Although I often have a sense of “something’s coming” and even an indication of what that may play out to be, although there have been many instances when a forth-coming date seems to hold some kind of significance and I approach it with an open curiosity to see what it will, in fact, unveil, often I do not connect the dots and understand the scenario as I live it in “real time.” Yet, I walk forward, knowing in Whom I put my trust, flowing through life’s experiences, BEing the Light that I can BE in all situations, to all people. And always, in “hindsight,” the wisdom reveals itself to me.
Such was the case with September 18, 2016; exactly three months after my experience of being honored by the “Heavenly Court” of Divine Goddesses on June 18, 2016. (Tomorrow, I will post here THAT experience of experiences….) Several days before, I had seen the symbolism of “9-9-9”: September (ninth month), 18 (1 + 8 = 9), 2016 (likewise, 2 + 0 + 1 + 6 = 9). Nine, to me, symbolizes “revelation coming down from heaven” (picture the shape of the digit itself). 999 is also the mirror image, or vertical flip, of “666.” I will dwell much more upon this later.
Before proceeding, let me present the nucleus of the principle:
Happiness must first be experienced within; but then it can be shared with another, which can enhance one’s happiness (or reduce it, which is the risk of sharing).
Feeling secure within one’s self is the first step in finding this happiness. As one focuses primarily on what is felt within and giving no heed or attention to what goes on outside the self promotes the ability to establish self-confidence. This leads to security. This inner peace is something that NO ONE, no experience can strip from us.
So, now back to the story of HOW the application of this principle has most profoundly affected me.
In a nutshell: Dave entered my life on April 11, 2014. Our meeting and the intense drama that has ensued, including its purpose and the intrigue involved, will all be addressed in the near future. However, suffice it to say that he and I have lived two completely opposite realms of the spectrum concerning emotional control. Whereas, I have dedicated my life to living with mastery of my emotions and in control of my environment, feeling an inner compulsion to share the map of how I have gotten to where I am so that others with sincere intent might find their own rich inner treasures… and join with me, Dave had had much contrasting experience regarding emotions.
Yes, I have marveled often that Dave’s and my deep connection would still manifest though he had never learned to navigate through feelings and had, instead, a great dread of any kind of participation in the world of “emotions.” In pondering the disparity of our emotional states, I have been shown that Dave’s soul, the polar opposite of mine on the issue of feelings, had prepared itself and was now mortally ready to be “foundationalized” in this most critical subject. He was ready to heal his trust issues and discover Who He Truly Is. Until he did, Dave would not, could not, become a “Real Man”… a “Gentle Man.”
Yet, Dave has learned much. He has shown determination, though with many hiccups and glitches along the way, and at times been willing and able to dig down into the deepest recesses of his soul and share and process his own submerged feelings, even ones that had been hidden and mourning inside him since childhood.
Dave had, over the course of his life’s experiences, learned to “delete” emails, texts, conversations, even people, that portrayed, or even hinted that they might, feelings other than acceptance and validation for him. His purpose was self-preservation, yet, since he knew not his True Self, the “self” at stake was his “ego,” his “false self,” and in the wake of his “dismissals” he unknowingly met a closing off of any True deep and lasting JOY. Although peaceful and gentle by nature, and believing that he was a “kind” person, Dave had long ago developed an aversion to accepting any type of “negative” feelings. Dave and I have thus experienced much as I have assisted him to learn to be comfortable with “feelings”: to listen to and respectfully validate them, both his own and others, to feel them and genuinely—yet correctly—express them, to learn how to respectfully acknowledge and communicate with them as I, and others, have shared our hearts with him. I was attempting to teach him that only as a person opens up to the fullness and richness that our emotions allow can one fully integrate life and experience JOY, each human’s birthright.
Those discoveries had allowed Dave to plunge much deeper than he had ever imagined into the world of intimacy. On every level. He has oft times marveled that his former self had missed out on so much of life’s treasures because he had merely been skimming the surface. He has seen that the ways he had been taught to process life and relationships, even people near him, was at the appearance level and that many times he had viewed and treated others as mere “objects” for his benefit.
Yesterday’s post revealed some of our experiences as he was given opportunities to see parts of himself that he had chosen to ignore and how his lack of integrous emotional control affected him, me, and others. Though none knew the grueling struggles that each of us have gone through to help him “get” and internalize the new principles, there have been a relative few who have seen glimpses. Yet, scores of times as people witnessed us interact, they made sighing comments such as: “That’s the kind of love that I want!” “You two are the ‘Dream Couple’!” Indeed, the “deeper” Dave plunged in his emotional healing, the more amazing our companionship became. We had so often exhibited “one heart” and “one mind.”
About a week prior to that September 18th, Dave had taken it upon himself to memorize the “TRUE Ten Commandments.” (Please see the link to the right.) Although each of them can be found as jewels hidden within the Inspired Version of Matthew 5, 6, and 7, and each of them greatly could benefit anyone’s life, we both knew that if he could master those Ten Commandments in his life and heart, that he would have achieved profound personal growth. Of special significance to him because of his former character programming in this life are numbers two and five. 2) “Never become angry at ANY person in ANY situation,” and 5) “Do not fight back in ANY situation.” Dave had had me quiz him on his memory of these True Ten Commandments and had chosen to write about his understanding of each one in an entry in his daily journal.
He had three times the preceding month spent the day in a nearby secluded area where he could be completely alone and importune his “True Self” for guidance and direction. Each time, he returned with specific counsel from his inner guidance system to “trust me,” that I am his “redeemer,” and greater confidence that he could complete the journey. Also, during that time, he rented a car and drove to a beach campsite where he could have a sustained experience in seeking and hearing his inner voice. Each time he had left for these spiritual journeys I had showered my love and confidence on him, yet pleaded with him to not come back until he had completely subdued his “inner demon.”
The core of Dave’s issue was his ignorance of who He Truly Is. Yet, that Gnosis (knowing) would heal all other secondary issues, such as his objectification of women and his lack of honoring our union above any and all others. I have seen the travesty that these issues have been for so many individuals and relationships within our culture. It has burdened my heart greatly, because… I KNOW… I have personally experienced… the divinity, the glory, the unspeakable beauty of Celestial Goddesses! I have been “there” and consciously intermingled and received counsel from Them. I KNOW THEM. I Trust and Love Them as I am Trusted and Loved BY Them. I KNOW the inherent True worth of each and every human on this planet! In my mind, there is NO reconciling the way that most portray womanhood today and WHO WE TRULY ARE! Oh, my heart has grieved at the huge disparity….
The morning of the 18th, about 3:00, I awoke as I typically do. Lying beside Dave, I became aware from his breathing that he must be having a dream. As his breathing shifted to a more normal state, indicating the dream was finished, and feeling to initiate the sharing that we often do in the middle of the night, I gently touched Dave’s arm and asked him if he wanted to share his dream with me. He shared what he could remember and, as usual, I asked him a few questions to try to stimulate additional details or understanding of the symbols or any helpful messages he could glean from his subconscious. We talked for several minutes, yet nothing of the dream seemed particularly significant at that time. Although our relationship had grown to such a profound depth of closeness and although he had learned so much concerning HOW to deeply connect and relate to another person… me… as I continued lying next to Dave, I perceived that he had some type of wall around his heart. I volunteered, “Sweetheart, you seem distant.” Pause. “Is there something you are feeling?” He responded that there was “nothing” and that he was “just fine”. (The reader will see that he eventually does reveal that my perceptions were, indeed, accurate.)
After a few more attempts to assist him to open up, I asked him, “Do you love me?” He then reached out to hold me, acknowledging, “Of course, I love you!” In his embrace I asked again, “Babe, please share. I am sensing a barrier that you have erected between us. Please let me in your heart.” Dave then pulled away and turned toward the ceiling in silence. I waited. And waited. Finally, after about five minutes, I turned over onto my right side, feeling disappointed that… After all our “lessons” in “honoring our union” and allowing nothing, no one, no feeling, to come between us, Dave had chosen to turn away and not receive my feelings with respect and compassion. This was the old Dave, the one that we both had hoped and believed had been totally transformed.
I got out of bed and put on a nightgown. Dave turned over away from me. I picked up my journal and pillow and walked toward the door, in sadness, believing that I would process the experience and sleep on the sofa. Before reaching for the door handle, my Inner Voice guided me to turn back and attempt one more time to assist Dave. As I walked back to the bed, without foresight and with no intent except to assist Dave to open up and view my feelings as of value… I slapped him.
Dave roared with horror and rage, jumping up and tightly grabbing my arm and waist as he knee-punched the small of my back. Yelling, he expressed anger that I would dare hit him! He became a livid and wild beast. “We are over! You sign the papers over to the house now! Get out! No one will ever hurt me! How DARE YOU!” Etc. etc. When he finally let me go as I had limply succumbed to his actions, I sat on the bed, imploring him with my eyes, to come back to peace. I quietly yet firmly begged him, “Please calm down and let’s talk. Please find your heart. Remember how far you have come and how much you have learned. Please… for your own sake… please, let go of this demon and find your peace and your True Self. Take down the wall. Come back to me. You can do it!” Although there were a few moments when I could see Dave, the True Dave, grapple for control, he allowed his emotions to sprint down the track far, far, away from me and any progress that we had made in the previous years to get them under control.
Reaching for the phone, he threatened, “I’m calling the cops if you don’t tell me why you attacked me!” Peacefully yet firmly responding, I answered that “I’d love to talk with you, the True You. Settle down. Come back to me. You can do it.” Unruffled, I implored Dave to go into his heart and follow Its guidance. Do what IT instructed him to do. Unwilling to heed my request and by this time totally “possessed”, Dave then called “(9-1-1)” and proceeded to give them a convoluted story that we had been fighting about divorcing and that when he had tried to go to sleep I had angrily slapped him. He then left the room as I marveled, not for the first time in our two and a half year relationship, what in the world was happening?!
A few minutes later, I heard Dave talking with someone; obviously the police. After some time, an officer came into the bedroom and said that he had been talking to Dave. Was it true that I had hit him? I readily agreed that, “Yes, I slapped him.” Though the officer pressed for more information, all I would tell him was that “He has come so far. I truly thought he had conquered his anger.” The officer left the room and started knocking on the closed door nearby… the only obvious bedroom that Krystal would have been in. After knocking and pausing twice and with no response, I went over to him and talked through the door to Krystal, “Sweetheart, this is Mommy. You’re safe. You can open up the door.” The officer then went into her room. I asked him, “Do you really have to involve her? Please leave her out of this!” He shrugged off my request and closed the door to me.
(I have since come to realize several areas where dishonest, illegal, as well as immoral procedure was followed. This entire experience opened the eyes of my understanding to so many issues that must be addressed and revamped. I will shed more light on the subject later.)
Krystal later told me that she had woken to go to the bathroom and had heard Dave yelling angrily and me softly trying to calm him down. That had been accurate. She had mistakenly thought that we had been in more areas than just the bedroom, though the entire scene took place there, largely on the bed itself. She thought it was Dave trying to get in to her bedroom instead of a police officer and did not feel safe to open the door. Though Krystal has deep love for everyone, including Dave who she saw and respected as a “father,” she had witnessed numerous displays of his anger and had always stayed as far away as she could at those times.
Shortly thereafter I was called to come out of my room into the family room, which I did. Being just dressed in a light gown, I asked if I could go back and get something on. One of the two officers suggested a jacket. I asked if I could get dressed. They agreed. I went into the room and put on some shorts and a light cotton tee shirt. Arriving back in the family room, the officer I had been formerly talking with advised me to put my water bottle, which I had been holding, down on the table. I did. He then told me to put my hands up in the air and advised me that I was being arrested for assault. Truly, my known and sane world seemed to have overlapped into the twilight zone. Bizarre. What in hell’s name was happening? I raised my arms and the officer checked my body and clothes for any hidden weapons. I mentioned that I might have a toothpick in a pocket. He put handcuffs on my wrists which he had put behind my back and secured the bands tightly. The officer asked Dave if I had a pair of shoes. Dave then went down the hall and into our closet to get my black flip flops which the officer then put down on the floor for me to put on. I overheard Dave down the hall with the other officer requesting to stopping the process but the response was that no, it must now continue.
Although I willingly submitted to whatever was playing out in my life, my deep concern was Krystal. How I wished that I could be in two places at once. My heart grieved for the confusion and terror she must be feeling. I willed myself to send my energy into her room to wrap her in a warm spiritual embrace and comfort her through whatever scenario was playing out. Softly pleading in the police officer’s ear, I begged him to “Please, go comfort Krystal.” He responded, “She will be okay.” I replied back, again in his ear, “Please… she is not safe staying here with him. Please, please….” Although I had no reason to doubt her physical safety with Dave, her emotional welfare and security were my main concern.
As the officer began leading me through the foyer towards the door I asked, “Wait, can I take anything?” “What is it you want?” “May I have my phone? My purse?” “No, you cannot bring a purse, just a wallet.” “Okay, well, my purse IS just a wallet. Please, may I bring it?” “I will go get it in a minute.” Almost as if in a trance I submitted to his guiding hand on my left arm. Within my mind was Kenneth Cope’s song where Joseph Smith is being led away to the Carthage Jail, “Going like a Lamb to the Slaughter.” I, likewise, would submit to whatever this convoluted and depraved world would impose upon me, until, and unless I received inner direction otherwise. For now, submission seemed to be my directive.
Escorting me to the cop car waiting in front of our house, he put me in the back seat in a caged compartment, leaving the door open, as he then went back into the house. The energy in the vehicle nearly suffocated me with its anger, fear and judgment. I immediately found myself grateful that the door was still partly open and willed my heart to swell with light and love and become a shield for and around me from the oppressiveness. Otherwise, I knew, claustrophobia would have crushed me. Having secured a bubble of peace as a protective shield around my body, I then sent my energy in to Krystal and surrounded her with my comfort and love, willing her to draw on her reserves of strength for whatever this unforeseen experience might play itself out to be.
It was some time before the two officers left the house, the one thanking the other for his assistance as he entered the driver’s seat and began driving the car… where, I had no idea. I asked the officer how Krystal was? Was she crying? He acknowledged that, yes, she was crying and was pretty upset. He added that he had told her that “her mom had made some very wrong choices and now had to pay the consequences.”
Through familiar streets and onto the highway the car wound while I, a million miles away, was in three places. Part of me continued to wrap my comforting energy around Krystal. Another part of me was beseeching my Caretakers for guidance. The third portion of my energy continued to maintain a secure wall of light around me to allow me to be only imbued with peace. A few minutes into the drive I thought of three friends of mine that I was aware of that I knew had been arrested. The first to come to mind was Scott Werner. I remembered him in the SLC Court when I went to watch his hearing in December of 2003. I saw him stand, mute, before the angry judge who then had him led away in handcuffs and manacles. My mind also recalled Kipp Howard, whom I had visited during his experience and Lyn Oyler whom I had met after his jail time. I saw things with more understanding now, even this early into my own experience….
Usually, my eyes remained open, though I was not seeing much with my physical eyes. Occasionally, I would succumb to close and rest them. Such was the case when the vehicle came to a stop and I found that we were in front of some sort of facility with a metal garage door directly in front of us. Into an intercom, the officer informed the bodiless voice that he had “One female.” He was told to proceed and the door scrolled open. Pulling through, he again stopped and came around and escorted me out of the moving cage and into a waiting room.
A woman and man met me and took the papers from the officer who then left, leaving a black bag with the woman. The woman then motioned me to sit down on a bench. I did. She opened the bag and proceeded to pull out my cell phone and blue wallet, taking the money out and going through everything else. Counting the money ($215.00), she then inserted it into an electronic counter and received a receipt. The man asked me general identifying questions which I readily answered. He then said that I was being held on bond. One charge was “assault” and the other was “assault in the presence of a child”. I countered that there was no child present, just my daughter asleep in another room. He answered that since there was a child anywhere on the premises, it counted. He then said that the bail had been set for $3,020. Would I like to pay it? I said that I did not have any money to pay.
A small, middle-aged woman who I had seen when the door first opened then walked up to me. Smiling serenely, she introduced herself as a nurse. Did I have any allergies? I answered that I had none that I knew of; I was, however, very sensitive to just about everything. Did I have special diet stipulations? I told her that I ate mostly raw and healthy. She asked, “Vegan?” I said, no, though I have been in the past. She then said that she would be available if I should need any special assistance. I told her that she had a beautiful smile. What’s her name? She replied that her name was Wallace, too, though not spelled the same. Obviously wanting to maintain her aura of authority, she raised her chin again and pushed back her shoulders as she turned and walked away.
I asked the man at the counter where I was. “Purgatory,” was his response. I’m sure I must have smiled at that. Inwardly, I was exclaiming that the appropriateness of that name was beyond coincidence! Boy, you Guys have dotted every “I” and crossed every “t”! Truly, I have now descended below all things! 🙂
The woman then said that I could make one phone call if I wanted. My mind raced. Who would I call? What would I say? I did not want to be any inconvenience in anyone’s life… never had. Yet, even if I was willing to… who had remained close enough to me through my previous decade and a half of being led through “the furnace of affliction?” Who could my mortal trust? Who was there for me? Only the “Angels.” Only Those who Truly Knew me. Yet, I did not need a physical phone to call Them. How do I respond to the question? Seeing my hesitation, the two said that I could place the call later if I’d like. I agreed. They asked if I wanted to get any numbers off of my phone. I said, “Yes, please… How many may I take?” She hesitated, seeming to defer to him. He stated, “Up to five.” I immediately thought about my two piano students, two sisters, scheduled for that Tuesday afternoon. That was two and a half days away. Where would I be then? What would transpire between now and that time? Scrolling from the bottom up, I wrote down Vicki Werner and her two numbers on the paper proffered me. I then wrote my students’ number, my neighbor’s, and a couple other friends (A. and R.), though I knew I had no intention of ever involving either of them.
The phone was then taken from me and put back in the black bag with my wallet. It was secured with a tag and I was escorted out of that room and through a heavy door into another area with individual cells. I was advised to enter room C. The door clicked unlocked as I approached it. Opening it, I found my new “home”… a painted cement block bench about sixteen inches wide in an otherwise empty room about four feet by eight. I sat down. I was immediately accosted by a blast of cold air. No, it was not cold. The room was frigid. Teeth chattering, I summoned the flame in my heart to expand and warm me. Drawing upon all my mental abilities, I focused upon gratitude and willed my heart to feel thankful for everything I could. My mind racing, I stilled it by putting all the awareness I could into the area of my heart. “Thank you, God, for this moment. I feel grateful for this experience, whatever is happening. Thank you! Thank you for the beauty of what I may be able to glean from this to assist me as I help You help others! I am so grateful to know that I am not alone here in this room. I love you. I love you. I love you!”
Gradually I was able to warm myself up and still my chattering teeth, relaxing the goose bumps and shivering until they were under the subjection of my grateful heart. Although my guess was that the thermostat was set at about 45 degrees, I was able to use my will to bring about a certain level of comfort, even dressed in my light cotton clothing.
After a time, I laid down on the concrete bench. With my heart and mind, I used my imagination to take me to the place I “live”: I am reclining on a green, luxuriously grassy hill. The birds are singing joyfully in an azure sky. The nearby trees are swaying gently in the slight breeze that fills the air with the sweet scent of the assorted wildflowers growing in patches all around. In the distance is a clear blue stream which empties into a beautiful lake. At times I raise myself up into the air and execute graceful aerial dances, swooping down to dive into the warm water of the lake and delightfully swim with the colorful fish. Stepping out of the water, I lie back down on the grassy hill and feel the warmth of the sun on my flesh, warming me, distilling its wisdom into each atom. I gratefully hug, with each cell of my body, the gentle pillow of the nurturing earth. I am at peace. Deep peace. I feel warmth. Wholeness. Serenity. I am divine. I am One with All That Is.
Occasionally, a sound outside the door of the cell would take my attention and I would leave my safe haven. After about an hour or so, I realize that there is a button on the wall, an obvious intercom. Walking to it, I push it and wait for an answer. A man seated at a raised counter answers, “Yes?” “Excuse me, please, is there a blanket… or a jacket… I can use? It is really cold in here.” The man breaks out into a smug smile. “We’ll get you one in a little while.” I go back and sit down on the bench, consciously rejoining the Multitude who have never left my heart. Back in my peace, I struggled to regain its warmth.
Outside my cell I hear a scuffle and a man’s voice, obviously filled with livid rage, screaming obscenities. Although I can see nothing through the pane of glass on the one wall, his ranting and the responses from the wardens continue for some time. After a couple hours, two men and a woman come around to the several cells announcing “Lunch time.” I realize it must be about noon. How long have I been inside this iceberg? Did I get here about five? Probably.
The woman starts to slide a covered tray through a slot in my door. I respond. “No, thank you. I do not want to eat…. But, may I have some water? I do have thirst.” She responds, “We don’t have water. You can have some milk.” “No, thank you. I can’t drink milk.” She then motioned to the partial block wall on the other side of my bench. I had not even wandered there yet. “There is water in the sink.” “Oh, okay. Thank you!” Walking then to the little sink, I got a drink from the faucet. Horrible taste. Yuck!
Lying back down on my “bed,” my mind opened up to another time. On the cross, Another One stated: “I thirst.” To his response he was given vinegar. Reeling, I remembered that I have a “fount of living water” within my body. Focusing awareness again into the area of my heart, I begin silently singing, “Rejoice, the Lord is King! Your Lord and King adore….” As I felt deeper and deeper gratitude and connection with All That Is, the fountain within started gurgling. Water, delicious, sweet, pure water, bubbled up in the floor of my mouth. And quenched my thirst. Again, drawing awareness into my heart and calling upon all the feeling of gratitude I could muster, I saw planet Earth. I cradled her in my cupped hands. I showered healing warmth and validation upon her from my heart. I saw the planet respond with a growth in her aura. She pulsed with validation and light. I then recalled the people that I had been blessed to have known in my life. Each of my children I recalled, one by one. Their spouses. Their children. I embraced each one of them and lavished upon them my love. My respect. My gratitude. I acknowledged the many things I had learned through our interactions over the years. I endeavored to fill their hearts with all the love I could muster.
I saw Dave. Hurting Dave. Both Dave’s in my life. My former husband of twenty years, and my current husband, though not legally recognized, also a David. Both beautiful and honorable “men of this world.” Both I had poured out my love on. Each one I had given the very best I had to give. Neither had understood me. Neither could. Yet, I understood each one of them. I was willing to joyfully give my life for either of them. My great hopes had been that they would each learn to fully open their hearts, love and value themselves, see their inner beauty and divine purity… as I do.
I then saw the other “David” in my life. My birth father. W. Morgan Davis. Davis, a form of the name David, also meaning “Beloved”. Truly, and deeply, I loved each of these three men who have figured so prominently in my life. Truly, it is said that I come “from the House of David.” As my birth mother’s name is Judith, “Princess.” it can also be said that I come “from the Tribe of Judah.” Oh, what a life it has been! Oh, what love I have! Oh, what love that has not yet been understood by “man.” But, my love would not falter. It would carry me through. Whatever and wherever I was going toward.
I was given a summons through the intercom to come up to the counter. I did. A sheriff met me there and said that he would take my fingerprints. His demeanor was more humane than the others I had interacted with. Though he had a job, though he had a legal “right” to portray himself as my “superior,” still I felt a light within him. Though the fingerprinting instrument seemed to be non-cooperative and he had to repeatedly redo each finger over and over again, he expressed a kindness about his presence. I acknowledged this to him and he seemed to warm further.
I was taken back to my cell for a time and then, again, I was summoned back to the counter. This time, a woman told me to stand on the painted footprints. She was obviously going to take my photo. It was then that I realized that I, me, this mortal character, was going to have a “mug shot.” Oh, the irony of the situation! The cosmic humor of it all! The very one who had given her life for the earth’s inhabitants and would willingly and gratefully place all she has upon life’s altar… was now to be known and identified as a convicted criminal. Paradox of paradox! I had merely come to be a “thief” to the false illusions. I had come to “take” nothing and to “give” everything. But, the “receiving” was up to them, each one of them. And, the irony of the reception was that it was demonstrated with a “redemption slip.” I was here to “redeem” them from their “fall” by helping them back up their ladder, their “Stairway to Heaven.” But, the onus was upon each of them, as they became ready, to willingly surrender the “redemption slip” in exchange. Every false belief, relationship, thing, ambition, must be tested and proved and gratefully surrendered. Oh, the divine humor in it all. Having intuited all this within a “flash,” I willingly and gratefully faced the camera… and beamed.
Minute after minute ticked by. The woman appeared to be looking at her computer screen, waiting for… something. Occasionally she shifted in her seat. After several minutes she came back toward me and fiddled with her camera. Was something wrong? I kept smiling from deep within my being. After several more minutes she asked me to turn to my right. I did. She then had me look forward again. I did. And I waited.
Finally, a man seated nearby asked me my clothing size and said that I was to go around the corner into a little room for questioning. A screen soon came to life, picturing a woman with a heavy foreign accent who proceeded to ask me questions seeming to pertain to my mental and emotional proclivities. These centered around drug use, emotional stability, and relationships. At one point, I responded that my life’s theme, and the message of a book I am writing, is “the JOY of Harmony”. I EXIST to bring peace and self-empowerment into this world, until it abounds and flourishes again. Although it was difficult to understand each of her words because of her thick accent, I felt the interrogator’s heart respond to mine. At the end of her questioning, she seemed to sincerely and warmly respond, “I hope you get out very soon. Very soon. I hope the best for you.” I sincerely and warmly thanked her in return.
Leaving that small room, the man at the counter then told me that I could go back to Cell C until summoned. I did. After some more time, I was again summoned out and through the intake area into a hallway where I was motioned to pick up a white mesh bag of my clothes. A woman then commanded me to take off each article of my clothing and then bend at the knees and waist and cough. I did. She then put my underwear, flip flops, shirt and shorts in the bag with my wallet and phone and instructed me to “get dressed” in the prison garb. Wide orange striped top with a more-washed-orange striped bottom over basic underwear. And black rubber crocs on my feet.
Leaving that small enclosure, she motioned for me to pick up my “bed” and follow her. My “bed” was a blue vinyl covered mat, about two inches thick and six feet long. It was cumbersome. And heavy. But I did. I also carried my mesh bag, which I was to later learn contained a brown plastic cup and a small Ziploc bag containing a tiny toothbrush, a small plastic container of shampoo, a cheap plastic comb, and a smaller container of toothpaste. The mesh bag also contained an extra outfit, two white cotton sheets and a blanket. I followed the female warden and we walked through what was to me a labyrinth of halls and secure doors until we came to “Block G.” She gave me my ID card and I gasped. This was “me?” Had they photo-shopped this picture? Certainly, this was not my radiant smile of grateful peace! I was stunned.
She opened the door and led me through an open area where several women were milling about, in attire that matched my own. A large screen TV hung on the wall and some of them, in various stages of interest, were facing it. The female warden led me through the open area into a small enclosure. This new area, my new “home,” was entitled “The Bubble.” The warden motioned to bunk seven (above bunk eight) and told me that that one was for me. I put my mattress down and spread out the sheets and blanket, then setting my bag atop it, climbed aboard.
A thin middle-aged woman came over and welcomed me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thanked her. Lying down, luxuriating in the comfortable room temperature, I closed my eyes and covered my body… and face… with one of the sheets.
Lying still, I sought sense. Could I find any? Was there any to be found? I knew that this world makes no sense in the eternal scheme of things. And yet, it does. A contrast, opposition, is necessary. I marveled that “The Powers That Be” had allowed, even helped to orchestrate, my arrival at this very moment to this very place. There must be something to learn. Someone to help. Something to do. I vowed that I would fulfill everything They had on the agenda for me. And more. I would surprise even Them. Could I? Could They ever be surprised by anything I would do? If they needed me to do “X” during this experience… whatever it was to be… I would do “X + X”.
As I lie there, still sending out love and peace to Krystal, still feeling myself at “home” in my “Garden,” I also was aware of the voices of the other eleven. My new “siblings.” Occasionally, I would look out of my shroud and around the room. Two curtained areas. Must be a toilet and a shower. A small sink. Six bunk beds. Three metal tables with four attached stools each. All probably within an enclosure about eighteen feet square. On the wall with the door were windows which looked out at the open area I had been brought through.
As I lay there, safe within the stillness of my own mind, a mind that, in truth, had never been my “own,” I received scenarios from my history. Though physically aware of the hubbub surrounding me, I tuned into My “Real World.” Within a few minutes, a handful of my many, many cross-road experiences were relived; experiences which had been “precipitous events,” occurrences that had catapulted me into another direction, unforeseen by the mortal me. If I had seen them coming, would I have purposely hedged and tried to prevent my course change? Could I have?
I saw the morning of May 1st, 2003, seated at the kitchen table with my three oldest children. If that conversation had not ensued, or had gone differently, so much would not have happened. Or would it? I saw my phone call to Bob the end of January 2015 following Dave “kicking Krystal and I out.” The “Powers that Be” had prepared for that situation as well and had already put into place the circumstances that were “just right” for where and what they needed from me at that time.
There was our “honeymoon/ one year anniversary” in Costa Rica, April of 2015, when Dave flared up and left Krystal and I after I shared with him feeling disappointment that he had gone down to breakfast without me while I was in the bathroom. There were the dozens of other times when Dave’s emotional instability had surprised both of us and led to a variety of situations. Why had I opened back up to him each time? For the umpteenth time I knew that nothing in my life made any sense to an outside observer who was immersed in the physical, temporal world.
I had long ago stopped even wishing it would. Or could. Was this experience, with me here in this “correctional facility,” aptly named “Purgatory,” the end to what I would have to go through at his hands? Were we, finally, “DONE?” Had he, finally, and unequivocally proven himself unwilling, unable, to finalize his “human race?” Was the man who had the amazing ability to achieve anything… anything… physical he set his mind to do… was he Truly incapable of achieving his oft heart-expressed longing to live completely and only in his power and prove himself trusted by the Elohim?
I, Kimberly, had no more interest, no more desire… zilch… for anymore of his outbursts. Though I realized that Krystal’s first twelve years had been just what Her “Higher Self” wanted them to be, and though she had had constant security, at least emotional security, all along the way, these last few experiences with and because of Dave had scarred that track record for her. If “I” had any say in it, I truly, truly, wished no more of that.
Yet, here I was. There must be a reason. As my thoughts now focused upon the room and voices and bodies surrounding me, I witnessed my sisters. At least through their voices. They were conversing about playing cards, planning what to watch on the tablet that evening. Talking about a couple of the women out in the open area, a mother and daughter, apparently, who had been convicted of a local homicide, a hanging out in the desert of the daughter’s former lover.
My new roommates contemplated what type of soup it would be for dinner. Someone had figured out the three-week meal rotation and had posted it on the wall. One of the women, I will call her A., assumed the role of the “Alpha Male” and pretty much was the leader in the room. Several of the women kept very low profiles and rarely had any interaction. A couple talked much about their “outside” sexual escapades. A. expressed confidence that no one could replace her managerial position with a local fast-food chain. “It will be waiting for me when I get out.” There was a general feeling of camaraderie, almost like I was a “fly on the wall” in “girls’ camp.”
After some time of being a “silent observer,” I took the sheet from my face and sat up. After watching the scene with my eyes for a few moments, I spontaneously burst out with: “You girls are so beautiful! You are angels! You’re my sisters and I love you! Whatever this experience is for me, for each of us, please KNOW that hope is coming in this world. Your lessons in life were all preparing you for something grand, something beautiful. Take heart!” Of course, no one, not even myself, was prepared for that declaration. But they felt my sincerity. I knew it and I knew they knew it. We were instantly bonded.
A while later, just after 6:00pm, dinner was announced. I asked, “What happens now?” I was told that we all line up in order, according to our bunk numbers, and bring our ID card; it was needed always and for everything. We go to the cart, collect our tray, and then bring it back to eat. I stated that I wouldn’t be eating. “Oh”, I was quickly corrected, “Everyone Must get a tray.” “Do they make you eat?” “Oh, no.” Then I realized, “Does anyone want my food?” Several piped up. “I’ll have your… I’ll have your….” I was grateful that there Was some way that, even in jail, I could help another; something at my disposal that I could give. So, that’s what happened.
As the girls continued visiting, or not, and eating, I laid back down, filled with gratitude. I realized that my recent commitment to fast a couple days a week on just water, in conjunction with my ever careful listening to my body and its requests (which were simple and few) was perfectly timed for that day. I did not have any idea how long my experience would be within those walls, but purging in Purgatory, I would. I willed the intelligence of my body to use this time, this experience, to purify everything; every cell, every tissue, each atom it possibly could. “Leave no stone—or impurity—untouched!”
Two of the girls near me were very young, each 19. Each of them was arrested on such minor-seeming charges. One had been unaware that she still owed $100. on a bill. The other had, likewise, missed a final payment and had been apprehended in front of the Washington Walmart.
A., who had had numerous experiences in multiple facilities, spoke of some of her charges. One occurred within a Walmart after she had been eating from the bag what she had ordered from the deli as she shopped…. intending to pay for it with her groceries. What? Is that a crime? I have done that before, myself! One girl reported that it is a crime to run out of gas on the highway and that had been her “sin.” Really?! Several, it seemed, maybe most (?) were in on some drug-related charge.
At one point, B. the girl who bunked under me, went to sit down and bumped her head hard on the metal post. I knew it must be painful and after a few moments asked her if I could help heal it. She curiously looked at me, obviously wondering what I had in mind. I asked her if she would allow me to hold her head with my hand for a minute. She indicated permission, so I vigorously rubbed my hands together, gathering the chi energy, then placed my right hand over the spot on the back of her head. After a couple minutes I sensed that she was through, so I removed my hand. A while later B. remarked that she had a big goose egg, though she offered that the pain had left immediately. Again, I was grateful that there was something that I could do.
A. shared how one time that she was being admitted and was standing in front of the camera, she decided to smile, realizing that the situation held nothing over her. Instead of taking the picture, however, the warden demanded she “stop smiling! We can’t have you looking happy.” Hearing this disclosure, I wondered if that helped explain the situation I had experienced while having My “mug shot” taken. All the long waiting for my photo to be taken… Had they found the closest they could to a frown and then photo-shopped it? Really? Could that have happened?
Along practical lines, I overheard some women talking about how uncomfortable they were using the toilet in such open quarters and without any door. A. explained that that’s where “Courtesy flushes” come into assistance. I learned through listening, that a courtesy flush is nearly constantly flushing the toilet anytime an incriminating sound was made or smell was emitted while using the toilet. I never witnessed any display of uncomfortableness or disrespect regarding bathroom use, instead, just the opposite. I heard women share, “I just did a deep clean of the bathroom.” Women are so beautiful!
I learned that most women stay in “The Bubble” for several days or weeks while they are being “watched.” At some point, those in charge (whoever they be) made a decision about each one and, when deemed ready, they were moved to another area. This procedure was termed “Classification.” They advised me that “The Bubble” would be my home for at least several days, if not weeks. A few of them had been in for a few months. However, it was not long into the evening when the same female warden who had escorted me in came and read off a list of three names and told them to “roll up.” Those women were changing their clothes into a now grey-striped attire and were packing up their sheets and rolling up their mattress. Then, surprising us all, the warden announced, “Wallis, you too!” I followed suit. Hastily joining my comrades, I overheard many exclamations of “What?! She just got in!” The warden responded something about I need the space for others arriving.
So, I joined B. and two others as we were led to “H Block.” Upon entering my new home, one of the women was assigned the only open bunk, I was directed to take a cot directly ahead of the door and near the bunks. The other two girls went to the two cots available under the stairs on the left. While establishing myself, a young woman, N., came over and introduced herself, assisting me in laying the mattress down. Again, tears welled up in my eyes for a “stranger’s” kindness.
Several women gathered round me, and the other three who had been transferred with me shared with them, “She just entered “The Bubble” this afternoon!” Disbelief was passed on to others in the room that I had been assigned “H Block” after only having been in the other room a few hours. “No one gets ‘Classified’ that quickly!” Having no frame of reference, all I could do was substantiate their claims. Later, I pondered upon the situation. I remembered overhearing A. say that she had “figured out the system.” She had shared that each time she had been admitted she had been angry and contentious, wanting out of being contained. No matter how long it had taken her to “settle down” and be okay with the situation, as soon as she had done that, she found herself having been “classified” and moved into her next room with its resultant greater privileges and freedom of movement. If this truly figured into the rapidity of my being “classified,” it did make sense. Those who had been watching through whatever hidden cameras there might have been in “The Bubble” and through the intercom system, would have immediately seen that I held no animosity towards the system and was, therefore, no threat to it nor to others. This principle of “submission” certainly appeared to be a key. (In all areas of life.)
Yet, while getting my bearings, I quickly noticed that the atmosphere in this place was toxic. What had been going on? I had not felt this in the other room. Sitting on my cot (made of hard plastic and placed directly on the floor), I poured all the gratitude I could into my heart and then showered it forth, directing the energy to push back the darkness. I concentrated on this for some time until I felt the claustrophobia lessen to a degree that allowed me to breathe easier and more comfortably.
With the climate of the environment now established for me, I looked over my new surroundings. This new setting was considerably larger than my previous one. There were twenty bunk beds, totaling forty women, plus the three additional cots. There was a partial upstairs level that overlooked the main area. In the far end of the room were, I believe, two curtained showers and two curtained toilet areas with two small sinks open to the room on their right. Seven metal octagonal tables with four connected seats each were cloistered near the door and a large screen TV was directly above my feet. Always, except during sleeping and mealtime, a few women would be circling the tables. Each time around the “lap,” a woman would lay down a card from a deck available. They seemed to be marking the number of laps walked.
One woman in particular struck my curiosity. O. was of a tall build and with dark hair, pulled back from her face. What was most striking to me were her eyes. Though very dark of color, they seemed devoid of light, in fact, she exuded a very dark energy. Watching her, she seemed to nearly always be talking to an invisible listener. That first evening, her voice, though too low to make out any words or phrases, even as she passed within a couple feet of me, was obviously angry and threatening. As my time there went on, it thrilled me to see that the longer I was there, the more she seemed to calm down.
Having descended into such a foreign world, yet amongst beautiful creatures that I instantly had love for, I was perplexed over what to expect. Two women talking near me seemed approachable, so I asked, “Please, what happens? What is the daily schedule?” I was told that “lights out” occurred at 11:00 pm, however, I was to learn, “lights out” meant that only a fraction of the ceiling lights went out. The room stayed semi-lit 24/7. “Quiet time” extended through breakfast (which was about 6:00 am), and until 10:00 am. One of the girls asked if I had ear plugs to be able to sleep at night. She generously gave me of hers.
Walking across the room to fill my water cup, I passed several women sitting at the tables, some talking, some watching TV. To my astonishment, on one of the tables was a biography of George Muller. Incredulous, I approached the women on my way back to my cot. Did this belong to either of them? One woman said that she had gotten it to prop up the tablet when she had been using it. If I wanted to take it, she was done with it now. I asked if either of them knew anything about George Muller. They both responded that they didn’t. I then enthusiastically shared with them what I recalled from another book I used to have of his life. I have many times shared the faith of this man with Dave and others.
For the reader’s benefit: George Muller lived primarily in England in the 1800’s and has been an amazing example to me, and to many others, of the power available when accessed through pure faith. George lived an incredible life of seeing a need, secretly praying for its resolution, then acting in complete conformance and with certainty that his pray was answered. Requesting nothing from mortals, his life was a testament to the Spirit impressing others, time and again, to offer him the exact penny or object his situation needed. When a water heater went out, for instance, and he prayed for assistance acquiring a new one, the exact amount needed found its way to him in an unprecedented way. This was his modus operandi. Over and over again, as his life presented itself with a temporal need, he would silently pray for the specific assistance he needed, record that prayer need in his journal, and go on his merry way, knowing that it would be taken care of. When the need had been fulfilled, he recorded the date, amount and person involved in his journal as well. In this way, he was able to care for, first two, then up to many thousands of orphans, establishing many orphanages as well as schools. Having discovered this man and his legacy while I was in my twenties, my life has been so blessed and encouraged because of his example.
Although I had not known to bring my reading glasses, and, therefore, was greatly disadvantaged, I realized a miracle in this regard. Taking the biography of George Muller back to my cot, I gratefully began reading. I marveled that this very book had found its way into the jail and into this room. I marveled that it had been the one very book on the table at the moment I passed by; and that my attention had been drawn to it. This was just the validation and support I needed at this time. The principles that had brought George the power in his life, were the same principles I live by.
I eagerly began reading, finding that the font was just barely large enough that as I held the book at a certain distance, I could make out the words on the page. Although I had to put the book down periodically to rest my eyes, my eyes seemed to gradually gain strength during the process. After a few pages, I received the distinct impression that I would be released when I was done with the book.
As much as I immediately loved and was interested in the women who shared the room with me and felt a desire to observe, communicate with and learn from them, I was, with that revelation, even more motivated to read, learn from George Muller… and be released… IF that was what was the highest path for my life. I would, regardless, make the very best out of whatever situation I was in and, no matter how long my stay in Purgatory, I would learn and find what personal understanding I could to benefit my own life as well as assist within and, later, without, however I best could.
I slept little that night. With the lights on and wardens coming through periodically, I woke up often and spent most of the night in Communion with my Guides. The next morning, breakfast came at about 6:00. As I had done before, I got my tray and then offered to give portions of it to whoever wanted. Within a few moments, it had all been spoken for. A large cooler of ice was delivered after breakfast. Though it was “quiet time,” women were quietly getting up and filling their cups. I quickly realized how valuable a commodity ice was. A woman from the back corner many times yelled angrily that “There’d better be ice left for me when I wake up, or you’re all in trouble!” I decided that I could live without ice that day.
Having so few items in my possession was an interesting phenomenon. Though I enjoy simplicity, I came to see tremendous value in so many things that I had come to take for granted: a pencil, some paper, conditioner. These were the “things” I missed the most. Yet, some women had acquired a duffle bag that they tucked under their bunk. I was to learn that there was a commissary that allowed for those who had had money deposited in their account to purchase some of these basic living items.
When one girl, K., was preparing to leave, I witnessed the joy and gratitude she blessed others with as she gifted those close to her with her few accumulated items. Truly, I came to see prison life as a “world within our world.” I realized how blind I had been all my life to the contrasting experiences that many were having, the lack of freedom and basic dignities that so many of us, on the outside, take for granted. My life will never be the same because of these lessons, learned first-hand.
After breakfast Monday, a warden called out a few names, including mine, and stated that we each would have a court hearing some time that day. Soon afterwards, one of my fellow “sisters” came up to me with a gift, a plain grey tee shirt. I thanked her, realizing that in her eyes it must have value and must be perceived as appropriate, even helpful, for my coming hearing. I looked around the room and noticed that some of the women did have those more typical solid-colored tee shirts instead of the grey-striped prison garb. Some also had plain grey shorts. I did not remain long enough in captivity to figure out how they had been acquired, nor the different perceptions agreed-upon and represented by the differing clothing, but realized that, as in the attire worn in the civilian world, “clothing defines the man”… or at least how he perceives himself. I never did wear the gifted tee shirt, choosing to instead remain in my appointed attire and being comfortable in it. However, I appreciated my “sister’s” kindness and generosity.
I enjoyed an enlightening conversation with B. She was from Vernal, Utah, the hometown of my former husband. She had had her three young sons taken away because of her drug use. Her oldest son turned twelve the next day. I felt of her desire to connect with him. I felt of her great love for him and her wish to be involved in his life. I wept tears of sadness for her as she shared a few details of her life with me. Oh, how many women, likewise, are stripped of their opportunities and relationships because of “the system” and the drugs of choice they use to try to establish what balance they can in a highly unbalanced world!
Another brief conversation was with a young girl from Highland, Utah, the then small community where I had taught fifth grade many years ago. She shared a little of her life and I was especially intrigued to hear that she had been placed in a psychiatric hospital at five years old for her apparent aberrant tendencies. She shared how she and a friend had intentionally plugged up the kindergarten toilet with paper, causing it to overflow and flood the school. I wondered about her home life. What was her foundational experience like? Surely, there could have been better intervention offered. Her resultant life of illegal drugs could have found an alternate route if her needs had been better addressed.
A couple hours later, I was summoned to follow a police officer, along with K. I learned that we must walk with our hands clasped behind our back and on the right side of the wide halls, behind the yellow lines.
Arriving in a waiting room, I was given some papers to sign. The font was much smaller than it was in the book I had been reading, and because of that and the nature of the information, I was having a very difficult time reading and making sense of what I knew to be highly important information. Gratefully, K. and the officer were able to explain somewhat the legal terms. In explaining the different “pleas” to me, I shared with the officer my dilemma over how to plead. I knew, and had freely admitted, that I had slapped David. However, it was NOT in anger, nor intended to harm him, but was meant to help him choose me, my feelings and our relationship over remaining in his closed and distant heart. After my slap was when anger and physical aggression came into the picture, and it was from Dave towards me, not the other way around.
When it came my turn to go into the small video court room, the Judge and the Prosecuting Attorney both, in separate locations from each other, appeared on a small screen in front of me. I felt so alien to the whole system and shared, “Please, Your Honor, I am of moderately high intelligence, yet in this matter, I feel like a kindergartener. Please have compassion on my ignorance. Please, help me to understand what you are talking about.”
The Judge appeared to be sensitive and reiterated the legalities that he had just stated. Truly, I felt like an alien trying to find my way through an unknown situation on a foreign planet. I was told the penalty of my charges amounted to $3,020.00, which was the bail amount. Would I be able to pay it? I replied that, “No, I do not have that much money.” He asked what my monthly income was. I told him that currently I only had two piano students, so about $100.00 a month. What about Dave? I replied that Dave’s retirement income recently got cut off and his only income now is from the house plans that he sporadically gets called on to draw. When further questioned, I guessed that he probably averages a few hundred dollars income a month.
He asked if there was any other way that bail could be paid. I said that I didn’t see any way unless Dave sold some of his possessions. The Judge said that because of my situation, he would expedite the pre-trial conference to Wednesday, the 28th, a week and a half away. I was told that the court would appoint a defense attorney for me. I was given papers to sign and escorted back to “H Block”. Walking back with the same officer that had accompanied me, I sensed his humanity and shared my feelings of ignorance. I asked him, “What would you tell your sister?” He responded respectfully and appropriately: “I cannot give you advice, but if you were my sister, I’d tell you to leave your husband as soon as possible.”
Arriving back, I continued reading my book, very much resonating with George Muller and his love and respect for others as well as his, apparent, understanding of the eternal principles and laws in operation which granted him his power and authority and resulted in his exemplification of having “sufficient for his needs” in all situations and according to his desires. As his desires mirrored the desires of all creation, that of balance and all things and people having their basic needs met, nature clamored to be of service to him. Even the funds of the earth sought to be in his hands. This is an eternal law and one of prime importance for me to elaborate on further and in another venue.
At lunchtime, a woman came up to me as I stood in line and asked, “Are you the one who gives her food away?” Responding positively to her, she then asked if she could have…. Of course, I happily obliged. While collecting my lunch tray, I had the opportunity to make a comment to the male warden. I quickly and simply stated that I had seen him now walk through the room and interact three or four times. I was struck by his countenance of gentleness and humanity. He was a beautiful human being. He smiled more broadly and responded, “You probably say that to every warden!” I shared that, “No, I don’t but I wish I could. Have a great day and keep smiling!”
Leaving the line, the rest of my tray was just as eagerly divvied out to others in the room. Again, I was grateful that I had something to contribute to someone, even in my impoverished situation. I chose to eat the half of an orange on the tray when no one else claimed it.
Early afternoon, I suddenly had the direction to “call Vicki.” I had no clue how to use the telephone system, but found N. and asked for her assistance. She willingly obliged and guided me, even lending me her tiny one inch stub of a pencil in case I needed to make notes. I had at my disposal the papers I had been given during my video hearing. I could write on the back of them if needed. Again, the great value of some of the simplest things that so many of us take for granted: a pencil and paper!
Vicki’s home number provided no results, but when I called her cell, she answered. I briefly explained my situation and asked if she felt that she could call Dave and request that he post bail. I gave her his phone number. I also asked if it would be possible for Krystal and me to stay with them if/ when I got out and until I established my bearings and figured out my next step in life. I had been mandated to not enter the premises of the home, nor drive our car, nor to seek out direct communication with Dave. I told her I wanted so much to be able to comfort Krystal and be able to talk with her directly. Would she call my neighbor and perhaps we could figure a way to have Krystal go to their house so that I could have a phone conversation with her? Vicki said that they had just returned from one trip and were in the process of packing and leaving for another before we were disconnected. I had not had the chance to give her Mary Ellen’s number.
Wishing I did not have to involve anyone further in the “drama” of my life, yet obeying my inner direction to have placed that call, I then further complied by placing a call to Mary Ellen, my neighbor, myself. Explaining in brief my situation, I gave her Vicki’s number, hoping that that two of them might coordinate something for Krystal’s benefit. Mary Ellen expressed lack of funds to assist. I clarified that I did not want her money, indeed, hoped that Dave might rise to the occasion and find the funds for my bail. Again, we got disconnected.
Returning back to my book, I felt that I had done what I needed to do. However these women responded, or not, they had been given an opportunity. Although I deeply loved them and wished to not be a burden in any way to them or anyone, still I went out of my own comfort zone to obey my Inner Direction. I was at peace no matter how things now played out. I continued reading. As I did, and with my hand upon my abdomen, I became aware that my heart was beating very, very strongly. Yet, the beating seemed to be far stronger under my belly button and barely perceivable in my chest area. I thought this strange. After trying to feel my pulse in other areas of my body, I wondered if, indeed, something was happening and I was undergoing a physical change there in prison.
I decided to go talk with B. about the situation. Crossing the room, I went to where B. and E. were conversing in their adjoining cots. I simply asked them: “May I share something with you?” Receiving their go ahead, I proceeded. “I know this sounds strange, but I truly believe that the human body is made to transform and change into a higher state of being and that I will be able to manifest this transformation to assist others to do likewise. While reading just now, I have been sensing that something is happening with my heart. Would you be willing to feel my heartbeat and tell me what you think?” They both shrank from my request, acknowledging that it was not allowed to touch one another. I was stunned. Really? They indicated that everything was being watched and that touch was inappropriate and could result in punishment for them. They encouraged me to instead request a doctor’s appointment and said it sounded like “high blood pressure.” Of course, I knew they could not understand, especially with my cryptic preface, but I thanked them for their kind response and followed their directive to go to the intercom and request an appointment.
The bodiless voice that answered through the intercom said that if my situation was an emergency then I could have an immediate check-up but that it would cost $5.00. I said that I had no money. They explained that one of the other girls could assist me in getting money transferred into a fund from that which I had had in my wallet upon arrival. Otherwise, I could make an appointment for the following day and that would be free. I went ahead and chose the latter.
I had been directed to a kiosk in the corner of the room. Not understanding its purpose nor figuring out how to use it, I asked one of the “walkers” as she passed by if she would mind helping me. Her name was T. and she was a local yoga instructor. Although she gave the assistance she could, I never did figure out the operation of the technology. I did ask her, though, if she had thought about leading the group in a yoga class? She stated that she had done just that, but that not everyone had appreciated her efforts and she had had to stop.
I later pondered upon the situation. Surely, each woman in that room had some kind of gift to offer the others. Could I find the way to help organize some group camaraderie? Would there come a time when I could teach my simple songs of peace and self-empowerment? What did everyone else have as their experience that could benefit the whole? I wondered about the possibility of creating a small microcosm of harmony and sisterhood… right there within that jail cell.
How I wished that there was some way to make nature available to these women. Without the most basic interaction of touch available to them, what about some sunlight? What about some dirt? What about plants, flowers, a kitten?
Continuing then with my reading, when I reached about 2/3 of the way through the book, I had the thought that, though George’s life was beautiful and praise-worthy, I had internalized the principle that he lived and that the book was exemplifying. The following chapters would be more of the same. I felt to read the last chapter and skip the few in between.
At one point, I sensed something and looked up. There was O., sitting directly in front of me, facing me on a stool, about three feet away. Though she did not make eye contact with me, I realized that her mental condition allowed her to sense energy and that she had realized that I was safe and saw her without distain and as my equal. I wondered if she had the ability to see auras? I had, earlier that morning, made brief eye contact with her as we passed nearby one another. Though she had the previous night manifested great angst and darkness, her energy had noticeably dissipated the longer I had been in the room. I rejoiced, seeing that my love had benefitted her, at least. I respected her felt wish for no interaction as of yet, but instead beamed out respect and acceptance while still maintaining a distance and allowing her the emotional boundary I sensed she desired.
Just as I finished the last sentence in the book, and as prophesied previously to my heart, a warden entered and announced: “Wallis, roll up!” Wondering what that meant, I asked those around me. I was told, “That means you’re leaving! Someone must have posted bail!” Stunned, and without answers, I went through the motions of packing my sheets and blanket in the mesh bag and folding up the mattress. The one who had lent me her extra ear plugs, which I had not used, came to reclaim them. Another came to inspect my mattress and see if it was worth an exchange. It must not have been, because she immediately stated, “That’s a piece of crap!” as she walked away. I hastily murmured my good-bye to the group at large, and followed the warden out of the room.
Walking through the same corridors which had originally led me into “H Block,” I pondered. What had happened? Did Vicki and Scott post bail? Where would I go? How would my life proceed now? Filled with unknowns, yet, as always, flowing with the process, I continued walking forward. Arriving back and admitted into the former strip-search changing room, I was now given my civilian clothes from the black bag and told to change back into them and then meet the warden back in the hallway. I did, putting my prison “laundry” into the laundry slot.
Though I was again back into my former dress, I readily acknowledged to myself that I was a changed person. Truly, what I had experienced the previous 36 hours had opened the eyes of my understanding. No matter what my future entailed, no matter my next chapter, I now had more of an idea the needs of “the least among us,” the debauchery of the existing system, and some of the necessary changes. As I was being allowed to go “back out” into “the real world,” I would take that “world within our world” back out with me. I would become, however I could, their advocate. I would add my voice, a voice that could speak now from personal experience, to the voice of any and all others.
Whatever my heart is exemplifying, whatever it is that I was perceiving was happening within my ribcage while imprisoned, I knew that I carried within me, both the Celestial Divine Courts as I experienced on June 18th, three months ago, and now, those perceived as the “low life” but that I saw as my equal brothers and sisters: the citizens of Purgatory; a world within our world.
I now saw my mission even more clearly. Human dignity must be encouraged! Mutual respect for each other must be acknowledged and lived. Inmates are no less than anyone of the rest of us, in fact, I had experienced just the opposite! To me, they had exemplified more humanity, less false ego! It had appeared that the majority were jailed on drug charges. WHAT?! Drugs just indicated one’s felt need and attempts to seek inner balance. Although the wealthy were legally allowed to take prescription drugs to alleviate their emotional needs, why couldn’t the poor take that which nature provided to do the same? Better yet, why couldn’t we all work together in group camaraderie to validate and love each other as a group of fellow friends, brothers and sisters, mutually united in harmony and kindness and while providing for all of the basic needs? Truly, the “True Humanity Party” must be given credence and allowed to unite this world and bring forth this basic human dignity once again.
Stepping in front of the counter as directed, an officer had me sign release papers. He handed me my purse and cell phone, along with a card valuing the $215.00 that had been originally in my wallet. When I asked what had happened, he responded that my bail had been paid. Upon my asking, “By whom?” He responded with a slight smile: “By a Dave Seely.” Wonderingly, I turned around, to walk through the steel door into the world awaiting me.
(… to be continued…)
In my pursuit of Real Truth, I have given up everything. Crawling through the “eye of the needle,” I have learned the *mysteries* and am now giving my life to assist YOU to dis-cover Who *YOU* really are, along with your unique gift to offer humanity. As you learn to seek (in the right place and with purified intent), you WILL find treasures of lasting value, along with every promised reward. Together, we will establish a society of humane beings and live life ALIVE, on PURPOSE, and with a sociality unequaled… because we will each BE and view each other as equally and profoundly DIVINE! Please… catch this Hope and Vision and join with me.