JOURNAL ENTRY: April

 

THE NOSTALGIC DISPLACEMENT OF THE NOW AND THEN: ONE HOUSE TO ANOTHER

            Last night in my dreams I was searching in the dredges of my lowest subconscious spaces that I could locate.  It took on the representation of a bombed-out basement in the poorest and darkest form of my intellectual architectural design.  Reminiscent of the movie Inception where the character Ariadne designs a maze or city.  Then the target populates the entire place with their imagery.  Well, this is my brain and all these aspects are mine.  I believe that my mind created such a low and dingy scale of my subconscious to evidence to me that I have further to go to reach the bottom of my amnesiac domain.  The bombed-out aspect was representing that this space was a target at one time or at least close enough to a target to have been impacted by such destruction. 

This zone that I was able to crawl down into through various tunnels built through the maze of debris had been a car parking tower.  This level had once sat up in the sun and above the ground line but due to the damage and falling stone this floor was now down below the new ground level.  Desks and artificial lights had been set up, and this space had become a triage for finding lost children.  The individuals that worked here had become hypervigilant to the point where they did not stand still and they seemed cagey in their occupied space.  This spot was a known refuge and those committed to justice for children knew that they were being hunted.  They had dragged in various jagged pieces of fragmented concrete from the wreckage above to create a maze of spaces that they could use to hide behind or that would allow space to lessen the impact of an explosion.  My attempt to seek these individuals out was met with a great deal of walking as they attempted to stay moving targets.

I had been escorted here by a different level of personnel who acted as an emissary for the various floors and had been trying to get me into this space for some time.  Many shadows had been created down here by the strategic placements of lights.  These shadows limited visibility but allowed hidey spots for when certain conversations took place or if one of the entities in this realm felt over-exposed and needed to lurk away into obscurity for some sense of safety.  This zone had become a central command since each time before the foes had found their operating sites and infiltrated them and then laid siege to them before demolishing them out right.  The search for the missing children threatened the entire realm and the foe’s wanted all the secrets known so that they could plan their attacks with more accuracy. 

These children had gone missing and now worked to stay missing.  Their existence in the realm continually led to searches both based on evidentiary endeavors and paranoid delusions.  The goal of one side was to keep the body alive through maintaining the secrets of the past.  The other side opted to destroy the secrets and thus end the risk of exposure to the realm and consequently avoiding the death of the body.  One believed in resurrection of souls through the release of memories that would aid others in their own soul development.  While the opposing side only had interest in keeping the body safe.  Neither side hated the other; they had all been born as an interconnected emergent system of purpose in fulfilling the needs of the host.  The division occurred due to extensive bombardments of a blitzkrieg nature. 

The relentless impact of physical onslaughts carried out at times of chaotic stress is often due to the psychological needs of the body’s parents.  This psyche built a divide as these life givers interrogated and sought the terms for the justified death of this host i.e. their child.  Each side of this child’s divided mind believed their plan to be the most productive.  In purpose both sides worked equally depending on the parent’s style of assault at that moment.  Creating an amnesic mind placed traumatic memories beyond even the boy’s reach.  Blurting out facts in hopes of rescue was a solid plan in hopes of being saved.  Fact was these two held all the spaces on the board of this child’s life and no move would have had a high percentage of success.  Game theory holds that two opposing sides start out as equal and its true these two were equally against this boy their Son.

            My mother Glenda and my father’s main crimie Sgt. Jim Alford along with the vice principal of my junior high in Irving Texas all advocated for my death and attempted to carry out their own plans to end me as a threat to their crimes.  (This entry is having an opposite effect on my calm right now.  Instead of reducing my sadness it is increasing my distress.  Right now, I want to cry but cannot find the tears to release the agony in my face.  I am trying to stay focused on one targeted aspect of this endeavor, but other memories are starting to surface and compete for release.)  Remembering how I was attacked and would have been murdered if not for chance, circumstance, or Robert’s intervention is difficult once you have made it out of their clutches and still feel their rage upon you.  They feel like phantom menaces lingering at the edge of your peripheral awareness.  Once you turn your attention toward them then they disappear but at times you catch their shadowy reflection or a hint of their astral scent. 

            I believe that this division of my mind goes all the way back to the beginning of my physical existence and the genesis of my psyche.  While I was still yearning for that feeling of being cocooned in that symbiotic bond of mother and child.  The division was occurring like moses splitting the Red Sea in movies my whole divided into two sides.  Both sides were trying to protect me, but an altercation of theory was the plague of their design.  This adaptation of my psyche first appeared in hypnotherapy sessions that I participated in the year after graduate school.  While I was under and deeply relaxed out came the division of the Brights and Dims.  The Brights lived atop the hills and the Dims existed in the darkest parts of the valley.  The Brights had to bring them up to the light to release them from their burdens.  There where also tunnels under the valleys with a combination of Hitler or Satan guarding them.  They worked harder to keep something in their depths than out of their depths.  They figured that if you went exploring you would never come out.  Those sessions were productive but ended because I had moved to Fort Worth and could not afford the cost of continued sessions.  I was deeply depressed and my therapy at UTA had ended and I needed a release.  In my first session with the hypnotherapist I was simply trying to expose the next memory that kept me depressed and then out popped the first recall of a murder and the projectory of my life changed.

Now I find myself back in this divide of mind and instead of a hypnotic trance induced by another.  I find myself in an subconsciously altered state of mind and mentally teleporting through time and space in my own house.  If my psyche stayed united, then my death may have been imminent since I may have uttered a fact that surged their aggressions and justified my death.  By dividing in two, then one side could hide the facts and keep the body alive.  While the other side fought back with blurts to those my psyche believed could have helped the body escape to a safer place.  Both plans had their pluses and minuses each one became what was needed at various times to accomplish the safety plan at hand.  Now that I am older and all of those that wished to murder me are dead its time to reunite these two divided forces and locate what has been hidden since the traumatic days of their first creations.

            Today in conjunction with this dream I believe, was a corresponding dissociation of space.  The internet calls it Nostalgic Displacement but, in my psyche, I am sure dissociation is involved.  Today after waking from an extended sleep, brought on by the exhaustion of my last flashbacks.  I caught myself walking from the recliner in my living room here in Farmerville toward my back bedroom with the intent of getting on the family’s computer.  I could see the den at the ‘house of hate’ in Irving and had every intention of preparing my body for the step down that is required when entering that doorway.  Then I caught myself and realized what I had just done.  My mind had synched two different houses into one for the purpose of discovery.  This moment of derealization had a calming effect.  For a moment in time, I felt that I would be entering the Den and using that computer to locate the names of the dead and missing.

            Perhaps this is a positive step towards bringing these two sides together.  At the ‘house of hate’ one side reigned supreme as it made sure to keep all facts that could induce a homicidal rage hidden.  Now at my house in Farmerville, I have been using the other side of this divide to release these facts and hope that eventually I will find these victims’ names.  The house of hate involved over a 20-year time of suppression through dissociation that stored memories into my amnesic box in the deepest part of my subconscious.  I have lived in this house on the farm for almost 20 years now and in that time, I have been building strength onto the other side of this division.  That see-saw in my psyche of ying and yang could be leveling out, and a consensus could be negotiated.  Then again maybe I have too eventually tilt it all the way to the other side.  If this titling theory holds true, then my journaling could become far more productive and the needle that now sits at two first names possibly known could begin to shift toward full recovery of the dead’s identity. 

            (This journal entry has been exhausting and painful.  My teeth are hurting and a spot on my tongue is pulsing with anger.  My right hip, which is my worst hip, has decided that now is the time it will send shocks down my leg like a taser.  The protective aspects of my mind have throttled my ADHD symptoms far into the red.  Continuously my mind begins with new stories that veer me off my main topic and into a fantasy story with no themes of trauma or stress.  Then creates visual illusions of that story line.  Which in turn blocks me from staying on task.  When I catch myself doing this, I find that I am still working on the same sentence I was constructing 15 minutes ago.  Something must be coming up since my internal defense mechanisms are working so hard in their attempt to sidetrack me.)

            Something is beginning to surface in my head as a flashback sequence.  I am walking out of the ‘house of hate’ on a bright and sunny day.  I am maybe 7 years of age, and I am looking for something or somebody.  I had been in the house looking down at the TV in the living room and from a standing position.  I was trying to pick a channel, or something had caught my eye on the screen and then through the front window I witnessed a naked person with lots of black hair running past the window.  The body was small and the skin looked light and they traveled from the garage door side of the house into the front yard.  I had recently come in from outside and was fully dressed with shoes on and so I bolted after them to see what this was all about.  Then I didn’t see anything, whoever had just darted across our porch was not visible to me.  No cars had been parked in the street to hide behind, and I witnessed no traffic passing by.  I was so confused so I started across the grass looking for a trail and then checked between the houses.  For some reason I was determined to find whatever I thought I had seen darting across my view.  I stayed standing in-between the houses staring out toward Twin Falls Street for a period of time that I lost track of.  My mind wondered like it has been doing today and I was motionless. 

            Then I saw that head of hair pop up out of the water gutter on the curb at the edge of the corner in front of the house next to ours and then disappear back below the curb.  I couldn’t believe what I had seen and I thought it must be a child and that it had run out of its house and now it was stuck in the water gutter.  My adrenaline was high and I was in a panic mode and this life must be saved.  I was so intense with my endeavor that several times I almost had the metal-lid lifted while only using just my fingers to wedge into the creased gap.  The entire time I was yelling “I’m coming, I’m going to save you, don’t cry.”  Then I remembered how Robert had used our red shovel to lift this lid before, when we lost baseballs.  I ran to our garage, and the red shovel was sitting outside the garage leaning up against the corner.  That never happened so I am not sure why it was out like that; I am very puzzled.  I returned and lifted the lid an inch and had my fingers up underneath.  Then I slid my hands to either side and pulled that lid off like it had no weight to it and tossed it across the sidewalk.  It hit hard at a straight angle, and it stood erect for a few seconds before pulling the dirt up with it as it fell over flat. 

            I dropped into the hole I didn’t even use my hands I just stepped into the nothingness of space and fell into the gutter without contacting any part of the circular edge.  My impact was hard I was stiff legged and hadn’t bent my knees.  Then I was looking all around for the head of hair and I could see nothing.  My heart was racing and then a truck stopped next to the gutter slit and I heard someone get out.  An adult voice was calling out from far away and then I heard a closer voice answering back and I knew that it was Sgt. Jim Alford.  He was above the opening and asking what I was doing and then I explained what I had seen and why I was down there.  Then he turned and another face joined his and it was Glenda.  As I started to explain again Glenda screamed, shut up and so I did.  My thought was that I was in trouble for being in the gutter.  I was looking down at my feet and continued to look at both ends of this gutter.  The sun was right behind those two talking heads and when I was looking up the glare had forced me to look away to adjust my eyes.

            Then I saw two small hands protruding from the opening closest to the intersection.  I was now down on both knees with debris under my skin and still felt no pain.  Just inside the lip of that outlet was a small human with hair so thick that I couldn’t see their face.  I was asking if they were okay and when I paused all I heard was crying and sniffling.  Then those two heads above me mixed their voices and said, ‘stay away from her’.  I was shocked to find out that this was a female and then confused as to how those two knew.  Then this tiny body popped out and stood in front of me and said many words, none of which I could understand.  I was shocked again but this time it was about being confronted with a nude body that had many whelps and gashes and whose wrists had dermis missing and circular wounds running down toward their fingers.  My body was frozen and I was knelt there with my hands extended forward but unable to move. 

            Then I came back to reality after hearing my name shouted repeatedly and it was the way that it echoed in this chamber that broke my stupor.  Something was hitting me in the back of my head, and I turned like a Frankenstein and then was kicked in the face.  Sgt. Jim Alford had dangled his legs down and he kept kicking me with his cowboy boots.  I fell away from the area of reach and was looking up when I heard Sgt. Jim Alfords voice angrily telling me to hand him that girl.  Then I was confused again as to what I was doing in this space and why he was yelling at me.  As I sat there on my butt with my hands to either side a small frame rose next to me, and I startled and stared at that body next to me not understanding why it was there.  None of this made sense to me I was in the chasm that divided my conscious and unconscious mind.  I could see and hear but couldn’t make sense of what any of this meant nor what was happening.  Then I could hear Sgt. Jim Alfords voice ring out with curse words.  Glenda was shouting about why he didn’t just climb down, and Sgt. Jim Alford was replying with, “She will just go back down that tunnel”.  Then I could hear him pulling something or moving something in the bed of his truck.  He was angry and cursing and to me as I watched through that slit that led out to the asphalt it felt like I was awaiting jaws to appear as I swam inside a shark tank. 

            Then a 2x4 came through the slit and hit me hard in the forehead and I fell back atop the small child.  Sgt. Jim Alford was cursing me to move, and I was stunned and he continually tried to slam one end of that board into this child.  I took hits to both my shoulders, and he clipped both sides of my chest and stomach.  When he slammed that board into me it was like a hammer and then when it scrapped across my skin it felt like a live blow torch had bubbled my skin.  I couldn’t move out of the way, and my mind began to float up and out of this gutter.  From above I could see Sgt. Jim Alford on his knees working that board and Glenda staring down from the top of the gutter through the hole.  The only sound I heard was that of the little girl crying.  I could see through the top of the gutter from above and how my body had its back resting against the wall of the gutter and how the small child was hiding behind it.  As I floated, I felt this tremendous pain in my abdomen in the part of me that was floating. Then I could see through the cement and watch Sgt. Jim Alford pushing that board into my body’s abdomen as hard as he could with a rageful look on his face.  Either he was punishing me for not moving or trying to push me back so that my body weight held that small child in place.

            Then an Irving police car pulled up on the outside of Sgt. Jim Alfords truck and stopped and a man with black hair got out.  I could see his cars police markers and hear his car radio chirping away.  As soon as he left his vehicle Sgt. Jim Alford had dropped the board and headed to the front of his truck to head that officer off.  He told him that he had this handled and that he wasn’t needed.  Then the officer tried to protest, and Sgt. Jim Alford raged and was screaming at him so rapidly that the officer ran to his car and left the scene.  People came out of the house that we were in front of and then I could hear Glenda screaming at them and she was walking toward them yelling then she stopped, turned back around and walked back to the hole, I am guessing that they went back inside.  The girl used this time to dart into the drainage tunnel my floating self could feel her presence move away from my body.  It was like having a purpose and then now that purpose had left and with it my strength to resist.  I am guessing that my body must have been ridged to some degree since, once the girl was out of the gutter part and down that tunnel.  Then my body slumped to the side and became one with the floor.  Then I could see Sgt. Jim Alford return to his board and this time Mrs. Alford was standing next to him.  He was pulling the board out and she stopped him and then she was slamming that board into my head and face.  Until Sgt. Jim Alford stopped her and removed the board and tossed it back into his truck bed.

(I remember these facial wounds they extended from the top of my forehead down across my neck and onto my chest.  In my mind one moment I was in the house and then I was waking up from the couch, and my head, face, neck, and torso had been covered with abrasions that still had ooze working their way out of the wound.  Robert was there with his ‘v’ neck T-shirt and golf shorts.  What had woken me was my younger brother slamming his plastic bat against my face and head as Glenda was laughing.  For a moment as my consciousness was coming back, I felt that I was stuck in heavy rain and couldn’t escape.  It felt like the rain had filled my mouth and was clogging my throat and I was drowning and unable to escape this downpour.  Then when I woke and was conscious enough, I determined that it was my younger brother repeatedly whacking my face as hard as he could with his plastic bat.  Glenda was encouraging him and he was laughing loudly until my father walked back into the room and took the bat then there was silence and my younger brother ran to Glenda. 

I was crying and gasping for air all at once and my hands were reaching out because at that moment I thought I needed to be rescued from a lake or pond and that Robert was my only hope of survival.  Then I overextended in my lurch for rescue and fell to the floor.  Robert must have gone back to the bedroom because as I attempted to push myself off the carpet Glenda ran over from the other couch and began to stomp me with her heel in my back and then my younger brother joined in, and my head was being pounded while it rested on the floor.  I did not have the wherewithal to figure out what was coming from where and then my body went limp and I was viewing the room from the top of the ceiling.  Robert came out and he shoved Glenda off me, and she slammed hard into the smaller 2 cushion couch.  Then my younger brother was dragged away by his arm without protest as he feared my father as we all feared that man.  He was tossed outside the sliding glass door and then I heard it click.  My younger brother banged his fists once and Robert turned back toward the door and then he bolted away into the dark. 

            I woke again this time face down on the carpet and the room was pitch black.  I had no recall as to what had happened, but my face felt swollen and I had bumps all over my head.  All I could assume was that I had been stung by bees or wasps and that was why I felt horrible and had these bumps.  Then Robert exited his bedroom and picked me up off my knees and looked at my face and pulled down my eyelids.  He then stuffed something perhaps dollar bills into my pockets and told me to go to the side of the house which I did.  It was still dark but due to my condition I was highly suggestable and unclear about all of what had happened to me.  Then as I walked barefoot in the dark to the side of the house, the same side that I had stood at when looking for whatever I thought I had seen before.  Robert followed me and gave me a pillow and a sheet and made me lie down.  I did and I was trying to speak to him through swollen lips, and he told me I had wrecked on my bicycle. 

The grass was soft and after Robert left it was just moments until the sun began to rise and that chill in the air made my body shake and of course my teeth followed.  Then my entire being was coursing with that burning sensation that comes with muscles that had been working too hard and now you’re stiff with reluctance since all that overuse had restricted your muscle usage.  Think of a leg day with heavy squats after you haven’t worked legs in several months.  On that day your surrounded by great gym buddies and they train you to failure and then some additional sissy squats.  It’s not that day after that the pain really shows up but two to three days after when all that lactic acid must be worked out of the fibers.  That movement that brought my body to life was being forcibly enacted upon me due to the chill in the air.  It felt like I was being shaken to death and as my teeth clattered my face spasmed and it felt like bolts were being pushed through my temples.  Robert had set me next to the house to save me from Glenda, but he never factored in the chill of the rising sun.  I would also suggest that after such a beating it was difficult for my body to keep a regulated temperature.  Stabbed with a board while trying to rescue a small child in a gutter and then attacked by family members after.  I must have been carried home followed by an act of domestic assault once I gained consciousness and then to be shaken into the riggers by mother nature that is a great deal to endure but still not as much as that small child had too.

I was woken again by the beating of that plastic bat as my younger brother had found me once again and pulled by the hair as Glenda attempted to make me stand.  Then the old neighbor lady came out to the edge of her porch and was saying something and Glenda and my younger brother fled away from me.  Then the older lady was gone, and it was just me and the wind sitting aside the house and all I could think of was how I wanted to run away.  So, after I finally stood up using the brick wall as a lean to and then the window ledge as a handle, I made a limited handicapped person dash for the chain link fence.  I used that fence to make it to the alley and then the neighbor’s fence to make it to the sidewalk and then I found a rhythm and toddled up the sidewalk to the store.  I had no idea why I went there but it was part of my running away scheme.  Then I sat against the wall at the far end of the stores porch and before long other kids who I knew from the neighborhood joined me and their laughter was making the pain rise and fall as I would laugh deep inside my chest and then having to catch my breath after all the spasming, I too was spitting up blood but no hospital for me.  Various children cycled through and every mother that came by checked my face and ran their hands across my head.  Ice came at me in many forms, sometimes in bags and a few times as whittled paper cups where the ice had frozen inside and they tore away some of the paper to give you a fat ice icicle to rub across your bumps.  The neighborhood was mothering me and supplying me with remedies.  I didn’t feel so bad anymore and all that laughter helped.

Then Glenda showed up and almost came over the curb due to entering the parking area so fast.  Either she was out looking for me, or someone must have called her.  I was trying to get up off the curb, but I had been sitting there for so long that my body had stiffened into place.  Then she came at me with that monster face and was about to grab me, but some black woman came out of the store door and was talking to her and her entire demeanor changed and she gracefully helped me to my feet and was placing me in the passenger side door of the car as she engaged that other woman with a gleeful disposition.  Then after she got in the car the threats started and the anger about the cost of that girl and how I had helped another one escape and that my father should kill me.  All of this was new information to me except for the, ‘your father should kill you’ part that she said often and usually while she herself was physically attacking me saying that she was going to kill me. 

We arrived home and I was too sore to move fast, and she had been using her right fist as a hammer as she pounded on me several times on the way home.  She ran around to my side of the car, and I was leaned over toward her side trying to lock her door.  I had already locked the passenger side door and thought that I would be safe.  However, I was too young to remember she had keys and then she pulled me out with my ankles, and it took all the strength I could muster to guard my head as it crashed first on the door lip and then the driveway.  She was in such a rage that she continued to pull me up the porch steps and then into the house.  I was dragged onto the same space as the carpet where I had taken the beating 24 hours before and with this one, she was using both her feet and then falling off me and climbing on my back and wailing her fists at the back of my skull.  Then she stopped stood-up and stumbled in the direction of her room.  Then as I laid there in tremendous pain, I could hear her gagging and making throat sounds in her bathroom while flushing the commode and then running the sink.  She came back out and I had closed my eyes tight thinking in my child’s mind that if I didn’t see it coming it wouldn’t hurt as badly. 

Then I heard her on the phone and talking to someone about spitting up blood and saying that she needed to go to the hospital.  Then she walked past me again and was jostling with things in her room and the front door opened.  I hoped that it was Robert, but it was Mrs. Alford, and she looked down to see me looking up and snarled.  I was so frozen in fear since my mind thought this is when I die this lady is going to kill me.  Then I heard her say, “look what you’ve done, again.” She really emphasized the word again.  Then she stomped on me with her heel and Glenda called her into the bedroom with a hoarse voice that sounded breathy.  She stumbled out with an arm around Mrs. Alford’s neck, and they paused by where I was laying and Mrs. Alford kicked me again and said, “you should be dead my husband would have killed you already.”  Then these two stumbled out the door and I woke deep in the night when I couldn’t see anything but the streetlight coming through the front window and as confused as I was about what had transpired and how I ended up on the floor.  I made it in the kitchen and ate slices of cheese and some milk.  Then I crawled upstairs and for some reason I could toddle without dizziness but going up a flight of stairs worked differently.  My head jostled more as I ascended and by the time I reached the top I was nauseas and so wobbly that I crawled into my bedroom on my stomach and then fell asleep on the floor.

The images have stopped the only thing echoing in my head right now is Glenda screaming that I was a thief.  That happens often, so who knows why she was doing it.  There were times that she had a rational reason thinking that I had eaten food from the kitchen or taken money that she had hidden away and forgot where she had placed it.  Then on other occasions she was high on all her pills and emergency medical shots that her physicians allowed her to administer to herself for causes she did not have.  This resulted in her becoming high and loopy while she stumbled around under the influence.  She would hide in her room for days, usually three or four in a row and then one day while you’re watching TV or trying to take a shower she comes out of her room looking like the puppet from the Crypt Keeper.  All she consumed for those days was Charles chips and Sprite soda I know this since I was the child that had to go into the grocery store to buy it since she could barely drive to the store itself.  I was the one she snatched up when it was time to go get more.  Never did she buy groceries only prescriptions and then her snacks.  Our meals mostly came from the day-old bread store since she had spent all her funds on two additional doctors and pharmacies that she couldn’t use her insurance for and had to use her cash.  Life with serial killing addicts is always an adventure as you endure the lies of the dysfunctional. 

For me one of the saddest parts outside of abductions, murders, slave auctions, and disposals of the innocent.  Had to do with how our dogs suffered too, if we didn’t eat then they didn’t eat, when I was getting kicked around, they were getting kicked around too.  Often, I found comfort crawling into their dog houses and snuggling with them.  Then I had to stop since either of my parents would block me in and not let me or the dogs out for hours or they and my younger brother would jam long sticks in and poke the dogs so hard that in the dogs attempts to defend themselves they inadvertently bit me.  Then for added measure on cold wintery days if the water hose had not frozen, they would use it to spray me wet along with the dogs and then dump the house on its side to where I couldn’t lift the house and two dogs up enough to tilt the house for escape thus locking me into a wet and cold prison often until the next morning.  I couldn’t dig us out since they dumped the house over on the concrete porch.  Wow a lot is really coming out tonight.  For the record I still remember all of my dogs names and I made sure to play with everyone of them often and usually for hours at a time. 

Just to note, what did not occur in this session involves no release from the tension.  Yes, I do feel better but as of this moment I believe that these images will continue to loop in and out of my conscious and subconscious mind.  Maybe I will sleep and then again maybe not.  The positive is that the two prior journaling sessions had amazing recall levers identified so I am 2 for 3 and that’s a solid amount of progression for a mind as cluttered as mine. 

To eat, to sleep, to toil to dream

At times there is nothing so mean as a mind abashed like a bumbling bear

Lost in a gutter with no air to spare. 

A plastic bat that rakes your soul across the coals

While your mother cheers like Emperor Caligula of old. 

Born to suffering born to pain watching others die makes you insane. 

They passed on

You had to stay

Their only chance of justice is set to happen on a distant day.

It’s now 3:34am and I have edited my work and am ready to close-down my night.  These 11 pages took 12 hours wow, that is a tremendous amount of time.  However, I was feeling each and every word and sentence as I completed these paragraphs.  My whole body and mouth are aching, and I have had no release from the tension and stress, but I am proud of myself and that I stayed on task and saw this action through to a closing point.  The anchor points for these memories will surface again and then I will have cleared out a lot from this overstuffed closet and be able to reach further back and claim my parts of self-back. 

Remember the brights and dims and pray for them all

Through them I will continue to answer the call

Releasing those memories that name the angels that flew. 

Out of this misery and toward a brighter hue

One day I will be there amongst their billowy wings

Swinging on halos and dancing with my kind

All of us suffered but not one of us really died

Our lungs are full, our hearts grow bright

Een from way up here we are all still in the fight