What has changed your life?

[koan]

I am interested in hearing stories of epiphanies or life altering experiences. This can include altered states (non drug related), visions, hearing the voice of 'God' and such.

What led to these moments and how did it change your life?

To start things out:

I, on occasion, will suddenly feel myself lifted out of my body and I expand into white light where I feel at one with everything. Then it goes away.

I have managed to attain this state through meditation or in the wee moments between waking and sleeping...but it's kind of cooler when it just happens. It changed my life by creating more compassion for others through this feeling of connectedness. I tried to bring back some knowledge once as I descended back into my body but as I got 'further away' the knowledge rejected being reduced into words and slipped away.

:yh_hypno

[LottomagicZ4941]

I had my knee healed once.

Messed it up drinking on a saturday night in high school.

I was hopping into the car on sunday morning and my dad is like "What happened?"

I replied, "I messed up my knee"

My dad directed me to have the church elders pray for it.

I figured that it might heal a week quicker.

NOt a whole lot of faith:) But aparently enough:)

So being to intiminated to talk to the elders I just had my youth pastor pray for it.

And when he did it got all hot and he told me to bend it.

I have since gone to healing ceramonies to see people with major problems not be healed. Don't know why God chooses to heal some and not others.

I was a Christian before the incident. So I don't know if it was all that life changeing. But it was quite a trip. Actually I think I was hopping when I messed it up.

[koan]

Thanks for the input!

Telaquapacky! You're holding out on us :yh_shame

I've performed healings before. A sign that there was really something going on...for those who might think the knee was not really damaged...is the sensation of heat. I'm not a miracle healer, it takes some time and repetition for me to have a lasting effect. And I most certainly can't heal blindness or other severe problems - Hey, wait, I've never tried! :wah:

Regardless, healing is a great way to experience, first hand, that there is something greater at work.

Note to self: "I" don't heal, healing happens through me.

Note to Africanique: Great! There's a few new forum areas for the unknown and supernatural folk...Start a new thread there!

[telaquapacky]

koan wrote: Telaquapacky! You're holding out on us :yh_shame


Busy guy am I. Busier than a one-legged man in a behind-kicking contest. I can't even find the post in which I alluded to my experience with God. I can't give one little vignette that tells the whole story, it would be like someone asked you about "Citizen Kane," and you told them what Rosebud was. I'll have to give the story in installments as I find time to write.

I was taken to the Baptist church by my father up to age 7, when he lost his job, and my mother divorced him. My saintly grandmother brought my older sister and I to a Presbyterian church until I was 12, when she died, and we stopped going to church. After that, I lost interest in God and throughout my teens and post adolescence got into sex, drugs and rock and roll. In High School I was bass player in a rock band that was popular with the “snake pit-“ the druggies and freaks.

I was a typically hot-blooded young man. Whenever I remembered my earlier religious teaching, that if I engaged in unmarried sex, I would burn in torment forever- but if I didn̢۪t do it, I would burn with uncontrollable desire now. This filled me with rage at the tyrannical injustice and inescapable cruelty of the God I had been taught to fear. I had become angry with God over disappointments in my life and at one point shook my fist at the sky and wished for God himself to burn in hell. I found I had no choice but to stop believing in God just to keep my sanity.

During my wild adolescent years I had a dream. My friends and I were partying in the back of a convertible car speeding northbound on a street in my neighborhood in West Lost Angeles, called Sepulveda Blvd. In this dream the night was pitch black other than the glow from a neon question mark on the corner of LaGrange, where we turned the corner onto Sepulveda, and the lights at the intersection of Sepulveda and Santa Monica we were approaching about a mile away. As I looked ahead to Santa Monica, I saw a billboard on the left side (an outdoor advertising sign). It had a warning on it, unlike any public service announcement I had ever read. The message had a bigger-than-life-and-death significance, and it filled me with fear. I pointed the sign out to my friends, but they laughed if off like it was meaningless. The fear of this message caused me to wake up in a cold sweat. I immediately went to my desk, turned on the light and found pen and paper to write down the incredibly important words I had seen in my dream. To my frustration, I could see the sign clearly in my mind̢۪s eye- but I could not remember what it said! The sign shined bright yellow, against the black background of the sky. It had big, black block letters. For several years after that dream, every time I passed that intersection in real life, I searched the billboard there, hoping to find the message that seemed to be so important to me. Unfortunately the real life billboard there is on the right, and always had ads for beer or cars, never anything of any great significance.

In college I got good grades and worked hard and got high whenever I had a chance. One day while I was passing between classes a fellow came up and started witnessing to me. I felt invaded, but was polite and acted (unconvincingly) like a Christian hoping to put him off. I was relieved when he went away, but he must have made some impression on me, because in the days that followed, I sometimes, just for a moment, had strange, positive thoughts about Jesus.

I found chemistry interesting and easy, except for lab. No matter how meticulously I measured out quantities of chemicals and followed directions, my results were what scientists call “unreproducible.” In Organic, one of my set ups exploded and showered the girl working next to me with acid and chemicals that made her hair and clinic jacket a complete mess. The following weekend I had to go to the lab to repeat the experiment. Driving to school, I passed a church where the people, all black, were just getting out of worship service. I had always been intrigued with black churches. I imagined that every black preacher preached like Martin Luther King, and that every black choir sounded like the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir, and that the “amens” and impromptu responses from the congregation revealed a lively, soulful spirituality. I sat at the stoplight looking at these people, and had a strange thought. “Maybe I would have a spiritual experience if I went to that church.” I imagined seeing myself standing there among them, looking up to heaven, glowing. But my reverie was interrupted with two other thoughts. “I would be the only white person in an all-black church.” And then came the clincher: “I would have to give up some habits I enjoy.” I felt guilty, as if I were refusing an invitation by God Himself. So to buy off my guilt, I promised myself, “I would go to that church, if a member of that church invited me.” I thought of that fellow who witnessed to me in the hallway, though he was white, and in all likelihood, no one from that church would ever invite me, a blond-haired, blue-eyed white boy to visit their church. Guilt feelings dismissed, I went my merry way and forgot about it.

Some years later I became discouraged with my choice of career, and having transferred to a university, the going was tougher and more expensive. I dropped out for a while to re-think what I wanted to do with my life. I started looking for rock musicians around the Hollywood area to play with. I met some very “interesting” characters. For awhile I played with a guy I shall call K, a runaway from Florida who shacked up with a beautiful heiress. K was a nephew to a tennis player. He had something the others did not have- songs. He had an impressive, well-produced demo recording of some songs he had written- mediocre- but showing style, and some spark of promise. I was bowled over by K's charisma, not to mention the ripping pot he and Barbara had. K turned me on to Thai Stick. We did two more demos of new songs he wrote, much better than the earlier ones. Then out of the blue, K broke up the band and moved away, leaving no forwarding address. Some months later, just by chance, I ran into K at a convenience store, and we resumed our friendship. K had decided he was going about it all wrong, and instead, to devote full time to listening to the radio and dissecting every song to learn what makes a song a hit. We got high together, shared dark beer and pizza, and he showed me new songs he was writing, which were getting better and better- to the point that I wanted very badly to be in the group that K would eventually put together.

Spiritually I had become a contented atheist. My guru was R. Buckminster Fuller, inventor of the geodesic dome, lecturer and author of utopian books. He taught that mankind would eventually solve all our problems through technical cooperation and practical humanism.

One day K called me up and invited me to come with him to see Evelyn, a spirit medium. He said Evelyn could put us in touch with our deceased relatives and predict our future. Being an unbeliever in anything supernatural, I declined the invitation. But a week or two later, K invited me again. This time, I had nothing to do and decided to go just on a lark. We drove over to the place, an old house in the middle of town. I had brought a tape recorder- not that I thought anything interesting would happen, but just in case it did. When we got out of the car, I was surprised to hear coming from that building, the sound of people singing Christian hymns. There was a bronze plaque by the door that read “CHURCH OF THE UNIVERSAL MASTER. REVEREND EVELYN ALLINGER.” I had been expecting a gypsy fortune telling parlor, and Evelyn a vampy, Gypsy lady with a black cat and a crystal ball. I did not expect to go to church for a séance- this was something new to me. I still surmised that the people inside were hopelessly deluded, and they probably believed in Elvis sightings and UFO’s. My unbelief in anything supernatural remained firm as a rock- that is until we walked in the front door.

When we crossed the threshold and stood in the foyer, I suddenly felt I was surrounded by a powerful force. It felt like I was standing in the heart of a giant transformer in power station. The air seemed to be thick and rosy, and crackle with electricity. But what was most bizarre about this sensation, was that somehow I sensed or knew in a way I can̢۪t explain, that this energy was not inanimate. It was a person- an invisible, very powerful person. That was the first major paradigm shift I remember experiencing in life. Atheism was over- gone. I tried to keep a straight face and stuff my feelings deep inside, while the greeter shook our hands and welcomed us. I was confronting the supernatural. Now what did it mean? The sad memory of what I had learned in church about heaven and hell came back. If all that were true, considering my life and habits, I was certainly headed for eternity in a very hot place. Was that it? My instinct for survival and self-preservation demanded an answer. The greeter gave us each a piece of note pad sized paper, on which to write a message and ask a question to someone in the spirit world (whom we were close to- not Albert Einstein). I immediately thought of my saintly grandmother, Louise, whom we called Nana. I wanted to know if I had left God out of my life, and if there were hell to pay because of it. I wrote:

“Nana, Have I forgotten something that is important to me? –Telaquapacky”

According to the instructions of the greeter, I folded the paper in quarters so as to be unreadable from the outside, and put my initials on the outside. Then K and I went into the parlor where the people were singing…

To Be Continued.

[koan]

What a great story teller you are! As a compliment not implying fiction.

I didn't read this until I had time to really read it and it was worth the wait! Looking forward to hearing the rest. Thank you.

:-6

[telaquapacky]

K and I walked from the foyer into the living room of that old house, which was the sanctuary of the Church of the Universal Master. The room was filled with stackable, padded chairs, with an aisle down the middle, and a raised platform with a lectern at the far end. To the right of the platform was an organ, with an elderly gentleman playing standard Christian hymns, and the people, about twenty of them, were singing along. On a shelf, there was a portrait of a dark, bearded, long-haired young man with a brooding and compassionate expression on his face. K and I sat down, and two baskets were passed around. One was for offerings, and the other was for “billets,” our little notes to the spirits. The sensation of the very powerful presence I had encountered in the foyer had lessened in intensity somewhat. I couldn’t tell if this spirit was good or evil.

Before long, Evelyn came out. Instead of the vampy, Gypsy lady I had expected of a spirit medium, Evelyn was a average, conservative-looking lady probably in her mid-to-late 60’s. She looked like a kindly aunt who would serve you turkey on Thanksgiving. Evelyn picked out two up-tempo hymns to get the crowd warmed up, and then said a few words- welcoming everyone and hoping that the spirits would come through clearly that day and answer everyone’s questions. Then she went behind the podium, and commenced her spirit reading. She would take a billet in her hand, and read the initials or number on the outside (presumably for our anonymity- some were blank). Then Evelyn looked out across the room, not in an affected, trance-like expression, but as if she were listening very carefully. She would introduce each communication with “When I’m coming into the vibration of this message, I’m coming into the vibration of a spirit named…” And she would name names and quote words she heard spoken, and describe visions that were being revealed to her. As Evelyn gave the spirit message for each person’s billet in turn, though they had the option of anonymity, they would respond affirmatively. All were very encouraged and happy with what Evelyn told them. Evidently this was a good day.

When Evelyn came to K's message she said he would be very successful in music. “And you’ve got to shake and everything, just like Elvis,” she said jovially, and we all laughed. K had written nothing on his billet. He had only drawn an ornate picture of a cross. He had told me that he thought his musical endeavors were his cross to bear.

About forty five minutes into the reading, Evelyn came to my billet.

“TKP…TKP…When I touch this message, I am touching someone in the spirit world by the name of Louise. And I’m touching another person in the spirit world by the name of Tom. And when I touch this Tom, I sense this person has been dead a great number of years. And there’s someone else in the spirit world… Okay, darlin’, Okay… Oh… Anyway, to this Louise, and to the person who wrote this message, I get the impression this person feels they have forgotten something- that they’ve left something out. The spirit tells me, ‘No, you haven’t forgotten anything, you haven’t left anything out.’ And I don’t know why I hear this, but I hear a voice saying, “Telaquapacky, you haven’t forgotten a single thing.”

By this time my jaw was on the floor. Not only had Evelyn got Nana̢۪s name, Louise, right; but she had interpreted the message without seeing it, got my own name right (even pronounced it right, which most people don̢۪t get- taLACKaPACKee). What most amazed me was the way she quoted the voice. The voice was Evelyn̢۪s, but the choice of words, the unique inflection and cadence was precisely the way my grandmother would have said it, as if Nana were there, and Evelyn were imitating her.

“Whose message is this?”

After a shy pause I answered, “Mine,”

“Do you know you’re very psychic?”

“Am I?”

“What’s your sign… of the Zodiac?”

“Cancer.”

“You’re a moon child? Well, so am I! We’re crazy, aren’t we? Yes, you’re very psychic. You see, the reason you feel the way you do is they are getting through to you. Oh, yes, you’re very psychic- in fact, some day you’ll write a book… in the metaphysical field. Some day, some way, you’ll write a book, and you’ll remember that Evelyn told you.”

My cassette recorder, under my chair, got the whole thing. When I went home, I played the tape for my mother. She was thoroughly convinced that the voice on that tape was her mother. But my mother did not know all the facts. She did not know all about my life. I could not believe that saintly Nana, who was never too shy to give a stern warning or moral reproof when it was called for, who wanted nothing more for my sister and I than that we would come to love and obey the Lord, and who prayed for us- would, knowing my life, say, “…you haven’t forgotten a single thing.” I asked my mother who Tom was. She told me that Tom was one of Nana’s seven brothers and sisters- the one whom Nana was closest to when they were kids on their father’s farm in Kentucky. Tom had died fifty years to the day before Nana had. Evelyn had alluded to something in my family history I knew nothing about. Unquestionably something supernatural had happened that I could not explain. But in spite of my visceral encounter with the spirit in the foyer, and all the mysteries revealed by Evelyn, I knew that the spirit that spoke was not really my Nana because, much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I knew in my heart that what the spirit said was not true. I had forgotten and left God out of my life. I never went back to the Church of the Universal Master, and never heard Evelyn again. I did not know what to make of it, nor did I have any immediate plans to take action on it (I was not ready to give up the life I was enjoying). I just decided to wait- that some day, I would understand.

K always had his feelers out for spiritual things. We listened to a spiritual self-help guru named Roy Masters, who had an organization called the Foundation of Human Understanding. He taught people to meditate by clearing their minds of every thought except one: to concentrate on levitating the back of their hand to their forehead without consciously contracting the arm muscles. Roy insisted that this was a “meditation technique,” not a form of self-hypnosis, and sold tapes to guide people through the process. Roy’s teachings were very works and effort based. He had a call-in radio program, and was a fascinating speaker to hear, because he always made the caller personally responsible for their problem, and did it in a disarming, winsome and kind but firm way. People who listened to Roy picked up his pet phrases and concepts and started relating to others like he related to his callers. Roy called them “Roybots,” because they could be very obnoxious, selectively moralistic, rigid, and, you guessed it- hypocritical! K and I caught ourselves becoming Roybots, and we quit listening.

Another interesting spiritual thing K turned me onto was a book about Bible prophecy by Hal Lindsay, called “The Late, Great Planet Earth.” In this book, Lindsay rolled out all the evangelical speculation about struggles in the Middle East being fulfillment of end-times Bible prophecy. He predicted on the basis of bellicose rhetoric and sword-rattling by Egypt against Israel, that Egypt would attack Israel. Lindsay thought the Soviet Union was Gog from Ezekiel 38, and that the Soviet Union would attack Israel (As history would have it, Anwar Sadat personally flew to Tel Aviv to make peace with Israel, and the Soviet Union dissolved).

With The Late Great Planet Earth, Lindsay is also credited for popularizing the “secret rapture” theory, that before the great tribulation predicted in Bible prophecy, Jesus would return invisibly, and believers everywhere would vanish into thin air, leaving careening cars and empty desks. The vanished believers would be taken to heaven to be with Jesus. The unbelieving world “left behind” would then have to sort it all out, having one last shot at redemption, but through a horrible trial- a three-and-a-half year time of trouble! The Jews would demolish the Dome of the Rock mosque in Jerusalem, and rebuild where it once stood, the Temple of Solomon. Then the antichrist, the 666, would enthrone himself in that temple, claiming to be God on this earth (A silly, literalistic scenario of 2 Thessalonians 2:4). At the time this whole scenario was baffling to me, and K and I conjectured about it endlessly. There was no doubt that there would be a time of trouble- we could see it coming without any Bible, and we thought it would be best to make our fortunes quickly and buy land in some very hidden place, to wait the time of trouble out as survivalists (and grow our own killer weed!). I did not at all believe in the “secret rapture” theory. I knew that in the past there were other great times of trouble in which believers were imprisoned, their property confiscated, tortured, some burned at the stake- because they did not yield to a world-dominating, church and state political machine. I could not accept the idea that modern Christians who live in our comfortable age would be swept up to heaven on a carpeted escalator without so much as messing up their blow-dried hair. It seemed self-serving wishful thinking.

Lindsay’s book made me buy a Bible and start reading it. Though I couldn’t accept the “secret rapture” theory, Lindsay opened my eyes to something I had never heard of before. Jesus was coming again! A lot of people don’t remember that there was a time when many churches didn’t say a word about it. It was forgotten. In my young experiences in the Presbyterian and Baptist churches, I never heard mentioned once that Jesus was coming again. From reading in the New Testament, I could see that this was the greatest promise of all. Of course, this did not make me change any of my habits in life, and it provided a good reason not to join any church! Why go to church when they weren’t telling the truth?

In the years that followed, K and I became like brothers. I had other musical things going, but they were just to meet people and pass the time. K's songs got better and better. His potential connections through another friend of his who was a professional sound engineer, personally involved in some very big projects (I won̢۪t drop names- that̢۪s a show business wannabe thing to do) were looking serious and promising. I invested thousands of dollars in musical equipment and we were working out arrangements of K's songs in his and Barbara̢۪s apartment in Pacific Palisades. I kept everything about K's music a strict secret from all my other friends. It was like a secret other life. And I did not tell K much about my sessions with my other music friends, because like the mid-1970̢۪s music scene in L.A. for the majority of aspiring rock musicians, they weren̢۪t anything to be proud of.

Before every session, K and I would smoke some $160-an-ounce sinsamean that a private pilot friend of his flew down for us (and for some other people whom you have heard of) from Monterey. K also shared with me some pharmaceutical grade toot. We also did a lot of hiking together in the Santa Monica Mountains. Unknown to K, I had started exploring L.S.D. with some other friends. I quickly found out what my limit was.

I went hiking to a rock formation with cliffs and caves in Malibu, called Eagle Rock, with three friends, all of us on acid. I had taken too much. I was the guide, and yet made us do a lot of extra walking by going right past Eagle Rock, I was so ripped. I was also getting paranoid. I stopped talking.

“Telaquapacky’s acting weird,” they commented to one another, and tried unsuccessfully to get me to relax and open up.

We made the perilous climb along a narrow ledge of a 200 foot cliff, to a sandstone cave in the cliff face, the size of a booth in a coffee shop. I felt a bit more relaxed now that we had reached our destination, but I still wasn̢۪t talking. Reality was too far away, and I was extremely mentally disoriented and psychically uncomfortable, in a dangerously suggestible state.

Danny, who had taken seven hits and was still in command of his faculties (this encouraged me to take four- Big Mistake!) chuckled and said, “You know, I just can’t understand how anyone could believe in God- I mean, it’s so obvious that it’s just a myth.”

That was when a fantastic hallucination took over my mind. I was dead. There was no God. All that was left was to discorporate from this body, and depart forever the comforts of this world. Without speaking, I got up and left the cave. The others were very concerned and kept asking me what was wrong, but I could not tell them. I scrambled out to the top of Eagle Rock, and somehow in spite of the most intense sensory disorientation, avoided a 200-foot fall off the cliff. I proceeded to perform whatever magic rituals I imagined would complete my departure from my physical body. I took off my watch, the bond of time, and threw it over the cliff. I threw over my wallet, which represented my earthly treasure and identity. I took off all my clothes, including my boots. At this point, my friends were greatly alarmed and tried to help me. I could not be helped. I felt that a very cruel death was approaching, and I saw soldiers with fire bombs sneaking up and hiding behind every rock. I ran to and fro, trying every incantation and ritual I could invent, slipping and falling, and cutting myself badly on the rough sandstone. I kept hoping that a supernatural force would lift me off the rock and carry me to paradise and safety, but it never came, and I feared the worst. This was not sexy. It looked like a scene from The Exorcist. I frightened two girl hikers away, and the man they were with menaced me with a big rock. My friends told him, not so politely, to get out of there.

Eagle Rock was surrounded on three sides with cliffs, and sloped off on each side too steeply to travel without rappelling on ropes. My friends spread out, taking safety positions, with their arms stretched out to catch me if they could, but this made my paranoia of them even worse, and there was too much area to cover. Fearing that a soldier was throwing a fire bomb at me, I shouted “NOOOO!” and took a running dive for cover. I landed, rolling uncontrollably, like an avalanche of bloody flesh over the grinding sandstone incline. At that moment, the rush of adrenaline may have snapped me out of my drug-crazed hallucination, because I became instantly aware of reality and my surroundings- now that it was too late to do anything but roll off the edge of Eagle Rock to a considerable fall. I said to myself, “Now you’ve done it.” I knew I could be crippled or killed, and I desperately hoped that whatever happened to me would be a fate I could accept. I reached a point where the rock surface curved down to vertical, spilling into an uncertain abyss. I grabbed on with hands and feet, only sliding quickly and deeply skinning my fingers and toes. The next thing I felt was the impact of a dry ocean wave of rock and woody brush, and I went unconscious.



To Be Continued…

[koan]

I'm breathless!!!!!!!

I hope everyone else is reading this.

If you are not a professional writer yet, you MUST.

You are utterly captivating. :yh_hypno

[capt_buzzard]

More Religion.

[Ted]

Experiencing and developing a transforming relationship with the Risen Lord.

It's kind of like a deep depression. You cannot describe it. One cannot understand a deep depression unless one has been there. Like the old first nations saying "never judge a man untill you've walked a mile in his moccasina,

Shalom

Ted :-6

[koan]

Ted wrote: Experiencing and developing a transforming relationship with the Risen Lord.

It's kind of like a deep depression. You cannot describe it. One cannot understand a deep depression unless one has been there. Like the old first nations saying "never judge a man untill you've walked a mile in his moccasina,

Shalom

Ted :-6


Interesting that you choose depression as your analogy. I am pretty sure you don't mean it as a comparison, although many here might jump on you for that one. My exhusband suffers from depression and I do know a little of what it is like as far as things seeming completely different in his experience of the events around him even though the events were not anything unusual. If you take away the lack of ability to do much except sleep, then I follow you on the change of reality.

I had an awakening experience where I was unable to sleep for about eight days. I was aware of many subtle energies around me at all times and one night I shot, like a light beam, out of my body and past a horizon line that represented time and space. I was able to communicate with other beings and was aware that I could visit any time or place in human history and observe the lives and events of anyone or anything. It was like a network of energy lines. I felt very close to what many call God, but not completely in His presence, even at this state.

People say, oh, chemical imbalance, were you ill? No No No. You are right. It can not be described what one has experienced for themselves. There is no way to explain or convince a non believer.

[telaquapacky]

The ranger at the Topanga State Park station received a call from Mountain Rescue that there was trouble on Eagle Rock, and a request to go check it out. He drove up the fire road that joined the foot trail on the ridge, a third of the two-mile journey up. He encountered two women and one man who told him about a crazy, naked guy on drugs, on top of Eagle Rock. Farther up the trail, he was met by my three friends, running as fast as they could. They frantically told him I had fallen, and he radioed Mountain Rescue, to send a team out there. When they arrived at Eagle Rock, Mountain Rescue had already found me, and were rappelling down to me from a nearby cliff, not from Eagle Rock. When my friends gave the ranger their story of the incident, he argued with them, that I had could not have fallen off Eagle Rock. My friends were afraid that the ranger suspected them of throwing me over another cliff nearby, because he could not believe I could get to I was from where I fell. They asked if I was alive, and how badly injured I was, but there was no news yet from the rescuers. The ranger said that he had seen a few fatalities there, and that it was unlikely to survive a fall of any part of Eagle Rock.

I came to, finding myself lying on my back in a prickly, dry bush. I tried to sit up, but was too stiff and painful. I saw that there was a flat rock ledge right by me, so I shifted over to it, pleasantly surprised that I was not paralyzed. Then I passed out again.

When the Mountain Rescue men reached me, I had returned to a semi-psychedelic state. Their kindness and concern made me trust them. Their badges brought me back to reality. They asked me how I got there, and I said I had fallen from Eagle Rock, but they did not believe me. When I insisted, they ignored me and quit asking. There was no way to carry me out of there, so they radioed for a helicopter. I closed my eyes against the dirty gale whipped up by the helicopter while they gently slipped me onto a plastic sling hanging from a cable. As we took off, I managed a peek at Eagle Rock departing away below. Once lifted inside the helicopter, I met other rescuers who did not look as friendly as the ground team. Undoubtedly I made a very bad impression on them, so I said few words. But I was too glad to be alive and grateful that I was going to a hospital by the quickest possible way, to think about being embarrassed.

At Moorpark Hospital, I had to be put under general anesthesia to have my wounds cleaned of all the sticks and rocks and debris. Some small patches in my side were skinned so badly, they were like burns, and had to be treated as such, but they were small enough that I did not require any skin grafts. I had suffered three broken ribs and a collapsed lung. In intensive care, a doctor cut me in the lower abdomen with a scalpel and inserted a tube to drain the fluid out of my lung. I watched in a nearby bed, a young man in a coma after a motorcycle accident. He was still in a coma three days later when they transferred me to a semi-private room. After a couple of terrible acid flashes, I decided my L.S.D. days were over.

After a week I was released from the hospital, and after three weeks I returned to my day job as a pest control operator. The pest control company had an ominous motto: “Erase All Doubts.” They had a clever sign with a big neon question mark. At night all the other lettering on the sign would go off, leaving only the question mark glowing eerily over the corner of Sepulveda and LaGrange. I had an excellent territory in Brentwood, Pacific Palisades, Malibu and Topanga Canyon. Sometimes I had lunch on the beach or in the woods. My work often brought me near the place where I took my fall. A few customers lived off Sunset Boulevard, near the Lake Shrine where devotees of Parmahansa Yogananda’s Self-Realization Fellowship meditated in beautiful gardens by a peaceful lake. A portion of Ghandi’s ashes were there in a marble box in the shrine. Though it was open to the public, I was too sensitive to visit there in the uniform of a man who sprays poison. But from those customers’ houses nearby, I could look up on the mountains and see Eagle Rock. The fall itself had been blocked from my memory by shock, but in dreams I saw the rock ledge departing away above me. I began to wonder what exactly happened.

One weekend I went up to Eagle Rock by myself, sober, drugless, and with a straight head. Why had the ranger and the rescuers not believed that I had fallen from there? I wanted to look over the ledge where I had fallen, but I couldn’t get close enough because it was too steep, and the ground was too far below and hidden by the rock. I left Eagle Rock and retraced back on the trail where it passed the cliffs the rescuers used to rappel down to me. I had acquired a considerable fear of heights, so I crawled on my belly through the brush, and peered over the edge. What I saw was chilling. I saw where the rock curved down, where I scraped my fingers and toes trying to stop. Below it was a deep, rocky gorge, obviously more than fifty feet down, what climbers call “the coffin zone.” But over to my left on the opposite side of the gorge, I saw the small rock ledge, surrounded by prickly bushes- the only likely place in the area where I could have landed. To get anywhere across the gorge from the ledge I had fallen from, I would have had to defy gravity and fall at a forty-five degree angle, rather than straight down, like Newton and Galileo said.

Though K and I were like brothers, our friendship was not equal. We were more like big brother (K) and little brother (me). Sometimes K was very selfish and hard to get along with. When he wanted a too-much-to-ask-for favor of me (usually consisting of him getting the lion’s share of our weed), he would justify it saying, “seeing as who I am.” K held it over both Barbara and I that he was going to be a big pop star, and we would be beholden to him, and lucky to be associated with him. If his songs weren’t so good, I would never have put up with that. K wasn’t someone whose loyalty you could really trust. As the music thing got more serious, I saw that I was going more out on the limb and facing a deeper and deeper career commitment. Much as I wanted to do it professionally, I knew I was limited. I had good musical ideas we used in arrangements, and I played bass, my main instrument, smoothly, but I was not seasoned or experienced. There were a lot of players out there far better than I, and eventually I would lose my place in K's act. I would never find another opportunity like it. I’d be an unknown has-been, stuck doing something that paid poorly and had no future.

Other of my friends who had stayed in school were on their way to earning degrees and had great futures ahead of them. A friend of the family, about my age, was a scuba diving bum who had parleyed his shell collecting into a multi-million dollar business. I imagined that everyone I knew, including K, were on the beach, and each of them had found a nice sea shell for themselves- a way to rise in the world and make a life. But what did I have? I was standing in the shadow of someone else, and I probably could not even stay there. Ironically, on my way to K's apartment for our daily sessions, I would drive up Sepulveda Boulevard, and turn left at Santa Monica. This was the place where in my dream years ago I saw an important sign (see part one). It seemed like everyone else knew what direction they were taking in life. I wished there were a sign to tell me which way to go. One day I sat there in the left turn lane at that intersection, in my faded blue, dented Volkswagen beetle, thinking about this. I heard a low rumble, and an old, black clunker station wagon pulled up to the line, ahead and to the right of me. I looked and saw, on the black tailgate, a bright yellow bumper sticker. It had black block letters on it. I felt a chill run up my spine as I saw that this yellow sign looked exactly like the yellow sign with black block letters in the dream I had several years earlier. What really ripped my head off was what it said.

To Be Continued…

[telaquapacky]

Ted wrote: It's kind of like a deep depression. You cannot describe it.Ted, I can see that you are a deeply spiritual Christian.

Koan, remember when I said that we feel bad when we do evil against the ones we love, and that it gets more complicated when we're Christians because we're supposed to love everyone, so the evils we do hurt us more than they do the ones we do them against? (Post #4 in There Can Be No Good Without Evil) That's why our faith can really be a downer sometimes. We realize that we can't become perfect like Jesus all at once, like magic, and stay that way all the time. It's not that we're expecting punishment from God- not at all- it's that we don't enjoy doing wrong.

Ted, is that what you're talking about? But that is only one side of it.

I would characterize it more like Bipolar Disorder! Sometimes we're sad and disappointed about our failures, but sometimes we're YAHOO! jumping for joy, sometimes even overcome with tears-of-joy happiness. Sometimes we feel like Sherlock Holmes on the verge of cracking a great mystery. Sometimes like John Kerry, rejected and misunderstood. Sometimes like Felix the Cat, with a bag of tricks. Sometimes like Inspector Clouseau (of the Pink Panther movies)- clueless, mediocre and ineffectual. I don't know about you, but I have become more "me" that is, in the sense of knowing myself as a distinct individual since giving myself to Jesus, because I know that regardless of what I've done, or how I feel, God still loves me- that never stops. He's given me more back than I gave Him.

More of Bizarre Testimony is on the way! :wah:

[koan]

Jack Sprat wrote: My life changed most when I discovered that only I, fate, and chaos theory determine my destiny. I no longer blame other people, gods, or my cats. People who believe that a god determines how their live will be led have no lives of their own. Think for yourself, act for yourself, and accept the results of your actions.


This is a view that I share, except that I believe religion can play a part of that picture as well as it is not always used as a projection. Just as you, who seems well read, have gathered your concepts and opinions through your exposure to literature and life experience, so do religious people. They just gather most of their ideas from one source. Many books can take on deeper and deeper meaning every time they are read. The perception of the reader determines the level of current understanding.

The blame thing is, I believe, a common error in perception not just a religious phenomenon. Sometimes it is easier to imagine that pain and suffering comes from an outside source than to accept that we may be causing it ourselves. But the key to relieving the recurrence of pain is in seeing how we participate in it.

I also do not participate in organized religion. I have thought recently of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha. A man on a quest for enlightenment turns from the greatest known spiritual teacher upon finding him because this man acheived his enlightenment by seeking on his own. He reasoned that he, himself could never achieve the same level of enlightenment as a student. He must become his own teacher.

Does not the belief in "fate" override the belief in "chaos"?

Telequapacky :-6

You are truly the master of suspense.

[koan]

Jack Sprat wrote: Why can't fate be chaotic? I was just watching Anderson Cooper on CNN interviewing the guy who is paying for the Pentigon 9/11 airplane conspiracy ads. People believe in whatever they want to believe, frequently with no more than faith in something, some being, or someone to guide them. You believe in your dog (the rat), I believe in my cat (the koala) and we somehow both landed up on this forum. Is that fate or chaos?


It's funny how words can end up in definition so often on forums. This one anyway. To ask is it fate OR chaos kind of overrides the thought that fate may BE chaos. I take chaos as having no logical or perceivable pattern in which case fate may seem chaotic though fate implies it is destined to happen therefore there is a pattern leading to the outcome...we just don't perceive it. There are some loopholes in my logic. Find them. :yh_whistl

[telaquapacky]

Here's what it said:

PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD


When the signal changed, I turned left on Santa Monica, passed under the 405 Freeway and turned left onto the freeway. I took it to the 10 west, toward the ocean. The 10 goes from above ground to recessed as it passes through Santa Monica, and at the beach, it makes a sharp turn under Ocean Avenue and becomes Pacific Coast Highway. All along the way I felt a sense of wonder and anticipation and said to myself, “Something’s going on. God is talking to me. What does He want?” I turned up Temescal toward K's apartment on Sunset. Our session started the usual way, with us getting high on that phenomenal weed, and setting up the instruments and recording equipment, and K talking excitedly and dreaming out loud.

“You know Tel, when the first album comes out, they’ll all say that we were an overnight sensation. But we know that we have been workin’ on this for years!”

Then came something I wasn’t prepared for. I heard the words, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.”

K continued. “When I was only seven I marched into the living room and told my parents, ‘My name will ring around the world!’”

“Know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God? Whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God.”

It wasn̢۪t unusual to hear sounds or voices in my head when I smoked pot, but not voices pointedly quoting- what was this- Scripture? I had not cracked a Bible in years. I had never memorized any Bible verses. What was going on?

“Barb and I have been going down to Montecito a lot. We want to buy a house there when this thing really takes off. And we’ve been thinking… we want to get a big sailboat and take a ‘round-the-world cruise- and we want you to come with us!”

“For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”

Now this was really getting annoying. Part of me wished that both K and “da Voice” would just both go away and leave me alone. Again I tried to keep a straight face and pretend that nothing was happening. I started feeling more and more detached about the music that had been my obsession up to then. After the session I drove to work, thinking hard about what I was experiencing and what it all meant.

That night, after work, when I went home, I dug my Bible out of the bottom of the old steamer trunk where it had been entombed. I searched through it and found those verses the voice had said in response to K. Now I really knew something abnormal was going on.

By this time I had changed day jobs and was working at a medium sized private hospital in L.A. called Midway Hospital. Midway was the place where celebrities went for cosmetic plastic surgery and abortions when they did not go to Cedars-Sinai, because they wanted to be off the radar screen. Midway was in the Jewish Belt of L.A., not far from Cantor’s Deli on Fairfax Blvd. We sometimes had patients who had survived the holocaust. They had numbers tattooed on their arms. When asked about it, they would smile faintly and say nothing, so I learned not to ask. I was a unit secretary. My job was to implement the orders doctors scribbled in the patients’ charts. I also kept track of equipment and supply charges and answered telephones and call-bells. It wasn’t a career. It was something to pay for gas, food and rent. Most days I worked on music with K up until about 2:00 and then went to work at Midway from 3:00 to 11:00 p.m. I succeeded perfectly in concealing from the doctors and staff that I was soaring high when I came to work. I could answer three incoming phone calls, conduct a complicated order through the different departments of the hospital, remembering all the little idiosyncrasies and details, and greet a visitor at the desk all at once without losing pace or concentration. My other secret was to act so outgoing and zany that nobody would suspect I was high. People who are high try to conceal it by acting quiet, straight-laced and serious. That’s called “Stone face,” and it’s a dead give-away. But the first impression I had after hearing the voices in my head that day at K's was that it was time to quit getting high. It wasn’t that I did not enjoy it, but I was never proud of being a druggie. I had all the fun I wanted and was ready to give it up. I never smoked again.

The next time I met with K, I informed him that I had quit smoking pot, and he took it as a betrayal. I didn̢۪t hear voices again, but I started getting more impressions. Something told me it was time to quit music (not to quit playing forever, just to quit looking to do it professionally). About a week later, when I came to K's apartment, I told him I was dropping out of the music effort. He almost punched me out- but after a big argument and a lot of drama, he made me promise to help finish the songs we were working on, which I did. Then I stopped going there. I let K have the equipment I had purchased, so not to leave him in the lurch. I walked away from about $7,000.

I spent the next month or so, studying the Bible by myself each morning until it was time to go to work at about 3:00. I studied the book of Revelation, because I thought it would tell me about the second coming of Jesus, the thing I felt cheated out of at the churches I used to attend. By myself, I was able to discover only one thing- the identity of the antichrist, the 666. I had studied history at U.C.L.A. some years earlier, and the match-up between prophecy and history on this one fact was exact and unmistakable. There also seemed to be a recurring theme in Revelation, of the major part of God̢۪s church falling into apostasy and amalgamating with the state to become a persecuting power. But that wasn̢۪t much to know. The book was complicated and mysterious. Also I saw changes happening in my language and thought habits as I studied. I was preparing to meet God.

At the hospital in the evening, around nine o’clock, the patients would start settling down, the nurses would catch up with their charting, and sit and talk. I got into a conversation with a nurse named Brodsky. She had started at Midway not long before. The first time we had seen each other, both our eyes flashed a nuance of interest (a combination of deer-in-the-headlights, and kid peering into the candy store). On her first night there, she had needed a ride home, because her car was in the shop. When I dropped her off at her apartment, she had said, “I’m really tired, otherwise I would invite you in.” A couple of months had gone by and I had not made an effort to become better acquainted with her, but now, this evening, we started talking.



To Be Continued…

[Ted]

Koan :-6

Actually I was using the comparison to show that one cannot describe an experience that another has had. One cannot only not describe it but cannot comprehend it.

I suffer from clinical depression (unipolar) that is presently controlled by an antiidepressent. Unless one has been there one cannot understand nor comprehand. The same holds true for you religious faith. The only ones who can understand have been there and done that.

I have often tried to write a poem which I may yet do one day, describing the "Dark night of the Soul" that we call depression.

Telaquapakay has added some interesting thoughts. Though I'm not sure that I persoanally agree with some of them. However., that does not invalidate his thinking. It is another point of view.

Yes I am a member of an organized church, not Roman Catholic but part of the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. My church in part recognizes my stand on pluralism. It really does not cause a problem as I am often called to give a sermon.

Shalom

Ted :-6

[telaquapacky]

Jack Sprat wrote: My life changed most when I discovered that only I, fate, and chaos theory determine my destiny. I no longer blame other people, gods, or my cats. People who believe that a god determines how their live will be led have no lives of their own. Think for yourself, act for yourself, and accept the results of your actions.Jack, this is just part of growing up, of becoming mature. A mature faith in God doesn't mean you blame Him for what happens, or that you don't think or act for yourself or accept consequences. Whatever influence God or other people have on what happens to me, the bottom line is: I am responsible. That I depend on God, trust in Him, surrender to Him doesn't reduce my autonomy or responsibility. Not at all! In fact, a true believer has to be a non-comformist and slog against the tide of the world.

The difference is, chaos theory vs. "God is in control." You're more comfortable viewing it as chaos theory , because the God thing turns you off. That's fine, in fact, the way God is taught I don't blame you- it's a big turn off.

Neither of us are fatalists. It's a question of attitude. You can't control what happens to you, but you can control how you react to what happens to you. I do believe God opens doors for me and closes others, allows things to happen for a purpose, but it's still up to me to play the hand that's dealt. Bad things happen to everybody. You dust yourself off and say, "Tomorrow is another day." I dust myself off and say, "There was a reason for this, and some day I'll be glad this happened."

(By the way, I never read the book that's the rage in all the churches right now, "Purpose Driven Life," and I probably won't. This is just the way I think)

[koan]

Ted wrote: Koan :-6

Actually I was using the comparison to show that one cannot describe an experience that another has had. One cannot only not describe it but cannot comprehend it.

I suffer from clinical depression (unipolar) that is presently controlled by an antiidepressent. Unless one has been there one cannot understand nor comprehand. The same holds true for you religious faith. The only ones who can understand have been there and done that.

I have often tried to write a poem which I may yet do one day, describing the "Dark night of the Soul" that we call depression.




This is true of these extreme experiences or even everyday experiences.

Five people in a room have five different experiences of what happened when the lights went out.

From my experience with my ex and clinical depression. I admire the strength you must have to maintain what seems to be a very amazing career.

I hope you do write a poem.

It may help others to not feel so alone in the battle.

[telaquapacky]

Whatever electricity I had thought there was between Brodsky and I had quieted down. Here we were, just two co-workers chatting. We got on to the subject of spiritual and paranormal things, and I told her cryptically that something had been happening to me lately, and that I was studying the Book of Revelation.

“Oh, there’s always someone preaching doomsday,” she said. Then her face brightened. “I know this guy… He’s a priest! He believes in reincarnation. He says that all the churches will come out and start teaching reincarnation. Imagine- you can keep being born over and over again, and…I guess you become good enough and go to heaven.”

“Yeah,” I said sardonically. “That’s why I haven’t joined any church.”

When I drove home that evening I was excited and intense. “Apostasy in the churches,” I said to myself. “Just like prophecy says.” I went into my bungalow apartment in Palms, a small district of West L.A. near Culver City. I sat down in my easy chair, and suddenly felt a wave of discouragement wash over me. “What am I doing?” I thought. “I’m not getting anywhere.” I knew I had gone as far as I could studying Revelation by myself. I thought there must be somewhere where I could fellowship with other believers who had discovered what I had and could open up more of it to me. But how would I find them? I pictured myself going from church to church with a clip board, asking, “Do you teach this?…and how about this?” That would be futile. How would I have the wisdom to know truth from error? What then? Go to whatever church was nice to me and made me feel the warm, fuzzies- made me feel at home? If there was anything worse than trusting my “wisdom,” it was trusting my feelings. I wanted to find the Truth. How can you find it when you don’t know what it is?

Then I looked at the Bible sitting on the kitschy, old golf club table lamp by my easy chair (I used to enjoy a very arty-farty and eccentric style of decor). I took the Bible in my hand and reflected on what a miracle it was that I had one at all. In past ages, and in some countries even then, you could be thrown in prison for having a Bible. It occurred to me that God had gone to some trouble to make sure I could have this document and read it. I realized that if God had communicated with me, If He had given me this book, surely He would be interested in helping me understand it. That would be right up His alley!

Up to that point, I had not prayed. I couldn’t even remember when I had prayed last. During that month of Bible study, I had just been sneaking a peek at God without formally introducing myself, because I did not feel “good enough.” Something told me that was stupid. Being good enough wasn’t the point. Making a commitment was. So I searched through my bungalow for everything that did not fit with the new life I was seeking- drug paraphernalia, certain magazines and pictures, pagan idols and fetishes (I’m exaggerating a little). I carried it all out to the trash. Then I went into my kitchen and got on my knees and committed my life to Jesus. I asked God, “If there’s only one true Church, lead me to it. If there are more than one true Church, lead me to one…most of all, lead me to the church where You want me to be, where I can best serve you.” When I went to bed that night, I slept the most peaceful sleep I had enjoyed in a long time. I knew I had made a win-win deal with Someone who never fails, who was as eager to help me as I was eager for help.

The next night…

The following night on Four West at Midway, around 9:00 p.m. again came the quiet time, and the nurses sat chatting and catching up on charting. I was finishing up my census report, telling how many patients there were and how sick each was on a scale of one to three, which the hospital would use as a guide to understaff the floor and overwork the nurses.

There came a familiar voice with a West Indian accent. “Mr. Perquacky, can I talk to you?” Jemima Charles came from Dominica in the Caribbean. I had been the one who always gave her the unpleasant news that some patient needed a bed-pan or needed their sheets changed. She was usually irritated with me. Now she was unusually nice and polite.

“Sure,” I said, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Well… I was going to invite you to come to church with me tomorrow… But I don’t know,” Jemima said coyly. This must have been very difficult for her. I was the last person anyone would invite to their church.

I had forgotten the prayer of the night before, and just on a lark, I said, “Sure, I’ll go. What kind of church is it?”

“*” (This isn’t an advertisement for my church. I’m just talking about how I came to it)

I had never to my knowledge met anyone from that church. ‘Tomorrow,’ I thought. This was Friday night, and tomorrow would be Saturday. The name told me this church meets on Saturday, instead of Sunday.

“That’s right,” I said tentatively, “You go to church on Saturday, don’t you? Why is that? Is it a Christian church?”

“Yes, it’s a Christian church. You see, the Pope changed the day from Saturday to Sunday.”

Another big paradigm shift. I always knew my Jewish friends honored Saturday over Sunday, but it had never dawned on me that the Ten Commandments calls for worship on Saturday, not Sunday. Why the change? What Jemima said gave all the explanation I needed for the moment, and I would have to check the facts later. I asked her more about her church. She told me about their focus on end-times prophecies, and on the soon, second coming of Jesus. Everything Jemima told me got me more and more interested. I agreed to pick up Jemima and her sister Rachel the following morning and attend their church.

The next day, I drove out to Jemima’s home in mid-town L.A., and I drove the two talkative West Indian ladies westward to Santa Monica, following their directions. We got off the freeway on the street I used to use to go to Santa Monica College, to my chemistry classes. I began to wonder… Sure enough. They had invited me to the little black church I had seen years ago, where I said I would go if someone invited me! (see part 1)

Before the worship service the church divided into classes for a Bible study, using a study guide that is used by every congregation of the denomination, the world over, all studying the same part of the Bible at the same time. To my surprise, a new, three-month study had just begun on… the Book of Revelation.

That was just the start of Telaquapacky̢۪s Big Adventure. I made up the part about being a famous brain surgeon. As for the rest of it, as amazing as it seems, my life is based on a true story. I went to Optometry School in Berkeley, worked seven and a half years in Africa, and now own and operate a two-office optometry practice in Central California. Happily married for 14 years. No kids. I now do music as a hobby and perform occasionally in church. I pick banjo, guitar, string bass, write gospel songs, and make CD̢۪s on my computer using a midi keyboard. God has blessed me and I turned out okay for a FREAK.

K never followed through with his music career. A big producer offered him a deal that he was afraid would cost him too much and he balked (against my advice). I have no idea where he is now.

Jemima runs a nurse staffing registry with her sisters in Southern California.

No animals were hurt in the telling of this story. Thank you koan, for encouraging me to do this! It has really picked up my mood by helping me take myself less seriously. :yh_silly

[koan]

Telaquapacky :-6

This is a great gift you have given. It's been a long time since someone told me a tale so well and I thank you for it. I wanted to take some time to reread it all before I responded.

I think you had many life changing experiences all rolled in there. Of note:

Your rage with God. Having lost your faith makes it that much stronger when you found it again.

Your dream of a "sign". You would not have taken the bumpersticker so seriously had you not been looking for and waiting for it.

The Reverend Evelyn. She planted the seed of belief in you again. Even though you decided that the message was wrong, you ARE psychic and you SHOULD write a book. Her accuracy with the names must have opened you up to spiritual possibilities again.

Your experience on Eagle Rock. Facing your own mortality and knowing that you were saved by a miracle.

Hearing voices. I've known a number of pot smokers and they don't hear voices. You are gifted.

Praying with a sense of Knowing. Thus manifestation and finding the answer.

Your story makes me feel better as well. With your writing ability I pray that you find the story you need to tell. I'll be first in line to buy it!

[RedGlitter]

I'm dragging up this thread. Why don't we have a lot more cool topics like this one??



1. Being in love and having sex for the first time. Knowing I was loved. Taking someone into my soul.

2. Hearing a warning voice when I was being stalked through the graveyard.

3. Coming into contact with a spirit.

4. A psychic reading I once had.

5. The last heart to heart talk I had with my best friend.

6. Watching my mother die and learning to live without her.

7. Hasn't happened yet. Thank God.

[Ted]

Just a small aside. The word pagan was mentioned. The original word for pagan actually had no connotation to religion. It meant a rural person.

Shalom

Ted:-6

[Pheasy]

RedGlitter;654917 wrote: I'm dragging up this thread. Why don't we have a lot more cool topics like this one??



1. Being in love and having sex for the first time. Knowing I was loved. Taking someone into my soul.

2. Hearing a warning voice when I was being stalked through the graveyard.

3. Coming into contact with a spirit.

4. A psychic reading I once had.

5. The last heart to heart talk I had with my best friend.

6. Watching my mother die and learning to live without her.

7. Hasn't happened yet. Thank God.


Watching my mother die, left me feeling angry at her (she should of always been with me, how dare she leave me) and angry at 'someone' (how dare they do this to us).

I heart wrenching experience.

The learning to live without is so very hard.

Like if I learn to live without you Mum, does that mean you weren't so valuable in my life.

If I learn to live without you Mum, does that mean I did not love you enough.

If I learn to live without you Mum, am I abandoning you who gave your life for me.

It takes a while, but eventually we realise they are still with us and there was never any question about love or giving for life.

:-4 :-4 :-4

[Ted]

ThePheasant:-6

Wonderful post.

I to watched my mother die of a rare form of brain cancer. It caused no pain but slowly destroyed her brain neuron by neuron. The process from diagnosis to death was about 8 months. Somewhere along the way the mother I knew and loved had disappeared long before the body gave up. It was tragic but we had spent many years together including my father and mother traveling and camping together across the whole of Canada. No regrets and loving fond memories.

I truly feel sorry for those who tend to ignore their parents in their later years. The guilt lasts for the rest of their lives.

My father passed away some 3.5 years ago and due to a health condition I was not allowed to travel to the funeral. However, I have the fond memories of my two best friends to live with.

Shalom

Ted:-6

[Pheasy]

Ted;655421 wrote: ThePheasant:-6

Wonderful post.

I to watched my mother die of a rare form of brain cancer. It caused no pain but slowly destroyed her brain neuron by neuron. The process from diagnosis to death was about 8 months. Somewhere along the way the mother I knew and loved had disappeared long before the body gave up. It was tragic but we had spent many years together including my father and mother traveling and camping together across the whole of Canada. No regrets and loving fond memories.

I truly feel sorry for those who tend to ignore their parents in their later years. The guilt lasts for the rest of their lives.

My father passed away some 3.5 years ago and due to a health condition I was not allowed to travel to the funeral. However, I have the fond memories of my two best friends to live with.

Shalom

Ted:-6


:-4 How true Ted. :-4

[pearlman]

Telaquapacky's Bizarre Testimony- what has changed your life? Made me stop and think about what event changed my life??

So what do you think members?

Thanks

[pearlman]

Telaquapacky's Bizarre Testimony post about what has changed your life. It made me think about my Dad and what a great man he is. He changed my life. What about you?

Thanks