The remote Lighthouse of Saudanes in Northern Iceland, just south of the Arctic Circle
The beauty and gift from Divine Creator is that after tragedy, life goes on.I remember after passing out, I woke up and thought to myself, 'I'm not dead. Oh? Now what?'
To be honest in many ways, in my secret heart of hearts, I had wished it had simply been the end of me when I was little and gang-raped when I was four. But it was never in my childhood. My childhood, thankfully, was normal. It was when the PTSD kicked in after the buried memory of the attack came up, and I had to heal from it, that life got really hard.
I'm a big believer that God will never give you anything more than you can handle. I had great professional counseling. I had time (no kids yet!) to nurture myself and be the caring adult who understood.
Looking back now, I also realize that the tragedy to a little girl was the life-saver to break the cycle of reincarnation (Monarch-like leftovers from the last incarnation) to make absolutely certain I never continued on that distorted view of human sexuality again. It worked, and kept me in the incarnation of this life, as a wounded girl, which, perhaps in a deeper way, is allowing both the little girls from this life and the last one to heal together.
I don't know.
But life goes on.
My mother and father got my message from the closet where I drew lots of male anatomy one after the other, rows and rows as far as I could reach, in bright red marker.
They knew enough.
And they did something.
They joined a local nudist colony. The link is to my experiences as a child growing up there on the weekends. We called it 'The Cabin'.
Looking back, I got to see lots of healthy normal bodies in all stages of growth and development (old didn't look so great, I quickly learned, by the extra wrinkles a life naked in the sunshine gave people!)
I ran around with a little independence in the fresh air and sunshine. I could go look for my dad on the volleyball courts, I could go to the little cafeteria/snack shop and buy ice cream on credit, and when my parents were there I could swim as much as I liked. There was a swing set. We took beautiful hikes in the hillsides.
I never drew anything like that again. I was given a chance to heal. Not a 'mommy and daddy understand' verbal chance to heal, but my soul was given relief by my parents, who on some level understood my pain, and chose to act on it.
Back then people didn't really know how rampant the abuse and predation of children was. And although my experience was an extreme form of it, at least it was still 'children' (aged 5-12) and not 'grooming pedos' or 'ritual abuse' like Kerth.
In my teen years, it wasn't easy. And my marriage was happy for a while, until I remembered. In my opinion, the PTSD took my marriage from me. My ex had some form of similar abuse from a priest. And my ex didn't want any reminders or formal 'healing' from it. He just felt strongly that if you didn't think about it any more it wasn't as bad as you think. And for me, he said if penetration didn't happen it wasn't as bad as you think. He was going by the age. For me, I remember the searing pain I had never felt before 'down there', and thinking I was going to die. I'm not sure what was done to me, but it was painful and enough to mess up my life until even this day.
I feel fortunate it was a one-time only thing. My heart goes out to those who have had to endure ongoing abuse, like Kerth and those with stepfathers or daddies who aren't right. It must be horrific trying to go on day after day in that situation.
But the beauty of Life is that it truly does go on. And even in the worst of times, there are small pleasures. One of my favorites was the African daisies that grew wild on the hill at The Cabin. Another favorite is the fresh air, the sunshine on my skin, and swimming...which would progress to Hawaiian sand and snorkeling as my favorites too!
We are designed to overcome tragedy. With a loving supporting community, it happens faster.
Puppies in themselves are totally okay.
In the context of MK Ultra/Monarch they play a very sinister role. And I see it happening around me in the general public at large. My concern is perhaps in the 'remote, group' form of this 'training' that is being applied outside of the ceremonial dungeons and military labs--and I want you to recognize it.
All victims of MK Ultra/Monarch are given a puppy. They are encouraged to bond with it and to take care of it. If you've seen the original movie The Kingsmen it's somewhat like that.
Puppies are good.
Puppies are healing.
Puppies have unconditional love and trust in you.
That's why the trainers have you kill them. It's not like in the movie the Kingsmen where there is a blank. It's for real. Or perhaps they kill yours in front of you to put you into shock after hearing it suffer.
That's when you vow to never love anything again because it hurts so bad to lose it.
Not one but two people I know have had their small dogs taken by coyotes who jumped the fence of their back yard. One was just letting her dog out to relieve herself at five in the morning, and stepped back into the house. By the time she heard a noise and came back out they were already over the fence.
I know parvovirus went through our area too, our local pet shops aren't allowed to sell dogs any more. It's a law.
Puppies aren't just everywhere like they used to be. Dogs are fixed, and now we must adopt and the criteria for some adoptions is more stringent than to adopt humans perhaps? 'Needs a young active dog for companion in the home'...
Something is up in the puppy department with TWDNHOBIAH. It's being used to steer society somewhat. And know there's one direction they are accustomed to steering it, so be wary and warned just in case the other shoe drops when it comes to adorable, sweet puppies we love.
Our countdown today is seventy-six. We are making great strides.
I'm noticing people are funny, and more enjoyable. For example, I work with many who are foreign born in the O.R.
One, an RN I love, is from Malaysia. She is of Sri Lankan origin. She asked the other RN, a Vietnamese, how she felt.
There was an awkward pause, a short one, and then, the Vietnamese said loud and clear with her accent, 'I FEEL WITH MY HANDS!'
Everyone totally cracked up, and the Vietnamese said, 'I am becoming American!' I understood because my mom took a long time to 'get' our humor. It was many nights of Johnny Carson and Saturday Night Live that gave her the courage to start cracking jokes at the dinner table in the 1970's. Italian humor isn't anything at all like American humor, it's not subtle. So even though mom's jokes were not funny, we loved her for trying, and now, she's actually a lot of fun to both enjoy jokes and share them.
Later on my way home through the break room, I was cracking up. People there noticed and asked me what was funny.
I told them what I overheard in the hallway. Mother of five Denise was explaining in a parental, open way, to the RN from Malaysia what a 'skank' was. I overheard, 'your friend from back home who took your boyfriend would be called one here for what she did to you. They JUST DON'T CARE about anyone except themselves.'
The people from the break room cracked up. And one went to walk by to catch the second half of the 'Southern California Slang' discussion...
clap! clap!
Aloha and Mahalos,
Namaste,
Peace,
Ross and Carla
The Couple
