I'm blogging again. Not really because I feel like I have that much to say, but, because the time feels right for me to do so. It's been a very interesting time since last I posted. You see, I've been working with children who happen to have gifts of their very own. And, I've learned that I could become very jealous of them and their innate abilities and of their having a fabulous mother who encourages them to be all that they are and use their gifts and learn to manage them well, even at their young ages. But, the good news is that I have learned not to be jealous, but, to instead be loving, supportive and as helpful as I can with my own knowledge.
These kids are phenomenal to work with. The little boy ~ he's all of 4 years old ~ is a certified boy! Wiggly, full of energy and ready to roughhouse out the drop of a hat. Well, that's what the world in general sees. I also get to know and learn from and try to teach the young boy who can tell you what colors and things you are thinking of with nearly 100% accuracy; who can project healing energy better and with more compassion than I have seen and felt from many adults; and, who loves to learn how to control the healing energies and learn healing techniques to help his family. His sister is most definitely all girl ~ very clothes conscious, hair fixed just so, loves pink anything ~ a regular little 8 year old girl, on the outside. Her compassion knows no boundaries when working with healing energies. She's a quick study in how to move energy from Point A to Point B and does a wonderful job helping her younger brother realize how to do that during demonstrations of techniques I ask her to do for him. She both feels and sees energies around bodies and illnesses and is very adamant that she will learn how to make things better before she gets grown up.
These kids are also special because they see dead people without flinching and intuitively know who's a "good person" and who is out to be "mean and nasty" to borrow their words. They totally amaze me. And, of course, they make me hope and pray that other kids who are growing up like them are as blessed as they are to have a loving mom who tells them that they are normal and that having gifts is a good thing and not a problem or a bad thing like some parents have done to their kids in the past and are still doing to their kids these days as well. (Not talking about mine ~ they really didn't address it much at all ~ cuz I didn't bring it up much at all.)
Working with these gifted kids is really a blessing to me. It forces me to continue to keep acknowledging my own gifts, learning to increase their potential for helping others ~ yes, even the seeing dead people part~ and they keep me honest with myself about who and what I am. That's the greatest thing about working with these two characters ~ they keep me honest with myself and I'm ever so grateful for that.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Teaching one another
When last we met, I was learning to tear down walls that shut off my "gifts" and had seen my first dead guy at his own funeral since my dear sister walked into my bedroom following her death. Now that you and I are caught up, let's move on. My dear young friend, bless her soul, insisted that I talk with her mind to mind. "It keeps things private, really private", was one of her arguments in favor of such foolishness. Another favorite was, "If your Dad can learn more about this stuff and use it (he was in a development class with the woman who became his mistress) you can use the gifts you already have and are better at!" Since he wasn't high on my list of nice people by this time, that one always succeeded in goading me into using my gifts to "mind talk" with my friend K. She is now and was then, genuine, loving, kind, ornery, fun to be with and above all else accepting of folks who might be just a bit "unusual". That made her especially treasured in my eyes then, and now. Whenever we got together, we would test each other's gifts in one way or another, talk about how weird it was to have such gifts when most everyone both of us knew doubted their existence, and just life in general in our individual skin suits.
It was nice to have someone I knew personally who was "gifted". It made life less lonely, less awkward, less weird, because I had someone to talk to about hearing, seeing, smelling and tasting things that weren't physically present. It was the same for her too. Her parents didn't want to know about her gifts, mine either, even after I knew my Dad was taking development classes. "What you don't know about can't hurt you" but it sure makes it hard on you when your family members don't know and think you crazy for what you know to be your own personal truth. "Children of the Paranormal" is a wonderful show. I'm tickled to pieces for those kids. I had only 1 friend in all the people I knew who believed me, and, whom I believed. The kids on those shows have folks to show them how to manage their gifts and they can bond with one another. I also am jealous of those kids (teeny tiny jealous, not huge jealous) because they have help. K and I did not. We taught each other stuff. We accepted each other's stuff as real, valid, and worth learning and listening to. AND, we had to do it on the sly so that we would still fit into the world around us. That was the tough part of it all then. Having only one another to talk to and to learn from and to teach... then having to pretend none of it existed so that we could get along with those around us with whom we lived and to whom we were married. Not so much fun. Like living an enormous lie. It sucked the life right out of me, and K too. It truly sucked the life right out!
"Hey! Found a great book for us to read." "Did you read (insert name of a book here) about (insert topic here)? I'll let you know when I finally take it back to the library so you can check it out next." "What do you think about (insert topic)?" "Have you ever tried seeing ghosts on purpose? Did it work? What did you do when it worked to make it work?" "Did you hear that? see that? smell that?" Those were the types of conversations K and I had a lot of. It was great. It was educational. It was a wonderful bonding experience that has kept us friends all these years later. It was also sad because we so longed for guidance and had none. We wanted "how to's" and could only find limited information in library books. It was a great time and a sad one as well. We were teaching one another how to be more who and what we were and were to become in our later adult lives. Goodness knows that we may have had fools for teachers, but, we had a great time learning from one another, and, about one another. Then, all too soon, we grew apart so we could grow back together later on. The loneliness was unbearable, and so were the noises, voices, smells and tastes without someone to share them with. I would later find out that she, like I felt similarly................. Ahh, the wonderful beauty and pain of early adulthood.
It was nice to have someone I knew personally who was "gifted". It made life less lonely, less awkward, less weird, because I had someone to talk to about hearing, seeing, smelling and tasting things that weren't physically present. It was the same for her too. Her parents didn't want to know about her gifts, mine either, even after I knew my Dad was taking development classes. "What you don't know about can't hurt you" but it sure makes it hard on you when your family members don't know and think you crazy for what you know to be your own personal truth. "Children of the Paranormal" is a wonderful show. I'm tickled to pieces for those kids. I had only 1 friend in all the people I knew who believed me, and, whom I believed. The kids on those shows have folks to show them how to manage their gifts and they can bond with one another. I also am jealous of those kids (teeny tiny jealous, not huge jealous) because they have help. K and I did not. We taught each other stuff. We accepted each other's stuff as real, valid, and worth learning and listening to. AND, we had to do it on the sly so that we would still fit into the world around us. That was the tough part of it all then. Having only one another to talk to and to learn from and to teach... then having to pretend none of it existed so that we could get along with those around us with whom we lived and to whom we were married. Not so much fun. Like living an enormous lie. It sucked the life right out of me, and K too. It truly sucked the life right out!
"Hey! Found a great book for us to read." "Did you read (insert name of a book here) about (insert topic here)? I'll let you know when I finally take it back to the library so you can check it out next." "What do you think about (insert topic)?" "Have you ever tried seeing ghosts on purpose? Did it work? What did you do when it worked to make it work?" "Did you hear that? see that? smell that?" Those were the types of conversations K and I had a lot of. It was great. It was educational. It was a wonderful bonding experience that has kept us friends all these years later. It was also sad because we so longed for guidance and had none. We wanted "how to's" and could only find limited information in library books. It was a great time and a sad one as well. We were teaching one another how to be more who and what we were and were to become in our later adult lives. Goodness knows that we may have had fools for teachers, but, we had a great time learning from one another, and, about one another. Then, all too soon, we grew apart so we could grow back together later on. The loneliness was unbearable, and so were the noises, voices, smells and tastes without someone to share them with. I would later find out that she, like I felt similarly................. Ahh, the wonderful beauty and pain of early adulthood.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Seeing Dead People at Funerals
It was in my 20s that I started having to attend funerals and viewings. That whole death circus thing we do in western society is so odd to me and was to me then. Well, actually then it was more creepy and morbid and horrendously sad. Now it's odd. The first dead person I saw attending his own funeral was a very much loved and respected member of the church family. Stand-up kind of man, great dad, loving hubby, someone everyone liked and respected. He died from a terminal illness in middle age, really a hard kind of a loss for family and friends alike because of his dynamic personality and charm.
The viewing was difficult enough. Emotional energies were off the chart, as was to be expected, and the snarky gossipy stuff going on in people's heads was too! That's another story for another time, trust me, it's a hoot! Back to the viewing. I kept thinking I was seeing a human shape moving through the room, but, being in such a situation, it's really difficult to turn to another person in the line to ask, "Hey, did you just see that dead person moving around the room? Or, was I just imagining things?" Granted it would probably be the topic of conversation for a while outside the funeral home, but, definitely not the type of thing one says in "polite company" at a viewing. Long story short, I felt cold breezes in the room, and was really beginning to believe that I was seeing someone moving about like they were visiting with the mourners and the family. Because the hour was late I paid my respects and left, not wanting to stay longer so I could avoid my inevitable question about the "phantom" I kept seeing to some poor unsuspecting person at the funeral home.
At the funeral the next day, held in the funeral home, there was a very large crowd of people, occupying all the folding chairs and standing respectfully around the room. The family entered and took their places at the front of the room nearest the casket. The church organist played beautiful music this man loved in life, his family spoke of his life and their love for him, and, then it happened - the dearly departed walked through the door to the room where the service was being conducted, walked straight down the aisle, kissed his wife on the top of her head, hugged his daughter, patted his sons on their backs, walked over to the casket to stare at his own corpse, shook his head at that sight, turned walked back up the aisle, waved hello to me because I could see him, then left the room and faded away into nothingness. Just walked out and faded away. Snap! Just like that! He paid his farewells to his family and left "POOF!"
It was weird, wonderful, confusing, and fascinating all in one breath. The first time I had seen a dead person that I knew personally since my sister died all those years before. Proof positive to me that "we" exist after the demise of the skin suit we put on every day and proof positive that those who die are "whole" the moment after their deaths because this man had been quite ill before he past and the spirit that walked into that room was healthy, robust and full of love and zest for his next role.
Seeing dead people at funerals doesn't always happen for me, but, when it does, it usually teaches me something or provides me with messages about life after death that I needed to learn for my existence in my own skin suit.
I have more stories about dead people at funerals. I'll share them with you eventually. But, for now, this is the most important one. The very first of many dead people out of the casket and walking around among the living before the funeral ever started.
The viewing was difficult enough. Emotional energies were off the chart, as was to be expected, and the snarky gossipy stuff going on in people's heads was too! That's another story for another time, trust me, it's a hoot! Back to the viewing. I kept thinking I was seeing a human shape moving through the room, but, being in such a situation, it's really difficult to turn to another person in the line to ask, "Hey, did you just see that dead person moving around the room? Or, was I just imagining things?" Granted it would probably be the topic of conversation for a while outside the funeral home, but, definitely not the type of thing one says in "polite company" at a viewing. Long story short, I felt cold breezes in the room, and was really beginning to believe that I was seeing someone moving about like they were visiting with the mourners and the family. Because the hour was late I paid my respects and left, not wanting to stay longer so I could avoid my inevitable question about the "phantom" I kept seeing to some poor unsuspecting person at the funeral home.
At the funeral the next day, held in the funeral home, there was a very large crowd of people, occupying all the folding chairs and standing respectfully around the room. The family entered and took their places at the front of the room nearest the casket. The church organist played beautiful music this man loved in life, his family spoke of his life and their love for him, and, then it happened - the dearly departed walked through the door to the room where the service was being conducted, walked straight down the aisle, kissed his wife on the top of her head, hugged his daughter, patted his sons on their backs, walked over to the casket to stare at his own corpse, shook his head at that sight, turned walked back up the aisle, waved hello to me because I could see him, then left the room and faded away into nothingness. Just walked out and faded away. Snap! Just like that! He paid his farewells to his family and left "POOF!"
It was weird, wonderful, confusing, and fascinating all in one breath. The first time I had seen a dead person that I knew personally since my sister died all those years before. Proof positive to me that "we" exist after the demise of the skin suit we put on every day and proof positive that those who die are "whole" the moment after their deaths because this man had been quite ill before he past and the spirit that walked into that room was healthy, robust and full of love and zest for his next role.
Seeing dead people at funerals doesn't always happen for me, but, when it does, it usually teaches me something or provides me with messages about life after death that I needed to learn for my existence in my own skin suit.
I have more stories about dead people at funerals. I'll share them with you eventually. But, for now, this is the most important one. The very first of many dead people out of the casket and walking around among the living before the funeral ever started.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tearing down walls
Last time we met was Christmas - what a hoot that season is. Before that, I was a teenager who had successfully wished away her gifts, or so she thought. Not so much. When my first husband and I started attending the local Presbyterian church, I met a young gal who could talk in her head too... and no one else knew about it much at all. Granted she was a few years younger than me, but, we hit it off quite well, despite her mother's fear that I was some kind of weirdo stalker chick out to hurt her kid. It was far from that. We really understood one another and the things that were going on energetically around us. That was such a great thing for the both of us then, and, it continues to be to this very day. Odd ducks sometimes do gravitate toward one another - not that she's weird or odd, just that she is energetically tuned in when so many around us are not.
Well, it was because of this young woman I had to learn how to access my gifts again. Really ticked me off having to do that too! She would sit and think about talking to me and I would hear her, clear as a bell, calling my name out loud. Look around, no one there, no one talking to me. CRAP! Call her on the phone, "Were you thinking of calling?" "Yes." "Cut it out! I hear you calling my name." She'd just laugh and tell me I was supposed to be able to hear her and to get my head out of my butt and do what I was supposed to do naturally. And so, through our years of friendship, especially the early ones, she would think of something she wanted to talk about, I'd hear my name being called, or she would come to mind, and the phone calls would start flying back and forth till we caught up with one another and had time to sit down for a long talk. (Yes, this was in the days waaaaay before cell phones. We actually had to use landline phones that dialed when you wanted to place a call.)
Once the walls I had built up as a teenager started to come down, all the noise, the chatter, the emotions, etc that I had pushed away came back into my "realm of existence" with a vengenance. Twenty-four hours a day, non-stop for the longest time. Reconnecting to the "ethers" wasn't pleasant, but, it did teach me that I was supposed to learn to control what I was "gifted" with and to use it in the best interest of others. I began devouring books by every medium, psychic, clairvoyant and mystic I could get my hands on. Jeanne Dixon, Cayce, et al. were people I learned a great deal about. I read about the Girl with the Blue Eyes, Atlantis, and all other forms of what has been referred to as "New Age" wisdom. I accepted that I was not alone in hearing things that no one else heard. What was puzzling was how to control it. None of the books I was reading then gave that kind of clarity to the process. That took time and patience... two things a twenty-something didn't want to take.
Well, it was because of this young woman I had to learn how to access my gifts again. Really ticked me off having to do that too! She would sit and think about talking to me and I would hear her, clear as a bell, calling my name out loud. Look around, no one there, no one talking to me. CRAP! Call her on the phone, "Were you thinking of calling?" "Yes." "Cut it out! I hear you calling my name." She'd just laugh and tell me I was supposed to be able to hear her and to get my head out of my butt and do what I was supposed to do naturally. And so, through our years of friendship, especially the early ones, she would think of something she wanted to talk about, I'd hear my name being called, or she would come to mind, and the phone calls would start flying back and forth till we caught up with one another and had time to sit down for a long talk. (Yes, this was in the days waaaaay before cell phones. We actually had to use landline phones that dialed when you wanted to place a call.)
Once the walls I had built up as a teenager started to come down, all the noise, the chatter, the emotions, etc that I had pushed away came back into my "realm of existence" with a vengenance. Twenty-four hours a day, non-stop for the longest time. Reconnecting to the "ethers" wasn't pleasant, but, it did teach me that I was supposed to learn to control what I was "gifted" with and to use it in the best interest of others. I began devouring books by every medium, psychic, clairvoyant and mystic I could get my hands on. Jeanne Dixon, Cayce, et al. were people I learned a great deal about. I read about the Girl with the Blue Eyes, Atlantis, and all other forms of what has been referred to as "New Age" wisdom. I accepted that I was not alone in hearing things that no one else heard. What was puzzling was how to control it. None of the books I was reading then gave that kind of clarity to the process. That took time and patience... two things a twenty-something didn't want to take.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Merry Christmas, Bah Humbug!
Okay, the intermittent blogger is back making statements about her "gifts" at this the time of gift giving. Would you like to know what's so funny about holiday shopping? Everything in people's minds and their subsequent behavior. When I need a really good laugh this time of year, I take an hour and go to a store where folks are madly dashing about shopping for people on their gift lists and just open the door to my "other ears" the most minute of cracks and listen to what's being broadcast into the "ethers" by those dear folks. "Let's see, when I get this crap done here, I get to run to Target and see if they still have any of those (insert whatever you choose here), then, let's see, OH CRAP! @%#&$$@#!! Where did the kid get off to now! CRAP! Get over here! I don't have time for this stuff of yours!" And, all the while this person is smiling and telling everyone he/she meets that this is their favorite time of year. Yep, sure sounds like it. To add to the interesting nature of the season, the energies being shunted off into the atmosphere by folks is astoundingly weird too! Sadness, misery, dismay, despair, greed, avarice, hesitancy, unworthiness to receive or give gifts... all of it is being broadcast into the air, and, what's sad to me, is that very few folks notice any of it ~ even those who are doing it! This time of year, my soul hears and feels all of the "Merry Christmas! Bah Humbug!" that is out there and wishes it could help people understand that what is in their minds is also in their hearts and is being shown more clearly than their actions much of the time.
You want to know who I love being around at this time of year ~ carolers and kids. There is usually more than enough joy, happiness, wonderment, pleasantness, sincerity of thought and purity of heart to go around when those 2 groups are around. They fill the atmosphere with so much positivity and make me feel their boyant spirits even when my "other ears" are closed tight. I miss living in a time and place when carolers were more the norm than not. My ability to carry a tune by myself is limited, but, I'm going out tomorrow and be a flash mob of one and sing carols to lighten the mood in the world. Bellefontaine, Ohio beware! This is not an idle threat! It's a real threat... I'm gonna sing in at least 1 or 2 unusual places all by myself tomorrow just because I'm happy, content and really thrilled to be around this year! Sixty years old and 54 of them psychic. Unbelievable that is has been that long since I gained knowledge of this gift and how to use. I'm glad for it this time of year, because it can help me entertain myself when I get down... sorry folks, but, it's true... there are those of us out there that are funny because of the dichotomy of their words and thoughts.
Have met a lot of folks lately who don't realize how psychic or "intuitive" they really are. They are really the joy in my Christmas season this year. When I tell them they are just like me, they tell me there can be no way that is possible till I point out to them where and how they are using their "gifts" as well. YAY! I'm not the only one like me out there. There are so many "gifted" kids growing up behind me knowing they have a gift. Merry Christmas! no bah humbug! How cool is that! Knowing they are gifted with an intuition that it is okay to use. How wonderful for them! How difficult for them as well, but, with love and support from family and friends they will be less of an oddity than I feel like at times.
So, to the psychic ones out there besides me, Merry Christmas! To the rest who think and feel one thing and say and do another, Bah Humbug! Lighten up, let go of pretense and just be... or go people watching and have a good laugh instead of fretting over gifts and wrapping paper.
You want to know who I love being around at this time of year ~ carolers and kids. There is usually more than enough joy, happiness, wonderment, pleasantness, sincerity of thought and purity of heart to go around when those 2 groups are around. They fill the atmosphere with so much positivity and make me feel their boyant spirits even when my "other ears" are closed tight. I miss living in a time and place when carolers were more the norm than not. My ability to carry a tune by myself is limited, but, I'm going out tomorrow and be a flash mob of one and sing carols to lighten the mood in the world. Bellefontaine, Ohio beware! This is not an idle threat! It's a real threat... I'm gonna sing in at least 1 or 2 unusual places all by myself tomorrow just because I'm happy, content and really thrilled to be around this year! Sixty years old and 54 of them psychic. Unbelievable that is has been that long since I gained knowledge of this gift and how to use. I'm glad for it this time of year, because it can help me entertain myself when I get down... sorry folks, but, it's true... there are those of us out there that are funny because of the dichotomy of their words and thoughts.
Have met a lot of folks lately who don't realize how psychic or "intuitive" they really are. They are really the joy in my Christmas season this year. When I tell them they are just like me, they tell me there can be no way that is possible till I point out to them where and how they are using their "gifts" as well. YAY! I'm not the only one like me out there. There are so many "gifted" kids growing up behind me knowing they have a gift. Merry Christmas! no bah humbug! How cool is that! Knowing they are gifted with an intuition that it is okay to use. How wonderful for them! How difficult for them as well, but, with love and support from family and friends they will be less of an oddity than I feel like at times.
So, to the psychic ones out there besides me, Merry Christmas! To the rest who think and feel one thing and say and do another, Bah Humbug! Lighten up, let go of pretense and just be... or go people watching and have a good laugh instead of fretting over gifts and wrapping paper.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Okay, teenage years - once over quickly
Okay, here goes, my teenage years - once over quickly. Being a teenager was utter misery. Not only did I have breasts and begin menstruating before everyone else of my gender at school, my abilities were getting stronger and stronger. It was really driving me to distraction, and that's putting it kindly. Between 8th and 9th grades, I grew to my current adult height - 5'10'' - which made me one of the tallest kids in school. That's right, one of the tallest kids, not just one of the tallest girls. In fact, 3 other girl friends and I were, till the 10th grade, the tallest in our grade, even in high school. Yeah, that didn't bring on any teasing and tormenting at all. Each one of us confided to the others that it would be sooooo cool to be able to shrink down to the size of a cheerleader and be popular for a change. That didn't happen either. Instead, we all grew breasts, got our periods, and in general were a mess till the rest of the girls caught up with us, at least as far as the periods arriving that is.
The closest I came to sharing my frustrations with my "gifts" with my friends was sitting with a bunch of girls in the womens' restroom at church telling scary stories, ghost stories and trying to levitate one of our group using "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" for a chant to encourage that to happen. When we actually levitated the girl about a foot off the cement floor, an adult stuck her head into the restroom to see what was going on - "CRASH!!!" down she came to the floor in a heartbeat, with a lump on her head to prove she hit the floor hard. Laughing and giggling we scattered to the winds as best we could so as to avoid any adult questions. When we talked about it later with one another, one of the girls asked, "Did you all see that man standing there watching us?" I nearly said "yes" but stopped when another girl said, "Yeah, right, there was a man standing there watching us! Where was he, in the sink? You have gotta be nuts to believe that!" But, there was a guy standing there, near the sink, watching everything we were doing and shaking his head in disbelief. No way in the world was I telling anyone that I could not only see him, but, sometimes, I could hear his thoughts as well. Nope, not telling a soul.
Ninth and tenth grades were okay, mostly. Tried my best to fit in with the few friends I had, and pretty much kept my mouth shut about hearing voices of folks not present and all that sort of thing. Junior and senior years at high school were the absolute worst ever. I finally was allowed to date, sorta. Had to have a chaperone for the first 6 dates because my folks thought me so naieve as to "give myself away" to the first boy that would even think about kissing me. Never had those thoughts, but, they didn't care. Teenage hormones scared the crap out of them, so, I got to go on chaperoned dates. Yep, that really made me a laughing stock and put me utterly out of the realm of dating. When they finally relented because I wasn't being asked on dates, I dated a wonderful fellow who "sorta" accepted the paranormal - ghosts, spirits, and that stuff, not hearing and talking to them. It was fun, but, frustrating because I could hear relatives of his trying to communicate with him. Since he didn't want anything to do with that stuff, I got to pretend it wasn't happening. Hated that part. Being someone I wasn't just was miserable. Things didn't get any better the next year either. In fact, my gifts were being so "pushy" that I began wishing them away every day. Each time they would rear their heads, I would wish them to go away... till finally they did. My head was quiet. I didn't sense anyone "lurking about" anywhere, ever. I was alone in my own skin, in my own world, and, as much as I had thought I would like it, I wasn't so sure I did.
I finally knew what it was like to not have my "gifts" turned on all the time. Hmmmm, really quiet, have to really pay attention to what other people say and do and not have anything else to rely on but that input... Although I wasn't really comfortable without my other input sources, I let my gifts go, hoping they wouldn't ever rear their ugly heads again. I was tired of having to pretend I didn't see, hear, smell, taste, feel things that no one else was aware of. It was nice to be able to be "normal", only it wasn't. But, my desire to be "normal", "regular", "like everyone else" was so strong, I deliberately ignored my gifts whenever they tried to break through the various barriers I had erected to them. It was an uncomfortable time emotionally for me, but, I perservered because I thought it would be better to be "normal" than "weird". I was wrong, but, that's a story for another time.
The closest I came to sharing my frustrations with my "gifts" with my friends was sitting with a bunch of girls in the womens' restroom at church telling scary stories, ghost stories and trying to levitate one of our group using "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" for a chant to encourage that to happen. When we actually levitated the girl about a foot off the cement floor, an adult stuck her head into the restroom to see what was going on - "CRASH!!!" down she came to the floor in a heartbeat, with a lump on her head to prove she hit the floor hard. Laughing and giggling we scattered to the winds as best we could so as to avoid any adult questions. When we talked about it later with one another, one of the girls asked, "Did you all see that man standing there watching us?" I nearly said "yes" but stopped when another girl said, "Yeah, right, there was a man standing there watching us! Where was he, in the sink? You have gotta be nuts to believe that!" But, there was a guy standing there, near the sink, watching everything we were doing and shaking his head in disbelief. No way in the world was I telling anyone that I could not only see him, but, sometimes, I could hear his thoughts as well. Nope, not telling a soul.
Ninth and tenth grades were okay, mostly. Tried my best to fit in with the few friends I had, and pretty much kept my mouth shut about hearing voices of folks not present and all that sort of thing. Junior and senior years at high school were the absolute worst ever. I finally was allowed to date, sorta. Had to have a chaperone for the first 6 dates because my folks thought me so naieve as to "give myself away" to the first boy that would even think about kissing me. Never had those thoughts, but, they didn't care. Teenage hormones scared the crap out of them, so, I got to go on chaperoned dates. Yep, that really made me a laughing stock and put me utterly out of the realm of dating. When they finally relented because I wasn't being asked on dates, I dated a wonderful fellow who "sorta" accepted the paranormal - ghosts, spirits, and that stuff, not hearing and talking to them. It was fun, but, frustrating because I could hear relatives of his trying to communicate with him. Since he didn't want anything to do with that stuff, I got to pretend it wasn't happening. Hated that part. Being someone I wasn't just was miserable. Things didn't get any better the next year either. In fact, my gifts were being so "pushy" that I began wishing them away every day. Each time they would rear their heads, I would wish them to go away... till finally they did. My head was quiet. I didn't sense anyone "lurking about" anywhere, ever. I was alone in my own skin, in my own world, and, as much as I had thought I would like it, I wasn't so sure I did.
I finally knew what it was like to not have my "gifts" turned on all the time. Hmmmm, really quiet, have to really pay attention to what other people say and do and not have anything else to rely on but that input... Although I wasn't really comfortable without my other input sources, I let my gifts go, hoping they wouldn't ever rear their ugly heads again. I was tired of having to pretend I didn't see, hear, smell, taste, feel things that no one else was aware of. It was nice to be able to be "normal", only it wasn't. But, my desire to be "normal", "regular", "like everyone else" was so strong, I deliberately ignored my gifts whenever they tried to break through the various barriers I had erected to them. It was an uncomfortable time emotionally for me, but, I perservered because I thought it would be better to be "normal" than "weird". I was wrong, but, that's a story for another time.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
"That book is dumb and getting breasts is a pain in the butt!"
The summer between the fifth and sixth grade years at school just stunk to high heaven as far as I was concerned. Mom decided I was developing my breasts way to much for her comfort, so we had to have "The Talk" and I had to go brassiere shopping for the first time in my life.
One: "The Talk" in our neighborhood consisted of a mother handing her daughter a book (well-worn) to read that was a story about a girl who went out on a date with a boy, rode around in the back seat of a car while out on a double date, got to "French kissing" him and ended up with a baby. Then the mother would say, "If you have a questions about this, just ask me" while silently praying that the daughter would be so confused she'd not ask any questions EVER. That book went around the neighborhood to every girl that even looked like she might now have breast tissue or was growing hair under her arms or near her "privates". None of us learned anything about menstruation from it, except that somehow French kissing lead to babies and that riding in the backseat of a car wasn't approved of by our parents. Otherwise, the book was pretty useless.
Two: Bras were brassieres and they were very serious business. Moms said so. "You growing up now. You have to have a brassiere." Now, for those of you who have never had to go through this part of "womanhood", this can be a real jolt to your sense of who you are. One summer you can take off your shirt and just play bare chested like everyone else (read that , the boys) because it was 100 degrees in the shade. The next summer, you cannot, under any circumstances, remove the first stitch of clothing even if you are in danger of heat prostration because your Mom says so. The boys weren't treating those of us whose mothers had deemed us in need of brassieres any differently. That was the pervue of our adult female parents.
My transition to "womanhood" came all in one hellish week early in June. Mom had a bunch of the neighbor ladies in for cards, snacks, and to bring their daughters over so we could all be introduced to the "wonders of womanhood" together. One, the girls and their mothers she invited over were as embarassed about the subject as she and I were. Yeah, this was gonna be a great experience - NOT! So, while our moms feasted on sandwiches, punch and played cards the 5 of us sat in the backyard in lawn chairs pretending we were getting suntans in our shorts and middie tops and passing around "The Book" and reading chapters of it aloud to one another... and laughing our butts off from embarassment and from confusion. At one point, Pam's mom leaned out the patio door and asked us if we had any questions yet. Huh? Questions about what? Not one word in the book about vaginas, ovaries, cervixes, penises, sexual desire, intercourse or any of the other things "The Talk" is generally supposed to cover. Just a weird and convoluted story about a girl kissing a guy and getting pregnant. For all we could figure out, once you got breasts riding in the back seat of a car with a boy got you a baby and that French kissing was something our moms didn't want to explain to us. The kissing part sounded intriguing, but, if there was no description of it, how could we figure out if it was wrong? Other than that, the book was pretty useless.
The only common link between all of this foolishness that the five of us could determine was the extra fat on our chests that only 2 of us - me and Pam - were getting. We decided right then and there that "that book is dumb and getting breasts is a pain in the butt!" by unanimous vote. We even elected Pam to tell our moms the result of our voting. The result of that vote was our moms taking all of us out for a brassiere fitting enmasse that very day! Great, shopping for a brassiere, dying of embarassment, having someone else besides your mom measure your chest naked, and then bringing a whole slew of brassieres into the dressing room for you to try on. Yepper, great experience, especially when all you were in the same huge dressing room together. Yikes!
What does all of this pubescent stuff have to do with being psychic as a kid? And, what did it have to do with making that summer stink to high heaven? LOTS! One, I really knew what the Moms were all thinking and feeling even more acutely than I did before. Constant fretting and worrying everywhere and about everything the girls and I did from dawn till bedtime and even after we went to bed. The constant worrying and mental jabbering was overwhelming. Combine that with the beginning of estrogen invading the bloodstream and it is a total chaotic mess. I so didn't care that Mrs. V next door worried that her only daughter might see a penis before she "was ready" - whatever that meant. Nor did I care to know the innermost thoughts of any of the other moms with whom my parents interacted. Good grief! Puberty brought out the worst in their thoughts that's for sure. And, then there were the thoughts and feelings from the girls themselves. OVERLOAD!!! And try as I might, it seemed like closing up shop for the night got harder and harder every minute. I so wanted to go back to the summer before. It was much easier and so much less confusing mentally and emotionally. The changes in my body were changing the way my gift was working and I really didn't like it much. It would have been so nice to be able to turn it off and just walk away and leave it sit there by itself. There were times I felt almost psychotic from all the "stuff" swirling in everyone else's heads and in mine as well. And there was no one to talk to about it at home. Changes weren't fun and I really wanted this one to go away. Little did I know it was going to get worse for me, much worse, before it began to get better.
Yepper, that book was really dumb, totally useless when it came to learning the facts of life, and getting breasts was a giant pain in the butt!
One: "The Talk" in our neighborhood consisted of a mother handing her daughter a book (well-worn) to read that was a story about a girl who went out on a date with a boy, rode around in the back seat of a car while out on a double date, got to "French kissing" him and ended up with a baby. Then the mother would say, "If you have a questions about this, just ask me" while silently praying that the daughter would be so confused she'd not ask any questions EVER. That book went around the neighborhood to every girl that even looked like she might now have breast tissue or was growing hair under her arms or near her "privates". None of us learned anything about menstruation from it, except that somehow French kissing lead to babies and that riding in the backseat of a car wasn't approved of by our parents. Otherwise, the book was pretty useless.
Two: Bras were brassieres and they were very serious business. Moms said so. "You growing up now. You have to have a brassiere." Now, for those of you who have never had to go through this part of "womanhood", this can be a real jolt to your sense of who you are. One summer you can take off your shirt and just play bare chested like everyone else (read that , the boys) because it was 100 degrees in the shade. The next summer, you cannot, under any circumstances, remove the first stitch of clothing even if you are in danger of heat prostration because your Mom says so. The boys weren't treating those of us whose mothers had deemed us in need of brassieres any differently. That was the pervue of our adult female parents.
My transition to "womanhood" came all in one hellish week early in June. Mom had a bunch of the neighbor ladies in for cards, snacks, and to bring their daughters over so we could all be introduced to the "wonders of womanhood" together. One, the girls and their mothers she invited over were as embarassed about the subject as she and I were. Yeah, this was gonna be a great experience - NOT! So, while our moms feasted on sandwiches, punch and played cards the 5 of us sat in the backyard in lawn chairs pretending we were getting suntans in our shorts and middie tops and passing around "The Book" and reading chapters of it aloud to one another... and laughing our butts off from embarassment and from confusion. At one point, Pam's mom leaned out the patio door and asked us if we had any questions yet. Huh? Questions about what? Not one word in the book about vaginas, ovaries, cervixes, penises, sexual desire, intercourse or any of the other things "The Talk" is generally supposed to cover. Just a weird and convoluted story about a girl kissing a guy and getting pregnant. For all we could figure out, once you got breasts riding in the back seat of a car with a boy got you a baby and that French kissing was something our moms didn't want to explain to us. The kissing part sounded intriguing, but, if there was no description of it, how could we figure out if it was wrong? Other than that, the book was pretty useless.
The only common link between all of this foolishness that the five of us could determine was the extra fat on our chests that only 2 of us - me and Pam - were getting. We decided right then and there that "that book is dumb and getting breasts is a pain in the butt!" by unanimous vote. We even elected Pam to tell our moms the result of our voting. The result of that vote was our moms taking all of us out for a brassiere fitting enmasse that very day! Great, shopping for a brassiere, dying of embarassment, having someone else besides your mom measure your chest naked, and then bringing a whole slew of brassieres into the dressing room for you to try on. Yepper, great experience, especially when all you were in the same huge dressing room together. Yikes!
What does all of this pubescent stuff have to do with being psychic as a kid? And, what did it have to do with making that summer stink to high heaven? LOTS! One, I really knew what the Moms were all thinking and feeling even more acutely than I did before. Constant fretting and worrying everywhere and about everything the girls and I did from dawn till bedtime and even after we went to bed. The constant worrying and mental jabbering was overwhelming. Combine that with the beginning of estrogen invading the bloodstream and it is a total chaotic mess. I so didn't care that Mrs. V next door worried that her only daughter might see a penis before she "was ready" - whatever that meant. Nor did I care to know the innermost thoughts of any of the other moms with whom my parents interacted. Good grief! Puberty brought out the worst in their thoughts that's for sure. And, then there were the thoughts and feelings from the girls themselves. OVERLOAD!!! And try as I might, it seemed like closing up shop for the night got harder and harder every minute. I so wanted to go back to the summer before. It was much easier and so much less confusing mentally and emotionally. The changes in my body were changing the way my gift was working and I really didn't like it much. It would have been so nice to be able to turn it off and just walk away and leave it sit there by itself. There were times I felt almost psychotic from all the "stuff" swirling in everyone else's heads and in mine as well. And there was no one to talk to about it at home. Changes weren't fun and I really wanted this one to go away. Little did I know it was going to get worse for me, much worse, before it began to get better.
Yepper, that book was really dumb, totally useless when it came to learning the facts of life, and getting breasts was a giant pain in the butt!
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