I M Perfect lady

Tag: truth

  • Voice of my truth.

    Today I listened to the CD of The Voice of Knowledge, by Don Miguel Ruiz and Janet Mills.

    Here is how the book is described.

    "In this audio version of the fourth book in the popular series, don Miguel Ruiz reminds readers of a profound yet simple truth: The only way to end emotional suffering and restore joy in living is to stop believing in lies – mainly about ourselves."

    "Ruiz refers to the forbidden tree of knowledge, likening the abandonment of the true self to the fall from heaven. This fall, he says, occurred because of the loss of "the impeccability of the word," that simple yet potent prescription for countering the judgmental inner "Voice of Knowledge." Adhering to "the word" – saying only what one means, refusing to speak against one's self – allows anyone to quiet those inner tyrannical thoughts so that we can become aware of our Voice of Integrity. Knowledge then becomes an ally, and life becomes an expression of the authentic self."

    As I listened to him, I could see how my own life was based upon lies and how I had great faith in those lies and had little or no faith in my own truth and integrity.

    What this blog has been mostly about is re-discovering my truth and letting go of lies.

    I have tried my level best to rid myself of inauthentic parts of me, the beliefs that kept me from my own love, peace and joy…and in doing so I oftentimes uncovered lies that many don’t want displayed openly. My truth-seeking mission has upset many an apple cart for me, but it seems it has little affect on others unless they are ready to receive the truth…if they are not ready, the truth will slip on by…and their cart of lies will remain steady.

    I am not here to upset your cart of apples, but rather to find the rotten parts of myself, my lies.  Sometimes my lies and your lies match and at others you will not agree…that is okay, I am here only to seek my own truth.  Each of  you will find yours in your own time. This is my journey towards truth in my life.

    It was just great to listen to him speak about the conflict of lies and truth we all have within, and how in some the truth voice is louder than the lies.

    If you have never questioned your mind, or explored how you came to believe this or that, your lies remain unchallenged…or your truth unearthed.  Your lie voice may be louder for it has had free reign.

    I had buried so many truths, so much hurt I piled into a hole not to be touched, emotions shoved aside, etc…all to be more comfortable I lived lies.  My lie voice liked it that way.

    We think lies are bold and in your face, but they are not.

    Mostly what I think is truth comes in and we push it away, not wanting to deal, to see or feel.

    So we lie.  We lie to ourselves and say everything is okay.

    I only stopped lying to myself when all my lies came home to roost at one time.  There was an avalanche that I couldn’t stop…all my lies lay at my feet exposed for the traitors they were.  Their powerful deceit was bigger than any lie I could conjure up.. to cover them all up again. It had grown too huge.  My lie voice died and my weak truthful voice started to speak.

    It gained power with each truth I told. 

    I am wondering if there is a room where lies go and will it explode on everyone at one time or another? 

    When my life of lies exploded I was left with my soul eyes.  My body seemed to have eyes in feelings; intuitively I sorted out my life…I began speaking from deep inside, paying little heed to the outside disputes.

    While it seemed like the worst day of my life, it was actually the first day of the rest of my voice of integrity life.  A life without lies.  

    No more lies. 

    Not to me and not to you.

    Not to make you feel better or more at peace for your comfort or for your ease.

    No more lies to my self.

    For I lost myself behind a sea of lies…and it took me years to unhook myself from the beliefs and faith I had in these lies. 

    My voice is the voice of my truth. 

     

  • My eyes are on Healing

    Yesterday as I listened to Oprah speak of how her Audience over the years allowed and cheered her to be her authentic self, it also enabled her to inspire us to be more ourselves. As she opened up and shared her life with us, we also opened up and shared ours.

    There is this open swinging space that if you stand in your truth, those around you will do the same…and it works the opposite too, if you hide, they hide.

    She spoke of how she learned from sexual abusers about the grooming process and how they lure you into trusting them…and she realized, “It wasn’t my fault.” 

    This wisdom she passed on.  Her one regret was that she wasn’t able to shine a big enough light upon sexual abuse, but that she did what she could over the years. 

    I am thinking we can each take on this task.

    On a much smaller scale the blogs are doing the same…we are trying to shine a light of truth upon an issue that has affected our lives deeply and we know is still going on. 

    Just like her, we are using our voices the best way we can.

    We are sharing our truths, our pain, our abuse, and we are sharing what we discovered, what we learned and how we see things.  

    As more blogs come forth and more people begin the dialogue, change will happen.  Minds will open; questions will be asked…the tides will turn. 

    We will go from hiding skeletons to displaying our family wounds in order to heal.  Hiding isn’t healing.

    The difference it has made to have one other family come out and share their truths is huge.  Its impact will be felt far and wide…the ripple affects will reach places we can’t even begin to imagine. 

    To not be the only family speaking out…means we are not alone. 

    I know the cost of speaking your truth and I know its rewards…and more importantly, I know the cost of silence.

    Martha Beck writes about Heroes and Fear in Oprah’s Magazine this month.

    “Heroes aren’t free from fear; they’re just so focused on a worthy goal that they feel they can’t turn back.  Most of humankind’s great achievements – the sorts of things that make us say, “Oh, Wow!” – were accomplished by people who were muttering, “OH Shit!”  Heroes don’t feel special, just dogged.  They walk their scary paths with shaky knees and trembling hands. One shaky step at a time.”

    Jim is a Hero!

    Carl is a Hero!

    Judy and Erin…Heroines!

    Here is another part of her fear article that I like.

    “When you shoot,” my friend Jim, a hockey player, once told me, “you never want to look at the goalie. Look at the space around him. Where your eyes go, the puck goes.”  A white water kayaker warned me, “Look at the water, not the rocks. Where your eyes go, the boat goes.”  My riding instructor shouted, “Look where you want to go, not where you don’t.  Where the eyes go, the horse goes.”

    “Got it?  Where your attention goes, our lives go. As you take each step, be peripherally aware of the dangers, but glue your attention to the path between them.”

    I love Martha’s wisdom.

    My eyes are on healing…

  • More power than the Source

    Today as I rode around, the thoughts kept coming back to me, that what we mostly argue about is not the truth, BUT how we each see it.

    We all are circling around the outer layers of life and dancing on the edges, not wanting to hurt, disrupt or destroy the lives of folks we know…so we don’t look upon the truth.

    All our discussions as far as I can remember are not really even based upon what is fact or what is fiction, but rather what do we do with it?

    Reality lounges around while the majority of people are more worried about HOW the truth will affect another, but pay no never mind about the truth itself. 

    There never was a dispute in my family that my father abused, but the main contention is how we all dealt with it or how we were bound and determined, it would not ruin their lives….

    The abuse got lost in the wake of the potential disruption of their lives.  The topic wasn’t about the abuse, but rather how they could get back to their normal lives.

    It is like keeping the conversation and party going after a bomb went off inside of your home/family.

    Or in the FALC, ‘believing the bomb never went off’ while sitting in the rubble after the explosion.  Trying not to feel and see all the blown out holes…for if you do, you will not make it to Heaven one day.

    To me Hell is living in a blown out family believing in thoughts it is all forgiven and forgotten and it is normal.

    The thoughts are the focus here, and the faith in believing them are much more important than what literally happens when abuse goes off like a bomb in your home.

    My years of writing have been trying to get them to see…oh they see, but they have more faith in their thoughts surrounding the truth than the truth.

    It is like believing in the smoke while not seeing the fire.

    Or maybe believing that the smoke can change the fire…it has more power than the Source.

     "You can't search for truth within a system of beliefs"  (Unknown, but shared with me by Sarah) 

  • I am Lens Free

    When you write your story on a blog you are offering up the opportunity for others to plunge themselves into your story, to come in and walk awhile in your life.

    It is amazing the types of responses you get from others when you display your life on a blog.

    Some come in and bare some of our pain, add bits of wisdom and cheer us on.  These experienced travelers lend us their strength that helps us continue forward.  These cheerleaders are priceless. 

    And the other half or maybe three fourths are out to make our truth into lies by showing us their side.

    What is a lie to one side seems to be the truth to the other.

    That is why there are two sides.

    And the truth stands alone.  However, depending upon which side you are standing on you will look upon it differently.  Very few will face the truth head on.

    What I didn’t know in the beginning is that the reader is made to explore their own lives and feel if what you say is true for them or not.

    That half of writing is reading.

    The reading part I wasn’t paying attention to, for I was the writer part.  I didn’t know how the reader would feel reading what I wrote and I never paid attention to that and still won’t.

    I am not writing for the reader’s ease or comfort or even their understanding.  I am writing for me.  What I am doing is offering a view of my online journal to all who chose to read.

    It validates my life to put it in writing, for I am in a sea of known strangers who can’t seem to understand me, and if I didn’t have this space to connect to, sometimes I would feel like I am disconnected and floating in space.

    I need this connection to anchor me to me.

    You fail to realize how much your life gets anchored by others, until there is no place to hook into. 

    In the beginning it felt like I was the only one who was seeing reality with my view.  I was looking with eyes unshielded and others had these weird lenses that contorted even simple things into complex issues.

    They looked at reality through the lenses of family and religion, and if it didn’t fit that mold, it was reconfigured.

    I took off the glasses of family and religion, setting them aside, and life took on whole different view.

    For the first time I could see life outside of the frames of religion and family.  I could see independently.

    I no longer had to make reality fit into their rules and traditions; instead life got to flow free.

    It didn't have to work for family or for the religion, it just had to be.

    It was amazing and scary and horrific.  To now see what I hadn’t seen with the lenses on.

    I can tell when people read my story with the lenses on or with the lenses off. 

    I am writing without a lens…and can’t help how others see it.

    I just know that you can change my story to say something else if you are wearing the lenses of family or the lenses of the FALC.

    It matters and it will change how you view me.

    But what doesn’t change is how I view myself, for I am lens free! 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Dark Space of Unknowing.

    Deepak Chopra writes in The Book of Secrets about the caterpillar changing into a butterfly.

    “Outside my window in winter I can usually spy at least one chrysalis dangling from a branch.  Inside it a caterpillar has turned into a pupa that will emerge in the spring as a butterfly. We are all familiar with this metamorphosis, having witnessed it as children (or by reading Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar).  But what goes on invisibly inside the chrysalis remains deeply mysterious. The caterpillar’s organs and tissues dissolve into an amorphous, soup like state, only to reconstitute in to a structure of a butterfly’s body that bears no resemblance to a caterpillar at all.”

    “Science has no idea why metamorphosis evolved.  It is almost impossible to imagine that insects hit on it by chance – the chemical complexity of turning into a butterfly is incredible; thousands of steps are minutely interconnected.  (It’s as if you dropped off a bicycle at the shop to be repaired, and when you came back the parts had become a Gulfstream Jet.)”

    “But we do have some idea about how this delicate chain of events is linked. Two hormones, one called juvenile hormone, and the other ecdysone, regulate the process, which looks to the naked eye like the caterpillar is dissolving into soup.  These two hormones make sure the cells moving from the larva to the butterfly know where they are going and how they are to change. Some cells are told to die; others digest themselves, while others turn into eyes, antennae, and wings. This implies a fragile (and miraculous) rhythm that must remain in precise balance between creation and destruction. That rhythm, it turns out, depends on day length, which in turn depends on the earth’s rotation around the sun. Therefore, a cosmic rhythm has been intimately connected to the birth of butterflies for millions of years.”  Deepak

     

    It came to me today, that blogging the way I do with total transparency is not going to need the same things as those who blog from the cocoon.

    Writing from a cocoon hides what is going on and this is not something I am familiar with.  So I can’t be the one to say what is best for anonymous bloggers.

    But I can speak from transparency. 

    When I began writing I did so with full disclosure, it wasn’t to hide stuff, it was to shed light and to enlighten me, to find answers to who I was, as well as to leave a path for anyone who wanted to know about me.

    I wrote about the dark corners within me that I didn’t know. 

    I asked questions of the white paper and it seemed answers came if I wrote long enough.

    I never felt I had the right to have a voice and writing opened up a space for me to let it out.

    Once I got the knack of it, it seemed that the only way for me to know me was to write it out. 

    The more I wrote the more I knew and the more I knew the more I wanted to know. And slowly I began to really really know me and what I began to learn about me, I didn’t want to cover up nor did I feel the need. 

    Whether it be my mixed up mind, my flipped around thoughts and beliefs or the multiple things I did incorrectly with my backwards mind, all of it became extremely exhilarating for it all was growing a new me.  I wasn’t ashamed of who I was nor who I was becoming to be.

    It was like I was the caterpillar and I was changing and I would grieve the caterpillar parts that were dying and had to grow comfortable with the new butterfly pieces that came in their place. 

    I left my old caterpillar ways…and had to learn how to maneuver life as a butterfly. 

    What I know for sure, for me, is that I need to see me in my past, see me in my present, see what inside of me needs transformation and what needs to totally die. 

    I couldn't hide and build a butterfly me.  I had to see. 

    I would have liked there to be an etiquette book on how to navigate the rough waters of exiting a dysfunctional family and knowing how it feels and what would happen as you go from the inside of a family to the outskirts.

    How to leave abuse, is how to leave a family…

    It isn’t comfortable and there is no cocoon.  You are in the open and vulnerable for pot shots that many aim at you trying to shut you up and protect the family’s dark legacy. 

    And even more importantly, I wanted proof or evidence of my sanity.  I wanted there to be a blueprint of undoing the affects of being abused.  With so many turning away or not agreeing with me, it was a place for me to have my say.  I didn’t keep parts hidden away; I shared all of me, for there wasn’t a part of me that was too dirty or shameful for me not to see.

    It is my humble belief, if you can’t bear to see your self, you will want to remain hidden from others. But, if you have the courage to really really look at yourself and all the cracks and crevices you will find a very interesting and intriguing life. 

    You will see how you took that path or formed that opinion or learned to believe this or that.  You will discover a life that you will never ever want to cover up again and go back to live in a small dark space of unknowing. 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Reasons to Spin

    While dialoguing in the comment section on the Post, “Where Your Best Interest Lies” a few posts back, I am feeling like I am a reporter trying to get my story out and they are working like crazy Spin Doctors or the Public Relations Department of the FALC to prevent that from happening. 

    They are trying so hard to convince me it wasn’t their ‘faith’ or the church or its members or any of that religious stuff, and that my abuse stands alone, like a rogue virus.

    I feel people are working so hard to spin my story off into this lonely little section called abuse where religion never touched it, blessed it or had ANY thing to do with my abuse. 

    There is abuse, AND there is religion and never shall the two touch each other.

    It is sounding like a political debate where they want there to be two sides. 

    And I am here to tell you in my experience, Religion had a huge part in keeping abuse in my family home.  It did not stay there on its own and without the knowledge of the church.

    There is no way I can speak of my abuse without including the church. 

    In fact, if I had good faith in the forgiveness of sins, I could have had a normal dad.

    If I had good faith in the power of the forgiveness of sins, the sins would be washed away never to be heard from again…

    Maybe you all want to blame my weak faith on the fact that my father kept abusing little girls.  For damn it IF only I could have believed more deeply he could be washed whiter than snow and not hurt one more little girl.

    Do any of you know what it is like to call your childhood friends, now 40 years later and say, “I wish you would not have been my friend, for honey it cost you way too much.”

    Have you?

    Do you know that I recall one bright memory of me being on a huge white pole swing in our yard on a bright sunny summer day, and my dad came to me crying asking ME for a blessing.  Why?  What did he do to this young young little girl whose feet couldn’t even touch the ground.  What???  I don't know if I did it properly…I was way too little. 

    Did I not bless him properly?  Did I not believe it, IS that why he continued on molesting, raping and fondling little girls?  Was my faith to weak in strength to erase it correctly?

    Am I going to hell for being a bad blesser???

    When you question my story, you are saying to me, that I am wrong. Tell me where I am wrong?  Tell me, please and USE your name.

    I believed in a father.

    I believed in a mother.

    I believed in the power of the forgiveness of sins.

    I believed in order to be good, I had to bless bad people.

    I believed wrong…

    And did my ‘faith’ in the forgiveness of HIS sins spare one little girl?  Did it?  Can you put the blame on me?  Did I bless him wrong???

    Oh yeah my faith is weak now, it is actually nonexistent in the power of forgiving and blessing away the sins of the fathers.

    Yes it is.  I believe 100% that it does not work. 

    I am living breathing proof. 

    Where do you all believe these piles of sins are?  Look behind you they walk with you everywhere.  It is only in your mind, that you think they are gone.

    Each and every action you have made is written down in the book of reality seen by God…nothing gets erased ever.

    The only thing you can do is do better when you know better. 

    In the past, I was a good Christian and spoke of it not, not my feelings of terror towards my father, nor my deep down resentment towards my mother, I sucked in and asked to be blessed for being such a bad child to feel unloving toward her parents. 

    I kept trying to be a better child, never even stopping to see if I had parents I should be loving toward. 

    When my father’s name was spoken as being the one to molest my niece, I became a very bad child.  I stood with the little girl and somehow I knew I was standing with me. 

    I stood in reality and refused to bless it away, like I even could.

    This little girl isn’t going to be ‘unabused’ if I utter the magic phrase.

    I am bad, a bad ass, and a bitter, cold, vengeful woman some say.  I will be alone and lonely for saying what I say.  I will be ridiculed and not believed…all the same things I felt as a child.

    As a child I believed them, now as woman who is speaking her truth I do not.

    I have faith in God and me.

    I have faith in truth.

    I have faith is using my real name.

    I have faith in others who can reveal themselves to me.

    The rest, I have no faith in.

    For if you can’t say your name, you are not standing with me, you hiding like my father behind the front of being normal.  Good people don't hide.

    Only those in truth will say their name.  This is my belief and this is my blog.  If you feel differently you can blog yourself and have a great conversation and sharing anonymously.

    Oh and one more thing.

    Someone mentioned I lost the faith in God.

    No honey, God has been with me all along.

    He was the one who erased my memory of the event.

    He kept me being a little girl with out such a horrific thing to remember.  And did however keep my truth in my body, to keep me from going near the man who did such awful things to such a sweet innocent BELIEVING girl.

    Your church doesn’t own God; he is not applauding your spinning my story to make it kind.  He was there and he knew I would not have survived life living in that house with a visual memory, sadly I would have went insane.  Only a child who didn’t know could support that family. 

    I didn’t know… and I put my faith in the folks who were spinning my life to be normal.

    Now I am no longer fooled by the spins, I only see what is behind. 

    Only anonymous have reasons to spin.

     

     

  • Where Your Best Interests Lie.

    I believe reality or truth stands alone, splendid and perfectly brilliant, and we all see it from our own life experiences.

    The topic is abuse.  We all know what it is.  There are no doubts or contention on that, what we are seemingly arguing about is what side do you stand upon.  What side do you believe or do you believe it at all?

    There is the side of the perpetrator or the side of the person recounting her/his childhood story, whose side do you hear about and what do you hear, what makes sense and what doesn’t make sense, and what does a victim gain by going public and what does the perpetrator gain by being silent and supported?

    Sometimes we pick our side by what we would do.

    What takes more courage to stand alone speaking of the unspeakable in hopes of stopping this insanity or of remaining silent?

    And why do you pick to speak or not to speak?

    Is it fear of who you are or what you have to lose?

    Is it fear of the repercussions or fear of remaining silent and what that is doing to who you are?

    At one point all who read Jim’s story or mine will pick a side of belief of disbelief, and I believe it has nothing to do with our facts or the usage of the English language, which I believe Jim is a natural born story teller.

    I instead believe that the side you stand upon all is predisposed; it is where you have walked in this life.

    It has more to do with what you stand to lose compared to what we have to say.

    How invested is your life in the FALC or in the fact that the Torola’s remain free of abuse? 

    There is very little vested interest in my family for we are converts, a one family family within the church.  No Aunts, Uncles or cousins, just us.  No preachers or founding fathers, no long lineage, just one big family, with only two brothers remaining in ‘faith’. 

    I am thinking we were not important FALC people; our abuse didn’t affect anyone but us.  It didn’t spill over into the faith of anyone or would it wiggle their beliefs.

    It was our dirty little secret in a bubble, a zit on the face of the FALC, but not the make up or integrity of the FALC.

    People reading our stories have more to lose by believing in Jim, than believing in me.  You can believe in me and keep your faith, but when you believe in Jim, your faith begins to wobble; you will have to face the fact that abuse may travel backwards to the creators of the FALC.

    My lineage is of no bearings to you, the only folks who get up in arms about my writing is my family of origin, for they have lots invested in the Huhta name and the integrity of their parents.

    Interesting to see that you will fall to the side where you best interests lie.

     

  • The Raw and Perfect Truth.

    As I thought about the way we paint people, how we are taught at a very young age to temper our truths, what we see and how we feel, how we not only learn to paint ourselves in false colors, but others as well. 

    We tell little children it is ‘not nice’ to call a fat person fat.

    It is not nice to say that someone who is mean is mean.

    That it is not nice to say grandma made you feel bad.

    We are teaching them, It is not nice to speak your truth…

    And, speaking your truth will make others feel bad.

    Is that right?  How can that be?  How in the world are the child’s words and feelings put aside to protect the mean or fat person?

    And then we wonder why they don’t come and tell us when a mean Uncle so and so did bad things to them.  They have been taught that their feelings don’t matter and that the truth is not kind.

    I am quite certain the fat person knows she/he is fat.

    And perhaps it may be better for us to engage in a conversation about it. 

    When I began speaking my truth, it felt like I was doing something bad.

    Like I had broken the ‘golden’ rule of kindness, that I had turned a corner into the forbidden territory, and all hell would break lose.

    And it did, the pretty painted picture shattered and crumbled.

    I lost friends and family when I spoke out loud and became like a very very stubborn child. I refused to give up what I had seen, how I felt and how the other person’s actions affected me.

    For once in my life, I looked at me in truth and how the world around me felt to me, looked to me…and my coloring people crayons disappeared.

    And the paints I used to tone down what I saw and how I felt…completely dried up. 

    I then discovered an incredible freedom and how easy it was to not have to come up with an excuse for others or worry how my truth would make them feel.

    Byron Katie’s book, “Loving What is” showed me how it was okay and actually a very sacred place to be.

    I was walking with God in reality. 

    I saw what God saw.

    He didn’t paint a sunset over to make it into a bird, nor a tree into a river.  He kept them all in their natural states.  I could then see the perfection in everything. 

    A mean person is mean.

    An unhappy person is unhappy.

    A homeless man has no home.

    A biting dog bites.

    A pedophile abuses children.

    A drunken person drinks.

    A neglectful mother neglects her children. 

    I didn’t try to make any of the above different, it was impossible and not my job.  I retired as the painter to make their lives appear kinder and feel better to me.

    Instead I felt them as they were…I opened myself up to feel all the things I had previously painted, I stripped them down so only their truths shone forth.

    I felt what it feels like to have a pedophile father, a neglectful mother.  I felt it all wash over me removing my own paints of being normal and okay.

    Stripped bare I stood with a family minus the pretty paint.

    Its unvarnished rawness of glaring truths…

    It wasn’t pretty but it was my truth…and I didn’t have the strength or the desire to pick up a brush and cover it up.

    I let it lay there in all its ugly perfect glory… the raw and perfect truth. 

     

     

  • What I can verify.

     

    My brother wrote a post on his blog, www.messyguru.typepad.com called, Rumor Has It.

     

    I looked up the definition of Rumor and it said, “Unverified report.” 

    I wonder how much of each of our lives gets by us unverified?

    What we mostly don’t verify is where we came from, is this normal, and is it true.

    We rarely verify our beliefs or our definitions of love or abuse, or the validity of the rules of our religion.

    We don’t verify them, but we don’t call them rumors. 

    We don’t verify them, but we believe them to be our truths.

    We don’t say, “it is a rumor that wearing red nail polish will keep me from heaven.”  Without verifying this report, we believe it and call it truth.

    Or, “It is a rumor that if I take control of my body and decide how many kids I have, I will go to hell.”  How can you possibly verify that?  Yet it is believed as true.

    And we don’t say, “It is a rumor that no sin is too great to forgive or that all sin is of equal value.”  Has this been verified?  Can a cuss word and a man raping a child be the same worth? Is that what we believe to be true?

    Doesn’t it make you wonder what we call rumors and what we call truth.

    What is verified and what is Unverified.

    Somehow the FALC has this all upside down and backwards.

    If what they believe in is unverified, than is it possible that what they don’t believe in is verifiable.

    Is it possible that when they hear a ‘rumor’ about so and so being a pedophile, or being creepy, they are actually spreading the truth and believing it?

    Do they even know what is truth and what is fiction? 

    This is how I found myself when who I had called dad was actually a pedophile. The people that I loved actually abused me and didn’t love me. I was completely upside down and backwards in most of my definitions and what I believed in.

    The churches ideology actually fit perfect into my backwards home life, it matched perfectly.

    My rumors were my truths and my truths were rumors.

    It is horrifying and shocking what folks in the FALC are believing in and what they are spreading as rumors.  I am here to tell you it is completely backwards.

    The rumors floating around in victim circles are facts and verifiable by the results of their lives. By the trails and trials of their journeys. 

    The suicides and attempts, depression and addictions, the mental disorders, and casual sex, the married girls using their bodies like puppy mills, generations of pedophiles, etc…are all signposts and can be verified by their lives.  These are not rumors.

    And these are not accidents or freaks of nature; they are actually perfect results of living in a home of abuse and believing in the way of the FALC.  It is a one two punch and the results are again, verifiable by the lives they live in reality.

    The victims lives are not rumors…and what you call ‘rumors’ about their perpetrators are verifiable…so they cannot be called rumor, for rumor is an unverified report.

    The wounded children are the verification as they live their lives upside down and backwards, out of control and believing they are certifiably nuts, crazy and insane.

    What they fail to appreciate is that they are perfect and the world they came from is insane.  And it is only when they continue to try and make the insane sane is when they go nuts.

    Where they come from is so insane, that they believe and die for rumors and disregard the truth as it walks talks and breathes in front of them.

    It is my humble opinion from my experience of coming out of the FALC and being raised in a family where the head of the house was a pedophile, where the mother supported him and her religion without question or verification to the contrary, that both are steeped in rumors and where truth is kicked to the curb.

    I should know, I am sitting on the curb for demanding and investigating and Verifying rumors…rumors within my family of origin and the religion I was born into.

    For forty-six years I lived an unverified life.  I believed what I was told to believe and disregarded the rest…now, I sit with rumors and look around reality to see what I can verify. 

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Right or True

    A new young friend of mine wrote about Normal in her blog (http://www.erinstales.blogspot.com/) and it led me to the point of just because it is normal doesn’t mean it is right.

     

    Somehow we believe that normal equates right, just because most are doing it.

     

    We somehow have fallen into compliance with the majority and forget to have independent thoughts and even worse separate actions, we tend to find comfort in moving in huge numbers and then call it normal.

     

    No matter what the swarm is doing.

     

    Fitting in seems to be the way of it instead of fitting out.

     

    Even if fitting in means you must do something wrong or go against your inner compass.

     

    I love that normal only means the majority…okay, here is the definition from her blog.

     

    nor-mal
    adjective
    1. conforming to the standard or common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural,
    2. serving to establish a standard.

     

    What is standard for cult like religions? What is standard or common for dysfunctional families?  It is this that is their normal, but it doesn’t make it right or healthy or anything.

     

    Somehow normalcy has slipped by us as a character of being good, when in fact it simply means a repetitive behavior, but not the content of it.

     

    When my life was turned upside down and I went in search of normal, it was illusive.  I didn’t know who I was nor could I find a template of normal anywhere, nor perfection. 

     

    Normal changed for each person and in each situation and again, ruled by the majority.

     

    What I had thought were ‘standards’ of my old religion, were just behaviors all succumbed to…but they were lacking of content…or when put to practice fell apart.  Their only strength came from the number of people believing in them, not in the actual belief itself.

     

    I am certain this is true for most things.

    My father is being held up by the volume of people who call him father, but not by his own content.

     

    I am very wary now of what is called normal…for it could be a lens that changes what lies behind.

     

    I am also very happy to say, I am not a ‘normal’ member of my family of origin.

     

    Normal doesn’t make anything right or true.