Putting something like that out there — the line that rose from a place so deep in my guts — I need a minute. “I have seen Gods die to become ordinary men and I have seen ordinary men die to become extraordinary men.” The person I told said “cool, great line,” but that blew me away.
Did I experience a miracle? Yes, you can. I get it.
I took a break from Christmas in Naples is a Sport this week to share what this year was: 2020-2021. I’m concentrating on the experience that culminated around Mother’s Day 2021.
The 5 AM message came through my website the first week of March…it did not feel random but who cares? Just the ding, the impact, you know, that was only a few years ago…not even. Never having received a message through my website before.
But what this provoked…
Two months later, I spent two nights, one day, in the hospital.
And that year was totally unbelievable — quarantine, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, these are also symbols, too.
After an exchange about money, a message came through my website about my actual bank being shut down. It was the timing, the physical impact of it, the feeling that they hated me. It confused me, “you should trust your feeling,” but then, in this case, can’t, no clue. It just hit me. A block of stone moved, it was another sensationally bizarre experience and hit another.
Then, I don’t know what to do. I sent an apology email. Now, I would just wait. Who cares? These people aren’t going to come after me. It was the physical impact. I didn’t even doubt it was them. I sent an email close to 9, I even waited as long as I could. It felt that obvious. I couldn’t even call anyone at that hour.
At least, if I were to receive an apology email, I would just be confused and ask — what is this? It’s how the rest of it went. They called me at noon…hello?
There was no, “what is this? Are you okay?”
Also, why are they calling me?
The tone didn’t suggest that they didn’t know why.
I have x on the phone.
Um, no.
This anger I felt.
Gotta go.
It was like, yeah, call us back.
I mean, I must admit, in their defense, the idea is crazy, stupid. But I was thrown. It was how they called me— holy shit, maybe they did. I got off. Now, it’s a different story overall in my life.
Remember, it’s not — we’re confused, even. It’s as if they are not.
You know, it feels lovely to be a little more normal these days, like people flip out, get alerted, maybe overreact, tell you to flick off, defend themselves regardless; this is what I mean. I’m much more comfortable with having a range, being wrong, right, arguing if I need to, asking questions if I’m thrown. This person, too, used to tell me that I had range as a person — hm. Not so sure. Experience, yes. Now, I have range. It’s freeing, even. Well, you’re — guess what? I don’t give a shit what you think.
The next day at about 8:37 AM, somewhere in there, a middle man calls.
Is this necessary?
You sounded upset: let’s take this comment. Well, they sounded upset. This middleman did not act like anything was strange. He didn’t ask me “what is this about? Why am I here?” This was the only question I wanted to hear so I could breathe but this was not what happened.
Again, I wish I didn’t do this.
The talk was “right,” thank you for…stepping in…? Bank of America, account.
So, a middleman had to be brought into the equation, had to accept the money for me, write me a check, for an apology email over a message that these people had no idea even existed.
I find myself skating along this “everything’s cool” vibe.
I’m just picturing myself…getting this phone call to mediate this. So, you sent them an apology email? After saying “thanks so much! Will definitely be taking that money back.” Yeah, I got this weird message, well, they didn’t send that. Right? No. Phew. I don’t understand why I’m here. You can set up this transfer yourself. Instead of discussing your bank, getting a check for you, doesn’t this sound strange? I understand that I sent — to innocent people — an odd apologetic email…
“I have x on the phone.”
Not — what is this?
More odd behavior comes later. These people don’t mention anything to the second group of friends who contact them after Mother’s Day 2021. And one of these friends confirmed that based on the money man’s operation — “this isn’t your friend.” Hm.
But this message — them — they become two symbols in my gut. I had to deal with this as a physical, real thing. Every time I went to eat. Got hungry. My heart would explode. I’m going through a whole thing. I went through physical terror. Being told by symbol I that I wanted symbol II when I did not every time I went to eat, meaning get hungry, and beyond, could hardly eat. My whole body rejected the concept of this — you want that one. No.
I didn’t understand.
I was very much there in the hospital, my mind blown, but your mind can be blown and you can still be sane. These two symbols — in my gut. For someone who got socked in the night, if I associated, excuse me, or if this awoken me to shady terrible behavior on the part of my already crazy parents…that remains to be seen. I cannot confirm that.
I do not hear people with psychosis talk about abuse, this sort of sensation. To be completely upfront.
So one of the spaces — hallucinatory — since all these characters came into my symbolic reality…was this 5 AM message. I am just telling myself it’s not them but I do not understand what I’m going through since it was specific.
In the hospital, when I first got there, I sent psychic fire in lines to contain the forms. It helped. It did. So they were in a line in a deep black space surrounded by rings of fire. At least, I could get some space. These are forms, I understand, not real people. What is this?
I had asked the hospital staff for books, just to see what they would bring me, just checking.
Jurassic Park and The Egoist. These books are going on journeys.
I sent a team of silverback gorillas to attempt to take these forms away, to even make more space to accommodate because my family was here, there were so many things going on. Just take them away. Go. Symbols; the silverback gorilla is an animal that I love. Just trying things. I was waiting for my COVID test. I started reading lines from these books to try to focus.
I don’t want to say that because God knows when it comes to my mother I cannot stomach this strange event. I went through a whole thing that would imply something really happened to me back there.
Would that be next to impossible then, you see, for this message to have impacted me like that, regardless? Like a year later, I’m having dreams? Dreams I cannot just wake up from and continue my day. I have to process. I went through more…over this experience.
I’m just beginning to talk about this, wanting to throw a table, for the sake of anyone out there, because people stay silent over certain words. Like I would ever do that to my friend. My assistant knows — I went straight for her. We are talking about this the whole way through. So that bothered me. I suppose that’s why I was always who I was.
I’m trying to go into the architecture of Mother’s Day 2021. And what followed.
So I have symbols around the 5 AM message….is this my suspicion space?
These two symbols. The actual money men. Do they represent my parents? What? Only because this was so specific. In this visual space I was in, I could not rely on my parents at all. This was not spiritual help. Versions of them woke up at various points as this story took turns around these sensations. Did I go through memories? I have to ask that. Why do I feel like this?
The characters my parents inspired were not a part of my family structure — it’s not that un-real connections weren’t made, I was just trying to basically understand what I was going through. But my family structure; these other families that came into my life…that was something else. My parents were not concrete. So, it was one-on-one with the characters, no negotiation between the real characters and beyond— this was handled separately. Like drama, Drama was even a symbol; as a field, it was never afraid, and wow, I needed that. It led me through even the darkest profiles. No matter what it was, moving through the reality of that, whoa, remember that movie, story, ah, no, don’t want to! Sort of playing with a kid, sort of perfect. Did I even know anything that was going on? That threw me because of these two symbols in my gut.
The escort rises a sort of hero, in that, it’s all about the escort. This character for me is — kiss your fingers — the villain that people will talk about as being sort of anti-villain, also. A neutral party that could exist in literally any world. Any. He, as a villain, is not against.
Everyone in my life was fascinated by him.
This is the man in real life — he saved my mother from these four years because she was a genius and she told me he was a secret spy. He said he worked for the government, and who the hell cares? There are many government jobs. He’s not but what about I supposed to do with that? And also, what do I know?
My friend is writing a fiction about this, the spy narrative, of course. I am writing a book that is a tell-all about my mother the spy so I’m trying to protect this book, hiding out in a mental hospital — I don’t know, how would one feel? Well, I tried this scenario with the escort as I know him. For me, Maria, the escort is my concern. Not Dr. J. The escort is not wasting his time on some girl in a mental institution with a book and secrets to share.
The escort is fun. This is a man who can walk into any room, regardless. He has that ability for real. He’s walking right in. “Sweetie, etc,” you know? There are people like that. He negotiates. There’s no problem. He plays dirty, that too, he’ll flip it on you. There’s no book happening or who cares? Some girl in a mental ward, who is going to believe you? Talking about spies like…This is a man who comes from a larger world, you see, he’s not American. He doesn’t need to do anything; he exudes it.
My friend is great — not that. But the escort I know, you see, is a character in my life who was, not scary, but full of mystery. Not because of his origins either but rather that he was involved, business wise, with my mother, which stunned my friends. This is what I mean, this is what makes him interesting. He saved her from bankruptcy, drugs, the depths. He took her out of this; that was that. He, in a sense, has treated me with more respect than my own mother. I do not have a problem with him.
I don’t talk to these people — it’s more riffing on the characters these people could inspire since that seemed to be part of the architecture of this event.
Remember, I was four years old — I ended up living with a different family when my parents exhibited beyond strange, abnormal behavior. She accused him of being a child molester. Then, he gets diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but doesn’t tell anyone though it’s Parkinson’s first. And I’m in a hospital that is totally utterly unequipped to deal with something like this. I had no idea what to do because this was sensationally very real.
So that was a tough part, these questions that rattled my world — Mother’s Day week. I went into the hospital the day after. I didn’t even know it was Mother’s Day. Like, did I experience something that would suggest that my parents did something to me? I got hit in the stomach in a sense. I don’t know what that did to my body. Memories. I don’t know what to say.
I asked one of these money men eventually — because I had to deal with this gut well beyond. He didn’t say “no, I would never do that…” It was probably someone from Nigeria. I apologized and I said I’m not accusing you. He didn’t really say anything. It wasn’t even that caring. Which is fine, in that, we don’t have to be friends, but then, why did this person come back around? Finally, I just admitted — I feel this was intended, which it was, on some level, and that did the trick. I went though a whole journey afterward. Eating was an ordeal.
The mysterious…realm of this event. Whatever happened was real enough that when I just said, alright, because it needed to be acknowledged, I could eat a little more comfortably. I would still have to work on this, actually, and a couple of years later…I’m totally fine. I can get hungry and not have panics. I got the neglect, that was first, at the end of this event. And someone reflected back that — that seemed obvious. I don’t know what to say.
I really didn’t know what to do. Perhaps the person that sent it had a strong energy signature. Who cares who? But the impact. Again, I have no one I can call to clear up the facts, even, of what happened to me, why I was at this other family’s house. Over accusations about my father that disappeared though neither one of them is around…at all.
My father is standing at her door…not allowed to come into the house…
The gut was the worst part, almost, though the sensations below the belt if you would were really challenging. I appreciate you reading this if you are…because that’s been, in writing about this now, something I don’t know what to do with. How do I write about my parents? Who cares…what my plans were…in terms of writing what I thought I knew? That’s not entirely true rather emotional but that was also specific, that experience, and I don’t know if I should go…see a specialist, even for my own understanding.
So thanks again, I needed to support myself a little bit.