “It is special to be helpful. It is special to be sharing. It is special to be friendly. It is special to be considerate of others!”

“Yes!” God agreed, “and you can be all of those things, or any part of special you wish to be, at any moment. That’s what it means to be the Light.”

“I know what I want to be, I know what I want to be!” the Little Soul announced with great excitement. “I want to be the part of special called ‘forgiving’. Isn’t it special to be forgiving?”

“Oh, yes,” God assured the Little Soul. “That is very special.”

“Okay,” said the Little Soul. “That’s what I want to be. I want to be forgiving. I want to experience myself as that.”

“Good,” said God, “but there’s one thing you should know.”

The Little Soul was becoming a bit impatient now. It always seemed as though there were some complication.

“What is it?” the Little Soul sighed.

“There is no one to forgive.”

“No one?” The Little Soul could hardly believe what had been said.

“No one!” God repeated. “Everything I have made is perfect. There is not a single soul in all creation less perfect than you. Look around you.”

It was then that the Little Soul realized a large crowd had gathered. Souls had come from far and wide ~ from all over the Kingdom ~ for the word had gone forth that the Little Soul was having this extraordinary conversation with God, and everyone wanted to hear what they were saying. Looking at the countless other souls gathered there, the Little Soul had to agree. None appeared less wonderful, less magnificent, or less perfect than the Little Soul itself. Such was the wonder of the souls gathered around, and so bright was their Light, that the Little Soul could scarcely gaze upon them.

“Who, then, to forgive?” asked God.

“Boy, this is going to be no fun at all!” grumbled the Little Soul. “I wanted to experience myself as One Who Forgives. I wanted to know what that part of special felt like.”

And the Little Soul learned what it must feel like to be sad. But just then a Friendly Soul stepped forward from the crowd.

“Not to worry, Little Soul,” the Friendly Soul said, “I will help you.”

“You will?” the Little Soul brightened. “But what can you do?”

“Why, I can give you someone to forgive!”

“You can?”

“Certainly!” chirped the Friendly Soul. “I can come into your next lifetime and do something for you to forgive.”

“But why? Why would you do that?” the Little Soul asked. “You, who are a Being of such utter perfection! You, who vibrate with such a speed that it creates a Light so bright that I can hardly gaze upon you! What could cause you to want to slow down your vibration to such a speed that your bright Light would become dark and dense? What could cause you ~ who are so light that you dance upon the stars and move through the Kingdom with the speed of your thought–to come into my life and make yourself so heavy that you could do this bad thing?”

“Simple,” the Friendly Soul said. “I would do it because I love you.”

The Little Soul seemed surprised at the answer.

“Don’t be so amazed,” said the Friendly Soul, “you have done the same thing for me. Don’t you remember? Oh, we have danced together, you and I, many times. Through the eons and across all the ages have we danced. Across all time and in many places have we played together. You just don’t remember.”

“We have both been All Of It. We have been the Up and the Down of it, the Left and the Right of it. We have been the Here and the There of it, the Now and the Then of it. We have been the male and the female, the good and the bad; we have both been the victim and the villain of it.”

“Thus have we come together, you and I, many times before; each bringing to the other the exact and perfect opportunity to Express and to Experience Who We Really Are. And so,” the Friendly Soul explained further, “I will come into your next lifetime and be the ‘bad one’ this time. I will do something really terrible, and then you can experience yourself as the One Who Forgives.”

“But what will you do?” the Little Soul asked, just a little nervously, “that will be so terrible?”

“Oh,” replied the Friendly Soul with a twinkle, “we’ll think of something.”

Then the Friendly Soul seemed to turn serious, and said in a quiet voice, “You are right about one thing, you know.”

“What is that?” the Little Soul wanted to know.

“I will have to slow down my vibration and become very heavy to do this not-so-nice thing. I will have to pretend to be something very unlike myself. And so, I have but one favor to ask of you in return.”

“Oh, anything, anything!” cried the Little Soul, and began to dance and sing, “I get to be forgiving, I get to be forgiving!”

Then the Little Soul saw that the Friendly Soul was remaining very quiet.

“What is it?” the Little Soul asked. “What can I do for you? You are such an angel to be willing to do this for me!”

“Of course this Friendly Soul is an angel!” God interrupted. “Everyone is! Always remember: I have sent you nothing but angels.”

And so the Little Soul wanted more than ever to grant the Friendly Soul’s request. “What can I do for you?” the Little Soul asked again.

“In the moment that I strike you and smite you,” the Friendly Soul replied, “in the moment that I do the worst to you that you could possible imagine ~ in that very moment…”

“Yes?” the Little Soul interrupted, “yes…?”

“Remember Who I Really Am.”

“Oh, I will!” cried the Little Soul, “I promise! I will always remember you as I see you right here, right now!”

“Good,” said the Friendly Soul, “because, you see, I will have been pretending so hard, I will have forgotten myself. And if you do not remember me as I really am, I may not be able to remember for a very long time. And if I forget Who I Am, you may even forget Who You Are, and we will both be lost. Then we will need another soul to come along and remind us both of Who We Are.”

“No, we won’t!” the Little Soul promised again. “I will remember you! And I will thank you for bringing me this gift ~ the chance to experience myself as Who I Am.”

And so, the agreement was made. And the Little Soul went forth into a new lifetime, excited to be the Light, which was very special, and excited to be that part of special called Forgiveness.

And the Little Soul waited anxiously to be able to experience itself as Forgiveness, and to thank whatever other soul made it possible. And at all the moments in that new lifetime, whenever a new soul appeared on the scene, whether that new soul brought joy or sadness–and especially if it brought sadness–the Little Soul thought of what God had said.

“Always remember,” God had smiled, “I have sent you nothing but angels.”

Capture a little soul


Today I waited on a man named John. It was near the end of a busy day at the Pancake Man, when he and his companion, a small brunette woman were seated in my section. I greeted them as I greet all my customers and set about bringing them what they wanted. Moving quickly I didn’t notice much about them except how thin and gaunt John appeared and how it took him a while to decide what to eat.

As I served them, my station began to empty, the restaurant neared the time to close. I approached their table, noticing it had taken them a very long time to eat only a small portion of their food. I started to clear the table when John spoke up and said, “if you don’t mind too much, please leave all the dishes on the table. I feel as though I’m being rushed out the door and I need a little more time.” He seemed near to either aggravation or sadness, so I quickly replaced their dishes to the table and set about making sure he knew I was not going to rush him to do anything.

His disposition softened somewhat and as I stood there he looked at me and said “ have you ever seen such a bony chest bone as this?”. As he said that he pulled his sweater away from his neck to display the skeletal area. In an instant I knew John was not just really skinny. He was sick. I gazed into his eyes and said, only once have I seen that type of boniness and it was on me when I went through chemo. John replied “that is what I am going through right now”.

He went on to explain he had colon cancer that had metastasized, he had had surgeries and was now undergoing what I know to be the seventh circle of hell, chemotherapy. He became increasingly disturbed as he told his sad tale to me. His companion sat and listened with tears streaming down her face.  He introduced her as his ‘permanent fiance’ and told me how he had taken care of her when she lost a kidney a few years back and now she was taking care of him. They obviously loved each other very much.

I carry with me, every single day in my pocket, a very special quartz crystal that has been with me since my own bout with cancer. Whenever I need some strength I hold this crystal and it has been rubbed smooth by the zillions of hours of holding it, caressing it and being lifted up by the healing vibration of this special stone. Just this very day I lent it to my co-worker Mary, whose stepdaughter, age twenty two, had suddenly died a terrible death just days before. Obviously distraught and near tears I handed it to her to help her get through the day. And as always this incredible little object did its’ job by lifting her up enough to get through this sad day.

She had just returned it to me minutes before my conversation with John. As I stood there and talked with him about the various struggles of treatment, my hand was in my pocket rolling the quartz in my fingers when I heard a voice say, give him the crystal. I had noticed a fine ring on John’s finger and asked him about it.

He went on to explain that he was a jewelry maker. Or was a jewelry maker, having had to give it up when he started getting sick, even returning deposits and works in progress as his illness grew greater and he grew weaker. His eyes shone as he described the joy of his life long passion of creating unique pieces and being able to make a fine living doing what was most dear to him. I selfishly consider not giving it to him to keep but only touching him with it, knowing that even the slightest contact with my beloved crystal had healing qualities. Then speaks the voice again, a bit louder than before, give him the crystal.

I say, John, may I give you something? He looks at me with wide eyes, not being able to understand what his Pancake Man waitress could possibly have to give him. I pull the rock out of my pocket and place it in his hand, his eyes closed as he felt the current rush through him and he then clasps both of my hands inside his own and starts to cry. I look deep into his eyes, still holding hands with the crystal and I say, John there is life after chemo. You are going to be just fine. I will pray for your healing and recovery and just know that there is someone out here in the world who understands what you are going through.

As I stand there and witness this man and woman, both now in tears and stunned by this gift, I hear the voice again and it says, John is going to die. They are both talking to me about how wonderful this crystal is and how John is going to get his jewelry making tools out and turn my wonderful stone into a necklace so it can be near to his heart and his hated chemo port. As he pulls his baggy sweater over to show me his port, my hand instinctively goes to where mine used to be, and we look at one another and wordlessly unite in the nightmare of treatment.

In spite of the fact that John is going to die, I continue to encourage him and lift him up with comforting words, we hug several times right there in the middle of station E in the Pancake Man, with my co-workers looking on. By now they are used to me hugging my customers, not all of them, only the ones this connection happens with. This occurs every couple of days, that God sends people to me, then He tells me what to do.

We exchange email addresses, we say our goodbyes, I disappear into the kitchen giving them a chance to make their slow exit out the door. I am so sad that John might not make it. I say to God in the car as I’m driving home, tears flowing down my face, God does John have to die? Maybe since you had me give him the crystal, maybe he will live? I am at a stop light and as I look up at the car in front of me, I see its’ license plate which says: His-Wil.

And I know God is telling me that His will be done. I am so upset, but also gratified that today, along with countless meaningless interactions with my customers, there is one who walked away from me today that is being comforted by our father-creator, whose perfect will must be accomplished whether or not we understand, whether or not we agree with it.

What is it about forgiveness that is so elusive?

Just when I thought I had forgiven my mom for all the hate she had for me in my life, recently talking to her on the phone brought up the laundry list of all the hurt she had ever caused me. It was quite spontaneous this list of wrongs, I was unaware it was even happening. All of a sudden I realize what I am thinking and am instantly crushed by the weight of unforgiveness I still hold in my soul. I cry out to God and say, I thought I had forgiven her!

In my head, I say all the right things to myself…she did the best she could….she really didn’t mean it….she has suffered in her life and that’s why she hated me…..maybe she had postpartum depression, undiagnosed in the early 1960’s, that’s why she treated me so poorly…..it wasn’t my fault…it wasn’t her fault…and so on.

I left her home when I was sixteen. I am now fifty four. I have maintained a geographical solution to dealing with her by this one thousand mile distance I put in place long ago.For a long time I still craved her love and acceptance which always left me even more bruised and battered, never understanding why this woman disliked me so much. My inner voice used to tell me that if your own mother doesn’t like you, you must be pretty darn useless….

Throughout the years, she would call me and lure me into conversations and insult my choices and every conversation left me feeling wrecked.I played this telephone game with her for thirty or so years, her calling to remind me that I am a useless, unlovable idiot, me taking the call and reeling with unworthiness for days or weeks or months after. There were times when, out of guilt,I would fly home and ‘visit’, only to receive my heaping helping of non acceptance in person. There has never been a time in my life when I could really feel she loved me at all.

So I stopped flying home, I stopped calling and emailing, I made excuses as to why nobody should fly here to visit me. Even when I got cancer two years ago, I would not allow my mom to come here and ‘help’ me .I successfully enlarged my no violation border to an extreme. However, now, right now, she is travelling by car to come and see me. She will be here in a few days, accompanied by her husband who serves no purpose to me at all. I have insisted they stay in a hotel, that they will not be allowed to visit me at work or my home, that I will see her only for a few short hours each day she is here.

During the call where she insisted I let her come and torment me in person, she made sure to systematically degrade my current life choices. Somehow I felt I had run out of reasons to enforce the travel ban, and probably somewhere deep inside my soul, I thought, well, maybe this time will be different. However, after the call was when the obvious unforgiveness starting cropping up. Which led me to think that now is the time I will kick her out of my life for good, in person, with a witness (her husband), so that nothing will be misunderstood. I felt empowered by this approach and I started to anticipate her arrival with courage.

I realize again that the only thing that has ever worked for me is the maintained boundary of mileage. As long as she is invisible, I am fine. As her arrival approaches, I feel as though I am five years old again, unable to speak, unable to find my voice to stand up for myself. I start to fall again, into the deep void of wanting my mother’s love and even though beyond a shadow of a doubt I know it will not happen, I still yearn for it. So who am I standing up to..her or me? Can I really say, hey Judy, it’s not like we ever had a relationship, why don’t we stop this game and get off this dumb ride? Please, for my sake, don’t ever call again, don’t ever visit again, don’t send me stupid cards that imply you love me. You have nothing but pain and bad memories to offer me and this charade is over.

Can I do this? Should I do this? Will I do this? Is it my duty to find a way to continue this relationship? Am I defying “honor your parent’s”? It’s not like she ever honored me. Recently, I heard someone say, Oh you think you are emotionally healthy? Spend an hour with your family and find out if it is true. She isn’t even here yet, but I know it’s not true for me if I have to spend time with her. I’m already crumbling.
So, God, The Universe, all my angels……what do I do? Grin and bear it? I would appreciate some assistance here.