I M Perfect lady

Tag: brainwashing

  • Art

    The contrasts in life are incredible and their depths unimaginable, the reach between them are so they do not touch nor do they brush up against each other, two drastically different worlds, yet on the same planet living and breathing in the same time frame.

     

    I had a short Artist Date followed by a conversation reporting more abuse in the FALC’s congregation; more horror of insidious acts perpetrated against children by highly regarded church members.  Tales whose reflection echoes my parents…and a friend’s suicide explained 25 years after it happened.  Swinging from Art to Horror within minutes.

     

    The Artist within me, just moments before had feasted upon colors and fabulously soft textures, from the curly silken softness of alpaca wool to real silk spun by a worm and then dyed by Artist’s hands…my spirit was alive and alert to new things dreaming of how they can be used in an upcoming project…visions of color and me.  I then was plunged into the harsh stark reality of abuse and its long term affects, my Artist disappears and my abused self arises, listening to the details of evil.

     

    The contrast of embracing and working with my Artist self while healing from sexual abuse as well as unhinging myself from a brainwashed mind is equally on the far ends of the spectrum, yet closely related.

     

    It almost seems like my artist self was hijacked by abuse and that religion; so in order to become my most artful self, I have to fully understand from whence I came.

     

    The horror stories of childhood abuse, and how it affected the life afterwards is horrific, but equally is the ‘normal’ presentation of the perpetrators and their warm reception by the folks of the church, it seems more profound.

     

    I told my brother I had more respect for the Klu Klux Klan folks for their agenda was front and center.

     

    Whereas the hierarchy of the church sells an agenda of high morals and values, setting limits on the evils of the world and how their congregations are made to adhere to rules forbidding pretty harmless sins.

     

    Watching of Television, to watching a movie, to nail polish, hair coloring, yet while the circles of abuse grow ever widening, while more and more children are born into the centers of crime, this seems violently insane.

     

    Sexual predators sit on the board and behind the pulpit, and false evils are handed out, while behind the scenes, children face the repressed darkness, alone.

     

    The singing in the pews can never be loud enough or sweet enough to heal the children who have been raped repeatedly, whose brainwashed state leaves them helpless for alternatives, who some find release in suicide or drugs and alcohol.

     

    The face of the church that is presented to the public is like the white sheet the Klu Klux Klan hid behind…  We are all fooled that the sheet is the man/woman instead of what lies behind.

     

    What lies behind is the pile of sins, the unhealed wounds of their own childhood, the eroded brain from too much washing, the unreality of life…who needs the trappings of the church in order to hide.

     

    I have often wondered of the deep-rooted fear that many struggle with about leaving the church, and I may have figured it out.  It isn’t the fear of going to Hell that keeps them there, but the covering of the sheet.

     

    They are too afraid to stand alone outside of the pews of the church.

     

    They need the covering of religion offers.

     

    They need the pretty faces of singing voices.

     

    They need it all to cover up what lies beneath.

     

    And what lies beneath un-addressed is the monster that continues to rape children and do extremely horrific deeds.  And this sheet, they believe, has the magic to bless it all away, that they can literally hid behind its whiteness.

     

    Sadly, it is true.

     

    For no one speaks of the filth underneath, nor do they address it, and haul it into the court of the land.  There are a few lonely voices trying to speak of above the hymns they sing so loudly as to not hear the cries…

     

    I do not know what it will take before their sheets fall once and for all, when the children unite and yank them off, when this vicious insanity will stop. 

     

    I get so incensed with the idea that this is called a ‘church’.

     

    It is the devils playground where children’s lives are sacrificed, where pedophiles reign supreme, and the brainwashed walk their narrow path, unquestioning, unchallenging, and unseeing to their final destination Heaven, to afraid of Hell to stop.  Yet no one tells them they are in Hell.

     

    The swing from Art to the harsh reality of sexual abuse hidden behind the white church…shows the distance I traveled, the valley of death that I traversed to be able to stand and ponder, Art.

     

     

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    Art is the complete opposite of that Hell.
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    The soul recognizes its worth in the wonder of Art.

     

  • In Peace I walked Free!

    After my last post about the Civil War in abusive homes, I had to look up the meaning of Civil to see what it means to be in a Civil war.

    Civil -polite: polite, but in a way that is cold and formal.
    And then I looked up the combination of the two words, Civil War,

    Civil War – is a war between organized groups within the same nation state or republic or, less commonly, between two countries created from a formerly-united nation.

    The formerly united family is now at war with themselves, brothers against brothers, sisters against sister, children against parents for some of the blind can now see, some of the brainwashed are beginning to think on their own, an awakening is happening, and this causes a war within a war.

    I don’t want to leave the feelings that in this Civil War no peace is found, for it is. Peace is found in no longer remaining silent. Power is replacing the forced politeness…children are rising up and finding their true self, they feel the stirrings of their Spirit.

    They are finding their unused voices, speaking forbidden words and names, identifying the enemy and no longer remaining civil – polite cold and formal.

    They will become warm and informal, perhaps become unconventional and different, they will be marching to their own drums, hearing their own music for the very first time.
    Hearing the stirrings of inner freedom and expression, of passion and of self-awareness, they will fight now to be free from being held prisoner to another.

    This civil war will end for the lucky ones, for the ones who can find the thread of their soul, the inner knowing that their very aliveness depends on them leaving the family, that if they stay they may as well die.

    There wasn’t a moment of hesitation when I left my family, there wasn’t a drop of doubt, for to the depth of my being, I knew I had been one of the living dead and staying there aware would be to be buried alive, for now I knew I was alive but dead.

    What I had found that day back in December of 2004, was a dead me. A me that had no me in it. A me that was full of the definitions from my parents, the beliefs and thoughts of my religion, but there wasn’t but a speck of me there.
    Not a part of me that defined by me, just me.

    I was a body being used by my family and a religion, but I wasn’t alive and now I was aware of it. And once I knew, I could no longer not know. And when you know you are then awake of how asleep you have been.

    And when you are awake, you see the civil war you lived in.

    Imagine being in a war but unaware you are at war. Or even aware that you are scarred and lame due to the battles you unsuccessfully fought.

    A civil war refugee that finds its imperfect self is on the path to perfection.
    “Coming from whence you came…” you should act, be and walk and talk like the walking wounded.

    You are the perfect representation of an abused child. You are the signpost or the poster child for abuse. You have displayed yourself perfectly, the perfectly abused.
    Perfectly abused people act perfectly abused. When you are aware of how abused you are, you can then begin to heal.

    Denying your brokenness is denying your self.

    I found myself in a completely broken state and complete freedom arose, for I no longer had to strive for perfection instead I embraced my imperfections and found them to be perfectly me.

    In agreement with my history I found peace…and the freedom to be myself.

    To walk my walk.

    To talk my talk.

    To be a me I had yet to be.

    An individual, a free spirit, with a clear mind no longer washed by others, in peace I walked free.

    Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose!

  • A good NO.

    There are two small words that I feel are crucial to every relationship and most important to the one between you and you, and they are Yes and No.

    If you haven’t found the inner power to use these words freely, than you are at risk of being abused or most likely have been.

    I think back on the terrible twos my kids went through, and mostly what they were doing was activating their power to use these words and most parents are not happy about this, this opposing powerhouse in a tiny body.

    I do believe that we come with the natural ability to say yes and say no, to speak of our feelings, but during our ‘upbringing’ they are slowly eroded away.

    We are much easier to handle without this freedom.

    In fact I believe my childhood religion thrived on stealing away most of my power, which was the perfect partner for abuse, I had been removed of my tools to fight the enemy.

    When I see very submissive children being so obedient, I shudder now, for I see them being helpless and easy targets.

    My children came with much self -knowledge and I wasn’t able to remove all of it and it is unimaginable what we call raising; for it seems it is more like erasing.

    Erasing their natural abilities to survive in this world.

    I had mentioned to my brother that we would have been better off being raised by wolves, he laughed but then agreed.

    I would raise my children completely different if I had the chance, and perhaps I have been able to reset their buttons in the past six years as I reset my own.

    In fact I believe if we all sat back and followed a child, we could relearn how to be a full and happy adult.

    Who we grow up to be begins in childhood, and in order to change who we are now, we have to head back and see what rules we were taught and what things inside of us were squelched due to the fear of reprisals from our parents and or church.

    We have to learn how to say yes and for stand solid in the word no, become a stubborn two- year old!

    We need to reclaim our freedom that was stolen in our terrible twos!

    I love that we can begin to act like a two- year old and find our power, but how cool, we are two- year olds who are the head of the house and can drive…I say No parents allowed!

    It is time we reclaim our lives, our yes and our no.

    I am not sure, but I feel depression is when we lose the power inside, when we are stuck powerless, without a choice. And brainwashing has to be removing the flexibility to say yes or no that is against what the other wants.

    They brainwash away the free will to say yes or say no…

    These two little words and your freedom to use them will set your free and you will begin to see life as a child full of wonder and delight, for you have the power to steer clear of what you don’t like.

    There is nothing like the power of a good NO.

    Again, as Bryon Katie says, “Saying no to you is a yes to me!”

  • By each Choice we Make.

    Did you know that brainwashing is when you no longer have the option of choice?

    I witnessed my daughter lose her power of choice.

    She didn’t even know she gave up her choices while she attended only one option.

    The one option became the most important, she was willing to lie to protect that option, she was willing to give up her self for that one option, she lost her self by focusing on one choice.

    It soon had control of her and not her of choice.

    This secret life, the clandestine meetings, the specialness of feeling that only the two of them knew, created the one option.

    This one option wasn’t to be shared.

    It was separated from the world.

    It was ‘special’.

    She lost her other choices for none of them were allowed in the ‘special’ spot.

    The special spot and the man who occupied this site began changing her to fit his spot.

    She had to change to play there.

    She couldn’t bring him into her life; she could only go to his.

    This ‘special man’ didn’t fit into her old life; she had to create a new self to fit in his.

    In doing so, she lost the options.

    She lost the freedom, the flowing back and forth between two lives unchanged.

    She had to become different in both worlds.

    In his world, they had to be quiet, keep it secret, don’t let anyone know what it was they were doing, it was the key that turned the lock.

    This twisted sense of special steals away the person you are and you leave your old life and self behind to fit into this new picture, unknowingly.

    You leave yourself bit by bit by bit, until you are fashioned into this new self and the path back to your old self goes dark.

    What my husband and I had to do was let her make choices, to unlock the frozen part in her brain.

    While his key is secret, our key is freedom.

    He had taken away the choices we gave them all back.

    We had to do the opposite of what had led her down this road.

    She gets to make choices.

    We won’t tell her what to do.

    We open up the space for freedom.

    I share my views.

    I show her how I see things.

    I allow her to see them her way.

    What I love is that we remain our selves and that alone will lead her back to her self.

    She left us to play in a secret land we did not leave her.

    So she gets to decide, does she want to play in the secret land or play in our land.

    Does she want to be the person she needs to be to be ‘special’ with him or does she want to be her old self.

    The freedom we allowed was the key that set her free to begin to once again make choices.

    Choices, they seem so obvious so simple so easy, and yet that is what the perpetrator seizes first.

    You are not given an option to do it any other way.

    Their option is the only one that will keep this relationship going.

    You have no choice but to go along.

    And sadly, usually by this time you have become friends, you have given trusts and faith and love to the individual, and in order to maintain this ‘special’ relationship, IT depends upon your silence.

    Your silence and his creates a cocoon that separates you from your self and the world around you.

    You live in this upside down and backwards ‘other’ land.

    You have to change to fit in there and the changes are so noticeable in your old life.

    You have to lie to leave your old life to go to his.

    You have to lie to your self and overlook how it makes you feel in your old life.

    You come alive in his and die in your own.

    What a tragedy.

    The greatest thing we did was to give her back her choices.
    To allow her to choose what path she wants to strengthen and which one she wants to weaken.

    Her brainwashing was in a very short time and she didn’t play in the secret land too long.

    The longer you are there, the more ingrained the false self gets and the further away the road that leads you back.

    But as far as I can tell, by my experience, is that when I gave myself the option of choice, I was free.

    Free to begin, choice-by-choice, bit-by-bit to recapture life for me.

    The freedom in allowing all in our home to be free is the key that makes this a non-brainwashing home.

    A home of choices, you get to decide which ones you want to make, but make no mistake, each and every choice comes with a consequence, and it is up to you which consequence you choose.

    We create a life and self by each choice we make.

  • Life of Freedom

    The leader of my childhood religion will be laid to rest today, yet his teachings will live on within many of his devote followers.

     

    His word and guidance led my mother’s life, which in turn greatly influenced mine. 

     

    Born into this religion, it was what I was raised upon. Like food for the body, this controlled my mind.

     

    What is unreal to me is that I didn’t know that my mind was controlled until after I left the church, for while I was there; insanely I felt this was my choice.

     

    It is not a choice if you are not given an alternative.

     

    Inside the walls of this religion you hand over your mind and your body. 

     

    It owns them both, like a robot you then march forward. 

     

    A good Christian soldier mindlessly unquestionably and in Faith walks on, blindly following where the preacher leads.

     

    Your inner guide is replaced by the spoken word in church.

     

    This spoken word from the preacher overrides all individual choice, and in fact individual choice is seen as the devils urgings.

     

    The only way this system works is that a child is born into it, before it has power of Self, it is programmed and brainwashed into believing the message of the church. 

     

    The children are the seeds of the next generation.

     

    It isn’t so much the elders of the church that keep this system going, but rather the children which are crafted into little Christian soldiers before their minds ever know a free thought.

     

    Bending and twisting the free spirit into a controlling mindless Being is the only way this insane religion will work.

     

    No one in their right minds will hand over their body, their mind and surely not their soul.

     

    Oddly enough, the preacher man believes he is saving souls and perhaps he is, saving them for his own good. 

     

    They are giving up their lives for the cause.

    The sheer volume of children that are born into this religion boggles the mind.

     

    I had thought that the children were the residual affects of the sin called “No Birth Control.”

     

    But it is more insidious than that; it is where the power comes from, it is how the army continues to grow from inside the walls.

     

    Being born into captivity the little children seldom escape to live a free life.  For inside the cage lives their parents and family members. 

     

    In order to be free, you leave them all behind seemingly puppets on the preachers string.

     

    As many mourn his passing today, I will mourn the thousands of little children stuck inside the cages of their own minds, who may never know a life of freedom. 

     

     Outside the box 2