Yesterday, today, and tomorrow-- we've been cleaning a townhouse unit, patching that apartment's patio cement, weeding and mulching their area, AND working on the garden. Raking the tilled earth, getting a basic plan laid down with paths, putting up a fence with gate and a scarecrow, and setting in the plantings with all those starts we began weeks ago.

Yipes.

I am SO tired and SO sore! My hands even have blisters! (Yes, I used gloves.)

The place is looking great, though, and things are swiftly looking even better-- not to mention that soon that garden project will be up and running. I am attempting to comfort myself with the knowledge that all this exercise (and the many weeks of it to come keeping the garden up) will help me get into and stay in better shape.

And I've found gardening is the only thing that works besides dancing for meditation. I just can't shut my monkey mind up sitting still and silent. I almost automatically start daydreaming after years of amusing myself in this way every quiet moment I have. But with the full concentration of dancing, moving to the music to the point of absolutely forgetting the left brain language/logic stuff, I have found meditation for years. Now, I've discovered something similar with gardening. I stick my hands in dirt, fuss with plants, water and poke around and I don't talk to myself at all for the duration. I am captured in the moment of now, which I otherwise can't find easily.

I don't know why. When I do other kinds of chores, or even when I worked retail at work-- I still talked to myself in my head a lot. For some reason, messing around with dirt and plants outside just brings me to a moving stillness. Its very therapeutic. I don't even hum to myself! I find myself just listening to birdsong and wind and cows mooing and such and taking it in without really pondering it much.

And like "regular" meditation, after a period of gardening work/play, I find I can focus better, and I'm calmer and less likely to feel overwhelmed. And I sleep better. Which I think is crucial for a rather nervous, intensive, chicko such as myself.

More pics coming soon!

I probably shouldn't be laughing about this-- but I am, just a little.

The empty unit next door, which we have to have totally immaculate by tomorrow for the neighbors who are trading up for it, has been "active" lately. It sounds like people are living there sometimes: footsteps, banging cupboard doors, muffled voices talking, etc. Yet, other than that time Tess and I actually called out the ghosts, I've never had any experiences there at all. I've been going over every day to open windows and air it out, to clean every nook and cranny, and to close doors and windows for the night. Every day and night for over a week now. The thumps, bumps, voices, and eerie feelings go away completely. I don't feel watched at all. I just don't worry about it too much, really. Things got a bit melodramatic only when we asked for attention. Other than that? I can only hear things going on when I'm at home next door. It goes quiet when my foot crosses the threshold.

Its not even remotely the same for my husband, because apparently SOME invisible person just doesn't like him.

Tonight, I heard a couple of loud BANGS from next door, like someone had just slammed doors closed, and that's unusual. Gerick came home from doing a couple of cleaning chores over there that I have trouble with-- like ceilings and light fixtures and fan covers. From the moment he went over there (alone! when I'm with him this shit doesn't happen!) he heard things going on all over the place and felt very watched. Once a door slammed shut in front of him as he was about to enter a room. But what sent him breathless out the door and running home (GERICK! Who is pretty used to ghosts and funky paranormal things!) was someone shutting a door on his leg as he was leaving a room. It shut and then pushed against his leg until he moved his leg-- then WHAM!-- slammed shut.

He ran home and burst in still holding a mop, and declared, rather out-of-breath, "Someone over there does not like me!"

"Really!?" I replied, and then immediately walked over and through the apartment. All was quiet. I couldn't detect a darned thing. Gerick actually followed me at a slight distance looking nervous as I looked around and shut doors and windows like I always do. He declared he was going to sage and ground (with salt water) and ward (sacred oil markings) the place like he did ours to kick "the old man" out. He picked up on the energy of the 50s/60s man maybe called "Martin" or something like that (according to our little run-in with "Naomi") and said that was the person who was chasing him and harassing him at the apartment. I believed him because I heard the huge door slams and saw how shaky Gerick was when he returned. Besides, he and I don't joke about that sort of thing.

Weird.

But also? Kind of funny. The ghosts don't have anything against me, but Gerick at least one of them takes great exception to! Not to mention the craziness of running into this type of thing YET AGAIN! We've lived here for almost 2 years before we even knew there was an issue. (Well, Gerick insisted there was a spirit who didn't like him here last fall, but he used magickal protections and it was quiet over here after that.) I swear we have lived in places that did not have spirits. Most places. Sometimes things would come to us-- from alien dimensional bending crap which seemed to let all sorts of things "leak" over. But these periods of time were rare and brief. However, it seems like if any property has anything unusual on it, it will wake up and find us or we will find it.  ~Le Sigh~

One may also wonder why any ghost would dislike Gerick so intensely, yet seemingly make an effort to be polite for me. Excellent question. I rather suspect any spirit who had witnessed some of our marital squabbles might well conclude my husband can be a complete ASS at times. Plus, those astral healers coming to see me so many times, maybe that did something. And spirits sometimes try to talk to me and I can sometimes hear them and I TRY to be polite and respectful. My husband-? Not so much.

Of course, I could very well be wrong and maybe he just reminds "Martin" of some guy he hated in life or something. I don't really know. And laughing about my husband getting scared out of a unit isn't very nice of me. But for some reason I can't seem to help it.

Tess and I entered the empty unit at midnight. I didn't really expect anything. I was mildly drunk, and Tess was almost perfectly sober, so we were relaxed and a little tired, but not goofy. I showed her around in general-- the unit is almost the mirror of ours with some interesting differences. We went upstairs first, and then back down again, checking out the kitchen last.

Shortly after we entered the kitchen, talking about how it would look best painted in a bright pastel, the air-- sort of shifted. The room was suddenly feeling charged and COLD. Given the warm days here lately, the change was impossible to notice. I could sense a presence enter from the front door, but I couldn't see with the light on, so I turned it off (there was still plenty of light from the parking lot outside, though.)

I decided to try to reach out and contact whoever it was. I began talking to the spirit, and got impressions and a few words in return. I heard the name "Naomi" quite clearly and distinctly (mentally, not with my ears.) I introduced myself and Tess, and asked if there was anything she wanted to tell us.

Things turned dramatic quickly at that point. The bathroom door slammed (right by the kitchen) and I saw a vague astral figure walk towards Tess. Tess couldn't see anything and I didn't tell her either what I saw or felt. I stepped back and watched and "listened." Tess, to her credit, did NOT run away screaming at the door slamming right in front of us! Most people would. She has my serious respect for that.

I began to get bits and pieces of scenes and words. Naomi was trying to tell a story about suicide by over-dosing on a drug taken through a syringe (which one I couldn't say for sure.) But the astral form reached out to touch Tess on the shoulder (remember, astral on astral conveys some telepathic information) and as I watched, Tess crumbled to a ball on the floor and started sobbing. "Its so sad!" she cried.

Rather than stop what was happening or let her stay "in the dark zone" with the ghost, I started asking Tess questions: How did she die? (And Tess got OVERDOSE with a syringe, but she got "heroin" too.) I asked when, and I heard "1984" or "1994" (which were not big heroin years to my knowledge, its had a come back since the late 90s.) Tess said "9..? 4..?" (I wasn't sharing with her what I was getting, so it was good to hear her answers in comparison.) I asked where she died, and I got the exact location in a visual that included when there was junk all over what is now the field, so that had to have been in the 90s, when this was a notorious drug house.) Tess said, "The end of the property by a tree--" and she pointed. I even asked what the name of the male ghost was, and I heard, "Martin," and Tess said, "Starts with an M.... has an R in it somewhere." And I was thinking either I'm sending her information telepathically from my own head or we're getting it from the short astral-ghost person.

Then Tess abruptly said she wanted to walk to the end of the property. I said okay and we went. I knew the spot where Naomi said she died, but walked over to the side and just watched. Tess circled around it, but after 20 minutes it was just too cold to wait longer, so I called it a night. Again towards the end I saw a 5 foot tall astral figure (no distinct features) and spoke to Naomi. I promised we'd talk again, and told her I didn't mind sharing space just DON'T wake me up at night in my bedroom! I have problems sleeping as it is!

I went with it as it happened, but now I'm determined to find out if such a person (or people) by those names died here. I don't know the man's story yet. I don't know how far to trust what I think I 'heard' the spirit say. That Tess was picking up on many of the same points indicated something-- but maybe just between her and I so I need more confirmation.

I wish I knew whether I could totally trust myself on this stuff or not. I don't know so I search for definitive proof. It was pre-internet, though, for both dates of death, and an internet search didn't help me. I'm not even sure what official city or county (we are on the county border pretty much) would have that information. I'll figure it out. Tess can come and we'll make a day of it. Then I'll let you know.

We had an excellent, though modest, party.

At the end of it, when most people had gone to bed or left, Tess and I decided to check out the empty apartment next door. She knew of some of the strange events over the last few days (that I haven't gone into until now, because frankly-- its getting a bit ridiculous.)

See, there have been a very few odd events associated with the premises, perhaps paranormal, but so inconsistent that I didn't really put things together. And also-? Come on! How likely is it that every place we live is haunted? Granted, Gerick and I are more sensitive and less closed off to such things, but still-!

Anyway, since it seemed like the very few experiences were had only by the 2 of us, we sort of shrugged and ignored it. Maybe it was visiting dead friends, or dimensional slips from alien visits. Who the hell knows?

But last week, as the next door neighbors were packing to move (Donna, her son, boyfriend and boyfriend's daughter) it turned out other people WERE having experiences. The teenage girl next door was all alone one night while others were at work or visiting friends, and she came over after 10 pm and knocked on our door. Gerick answered it and she nervously explained that she heard someone stomping around Donna's bedroom. Could he check it out?

Since these individual units are pretty small, it seemed odd that she wouldn't already know if someone were there... but okay. I followed them out into the shared vestibule and waited. I could distinctly hear someone walking around above the kitchen. Gerick heard it too and crept up the stairs to sneak up on whoever it was. Then he came down and reassured her everything was okay, no one was there. She gave him this scared look, but accepted his answer. It was a weird reaction-- so I asked Gerick what the hell?

Once we were back in our own unit he told me he went into that bedroom, and before he opened the door, he could still hear someone inside pacing the floor, as if upset. He opened the door and walked into a cold room with a strong feeling of presence... He felt watched and uncomfortable. So he whispered into the room for whoever was pacing to quit it-- they were scaring the girl living there. It worked, because the stomping sounds stopped. He told me he felt it was a man who was upset because people were moving, and he didn't like it.

Ghost.

OH JEEZ! It did explain a few things that weren't otherwise covered, though. Whoever they are, they seemed pretty quiet most of the time.

Right after the neighbors moved out (and the neighbors on the other side of us went to Colorado on vacation) I woke up to hear a man calling me in the middle of the night. Gerick had fallen asleep downstairs, so I got up and called down, was he calling me? He mumbled he was sleeping, so leave him alone! I went back into the bedroom, completely bewildered-- and then I heard a woman's voice, muffled, say, "You should stop that!" Somehow I knew she wasn't talking to me-- she was scolding whoever it was who called my name and woke me up.

We had NO other neighbors home at the time. One guy was at his girlfriend's for the weekend, and the other had a night shift. Gerick and I were supposed to be completely alone...

For the last few days, its become entirely clear that indeed we are not alone, even when we think we are. With one set of neighbors on vacation and an empty unit, and the remaining neighbors often off to work, visiting others, or at college classes, Gerick and I are quite often the only LIVING tenants here. Yet we keep hearing obvious things going on in the empty unit-- someone walking around, doors opening and closing, cupboard doors banging-- oh, and the distinct sound of a man and woman talking! I have at last identified the "melodious voice man" who tried to get my attention and who said hi to me once-- its the guy I hear talking to the woman. Gerick has walked around our townhouse looking puzzled and asking me if I was watching a movie on my laptop or anything? No. But he keeps hearing them talking too.

(Meanwhile, on a semi-related note: the astral healers that were around constantly for 2 weeks have been gone now for the last 2 weeks entirely. I'm wondering what the heck is up between these visitors and the ghosts-- and do they see each other? And what do they think? And my life is too freaky by far.)

The night of the party, Tess and I went next door to the empty unit to see if anything would happen. It did. More in next post.

My friends can see this man's real name, but the public post won't have it. Because if I don't protect a guilty man's privacy, I could go to jail, or at least pay a fine and be ordered to give a public apology or something. Don't you just LOVE it?

OTHER THAN THAT-- THIS POST IS THE SAME AS THE OTHER ONE.

The D.A. made a "courtesy call" to tell my friend Robin that they decided NOT to attempt to convict Mark for first degree rape, sodomy, several assaults (torture), illegal imprisonment, attempted murder (strangulation), and so on. The reason they gave? Robin had a previous sexual history with him and had lived with him. No jury will convict because men are still seen as potential victims of women in such scenarios.

Yeah-- think about that: juries, made of both men and women, are worried that innocent men will get sent to prison if they believe a woman's word that the horrific injuries they get from a weekend's worth of repeated rape and torture-- with photographic and DNA evidence of what was done and by whom!-- on a woman's say so!

Rapes are almost non-convictable except by a stranger. Even though over 90% of rapes are committed by men known to the victim. Juries still have an image in their minds of a guy in a long coat or hoodie hiding in bushes or breaking into a home. The complicated grooming of a sociopath for long-term access to a victim is not something people know about.

Mark E _ _ _ y, from a small town just west of Tacoma, Washington, who is in his 50s and looks like Billy Joel (blue eyes and all) is a serial sexual predator who is going to get away with it-- again. He likes to lurk on sites like http://www.pof.com/ http://adultfriendfinder.com/ (a gross pervert chat site), or http://www.bookofmatches.com/ where he has multiple profiles (to appeal to a wider group of women) like Planet, Permaflo, or "George Sterling." He managed to get Robin's new phone number, texted her to smugly throw it in her face-- and to let her know he's moving on... he's got new "projects" all lined up. Yeah, of course he does.

Hey psychos! If you want to really hurt someone-- make sure its a woman that lives with you, or at least a woman who USED to live with you, and make sure she said "yes" to you at least once. Because, if so-- that's a free ticket right there to rape her or do whatever you want even weeks and months later! Sweet deal, huh, guys? Its still a man's fucking world. LITERALLY.

I wish I could say I'm shocked or surprised. But I'm not. I told Robin to expect this. Even with evidence. Even though Mark has a long history of this sort of thing. Even though police, judges, and prosecutors know he guilty! Doesn't matter. Your average Joe and Jane on the street STILL doesn't get it, and everyone in the legal system knows it. So that's it, then.

Our justice system. Doesn't it make you proud?

This post is in response to one of my friend Mike in his blog, Hidden Experience:
http://hiddenexperience.blogspot.com/2012/05/do-you-feel-sense-of-mission.html

Mike mentions how strongly he personally feels a sense of mission, and I felt I knew exactly what he meant-- but several comments were coming at the idea from the more prosaic angles, so I felt the need to clarify better what I believe he's trying to get at...

My comment was:

I think the normal "sense of mission" most people think of, and the ABDUCTEE sense of mission are a little different on several fronts:

1. We have a very strong sense of it from childhood that doesn't seem directly connected to our personal wants and dreams. We feel it coming to us from some outside source, rather than generating it from within as we develop like most people do. "I want to save animals," or "I want to work with abused children," are NOT the kind of MISSION we're talking about here.

2. Its not a 'savior complex' type of thing (being the special single person everyone 'oohs' and 'aahs' over) so much as a joining with many others to keep things from totally falling apart. Moreover, we don't expect to be rewarded or looked up to, but feel the need to keep it secret and hope to avoid notice if possible. We feel it will be possibly very dangerous at some points and not very rewarding-- but we believe we'll feel compelled to do it anyway.

3. Its about having a role like a JOB that we'll be jumping into at some point. Thankless, but necessary. What's more, few of us are sure just exactly WHAT that job will be. Very rarely, some of us will remember being trained for specific activities that will be needed in the future.

4. The sense of waiting drives us a little bit batty in the meantime. You don't want things to go crazy (as it seems it must before the mission begins) yet being caught in a holding pattern feeling useless is frustrating too. You want to either get on with things or prepare better, and you're never sure which way to go-- so you end up switching back and forth your entire life.

Many people can understand the idea that all of us (or at least most of us) can have the potential to find some special mission in life in which we find a place to make a difference for the better in the world.

Most of us can understand that there are egomaniacs that would LOVE to be as special to other people as they believe themselves to be-- just for existing perhaps, or maybe they have delusions of grandeur where they're actually a messiah in their own mind.

But neither the honorable sense of mission, nor the deplorable sense of mission is what's being addressed. At least not for me. I'm guessing Mike feels like I do-?

A better survey question would probably be: *"Do you have a nagging and profound sense of mission that involves a job you feel you'll be performing in a future that seems so different than today as to seem unreal?" --but that's a little long!

I like that these intimate personal details can be brought up and poked a little, because part of the experience of being an abductee or any person who undergoes events and encounters from the lesser-known side of reality isn't just what happens, its what those happenings do TO you.

I could also add to my description:

"5. Our rational minds keep trying to feed us lingering doubts that there is any legitimacy to the feeling of mission, despite the intuitive and emotional absolute certainty that there MUST be something real to do later on that will explain it all. It doesn't make any sense, even if you remember real encounters, to keep having faith in something that hasn't happened yet, but a part of us can't seem to help it, much to our chagrin."

You don't want to be right. You don't want to be wrong. But you sure don't want to wonder for the rest of your life which one you'll end up being! Just let me know so I can get on with things already! No matter how you look at it-- its uncomfortable.

I'm creating a parallel online diary at Dreamwidth, just in case...  LiveJournal being owned by the Russians and subject to constant hack-attacks gets on my nerves, but I have posted almost daily for over 11 year on LJ! I have a permanent account, with all the bells and whistles, and flisters who check in regularly. So to just give one up and move entirely to another seems-- problematic, to say the least.

So-! I'm going to simply post in both locations, but I will slowly over time be copying and pasting the best of the older posts from LJ onto the Dreamwidth account. That way, worst case scenario down the line, I won't lose nearly as much should one or the other go down.

My Dreamwidth account name is "AvalonAutumn" in case you're wondering. (No caps.)

I'm starting with this month copying everything over, but from there I'm going back to the beginning. 2001....

Wow.

Going back and reading the old stuff as I re-post it is interesting. For one thing, I posted more like once a week for a couple of years before I got anal (which makes copying over much easier.) For another, its just interesting to look at where I was then compared to now. In the thick of the neopagan Circle and Trad I ran, dealing with all sorts of group-oriented dramas, living in that large 4000+ square foot house with my mother and sister (as I had made plans to accommodate them as age and ill-health took its toll, trying to be "the good daughter.")

I still thought I was going to be able to have children, not foreseeing the ill-fortune that our sense of duty would bring us, sending us to Ohio to "do right" by Gerick's ailing father. This was before all that, when I thought life in my 30s would be much more promising than it turned out to be.

Anyway, it'll be easier to go to that site and go back and read old entries of mine than sifting through all the LJ stuff, at least to start, should you be so inclined. I'm also thinking I'll be adding little comments where I look back on some of those incidents and thoughts here and there.

Its been a while since I've discussed the Enneagram on my blog. Its still a constant part of my life, though-- and I refer to its knowledge and philosophy while working out the whys of human behavior in day to day life.

As a Type 4, I've long taken notice of the ups and downs of 4 idiosyncrasies. One thing I've often taken issue with in descriptions of Type 4s is the whole "ENVY as primary sin" part. I've certainly wasted much of my life longing for aspects and states of being that seem well out of my reach. My fantasies are so much more enriched than my real life-- there are various characters and circumstances in which opportunities to explore relationships and personal expression are obviously much more expanded! 4s drench themselves in fantasy to the point their pretend lives are almost more real to them than reality-- which isn't to say they're crazy. They well know one from the other-- they just prefer the other most of the time. It can be a real source of inspiration-- or the worst time waster of a mentally self-spoiled hedonist.

The way I hear it, most people's fantasies are quick things that come and go. Wish-fulfillment or fear-practice ("if THIS scary thing happens, I'll do THIS to meet it") type scenarios. Perhaps an actual story will be made up-- maybe a better version of real life, just with more money/love/fame or something. But 4s have very complex alternate lives with repeat characters (who resemble no one in real life) and often much angst and suffering, with happiness hard to find but precious when found. Its embarrassing to admit to people, but uh--- yeah.

My love for these alternate storylines of life are what I've considered my own envy issue. I envy the characters I make up and toss in to the stories I come up with because their lives seem to have meaning and romance, adventure and divine inspiration. There is a purpose to such lives-- when I am the goddess who proscribes them! OF COURSE there's always an answer to the question "Why?" Whereas my life is a confusing blend of unanswered mysteries enmeshed in mundane reality-- and somehow I never get any satisfaction on either front: the weird stuff has no answer, and the mundane stuff keeps plodding along like it always has. I envy the people in my private universes for having me as their god! LOL! I don't just throw shit together, shrug, and walk away like our God apparently does! =^)

However, in general I don't envy "real life" people much. Everyone is either flawed or lives in flawed circumstances, or both! I respect most people, but I admire almost no one's life. Sounds horrible I suppose, but in my personal life, there are few heroes or heroines I come into contact with. The vast majority lack too much of something for me to wish I had what they have: if they're rich, they might lack creativity or compassion, the nice people might lack intelligence, the creative people might lack ambition, the intelligent people might lack wealth, and anyone with anything can yet lack beauty, health, grace, courage, honor, fortitude, etc.! My point is not that I think I'm the cat's meow, its that it seems like most people are a mixture of strengths and weaknesses same as me, so what is there to envy!? Most people have qualities that bring in me, if I bother to notice at all, a mixture of pity and envy, and of respect and compassion.

This attitude I hold means I don't really "get" the whole competing for status thing. Everyone I meet who seems so hung up on it are so obviously trying too hard that I'm embarrassed for them and pity them almost automatically, even if I wish I had some of their access to adventure or opportunities to meet interesting people. The idea that having more stuff makes you a more admirable person has never made sense to me. Nor the idea of fame. Most of those who have the qualities I truly admire-- human qualities quite aside from money, fame, and status, live modest lives and touch too few to be much noticed. I treasure each and every one of them in my sphere-- but they all struggle with issues, too, just as I do. How can I envy their personal set of ups and downs as opposed to my own? It seems silly.

So the envy issue--? I have a weird take on it myself, having a hard time feeling it for any one REAL. There are ideals in my head of course. Wishes and "wouldn't-it-be-great-ifs". But they just don't translate well into the world in which I actually exist!

I know many 4s, and yes-- they all have very rich inner lives. I talk to several of them on Facebook and over the phone quite regularly. Yet I have not paid enough attention to the "envy" problem we have-- likely because I don't think of it in those terms nowadays. But today, talking to a Type 4 friend who was sharing her biggest source of sorrow, I found that very issue hitting me like a ton of bricks. My friend was feeling INADEQUATE and hating herself for not being more beautiful, more intelligent, more humorous, more creative, etc. She is drawn to very talented and gifted people. People 'above normal' intelligence and playfulness. And sometimes she can't keep up or at least can't compete on their level-- which is what she expects of herself in all times and all situations ideally-- no matter how unrealistic that is.

I've heard her bring up this type of thing every time she's depressed in this existential way. She starts to hate herself for not being the way she feels she ought to be. And I realized: that's envy! She wants other people's qualities for herself, and feels as if not having them is actually unbearable. Of course, she has qualities other people envy-- she's a very talented artist, and is unafraid to pursue her passions, and she's bright and fun and kind. But she discounts these qualities as having less value because she already has them, its the qualities she wants more of that are truly prized.

And it came back to me... when I felt that way. When I looked at the world and people as parts and pieces of things I wanted and couldn't have, and hated myself for not having them. (I didn't hate people who had what I had, but rather myself for not having them? I think that's backward of how it usually goes!) Its been a very long time since I've felt that way, but it was a strong part of my personality in my teens for sure. I pushed myself to get over that, however, because that very attitude made me absolutely miserable, and I knew I was the one bringing that misery to myself. Which was unacceptable-- because I have enough problems as it is without being my own worst enemy on top of it!

So I lost my envy of all things in the real world, and retained only a fraction reserved for fantasies made up in my own mind. Now when I face it in others, I am both confused and bemused-- because sometimes I forget about when I was like that, too. Looking over it all again now, I am grateful I lost this 'sin' for the most part while still young. It is a terrible way to waste your energy, always wanting what you can never have-- and forgetting to appreciate what you do.

Sometimes devotion to a realistic worldview can save your spirit. Everyone in the real world is a mixture of suckage and win, deal with it and move on I say. There's enough suffering in your own life without burdening yourself in expectations of perfection.

Do I use it all up after a long, hard think? Maybe.

One day I'm full of words. Words dancing and jumping and rolling around having a party in my head. I can't get to anything else until I tap on my keyboard, open the doors, and let 'em all come out to be read.

And then-?

I get a space of silence. A little peaceful non-word time just for a little while. I find myself drawn towards less cerebral pursuits: gardening, dancing, playing video games with bunnies that boogie (oh my gawd, that's a stupid, addictive game)...

Not to worry.

The party of words will return, and soon. Can't help it. Left brain likes to talk to herself. The only way to shut her up is to write my way back to inner quietude yet again, and then again, over and over in an never-ending cycle.

I'm okay with that.

=^)

I got a book, And the Wolves Howled, that I thought would be an interesting 'alternative view' biography sort of thing, about a woman in Sweden who believes she was Anne Frank in a past life. Her relatives remember her talking about it when she was very young, and then not again until she was much older after finding herself the object of personal vendettas in the Mounted Police and at a riding club in Sweden in the early 90s. I ended up disgruntled, but not about the reincarnation thing (its reality is not controversial to me, for one thing) but rather the ugly truths that get dumped out in the telling of the tale of this woman's life.

(Yes, for my birthday, I bought a bunch of tomes, and now am lavishly wallowing in published hardcopy real-paper words, words, words... So, naturally, I am reacting to everything and spewing the results out here. You're welcome.)

                       

Everyone knows who Anne Frank is. Reading her diaries as a child was one of my inspirations for starting my own journals at the age of 8 that have become a part of my lifestyle for life. (Another inspiration was far less glamorous: Harriet the Spy. LOVED that book.)

The woman in question, who may or may not be the same soul in a new body, is one Barbro Karlen. And I couldn't find pictures of her younger on the internet, but yes, as a child and teenager, she looked like a more Scandanavian version of Anne Frank. Just-- well, there's no way of getting around saying it-- prettier. But the eyes and other details are hauntingly similar. Doesn't prove anything, of course, but makes for some provocative thinking. The book I bought had plenty of photos, though, and the resemblance is indeed uncanny.

Barbro Karlen wrote both poetry and prose as a child and teenager that got recognized early when a family friend found some examples of her writing during a visit (and no, the public at large knew nothing of her memories of being Anne Frank, for her family understandably encouraged secrecy.) She became famous in Sweden and parts of northern Europe as a literary child prodigy. Easily 10 books got published between the time she was 12 and 20, and she was relentlessly pursued by the media. She loved writing, but hated the attention, as she tended to be friendly, but preferred animals and solitude to lots of socializing.

I read some English translated excerpts, and though language changes the 'voice' of the author somewhat, I can see why her writing was so cherished back in the 70s in Sweden, given the cultural explorations of the era. Her favorite topics to write about were the beauty of nature, personal spirituality, and defiance in the face of evil. She was oddly 'wise' in her insights and that combined with her very articulate expression proved irresistible to the Swedish public. There's a sort of fluid truthfulness that's hard to find in most contemporary writing that I liked. Sophisticated ideas laid out simply and matter-of-factly with a frank confidence lacking arrogance you wouldn't expect in one so young that lends her early writing an unmistakable charm, I guess you'd say...

Her unprecedented success was met with acrimony and envy at school, though-- except by people who tried to use her to get famous themselves. The more attention she got in the media, the more hostility she faced in day to day life. She found it bewildering and upsetting for people to take her success as a personal affront. The backlash only increased with each successive publication.

To escape the limelight, she literally took her book earnings to buy a small cottage in the woods at age 16 (by herself!) to run away from it all. She continued her writing alone and kept pets and farm animals for a few years, changing her name and basically waiting for the media to forget her before emerging once more to pursue training for police work. She loved horses and rode all her life, so she entered the Mounted Patrol Unit as soon as she was able. One of the first 3 women in all of Sweden to join the Mounted Police.

Then her memoir turns dark once more, as she ran into a couple of individuals who (not even knowing of her past success) seemed intent upon destroying her career, and later made attempts upon her life. Her affront this time-? Being a woman in what had formerly been an all-male segment of the police force in Sweden. Worse-- a woman who said no to sex to a man on the force who tried to corner her and rape her one day. (And no, she didn't report it-- most women back then didn't report attempts made by male superiors at work- especially if the man didn't succeed.) She kept trying different ways to work it out or get help, but the bully of a man who tormented her and harassed nearly everyone else in their division into joining him was undaunted, and as the years passed-- even after she quit her work as a policewoman, he continued to try to destroy her life. It was so ridiculous, that people who DID realize what was going on and took her side could only wonder at the man who was so pathologically obsessed.

This part of the book was really hard to read. I kept getting angry on her behalf and then frustrated that she didn't realize what was coming sooner-- but then I realized that the only way for me to know that is because I've had to deal with enemies enough that by now I've learned a little something myself!

After attempts were made on her life (sabotaging her car or her horse or her horse's saddle) and she became afraid and depressed (once all her anger proved impotent) she began to have vivid nightmares about Anne Frank's last months of life. Some of the dreams revolved around a sadistic Nazi officer who took great pleasure in tormenting his prisoners that she recognized as the man who relentlessly hated her this time around. She knew where his hatred came from, but not why he couldn't let go of it.

Eventually, she got enough witnesses and evidence to pursue legal action (for her current life, mind!)-- and began to write again after many years away from it. Once she started writing her nightmares of Anne Frank changed, and she began having dreams and spontaneous memories of happier times. The book ends before you really know what the outcome of her troubles will be, but from an internet search, it seems she won recognition of others' wrongdoing in court, and allegations against her were proven false.

               

As dissatisfying as that lack of ending was, it was the reminders of how awful people can be that bothered me while reading it. The early hostility she faced for doing something well due entirely to envy, and then later not being listened to, taken seriously, or allowed to behave normally due to sexism by bad people and cowardice by most who witnessed her being bullied.

I did like the subtle point she made as far as what it would mean if she was Anne Frank in a past life, though: the fact that she was born again proved that no evil could destroy a human soul. In so many gracious words, she said, "Suck it, fuck-tards!"  Also, racism, sexism, and all the other 'isms' don't make much sense if souls are born into bodies of different races, sexes, religions, regions of the world, and so forth (and though she doesn't mention studies, I know research has confirmed this.) How much hatred could be swept away if people only knew the truth of our souls? How might we treat our natural world if we knew we ourselves were coming back to live here?

I haven't faced anything near as extreme as Karlen. However, reading about the unfair attitude of some people towards her still served to remind me of all the times I wailed at the sky because I couldn't understand why people were attacking me and my reputation. In some cases, I knew it was a form of envy-- and though I have some enviable traits perhaps, there is plenty in me that is so screwy, stupid, and just plain fucked up that one would think to envy me would be silly. Hello!? Most of my youth I was POOR, SICK, UNLUCKY, BULLIED and NEGLECTED. Not to mention-- WEIRD. Yeah, people, go get you some of that!

Other times, I was outright feared on some strange, deep level-- and whenever I figured out that some people really thought I was a genuine threat I was flabbergasted. Hello!? Not enough money, energy, and assistance to go after someone even had I the desire, which wasn't as often as anyone ever thought. At most, I'd send a scathing letter that bore to the heart of what I found wrong with the entire situation in question. Oooo-- scary! Run away! Run away!

But it has been a running theme in my life. My blood family, some of my in-laws and step-in-laws, former friends that turned on me... 

I am not a person who is competitive on a personal level. I don't think who dies with the most toys (or fame, or status) wins. I spend most of my time either pursuing information, thinking about things and then writing about it, or making up fantasy stories in imaginary worlds of my own making purely for my own amusement. I don't revolve my life around other people enough to try to get the best of anyone, so when I'm accused of such things-- or worse, told I am hated because I am too smart or too outspoken or too defiant of convention or too religiously independent or whatever-- I confess I just don't get it and probably never will. People who hold these attitudes are utterly alien to me.

I make mistakes, but I never intend to hurt anyone (other than the very rare 'poison pen letter' when severely provoked, and that was mostly in my youth.) I don't help people to get something out of it other than the satisfaction of being helpful. I don't scheme and connive. I don't think I'm better than everyone else. The only reason to hate me is if the other person has a seriously fucked up problem themselves. I have my issues, but the fundamentals of decency I think I have pretty licked. Hmm. Maybe I do think I'm better than a lot of people at that! =^D

Others' envy of me (no matter how befuddled I am to discover such a thing, because-- HELLO!?) is often where much animosity towards me comes from. Not being able to enjoy another person's success or quality attributes and just being all bitter because you want what they have (or WHO-- with jealousy) seems to be all too common.

And so is sexism, even today.

I don't think about it often-- for circumstances have improved so much over the the last century its almost mind-boggling. Yet, there are lingering, often subconscious, attitudes held by both men and women. There is a great bias against intelligence, especially exploratory intelligence (as opposed to just speed memory recitation, which is great for parlor tricks) already, as only looks and athleticism are socially acceptable ways to be considered naturally superior, and acknowledging that some are more clever really chafes a lot of people. But this mindset is especially pronounced when a woman dares to be openly intelligent. Of course plenty of people (including other smart women-- ladies you know who you are!) appreciate this quality, but some of you might be shocked how many people have just hated me because of it. When you get into the lower socioeconomic classes, its much worse; and lucky me, this is the society I've mostly interacted with during my life.

Or-- at the other extreme, there are those who preferred to pretend I wasn't intelligent at all, therefore my ideas didn't matter, and whose authority (even when legitimized in various, official ways) could be ignored. I don't think I find anything more frustrating, even undeserved hatred. There are different, unspoken rules for men and women speaking-- anachronisms from an earlier, commonly-acknowledged-as-retarded time by everyone but old white men and their ass-sucking toadies. But the earlier influence lingers on, like looming shadows in a bright room.

Issues of envy and lingering sexism have caused more emotional pain and struggle in my life than even simple, rampant bias against me for being "wrong" religiously or politically, or even for just not being normal enough and rightfully "unworthy of notice."

How tiresome I am, bringing everything back around to ME in these rambling posts! But such is the nature of journal writing. I read something that sets my back up and look what happens!