August 1, 2020
These articles are not usually consecutive, meaning they do not need to be read in any particular order. However, that said, my last article “Ice Water Mansions”, and now, “Finding Hope”, should be read in order. Yes Ice Water Mansion is a true story; yes, it really did happen to me, yes, it is told in a brutally frank way, and I offer no apologies for that. Those are the facts, as I know them. The story was not told to embarrass my dead parents, the story was not told as a form of catharsis, I would not have you suffer that.
In our first two articles, I allude to the abuse that my brother and I suffered, and what the long-term effects were on me. My brother is in far worse shape than I am. The fact that I have not spoken to him in almost 30 years, speaks volumes about the depth of animosity that exists between us. Most of this can be directly linked to my mother, and her senseless violence committed against us. I mean seriously when I was in grade one in Scarborough, the first thing I would do when I got home from school, is look to see where her fucking red stick was. If it was on top of the fridge, I would relax a little, if it were on the kitchen counter, I knew I would feel it before dinner, and if it was on the kitchen table, where she was often sat, I knew that I would feel it before I even had my coat off. When that was the case, I would leave my coat on for the extra protection, problem was, the cunt realized that, and would rip my coat off me. Her red stick was 18 inches long by 3 ½ inches wide by 3 inches thick, and she would swing that thing with her arm fully extended for maximum impact.
Now I am not saying that a kid does not deserve the odd slap as discipline, because kids do need to be disciplined, maybe even the odd slap upside the head, but what was happening in our home, (home, I use the word very loosely because it wasn’t a home) was abuse plain and simple. Back in those days, the nineteen seventies and early eighties, there were no extra laws to protect children, what happened behind closed doors was the real thing. There was no divorcing your parents, or the school stepping in, the only way out was to get through it, and leave home at as an early age as possible. That had been my intent, I had found a decent paying warehouse job and I was making plans at 15 years old.
That was where I had found hope, get the fuck out of that house, get my life back on track, finish school somehow, hopefully grow my relationship with the nanny of whom I had met that year. Then life threw us a real curve ball. Dad is fired for smoking a joint in the executive men’s room, and then goes in to rehab, I find about the incest, I find out I was not wanted and should not have been born. My relationship with the nanny crashes and burns, my mother commits suicide, dad kicks my brother out of the house, dad suicides 11 months later, the violence between my brother and I explodes exponentially. That culminating in his smashing a full bottle of beer over my head, me somehow picking myself up and breaking his jaw for his trouble. I was not to be fucked with.
So there it was, it was over. Mom and dad were dead. I did not have a family. My aunt and uncle were estranged from me, and that was okay. I did not need anyone, except I was wrong about that. What I needed was for someone to tell me that it was going to be okay. The whore of whom I had married had no concept of gentility and cared nothing for anyone else’s suffering. I could not reconcile my parent’s behavior with their spiritual leanings, but I did understand that without a happy spirit, you couldn’t have a happy person.
That weighed on me heavily as I struggled with life in general and the generalized idea of some kind of recovery. I knew that I was in love with the nanny, but being able to actually say the words was going to be like turning Mt Everest in to gravel using the side of my left hand. I was hard, cold, and entirely out of touch with my emotions . It was less than helpful when I found a self-help book that I had picked up thrown in the garbage and that the whore, cow, snake, whatever you want to call her , belittled the idea of recovery. That was just another nail in the coffin of the relationship that died when I had found out about how she had facilitated the rape of a minor by an adult male.
So what does all of this have to do with the Holy Grail? In a word, EVERYTHING. All right, let us have some fun now. You will recall that to truly understand the Grail, you must let go of all of your previous mis-conceptions about your belief systems. You have no doubt heard your clergyman speak about the hall of souls, and I am sure he/she filled your head with a lot of gobbly gook about it that did not make a whole lot of sense.
In reality, it is just another instance where the Roman Catholic Church has stolen material from the Grail and twisted its meaning beyond all recognition. Properly understood, the hall of souls is where we really come from, not where we go to, to wait for an eternity for Jesus to come back here and fuck us all over. As I have said previously, we exist in another plain of existence called the Kundalini, and we have lived there and in other dimensions for billions of years. Back in 2006, the television show host Oprah Winfrey had a guest on her show, of who showed compelling evidence, that all of us speak a common language upon arrival in this present realm.
Yeah freaky eh? When I mentioned this to my mentor, The Chevalier Labhrán de Saint Germain Laurence Gardner, he was uncertain what to make of it; however, he did encourage me to research it further because we were often on the same page, if sometimes paragraphs apart.
So what does this have to do with the insane violence that I lived with? There are theories out there, that state that we inter-changeably exchange roles with our parents. In one incarnation, we parent them, and in the next incarnation, they parent us and so forth. I do not hold with that at all. There too, is the church’s version, where we have choirs singing, we float around with wings,
and every relative you ever had is waiting for you at the pearly gates to welcome you home. Nope too contrived. If I have learned anything from more than 20 years of studying the Holy Grail, it is this. We come to the Grail as independent spirits, we experience life independently, our friends cannot do it for us, and we must live it. Our friends, parents, neighbors may be part of the experience, but we live it from our perspective only. Why though? What’s the point?
It’s funny, and not funny Ha-ha, that the most commonly reported uptick in crime during this pandemic is domestic violence. Men, women, and children are locked behind doors that hide hellish violence
I offer these two articles, Ice Water Mansion, and this, Finding Hope, in sympathy, and as a way that those suffering too can find the same serenity as I have. It will take work, hard work, but you can do it, you have made it this far. Your sacred self, will recognize the truth here listen to him or her.