((((((((((Lizz))))))))))))

 

  Precious soul, precious survivor. I am so touched by your story. You are so strong. I can't imagine what you went through at the hands of one that you should have been safe with.

Thank you for sharing this part of you. One part that makes up the beautiful soul you are.

 

Bless you Lizz

 

  My Love Eternally

Namaste'

   -J

Can I send you Reiki for you RA? I would love to help if I could

I know it works, dear and gentle friend, because I was initiated a Reiki-master three years ago. Yes, please, if you would be so kind. Thanks very much indeed.

In the meantime I'll go on with this story.

 

There is no need to feel sorry for the experiences I had as a child, or later on when I grew up. Because as I see it now, it all had a very good reason.

At the moment I went through these ordeals ofcourse it felt bad and I was very scared and sad. But it taught me to go deeper and see further.

One day as I was  with my grandfather in his barn and it got really painful I stopped thinking. I saw the basket he used for when he went out fishing and noticed all these beautiful colored little feathers he used for bait (or was it bate? Sorry, my English is far from perfect) and I focussed myself on these little feathers, who became my friends. Soon I had no idea anymore of what my granddad was doing to me. I blocked everything and I realized what really had happened many years later.

The feathers in the barn were my way into other dimensions. I could fly on the back of an eagle over the landscapes of the earth and where this magnificent animal brought me I was welcomed by old men and young children who taught me the way of their lives and that of their grandfathers and the ones before them.

I was very eager to learn and went from continent to continent, but I never saw any women there. Well, I did see them, but they never spoke to me. Which at that moment I did not understand.

I was brought to different dimensions, places where I met great people who were crossed over and they filled my dried out sponges with their knowledge.

But whenever I told my parents about it they would not belief me. They told me I was dreaming, and when I said it happened during the day, they called it daydreams. Even the teachers at school said I had a very vivid imagination but also that I did not well at school. because I was always staring out of the windows and didn't pay any attention. They said I was living in a dreamworld, a phantasyworld.

They had no clue what was going on back home and I never told anyone about it.

 When I was 14 I was hit by a baseball on the head during sport at highschool and had a pretty severe concussion. I had to stay in bed for six weeks and I was very bored. So I started writing. I wrote down everything I saw on my Eagle-back-journey's. My granddad had switched from me to my three years younger sister (who till this day denies everything), but my journeys never ended and they never will end untill I make them end. Which, of course, I never will.

But what I wrote down, I did in the style of a romance or a detective story. I always wanted to become an author.

I was 22 when the stories I wrote got a very strange twist. I remember very clearly that I told about a young blond girl who was in love for the first time of her life got pregnant but lost the baby after six weeks.

Six weeks later a blond woman moved in my appartement-block and she and I became friends and she told me she was very sad because she recently had lost her baby.

I did not notice the similarity of her tragic lost and my story untill a few years later.

With in a year I wrote stories about people who lost a dear one, or an airplane crash or someone who threw himself in front of a train....and they all came true.

I was confused and told my sister about it, whilst we were still on speaking terms.

She did not believe in me, but I said to her she had to watch her back because I felt someone falling of the stairs. I could feel my back hit the steps. Three weeks later she called me, angry, and said I should never tell her things like the fall from the stairs or fragments of my journal, because she actually fell from the stairs and injured her pelvis.

So I stopped telling people what I saw or felt.

That made me become very isolated, I became a hermit and I still am.

 

(to be continued, my right hand is on strike, feels like ice and hurts, next time more about how I became a medium) 

Skipping eleven years of drinking myself to sleep each night,  a time I barely remember and suppress because of the pain, I only know what happened because of the fragments of the things I wrote in those difficult years.

In 1988 my mother died and my family, father and sister, decided for me I was too unstable to witness the cremation. They feared I might either collapse or make a scene at the funeral ceremony. I can understand their embarrassement only now.

It meant years of fighting against a shadow, that I later came to understand was my mother's spirit, with who I am still at war, but it is becoming eassier through the years. eleven months after she died I was thrown out of my house because I could not keep it clean and it had become filthy and a mess. I had about 27 cats, stray cats and abbandoned kittens I took in in my small appartement. As I could not get along with people I had a very close bond with animals. But I could not keep the house clean and everone in my society thought I was lazy and dirty. They didn't believe my complains about chronic pain and stiffness in all of my joints, even the doctor thought it was all between my ears. So I had the choice, either go on drinking and end up on the streets or clean up and rent my sister's attic at her house.

I chose for the latter one and went to the dutch AA for a year or two.

I succeded in staying sober and I still am, on may 6 th it'll be 19 years of constant sobriety for me.

From the first day on I kept a diary. It shows how I was sooo nervous going to sleep,  knowing that I would not get anything to drink when I would get upset or could not fall asleep. It tells how I lived through all of the days after that decission.

But it also tells about the things I felt, dreamed and wrote.

Two years later I moved to an appartement of my own. In my country once you proved you can be sober for more then two years you're healed.

Of course not everyone made that deadline and not everyone stayed sober after the deadline, but I did and I never had a relaps.

The world seemed so much different, everything was so clear, that it sometimes really hurted. The things people say to eachother, or do to eachother. I could not stand that pain, it was unbearable. So I looked for help. Spiritual help. I started out reading the bible. Then I went on reading the koran, which was surprisingly similar to the old testament of the bible. But it could not help me. A friend gave me the Bhagavad Gita for my birthday and after I had a little trouble reading that, my interest was caught. So I kept on reading Vedic books and one day when I was working for Fair Trade World Shop I held a small Buddha sculpture in my hand to show to a customer and I felt the little sculpture getting hotter and hotter in the palm of my hand. When I then looked at the Rhine-stone statue it was beaming out a strange violette/purple light.

There were three persons on that shop and they all saw it.

We couldn't believe it and after the customer was gone we experimented with the sculpture to see if it would give light again. But it never did.

I took home all I could find to read about Gautama Buddha and that was when I got "hooked" for life.

 

 

The saga goes on .

I have been in hospital last week because I had two minor heart-attacks. Out of the blue, never had heart problems before. All of a sudden I found myself out there in the hallway of the appartement building I live in, on the floor, shouting for help. I could not breath. I was suffocating. It was so terrifying, so horrible. I really thought my time had come. Luckily Spirit didn't mean for me to die and sent someone who helped. So I was rushed to the hospital and at the ICU I had a second minor heart attack. Because I was so weak from the first one I nearly died because of the second one.

I was in a corridor that seemed endless with doors on each side, hundreds of them. I had to check each door. If they opened I had to get in and watch a movie. About myself and the life I led before. Many doors were closed, but the ones that were open showed me as a warrior, always in a battle, always fighting, against circumstances, people who abused me and conditioning society and or friends and family members. I never knew my life was one long battle.

I was not alone on that corridor, but I could not see who or what was with me.

Sometimes it was just a question of up and down. I wanted to get up but someone pressed me down, I tried to get up again and someone shouted at me to lay down.

Finally I came at the final door. I had had all doors but this one and I knew it was either the door to garden of eternal light or the darkness...

I never found out because at that moment a nurse came in and said they were gonna move me to a ward with other patients.

I was there for three more days  and I came home shortly before the weekend.

I have to stop smoking and that is very very difficult for me, but I am doing the best I can. I have to undergo surgery later this year and do heart revalidation.

It still is a shock to me to become a heart patient from one day up on the other, I can hardly believe it. But when I walk I can sure as hell feel it. There is another big lesson somewhere underneath this.....

 

Lizz, oh thank goddess you are ok!

 

 Thank you again for sharing your story, and please know that efforts from my end will be upped.

 

Also when you find out what this big lesson was, let us know

 

Again I am so happy your ok.

 

Have a great day sis

Still having pretty strong Angina's, usually when I am asleep or in the very early morning. Gotto do ECG and other tests at the hospital tomorrow. And this fear, it's always there, it never gives up. But then again, neither will I.

I am so useless in helping myself or to ask for help, but I am afraid I have to. Just a little light would help. I can't find the reason (lesson) behind all this. I am so useless now, I can't write, draw, enjoy life, I'm getting more and more depressed.

Lizz, you got it sweetie. I am going to shine so much love and light your way, your not going to know what hit ya! :)

 

  I hope you feel better very soon sis

 

p.s. If you don't mind, i am going to post your request on general, so more people can have the chance to help.

 

Love & light to you Lizz