Powerful, Emotional Writings: An Aid to Adult Child Abuse Survivors

An Awakening

Beautiful. Warm. Safe. Womb-like. Purple, pink and ultraviolet currents and eddies. White Light pulling. Beckoning. Embracing. Pink Love Energy caressing. Soft liquid swaddling. Ever more urgent White Light tugging. A rod of White Light. Pure. Clean. Immaculate. Dim awareness of others. Connected. Calling. Beckoning.

Suddenly, a dream, an understanding, an experience of unprecedented import, clarity, and Power. Deepening colorful purple and violet liquid light texture. Two others bend in welcome and acceptance, peering down at him in his crib. He peers back, Awareness only. Well-being only. No judgment. No definitions. No words. No fears. No before. No after. Only Now. An ancient timeless, mythical, Nativity scene. Safety. Peace. Joy.

Suddenly (if there can be such a thing as “suddenly”) the scene erupts as if in explosion. Torn. Destroyed. Ruined. Gone. The Monster. No words to describe it. Only direct Being-shattering experience. Coiled for attack. Absolute certainty of victory and perverted amusement in its cold eyes. Ancient. Repulsive. Arrogant. Cold. Alien. If he had words to describe this alien being who had appeared uninvited, he would use descriptions like snake, cobra, cold blooded, evil, predator.

His whole experience is his imminent attack. “Knowledge” of the poisonous venom in its fangs, and the tension that shows its alien intentions. His entire Being is filled with Terror, and with themes of danger, flight, hiding, most of all, hiding. He takes a huge terror filled deep breath, and arrives back in his adult body, wracked with the most intense child-like terror, so intense, that it robs him of his usual intellectual capacity. Two Native Americans are with him, awake. The rest of the room is filled with the snoring of the shelter’s various temporary inhabitants. The man is behind him at his head, sitting on his cot. The woman at his feet. She smiles. Vestiges of the rod of white light persist, still tugging. He has a dim awareness that they have been chanting quietly.

“Who is it that you are?”, they chant quietly in unison. He tries to make sense of this, and cannot. “Who are you?” they softly ask, with import behind their words that made no sense to him. “Who are you?”, the elder male asks more insistently. An answer forms within him that he resists, but finds himself saying it, nevertheless. “I am Michael!” he answers, wondering why he is saying such a thing. “And we are Michael too!”, they chant in unison.

Leave a Reply