A Simple Plea for Help
Wow, here we go… I am both frightened and exhilarated at the prospect of letting go of this secret. I have very few secrets left, and you know what they say – you are as sick as your secrets.
It is not as if I have not told anyone. I have let in a few folks, choosing wisely and infrequently. But this is different, writing about my secret and letting “random people” read my truth. Part of me is still unsure that I will submit this post for Sreejit’s guest post series, but if you are reading this then I decided to take the plunge, allowing vulnerability free reign, establishing dominion over all my cumulative insecurities and self-judgments. We are talking 40 years of insecurities, fears and painful self – judgment.
While like most humans, I have had many experiences of darkness that ultimately led to light or some form of epiphany or enlightenment, yet I would have to say that the year between September 1978 and September 1979 was potentially the most devastating and most significant ” dark night” to date.
I was hanging out with two guys from my dorm, eating popcorn and listening to Grateful Dead tunes. I found my tribe rather quickly. It was cool how easy it was to make new friends. It was incredibly easy to get into the Honors program too. I loved my classes but was sleeping poorly. I was also crying in class, not sure why. Maybe all this psychology material hit too close to home, or maybe not.
Looking into my reflection in the bathroom mirror I gazed beyond my eyes and saw an image familiar yet foreign. Paradoxical is a word that would describe this “vision”. Beyond my face I saw an old Native American man looking at me. “Who was he? Was he me? Was I him? What the hell is going on? ”
I never got a definitive answer but what I can tell you is that this bathroom episode sparked a night of paranoia, elation, synchronicities, and terror. And much, much more that I no longer recall. I could say that episode created a clear demarcation between the beginning of this life and the rest of this life.
What followed occurred on two separate tracks. From a practical 3D standpoint, I had to leave college and return home. A few days later I ran away from my family doctor’s office, so I was put in a psych ward of a general hospital. Because I later ran away again (went off the grounds with another patient to get some pie), I was transferred to a secure psych hospital in a neighboring state. I became part of the “system” and received various medications and services until I was ready to return to college the following September. From a spiritual track, my incarnation appeared to be in limbo. Would I ever leave this facility? Would I regain a “normal ” perception of reality? My mystical abilities were off the charts at this point and the psychic communication between myself and others was quite pronounced. Along with the delusions and horror, there were incredibly vibrant colors, sounds, and tastes. My senses were heightened, even with all the medication I was forced to endure. The synchronicities were also staggering and would make an interesting memoir if I choose that path later on.
So, in case you are wondering how the light arrived, it came in the form of an answer to a simple plea for help. I was agnostic as a teenager, disillusioned with organized religion. But as often is the case, desperate times call for desperate measures. I decided to beg God to get me out of this purgatory and restore my functioning. I doubted that God was listening, but prayer was all I had left. Just a few weeks later when my insurance would no longer cover my stay, the staff suddenly deemed me ready for discharge and I went back to my parent’s house. Since I was having strong reactions to the medications, the outpatient psychiatrist asked me if I was willing to be taken off them entirely. I agreed and most of the symptoms/perceptual peculiarities immediately and permanently receded. It seemed like a miracle, since I was told I would have to take these meds for the rest of my life. So, my prayer was answered, and my ” recovery ” was accelerated. The bottom line is that I may never know if Divine intervention was at play. But I was grateful all the same.
While there was considerable collateral damage for years, such as shaken confidence, dreadful nightmares, and emptiness when the sensory extravaganza faded, life did go on. For many of the young people I met that year, life slowed to a grinding halt and identities were forged as permanent mental health consumers. I think of these friends often. Many of them died rather young.
I was spared
Fortunately, at some point the nightmares ended (decades later) and I achieved many of my youthful dreams and some new ones to boot. I was spared, but I don’t know why exactly. I later concluded that this consciousness glitch was a spiritual emergency. Unfortunately, this notion was unheard of on the East Coast in the 1970s.
What most people don’t know about me is that for most of my adult life I have been approached by seemingly random men and women asking me if I am Native American. This started after the spiritual emergency. Strangers would walk up to me on trains, restaurants, and in stores, or on the street. The last inquiry was about a year ago. It seems to come in waves. The Native Elder in my vision may have originated from a past life / shamanistic connection. It makes sense based on the research I have reviewed. I investigated my genealogy in search of links to indigenous ancestry, but the DNA test did not reveal any hints of native lineage. So lingering questions remain.
Having my prayers answered back in 1978 resurrected my faith and placed me on a spiritual journey that continues to the present moment. I doubt that would have happened otherwise. May is National Mental Health Month (which I discovered from another guest poster), so it is an excellent time for me to share a small part of my history. I hope that by letting go of control, my story will reach those who may benefit in some way. While my incarnation here is quite a challenging one, I am fortunate in many respects. I get to be a healer and a writer. I have plenty of freedom and autonomy (within the confines of Western capitalistic society). Maybe I was spared so I can be a messenger of hope.
Linda delights in assisting others in self-discovery as a blogger, astrologer, teacher, artist, mentor, writer, therapist, dreamer, intuitive guide, light worker and mystic. She has been blogging at litebeing chronicles for six years.
The theme of litebeing chronicles is a glimpse into my everyday life, showing how the light shines through on a moment- to- moment basis. The light may vary from a tiny flicker to a strong ray to a magnificent rainbow to a blinding shaft of white light.
Written for the From Darkness to Light event. If you’d like to be a part of the challenge, find more information Here. But first, leave a comment and let Linda know what you think about her words, and be sure to visit her over at litebeing chronicles when you’re done.
Featured header image via wikiart.org