I'll be tweaking, editing and updating this information, as I complete my book, but I'm putting it here now because this is information, for which no one should have to read a whole book. In the first letter on the blog by myself, you can read other experiences I had while my membership in the WTBS remained active.
I want you to know I've related these experiences according to what I believed at the time they occurred. This does not mean that I continue to hold the same beliefs. I know now that things aren't always what they appear to be. Additionally, Jehovah's Witnesses and former Jehovah's Witnesses may not be the only ones who can understand this story. Be that as it may, IF you see this journal as a tool, with which to ridicule and pass negative judgment on anyone, you should move your butt on down the road, because there's nothing here for you.
Do not think the Hierarchy of the Watchtower Society won't be studying what I'm writing about them and what others have been writing about them, so they can scheme how to refute and dismiss every sort of raised question with their circular logic. The Governing Body of the WT-B.S. (Watch Tower Bullshit, as it's more appropriately tagged) should realize that Ex-Jehovah's Witness (XJW) activists like myself are standing on the shoulders of XJW Titans, such as the XJWs involved in Watchtower Documents (http://watchtowerdocuments.org/), Freeminds.org, AAWA (Advocates for Awareness of Watchtower Abuse), AJWRB - Advocates for Jehovah's Witnesses for Reform on Blood, JW Facts (https://www.jwfacts.com/), JW Survey (jwsurvey.org), Silent Lambs (silentlambs.org), Steven Hassan, and the many XJW books, websites, groups, forums, Youtube videos, blogs and web pages of a great crowd of XJW activists in global unity, some of whom have done decades of deep research and archived tons and tons of evidence, even from the WT-B.S. publications, which indict the Governing Haughty's deceptiveness, hypocrisies, greediness and lack of love, mercy or compassion.
XJW activists are warriors - We are nemeses of jw(dot)org, just as Leah Remini now is to Scientology. We've got your number. (Oh, do look up the definition of 'numb,' so you'll know exactly which sort of numb-er I'm talkin' about.)
Back in 1972, while I was working at a nightclub, my older sister and her best friend made the trip from Louisiana to Dallas, Texas, to pay me a visit. My sister and I both had been searching over the years for a true Christian faith, God’s people. They came to tell me that they had found it and the religion was the “truth.” Both my sister and her friend were emphatic about it. The religion they were telling me about was most assuredly the “truth," according to them. They identified it as the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society (WBTS or WTS), of which I knew very little, so they left some books with me, which I promptly relegated to a shelf. I only knew about Mama telling them she wasn’t interested when Jehovah's Witnesses (JWs) infrequently came to our door, as I was growing up and I thought, “Yeah-yeah,” and went on working, but my job was becoming depressing and I was in the middle of a rocky relationship, which didn’t help matters.
A few days later, two women knocked on my door. I was cooking dinner and they sat at the dining table and we chatted as I was fixin' a pot of chicken ‘n dumplings for dinner. They were nice, very gracious and appeared to be knowledgeable about the bible. I agreed to a bible study, which they emphasized was the way to go. I did not know that the “love-bombing” had begun. They referred to their fellow members as "brother" and "sister," indicating that they were one loving, happy family.
It took a while before I had enough courage to attend their church, which turned out to be what they call a Kingdom Hall (KH). The atmosphere was a bit funereal (gloomy), and their music and singing sounded like the themes from soap operas, cartoons and band marches, except the songs were all about their god, Jehovah, the preaching work and the prospect of living forever in paradise on earth. The people were friendly and while not overtly crowding me, quite a few of them came up to introduce themselves and get acquainted. I’m sure the news that I was a burlesque dancer was quite titillating and had spread far and wide among them. One thing that impressed me was that no one appeared to be distressed about or even interested in the way I was dressed. I had done my best with a long-sleeved dress that was not too short, but had a deep V-neck, which I stitched together for a less provocative neckline.
Not long after I began studying, my boyfriend threatened to leave. In the beginning, he said he didn’t care if I shaved myself bald, wore robes and beat a tambourine, while collecting donations at the airport, but by then, he decided he couldn’t stomach my going door-to-door to preach. He even ranted about it one night, pacing the floor in front of my chair, and becoming physically menacing. I sat there forcing myself to maintain a calm exterior. A few days later, I caught him grabbing my 4-year-old daughter by the front of her nightgown and slamming her to the floor one morning. There was no way that I was going to put up with the threat of physical violence, especially to my children. I did not simply ask him to leave; I demanded that he get out. When he turned at my outcry, I calmly told him not to bother to pack, but to back his pickup truck into the parking space outside our bedroom window and I’d pack his truck bed for him, while he stayed outside. He did not protest as his personal belongings and clothing went flying out the window into his truck bed and it was “Bye-bye, Charlie! I’m making sure the door doesn't hit you in the butt on the way out.” I had supported him throughout the winter, when construction work was limited. I had even given him money to pay the child support he needed so he could have visitation with his 2-year-old son, but I would tolerate no more abuse.
When I finally made the decision to quit my job as an exotic dancer, one of the women studying with me turned my bible study over to the other one. The husband of the woman who turned me over to the other woman, with whom I would continue studying, helped me get a job at Texas Instruments and the woman who continued to study with me found us an apartment closer to where she and her family lived and closer to their Kingdom Hall.
One thing we had quibbled over during my bible studies was God’s name, Jehovah, which their bible (The New World Translation of The Holy Scriptures or NWT) had been re-written to include, among other things. The name was extremely repugnant to me at first. It felt repulsive, vile in my mouth...ugly. But after hearing it repeated so often and them reassuring me repeatedly that God's name should be used because "there are many gods and many lords" and using God’s (alleged) name would ensure that it was the correct god I would be reaching out to, I gradually set aside my negative feelings about the name. The brain-polluting had begun.
It took 18 months of bible studies, regular meeting attendance at the Kingdom Hall, and regular field service every week for me to be approved for baptism as a Jehovah’s Witness. That’s 5 meetings a week, folks. It was a full-scale relentless attack on everything I had believed. Normal pre-membership bible study required at the time was one year, before being approved for baptism. They made me study their publications and wait approximately 18 months. I guess being a sinful stripper meant I had more badness to shed and was worse than Mary Magdalene had been. Those prospective Christians in the bible must have been near perfect in order that they could be baptized on the spot with no waiting in line. I now realize they intend to make sure that a prospective member has been fully brain-polluted before being accepted as "good association." This reminds me of the movie, "Stepford Wives," wherein the wives' brains were reprogrammed, causing them to appear to have had their qualities of individuality replaced by submissive personalities, which the men deemed acceptable.
An excellent analogy of WT-B.S. teachings and their use of circular logic can be found depicted in "Kissing Hank's Ass." You can use a search engine online to find it.
Before I was baptized, I had a dream one night. It was nearing time for me to get my license plates renewed and I dreamed that when I went through the line at the DMV, I was handed a license plate that read “666.” My bible teachers had already taught me what the number meant, according to their publications, and the dream shocked and scared me. When I told the ladies that studied with me, they assured me it was just a dream. When I went to the DMV to purchase my new license plates, which actually read, “666,” I was too stunned to protest, so I went ahead and deliberately put them on my car to show those women that all dreams are not “just dreams.” I did not then know how prophetic the license plate actually was, since I was becoming one of them.
After I was baptized, I had the WBTS' conditional seal of approval. It wasn't until years had passed that I realized how "conditional" absolutely everything about them is. Since I was a new member, the men who were in search of a wife began to watch me at meetings, assemblies (conventions), and during field service (door-to-door preaching work). They questioned those who studied with me, checking me out. It wasn’t long before I was approached by an elder from another congregation. He had 3 sons, one of whom was a teenager. Evidently, I passed inspection, because he asked me to marry him after a brief courtship. I accepted, thinking it would be great to be a stay-at-home Mom, be able to spend time with the kids and have a perfect husband to bring home the bacon, while I cooked it. After all, being an elder (preacher/leader) in an organization with such high standards for membership surely meant that he was perfect or nearly perfect, didn’t it?
The night before our wedding day, he told me in private that he never wanted to see me naked. I wasn’t sure why, considering maybe he was overly prudish, and as it turned out, he was. His announcement made me uneasy, but since the wedding was already planned for the next day, I decided it was too late; calling off the wedding at the last minute would cause a big uproar. I hoped the benefits might outweigh the weirdness.
We were married within three months after my baptism. Over the next three months, the marriage went steadily downhill. One time, when I was cooking my Ragout Italiano in the oven to take to a congregation get-together, my new husband was so anxious to get there early (so he could play baseball), he left me at home and took the kids, not coming back to get me or the stew. His two younger boys were totally loveable and they played together with my son and daughter famously. However, they were hyperactive and loud and I often found myself yelling over their hubbub so they could hear me and I could quieten them down. He didn’t like hearing it and complained not only to me, but also to the body of elders (BOE) at our Kingdom Hall. I had to explain myself to them, but I also privately included what he’d told me on the night before our wedding and how he’d left me behind to arrive early at the get-together. They were only appalled at what he’d told me the night before we were married and wanted to know why I went ahead with the wedding. I told them. None of us were happy and there was no outcome or resolution, favorable or unfavorable, to our meetings with the elders.
Three months after we were married, a few other married couples in our congregation were coming to visit and my husband told me to get down on the floor and pretend that we were wrestling in play and laughing, while he haphazardly donned one of my wigs in a lame attempt to be amusing, as they knocked on the door. I decided to leave and began secretly making plans.
While my husband was at work, I went to the club owner where I had worked, and got my job back. I also borrowed money from the club owner to rent an apartment and a moving van and I soon moved out with my kids and paid the owner back from my earnings. Freedom!
While it lasted, I worked in the strip club for approximately a year, before I went back. Why? I didn't know what to do to resolve the job issues I was facing. Not only had business slacked off considerably, but new city ordinances were being put in place which allowed dancers to strip completely nude on stage. Yeah....sans even pasties and G-strings, which was a line I did not want to cross. Go figure.
When I returned to my husband in Dallas, it was almost mid-1974. I was placed on public reproof, a public announcement made to the congregations that I had engaged in sinful conduct and was not good association, even though I claimed to be repentant. The humiliation hurt so much that I ran crying from the Kingdom Hall. I was to be somewhat shunned by other followers as not good association and would not be included in any social activities, though other WTS members were allowed to speak with me, acknowledging my existence. I became inactive, not attending meetings or going out in field service. By early 1975, I had moved back to Southeast Texas and made a last brief attempt to attend meetings, before I moved on and stayed inactive for another four years.
At the end of 1979, I made my final return to the WBTS. Because of WBTS teachings, whether in print or not, that 1975 was a “marked” year (rumored by the WBTS hierarchy to be the beginning of the apocalypse, and by not putting this teaching in print, they could claim plausible deniability) according to their version of bible chronology, many followers of the WBTS foolishly went deeply into debt in 1974, making expensive purchases that they believed they would not have to pay for, and by the end of 1975, there began a gradual “exodus” of those who had believed the WBTS false prophecy, one of many made by the Governing Body, which they would hurry to deny and would quickly hide the evidence via CYA methodology (meaning 'Cover Your Ass') by issuing new publications, with disclaimers and refurbished false prophecies, to replace the old publications, containing old disclaimers and old false prophecies. Some Jehovah's Witnesses quit attending meetings and became inactive.
Even up to the present, the WBTS discourages its followers from reading or researching material in their older publications. They steadily work to have the various congregations get rid of older books and publications, in which they’ve prophesied falsely, making false claims about past and future dates, etc., in order that no one can research and see clearly just what false prophets the WBTS hierarchy truly are. They claim the changes are due to their "light getting brighter." But then....it is well-known by avid bible scholars that the antichrist appears as a messenger or angel of light. I'm positive that an Etch-a-Sketch was not used to engrave ten commandments in stone, nor would a God find it necessary to keep changing light bulbs for a greater wattage. His light is Son light.
I've procrastinated for a long time about telling the story of my spiritual experiences and my final return, then exit from the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society (WBTS). When someone has told me that due to their own lack of knowledge of spiritual experiences, they are overwhelmingly skeptical and adamantly suspicious regarding the validity of these types of experiences, I've had to respond with the flip side of the coin, which is those who've had such experiences dread to tell others about them because of such perfectly normal attitudes of skepticism on the part of those who have never had any type of experience like them. But, you know what? I also have a tendency to be skeptical of others' related experiences.....the why of it lies in the fact that those who haven't had these experiences are in the vast majority, ergo, the attitude of skepticism and downright ridicule toward those who have had these experiences prevails and because of this, even those who've had these experiences are caused to doubt their validity or lucidity in regard to these occurrences. The majority of mankind has and always will be skeptical to the point of ridicule and outright censure of things about which they have no personal knowledge or experience. Ergo, the Salem Witch hunts, etc., throughout history.
Good grief! That last paragraph made me feel like Vizzini debating Wesley about which cup contained Iocaine powder, in "The Princess Bride."
The experiences which ultimately led to my escape are numerous and complex. It begins even before my partaking at the Lord's evening meal for the first time in 1982, during which I was encompassed by a spiritual "cocoon" until I had released the last emblem to pass it on. There were two visions and a transformation each time (which were also witnessed by my daughter) less than two weeks apart, in 1988. They occurred four years before I deliberately caused my own disfellowshipping, another piece of this story, which I thought (that's a key word) had little to do with the experiences.
For those not familiar with the term, disfellowshipping is the action taken by the WBTS and its followers against anyone who questions or shows opposition to their teachings and practices, including those who are judged by the elders to be sinful and unrepentant. When a person is disfellowshipped, they normally are called to a meeting with a Judicial Committee of their local congregation beforehand. Then at the next meeting, which includes the Ministry School (because not many non-JWs attend), an announcement is made, in which the allegedly unrepentant person being judged is announced as disfellowshipped (D'F'd). Then everyone knows to completely shun the D'F'd person, treating them as if they fell off the face of the earth or they're pushing up daisies in a cemetery somewhere. It’s the only lawful way they can “stone to death” anyone who might say things which could cause other followers to “wake up and smell the bullshit.”
#1- because all of their followers are counseled repeatedly not to look at or even speak to anyone who’s been disfellowshipped. Oh, plenty of them will deny this, but they also are trained to believe that lying about the policies and practices of members of the WT-B.S. is okay, because the Governing Body has labeled it as "spiritual warfare." The prosecuting attorney for the Australian Royal Commission, brought this up in his examination of Jehovah's Witnesses, including GB member, Geoffrey Jackson, in regards to more than 1,000 cases of sexual predation, in Australia.
#2 - The second part of their damage control is to start vicious and degrading rumors about those who've been disfellowshipped, in order to reinforce the need for the other members to shun them. They are shunned as though dead and no longer exist, even by family members who are followers. In this manner, the Governing Body of the WBTS, who claim to be the earthly representatives of spiritual Israel can figuratively kill any dissenters, thus ensuring that no other active members are "tainted" with valid information about them. (At one time, I heard rumors that a disfellowshipped married couple, who were anointed, had gone crazy from studying the scriptures too much.) If it weren't illegal in most places, they would actually kill all dissenters. They've preached from their podiums that this is their intended punishment for any survivors who may become opposers after Armageddon. To me, that's sort of "Al Qaeda-ish." Disfellowshipping is the real threat (loss of life as we know it, loss of family, health (both mental and physical), your credibility, friendships and self-esteem) that's hidden behind the WBTS "carrot," which is "living forever on paradise earth."
"We are not living today among theocratic nations where such members of our fleshly family relationship could be exterminated for apostasy from God and his theocratic organization . . .
"Being limited by the laws of the worldly nation in which we live and also by the laws of God through Jesus Christ, we can take action against apostates only to a certain extent, that is consistent with both sets of laws. The law of the land and God's law through Christ forbid us to kill apostates."
The bottom line regarding the whys and wherefores of my own personal experiences? Some of it can be seen as, all the things that occurred to me were tools by which I was led out of the WBTS and away from the scriptures which limit a living God to what was written first on scrolls and then gathered together and edited by "earthling men," in whom the New World Translation (NWT bible) of the WBTS says, "do not put your trust." (Of course, they've since changed the wording to "noble men.") But, there are those "3 fingers, pointing back" at them, as they point their accusing fingers at others.
My experiences, no matter what their origin, finally gave me the return to a normal life, freeing me from the slavery within the organized cult. I finally began to realize that I should just "go for it" and make the best I can out of the life given me, eh? Things aren't always what they appear to be, nor necessarily as they are portrayed by others to be. Even later, I sometimes wondered if they were all delusions? But how could that be, if others saw some of the same things as I experienced them or saw them? Were these experiences a product of our collective imaginations or did they result from what we'd been taught or had taught others ourselves? How so, since the experiences were not such that were condoned by the WBTS, so they shouldn't have been a part of our belief system, eh? But then...there's always the "bottom line."
I have to say that when I had first begun studying with the Witnesses, my search was for God’s people, not for the "truth.” I had been pouring over the scriptures myself and searching in out of the way little churches for God’s people, but was time and time again only disappointed by the hypocritical and judgmental attitudes displayed everywhere I went. At a vulnerable time in my life, I allowed the Witnesses to sway me and impress me with their seemingly vast scriptural knowledge. Early on, during the course of my studies with them, I adamantly disagreed with their view on the anointed of Christ, the chosen ones. I let them know it, but again, I allowed them to persuade me to "set it aside" and go on with my studies, not yet recognizing how hypocritical and judgmental they are trained to be.
By Autumn of 1981, I had begun to be sidetracked by the scriptural content in the WBTS bible, their New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures (NWT). I continued reading late into the night and the scriptures became more personalized, as though there was an effort to reach out to me from within them. Oh, I had been thoroughly indoctrinated into the Witness mindset by then, except for my niggling doubts about their views on the anointing and those who were chosen. As I continued, certain scriptures seemed to profoundly "speak" to me personally about my being one of the chosen anointed, as if their bible had become an Oracle. But then, the “word of God is alive and exerts power,” doesn’t it? When I say the scriptures "spoke" to me, there would be certain scriptures that seemed to almost jump from the page, leaping into my vision, so that I couldn’t ignore them, as though they were in bold print among the other scriptures. I also had huge doubts about my perception of this, because of the teachings and attitudes pounded into me verbally by the Witnesses. Five meetings a week, wherein WBTS teachings are chewed over and over, like a cow chewing its cud, adds up to a lot of brain-pollution. The JWs are proud to refer to it as “brain-washing,” or a cleansing of the mind, as they like to say. I like to refer to it as intensive programming of their members to have a "hive mind," like the women, who were transformed in "The Stepford Wives," and the hive mind in the pod-people who were victims of "The Body Snatchers."
Late one evening, I decided that the only way to resolve the issue was to perform an experiment. I set down the New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures and closed my mind to all other distractions. I decided to treat the anointing as if it were a garment, a coat. I said to myself, "I’ll try it on and see if it fits and how I feel with it on." Then I closed my eyes and proceeded to visualize doing so. It was comfortable to have the "garment" on and comforting at the same time. "Now," I said, "I’ll take it off and see how I feel." When I visualized taking it off, I suddenly felt as if a dark void or vacuum had swallowed me up. The feelings of dread that overcame me were almost terrifying. If I hadn’t known where I actually was (in my own living room) and that I was only visualizing this occurrence, I would have freaked out, and I’m really not a hysterical person, though I sometimes tease others as if I were. Anyway, to me, the issue was resolved. I wasn’t totally happy about it, because the prevailing attitude (as current and former Jehovah’s Witnesses all well know) of the JWs towards anyone besides a member of their Governing Body who claims to be anointed or chosen is one of ridicule by most, ridicule of those professing to be newly anointed, and particularly against the women. So I wasn’t surprised by the teasing and ridiculing that occasionally came my way. Though it was late at night, I phoned my best friend, a shy and sweet little woman that I dearly love and considered to be my best friend. When I told her, she gasped. Then she told me that this was the answer to her prayers to Jehovah to be close to one of the anointed. She said she had tried for years to draw close to another older woman who was anointed and was always rebuffed by the woman, even though gently so. And she kept praying to Jehovah and asking Him "Why not?" This had been going on with her while we were becoming closer friends.
During this time period, my best friend, who was single, had been writing to a man she’d become interested in and she shared different tidbits about their correspondence, as their relationship progressed. She was visiting me one evening, and as she started to leave, I noticed that not only had my front porch light burned out, but also the street light by my house. We were in almost total darkness while chatting on our way out to her car, which was parked at the curb in front of my house. As we reached her car, she turned and said to me that she’d been having doubts about whether to continue corresponding with the man and had asked Jehovah to send her a specific sign if she had Jehovah’s approval for this. She was just about to tell me what the sign was when I was suddenly alerted by the loud sound of the fluttering and flapping of many pairs of wings, as if a large flock of birds had been startled from the trees around us. My head automatically jerked around as I quickly scanned the area to see the birds causing the sound of those wing beats, but there were no birds. Suddenly a group of seemingly angelic, winged spirit creatures appeared hovering above the ground, encircling us. I could only see the bottom half of their robes, which looked as if they could have once been white, but now were dingy and gray. I could see their bare feet beneath their robes, because the robes only reached to just above their ankles. Then their appearances quickly faded. At this point, I stopped her from telling me what the specific sign was, which she had asked Jehovah to give her, by telling her we couldn’t ever know who or what might be listening. I didn’t tell her, at that time, what I had just heard and seen. Much later, when I did tell her, she commented on the fact that she wondered what I had heard that made me jerk my head around so suddenly that night. I was surprised she had noticed and that she even remembered it.
Memorial, 1982 - The time for first partaking (of communion emblems) as an anointed one had arrived. I was anxious and nervous and excited, of course. The anointed partakers of the communion emblems are always singled out, simply by partaking at the Memorial celebration once a year, because everyone is actually discouraged from partaking. Only those professing to be anointed are to partake. I hadn’t told anyone except my best friend. There wasn’t anyone else I could talk to who would have understood. I felt it would have been ridiculous to have asked the local Body of Elders (BOE) for their input and opinions, since they aren’t the ones who do the choosing, after all. I called my older sister, also a JW, in Louisiana. I told her and invited her to our memorial, so she could be with me for moral support. My sister came and my best friend and her two children sat directly behind us in the Kingdom Hall that night. We all sat towards the back of the hall. When the communion emblems began being passed around and they reached our row, they were passed from my left, so my sister was the one who handed the plate to me. As she reached out with the plate in her hand and I reached out my hand to take the plate, I was suddenly completely enveloped by an invisible spiritual cocoon. Those are the most appropriate words I can find to describe what I was experiencing, but there are more. While I couldn’t actually see the cocoon, it felt like a bubble of energy around me, though the atmosphere within this phenomenon was calm and peaceful, also rainbow-like, gently humming and vibrating. My hand felt as if it almost floated to the plate and the plate had no weight at all. To me, at the time, it was Jehovah’s reassurance that He was "with me" in this matter. The cocoon lasted until the wine had also been passed and I had partaken of that, too. Then the cocoon dissipated as suddenly as it had occurred.
July, 1988 - I had a dream/vision. I call it this because in many instances, the visions related in the scriptures were actually profound dreams, which turned out to be prophetic in nature. I was living in an apartment at the time and I dreamed one night that I was walking down the sidewalk there from my car in the parking lot to my apartment when suddenly a small black man approached me out of the dark and stabbed me repeatedly, although the stabbing left no marks and I didn't bleed. Instead of falling to the ground or sidewalk, I looked up at the sky. I was searching for the Lord. I expected him to "meet" me upon my death, you see, but all I observed were thick clouds all around, clouds and more clouds, no Jesus, as expected. When I awakened, I was puzzled. The dream had been puzzling and I didn’t view it as just a dream. I saw it as predictive of something to come. My death? I wondered. Why was I still alive and why didn’t the Lord meet me as promised in the scriptures? Somehow I sensed that the little "black man" was named Israel and that the clouds played an important part, too. I knew that the dream was metaphorical in nature. The dream was both metaphorical and prophetic, as I would later discover. I didn’t immediately make the connection with the Governing Body's claim to be the earthly representatives of spiritual Israel. Nor did I recall, “At that time people will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory." Mark 13:26
August, 1988 - Early that month, I saw my oldest son for the first time in 5 years. We had been estranged for that period of time, and it thrilled me to see him at last. He drove, bringing his Korean wife and my four-month-old first grandson with him from Colorado to visit. They stayed for two weeks and then returned to Colorado. It had warmed my heart to see him and to meet his family at last.
Before we had become estranged, when he was a young teenager, he had fallen into bad company, committed a crime and had been sent away to juvenile facilities for a period of time. Instead of anyone in the congregation writing to him and trying to encourage him, the elders simply disassociated him, labeling him as unfit for association, shortly before he was due to return home. They made no move to notify him of their decision. No, they were cowards and it was left in my hands to break the bad news to him....in the face of his eager determination to become a Jehovah's Witness in good standing, when he returned home. That is what caused our estrangement. I was heartbroken over being forced to tell him myself and he was heartbroken to find that they were unmerciful and unforgiving.
For some time, I had been experiencing plenty of upheaval in my life and many things that were going on were very stressful to me. I felt a strong need to reach out to Jehovah, so one day I asked Him if He would kindly allow me to see a little of His glory, as Moses had done, because I felt a strong need for His reassurance again, that he was "there" for me. After a few nights had passed, I had a dream/vision that I was up in the clouds, but I was unaware of anything, except the clouds I saw around me. The clouds were solid beneath my feet and billowed around my ankles like they do on the movie sets where dry ice is used to simulate a mist that the actors and/or actresses are walking through. The atmosphere was very peaceful. I reached down with both hands and began scooping up some of the clouds billowing around my ankles and splashed them on my face, as though scooping up handfuls of water from a basin. There was joy in the clouds. I could feel it when I splashed my face with them. I was splashing joy on my face and I could sense joy all around me, emanating from the clouds.
The next morning when I awakened, I puzzled over the meaning of the dream/vision. After I told my daughter about the experience, she told me that during the night, she awakened in pain because her medication had worn off (she had surgery.) For some unknown reason, she had left her medicine on the table by the bed where I was sleeping, so she came into my room to retrieve it. My daughter told me when she entered the room, she noticed my face was glowing a strange pale aqua color, though not emitting light, like a glow-in-the-dark toy. She said my face was more masculine in appearance. She leaned close and saw it really was me, because she could see my scraggly eyebrows. As bizarre as this might seem, she said the room was calm. There was an atmosphere of peace and she wasn’t frightened at all by my appearance, however she felt the need not to disturb me and quietly returned to her room, taking her medication with her.
Just a few nights later, as I was walking down the sidewalk in the apartment complex, I came across a tiny bottle of perfume in the middle of the sidewalk. It was sample-sized, made of glass or crystal and shaped just like the regular-sized bottle of the same label. I knew this, because it was a perfume, which I had favored in the late ‘60's, several years before I joined the WBTS. The scent was "Cabochard,” a perfume I had searched for and could no longer find anywhere. I knew it was meant for me to find, sort of a small token from Jehovah that he was "there" for me. Later, I would discover that cabochard is French for 'pigheaded.' I laugh about it now. Perhaps this is why the perfume was discontinued.
At this point, I awakened suddenly as though I had heard a noise. I lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and taking mental note of some major physical changes, which my body was experiencing. My chest and shoulders felt as though they were very broad and deep like a man’s. My lungs were much larger and I was breathing very deeply, though calmly and peacefully. Strange, I thought. Then my attention turned back to the noise, which had awakened me. I raised my head and looked around the room and down the hallway. The head that I raised, though my own and attached to my body, was not my physical head, for I could feel that my physical head was still lying asleep beneath me.....and yet I was wide awake, looking down the hallway, checking out sounds to see if my children were okay and whether anyone was trying to break into our apartment. Upon discovering no reason for alarm, I lowered my head and went back to sleep.
The next morning, I told my daughter about the previous night’s dream/vision. Again, my daughter had forgotten her medicine in my room and came to retrieve it during the night. This time when she entered, she said my face, while glowing the pale aqua color as before, had aged quite a bit more and I looked older and more fierce, that my lips were crimson (I had no lipstick on). Overall, she commented that my countenance was that of someone she would not want to meet up with in a confrontational situation. Yet again, she also included that the atmosphere in my room was one of peace, so she returned to her room, once again realizing that she shouldn’t disturb me.
I was amazed, yet puzzled, after having this second dream/vision/transformation and having my experiences confirmed by my daughter, who only forgot her medicine in my room on those two particular occasions (strange, eh?) that I immediately went to the scriptures looking for answers as to what these things meant. As I expected, the scriptures were "speaking" to me. At random, certain scriptures almost leaped off the page at me. The ones that I can recall now, the ones that hinted at what would happen soon, were: III John, 13, 14.... "I had many things to write you, yet I do not wish to go on writing you with ink and pen. But I am hoping to see you directly and we shall speak face to face." I actually saw three different sets of scriptures that essentially paraphrased the words in these scriptures.
All within the next 6 weeks, several overwhelming things occurred. My daughter ran away with a busboy from the restaurant where she was working and was disfellowshipped for it, because she left a note on her pillow bragging about what a victory leaving home was to her. There was news of a major (rated 5) hurricane, named Gilbert situated at the mouth of the Gulf, which circumference covered the entire Gulf of Mexico and for the first time in my life, an approaching hurricane scared me. Gilbert turned and headed inland to the mountains of Mexico, so the Gulf Coast of Texas was spared, thankfully, because until it landed, I felt as though we were sitting on a keg of dynamite, while watching the fuse burning shorter.
When two representatives from the local Bodies of Elders (BOE) came to my apartment, intending to disfellowship me for speaking about my dream/visions/transformations to a few others in the congregation, I phoned the Governing Body for intervention, having been warned through the scriptures that I should "reinforce power very much for the one that does scattering has come up before your face." When I contacted the Governing Body by phone, the elder on the phone told me to contact the local elders, telling them I had contacted the Governing Body (GB) and advise them to wait for the GB's decision. The elder also advised me to sit down and chronicle the visions and transformations in detail and send it to them in a letter. Between July 10, 1988 and July 19, 1988, I did just that, dating the letter accordingly. I gave copies to each of the elders in my congregation and kept one for myself, packing it in my suitcase before leaving for California in October. The dates on that letter will become important to the story later.
The first visit from the elders regarding their desire to disfellowship me was a corker. In the first place, it wasn’t just a couple of elders that came. It was the Presiding Overseer (PO) of our congregation and the City Overseer that came. As they sat in my living room, the City Overseer, after asking me to tell them about my experiences, cut me off and started saying in a very ridiculing-mimicking-effeminate voice, "I can just hear you now. ‘Oh, I’m of the anointed and I’m having dreams and visions, blah-blah-blah.’” Now, I’m not a confrontational person by nature. Anyone that really knows me can tell you that I don't usually anger quickly. I try to be diplomatic and tactfully cultivate peace or at least a compromise most of the time, but when the City Overseer derided me, the "alter ego" or spirit creature, who was manifested during my transformations, took control of my words and actions. I could feel it there, filling me completely, as I suddenly went from a somewhat relaxed position to sitting ramrod straight in my seat and leaned slightly forward glaring at him across the room and told him in a very strong tone, "You be careful!" The PO became frightened and stood up. He told me they had to leave and urged the City Overseer out the door quickly. The Circuit Overseer or Servant (I call ‘em “circus serpents” now) was visiting that weekend and after contacting the Governing Body and telling them my "case" and receiving their instructions, I went to the Kingdom Hall (KH) and located him and told him what had been advised by the Governing Body. The elders would have to hold their peace and wait on the Governing Body’s decision in the matter.
The last meeting my daughter attended with us before she ran off and "jumped the broom" was the ministry school. It was also the first meeting after the elders came to me with the Governing Body’s decision. I remember it was the ministry school, because the song that is sung at the beginning of the ministry school is not listed in the Kingdom ministry pamphlet, but is chosen by the local ministry school conductor (who had no knowledge of my experience with the elders and the decision of the Governing Body) before the meeting began. We came in and took our seats at the front of the KH just as the whole congregation rose and began to sing "The Shulammite Maiden.” I was surprised, as was my daughter and youngest son. The significance of this surprising coincidence? There were some scriptures in the Hebrew text that had also been speaking to me about making me the third in rank in the Kingdom if I would obey Jehovah's commandments.
(As an aside here, I later realized that just as I had loved two different men at different times with 'the third' after their names, denoting their lineage, and would come to think it more appropriate to pronounce it 'the turd,' that perhaps he was actually offering to make me 'the turd' in the kingdom.)
The ten commandments were the only ones which were meant, because they were allegedly written by Jehovah's own hand, whereas the rest of the laws were written by the hand of Moses. To me, the remainder of the laws should have been the only ones called the Mosaic Law. This made sense when I thought about the two commandments Jesus had given; one, to love Jehovah with your all and two, to love your neighbor as yourself, saying that the whole law hung upon these two commandments.
The reason for my thinking about it this way was because the ten commandments dealt exclusively with the issues in the two commandments that Jesus had given, whereas the rest of the Law, written by Moses, also dealt with matters of dress, temple arrangements, hygiene, sacrifices, etc., which were things that I had begun to find difficult to believe were more than Moses' own attempt to conform others to his own viewpoints, even if there were a few good pieces of advice in them. After all, for what good reason would God concern himself with the fringe on people's garments, among other things that were only the concern of judgmental people?
My older sister, who had moved to Escondido, California the previous year did something entirely opposite to her nature and invited me to come out to California and stay with her, because work had fallen off in Southeast Texas due to the strike at Mobil Oil. She told me there was plenty of work in California. By the middle of October, I’d sold or given away almost everything we owned, packed a total of three suitcases for myself and my youngest son, and we flew to California. The day before we left, two elders came to our apartment, having been forced to wait for the Governing Body’s intervention in my dream/vision/transformation case, and told me that the Governing Body had written to them and told them not to take action against me, but to warn me not to ever tell anyone again about my experiences, to which I of course agreed with relief (with my fingers crossed behind my back, because I've never favored being told how to live my life by "earthling men").
October, 1988 - There I was in North San Diego County, California, with suitcases and youngest son in hand. We moved in with my older JW sister and her youngest daughter. Before we arrived, my sister had said that she would do the yard work and I could do the sewing. I was not impressed when I saw her yard was the size of a postage stamp covered with sand, small pebbles and a few cacti.
While I began looking for work, I also accompanied my sister on her house-cleaning jobs and she would sandwich sight-seeing excursions into our days, between jobs. It wasn’t very long before I began working at a Convalescent Hospital, my son began school and we started attending meetings at the local Kingdom Hall. Between a full time job, his schooling and five meetings a week, we stayed busy. Soon my sister took exception to the fact that she was watching my son during the day while I worked. I guess she forgot that I took care of her 3 children years before, when we had lived North of Houston. I switched to the night shift and began taking my son with me to work. That didn’t satisfy her either and she lambasted me about any and everything, so I quickly found a studio apartment elsewhere and moved out. I think she really just wanted me to work with her and have time to sight-see with her, because she was fine with me until I began working a steady job and no longer had the time to devote to her interests. Later, she and another woman from Louisiana each moved into a small apartment complex in a cul de sac. I was surprised when my sister wanted me to rent an apartment there, too, but I did. She was my older sister and I always tried to follow in her footsteps, because I looked up to her.
In truth, after living in Texas most of our lives, living in California was almost like being on another planet. People talked so fast that I couldn’t understand what they said. I know the grocery checkout clerk at Ralph's was becoming frustrated with me, because after he repeated the question, "Paperorplastic?" a half dozen times to my repeated, "Whut?" I told him, "Please slow it down, because I don't even think as fast as y'all can talk." My Texas drawl was so pronounced that native Californians often didn’t understand what I was saying. You would have peed your pants laughing if you had heard one woman trying to figure out why I use "awl" (the way Southerners pronounce oil) to grease my biscuit pans. Then there was the superficial graciousness and charm that many Californians display. Many of them are so faux. Just go out there and get acquainted with some of them and ask them to dinner and see how they effusively accept your invitation. Then watch the food get cold on your loaded table with no guests in sight as the appointed time passes into the night. I'm not saying that all Californians are this way....I'm just sayin.'
Within a year, I was having a grand time, panting after some single anointed brother that many in the congregation had nicknamed "Wally Weird" (behind his back). Hey! Remember I’m still H.U.M.A.N. (Head-Up-My-Ass-Now). If you’re thinking that I was making an all around ass of myself, you’re right. Thank goodness that situation fizzled out, because he really was weird.
In November, 1989, I drove from my regular job, caring for premature fraternal twins all night in San Marcos, to another part time job in Hidden Valley. I didn’t realize that my low blood sugar (hypoglycemia) had progressed to the point where I really needed to watch my diet more closely and there was only time to drink a quick orange juice and coffee that morning between jobs. I might as well have consumed a "Mickey Finn." As I was leaving the part time job around noon that day, the patient’s daughter stopped me and asked me if I was alright. I looked at her questioningly, wondering why was she asking. I told her I was fine. About 10 minutes after I left their house and started driving down the highway back to Escondido, I "zoned out" at the wheel, with my eyes wide open, and had a head-on collision, totaling my car. My blood sugar had bottomed out, causing me to be "lights on, but no one at home" (eyes open, but unconscious). It’s hard to believe as badly as my car was totaled, I wound up in the hospital with only two very badly sprained ankles, a double concussion, a sore back and knees, and a few cuts (which were stapled), scrapes and bruises. I didn’t know it at the time, but "someone up there" had just pulled my "leash" up real short and my life was fixing to go to "Helena Handbasket."
After the car accident, I had a lot of time on my hands, so I began reading and studying the scriptures avidly again. By March, 1990, my money had run out, we were on public assistance, soon to be evicted from our apartment, since I could no longer afford the rent. My JW sister who’d invited me out there and lived in the same apartment complex had essentially turned her back on us. Another JW, who was my sister's friend and who also lived there and for whom I had found a good-paying job, refused to loan me either of her two cars (she lived alone) or even to drive us to the store or to medical appointments. My ankles were still bad because we had to walk everywhere we needed to go and they had no opportunity to heal properly and my head was still swollen and black and blue from the double concussion.
I had asked for and received the funds from public assistance to move to another less expensive apartment, and had called the BOE for assistance to move, since I had absolutely no one around who would or could help me. I simply needed some strong backs and a pickup to move our belongings.
When the day came that we were supposed to be moving out (re: being evicted), I had yet to hear from the BOE. I kept watch that last day to see if they would show up to help us. Neither had anyone else from the KH shown up at any time since the car accident to see if we were even still alive. Finally, late afternoon, there was a knock on my door. It was two men from the KH, dressed in suits. They told me they’d been sent by the P.O. to let me know that there was no way they were going to provide me with the funds to move and that since I had gotten myself into that mess, I could just very well get myself out of it. I had wondered why they had suits on and why there were only two of them when they had arrived at my door. Now I knew......so, color me ballistic. Let’s just say they were ashamed, red-faced and appeared to be very embarrassed when they apologetically left my apartment and leave it at that.
After they left, I realized we were now completely alone, having been deserted by everyone we knew and there would be no help forthcoming. I had already rented a studio apartment some distance away with the moving funds provided for us, but the Constable was scheduled to arrive the next day and throw our belongings into the street, because we had no way to move them by ourselves.
I began talking to Jehovah. I never prayed formal prayers, even though the WBTS always admonished that we offer formal prayers to Jehovah, it had always felt unnatural to me. I simply talked to Him silently like He was there listening to my mental conversation and I asked Him if there wasn’t someone in the congregation that knew what "love your brother" really meant, because it sure seemed as if no JW we knew had a clue.
The next morning, bright and early, a young sister in the congregation from which I had just transferred knocked on my door. I thought she was out in field service, but I was wrong. I recognized her face, but couldn’t place her. She told me her name was Secret....no, really....that was her name. She told me who her parents were and that she had another sister and two brothers and her mother had been missing me at the meetings. They asked around and found out my address. Then her mother sent her to see how we were doing and if everything was okay with us. When I told her our circumstances and what the elders had decided, Secret called her mother and within the hour the whole family was there to move us. We became good friends with this family and I missed them a lot, after they moved to Oregon about six months before I was disfellowshipped.
Spring and Summer, 1990 - The BOE of the KH from which I moved wouldn’t accept my son’s efforts to qualify for baptism. They couldn’t convincingly say why in the face of my showing them from the scriptures that their requirements for baptism were not scriptural. At one point the "Circus Serpent" was visiting our KH and one of his speeches was about parents trying to help their children be baptized and he called it "nepotism." I thought to myself, ‘Hmm, does that make Jehovah a nepotist, too, since he approved and supported Jesus’ baptism?’ His speech was from the podium at a meeting in the KH in front of the whole congregation. I wonder now if anyone else listening to him realized that there is nothing in the scriptures to condemn anyone for trying to help their offspring increase their faith and spirituality.
The "Circus Serpent's" speech and what another elder did to my youngest son one morning were the catalysts that moved me to change back to the congregation that had moved into the KH on Iris Lane, which also served as the new local Assembly Hall for all the congregations in the city. One morning, my son, who had been promised by an elder that he would pick him up for field service, went out to the apartment complex parking lot in the freezing rain with nothing but his suit jacket to keep him warm and dry. He waited for an hour and forty-five minutes to be picked up. When he came back in crying his little heart out, I was shocked, because I thought he was already out in field service. Oh, the elder had finally shown up all right. He had left his "showboat" of a car in the KH parking lot and hitched a ride in a small to mid-sized car full of Pioneers (special title for those who devote full time to the preaching work) and when they drove up, the elder told my son they didn’t have room for him.... "Sorry!" After that, my son would never feel the same about wanting to get baptized or being a witness again. It broke his heart and mine, too.
By this time, I had been evicted from our two-bedroom apartment and moved (helped by Secret’s family) into a studio apartment. We wound up waffling back and forth between the two Kingdom Halls, because I had actually been closer to the KH from which I moved when I lived in the 2-bedroom apartment and was rebuffed when I had asked for help from the elders simply to move from my location. When I moved into the "crackerbox" studio, I wound up being much closer to the KH where the “Circus Serpent” gave the nepotism speech.
I recall one night that summer, while we were living in the studio, I began really missing the rolling thunder and crackling lightning of thunderstorms back on the coastal plains of Texas. Since we had been in California, the only rain we’d seen was a soft misting. I couldn’t even hear the drops of rain fall, because they were so small. So I talked to Jehovah about it and one night not long after, my son and I were shocked from our sleep by a crack of lightning so loud, I thought it was a bomb exploding. We were suddenly in the middle of a Southern California lightning storm that surpassed anything we had ever seen or heard before. There was no rain, only wind and loud peels of thunder and outrageous lightning bolts that scared the "hoo-hoo" out of both of us. We were so relieved when it was over that I decided to never ask Jehovah for anything like that again.
From October thru November, 1990, I wrote a series of three letters to the Governing Body, telling them about my son’s efforts to get baptized and being turned down for no good reason. I had been urged, once again, to "reinforce power very much," but I had some difficulty getting the postal clerk to take the first letter I mailed. She was adamant that it could not be mailed. I had very little money and the envelope was very heavy. I didn’t have enough change to cover the postage she insisted was to be charged. I went back home to search for pennies, but found none, so I returned to the post office. If I had to, I would beg. This time there was another nicer postal clerk at the counter. When she heard my dilemma, she advised me to send it at a lower rate and since it was so bulky, she mailed it at the "book rate,” for which I had the funds to cover postage.
The Governing Body responded to each of my three letters, and even though I outlined all the scriptural proof that the WTS criteria for baptism was unscriptural, they grew progressively "cooler" and haughtier in their responses (three responses from them), finally dismissing my "cause" as irrelevant to them for they were too busy with Kingdom work to continue the correspondence (and especially because they couldn’t disprove what I had given as evidence, though they would not admit to it.)
The winter of 1990/1991, it became time to renew our bid for public assistance, because I was still not in good enough shape to return to work. The reason for my poor physical condition is that my "sore back" from the car accident turned out to be 8 compressed discs in my back, which have gradually worsened over the years. The neurosurgeon I was seeing, arbitrarily determined that I was fit to return to work at this time. When I blasted him with a lot of questions and a lot of valid reasons for why I was not able to work, he put in his report that I was "emotionally labile".....this from a doctor who wore a toupee and had a shiny red Porsche, with vanity plates that read "CRANI".
I found a 26" pink beach cruiser at the Swap Meet in Escondido, so I had transportation and could actually get to work at a convalescent hospital not very far from where we lived. I could ride a bicycle with my back in such poor condition, because even though I couldn’t bend or lean over without pain, I could brace myself on the handlebars as I rode and relieve the stress on my spine that way. It took a lot of pressure off my spine, but it wasn’t long before I injured my spine further, because I was required to lift patients who were not autonomous. I had known something like this would happen, but no one would listen to reason. I suppose the doctors on my case preferred that I re-injure my spine so they could appear to be the miracle workers they wish to be regarded as, by performing surgery that would substantially improve my condition and they had not classified my injuries to be serious enough to be worthy of surgery. I guess the doctors didn't know what it was like to have nerve damage so bad that it caused incontinence....both kinds.
After I re-injured my back at work, my injuries then came under Workmen’s Compensation and I went to both an Orthopedic doctor and a Neurosurgeon and went through several extended physical therapy sessions. I explained to the Neuro that I now had numbness from my lower spine that went through the peri- area where the sphincter muscle forms a figure “8” and down the insides of my legs to my toes. The Neurosurgeon ran a little metal spiked wheel instrument roughly over the most tender portion of skin on my butt and used a little rubber hammer on my arms leaving bruises, then declared there was nothing amiss. I told him what I thought about his examination. So he came into the reception area behind the desk and in front of his staff and a waiting room full of patients, he loudly asked me, “What do you expect from me? Do you want me to perform surgery, even though it wouldn’t significantly improve your condition?” I replied, “No, thank you. From the way you conducted that exam, you probably did your surgical internship at Pizza Hut.” I left his office.
During the "renewal" period, the public assistance was late getting to me and once again we were evicted from our apartment. Secret’s Mother found us a small two-bedroom bungalow, right around the corner from a broad avenue. Secret’s family helped us move once again, so we began attending the Iris Lane KH regularly at that point, but our attendance there would soon change again.
Several days after we moved, I made the mistake of telling my youngest son about an incident that occurred years before he was born, involving his older brother and sister and a fart in KMart. We had been shopping and were browsing a sales table in the clothing department near the front of the store. Another shopper approached the table and suddenly a major fart sneaked out of my butt. I had tried to clench, to keep it as quiet as possible, but was unsuccessful. It came out sounding like a lengthy, high-pitched trumpet peal! The man frowned at me in disgust, and I could only stand there, helplessly, looking nonchalant as I continued to browse the table and watched my two older children quickly disappear through the surrounding racks of clothing. They were all "asshole and elbows," running from the area! It's one of the first little family anecdotes he decided to share with the person who came into our lives next.
While we waffled back and forth between the two Kingdom Halls, an older woman in the congregation "buddied up" to us and began paying us regular visits at home and taking us out in field service and to the meetings. (This woman is the one to whom my son confided the story about "trumpet butt!") I vaguely wondered, ‘why?’ but dismissed my concerns as unimportant, even though her sudden attention made me uneasy. She would "pop in" for visits at our home. (What was she trying to find and why?) I was still trying to help my son get his wish to be baptized fulfilled, even though by now his heart was no longer in it.
One night at a meeting, I noticed that both the P.O.’s wife and this older woman went to the restroom during the meeting, one following the other. While perusing the scriptures as I sat there in the KH, scriptures that referred to someone deceptive, telling lies nearly leaped off the page at me. I don’t recall the exact words, but I jumped up from my seat, knowing it had something to do with the two women going to the bathroom almost at the same time, so I went to the bathroom, too. When I entered the door, there were the two of them, the older sister’s lips pressed up against the P.O.’s wife’s ear, whispering. She had such a wicked gleam in her eyes and they both jumped back from each other when I entered and each one gave me a big phony smile and quickly left the restroom.The next time that the older sister took us out in field service, I confronted her about the incident in the bathroom and she admitted that the P.O. had her befriend us in order to spy on us. I never could find out exactly why and I wasn’t doing anything but working and studying and going out in field service and attending meetings. At the next meeting we attended, the P.O. again turned my son down for baptism.
During the same time period, the P.O. also gave a disfellowshipping talk that would have singed your ear hairs. He stood onstage at the podium and graphically described in a very denigrating, sneering manner....all the sights, sounds and smells of the acts of fornication that a young Pioneer woman had engaged in to get herself disfellowshipped.....as she sat there in the middle of the KH and loudly sobbed her heart out, while the young Pioneer “brother” involved only received public reproof as his punishment. In judicial congregation matters, men are always favored, which is why there are so many unreported sexual predators/child molesters in the congregations. My son and I were so totally disgusted with the P.O. to the point that we would have stood up in the middle of the his discourse and exited the KH if our butts hadn’t been plastered to our seats by deeply-ingrained WTS teachings preventing us from making a scene. After I was disfellowshipped, I regretted that I had not given the "full Monty" (mooned) to the P.O. and that we had not left in the middle of his speech. I knew that the elders on the committee reviewing the incident had intensely questioned that young woman for all the sordid details of the actions for which she had been disfellowshipped. Otherwise, how could they have known what to graphically describe in front of the whole congregation? Elders are notorious for this. Many of them do not ever remain discreet about anything, unless it concerns their own ass (CYA).
The ugliness displayed in the P.O.'s disfellowshipping talk was the catalyst that caused me to change congregations once again.....to the Lake Hodges Congregation on Orange St. (at the time, but later relocated)....which was much closer to where I was living in the two bedroom bungalow. It was from this congregation I would make my "Exodus" from the WTS, after meeting five other anointed women, who unexpectedly arrived at my house one day from several different cities along the California coast and visiting with them frequently over a few months’ time.
I soon discovered that the July 10 - 19, 1988 letter was written exactly "one thousand two hundred and sixty days" (see Rev. 12:3 RSV) before the letter I wrote the Governing Body on December 30/31, 1991, which was the letter that forced the Governing Snotty to order my disfellowshipping six weeks later.
Spring, 1991 to December, 1991 - After we moved into the two-bedroom bungalow, I was still working at a Convalescent Hospital (very carefully because of my back condition). Lake Hodges Congregation was a very nice congregation overall. The people were warm and friendly and the elders didn’t appear to have superiority complexes. There were invitations to dinner and plenty of recreational get-togethers, plus people would invite us to go out in field service with them.
In March, while helping another nurse aide to transfer a very heavy male patient to his wheelchair, I re-injured my back after almost three months on the job . A steady round of doctor’s office visits to both an orthopedic doctor and a neurosurgeon began again. I was also sent to physical therapy. Right away when I got to physical therapy, I noticed that there were a lot of hard bodies in really good physical shape working there. Crikey! What was a witness woman to do? I didn’t want to be there because of that, so I decided to just go with the "program" and get out of there as soon as I could. I also tried very hard to ignore all the hard-bodies there as much as humanly possible. I hate what hormones do to your brain.
The first round of physical therapy didn’t work, so the docs sent me on a second round (6 weeks each time)....then a third round. The physical therapist that I was sent to in May was gorgeous in a subtle way. He was tall, extremely well built, with the most shapely butt I’ve ever seen in my life. He had slightly curly soft black hair, big amber-brown eyes, a complexion that didn’t see the sun much and lips that were absolutely luscious. He was actually the type of guy I steer clear of anyway, since I usually find very attractive men to be off putting, as if they were a poison apple, like the witch handed Snow White. He had a beautifully resonant tenor voice and he sounded almost as if he were singing my name when he would call me from the waiting room at the beginning of each appointment. To me, later it was reminiscent of the call of a shepherd's flute and I'm always reminded of it each time I hear the theme music from "Beverly Hills Cop." The first appointment I was scheduled for, the physical therapist cancelled and rescheduled, from Wednesday to Friday and my first therapy session with him relieved a lot of the problematic symptoms I was having in my “hoo-hoo” region. Thereafter, the sessions didn’t have those results again.
As my therapy progressed, the therapist began to chitchat each time, telling me about his three year old daughter for whom he couldn’t find words to express his love, that he had a baby (son) due in January and just a lot of conversations about everyday things. I also began keeping a daily diary of my activities and how they affected my back and gave them to him to read each time, along with an occasional letter I would write pertaining to my medical treatment. During one session, after he read a letter I wrote to one of the doctors, which read the doctor the riot act over his asinine treatment of me in his office, my therapist commented first that I should write children’s books. Then he amended his statement to say that I should write letters for people. He kindly said that I had missed my "calling" but it was understandable since I was busy raising a family. It didn’t occur to me at the time that there was no way for him to know all that information about me.
With all the therapy sessions, I began to feel like a semi-permanent fixture there, so I shared some of my recipes, like the ones for my Wild Sicilian All-Purpose Spaghetti Sauce and Creole Gumbo, with the physical therapy crew. I ended up having two rounds of therapy with him for a total of twelve weeks.
One day he was teasing me about something I had said or done. He told me that he had a little bald spot starting at the crown of his head, but that I was going to make him go completely bald. I puzzled over that. The first time I noticed his butt was during a session as he was reading my diary of activities with his back toward me. I was looking over his shoulder, but I moved back because it was entirely too close for comfort, since he was so tall and I had to stand on my toes. When my eyes drifted down to his butt, it seemed to magically have "tractor beams" implanted in it like the "Star Wars" "Death Star." I was so strongly compelled to reach out and touch him, it was very difficult to refrain. Thank goodness he turned then and broke the "spell.”
At one of our therapy sessions, he became incensed with me. We had been discussing the therapy sessions and something was mentioned about our first appointment, which I had forgotten had been cancelled and rescheduled. We disagreed on the date of the first appointment because of this and I told him that “someone” hadn’t been keeping their written records straight. He said, "How DARE you attack my dignity (yadda-yadda-yadda)!" I don’t remember anything else he said, but I did recall the cancellation of the first appointment then and I told him in essence that I had simply forgotten about him cancelling that first appointment and that he should “get over it.” As a parting shot, I said, "You should just drop it." Considering what I later learned about "words," I would come to regret my comment. One thing I noticed about him, as he ranted, was rather peculiar. The skin on his forehead turned red in one place, forming a red shape like the rising sun. It was positioned from midpoint on one eyebrow, arcing over to midpoint on the other eyebrow. Afterward, when we went to the massage room, he sat down and had this "cat that ate the canary" grin on his face (I could almost visualize the feathers). Then he said, "Well now....I think we’ve cleared the air."
One time he was outside looking under the hood of someone's truck when I arrived on my big pink beach cruiser and later he referred to it as my "pink Cadillac.” Another time, I noticed as I was looking down at him as he sat reading my file that there was some sort of small flesh-colored growth near the end of his nose. Funny thing was, it was shaped like a tiny open hand held up with the palm facing toward me, so that it appeared to be waving, "Hi!" I never noticed it there again. He also told me that when he and his wife cooked spaghetti, using my sauce recipe, his daughter had pointed to a mushroom on her plate and said, "I don’t like that!" So he told her, "Well, we can just throw that away." Then he said, “She took it and threw it across the room.”
At another session, I was wearing a pair of cotton slacks that were multi-colored. I’m ashamed to say that I had "acquired" these pants at the Swap Meet for two bucks from Lupe, Jr. and was supposed to patch them for him, but their family moved to Oregon before I got them mended and since I didn’t know how to get in touch with them by that time, I just began wearing the pants myself. My physical therapist looked sideways at the pants and asked me where I got them. I just skirted the "issue" and said, "At the Swap Meet." He said, “You di-iiid." This was said in a tone of voice that triggered a déjà vu moment, but I couldn’t put my finger on what his tone reminded me of, so I forgot about it for the time being.
One day I was at home alone baking some brownies, when my thoughts drifted to him. I felt something "breaking loose" inside me like a wall crumbling. It was the wall I had begun erecting since early in my life to block my ability to feel love or even recognize it. Suddenly such a warm, fuzzy feeling came over me as I thought of him....in no way romantic, mind you.....just very loving. He was so kind and patient with me. I had been guarding my heart and my feelings so closely, walling them off and refusing to budge. But y’all know how hormones can affect our think-ability when someone we're attracted to is involved, so I bought new underwear to replace the rags I was wearing and went on a sewing binge, making myself some new colorful clothes, even a pink gauzy peasant blouse and a pink satin camisole with lace, rosettes and ribbons on it. (chagrin) You see, with the job injury, I had funds from Disability and Workmen’s Compensation, which temporarily raised my income level to a more comfortable one. I could afford to throw away my ragged underwear and buy new. So now I went to physical therapy all "dolled up." One day, another therapist passed me in the hallway at physical therapy. When he spotted me in neater clothes, he got this huge teasing and knowing smile on his face. I glared back at him as we passed in the hallway, as if to say, "What the hell are YOU looking at?" He quickly wiped the smile off his face.
During one session, I was dressed in that pink stuff with white slacks, and as I was doing a range of motion movement by bending over and reaching towards my toes, the therapist was standing behind me. Suddenly he exclaimed, "You’re all in PINK!" It was embarrassing because I had on white slacks and pink panties, too. I would realize much later that he wasn't referring to the colors I was wearing. After my massage was done by a female therapist, there was a knock on the door and the door began to open. I grabbed my blouse and covered my front because I was sitting there on the table in my camisole and slacks. The female therapist grabbed the door, trying to prevent him from entering, but he pushed against her and managed to get one of his legs and one shoulder through the door as she pressed against it. She murmured something to him, but he was staring at me and his eye-color changed to black as he stared. I stared back, keeping a straight face. Finally he got the message and left until I was dressed.
There was another day, when I finally smiled at him. I had not ever smiled at him before, because I was trying not to encourage attention or to make anyone think I was "stalking" them, so I kept a sober, disinterested look on my face most of the time. Yes, I was lying to myself, considering how I was dressing by then. This particular day, I was sitting on the massage table alone in the room after getting dressed. I was waiting for him to come back in and I started thinking about him and smiling to myself. Then I thought, 'This is silly. Why shouldn’t I smile? There’s nothing wrong with smiling at someone.' When the door opened, I couldn’t help myself. I felt so much pleasure that he’d returned to the room that I blasted him with a big smile. He was saying something as he entered the room, but when he saw me smiling, he stopped in the middle of a step with one leg lifted in midair. He slowly lowered his leg and just stood there not looking at me anymore and began stammering and stuttering, while continuing to avoid me with his eyes.
Another time, I was lying on a therapy table and he had me pulling down on the bars which extended from behind my head. Somehow it measured a person’s strength, perhaps by gauging how far down they could pull against the attached weights. Anyway, he told me that he had never seen anyone so strong before.
One time he actually did my massage therapy and what a thrill that turned out to be….literally. I was bra-less in my slacks and I had on one of those gowns that’s open in the back. I was lying on the massage table and he seemed to be having trouble positioning some pads under my back and shoulders. I don’t remember what they were for now, but he kept adjusting them repeatedly. As he did, his palms grazed the sides of my breasts several times. I figured this was just what I didn’t need while I was trying so very hard to avoid having feelings for him or anyone else there for that matter.
At our next to last session in September, 1991, we were in the exercise room and he was having me do some exercises. There was also another male therapist riding one of the stationary bicycles in there with us. My therapist had a look of troubled sadness on his face. I had begun to feel angry that the physical therapy hadn’t really worked as I had hoped, but I was also hurting because the therapy sessions were coming to an end. I was trying to avoid the feelings of grief that were to come. The other therapist mentioned something about everyone coming to the end of their therapy and getting angry with them when it was over and my therapist gave him a dirty look. I didn’t really understand why there should be a reason for anger against them when the therapy was over, but I was obviously in denial and my thoughts were centered elsewhere, so I didn’t pursue it. The other therapist also asked him if he wanted to go and "knock around a bucket of balls." I assumed he was speaking about golf balls, but I was wrong.
I cancelled our last therapy session and when the receptionist asked me why, I told her it was for personal reasons. I was totally grieving by that time and couldn’t face seeing him again, knowing that it would be the last time. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t romantically "in love" with him, nor did I lust after him (well, maybe a little.) I don’t know if anyone will understand this, but I simply loved him and wanted to continue being around him as much as possible. His presence was like a drug and I was the addict. That’s the truth.
During the time period in which my physical therapy sessions were occurring, I received a phone call from another anointed woman living in the California coastal region. I don’t remember what reasons she stated for calling me, but she said that she had heard of me through a mutual acquaintance and that she would like to meet me and that there were some other anointed women from the California coastal cities that would like to meet me, too. I had thought before that there were four of them in all, but when I pictured them in my living room, there were five, other than myself. I had no idea what they had heard about me, but figured that it couldn’t be anything good, because I’d had nothing but grief from the BOE’s in Escondido, excluding my present congregation, so I was probably labeled a trouble-maker. However, I agreed. I was curious about their reasons for wanting to meet me, but more than that, I wanted a chance to compare "notes" with them on their spiritual experiences, since they were anointed, too. I’d never had that chance before, because the anointed are pressured into isolating themselves from one another by the Governing Body and the BOE's.
In November or early December, the women came to my house. As we chatted, I noticed that one of the women, who seemed to be spokesperson for the group, was distraught over what she’d been seeing in the scriptures. It was bad. Evidently the scriptures had been “speaking” to her, also. The scriptures she was repeatedly being shown were about the WBTS not living up to their claims, of course. We seemed to all be in agreement about that. Then the conversation took a turn towards a discussion of dreams and visions and I gave them a brief synopsis of my own experiences, letting them know that at the end of those two dream/visions which had involved the transformations, how he made it known to me that he wished to meet me "face to face." At this phrase, the spokeswoman for the group gasped. She then told everyone in the group that was the exact phrase she had asked for as a sign from Jehovah that it would be safe to talk openly with me. They wanted to see the letter detailing my experiences, since I still had the copy but time was running short, so we planned for them to come again soon and spend the night.
When they returned to spend a weekend night, I read to them from my copy of the letter about the dreams/visions/transformations. Afterward, we were talking about some scriptures in Revelation and one of the women was wondering why his appearance was mentioned in Revelation as being in the "clouds." I told her that I knew the answer to that question (I only partially knew at the time.) and was just fixing to tell her, when the sun outside my living room windows where we were all seated, suddenly brightened. Sunlight on my front window blinds became so suddenly intense that every one of us noticed. It wasn’t your everyday “sun coming out from behind the clouds” brightness.
I knew by this that I wasn’t supposed to tell why he’s hidden from view in the clouds, so I then told them, "Never mind."
"We all saw that!" one of the women suddenly exclaimed.
They all stared at me and at each other, murmuring among themselves and grew quiet, until I explained, "Evidently he doesn't want me to tell y'all right now." The woman who was their "Spokesperson" invited me to her house over the Christmas Holidays, since her hubby would be out of the country visiting his family. She said that she had something very interesting that she wanted to show me.
While my visits and phone calls with the group of anointed women continued, I was working very hard to forget about my feelings for my therapist.....and it was working....until....one evening, I had gone with my son to "Pic ‘n Save" to shop. As we were leaving, walking through the parking lot toward the driveway exit, I noticed a white Toyota Camry driving past us into the lot. It looked like my physical therapist driving the car and there was a small dark headed woman in the passenger’s seat beside him. He parked and they went into the store we had just left. I noticed as they were walking from their car to the store, that though he wore a different style of shirt than he wore at work, it was tucked into his jeans and bloused out above that gorgeous butt, accentuating it. A puff of wind stirred his hair so that I could see a little bald spot at his crown. I told my son to wait for me and rushed into the store to see if it was really him. As I walked along the front of the store, passing along the end of each aisle and looking down each one to see if I could spot him, I looked up and saw him coming toward me. He was doing the same thing. I guess he was looking for his wife, which I assumed was the person with him. As he drew nearer, I panicked. What was I going to do if he saw me? I ran out of the store, but the reopening of the wound I'd felt so deeply and the grieving I had experienced were just as fresh once more.
After that, I would occasionally phone the physical therapy office and request copies of my records there just for certain time periods so I could go up there and pick them up, on the off chance that I might see him again. The first time I called about those copies, the receptionist told me how glad she was that I had called and that my therapist had wondered why I had missed our last appointment and wanted to speak to me. I reluctantly agreed to wait for her to put him on the phone. When he came on the line, his voice was so sweet. He sounded puzzled, a little heartbroken. He asked me, "Where did you go? I’ve wondered what happened to you. When you missed your last appointment, they said you had cancelled. Why did you do that?" I choked up while telling him it was for personal reasons and I didn’t want to explain. I was amazed that my voice was so husky and strangled sounding. Decades ago, I used to read romance novels wherein one or the other of the two people in love would begin speaking in that husky, strangled tone because they were so highly attracted to one another. I ended the call quickly.
While these writings about the physical therapist and how he looked, what he did and said don’t seem important to my story, they're very relevant to my pathway out of the WBTS. It wasn't long before events in my life began to incorporate his words and actions into fulfillments of sorts, a beginning glimmer as to what they all meant. Do I seem delusional? I’m sure that I do. This isn’t the worst of it yet. It’s going to seem more and more ridiculous, but bear with me patiently because, as you will see at the finish, there were very good reasons behind everything that I experienced, the dreams, the visions, the transformations, the sightings, the seemingly innocent seductiveness of the physical therapist, etc. And don’t mistakenly think you’ve figured out yet why these things were happening. It took years for me to figure it out.
December, 1991 - My son and I went to visit the woman, who was “Spokesperson.” As you may recall, she had invited us to visit her during the Christmas Holidays when her hubby would be out of the country visiting his family. When we arrived at her house, it wasn’t long before she had my son and her son scooting off to visit Disneyland, which would keep them busy and give us some privacy for a while. As we were sitting at her kitchen table over coffee, we were discussing various things, including the scriptures and past events in our lives. I think I mentioned the purple and gold bearded Irises outside my living room windows and how much more beautiful they were to me than even orchids or roses and I laughed as I told her about how the newspaper item regarding my car accident had depicted me as a man and she told me about the time she and some other women had visited a public restroom in a park one time and since the women’s restroom had been too crowded, they were hesitantly considering using the men's room, which was empty. Just then a homeless man had come by and shouted at them, "Go ahead. You’re men, aren’t you?"
As our conversation drifted into a discussion of the scriptures that had "spoken" to me after my 1988 dreams/visions/transformations, I began to wonder aloud what they meant and how they would be fulfilled. The woman suggested to me that it might occur in the same manner in which he appeared to the apostles after his resurrection, in the forms of different men, speaking of things that I might not recognize as his words to me, until later, and that I should watch for something similar to happen. Then it dawned on me. I began to relate to her my experiences with the physical therapist and she agreed with me that it had been him and that we'd already been meeting "face to face." Then I just needed to figure out what he had meant by all that he had told me, as if in casual conversation.
While I was there, the woman “Spokesperson” invited the other four women over and led us all into her den where her TV and VCR were, then reminded us that there was something interesting she wanted to show all of us. She inserted a video tape into her VCR and we all began to watch an animated cartoon story, entitled "Rose Petal Place.” (You can find it on You Tube.) There were six of us in all, which happened to be the exact number of "flower people" that were in the animated film, which included the main character, Rose Petal.
Just a brief summary here... The story itself began with Rose Petal having to go away (moving?) and leaving behind her garden over which she wept. In the garden there was an evil spider called Nastina, with her butt-kissing assistant, Horace Fly. Nastina lived in a dark, foreboding tower named Tin-Can Castle and she wanted to get rid of Rose Petal and put herself in Rose Petal's place and rule the garden which would result in its death. During the story, Nastina invited Rose Petal to the castle on a ruse that Nastina was wanting to compromise. While Rose Petal was there, Nastina gave her a red, bubbly or fizzy concoction to drink which took away Rose Petal's voice and paralyzed her. Then Nastina threw Rose Petal into the tower and locked it. The flower people came to Rose Petal’s rescue, destroyed Tin Can Castle and gave the boot to Nastina and Horace Fly in the end. All six of us agreed that the animated film seemed to be a parody of the WBTS, with the Governing Body attempting to usurp the position of the Christ and take over as the only "channel" or mediator between Jehovah and mankind for this is what the Governing Body claims to be. They also claim that the WBTS displays the vital character of having “intense love for one another.” That’s all B.S. (bullshit) and we all knew it. Nastina's theme song, "I Love to Hate," definitely parodied the overwhelming attitude of the WBTS hierarchy and their followers. Each character in the film seemed to personify one of us, with matching characteristics. The woman “Spokesperson” was obviously characterized by "Daffodil" who ran the Flower Boutique. Both were tall and she had been busy getting us all together and arranging for us to see this interesting parody, which would inspire us to "take on" the WBTS via letters. Iris, of course, was myself. She was depicted as having a "Fro" hairdo, but then I’d been judged to be a trouble-maker, a black sheep in the congregations anyway. While several of us had already written letters to the Governing Body calling their hand on some of their doctrines which were unscriptural, Iris was the one who wore a purse on her hip throughout the story, though Orchid appeared to have a purse temporarily in the film. I didn’t realize the significance at the time, but I would later remember the scripture about the man with the writer’s inkhorn, which was what the purse appeared to represent. The other women in our group, each seemed to personify one of the other flower people, Lily Fair, Sunny Sunflower and Sweet Violet.
At home, while perusing the scriptures, I was once again overwhelmed by certain scriptures nearly leaping from the page, admonishing me, "do not take the army of Israel with you, but you yourself go." I understood it to mean that I was to take on the Governing Body by myself via letter-writing, rather than all six of us together. When I phoned "Daffodil,” she got back with me later and let me know that she and the others were not happy with that, because they all wanted to be in on it. They didn’t realize that their participation in the project would have caused them a lot of trouble for which they were not prepared, nor did they realize that they were already a major catalyst in this venture. Before meeting them, I didn’t have a clue as to what could be done, if anything, about the WBTS, although I did feel that the three letters I’d written back and forth with the Governing Body the previous Autumn seemed to be somewhat of a fulfillment of the scriptures about the King of the North and the King of the South "engaging in a pushing.”
By December 30, 1991, I knew somehow that time was growing very short and that I needed to begin my letter-writing campaign. I sat down and began a letter to the Governing Body, detailing some of their unscriptural doctrines and policies and labeling them as pharisees like those in the bible, including white-washed graves like Jesus had called the religious leaders of his day, because of their overt lack of love and usurping of the position of Christ as the only mediator between God and man, including my indictment of them for never referring to John 8: 1-11, in any of their publications, because they were not merciful and were not advocates of mercy. In a more recent re-translation of their gnu-whirled translation (JW Bible), they took John 8: 1-11 from being in fine print only and completely deleted it from their version. I finished the letter on December 31, and mailed it on that date.
Now, I’m a “fly-by-the-seat-of-the pants” sort of person so I hadn’t known exactly what I would write when I began the letter. I just sat down with a pen and a blank legal pad and began. I didn't realize until I’d finished the letter that it would surely cause my disfellowshipping. So be it, I thought. I hadn’t really wanted to leave the other WBTS members behind because I cared about many of those I had come to know by then. I also felt a great concern for their futures under WBTS dominion. I felt that it was more appropriate for the Governing Body to disfellowship me than for me to disassociate myself, which would indicate a turning of my back on all the members, because disfellowshipping signified a "cutting off" or "killing,” just as the Pharisees had initiated the crucifixion of Jesus. And no.....I did not liken myself to Jesus; I was merely following in his steps.
Some time later, but before my disfellowshipping, I would discover also that the letter I wrote and mailed December 31, 1991 was exactly "one thousand two hundred and sixty days after I had sent the July 10-19, 1988 letter to the GB documenting those first two dream/visions and transformations.
The morning of January 1, 1992, I was standing in my kitchen fixing breakfast when my thoughts began to stray to all the experiences I’d had. I thought of my dream/visions and transformations, the congregation surprisingly standing to sing "The Shulammite Maiden," as we’d taken our seats the night of the day I had sent off the chronicle of my experiences to the Governing Body, the letters I had written the previous Autumn to the GB, meeting him "face to face" and not realizing it until later, all the things he’d told me. I began to realize that the anecdotal details of his life were parable-like and thru them he had been providing information for me about the future. He was revealing his feelings for me through them as well, when he had spoken of his indescribable love for his three year old "daughter,” he’d really been speaking of his love for me, because the letter documenting the dream/visions and transformations had been written and sent off approximately 3 years before, making me his "daughter" in word. And it suddenly dawned on me like a huge light bulb coming on. I had been chosen as the bride. I knew it suddenly, like you know who you are when your feet hit the floor each morning. I wept from joy over this revelation. Don't get your knickers in a knot over this. There's more to it than meets the eye.
Love was definitely my "shepherd's" message, for love was in the air. Even the 1992 Winter Olympics couples figure skating was saturated with it. It's been noted that the movie, "The Cutting Edge," was based on the pair who represented Russia that year. It’s okay. Y'all can go ahead and snicker if you want to. I snicker about it now, myself. I don’t mind, because I know now why I was being misled to believe all these things. You will too, as you continue reading these installments.
Many things occurred between the time I wrote and mailed the 12/31/91 letter to the Governing Body and my disfellowshipping on February 16, 1992, six weeks later. It didn't take them long, did it? For a while, I kept in contact with the other anointed women, trying to keep them apprised of what was and was not transpiring regarding the letter and continuing spiritual occurrences, but they grew cooler in their responses and became frightened of having any more contact with me eventually. This proved to me that not allowing them to accompany me in the letter-writing project had been appropriate. They truly weren't prepared to handle the outcome.
I had another dream/vision and in it there was a tiny black man hiding behind a grate or vent in a building, but he would come out at night to put on his "shoes" which he left outside. The shoes were much too big for him and he was wearing them to disguise his real appearance, making himself look bigger than he really was. I "blew the whistle" on him and the police came and arrested him, putting him in the back of a police car. "Daffodil" was there with me. I didn’t realize what this meant at the time, but took note of it to remember later.
The first time I went to the physical therapy office to "pick up copies of some of my records,” I was standing at the reception window, craning my head around trying to see if I could catch a glimpse of my therapist. I did spot a partial view of him through the doorway in the next office with his back to me and I’ll bet you that I was straining so hard to lean forward far enough to get a better view that the office staff probably thought I was going to come through the reception window. I noticed that everyone in the office and in the next room, which was a large therapy room full of tables and equipment where many of the patients were treated in a common area....well....simply everyone who worked there was smiling. The peculiar thing about it was that their smiles were so bright, their teeth were literally sparkling. Yes, literally. I wondered whether they were some of the other resurrected ones, his apostles, so to speak. I didn’t question why they were all here providing therapy and what it meant, at the time.
On another visit to the therapy office to "get copies,” it was around lunchtime and the reception area was deserted. Evidently they closed down at lunch time. A post office mail carrier delivered the mail while I was there. I decided to sit down and wait until they returned. Then I heard my therapist's voice coming from the next room, where he was having a meeting with his staff. One thing I remember distinctly that he said to them was, "We’ve got to nail them down!"
He would come to me at home in spirit form and I couldn’t actually see him, but I knew he was there, because I sensed his presence. He’d catch me just as I would be awakening from sleep, whether in the morning or from a nap and kiss me firmly on the lips. I could definitely feel it. There was nothing sexual or lustful about the kiss, just a very firm planting of his lips on mine. ("May he kiss me with the kisses of his mouth?” - Song of Solomon)
Around the beginning of January, I noticed a little store on the corner of the broad avenue to which my street was perpendicular. It changed ownership, and some Lebanese men took it over. At first it was closed, due to their renovations. One day, two of the men from the store came knocking on my door, asking if I would let them hook up to my water supply so they could clean the store, since their water wasn’t turned on at the time. The one who had knocked on my door was the one speaking to me. He was quite a bit older than the other man, who stood shyly in the background and smiled sweetly at me. I agreed since it was the neighborly thing to do.
Soon the Cedars Market opened around the corner from our house. I went there and found all sorts of wonderful things, which absolutely delighted me. They were the things I had treasured in Cyprus. There was Greek coffee, a red, rose-flavored drink mix called "squash" that I could purchase, tiny pots for making the coffee, delicate sets of demitasse cups for serving it, baklava and various other wonderful things that I hadn’t seen since we’d lived in Nicosia, Cyprus back in 1965-66. ("His appearance is like Lebanon, choice like the cedars" - Song of Solomon.) The store also carried a large box of candy-coated almonds in pastel colors on the front counter. I love Jordan's candy-coated almonds. I always purchased some when I went there, but when my son would go to the store for me, he always brought back a bag of all white ones. (representative of the white pebbles in Revelations?)
In another dream/vision, I was standing in front of a big yellow bus. The bus driver was my "therapist.” He appeared to be collecting tickets (white pebbles) from those boarding the bus. I sensed that he was letting me know that he was the one driving the bus, not me.
Early on in January, one very cloudy day as I sat reading from the scriptures, I thought I heard someone calling my name, but the voice was so small and sounded so far away, I wasn’t sure I had heard anything at all. As I continued reading, I "almost" heard that voice calling my name from far away again. This time I went to the front door, opened it and looked out. I didn’t see anyone, but as I glanced up at the heavy grey cloud cover, I noticed two streaks of brilliantly gleaming light like two side-by-side jet trails, only they were piercingly bright like streaks of sun in the clouds. That was strange. I looked at them for a moment, then I went back inside to continue reading. In just a few minutes, I "heard" the voice again. I began to realize that I had not heard the voice with my physical ears. I returned to the front door, opened it and looked up to see the clouds had parted above my front yard. I saw a gigantic animated figure made entirely of clouds, riding in a chariot of clouds. He was dressed in robes formed of clouds, which flowed down partially covering the chariot wheels. There were reins in his left hand and he was smiling at me and waving with his right hand. His face resembled the face of my therapist somewhat, but he really looked more like Santa Claus, with a beard that flowed down into the drape of his robes. I recognized that it had to be Jehovah. He was letting me know that he was happy with me and that he was "there" for me. I was so thrilled. I cried and told him how much I loved him and his son and how happy I was to see that he was there for me. Yeah, I snicker at myself when I think about it now. The morning that I was made to believe I was the chosen bride and this particular vision remind me of the "Miss Congeniality" movie, when Sandra Bullock reacted to the film she was studying, which showed how she was supposed to react properly when receiving the pageant crown.
I had given a copy of the letter (the one I wrote to the GB) to the Lake Hodges BOE and the first part of February, after they had heard from the GB, who collectively ordered that I be disfellowshipped, naturally a judicial committee paid me a visit. During their visit, the PO totally lambasted me, using scriptural reference to the "stones for stumbling beneath the water, at the love feasts" in reference to what was to them, my 180 degree turn. I’m not much for confrontations so I didn’t say a whole lot, but waited till they left and wrote them a letter, pointing out to them, among other things, that if they had read a little further in regard to those "stones for stumbling" scriptures, they would have discovered that it referred to "shepherds" in the congregation and not me, a woman. I also told them that the army in Revelation coming with long hair like women, actually are women, since not all men wear long hair.
With all the sexual predation in the WBTS uncovered within the past few decades, it is mostly female victims and some male victims, who have launched the lawsuits against them and investigations into their self-serving policy of protection of those sexual predators and practice of heaping further trauma on the victims.
February 16, 1992 to Mid-April, 1992 - On February 16, 1992, my son, although he had told the elders he was in agreement with me over their disfellowshipping issues, didn’t want to go to the meeting that night wherein I would be disfellowshipped and he would be disassociated (No, they don't even follow their own protocol.) I went alone and sat front and center on the second row....also alone, because the row was empty besides myself. Before the meeting began, as I looked around the KH where no one was speaking to me, I noticed that most of the elders looked grey-faced and nervous, rather uncomfortable. They didn’t announce my disfellowshipping until right at the end of the meeting that night, but one brother, when he gave his talk, spoke of the Israelites having to go into the wilderness and emphasized that anyone who found themselves out in the "world" isolated from the rest should please be careful to keep spiritually clean. Do you think he was directing this message to me? I did. And the little elder who had to announce my disfellowshipping was very nervous and red-faced, embarrassed as he made the announcement.
Afterwards, I called a taxi to take me home. I climbed into the back seat and gave the driver my destination. He put the cab in reverse, placing his arm across the top of the back rest of the front seat. As the taxi driver looked at me over his shoulder, he exclaimed,"Ohhhhh, you’re going to be a heartbreaker!" I didn’t say anything, but I sure thought that was a strange thing to say to someone you had never met before. And what the hell did he mean by that anyway? It wasn’t like I was "coming on" to him or anything.
The next day was very anticlimactic. Since I was now totally isolated from friends and family, a feeling of purposelessness overcame me. I wondered what would happen next and what he would have me do. I continued pouring over the scriptures, but nothing was happening there.
On the morning of the 18th, two days after my disfellowshipping, I was listening to the radio and a song came on. The words were something like "come on over" or "come to me now.” I don’t remember the exact words, just mainly the sentiment and that the song was "throbbing" from the radio, almost pulsing with life, growing louder, then softer, as if “Jesus Incognito” were reaching out to me, pleading with me to come to him. I got dressed and went to the physical therapy office and asked to see the therapist. When I first went through the door, I noticed there was a woman sitting in the waiting room with an infant seat on the floor in front of her. She had long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, but for some reason I didn’t look at her face. Realizing that it was probably my therapist’s wife and his new "son,” as I approached the reception window, I managed a slight "detour", walking as closely as I could by the infant carrier to see if I could get a peek at the baby. There was too much blanket around him and I could only see what might have been a partial view of an infant’s face, and as I looked down at it, the blanket gave the tiniest quiver and a sound emanated from it that was so soft, I wasn’t sure that I’d heard anything at all. My reason for doing this was because by now, I had figured out who he really was, also figuring that the wife and kids stories were props that "Jesus Incognito" was using for whatever game he was playing. Remember the different appearance of the wife at Pic ‘n Save? When my therapist came to the door of the waiting room, his "wife" held up a plastic bag (one of those you get at the grocery store) with some men’s shoes in it and told him, "I brought your shoes." He looked at her as though he were displeased and took her down the hallway with him. In approximately 5 minutes, he returned to the waiting room and sat down in the chair next to me looking very uncomfortable. When he asked me what I needed to see him for, I replied that I would rather speak privately, having no clue as to what I was going to say to him at all. He got up and first he took me to his tiny office that was about the size of a small closet, not even enough room for two people to sit down. I noticed there was a wooden plaque on the wall that read, "Jesus is Lord." Then, he decided that the room was too small for comfort, so he led me to one of the massage rooms off the common treatment room and we sat in chairs directly opposite one another, our faces no more than a foot apart. I could see every detail of his face. I noticed that his irises were perfect. There was no striation in them at all and they looked like brushed amber, just as gold is brushed to give it a softer glow. His teeth were perfect, each one slightly separate. I’ll bet he didn’t even have to floss. By this time, I also figured that the ball was in his "court" and that he should be willing to be up front with me and truthful about what was going on, so I told him,"You know why I’m here." He replied that he didn’t. I sat there and stared at him. He wasn’t going to be up front with me. Hmmmm... I said, "Yes, you do. You know why I’m here."He responded again that he didn’t know and this time, I noticed the tiniest lifting of the right corner of his mouth in a smirk. I got up and went to the door of the massage room, stopping before I left. I turned and said,"I’m tired of people playing games." Then I left and I never returned to his office again.
I did not yet realize that I should have heeded Luke 17: 20 - 24, because I was as yet unable to separate the Spirit (which was leading me) from the man I saw before me. When I arrived home, I felt mortified. I knew that he knew why I had been there, that I needed to know what would come, what to do now, but he appeared to have decided it was funny to put me on this way.
That poor therapist probably didn't realize he was being used by the spirit, which is leaping from one body to another like the physicist in the TV series, "Quantum Leap." It's regrettable that religious leaders don't realize he's examining them through the eyes of the people around them, the eyes of those who've been treated with less than kindness.
I was angry and decided I didn’t need this kind of crap. As far as I was concerned, he could just find someone else to play these games with. I then got out my "stash" of medicine bottles. I don’t like to take pain medication and muscle relaxers, so the prescriptions I had filled some months before were almost full. I took an almost full bottle of Vicodin and a bottle of muscle relaxer and went to sleep. I didn’t want to wake up ever again. I had stopped breathing when my son arrived home from school and he called the paramedics. Normally my son was very late coming home, but that day, he arrived early. The EMT’s used the paddles on me and took me to Palomar Hospital. I remained unconscious there for several days.
My doctor was a witness doctor. He was so kind and, knowing my circumstances, asked me if the elders knew I was there and whether they’d come to see about me. I told him that they hadn’t and probably wouldn’t under the circumstances. He called them and they refused, of course. I was sent home after another few days in the hospital. I wondered if my "therapist" wasn't going to allow me to "off" myself. I would discover later that this was true.
Soon after arriving back home, I began pouring over the scriptures again, and this time I got out my Greek Interlinear and using a Greek/English dictionary, I began re-translating some of the scriptures pertinent to certain WBTS teachings, checking out the NWT. Of course, I didn't have the Greek dictionary for the Greek Koine language that was used during that time period, so when I would find a Greek word that wasn't in the Greek/English dictionary, I would break the word into syllables and translate the syllables. My research went on for several months before I wrote the next letter to the GB.
During the two month time period after I was disfellowshipped, as I was researching and making notes on what I discovered, I noticed that at night, as I lay in my bed and looked up at the eaves on my house through the window, the eaves appeared to be glowing softly red, as though there was firelight reflecting on them. I got up and looked outside. There wasn’t even a streetlight nearby, so how could this be? It reminded me of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt and the pillar of fire that moved before them during the night. “Someone” was letting me know he was there with me to protect me.
The visits and kisses from the spirit continued and though I never literally returned to the physical therapy office for any reason, my thoughts would often center on my therapist. I recalled the time when he had asked me about those pants I was wearing that weren't actually mine and about his response. I then realized that the way he had responded and his tone of voice was exactly the way a beloved friend from my past had always responded to someone that he knew was bullshitting him. I correctly surmised that he knew I had been "hedging" about the pants.
I thought about the time I had fallen off my "pink cadillac" while trying to angle my front wheel over a 2 to 3 inch drop from a concrete driveway to the street. I landed with all my weight on my left knee and banged the crap out it. Since it was swollen and purple that next day when I went to physical therapy, as my therapist was adjusting my position on the treatment table, he kept bumping into it, to which I kept responding, "Ouch!" When he had asked me what was wrong with my knee, I just told him I had slammed it against some concrete and it was bruised. He had given me a concerned look and told me,"You be careful out there." Later I realized he had known exactly how I had hurt my knee and that he had bumped it deliberately in order to see whether I would admit to it or lie about it.
I wondered about the time he told me that he had taken his daughter, first to church, then to the mall, and then "this morning she slept in.” What had he meant?
I thought about the time I had handed him my daily activities diary to read, not realizing at first that it had a scriptural notation on it from the meeting the night before. The scriptures I had written down in one corner were Romans 14: 7, 8. While reading the diary, he’d looked up at me suddenly startled and asked me, "You read the bible?" When I assured him that I did, he said, "I like Romans." Not realizing who I was talking to, I had thought, "What a dork! What an unprofound thing to say! I’ll bet he’s a sappy little Baptist or something," while mentally rolling my eyes. Later I would realize how he had made himself appear to be less than he actually is, soft-pedaling his intelligence and cleverness to make me feel superior to him at the time. When I had looked up those scriptures at home, they read, "None of us, in fact, lives with regard to himself only, and no one dies with regard to himself only; for both if we live, we live to Jehovah, and if we die, we die to Jehovah. Therefore both if we live and if we die, we belong to Jehovah." Only later would I begin to get a glimmer of the meaning of those scriptures.
At the very next treatment session, when he walked into the treatment room, he held out his right hand to shake mine. He had never done this before. When I put my right hand in his, he instantly changed the position of his hand and was then holding my hand, like a father would a child’s hand. As I looked down at our joined hands, I could see that his hand dwarfed mine, so that it looked like the difference between an adult’s hand and the hand of a small child. When this continued for a few moments, he began shaking loose his hand from mine, but it took a little effort on his part. It was not because I was clutching his hand, but because the flesh of our palms was almost joined like two lumps of damp clay semi-stuck together. The reason I hadn’t "freaked" over this when it happened must have been because he only wanted me to take note of it in retrospect.
I recalled the day when I was on the treatment table, reaching behind my head for the bars to pull. He had been standing very close and I inadvertently hit him as I reached behind me. I said, "Sorry...I didn’t mean to thwack you.” He responded, "That’s alright. I’ve been thwacked before." What an understatement, eh?
I remembered the day that I had looked down to see him sitting on the floor by my treatment table with his back against the wall and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. I asked him if he had a headache. He replied, "I need to get my eyes examined." Later, I would wonder what he had really meant by that.
Then I started thinking about some of the "therapy techniques" he had used on me like the time he had me sit on the corner of a treatment table and cross my arms, placing my hands on my opposite shoulders. He then had stood closely in front of me, placed his hands on the sides of my shoulders and moved me side to side and back and forth in a swaying motion, manipulating my spine as though we were dancing.
And the time he was talking while walking behind me when going from one treatment room to another and all I could hear him say each time I took a step was,("Blah-blah-blah,) and that's interesting," or ("Blah-blah-blah,) and that's exciting."
Near the last of our therapy sessions, he was giving me a massage and while adjusting the pads beneath my shoulders, he was continuously giggling in my face. I had wondered what the hell that was about at the time, but I didn't ask.
There was the time that he decided to give me a demonstration on how joints fit and work together, so he took my closed fist and covered it with his hand, encircling my wrist with his other hand and rotated my fist back and forth, pushing firmly and with a pulsing rhythm like a heartbeat. I became angry with him, because of his deliberate and sly seductiveness. So I decided to sit down and write him a letter. I wrote berating him for deliberately being seductive and told him how I had seen the time another patient had been looking at him with "puppy-dog eyes" and although I vowed to myself never to let that happen to me, it did happen. I told him that I was grieving now and I hoped he was happy about it, since he had found me so amusing the last time I had seen him. I also wrote something in the letter to him that I would come to regret before long. I told him that, in the future, he should use the "no frills" sort of therapy that the other therapists used, instead of getting his female patients all worked up over him. I figured it wouldn’t take long for the letter to reach him, since his office wasn’t that far away. I already knew approximately what time the mail was delivered to his office.
On the day I figured the letter would be delivered, close to lunchtime, I told my son, who was being home-schooled at the time and had absolutely no idea who the physical therapist was to me, to look out the French doors of our kitchen toward the direction in which the physical therapy office was located. While I didn’t know what reaction he would have to my letter, I did sense there would be one. I was distracted by something I was doing in another room when my son called me into the kitchen and pointed out the back door to the sky in the direction of the physical therapy office. I laughed out loud when I looked. WOW! Was he ever pissed off! Although the California sky was clear as a bell as far as I could see that day, positioned precisely over the physical therapy building was a building-sized extremely black cloud and my son and I both heard a soft rumbling of distant thunder.
Other than the words in the letter about "no frills" that I would soon come to regret, he must have soon forgiven me, probably because he knew it was true. I let him know the following month that I would like to have a picture of him. Oh, we had a sort of ESP-type of communication going on, wherein I recognized his thoughts communicated to me were not my own, but were from him. Later that month, when I picked up the newspaper, there was an article in it with his picture. I wish now that I had kept a copy of it.
Again, as I was walking down a sidewalk near the physical therapy office on my way to a doctor appointment one day, I was thinking about him and I asked him how he really liked to look and dress, since I knew that his appearance at the physical therapy office had been rather dorky like a witness and I was sure that he didn’t actually prefer to dress in that manner. The answer I got from him was not what I had expected. As I continued down the sidewalk, which passed in front of a motorcycle shop, I noticed a large motorcycle parked in front at the curb. Standing there beside it tinkering with something on it was a younger version of my physical therapist dressed in jeans with a plain white T-shirt tucked in and white athletic shoes. His hair was long (halfway down his back) and pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was bent over the motorcycle, tinkering with it, so that I actually had to step around that wonderfully tempting butt of his as I passed him. After I walked around him, continuing on, I heard the motorcycle engine turn over and softly rev, as he slowly pulled away, and made a "U-ie” (U-turn) and drove in the opposite direction. I realized he was teasing me and smiled to myself.
Mid-April, 1992 - I noticed something strange after buying a set of demitasse cups at Cedars Market. Soon after I took them home, the design on the cups changed. My son noticed it, too. I had re-tiled the kitchen and bathroom floors in the bungalow with some peel and stick tiles. The tile design had a light blue ribbon-like stripe bordering each one, with little pink and blue flowers in the corners. When I had purchased the cups, the design on the cups was a dark blue stripe encircling each cup near the rim, with small lighter blue flowers on the stripe in one spot. When I looked at the cups after I had re-tiled the kitchen and bathroom, the design had changed to a light blue stripe with pink and blue flowers that matched the kitchen and bathroom tiles.
Once, I noticed a magazine advertisement, wherein was a picture of a little girl standing behind a screen door and smiling shyly as a little tawny-haired boy with freckles was offering her a bouquet of wild flowers. I don’t remember what the ad was for, but that picture definitely impressed itself on my memory.
I also had another dream/vision, which I experienced as though it were physically happening. One morning, shortly before I awakened, I felt a spirit beginning to have intercourse with me. I couldn’t see the spirit, but I could feel the effects and I was greatly aroused. I wanted it to fill me and quickly. I discovered there were leaves in my right hand with which I was urging the spirit into me, waving those leaves like a flight-deck flagger, so-to-speak. Suddenly in the distance and off to the right, the physical therapist appeared. He was dressed in a white robe and I recognized him as the one who had appeared in the second dream/vision of 1988 to the right of the doorway, beyond which was the brilliant light. He looked very stern and exasperated. Then he pointed to the spirit covering me and quickly motioned with the index finger on his left hand for the spirit to get away from me, directing the spirit to his left side. The spirit left me and I awakened. I realized that the spirit "visiting” me that particular time was not "Jesus, Incognito."
As you may recall, I was using the Greek Interlinear and a Greek/English dictionary, but did not have access to a dictionary containing the original Greek Koine language, so when I came across words that I couldn’t find in my dictionary, I would break them down into syllables and look up the meanings of the words closest to those depicted in the syllables to get the meaning of the whole word. This isn’t as far-fetched as you might imagine. For example, I was reading a book just the other night wherein some of the researchers were attempting to determine the meaning of some German writings. They used this same technique to find the correct translation of some of the words in the German writings that were not clear in their meaning.
Using that method, there was one critical discovery that played a very important part in the April, 1992 letter I would write to the GB. In Jude 9, Jesus is having a “difference” with the Devil and arguing over Moses’ body, according to the NWT. I had already discovered that the literal translation from the original Greek text into the English interlinear was different than what was written out in English scriptures in the column beside the interlinear text. This, too, differed from what was written in the NWT, which was the only translation to which I was supposed to give reference.
According to the English Interlinear translation in the Greek Interlinear, Jude 9 literally translates,
"The but Michael the archangel,.....when to the devil......having judged for self dividedly.....he was saying in disagreement......about.....of the Moses.....of body, ....not....he dared.....judgment.....to bear upon.....of blasphemy, ......but.....he said.....May he give rebuke....to you.....Lord."
The column to the right of the Interlinear Greek/English translation reads, "But when Michael the Archangel had a difference with the devil and was disputing about Moses’ body, he did not dare to bring a judgment against him in abusive terms, but said: “May Jehovah rebuke you."
In this particular case, the NWT version reads the same, however I took issue with the words "having judged for self dividedly" and began to look up the Greek term, "diakrinomenos," from which it was translated. I eventually discovered (since I couldn’t find the whole term in my Greek dictionary) that the syllables translated from Greek as "arguing with himself dividedly" or "arguing with him self-dividedly."
I considered how Jesus had never been quoted as having said anything about his being here as something that he was doing voluntarily or because he wanted to do it, but rather that it was something he "must" do. I checked for any scriptural indication on his part that it was otherwise, but all I could find was that he had been quoted as saying something like, "it is something I must do." I also remembered that the real translation of John 1:1 which states, "In the beginning.....the word was God." I suddenly connected the knowledge that the Hebrew term Genesis means "beginning.” Then the different facets of this little gem of knowledge began to "click,” to come together for me. It seems I had discovered that Jesus was the word of God, who, in the book of Genesis, had begun usurping Jehovah’s position as creator, stating that God (not Jehovah) had created the heavens, light and darkness, the earth and everything in and on it. I thought to myself, "So that’s why the scriptures didn’t contain any information about anything in existence before the word was created by Jehovah!" In Genesis 3:22, when Jehovah was clothing Adam and Eve as he removed them from Eden, He had turned to the one with Him and said, "Here the man has become like one of us in knowing good and bad......" Again. "like…. us .......knowing good and bad....." It began to dawn on me that Adam and Eve weren’t the only ones that ate from the fruit of that tree. This made it probable for that spirit creature to become "divided" in its thinking, words and actions, just as we humans often are torn between what we believe to be right, what we believe to be wrong and what we desire.
I also thought about the description of the Anointed Cherub in Ezekiel 28: 13, and how it is like the description of the shepherd of the Shulammite in Song of Solomon.....and how in Ezekiel 28:14 and 15, the Anointed Cherub is described as "the anointed cherub that is covering......faultless in your ways from the day of your being created until unrighteousness was found in you." Again. "faultless........until unrighteousness was found in you." This meant that the Anointed Cherub had also eaten from the tree. I wondered if the Cherub was called a "serpent" by Eve because of its deceptiveness. I considered, too, Jehovah’s judgment against the Leader of Tyre and the Anointed Cherub, comparing His judgment with the judgment pronounced also by Jehovah against the "serpent" in the garden and thought about how Jesus had been brought before "kings" and had died an ignominious death.
You can draw your own conclusions regarding these matters, but to me, by then, Jesus appeared to be the personification of the word of God, sent to earth to "pay his dues" and rectify what he had caused to be wrong, to atone for the damage he had caused, beginning in the Garden of Eden. I included this in my April 22, 1992 letter to the GB, along with other pertinent information regarding their burdening WBTS members with their unscriptural criteria for baptism and salvation, plus their haughty blasphemous usurping of even Jesus’ position as the only mediator between God and mankind, all to promote sales of their misleading literature, in order to maintain their pampered positions. The letter was hand-written on yellow legal pads.
On April 22, when I finished the letter, I went around the corner to a copy shop, "Copy Girls.” It was located ½ block up the avenue that ran perpendicular to 7th Street. I was standing at a copy machine with my back to the checkout counter, making copies of the letter and wondering when I should mail it when the two women behind the counter suddenly got into a loud discussion over something that hadn’t been picked up by the postal clerk that day as the clerk had dropped off their mail, because one of the women hadn’t left something out on the counter that needed to be mailed in time for it to be picked up.
I heard the older woman say,"It has to go into the mail today! You have got to go the post office now to mail it."
I realized there was a "message" in this for me so, upon returning home, I placed the original copy to the GB in a large envelope addressed to Bethel (WBTS headquarters in New York) and rode my bicycle to the post office and mailed it. I used some of the money from the sale of our belongings to pay for the copies and mail the letter, and then mailed additional copies to different WBTS headquarters on seven different continents.
That night, I had just gone to bed and was preparing to fall asleep. My eyes were closed but I wasn’t asleep yet. I was turned on my left side, facing the wall, against which my bed was positioned, with both of my hands curled under my chin. The time was between 10:45 and 11:00 PM PDT when suddenly the house and all its furnishings began to shake and rattle. I had not opened my eyes when the earthquake began, because I had already been through a small one since I had arrived in California and felt it probably wouldn’t be bad there in Escondido. Then something quite solid landed with a heavy thud on my bed between me and the wall I was facing. I opened my eyes. Instead of the wall, I saw white crisp fabric in my face. I slowly raised my eyes from what I discovered was the front of my "therapist’s" shirt. He was there on my bed....smack dab in front of me....in spirit form, because I could see that he was translucent, though I actually physically felt him there. He encircled my waist with his left arm, bracing my back with his hand and he was looking down at me with such a tender, loving look on his face, smiling slightly. Then he looked up toward the adjacent wall, since my bed was near the corner of the room and reached toward the other wall with his right hand and secured his position with his right hand against the other wall. I lowered my head to rest against his chest and closed my eyes. I was content to be there being held by him, knowing I was safe. As I rested there, I felt him moving my wild curly mop (I had a spiral perm), which was understandably in disarray, from off my forehead with his chin and then he kissed me on my forehead. I kept my eyes closed, smiling to myself.
When the earthquake subsided, he was gone. I felt that his appearance to me had been for 4 reasons:
1. to reassure me that he actually was protecting me and could arrive in a time of peril in less than a heartbeat.....
2. to let me know that he approved of what I had written to the GB and was pleased that I had followed his directions......
3. to confirm that mailing the letter on this particular day was because he knew that an earthquake would occur that night....(the foreshock occurred at 9:50 PM PDT, magnitude 4.6, but the Joshua Tree earthquake, magnitude 6.1, occurred 11 miles East of Desert Hot Springs), which indicated to me that the Governing Body of the WBTS, to whom I had written and mailed the letter that day, was indeed in "hot water."
4. to reassure me that I had not totally lost my mind yet, that it really was him (in spirit) all along.
From April 23, 1992 forward - After I sent that April 22nd letter to the GB, I got a wild hair up my butt and went off on a tangent in my letter writing. Why? I noticed as I was pouring over some scriptures in Revelation in my NWT reference version that the name "Apollyon" was referenced with an "a" after the word.....hmmmmm. That set me thinking. I had not always been the type of person who has a tendency to "gloss over" or ignore the "bad" and see what is good in a person or situation, but the WBTS had surely pulled the "wool" over my eyes and I had been duped into being a "Pollyanna" where their doctrines had been concerned, though in reality, I felt more like a jack-ass. Consequently, my family ties had been destroyed and I’d lost years of my life, family, and valued friendships. Having now become so judgmental over the WBTS lack of scriptural adherence, I recalled the scriptures in Revelation about not "adding anything to" the scriptures. But the WBTS had added to the scriptures. I’m not just talking about little reference letters. I had already discovered in my intense scriptural research of the NWT that there were many, many words that had been added, taken out or changed from their original intent. Also, I remembered that scriptures in Revelation had denoted that those chosen were to be given a "new name".....and I accordingly began writing to the GB, presenting myself as "A Pollyanna", as I began vigorously ripping the GB a "new one." I uncovered every scriptural discrepancy I could find and wrote them about it, not just detailing their error, but deriding them horribly with a wry humor, tweaking them in every way possible and giving them a verbal "thrashing" like a "Mormon on a mission," as my Mother would have said. I was trying to elicit a response, but I was allowing anger to overcome my better judgment. I had forgotten who was driving the bus.
For example: Revelation, Chapter 17 could be re-pronounced to read, "the great C.T. (communications technician) that has do(ne) mean yawin' over the keens of the earth..."
During the beginning of this time period, and within a few months after that April letter to the GB, we were finally evicted from our bungalow on 7th. I had qualified to receive public assistance for another move, but had no help now, so I kept only our barest necessities that had not been sold, discarding everything else we owned, including most of the WBTS publications, of which I had all of the Watchtower and Awake volumes, dating back to their beginning, the interlinear, concordance, and some of their oldest books.
We moved into another small studio apartment closer to the physical therapy office. I continued my letter writing to the GB while there and each time I sent out a letter to the GB, including the April 22nd one, I also mailed copies to their Branch offices, at least one on each continent and of course, to the congregation from which I had been disfellowshipped. While we lived in the studio, several strange things occurred. One day, a new acquaintance of mine, named Pandora, told me there was a man in the apartment parking lot with a boa constrictor that I should see. I went out to the parking lot and, sure enough, there he was. I didn’t recognize the man and couldn’t tell you now what he looked like, because what was most noticeable to me was the fact that he had this monstrous serpent wrapped around his neck and shoulders. I wondered what this meant in the greater "scheme of things," but I’ve often been accused of not being able to see the forest for the "trees."
Another day, Pandora came to me and told me there was a friend of hers she wanted me to meet. She said his name was Michael and that he had a car that he had weirdly painted with writing all over it and the police had made him re-paint the car, because it was too distracting in traffic. He was in the parking lot, so I went out there with Pandora and she introduced us. Remember the magazine ad with the little blond girl standing behind the screen as the tawny-headed, freckle-faced boy was offering her a bouquet of flowers? Michael turned out to be a tawny-headed, freckle-faced guy. He was sort of grungy looking and his car (he was SO proud of it) was an old clunker with primer patches all over it. It had many quoted scriptures painted haphazardly all over it. I had no idea what this meant at the time, but he sure did remind me a lot of that little freckle-faced boy in the magazine ad I remembered.
About six months after my disfellowshipping, one day I was waiting at a bus stop on El Norte Parkway. There was a strange woman sitting on the other end of the bench at the bus stop. I had begun smoking again, because I could and I enjoy it and without guilt. (Yep. Stupid reason, stupid decision.) So as I was waiting for the bus, I lit up a cigarette. The woman jumped up and snarled at me that I was smoking up her air. I told her that since the wind was blowing in the opposite direction that could hardly be possible, but if she believed that, I’d be happy to change seats with her. That wasn’t going to happen. She was furious and began pacing back and forth, ranting and raving. Believe me when I tell you that I stood back and allowed her to board the bus first when it arrived. I also wondered just exactly whose "air" (or broadcast) I was "smoking up" with my letters.
I had several more dream/visions while we lived in the studio. In one of them there was a brick wall with a window in it. On the window sill was perched a monkey, playing around in the window. Very mischievous that monkey.
In another dream/vision, I was driving West on Valley Parkway in a large, older model vehicle. As I drew nearer to the intersection in front of Palomar Hospital, my vehicle kept accelerating, going faster and faster. I tried to put on the brakes, but when I looked down, there seemed to be one or more glass cylinders on the floorboard that kept rolling around and getting under the brake pedal, blocking me from being able to put the brakes on. I would reach down and try to grab one, but they kept rolling away and when I looked back up through the windshield, I was flying in the vehicle through the air, hurtling toward the building across from Palomar Hospital which had become a very tall, solid brick wall in my dream/vision. My vehicle took me through the brick wall, punching a large hole in the wall towards the top and I suddenly found myself walking in darkness, without a vehicle. I stopped. Looking around me, I could see nothing. Suddenly, there appeared an opening of brilliant white light above me. The light was beaming down on me, creating a vacuum, by which means I was suddenly sucked up out of the darkness. At the end of this dream/vision, I was conscious of wondering about the hole in the wall that my vehicle had created even though I was still sleeping. So I took myself back to the outside of the wall to inspect the damage where the hole was, but the hole was quickly being filled in with more bricks, as if by invisible hands, using mortar made with the dead grass from the grassy area in front of the wall.
There was another dream/vision that seemed to be a sequel to the one I just described. Directly across from Palomar Hospital is a beautiful 2- or 3-story building designed of cream stucco and topped with marine blue clay roofing tiles. It looks like a huge, beautiful villa, with a courtyard inside and swimming pool. Though the building was finished, no one ever moved into the building, so it was abandoned. Later, someone told me that Tom Selleck purchased the building, but I’m not sure if that is more than a rumor. In this dream/vision, I was standing on a balcony outside a corner rear room on an upper floor of that building, overlooking Hickory Street. I was looking across the street to a point near the end of the tall brick wall that I had hurtled through in my previous vision, but this time, the wall was much shorter. I could see the end of it and for some unknown reason I suddenly found myself soaring through the air from the balcony, hurtling into the shorter brick wall. This time, everything went black. There was no more consciousness of anything to me.
Two brothers moved into the apartment above us. They were Hispanic and one of them was fairly attractive I noticed, but didn’t think too much about it, because I’m not ordinarily attracted to handsome men, as I've said. However, when I was outside my back sliding doors one day, sweeping my patio, the cute one came around the corner and down the sidewalk. When he saw me, he blasted me with a huge smile that almost took my breath away. I’m surprised my jaw didn’t hit the concrete under my feet. Instead of responding in kind, I scowled at him and turned my back, continuing with my sweeping. I noticed another day as I walked past the manager’s apartment, Mr. “Cutie-Patootie” was standing outside her door talking to her as he leaned back against a rail. He was wearing shorts and he had the most beautiful thighs I’ve ever seen on a man. They were breathtaking. Yep. I think there was a little "payback" smile and some teasing going on from "you know who." He was still "around."
While we lived there, the manager seemed to want to befriend me at first. She had been rather pushy when I had called her to inquire about an apartment. Late one afternoon, she suggested we go to a coffeehouse in downtown Escondido, which was named “The Metaphor.” Above the front door, outside the coffeehouse, there was a wire sculpture. It appeared to be the figure of a woman leaning slightly forward, shaking her finger in a scolding manner at someone. The decor was retro ‘60's, hippy-flavored, with assorted art deco paintings donated by customers, old books on display and assorted other ‘60's paraphernalia. It had a sidewalk café area and a bandstand in the back room of the café where combos would play or poetry would be read on different nights. We took our seats with our coffee and biscotti at a small table in the back room where the bandstand was. I soon noticed a little guy sitting at another table near the wall. He was dressed in khaki-colored slacks, jacket and golf cap and he resembled Michael Douglas, on whom I had a slight "crush" at the time, since I had just seen "Romancing the Stone.” As the apartment manager and I sat there talking and admiring the memorabilia in the room, the little guy sauntered past us and went to the piano on the deserted bandstand. There he began playing Ray Charles’ "What’d I Say,” and though he had no sheet music, it sounded as though he were playing precisely from sheet music without any variation. Even though he kept the beat, there was no "soul, "heart" or joy in the music. It didn't sound right. When he finished, he returned to his table, but on his way past our table he was singing as though to himself, "You Are My Sunshine.” He veered toward our table on my side, coming closer and singing louder as he passed me on the way to his table. That was weird, to say the least and no, he wasn’t drunk. I wondered how a person could segue from "What'd I Say" to "You Are My Sunshine" in that short of a time and what was he doing coming so close to me singing that song? Had we met before? When I glanced back over to his table, he was making “puppy-dog” eyes at me. (Sheesh!)
When I discovered that the psycho-hose-beast apartment manager had "molested" my son (which was why she had appeared to want to befriend me so eagerly) and I went to the district attorney and she was charged and convicted, her father (the apartment complex owner) soon thereafter evicted us.
We eventually moved to "the zoo"....a sad little apartment strip in a neighboring town. The last vision I had prior to discovering we were to be evicted was wherein I was in the studio apartment. I don’t remember the circumstances and the construction of it was different, but I felt a desperate need to get out of there. I must have been in fear of something there. During the dream/vision there appeared to be a regular door for exiting, but another narrow opening appeared at the last minute and we went through it instead of the regular door and I left, brushing crumbs off the front of my clothes as we exited the apartment.
My youngest son and I called a taxi to carry us with our belongings and we left around 3:00 A.M. We moved into a motel on El Norte Pkwy, where I paid for our room by the month out of the public assistance we received. I essentially "brushed off" those "crumby" people that lived in that apartment complex where our studio apartment was located, as we left.
Beginning in late Winter or early Spring, 1993 - After we moved into the motel on El Norte Pkwy, I realized right away that it was going to be extremely difficult to cover our living expenses, since the monthly motel bill for our room would use up the greater part of our income, which included our food allowance. We would have little more than 100 dollars for groceries, laundry, personal necessities, and transportation for the month. I became more and more depressed.
Remembering which pills would have been effective the last time I opted to "get my ticket punched," I bought bus tickets to Tijuana and my son and I crossed the border and went shopping, also stopping by a drugstore where I purchased a bottle of Vicodin. I don’t know what stopped me from buying the muscle relaxers. I knew I would need them, but for some reason, my mind played a trick on me and I felt that I didn’t really need them at the time. It was as if an invisible Jedi used the "force" to convince me that I didn't really need those muscle relaxers. When we returned from Tijuana the next day, I waited until bedtime before secretly taking the whole bottle of Vicodin, thinking that my son wouldn’t know until the next day. Well, I was right. He didn’t. But the next morning, I woke up anyway. I had not taken enough of the right pills. I couldn’t function physically. I couldn’t walk or control my body, so my son called the paramedics once again.
This time, I wound up in the psych unit at Palomar and authorities took possession of my son. They said I could have him back when I acquired a place for us to live other than a motel. While I was in the psych unit, "jumping the required hoops" for the therapists so I could get out of there, I met another woman in there for depression. She was released before I was and she and her husband helped me find an apartment in the neighboring town. What a depressing place, but it was all I could afford. Neighbors helped us semi-furnish the place with “decor de garbage,” since we had nothing by now, except our clothes and a few other personal belongings. I had been hearing a commercial on the radio quite frequently when I moved there. The advertisement jingle’s words that stood out to me were "You belong in a zoo..." and the apartment building sure did fit that description with it’s "ho’s" and druggies. What a dump! And wouldn’t you know it. The owner’s name was Satana. No, it really was. She was from India. My son was returned to me, and while we lived there, I had a lot of time on my hands to research the scriptures and do a lot of thinking.
I realized the vitriolic anger I had been launching against the GB was wrong. I realized it hadn't accomplished anything good, anyway. I began to think about the content of the scriptures and the different parts played by the people depicted therein. I wasn’t positive about Jesus and Michael being the same (perhaps a split persona?), but I knew that the scriptures indicated Jesus was the word of God personified when he was born and the word Archangel means "most high messenger," so that meant Michael could be the word of God, since that would essentially be the "most high" of any "messenger" that could possibly be from God.
I compared both Jesus’ promises and Jehovah’s written promises to mankind (of rewards for doing what they said). I compared them with the assurances that the "serpent" had given Eve in the Garden. I thought about the composition of the bible itself, how it was made of paper, engraved or decorated with printed words, its pages often referred to as "leaves.” I realized how appropriate that term was, since paper comes from trees. Even Ronald Reagan, former U.S. President, had referred to books as 'trees.' I considered the bible’s division between the Hebrew and Greek and how its judgments were both good and bad, judging both for some things and against others and sometimes for things it was also against and against things, it had seemed to be for, causing those who attempted to adhere to scriptural admonitions to judge for themselves and others what is good and what is bad. The scripture about not being able to partake of two tables came to mind and the fact that there were two tables of contents in the bible occurred to me.
The commandment which was most curious to me was the one concerning not making an engraved image of anything above or below. Why? Was it concerning the fact that printers (of books) use ink to "engrave" words on paper which depict images (of things above and below the earth) that become reflected in our thoughts and can become embedded in our minds and hearts? It dawned on me that flowers can also be pronounced with a long "o" sound? I made the connection between that information, the flowers in the hand of the tawny-haired boy with freckles, Pandora's tawny-haired friend with the scriptures-covered vehicle and the scriptures about “rivers (or flow-ers) of life-giving water.” I remembered the book that holds living words, sharper than a two-edged sword, and I could see that it cuts both ways in more ways than one. Then I also began to see that the sword being swung this way and that way, which prevents entry to the Garden of Eden (paradise) is that same sharp sword, which I, along with everyone else, needed to put down. I thought about the scriptures that had "spoken" to me and the "chocolate factory" which had been given me. (Prov. 23: 29-35) Was it like "the fizzy-lifting drink" that Charlie and his grandfather had indulged in, "pumping me up" to think that I was more than I actually am in order to deceive me?
All these thoughts together merged into an idea. Since we weren’t supposed to make any "engraved images" for ourselves, I thought perhaps sign language would "fill the bill.” After all, hadn’t my "therapist" shown his displeasure with the spirit over me without a word by merely pointing his finger and motioning with his arm to the left? I acquired a book with pictures of international sign language and composed another letter to the GB, this time using photo-copied pictures of sign language depicting the message I wished to convey, which essentially consisted of the combination of scriptural thoughts I had considered in the previous paragraph and their meaning. After explaining these things, I pleaded with them to get out of the "tree of the knowledge of good and bad,” for it is Babylon the Great, which is what the bible proves to be. I used the international sign language counterpart for each word or pictures of the hand signs for the letters in words for which I could not find a single sign. It was quite a hefty endeavor since more pages were required for me to paste the sign language pictures for the words and letters on each page. It took two days and almost two nights to finish it. I worked nonstop, mind you, but I didn’t have the strength to do it alone. When I became extremely tired towards the end of the first night, my therapist in spirit form came and "covered" me, giving me his strength. Though I couldn’t see him, I could feel the strength of his musculature enveloping mine. When finished, I made copies, not only for the GB, but for some of their Branch offices on seven continents and I mailed them.
Within two to three weeks, one night, as I was lying in bed preparing to go to sleep with my eyes closed, I had a true wide-awake vision, even though my eyes were closed. Everything was dark, even black like velvet. Suddenly the outlined shape of each one of the seven continents appeared for a few moments.....slowly....and one at a time, as though shot from a cannon. Each one suddenly lit up like a mirrored reflection of the sun, brilliant as sunlight. To me, it meant that the letters had been received and there were "light bulbs" coming on all over the world.
Within another day and night or two, I was again lying on my bed, almost asleep when suddenly I felt "someone" land on me, straddling me between my hips and waist. Without opening my eyes, I could "see" there in the dark of the room looming over me a dark....well....black....spirit creature astride me. It appeared to be feminine in form, though very muscular. Its right hand was raised over me with a weapon in it. I assumed it was a knife, though I couldn’t actually see it. Was I scared out of my wits? No. Its arrival startled me, of course, and naturally I was tense, but I was thinking, "So this is it. It’s come to give me what I desire very badly. A final rest." Then the spirit snarled a command to me, "Look at me!" Yes, it had a woman’s voice. I flinched at first and squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. Then I quickly thought, "Maybe that’s what I need to do?" When it snarled again, "Open your eyes! Look at me!" I did open my eyes.....to nothing but my dark apartment. The spirit’s presence instantly dissipated as I opened my eyes. Too late, I realized that I was not supposed to obey its "words" nor its commands......hmmm.
During this same period of time, my public assistance came up for renewal again. Renewing it would require that I go to the neighboring city. I had no more money, so there would be no bus fare and it was much too far to walk. Our bicycles were long gone. There would also be no money for rent or anything else. All I could do was sit there in the apartment and wait in hopes that someone would come along to provide some transportation.
I waited till we had about a week’s worth of food left. When I called the agencies which are alleged to be there to provide protective services for people, asking them for help with our situation, representatives from both agencies told me their "hands were tied." So I told the case worker for one of the agencies that they needed to pick up my son. I was grieving to have to give my son into their hands, knowing what he might have to go through, but knowing it would be better than living on the streets, which was where I knew I was headed. I was relieved at the same time that my son would be fed and sheltered and have a chance for a better future without me. The caseworker agreed to come and pick him up but had not made an appearance by the end of the week, so I used a neighbor’s phone and called him again, reminding him that my son also had hypoglycemia and we only had a day or two left before our food ran completely out and asking him if he planned to wait until we were completely out of food and my son possibly went into a coma before he felt it would be necessary to pick him up. The case worker arrived that afternoon. When my son excitedly went out to his vehicle, suitcase in hand, he had such a look of joy and relief on his face and he never looked back at me.
I was numb with grief. I shut the door to my apartment and lay in my bed for another 6 weeks, only getting up occasionally for personal hygiene or to take care of a bodily function and to slip an ice cube into my mouth for moisture. As I lay there, I could hear the other residents of the "zoo" continuing to "rock on.” Occasionally the apartment owner, would come to my door, knocking loudly and shouting that she was going to have to "get my attorney to serve you," if I didn’t pay my rent. I didn’t answer, just waited hopefully for oblivion, but something intervened. Near the end of the 6 weeks, I began vomiting. This went on for two days and my stomach felt as if it were on fire. Finally, the afternoon of the second day, I couldn’t stand the pain anymore, so I weakly groped my way over to my next door neighbor’s, sliding along the outside wall of the building till I could knock on her door. I asked her to call the paramedics. They quickly came and transported me once again to Palomar Hospital where it was discovered that I needed my gall bladder removed, which I declined to do, because it wasn’t hurting anymore since I had begun eating again.
One day, two social workers stopped by my room, talked to me and questioned me for a bit and they decided because of my recent psychological history (no one had determined anything other than that I was depressed and sometimes suicidal), they would place me in a "safe house" for battered women and then they moved me into another "safe house" where women with psychological "difficulties" were transitionally placed.
Though I didn’t have a bible anymore, I had another dream/vision while I was there. As I slept one night, I found myself in a narrow valley. It appeared to be night time and as I was walking, I came upon a bull ("like a young bull"?) standing (yeah, horns and all). It was facing forward in the same direction I was heading. As I began to walk past the bull on its left side, I noticed there was a huge mountain of loosely placed stones composing the left "wall" of the valley and immediately to my left, each of the stones, though slightly varying in size, were approximately the height and width of the top of an end table....and they were each approximately a foot thick. I looked ahead and in front of the bull and myself was an almost solid wall of swirling fog......clouds. When I looked back at the bull, the bull’s left eye blinked ("the twinkling of an eye"?) and I suddenly found myself whisked up to the top of the mountain of stones, seated on top of it. I was all alone....isolated.....in the dark. It was not an encouraging thing to experience.
While I was living in the "safe houses," the social workers made sure that I got public assistance. Since I didn’t have my son with me, it was funds for people that did not have an income and were unable to work. They made sure I was reconnected with my son and arranged visits with him. I was allowed to travel by bus and take him on outings in San Diego County. He was thrilled to see me again and we even went to the San Diego Zoo for the first time.
The social workers also reconnected me with my daughter back in Texas, who, by then, was married to her bus boy/drug addict, cum rock star and they had two children, girls. What I didn’t know was that my daughter was on drugs at the time. When the social workers decided to move me again to a shared apartment in a program for structured living, I decided that I didn’t need that much structure. I merely needed to be able to work, so I could go on with my life. I purchased two one-way bus tickets to Texas, picked up my son and we took the long journey back to Texas, where we briefly stayed with my daughter, her hubby and my two granddaughters, which I had yet to meet.
Summer, 2004 - By 2004, it had been 16 years since those first two dream/visions that got the "ball rolling" in this adventure. The end result? The bottom line, so far, is twofold. I’ve come out of the organization, "Stepford-ville," though for more reasons that I had first thought when I was leaving. I have also given up or let go of the scriptures, something I had never thought I would do. I no longer have the dream/visions. There are no longer any "sightings" or words or movies or ads or songs or "jingles" that reach out to me and pull at me. There are no more "visits" from the "kissing" spirit. Everything gradually dissipated, because this "buck-ette of balls" had enough of those smokin' scriptures and decided to lay down those "too-wedgied words."
Oh, yeah. Occasionally I have flashbacks to the "hungry" mode, wherein I struggle with a strong desire to "imbibe" of the "strong drink" from the scriptures and I sometimes "regurgitate" a scriptural thought or two like a "burp" or exhalation from something grown stale within me. Yet, occasionally, I will seem to hear faint murmurings of that old "siren song" like "Little Egypt," (Babble-on-the-Great) doing her dance, swaying, singing, "Hey-hey-hey-HEY! Kitchee-kitchee-kitchee…" and crooking her finger, beckoning each passerby.
I realize there are two possible points of view regarding my experiences, how I coped with them and how they affected me:
1. From a psychological viewpoint, it could be that this was a period of mental upheaval and I was having an identity crisis and manifesting symptoms of Complex PTSD and/or bipolar disorder, etc.
2. From a scriptural viewpoint, which can also be divided into two different ways....
A. In a thrillingly scriptural way, I was receiving "fizzy-call" therapy. (Amos 3: 3 RSV) Eventually I was led to understand that the two-edged sword, which swings back and forth, and over, under and around before the gate to the garden, which prevents each individual person from entering into his/her own version of paradise,....is the Word of God, the Son, who is returning in figurative clouds (not clearly or easily seen), because he is fully revealing himself and is exposing himself as all words of any and all languages, including alphabets (the Chaldean-Hebrew Kabbalah is one), mathematical equations, numbers and musical notes, which can be combined in any combination and restructured to mean anything, like "Jabberwacky."
Thus, the Word is revealed, exposed, naked, ergo, coming in symbolic clouds, unclear in meaning. As such, most people should be able to understand that this is Leviathan, the two-edged sword. And he brings a message of love, to give us freedom from the tree. He's coming in flesh, jumping from body to body like the guy in "Quantum Leap," shepherding those who are listening through someone they know or someone they've yet to meet, just as the resurrected Christ appeared to his apostles after his resurrection.
"Jesus Incognito," the Word and Son of God is here. There is no brighter, purer or truer light than "Son-light." He is also revealed now as Leviathan, the "watt-er" monster, which only the most high God can control. And he has become "rivers of living watt-er," and pure "son-light."
The purpose of the manner in which he has arrived? (Isaiah 55: 9, 11)
B. In a bad way, that the experiences were demonic in origin and I'm merely "hell-bent for election." Your individual points of view are yours to choose. I'm not here to judge.
As for me, I have peace of mind now and I know that I would not have been able to overcome both my need for "Stepford-ville" and my addiction to the scriptures without the series of events and occurrences I’ve described here for you, nor could I have accomplished all of this alone. My conclusion is that the genuine bottom line for me is threefold:
1. Just because you find a lot of “fertilizer” (bullshit a/k/a meadow muffins) under a “tree” doesn’t mean that you’ve been given a horse to ride.
2. There's an old tale about a farmer who catches his young son out behind the barn smoking a cigar. The farmer gets a whole box of cigars and gives them to his son and says, "Now smoke every last one of them." The boy gets sick as a dog from smoking, and swears off smoking forever.
3. The truth set me free and I was able to put down that "two-edged sword" (too-wedgied words) and enter into the reality of my life, hopefully sans disparaging judgmental people.
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