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Personal Sharings / Healing Fragmentation
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MotherHome
MotherHome
My Engineer Man & Me
05/26/02
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Where to start...

Will people think I'm crazy if I talk about this? Probably. I guess that's ok. I AM crazy, no point in pretending otherwise.

I quit smoking in January 1999, and at the same time took a nose dive into body stuff that I was completely unprepared for. I was crying every day, several times a day, but a year later I was still depressed, chronically fatigued, barely able to get out of bed, and had gained 80 pounds.

When I finally started to come out of that dark place, I realized the gains I was making were ... miniscule. Compared to what I was used to, the progress I was making couldn't even be called baby steps. Not even inches! I realized something else was wrong, and I believed the clue was in some of the stuff I had been crying and remembering. Ghash, the motherbody part I found, was heavily infected with unloving light. Plus the shaft of darkdeath, still largely buried in my heart... I was afraid these things were actively trying to drag me down from the inside, and I needed to do something about it. I began to research entity invasion, and found a lot of helpful material.

I felt strongly led to go inside and begin visualizing again.

I remembered a meditation I'd had about 20 years ago... a vision of a basement room that held the machinery that ran my body, my metabolism, my creativity. I decided to go inside, to go there to that basement room in search of something helpful.

I saw myself going down the stairs to a dark room... incredibly dusty and filled with cobwebs and dirt on the floor and grimy old broken-down machinery. But I knew it was still functioning, I just needed to do some work here. I tried flipping some switches and turning some knobs, managed to find a light switch and found some machinery that I thought was my metabolism. I knew I needed to turn it on, or something. I tried to visualize the machinery coming on, and at first had very little success. But then suddenly my visualizations took on a life of their own.

As I stood looking around, from behind an old furnace a man shuffled out, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. I could barely see his face, couldn't tell if he was old or young, but he appeared to be harmless. I didn't feel afraid, though I was a little startled.

He indicated he was sort of like the janitor, a basement engineer, and he was there to help me get my "machinery" in order. He would clean and oil and help wherever I needed him to help. He was almost... obsequious. I let him know I wanted to step up my metabolism, and he said he could help with that.

The next time I went down into the basement, the change was amazing. It was cleaner, the floor was swept, cobwebs gone, and in the middle of the floor was a device that had buttons and knobs and dials. He came over, obviously very pleased with himself, and showed me how I could increase this knob, and turn this handle, and hear the machinery rev up, and watch this little dial where the needle would go up a little bit. But, he warned me not to go too fast, or try to increase it more than a smidgy at a time.

I ignored him, cranked the dial way up, anxious to lose lots of weight real fast... I sprained my ankle the next day.

The changes you are trying to create in your mind need to be balanced by healing in the emotions that are still held or in denial. Emotions that are in conflict with visions will inevitably bring about their own result.

I know this. I do. And yet, even after 33 years of crying, I still fall into wanting a magic solution that will somehow bypass my pain. I want magic!!!

The next time I went into the basement, I was contrite (remembering my throbbing ankle), and had a little more faith in his advice. And lo and behold, in my absence he had built me a chair. He had incorporated the metabolism-increaser-device into the chair, and all the knobs and dials and switches were at my fingertips in the arms of the chair. I could even recline the chair and look up, and ... that's when he let me know I needed more light. He had rigged a light panel above the chair.

I freaked.

I didn't go back to the basement for days and days. I figured screw the weight loss, I'll just stay fat. No way am I going to open myself up to more light. What a massively huge and wonderful trigger that was. I cried and cried, lots and lots of terror, rage, more terror, distrust, memories of being eaten by the light, hated by the light, etc. etc. etc.

I finally healed enough that I could try to go back to the basement.

This time HE was the contrite one. He apologized and let me know he wouldn't do anything like that again without my permission. But, he said, I did need more light, and could we try to find a way...

I agreed, but my fear was still REALLY strong. Eventually he found a way to get me some more light without driving my terror through the roof. The result was a panel of glass panes, each pane about 4 inches square. It was something like a solar panel set into the ceiling, and something like the glass panels you find in the sidewalks of old cities that let light down into the underground portions of the city. The glass is smoky, opaque, but light comes in nevertheless. This helped my fear immensely, both the indirectness of the light, and his willingness to be careful of my fear.

It was shortly after this that I realized who he was. And freaked for the second time.



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