Summer is here and so busy! I'm having a blast with the kids cycling and swimming, leaving less time for writing. I will try to post at least 3 things a day on Descriptionari. Hope you're having a great summer too! :)
This is an light edit of this. I will edit further tomorrow. Love, Daisy xxx
I’m beginning to know when you are here. It’s like a tickle, not quite a shiver down my spine but close. Then I turn around and there you are, beautiful you. I know I’ve been short tempered with you at times, but I love you really. Perhaps not as much as He does, but is that even possible? How is it that you glow like there is sunshine upon you on a dark day like this? Perhaps that’s your inner angel showing through. He said I’d find it in you, I wonder if this is the beginning… But enough of that, I have something exciting to share with you! I thought up the best “get rich quick” scheme ever and it’s so simple, so easy. No work really, do you have a printer at home? If not, we can use mine. We’re gonna be richer than Warren Buffet before he got all charitable. Anyway, sit down, make yourself comfortable, I’ve got to be fast - apparently we’re meeting Dakota soon.
So here it is, we’re going to make a new currency called the Squid. Only we can print it. In fact, if anyone else prints any we’re gonna have them in jail for counterfeit. It’s only real when you and I make it. And that’s not all! Here’s the cool part, when people don’t have enough Squids they come to us for a loan (with interest!) **exciting!** All we do is enter the number of Squids we lend them on a computer screen, no need to even print anything. Then they work for their whole lives to pay us back in Squids. I know you must already be excited, but here comes the best bit of the plan, once we’ve flooded the market with cheap loans we say, “Oh no! Too much inflation,” and raise interest rates, make loans harder to get. Unemployment will rise and they’ll all start to default on those loans. That’s when the real fun starts. We seize their property, houses, land, cars etc. Keep that going a few generations and our families will rule the world! We can turn all those silly Squids into real world goods and power! Crazy, right?
Oh, hang on, God’s telling me something. He says that scheme was implemented a long time ago, if fact, that is how the global money system really works. He says there is plenty for everyone on Earth but I should tell you more about that another day. Shit. That means we’re the slaves. Ah, well, I guess I’ll just go back to being God’s Angel then. At least saving the world means saving something real, right? I guess that means yesterday we were discussing if we should kill Kitty for digits on a computer screen. Is the whole world nuts? Sometimes I think it is.
You’re probably feeling like you know me by now, getting a feeling for who I am, what my background might be. But you don’t know, not really. I’ll tell you things about me later on, things no-one else knows just to show you that I’ve made mistakes too, that I can get angry, feel vengeful and hate. I’ll show you my own darkness. I haven’t been “fully awake” since childhood, that’s over twenty years of “sleeping,” plenty of time to make mistakes, have regrets. I still make errors in fact, but I’m learning to reduce them bit by bit. Knowing more doesn’t make you perfect, on the contrary, it shows you just how imperfect you are and how much there is to work on. But I digress, as is in my nature, I was about to make an introduction of sorts… but you look like you want to ask a question.
You want to know how Kitty is? She’s gone to sleep on the cushion now, the purple one over there. See, she’s quite happy. With each tiny breath her furry belly rises and falls just a little and if you listen in closely there;s a slight snore when she exhales. So cute! I think she’s bigger than yesterday, isn’t it amazing how fast kittens grow? You can play with her when she wakes up if you like, she just loves to chase a piece of rainbow wool. Until then maybe we’ll see her paws move in her dreams, that’s always fun. But we won’t talk about her much now, just check in on her every now and then; it’s time to meet Dakota and I can’t wait to see how much she’s changed since I knew her. The updates on how her life has been going are confusing and it’s only coming to me in dribs and drabs, so we’ll just have to make the best choices we can on the given information. That’s life though, right? Often we don’t have complete information, in fact isn’t that the usual state of affairs? You seem to be looking for something? What? No, she isn’t in the room. Dakota isn’t in the house at all, well, technically neither are you, but we’ll let that slide. Dakota is out there in the rain, I’ll show you.
Look out of the window, past the drops and the water that courses down like mini-rivers onto the decking. My street has gone, disappeared, but don’t worry about that now. There are no more mown lawns and unruly maple trees, but still the downpour is almost louder than my voice. Focus on my dulcet tones, my southern British voice. With my words I will paint Dakota for you, she’s more real that you will ever fully comprehend. When I last saw Dakota she was a child, but that was twenty years ago. I can tell you what she was like then and wait for more information to come on her present situation, but she’s in dire straights now and you will have to decide if she gets help or not. That may seem easy, of course you’ll help, but things have a nasty habit of getting complicated.
Dakota was a sweet and gentle child when I knew, her, thought it may sound like a cliche, it’s true. Her hair was lighter back then, chestnut I suppose and she would braid it for hour in front of the mirror, but Dakota was already disturbed by the age of six. Though the toilet was only a few metres from her bedroom she would crawl under an old pool table and urinate on the carpet. No-one knows why she did it. It was as if some animal instinct drove her to do it, to hide somewhere dark, somewhere that felt safe. She played with her dolls and was kind to her siblings. She was a fighter, never staying down if she fell or got knocked. Dakota would go out of her way to be nice to other kids at school, but mostly stuck to just two friends who didn’t mind how old her clothes were. Did I say she has freckles? She does. She was a skinny kid but mostly healthy. She loved animals, as most little girls do. She hated jelly and sausages. She was a teacher pleaser, always doing her best in classes and clever too, learning quickly. But her childhood was rough from the start, some kids have it worse, but her home was turmoil and violence; not constantly, but enough to make her less stable than she should have been. I wish I could have saved her from the years ahead of her, but I was only a teen myself back then.
Anyway, Dakota is an adult now, in her late twenties now and expecting her first child any minute, her labour is advanced and she’s in considerable pain. Keep looking out of the window, I’ve moved the house close to the hospital for the next twenty minutes, in that time you will decide if she and the baby live or die. We’ll see her very soon. There she is! She’s so different. Her hair is shorter, darker, but that could be the rain. Her dress is no match against the frigid onslaught, the fabric is beating in the gale like a weather-worn flag. Her steps are faltering on the path, they are short, almost like a doll with stiff legs. Though her belly is large she’s still skinny really, undernourished. She must be in a great deal of pain to walk like that. From her face I can tell she’s fighting hard to regulate her breathing. Do you see her feet? The sneakers look quite new but they’re too large, her ankles are swollen with edema. When the contractions come she doubles over. Hang on, there’s some new information coming in... The baby is breech and stuck, she also has placenta previa. Dakota needs help in the next twenty minutes or she won’t make it. No. Don’t try to open the door, you aren’t part of her story. You’ll get the chance to help her soon though, I promise.
She’s almost at the aluminium frame of the hospital, look, a porter is coming out with a wheelchair and she’s in. But wait, that’s not the end of it. We’ll fast forward fifteen minutes, that’s all they’ll take to discover she has no health insurance. There, the porter is wheeling her out again. Look, you can see her. You can hear her too. She’s screaming like her guts are being ripped out with a blunt instrument even against this terrible wind that threatens to rip the limbs from the trees. In five minutes she and the baby die. I’m going to give you the price of saving her life in cash, the price the hospital needs to cover her expenses and you can either keep it or take it in there and save them both. I know you want the money right now so you can run out into that storm and save them but there is some information you need first. We have three envelopes to open here. Let’s see what is in the first one.
Hmmm. This one is from her landlord. Mr Humphries says she parties all the time, drinks heavily and on more than one occasion he has caught her smoking while pregnant. She has had multiple lovers as recently as two months ago and is a month in arrears with her rent. He suspects drug abuse as there is frequently powder outside her door and he predicts that the infant will have a drug addiction and mental retardation. So if I give you the money now, do you want to save her, it’s a hundred thousand dollars. Or you can keep it, your call. Just record your answer with a #1.
Okay, number two. This is from her ex-boyfriend, the baby’s father. He says she’s super manipulative and she stole money from him. He is almost certain the baby isn’t his and he thinks she was sleeping around with his best friend. He says she’s a big faker and likely isn’t even in pain, she cries when she gets a hang nail. He says she quit her job two months ago knowing she’d need the money for her baby and has no source of income. Right, what about now, are you going to save her now? Record your answer, I’ll give you the cash soon, though if you do keep it I know a good investor that can probably double it for you.
That leaves envelope number three, it’s from her mother. It says that Dakota is a compulsive liar and a sociopath. It says the father of the baby was a good for nothing drug addict and she believes Dakota has AIDS. She alleges that her daughter has been a prostitute and was recently arrested, she thinks for soliciting. She also says she believes Dakota to be mentally unstable and possibly guilty of killing her best friend five years ago. Of the baby she says “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” By the way, I heard back from my amazing investor, he says he's got a sure thing that will give you a five hundred percent return, but shhhh, no-one else knows about it. With that kind of money you could buy a house outright in a great neighbourhood! Or you can run over there and pay the money to save her. So, have you made your mind up?
There you go. Dakota has two minutes left. Here is the money, all cash, all unmarked bills. From this moment on it isn’t my money anymore. It’s yours. Now I’m going to open the door. You can run to the hospital and pay the money, or you can take it with you. Here's the business card of the investor, maybe you could make a profit for yourself and donate to a charity for orphans with the surplus, ten percent maybe? But decide fast, they only have seconds left. I don’t need to know your decision. That’s for you. In fact, I’d rather not know...
Right, either Dakota is alive or dead, only you know the answer to that right now. Hang on, there are three new envelopes marked one, two and three. Very odd. Let’s open them. The first says her landlord is a crotchety old man. She is a month behind on her rent, but we don’t kill people for that, right? The powder outside her door is white flour, she bakes a lot of her own bread so that the baby doesn’t get the preservatives through the placenta. She often has some flour left on trays or in bowls and she thinks it will make a mess if she tips it into the trash. Seems fair enough. You did save her, didn’t you?
Anyway, envelope number two. The ex-boyfriend is bitter. He was abusive to her on multiple occasions, mostly verbal, but he did strike her also. He cheated on her and hence accuses her of the same, though she did not. The boyfriend offered no proof and even if she had, we don’t condemn people for poor choices of sexual partners, right? She could have a thousand lovers and it wouldn’t make her less worthy as a human being. She didn’t quit her job, the boss made an advance on her and she rejected him, she was fired the next morning. Poor Dakota, she’s had a rough time. I did tell you that she was a great kid, I do hope you saved her.
Now number three. Her mother is a bitter woman and she is the sociopath. Why do you think Dakota had such a poor childhood? I told you Dakota helped other kids and was kind. Sociopaths don’t do that. Her ex wasn’t a drug addict and Dakota does not have AIDS. Even if she did though, would that mean she should die screaming on the grass in the rain, bleeding out as her baby dies in her belly? Dakota did have some mental instability, and after that childhood who could blame her? But she had found help with a new Bible study group, mostly male, mostly gay, that had taken it upon themselves to help her. She never told them about the lack of insurance because she thought she was still covered by her old employer. She was trying to dial them from the hospital but was getting voice mail. If she makes it the baby will have about six daddies who will help him and his mother. They’ll have a great life, movie nights, popcorn, love and laughter. I do hope you took the money over, but since you don’t seem to be able to talk to me I guess I’ll never know. The window is dark again, we must be going back to my street now.
What was the point of the Dakota story? Because you have to know how easy it is to manipulate the truth, or make bad decisions made on partial evidence. Again, similar to Kitty, with Dakota there is a life vs money issue; but there is more than that going on. Every day when you watch the news you see only a partial story, like the first three envelopes. And in real life you never get the second three, the truth of the matter. So unless you train yourself in critical thought you will be a puppet of the media and advertisers, it's all designed with a knowledge of psychology. You have to know get your free will back.
I don’t care what country you live in, your news is propaganda. Fear and misdirection. They’ll tell you who to hate, who should live and die - show you how the enemy is barbarous and the powers that control your life are heroes. Those “enemies” are all “Dakota,” they were children once too, perhaps they still are children. Maybe they have names you can’t pronounce and no-one to speak for them. Maybe they call God by a different name than you do. Maybe they pray differently, eat differently, have a different family structure. Do any of those things mean they should die? Be expendable in “war”? Does it mean they should be allowed to starve to death? Are “they” so good at dehumanizing the “enemy” in your mind that you will turn a blind eye or even support war? Chances are strong that if you met these "enemies" in real life you’d be firm friends very quickly. I know I've fallen into a rant again, but I need to finish or my brain will boil over.
Love is the answer, not hate; let's have grace over intolerance; critical thinking and genuine research over ignorance and impulsiveness. If you were back in the Nazi Germany, how would you avoid being swept away with anti-semitism? How can you avoid hating people you don’t know now, likely people from another culture and religion? Are any of them expendable? For less than we spend on war we could save them all.
I have to warn you though, if you did choose to kill Dakota and her baby, God will now have to make you live through her pain in hell. That’s the way it works. You choose to make her suffer so you can be richer, you’ll have to live that pain later on, only magnified and worse. Why worse? Because you made God suffer too. You see, He loves everyone, He feels everyone’s pain. So if you chose to let Dakota suffer and die, and her unborn, you did it to God too. So you’ll have to take on the suffering of all three of them and God is paper thin. He feels everything from everyone. He feels all the terror, all the hurt, all the pain and He still pours out nothing but Love. He is amazing. Hang on. God want’s me to correct that, just when I was having fun too. I lied about the hell bit. There is no hell but the one we make on earth, but it’s true that God feels everyone’s pain. How? I told you before, your soul is a fragment of the Divine, He is part of you. That’s how everyone has an innate moral compass, should they choose to use it. When you raise your hand against another, you raise your hand against Him too, when you help another, you help Him too. When he said He was the poor, the meek, the hungry, He wasn’t joking. He is.
So to recap again - life is worth more than money - money isn’t even real. This is just the beginning of your training sweetheart. You must learn to be guided by Love, but you need some teaching first or you’ll simply con yourself that whatever it is you want is the most loving thing and it isn’t.
Only minor alterations from the original here, I quite liked it so most changes were just for clarity.
Have you heard the rain this morning? It’s crazy! It’s that temperate rainforest type I promised you. Those drops are bigger than prairie hailstones and coming down just as hard. If you went out there you’d be soaked to the skin in seconds just the same as if you’d stepped into the queen’s own power shower. I’ll just turn the dishwasher off here so you can listen to it better. It’s almost as if the drops are striking your eardrums, right? I actually like it, I find it soothing. If I close my eyes and lie on the couch its as good as a massage for my brain; all my anxiety is stopped in its tracks, oozing away as slow as the springtime melts. You look dry though! How ever did you manage that? No matter, don’t answer, I’m not that bothered.
We’re quite alone right now - it’s just you, me and the dirty breakfast dishes. The kids are at school already, you should have seen them go all togged up in rain jackets and umbrellas. I was going to give them rides but the school is just so close and the traffic so bad in the mornings that it’s actually quicker to walk. I do hope their feet stayed dry, look at that water on the street. Come over to the window, you’ll see it way better. It’s a shallow river over the tarmac, we get that so much here. Did I say it’s a temperate rainforest here? Oh, I did? Well, the kids do say I repeat myself a lot, maybe they’re right after all!
Thanks for looking more solid today; it’s kinda creepy when I can see through you. Did you sleep well? Had breakfast yet? We can’t go walking like we planned, or rather, I don’t want to. Let’s go when the weather cooperates, k? Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, I’d love to know you a bit better. Hmmm. Silent type, eh? Well, tell me one of your fears, you can’t expect me to let you into my head without giving anything away. Plus, it will make us feel way more connected, you might even like telling me something. Hang, on, don’t worry. I’m getting a strong feeling right now.
You fear losing the love in your life, fear being abandoned and misunderstood. There’s a lot of fear in you actually, mostly manifesting as anxiety and pain. You find the world confusing. You know it’s messed up and you don’t know what to do about it. You feel powerless to make a difference. Don’t say anything, you don’t have to. I can tell from your face that it’s true. That’s why you came to see me, isn’t it? Of course. I can help you if you stick around, it takes a while to undo the damage of years of mis-education, and even then the most likely outcome is that you’ll slip back into your old ways. That’s why I’m making a transcript of our time together, something for you to reread and something for others to learn from too. Some can’t reach me like you do, their minds just aren’t ready yet. So you see, just by being here you’re doing something great. I knew you were someone special from the start, I just knew! The Creator is going to help me to help you, He guided me, now I can guide you mostly on my own - but he’ll chip in if He needs to. He loves you too. Don’t worry about if you believe in Him or not, like I said before, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is waking up and learning how to stay awake. So my task is very enjoyable. I get to spend time with you and show you how a person who has been awakened sees things. So relax, this is going to be awesome. You don’t mind me carrying on with the dishes do you? It’s so good to have a clean kitchen. Do you mind if I have a coffee? Maybe you can get one wherever your body really is. I don’t think feeding you anything will work.
You have that look again, what’s your question? What are we doing today? Well, we could talk about that family tension you’re having right now, but that might take a while and we have so much to cover. We’re going to talk mostly, but I need a couple of props. Hang on...turn your back for a moment. The element of surprise is everything! Now turn back, but quietly. Do you see the kitten in my hands? Say “hello” to Kitty. She’s still so small isn’t she? I only just got her. Nine weeks old is all. Listen, you can hear her little meow, so newborn, right? I love the way she feels, that downy tabby fur, softer than any commercial toy. I’ll bring her closer so you can see her eyes, bluer than glacier water aren't they. If you look closer still you can see the faint brighter stripes in her irises, they remind me of spring grass. And her whiskers, so white and soft. When she trots along her tail is right up in the air. I adore her. There’s a knife over there, would you like to kill her? Any way you like, what’s your fancy?
You’re shocked I know. That’s our western culture. Some animals are pets and others are food, largely depending on how cute they are. I’m glad you chose not to. If you didn't feel a little sick inside I'd have to ask you to leave. I wouldn't have let you harm her anyway. I already told you, I adore her. What kind of monster do you think I am? I feed her milk and she has a velvet pillow I found at the thrift store, she's spoilt really. Sometime this week we'll get her a scratching post…
On the counter over there is a large gold coin, heavy, worth a thousand dollars. If you can have it, if you kill Kitty. What are you going to do now? No, don’t tell me, there’s more to this. Let’s say you chose not to kill Kitty for the coin (we’ll assume you’re well fed and affluent enough to resist). Ready for round two?
This time if you kill Kitty you get ten coins of pure gold… now a hundred coins… now a million coins. Kitty gets it right? You’ve killed her now, I know you have. Lucky for Kitty she’s really here, in my reality, and you aren’t, so she get’s a saucer of milk. I know all the justifications. With that gold I could pay for an operation my mother needs, food for a month for my whole family or I’d never have to work again! The principle you’ve accepted,is that Kitty is worth less than money. If I’m honest, if my kids needed something vital, life or death type situation, I’d kill her too. But at that point it’s a life vs life choice, not a life vs money greed situation.
Let’s move on to round three, and don’t worry about Kitty, she’s very happy with her milk as you can see. She loves the whole milk best, so creamy. We can throw yarn for her later. Alright already, stop looking at me like I’ve cracked, and no, I don’t want meds. Let’s press on. Now take whatever sum of money you decided to kill Kitty at (I know you did). Now the question is would you kill Kitty and ten other kittens for it? A hundred other kittens? A million other kittens? A hundred million kittens (and Kitty)? At some point you said “no,” right? I hope you did because at some point you’ll realise the “Kitty” dilemma is a micro-model for the entire earth. At what price will you decide to cook the planet? For most folks right now there is no price at all, they do it for free, they pay to do it in fact with “convenience” lifestyles, but I digress again. Let’s get back to Kitty. At some point the life of the kittens was worth more than the cash; but what about Kitty? Why wasn’t she worth saving all on her own, just for her? That’s the thing about philosophy, we have to follow ideas to their logical conclusions. If at some point life out weighed money, then it always should. If money outweighs life, then it always should, and as barbaric as that sounds, it’s where humanity has been heading for a long time.
Ready for the next round? Now we aren’t talking about Kitty. Now it’s you. I know where you are right now, you know I do and I’ve been paid a dollar to kill you with some cheese wire. A dollar? How silly, not enough money, right? That’s what I said too. I said I wouldn’t consider it for less than ten million. Then I’ll get my cat suit on, pick up a pistol and climb in your window tonight... Just kidding! I could be offered any amount of power or money and you (and Kitty) would be perfectly safe, so stop fading away already, I already told you I don’t like it when you go so transparent. Have some backbone! Plus I said I like you, will you try to remember what I say? It’s important.
Anyway, in the words of Bob Marley, “Life is worth much more than gold, neither can be bought or sold.” I accept that life is sacred and worth more than money, which means that I can’t be paid or bribed to kill either of you. Money isn’t even real, not bank account digits anyway, why would you be worth less than fictitious digits? Crazy, right?! Now we’re back to our last conclusion - if life is worth more than money then it always is. If your life is worth more than a cent, it’s worth more than all the money man can invent. There can never be another you, that's how special you are.
So why so much talk about Kitty? Why all this? Well, anyone not awakened is a "sleeper" a "modern zombie" and they all choose money over life every day. When money is worth more than life we build factories that pollute the planet so that a few people can be billionaires. We buy factory farmed meat instead of eating mostly plants and having ethical meat less often. As nations we hoard food while others starve - just because they can't pay for it we'll let it rot. Putting money before life leads to the factory farming animals as sacred as our beloved pets. It leads to big pharma demanding hundreds of dollars for a vaccine that cost them two dollars to make, holding us all to ransom so that they can line the pockets of their share holders. It leads banks to gather billions of dollars and use their influences to get richer at the expense of both developing countries and the average citizen struggling to make ends meet. It means we could solve world hunger for a fraction of what we spend on war but we don’t. Money comes first every time. And if you think you don’t have what it takes to save Kitty, I’m going to introduce you to someone who knows you better than that. But you'll have to be quiet, they're quite shy.
Look, look toward the kitchen door, it’s you! You at two years old. You’re so cute! Look at those chubby cheeks, the little legs moving like a clockwork toy. I love those clothes, so fashionable for back then. Stay quiet now, I’m going to ask your toddler self to choose between saving Kitty and taking the money. You’re younger self is listening and your little eyes don’t even more than flick at the cold yellow metal on the table; you only have eyes for Kitty. See how smart you are? You already know that life is sacred, it’s just that you got reprogrammed with all the wrong stuff by our greedy and insecure culture. But don’t worry, we’re going to fix you. But incase you are still thinking saving Kitty is silly, let’s move on further.
Okay, let’s say you killed Kitty for one hundred million dollars, cold hard cash. Now, with no access to cats of any kind, except the remains of Kitty, make me a kitten. In fact, not just any kitten, bring Kitty back to life. If you can, you win a billion dollars and you can be ruler of the world, immortal too. What are you waiting for? Bring Kitty back. Can’t be hard, you are so rich! All I want is Kitty and I’ll leave you in charge of the planet. You can hire anyone you want. Your new employees may get Kitty’s DNA, put it in the egg of some other species and after much effort and sweat, there is a kitten of sorts. How clever people are now! But there’s a problem. It still isn’t Kitty, just like I could clone you into an army and still there would only be one you. So for money, you destroyed something you cannot replace. It’s the same choice you make when you buy a trinket at the mall, or any product, you don’t need. You are paying to destroy the entire planet, not just Kitty, but all the whales, all the dolphins, all the cats, dogs and humans too. You’re paying to destroy billions of lives, not just human, plus all the plants. But I’m too sensitive right?
Silly me. I am crazy after all, but unless someone can prove it I guess I’ll carry on my God given mission without the hinderance of a straight jacket and a chemical cocktail for my brain. Did I tell you about the time I ran barefoot through the forest in my nightclothes because I knew for a fact that the demons were after me, chasing me? What a damp evening that was, almost twilight too, quite rough underfoot. Funny story, now that it’s old. I didn’t laugh much at the time though. It was as enjoyable as being chased by an axe wielding murderer. I can still feel the way my heart almost exploded with the strain and my lungs felt like they’d been given an acid bath. And then there was the psyc nurse “gang rape” at the end of it, clothes ripped off, male onlookers, forced face down for an injection. Remember to ask me about it later, we can giggle about it over some decaf coffee, it’s all I drink. Can you imagine this brain on caffeine, holy crap, I’d be burning holes in the carpet just by running around so fast. Anyway, enough of that. I’m a bit tired now and the kids will be home soon. Isn’t anyone missing you yet? Don’t you need to go home? What did you say? I can’t get much volume out of you.
You’re asking if we're talking about Kitty tomorrow? Oh no, not at all. You can see her though, she’ll be so happy when you come back. Tomorrow you get to meet a dear old friend of mine, Dakota. Take care now and if you remember that life is more important than money, you’ll be more “awake” than most people you know. Have a great sleep. Just let yourself fade away, I’m sure you’ll be back home in a jiffy. There, you’re already looking more ghostly, bye! Same time tomorrow!
I forgot there was this bit before the Kitty Chapter, the original version is here. It is only slightly altered except that the second half has been deleted. I didn't think it added anything of value to the story.
Phew, we can finally get going. Damn I’m looking forward to that fresh air. Hey? Why do you look like that? It’s like you’re fading out. I can see the couch behind you. And you’re changing your appearance so rapidly too, like thousands of people leaving in a hurry. What’s up? You’re scared? Why would you be scared, what did I do? Oh! It’s the mental illness thing, right? You think I’m gonna grab a kitchen knife and behave like we’re in some Stanley Kubric movie? I’m a pacifist! I never hurt anyone! Do I have a criminal record? No! Why would you ask? Where are the knives? Do I have a gun?
I think you should leave now. Though to be honest I’m not sure how you get in here anyway. For the record, I don’t see it as an illness at all, well not this bit, the early bit sure. I was crazy, but now? No. This is a spiritual awakening and I’ll thank you to keep your cultural stigma to yourself. This is how westerners wake up, if they don’t have a guide like me to help them. It’s a baptism of fire and unless you are mentally 100% before it begins with no history of depression you won’t make it. You’ll be a big pharma guinea pig on ever higher doses, analysed by shrinks and mistrusted for your transformation.
Why westerners? Why so hard for us? We're brought up in culture of fear and coercion, so what do you think comes out first when the mind loosens? That’s right, it is the scariest damn thing that can ever happen to you. The devil himself will come and unless you can face down every fear, own your guilt in a healthy way, you are screwed. But if you can then God can come, the Creator, and He’ll talk to you like a best friend, calm you, tell you everything will be OK. Then you can unshackle from big pharma and the doctors will see a miraculous recovery. And after all that, you know what? You are free. Free to do God’s will because you actually know what it is without reading inches of scripture. All you need are strong definitions of "love," "grace" and "forgiveness." I’m not sick. I’m well. Well people act through Love and try to save the earth and bring peace. Sick people buy shit they don’t need even though they know it will kill them and the planet for future generations, for their own kids even. Sick people refuse to see that international economics is a form of warfare that leaves the losers to starve in a world of plenty. So who’s sick now?
Pardon? You’re beginning to fade out too fast. You want to come back but you don’t know how? Well, it’s a matter of whether I invite you or not. You’re here because I wanted to help you, but if you’re going to be disrespectful about it then you can go. I don’t care anymore. Hang on a minute, God’s talking. I should what? Not be so pouty? OK. But I went to hell and back to bring this message and they think I’m a crack pot. Yes, I knew they would, but it still stings when it’s shoved in my face. You want me to give them another chance? Well, you’re the boss. Can we just leave it for today? They can walk with me tomorrow, I’m feeling really pissed off. Mmm, hmmm, yep. Got it. You going now? See ya. He’s gone. He extends His grace, He says He Loves you and all is forgiven. I say I need space and we’ll start afresh tomorrow, like this little spat never happened.
The first draft of chapter one can be found here. The second part of this draft was added June 11. Next is my favourite chapter - Kitty! Second draft uploaded June 12 by 3pm PST (Vancouver time). :D
Have you ever had a dream so real you were confused when you woke up? Once when I was a little girl I dreamt that the grass in our backyard was as blue as the hair on my toy troll. I watched it from the patio, rise up into the sky and leave perfect green grass underneath. Above, the sky the same perfect shade those soft blades had been. That morning I didn't wake up sleepily, but instead like a switch had been flicked. I ran from my bed to the back yard. And you know what? The grass was green and the sky was blue. I told everyone where the blue grass had gone, but since I was five there was no suggestion I was crazy, just knowing smiles and nods. No-one could tell me it wasn’t real, I’d “seen it” happen and outside was the proof. Seeing is believing right? I guess that’s why I’m so comfortable talking to you. I can see you here with me. You aren’t quite solid yet, I don’t think you can be for a while; but don't ask me why for a while because you won't like the answer.
I can see the shafts of light come right through the window and strike the tile in front of you like you aren’t even there. Tell me, how is it you don’t cast a shadow like me or the white breakfast table over there? Perhaps like that blue grass so long ago, you aren’t really with me at all, but all the while I can see you there we can talk. I was just chatting to God before you came. I understand that when other people do that they don’t get an answer, that must be so frustrating. When I ask He always replies. He never starts a conversation though, I have to do that. So if you have a question for Him you’ll just have to ask me first and I’ll pass it on. Funny really, my last name is Abraham just like the last guy who had God as a friend. It’s nice to be like that. I know those fine doctors could medicate it out of me, but why? Through me He can reach you and that’s what He wants, to talk to people again like He once did before. I can feel Him everywhere I go - it feels like pure love, like that moment you fall in love but going on forever. It’s a way of being, more like breathing in joy with every breath rather than consuming a sweet delicacy.
What, you’re uncomfortable? You don’t know what I look like and I sound crazy? Well, I am crazy, technically speaking, anyone will tell you that. Anyone that thinks they have a message from God goes straight to the ‘funny farm’ and comes out rattling with gifts from Big Pharma. Not me though. Not me. I’m ‘au naturel’ weather the good doctor approves or not. It’s not illegal to be fiction author and I can talk ‘sane’ anytime they want a chat. But I digress, you’ll find that happens alot. I can tell you what I look like though; take Angelina Jolie and put forty pounds on her, make her hair way less perfect, take off the make-up and add some freckles. Make her bone structure not quite so perfect, and take a few inches off her height, I’m average. I wasn’t always overweight though, not that I even look fat for my age really, just not skinny anymore. Hang on a minute, I hear the front door opening and footsteps, someone else is here. Oh, it’s Marsha, my longtime friend and she’s laughing her ass off. What, Marsha? I don’t look like Angelina? Not even if the Hunger Games prep team did overtime on me? Huh? Well, at least my husband is better lookin’ than Brad Pitt. There, that did it, she’s just giving me the raised eyebrow look now ‘cause she knows it’s true.
You have a skeptical look on your face, there’s a certain tightness in the muscles that wasn’t there before. If I think real hard, I bet I can guess what you want to ask. How did I get someone like? What does he look like? Slow down, honey. I’ll tell you, so long as you know that good look are just a bonus, it’s the heart that counts. I wasn’t born a middle aged woman with too much on the hips, y’know. Way back in my youth I was fit, really fit, an athlete who could run ten kilometers and win medals, trophies. It wasn’t that hard really, just putting one foot in front of the other until the finish line. Truthfully, I enjoyed it. Whether it was a country road or a city street those steps became miles and they passed in a wonderful, exhilarating blur. There were faces, people clapping, the refreshing wind. At the end if I wasn’t falling over from empty legs I never really felt like I’d given it my all. I competed hard and I always won my category. Not that it makes me a super runner, I bet a lot of girls could have done it, but most my age were too busy thinking about boys and make-up. They were normal, I was the loner freak - but a toned one. I guess all that helped, a trim body goes a long way. Anyhow, enough of that, it feels like boasting about someone else, that’s how long ago it was. Perhaps I’m just throwing my ego a bone, it’s hard to keep that healthy at my age, hence all the mid-life crises.
But you wanted to know about my man, right? He’s a private guy so you can’t tell you much except he’s got that brown skin adonis look going on, brown eyes that make me weak at the knees. He has the heart of a lion and the soul of an angel. He’s a fair few inches taller than me, which I like. He’s slim, muscular, with an almost perfectly symmetrical face. He has an African heritage that shows in his features and body type. Everyone loves him, they’re drawn to him. I see it in the way they hang on his words and reciprocate his smile so quickly. They want to be close to him just like I do. If he wanted to he could have more friends than hours in the day, but for the most part he just wants me and the kids and for that I feel truly honoured. He could have had almost anyone, he could have had someone with a bigger bust, a smaller waist, blonde hair and more self-confidence. He still could, men don’t age as fast as women do they? Not in our culture. We’re over the hill at twenty six and their good till sixty, more if they stay trim. But he doesn’t want anyone else. Apparently, my love is enough. I wish I could rescue him from his day job so that he could enjoy his life more, sometimes I dream up ways to earn enough money for his emancipation but isn’t that the problem with us dreamers? Don’t we have more ideas than we could ever choose in one lifetime? When do these dreams ever turn into something tangible?
Hang on, there’s a noise. The door has opened and there are footsteps heading our way. Just keep quiet for a bit, no more questions from you until they’re gone, k? It’s Marsha’s again. Her face is a poor mask of nonchalance. She’s the worst at masking her “subtle” probes. If I tell her you’re here it’ll be straight off to the psych ward for a few more injections and little brown pills. She wants to know what I’m doing and who you are. I’m giving her the “not now” look and shooing her with my hands but she has no intention of moving. So I tell her I’m in the middle of creating a new writing genre and she says, “What?”
“Fuction,” I say and she almost spits the take-out coffee she’s drinking.
“Dai, I think you missed out an “n.”
“No, Marsha. It’s Fuction, functional fact fiction. Fuction.”
“Sure you don’t wanna put a “k” in that?” She dissolves into a puddle of laughter and I can see her stomach shaking as she fights a new gale of giggles. My distraction is a success. In her world this display of humour is something only mentally healthy people can achieve, which I consider myself to be anyway.
“No, Marsha, I don’t. And I’m kinda busy right now. I have a new friend over too.” She looks around the room. Thankfully she can’t see you there, I guess you’re blending right into the couch. Well done. She pulls her mouth to one side, like a lopsided pout and I can see her cogs turning as her eyes narrow just a bit. She hasn’t given up after all. Damn it.
“Maybe I should stay, Dai. I mean, um, let’s talk about your new ‘friend,’ shall we?” Now my back’s up. I can see her pulling the professional side of her out of the closet, she’s even still wearing her scrubs from the ward. She’s known me fifteen years and still she pulls this ‘stethoscope’ behaviour. It’s time for her to leave. Anyway, you and I have a walk to go to, right? The great thing about being creative is it makes the invention of the necessary bullshit to get rid of someone all the easier. It isn’t so much “lying” as weaving a live story for them to be a part of. I consciously relax all my muscles and give her a smile.
“No, Marsha. You know me, always the creative type. I have to sink myself into these roles you know, whether it’s love, hate or betrayal, I have to be six inches under when I write it.” Her expression sinks a bit, she’s crestfallen. She likes to rescue people, I know she does, she’s good at it too. But all her department has to offer is the removal of all your clothes in front of a half dozen people of both genders and an injection in your ass. My best defence is to remain perfectly lucid; I can write, do algebra, debate logically and talk finance. I am well aware that wanting to save the world and talking to God like I do makes me clinically insane, but if this is crazy then I don’t want to be “sane.”
“Are you trying to save the world again, Dai?” She has her serious nurse look on again, I know she’s shooting for ‘concerned friend’ but she’s been in the business too long not to wear it when she’s having these thoughts. So, in as much as she thinks she’s ‘reading’ me, I’m reading her. After five years of having ‘check-ups’ the psychiatrists have declared me psychosis free, sane. So they can stick their rooms with iron doors and handles right up their asses. They can keep all their pills from big Pharma, except maybe the odd sleeping pill. My mind does blow a bit hot sometimes.
“No, Marsha. That’s crazy talk.” See what I did there, I used the word ‘crazy,’ psychotics typically won’t do that. They get scared of the word. “Saving the world is crazy, no-one can. No, I’m going for a walk at Colony Farm.” Bam, another blow. I shouldn’t want to go near that forensic hospital out there. “Then I’m baking more buns for the kids, you wanna come back when their done?” I know she won’t. I win. I love Marsha like a precious sister, but she can’t be the boss of me. She’s the bossy kind anyway, opinionated and strong. I have to help her stay in the “friend zone” though, if I become her ‘work’ too then we lose our relationship and I can’t have that. It means a lot to both of us and she knew me before I got it in my head that it was my task to save the entire planet and everyone on it. It isn’t her fault I changed.
“Dai,” she pauses, I can see she’s in a bind now. Push me further and she’s medicalizing our friendship, back away and it’s against her instincts as a nurse. She wants to offer me drugs I can feel it, slip me some Risperidone or Ativan at the least, but I’ve been off that poison for months now and living a normal life. I’m just as intellectual as I ever was. I follow conversations and show interest in the lives of others. I’m a fantastic mother. I can show a full range of emotions and I’m in control. I’m never manic and I’ve never been depressed, not ever. That’s not my bag, thankfully. In fact, until recent years I had perfect mental health, I was the most stable of the stable. Zero wobbles, an atheist who had been looking for God since childhood, hanging on quotes for Jesus and wondering about the meaning of life. But I was “sane” then, I dismissed the possibility of God with heavy heart. There was no evidence but books thousands of years old and those books contained hate and fear as well as love and that never sat right with me. I won’t worship fear and hate. I refused then and I still do now, maybe I didn’t change so much after all. Now I realise I’ve been thinking too long, it’s a dead giveaway for having internal dialogue. If I was on her ward those pajamas would be staying on, but I’m not and I’m not stupid enough to get committed.
It’s all in how you phrase things. Stand up with passion and say you are “an angel of God sent to save the earth” and about six nurses will jump you, there goes your freedom and your ability to serve the Lord, the Creator, the Divine, whatever you want to call Him or Her. But say, “You know what, my views are somewhat unorthodox. I believe that God is Love and Love will save the earth, save humanity. But I’m not running around trying to convert people. All I have are words to encourage people to be loving and do the right things. I’m a creative writer, it doesn’t mean I believe the things I write are true.” Then you get the basic questions to test your mental functioning. Tell me about your childhood. What was your last vacation like? How is your sleep? Is anything worrying you? Easy, easy. I could answer them in my sleep. My mental functioning isn’t impaired, I can remember their lists of things. I walk in their door looking like I remembered to shower, wear clean clothes and put on make-up, what can they do? The shrinks don’t scare me anymore, I understand their rule book, their parameters.
Back to Marsha. She smiles like she’s at ease, that big wide grin that makes her so beautiful and she says, “OK, Darlin,’ call me if you need anything, and I mean it. Day or night. Never too busy for you.” Now I know she’s worried, normally she talks about her life non-stop and I never tell her much about mine. I don’t mind that at all, I love it really. Her life is interesting, glamorous at times. Mine? Pretty static, but that’s what I need. We’re all different, right? I need home and “boring,” she needs sparks, fire, hot energy. But when it comes to our souls we’re aligned in ways I’m not sure either of us understand. We’re such an unlikely pair, me and her, but it works. I follow her to the door, my smile mirroring hers, and to the street at large we’re two friends smiling - but we both know what just happened. I’ll see her in a few weeks I guess, time usually heals these little rifts pretty well.
I call out to her, “Love you too. Don’t work too hard.” She leaves, windows rolled down, radio on loud. Her car pulls away fast, as always. She doesn’t really notice speed limits that one, but she has a clean driving record so who am I to judge? She looks after her three girls like they’re princesses for the most part, albeit princesses that have to pull their weight around the house and not back-talk. They know they’re loved though. Anyway, now it’s just back to you and me.
It’s a beautiful day out there, have you seen it? Do you even know where we are? This is British Columbia, Canada. It’s green of course, what did you expect? This is a temperate rain forest, or at least it was before all these homes were built. We still get the right though, oh man, I can’t wait until you see it! Take a look at my street. There are trees right up and down the wide grey tarmac. It snakes up the steep hill and turns out of view before hitting the main road to the newer homes further up the mountainside. The trees aren’t regimented in rows though, it’s a more organic look.. Home owners have planted them and some no doubt went into the ground when the street was new some thirty years ago. Maple is the dominant choice, japanese reds as well as the green leafed ones. You can’t tell that right now, all we see as we look at the trees is naked branches with swelling buds. But for mid-March that’s actually pretty good. Some years we’re still in snow, still shivering like the east coast is right now.
Today’s sky isn’t the perfect blue of yesterday; it’s more pale, like it got diluted with a can of white. There are soft grey clouds, more than a wisp but not enough to threaten rain. I can taste the humidity in the air, fresh as an apple straight from the tree. It doesn’t have sweetness but there’s the scent of the pines infused into those microscopic drops. I can’t keep looking uo though, sometimes brown bears or coyotes stroll right down the street. Somewhat less scary are the deer; you’d be amazed how big they are, especially the males with their velvety antlers. If you’re lucky a whole troop of racoons will come down the hill, moving like the masked outlaws they are.
Don’t worry too much about the bears, just don’t run from one. Mostly they’re shy and wander off. Avoid eye contact, back off slowly without turning and pray real hard. I think that’s all you can do. There aren’t any grizzlies in this neck of the woods. These black bears are more partial to fruit and grubs, mostly they prefer their meat a bit rotten too, so unless you’re a zombie I’m betting you’ll be just fine.
I’m going to load up the bikes and get the dog ready. Unless you’d rather walk? Either way is good with me. Or maybe you’re the fit type that likes to go fast? You’ll have to slow down a bit for me; I’ve been sitting on my back-side typing for a few years. That and I lost all the muscle tone I ever had when I got sick some years ago...but enough about that. What a blabber mouth I am! Couldn’t keep a secret if I tried… well, a secret about myself. I won’t gossip about you, I’m good like that. Are you hungry? Want a bite to eat before we go? The kitchen is stocked. I was baking yesterday - buns, bread, pizza. Oh wait, we ate all the pizza. But there’s cheese and English brown pickle for the bread, try it! I’m getting the dog’s leash and I need a few moment to get the garbage out the car. Did I say that? Whoops. See what I mean. No secrets here.
I'm a Vancouver writer. I live with my husband, our three wonderful children and two dogs. I strive to inspire, spread Love and increase hope.