Mom’s House

Wondering what I would do this morning I am directed to write. Looking for a topic an idea, anything that is worthy of writing and I see an image. Surprised to see this one, did not expect it. It is an image similar to the Medusa Head. This thing is all arms and hands and moves effortlessly in any direction. It holds on to what we are ignorant of, holding it so tight against us that we see neither this being or what it clings to. What clings to us, by virtue of our agreement with this Satan.

Satans are spiritual beings. I do not believe that they exist outside of  temporal realities. In other words they have no durable quality that I recognize, but they are real. As I consider them I expect that we created them. Human Beings imagined them into existence. That is my supposition. There is no reason to fear them as they have no authority beyond our choice to associate with them. In recognizing them the agreement we made to keep their acquaintance can be broken. They only work to keep from us what we are given to do and only because we have asked them to. These agreements can be broken without mystic sight. (You do not have to see them to dissolve an agreement made with them). Me, my mystic life is very visual and so I see them. I see the spiritual world. I only know that I see it, and, seeing it I am left to accept it as actual, an experience I have.

Let us see what I have asked this Satan to hide in the darkness of my ignorance. In looking I see negative emotion (rage, hate, grief and the like) waifing through my being. This emotion is anchored to me by the grip of this Satan and the agreement made with it. In January of 1999 I was forty-six years old with two children ages nine and twelve. I had been a full-time single parent for four years at this time. My wife had been actively working to undermine my finances and my financial condition was that of ruin. I was presented an opportunity to move my children and myself into my mother’s house a few blocks away. I did. I was extremely embarrassed and ashamed of the condition I had managed to get myself in. The agreement I made with this Satan is to hold on to the shame. It replicates itself in subtle ways throughout my life but this is where it lives. Its source-point. Love, acceptance and approval should melt the grip and let the Satan slip away.

I should mention that moving in with mom was a true blessing. She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer not long after we arrived and we lived with her in her remaining five years. She really liked that. It gave me the opportunity to keep my children safe and to divorce my wife. She got the most notorious Family Law Attorney in the county and I a well-respected run of the mill type. I simply threw myself at the mercy of the court and my children were given permission to be at my house everyday, even the days they were with their mother. The custody arrangement gave the children a long weekend every other week at their moms and the rest of the time with me. Unheard of in the state of California. My lawyer was impressed. He told me that this kind of arrangement, for men, happened less than 15% of the time. I rose a pair of healthy well-adjusted successful children.

Michael, The Mystic Tourist ©2012

3 thoughts on “Mom’s House

    • damn I didn’t mean to leave the page so quick. Mike on math….I have trouble too, I always had trouble understanding the formulas and such…until I went to colledge and majored in it! It never seemed to amaze me that while I was taking 18 units, and had 17 classes that my room mates seemed to have all the time in the world? Then I realized that “they” only had four or five classes……On the second attempt ( I left the City) and found myself in Empire Business School studing computers……..What I learned is that I wasn’t a dummy, nore is anyone else, it is all in how you approach it! What I did learn is the experiences that we all have can be used either way ………what you write is from both the heart and soul. Which is why I am here…at your site…….something about hearing your stories gives me a calm ….makes me feel that I am not alone….I wish that you and Tom Du would get together and collaborate on his life story which none of us can ever compare to that….and your writing style is really great (can’t get that out of a box). Look its like this…when I was in school studying music I didn’t know how to read music. Yeah I took a lot of “Dumb drummer” jokes about it from my school mates….it was brutal….but the story here is ….a guy named Greg watched me play one day and approached me and pretty much called me out. He offered to help me with my understanding of music (how to read notes, measures ect). One day in orchastra class as was usual to have the class play the song, then he would “sing out” my part, and I would play it back…..just me….by my self……really no big deal ……until one day I got tired of everyone making fun of me………and when the music started …I started playing along cause I could “read” the notes.
      I went back to my room that night awaiting Greg to come over to help me and he was so oproud of me. It was then that he told me he couldn’t play a “lick”???? What ??? Yeah he said that he could recognize talent and I had the “gift” ??/ what do you mean the gift? He said that if I watched the other students when they play they could only play the music on the page…..but couldn’t “hear” what they were playing because as far as their minds were concerned they played their part…….and why it sounded awful …..he said that I put my soul into what I play and you can’t learn that.

      So Please stop being so hard on yourself….just write what you write and tell the story………its a great story….you

      Love you guy,……..1967 Band of Brothers……one for all ….and all for one…..(; ]
      *You give us all so much joy with your writing*

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s