November 19, 2022
***Warning this essay contains a frank discussion about suicide.***
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In our last article, “The Damned Question”, we established that this realm is essentially a prison, or as some will have it, hell on earth. The evidence that we are serving time in a prison is pretty solid in that we suffer. Most of us suffer in independent ways. Some come from a brutal background, some are suffering presently, some suffer in ways that do not seem very harsh and yet are. I have a friend of who grew up with awesome parents, loving, kind, thoughtful, and who are very much there for him even today in every meaningful way. As such we may wonder where or what lessons he is teaching or learning. He himself is a great guy, smart, funny, attentive, and as a male, this is hard for me to say, but he is not too hard on the eyes either. Even with these attributes, his problem has/is been loneliness, In the time that I have known him, he has shown a very limited group of friends, either male or female. He knows people at work, and for a lot of people, that is where most of us find friendships because that is where we spend the vast majority of our time. Yet still, for him, those relationships do not transfer from the workplace to the personal. So for him, whatever role he is in, either as a student or teacher, this loneliness plays its part. If you have ever been truly alone, it is a horrible place to be, and the lesson will be a harsh one.
Throughout most of these articles we have at some length discussed my mother, and the role that she has played in my life. As a corporeal being, this avatar, I find it impossible to forgive her for what she has done to me, the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual violence. Telling your youngest child that you were not wanted, and then forcing them (me) to become emotionless because she could better disavow my existence that way. That is a hard thing to try to forgive. In many ways this seems like a very directed, chosen attack on me. With the vehemence with which she did and said these things, it looks as if there is a very long history between us where the only outcome between us is hate. That is where I am with her, should we meet again is some future incarnation I intend to fuck her up so badly she will regret ever crossing me. That said, and it is a very understandable position to take, what if there was/is more to it?
Because of the nature of the Universe that we live in, a multiverse, there may be much, much more to it.
Let us now explore a possible scenario where the thing is the same yet different. Let us think for a moment that in some previous incarnation my mother and I knew one another, there we did not get along and were in fact enemies. While there, because of her penchant for bending/breaking the rules she ended up here serving/learning penance for whatever transgression(s). Then along comes me, an individual who had hounded her in that/those other realm(s) – likely the same way I did in this realm, with my ego and sense of authoritative righteousness. Here she was not my quarry, but had traits that were absolutely necessary that I learn from as I engaged in battle with the dark realmed whore – yes the one with the caving expeditions of who I had married. Is it possible that my mother was both teacher and opportunist, that our involvement was for her to teach me how to effectively deal with the whore while simultaneously, benefiting from my seeming position of weakness (being a child) and taking vengeance for whatever our problem is/was in that/those previous incarnation(s)?
My father, I do not understand the role he played in my life at all. As I have mentioned in other essays he was a drug addict. He was at best an incredibly unreliable source of love and affection for me, our family of four was split evenly between my mother and brother, and dad and I. His parenting style when not fucked up beyond repair while on drugs, was to support my mother in whatever she said, they together presented a unified front. As with every addict, his “high” came before his responsibilities to his family. He was very rarely present enough to acknowledge or realize my needs of him. His realization of me seemed to be a series of shocks, I went from a young child playing in the garden, to a young impossibly angry boy who was bullied, to a rage filled teenage boy who he could not begin to get a handle on or know. Several months before he suicided, he called me the toughest son of a bitch that he had ever met. This coming from him, and the world that he had grown up in, was his truth of me. In many ways he was right because I was truly spiralling out of control during that 16th year of my life, and would remain so until my mid- twenties. It was in this out of control state that I ended up marrying the whore, the worst mistake of my life.
This though was only my corporeal life, me as an avatar. There seems to be little or no connection with him in my celestial life. My mother came at me hard the night of her machine death, see our article “The Mansion and Her Twenty-One Grams”, whereas my father, there was nothing like it, nor has there been any type of visitation. I miss him, there were times when he was a good friend to me. There is of course the idea that our family lines are not linear, that because of our quest for ascension we hop from family to family to learn or teach as required, and each family line has some of the requisite knowledge, some more than others which means that we may remain in that line for some time more than a single incarnation.
This I believe is the case for my family, we were certainly not close or loving. The entire relationship had been about competition for non- existent resources, love and affirmation. I may be forcing puzzle pieces together here, but I believe that my father’s role was multifaceted, not dissimilar to that of the Nanny’s. My father before his suicide was in terrible shape, he had spent several months plugged into my energy and he was sucking me dry, in fact it almost killed me. I still have a friend who knew me on the worst day of it, she could tell you how I looked, it was not good. In desperation I pulled the plug on him myself, I could not supply him as well as myself, he was in severe deficit. I knew that it was quite dangerous to pull those Etheric cords, and that it might eventually lead to his death, but damn, it was survival of the fittest and he was killing me. This was something my mother had lived in fear of, that one of us would actually kill another. At the time I had finite energy, I had not yet learned that anyone can plug into nature or machinery to recharge, and he certainly did not know that. It would still be several weeks before his suicide. Strangely, come the morning of October 4th 1984, just a few hours before he locked himself into the garage and killed himself by Carbon Monoxide poisoning
he actually apologized to me for draining me so heavily. Where he learned or how he figured it out I have no idea because he was dead just a few hours later, and I never got to ask him, even if I had thought to. At the time I was early on in my relationship with the whore, he had little interest in it, except to say that he did not want Grand kids just yet. It would seem that he had little or no knowledge of the effort that I was about to engage in with the whore. It would seem too that he saw it as he had done what he had agreed to do, supplied his half of the dual nature of the Universe, then had closed up shop, perhaps at the end of his incarceration, or not, his business with me concluded.
The only part that he seemed to play steadily in this celestial adventure was about the destruction of my ego. As I said above, he presented a unified front with my mother when she lit into me, he also made sure to denigrate any of my achievements, whether it was work related or scholastically. His grades were always better, whatever job he had, he worked harder. If I was working out with weights, he could lift heavier and do more reps. This last only until I asked him to prove it, he declined that challenge, and instead, challenged me to a fist fight in the back yard. This I declined, he was after all, my father and I was not going to hit him, regardless of how many times he had beat the snot out of me. But I did warn him, I told him that he had better hit me so hard that I went down and stayed down, because he was not going to get a second chance to hit me again. To both my pleasure and horror, he actually looked scared of my threat. He knew what he had done to me, he knew how tough I was, and in some ways, understood the explosive rage that rested so uneasily just beneath my skin. He was no fool.