Wings, did you mean to post a link to the video you were talking about? I couldn't find it.
Missa1984, thanks for the advice. I do actually talk to them a lot. I let them know exactly what I'm feeling. I give them an ear-full! lol I don't know that they always listen or take anything I say to heart, but at least they can't say they didn't know my side of it!
Thanks, Bonnie, for the meditation link. It's been very helpful. Your voice is so hypnotic; I almost fall asleep! It's weird how different it makes me feel. It's like I can feel myself past my body, like i'm extending into my aura? or maybe just feeling the halo that's always been there and recognizing that it's me.
I'm starting to wonder if the man and young boy I sometimes experience myself as in some of my experiences is really my higher self. When I am being visited, maybe that's I how I manifest myself in that other plane. It just happens to manifest itself as male. Who's weird? I am.
I'm sure I could fill up a book! I could never publish it, though. I would definitely lose my job and ruin my career if I came out publicly with this stuff. Also, I don't really have the emotional support of any family or friends to take me through that kind of emotional roller coaster. My one friend I used to share with has moved away and told me clearly that he doesn't want to talk about that stuff any more. My family avoids the topic like the plague. Sometimes I swear my mother looks at me like she hates me sometimes. I was visiting her the other day. It was evening and as I was leaving I saw a bright light outside over town. Thinking it could be a UFO, I quickly went in and begged my mom to come outside to look at it. As we were looking at it, it turned out to not be a UFO but a helicopter flying over town. I apologized for dragging her out in the cold. I told her, "I just wanted you to see what I have been seeing." She told me firmly that she did NOT want to see a UFO, and seemed to scowl and be angry at me for the rest of the night. I know she's had experiences, but she refuses to talk about them. She told me once a few months back she had a dream where she was sitting up in bed talking to two people, and they were giving her something, an object, and asked her to give whatever it was to me. She woke up sitting up in bed grabbing at the air for this thing they were handing her. That sounded like classic visitation to me, but she refuses to tell me what they gave her. She just says the dream was demonic, won't explain how or why she thinks that. She refuses to talk about it. But that's the way my family has always dealt with things, or rather not dealt with them. My family has a history of shutting down and purposefully using a lot of energy to not talk about uncomfortable things. Sometimes I think if I ever really talked to my mom about this stuff and in that way made her face it, she would never forgive me. Whenever I try to talk about unusual things (I am careful to avoid trigger words like "aliens abduction"), she becomes very stand-offish. In fact, I was telling her about a dream I had about my childhood, and she very spitefully said, "Are you remembering things that didn't happen again?" Where did that come from? My sister is a younger version of my mom. I think if I confided in her, she would think I was demon possessed. I think my other sister would think I had mental problems and would tell my mom and other sister anyway. My father is old and showing signs of dementia. I told him about a UFO sighting I had once. He listened quietly and then began talking about the same 5 stories he retells on loop. Isolation sucks. I suppose it does create a kind of inner-strength and self-reliance that I'll be grateful for some day. I think maybe that's why I write so much. I don't have anyone else to tell, and I'm about to burst. And then I write and write like my life depends on it. Maybe it does in some sense.
When I was young and living on the farm, I got it into my head that I could speak to the earth and she could hear me. I would dig a little hole in the dirt, lean my little self over it, cup my hands over the hole and whisper a word or two into the hole. Sometimes it was silly little phrases that a giddy kid makes up like "I love you" or "Can you hear me?" or "I saw a butterfly today." Sometimes I would whisper a dirty word I learned because it was the only place i could say it without getting into trouble. Sometimes I would whisper my cries in to it if I had gotten in trouble or gotten a spanking that day or tell it I had gotten sick the night before. Then I would cover up the hole and bury my words. They were hers to keep. I think that's why I feel so connected to that land and the back field. She was my witness. She witnessed everything I went through, and she held it. There's so much of me that rests underneath her surface. I guess instead of digging holes now I make long rambling posts in this forum. lol As long as something is listening. If I have to continue to bury and hide this part of myself, at least I know where to dig.
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