Thursday, July 1, 2010

Suffering in Humiliation - My Truth

I've been told that the reason I'm suffering is that I haven't told my truth to the world. I'm told that because I've held it in so long that I'm hurting myself inside and out. So, I must let it out and tell what my problem is so that I'm no longer holding it inside and hence killing myself.

I've been suffering for years because I didn’t want to cause anymore problems. This is the training I was given by the world in regards to "How to be a Man". They fooled me. Ha, ha. I'm not laughing.

Now, after years of searching and meditation, I've found out the whys but not the how’s, as in how to get over it. And what’s worse is that when I've finally reached the point of understanding and trying to make things better for myself and everyone in my life, it all takes a negative turn. Leaving me with nothing but pain and anger to deal with it all.
Since most people make up what they want and the lies are getting too deep for me to live with I have to tell my truth or risk never loving again or ending up dead. I've tried this before and failed to print it. I'll try again.
Early history; (Readers Digest Version)

I can't say that birth was remarkable other than the fact that later meditations helped me to remember the experience. Its unimportant to this story but has its place in the scheme of things (of course!). My Dad was an adventurer (and a pervert). My mother was a waitress and a spiritual seeker. I spent most of my early life on the road with my parents and sister. Moving from place to place. Being young and inexperienced my parents were easily influenced by their parents in ways of raising children. Which was old school Christian and (frankly) coldly authoritarian. My parents didn't like this and so ended up traveling alot. But when it came to family values they listened to their folks. So my sister and I were baptized in Connecticut and I was sent for circumcision at the age of one.

As a child I knew what was going to happen that day. don't ask me how. I just knew. I struggled with the doctor at the office. Even after I pleaded to my mother they chose to go forward with the affair despite my struggles.

I struggled too much and too hard and kicked the doctors hand during the procedure. The wound was monstrous. I required sedation so the doctor could make the stitches. The infections and scarring lasted for years.

Now, as an adult, I have serious sensitivity problems and a severed blood vessel that floats painfully under the skin. Sex, for me, is not an easy thing. It can be painful at times. And sometimes lasts too long. Corrective surgery costs in the tens of thousands of dollars.
Life was ever difficult then. Cleanings and dressings daily with baths and visits to the doctors. It healed but awkwardly with skin bridging and malformations. (I know. Gross) Sensitive and awkward some of my most powerful dreams came during this period. I dreamed of naked children and napalm. I dreamed of machines eating people and murderers walking among the innocents. I think much of this had to do with the pain of the event and the healing. I'm still not sure. But, the Vietnam War WAS in full swing at this time. I'm sure the aether was full of horror.

My father had real problems dealing with me and what he considered to be a disaster. I knew later that he resented me for what had happened and at some point wrote me off. He was never a kind man. Selfish to be sure. He was more interested in adventuring on motorcycles and getting laid with as many women as possible. Little did my mother or us children know he was molesting children as well during this time. According to what I found he was at it full swing for over twenty years. There were multitudes of victims.
After years of traveling my parents finally rented an apartment in Lynnwood, CA. Shortly after they rented a house overlooking the High School in El Segundo, CA. 318 East Maple St.

My father’s anger became more apparent at this time as he refused to spend time with what he considered to be an over sensitive, wounded son. Really, it was his in ability to handle this situation that was the problem. He simply turned away and didn't bother. At times he was just plain hostile to his family.

I found him in the bathroom one day with my sister (four years old). They were both naked. He was teller he something when I walked in. She had his manhood in her hands and his seed on her face. He yelled and slammed the door in my face then. I wondered what I had done wrong. Years later I understood.

Shortly afterwards, (I was four or five), while watching TV and standing next to my Dad's chair. He did the next awful thing that would torment me into my adult life. Trusting, as a child is, I couldn't know what was to come as he reached into my diaper. I must have thought it was a standard diaper check that was so common in those days. Instead it proved to be the worst violation.

Blinding pain to the point that reality turned to white. Later meditations revealed that a guardian spirit popped out at that point. I was wailing. My mother’s urgent inquiries only got "How should I know?" from Daddy-o. The guardian spirit was whispering something in his ear. "Pom poma po! Pom poma pom pom!"

Into the basement I ran to hide. In the corner I squatted trying to force the pain out. I would repeat this behavior for the remaining time we lived there when things got stressful or I felt like I had done something wrong. I always felt disgusted by my fathers presence. I learned why later in life while conducting a life review meditation.

My father’s molestations continued. Not only with my sister, but with my mother’s friends children, and with my mothers friends, and his friends children and wives.

My mother found out about the affairs but not the molestations. So, we moved out leaving him behind to play with his biker buddies.

Into East L.A. we went. To the house at the crook of the elbow next to the railroad yard and the Latino gangs of the seventies.

Reality took a turn for the worse here. The house was dark. Bums came over the wall bordering the railroad yard at night. My mother was terrified and bought a dog. The kids were a horror and stole almost everything we had that wasn't locked inside. I was beat up almost every day while walking to school. We had no money and my mother could find little work. We lived on beans and rice, Captain Crunch and not much else. I remember vividly my mother crying herself to sleep many nights. The old TV we had at the time would make this squiggly line across the screen and a sound like an everlasting zipper until we banged on the side of it. Sometimes at night I would come out into the living room and find my mother sleeping on the couch while the TV went on making this horrible sound, the line overlapped the test pattern.

Worse yet, Some of the baby sitters had taken to molesting my sister.

There was a dark room at the end of the hall in the house. My sisters and I were terrified of this room though we didn't know why. Even my mother said the room was too cold to sleep in.

One day, while in my own room and playing with toys, I began to have a conversation with a dark being or presence. The conversation was...mystifying. And centered upon my anger and horror over what had happened. It was then that a man came to our door and knocked. I never saw the man. But, I heard the conversation. Now, I see this event as a significant marker in my healing.

He said, "I must come in and talk to you about your son."
"Why? Who are you." was my mother’s startled reply.
"Who I am is insignificant. That I can help your son is what is important."
My mother was fearful and justifiably so. "Go away or I'll call the police." She screamed.
"Please! You must let me help him!" Yelled the man. "A beast has entered your child!"
"I'm calling the police!" She yelled from behind the closed door.

At that the man left. The police came later. No man was ever found.
“Good! We don’t need him!” said the voice from over my shoulder.
“Who are you?” My child’s mind queried?
“What do you mean “We”?

Eventually my mother could take no more. Three kids and no money to feed or cloth them. My Dad was somewhere near useless and never sent anything to help. So, my mother turned to her parents, and we were whisked away on a jet to the trailer parks of Oceanside, CA.

Alcohol, smoking, rich meals full of butter and fat, corduroy pants and striped shirts. Structure and school every day. Heavy discipline. Necessary. But way too much. My Grandmother and her husband, Paul, did not like us or the fact that we were now their problem. They were heavy handed as a result. So heavy handed that my Grandmother had stripped my little sister naked one night and beat her in the shower. All for not keeping her mouth shut at sleep time. She was five. She liked to talk. She still does.

Her screams were too much for me to take. Running into the bathroom I yelled at my Grandmother.
Top of my lungs, "You leave her alone!"
"Oh!?" She sneered at me. She had one hand clenching my sisters hair. The other raised for the next slap. "Do you want some too?"
Anger swept in. I advanced. "You let go of my sister right now!" I screamed at her.
She was startled. So much so that she let go of the terrified girl.
I was grabbed from behind. Paul, her husband, a huge man and a veteran of two wars had me by the collar. He threw me and my eight year old body against the wall.
"C'mere boy!" He reached for me.
Again screamed, "You leave my sister alone!!!"
I dodged and ran amok in the mobile home. He was too big to catch me. Shocked my grandmother wrapped my little sister in a towel and put her to bed. Eventually I let myself be caught and spanked, and put to bed myself. I slept with my sister then and comforted her to sleep. My anger had grown to a fury now. An unquenchable rage over the blind insanity of the world.

The living situation with my Grandmother didn't last forever. My mother returned to claim us and drove us away with what little money she had made. We were on the road again and moved from place to place. We lived in the beach cities for many years where there was some semblance of a normal upbringing. I remember the Redondo Beach Harbor and boogie boarding in Hermosa Beach. Hanging out on the strand and hustling for dealers. They paid me in quarters. How was I to know. The life guards were my best friends. There was hardly a fatherly influence at this time. We missed alot of school.

I remember my sister went to live with my Dad at one point. I was very upset. I knew he didn't like me or want me around. He still couldn't find a way to be the father I needed then. He was still molesting my sister and other girls at this time. I was very confused and often wandered the streets day and night alone. This went on for years.
Eventually we ended up in Cathedral, CA. Near Palm Springs and flat smack in the middle of the desert.

We had no money and my Mom worked as a waitress bringing home change and left overs. I was twelve. Puberty was setting in. I was getting more and more angry by the day.

I was shot one day. My Mom go me drunk to dull the pain while she dug the bullet out. The words coming out of my mouth underlined the anger living deep inside of me. My mother knew something was wrong for sure when I lied straight faced to her. She asked if I had been smoking pot. The year was 1978.
I ran away the next day. Into the desert with $13.78 I taken from my mother’s purse.

I didn't get far. The desert was huge. Far too big for a boy my age. I gave it my best shot but realized I wouldn't make it after the water ran out. I turned around and headed back as night fell. My mother found me walking along the road that night.
The next day we called my Dad. After careful conversations and pleading on my part, the decision was made to send us all north to the Bay Area to live with my Dad.

Our arrival upset my Dad's relation with the woman who was once my Mom's friend. he was heavily authoritarian and cold. Distant. Though at times he tried to be a nicer human being.

My sister couldn't handle it past the first year. The molestations had begun again. I found out the truth one night when my Mother and my Fathers girlfriend ripped him a new asshole on the front porch. Their daughters had found their voices and spoken to them of what had been going on for years.
My sister was removed from the house and went to live with my Mother.
I kind of fell into a shock then. Bordering on a type of catatonic state. I spoke little to anyone and removed myself to the woods on frequent basis. I think maybe I chose NOT to grow up at that point.

There was a counseling session. The doctor in attendance asked many questions about my sister and my Dad. When it came me I could only nod and say yes or no. I was terrified of my Father at this point. I still suffered fear of the beatings in the past. What’s more, I could scarcely comprehend that a human being could do these things to his own daughter let alone any other little girl.

I remained in a type of catatonia through Jr. High School and High School. My Father was still rough and hard though and never took time with me until I was older. Though I did wake up to a degree. I never pretended to know about or was interested in relations, sexual or social until well after graduation. The kids at my school hated me thoroughly and stole my year book on the last day of school.
My own sexual blossoming was fiercely private and filled with fear, loathing, an unspeakable loneliness and an inability to face or get involved in sexual/social relations. Primarily because I had realized that people used sex and emotions to hurt one another in unspeakable ways.

I had become withdrawn from the world of love and chose instead the solace of the woods and the inner landscape as my play ground. I became psychically strong and learned many things of the spirit in those woods. The wind would blow if I asked it to. I was never a masculine guy and learned that pleasure could be found in many masturbatory ways. But always in secret as I knew those things were not accepted and laughed at or scorned in the world. I graduated high school still very much a child and went off to work like everyone else in the growing computer industry.

I had sex at the age of 19 with a married woman who worked with me on the assembly line at a computer hard drive manufacturer. I had never dated anyone. She set off some chemical reaction in me that made me follow her. I'm glad she took the time. No one else ever did. Thanks Dee.

My Dad was never convicted.

He and my sister went to counseling. It was somehow agreed that putting him in jail would serve no one. No one ever asked about me or took the time to find out why I was like I was. Withdrawn from the world and sullen.

I managed to move out and be on my own at 18 after barely graduating. I had almost no money and couldn't for the life of me figure out how I would get through college without help. After great thought and consideration I decided I needed discipline and a means to an education. So I joined the military.
The Navy was my choice as I wanted travel and see the world. And travel I did. I reached deep into myself and found the archetypes I needed in the adventures I read as a youth. Conan, Strider (Lord of the Rings), John Carter on Mars. I became these men and took on the toughest and most dangerous jobs I could find. I made it through boot camp and found a way to express my anger in the cigarettes I smoked and the attitude I put on as a mask for the world. The books I read confused my instructors as they were anathema to military thought. So Stranger in a Strange Land was really strange to these people. The seals wanted me to join them. So much so that they harassed me throughout my time in training. I snubbed them. I wanted to travel. Not kill. So travel I did and worked on the flight deck of a man o war on the high seas. I didn't exactly fit in there. But made a name for myself in the exactitude and quickness of the work I performed. I was good at what I did and took pride in that.

I visited many foreign ports and had sex with many women (mostly prostitutes) and then only with those who looked like they were at least thirty.

By the time I exited the Navy I was much stronger than I had been as a youth. However, I had blocked almost all of my childhood from thought using alcohol. I continued to drink even after I left the military.

After returning to my home town (so to speak) I found a good job dispatching for AAA. I made good money and began to drink alot. There were women in my life. I had many good relationships. Not all ended badly. I had trouble developing close intimate relations with women and was troubled by the childhood I had blocked from memory. Also, I had deep issues with homosexuality and no understanding as to why.

I began to drink heavily. I became involved in a medieval recreation group and found an outlet for anger in full contact fighting and sleeping with as many women as I could get. But, those relations suffered deeply and my working life was deeply unsatisfactory. An auto accident changed my life from working class to poor in the period of about 6 months. I struggled to make a living and failed at college as there was no money to complete my education. I made A s all the time. Just had no money and the G.I. bill program screwed me out of my money. Depression hit after the second acid trip in my life and reality unraveled.
The first was when I was eighteen. I met Jesus then. He told me to turn back as my soul flew towards the edge of it all looking for way out. This time the information was different. There was something else that was calling to me. I followed it.

I got an old 53' Triumph form my Dad and fixed it up. It was a beast of a machine. Possessed. It nearly threw me the first time I got on. I began to go to parties and drink and ride. The bartenders all knew me in town. People were beginning to look at me like I was real problem. And I was. I was stuck and hurting and didn't know why. After the acid trip I began to search through books for meaning and answers. I studied consciousness theory and spiritual thought. Poetry and ancient fable. I filled my head with the best authors I could find. Slowly but surely I stopped drinking heavily. I spent most of my time in Cafe's drinking coffee and smoking alot. I was constantly broke and searching for work. But the revelations kept coming. And the deeper the rabbit hole went the more eager I was to find the bottom.

I found the bottom in a book called the Western Way, John and Caitlin Mathews. While reading about the secret commonwealth I learned that thoughts are not secret and there were others who knew this. That’s when I met the tribe. I hadn't even completed the realization and I saw a young dreadlocked momma gazing at me from across the cafe patio. My mind was blown and nothing would ever be the same.

I've done some editing. There are a few facts I've left out. That’s for the protection of the innocents in my life. There are people watching me whom I believe don't have my best interests or those of my family at heart. But, I digress.

I was led to a party and did what is called a 'hippy-flip' after being awake for nearly 36 hours. Consciousness fell into the deep subconscious thought and feeling which came forward to rule my mind and heart. Barriers and walls fell. I met and went home with the first man I had ever met in an intimate fashion. The age old question hanging in my thoughts. 'what makes a man hate another man?' and why?

All of my old friends had THEIR minds blown when they heard. People freaked out. Old girlfriends ran away. I received death threats. People who were once close flipped out and wouldn't talk to me anymore. Suddenly I was a pariah and my whole world came crashing down. I began going to new age raves and parties of a new sort. still completely unsure of who I was and what I was doing consciously I unconsciously followed my heart. One evening while tripping on shrooms I went to a gathering at a house of art and ran smack dab into the most beautiful woman I had ever met. And faltered under her gaze. Why? I felt low. No one and I do mean no one had ever helped me to realize MY SELF! or my good points. I never realized what an accomplishment I was and had never given MY SELF any credit. So, of course I faltered. And ran away. Much to her chagrin. She’s still pissed about it. I'll talk to her soon. But again, I digress. Back into all of it I went. Searching for answers in books and meditations. Suffering under the thought of those beautiful eyes that I only longed to speak truth to. I went searching and found instead Kali. The black and dark woman who nearly destroyed me. After three years of struggling I freed myself with the help of a Native American from the Lakota who led me to my first Peyote ceremony.

I learned a great deal there. I learned that fires can speak if one has ears to listen. And speak to me those flames did. Day in and day out I performed the chores of my new profession (care giving) for the elderly Native who showed me down the path of the Red Road. I learned about Sweat Lodges and Tee Pee set ups. Ceremonies and meal preparations. Prayers and humility. I can only Thank him for what he showed me and what I learned from that fire that night. All of my barriers were removed and memories came flooding back like a tidal wave. At first the thought of my rape and my families plight devastated me. Later I was thankful. I could stand up right again. I had seen myself and knew who I was. For the first time in my life I was whole again. I traveled to far away South Dakota and attended a Sun Dance.

While rumors of my sexual 'cowardice' spread throughout the rumor mill in the California Bay Area and in my home town, I was being blessed by Native American Elders in a ceremony as old as time. The forces of darkness are seldom idle. And by the time I had returned home I found that my name was ruined. I was being the called the guy who’s afraid of women (or afraid of sex).

They did a pretty thorough job too. Everyone believed it and no woman would approach me. Who would after hearing what they had said. Now after all of it I find that I don't want a man, or just any woman. I want the right woman. The one who’s strong enough to stand with me despite what I've been through. I want to be with that woman I met that night at the house of art. A Priestess of the highest caliber. And no one less will do. I am traveler13. And I have arrived.

1 comment:

  1. I want you to know That no matter what, You are and always will be my friend. What i care about and respect is that you are working through your personal issues. I am proud of you Steve. I truly mean that.

    John Bauer