8/31/10 - Family Matters

Family Matters

8/31/10

2.5 Ounce Meltdown

I woke up to a gentle downpour that morning.  Montana weather’s like that—just wait a few minutes—it’s bound to change.  But by the time Ryan, my son-in-law, was ready to drive my pregnant daughter, Ariel, her two-year-old daughter, Sienna, and me to the airport by nine a.m. it was still drizzling.  Our flight was at ten, but Allegiant Airlines requires a 45-minute before flight check-in to maintain its cheap rates.  My Montana daughter, Deserae, and “the kids” (mine and hers) were destined for a rainy three-and-a-half-hour drive and perhaps a soggy amusement park experience at Silverwood that day—and she was showing her grouchy anticipation concerning it.  She’d snapped at me when I reminded her about her promise to print off a CD with all my children’s most recent photos on it.  She agreed to send it down with Brendan (my ex-sister-wife, Christy’s, oldest son) when he drove my oldest daughter, Aubrey’s, kids (Carly and Jaxen) back home to Logan on Tuesday.

Kelsey was the only one of my kids awake when I left so I gave her a good-bye hug before loading my luggage into the car.  Ariel took a few minutes to get her and Sienna ready while I sat in the car sulking.  I didn’t want to wake my other two children, Jenny and Andrew, but I longed for a good-bye hug from them both before I left—a valued family tradition for arrivals and departures.  Ryan helped Ariel with her luggage and I noticed Deserae in the front doorway wondering where her “good-bye hug” was from me.  I still felt stung from her iciness that morning so I didn’t bother getting out of the car for what I knew she wanted from me.

The Missoula Airport is only 10 minutes from Deserae and Ryan’s trailer home, which is where I stay each time I come to visit my children in Montana.  Ryan was in his usual cheerful mood when he handed me an Audubon Guide to Mushrooms for me to identify the mushrooms I’d mistakenly picked as “edible” ones which turned out to be “poisonous” ones.  I’d never lived that one down as Kurt (my ex) and I had eaten them and had to take some activated charcoal when we both became sick.  It was no big deal, but Ryan wanted to know which ones they were so he could avoid a future mistake. 

When we arrived at the airport and I was getting out of the car, I asked Ryan one more time for the names of his two friends that had suffered the causalities from the Iraq War.  They had both returned from Iraq with severe PTSS (Post Traumatic Shock Syndrome) and one of them had to wear diapers for six months as he’d had night terrors so severe that he became incontinent.  The other had also incurred severe psychological trauma to the extent that they were both sent to Salt Lake to be treated at the V.A. hospital for their symptoms.  They were waiting for medical releases from the army along with expected medical compensation; but instead they both received deployment papers to Iraq for another tour of duty.  Mayfield (whose first name was ironically “War”) ended up committing suicide by shooting himself in the head last week in his garage.  Ryan (Ryan’s namesake close friend) was on “suicide watch” as 12 of his platoon buddies had already committed suicide in an attempt to “escape” another “tour of duty.”  Ryan was, of course, devastated by all of it and was even thinking about joining me in Salt Lake to be with his friend.  I wrote down both his friends’ names and told him I would contact my “congregation” and call for a “prayer petition” for them and their families.

As I entered the airport foyer, I immediately realized that I’d left my book, The Biology of Belief by Bruce Lipton in Ryan’s front seat when I’d set it down to write the names of his friends down.  Ryan had sped off and I felt a wave of frustration flood over me as I was so looking forward to reading it on the return flight.  I was just getting into the “good” part of the book after struggling to get through the first half of Dr. Lipton’s dry biology lessons.  He’d just made the discovery that the cell membrane was the “brain” of the cell rather then the nucleus being the “master controller” as other biologists believed.  The implications of this amazing discovery was the basis for his book—the biology of belief.  He was just beginning to define exactly what it meant by this discovery—that our beliefs can define our biology—and I was hungry for the information.  I quickly punched in Deserae’s phone number as I hadn’t programmed Ryan’s into my new cell phone yet.  It went directly to her voicemail so I then punched in Jenny’s (who usually answers her phone).  She had Ryan’s number so she quickly called Ryan.  No answer.   I then concluded he’d left his phone at home so I gave up trying to retrieve my book.  I then joined Ariel in line for check-in.

After we checked in, Deserae called me back and said she’d try to get a hold of Ryan to come back to the airport to deliver my book.  It was only a ten-minute drive back and I still had time to make the flight if I waited.  I sent Ariel and Sienna to the security line that was beginning to fill up.  I told her I’d join her later on the plane and then sat down to wait for Ryan’s arrival.  After 15 minutes or so, I gave up.  Ryan must have stopped somewhere on his way home to run an errand, I concluded.  The security line was longer now and I felt if I didn’t get in line, I might miss my flight.  Ten minutes later I was removing my tennis shoes and handing the security “girl” my carry-on luggage.  She asked me point-blank if I had any cosmetics or lotions in my bag.  I had a small cosmetic case with travel-sized lotion, shampoo and conditioner, so I didn’t give it a second thought.  But when she unzipped my cosmetic bag and pulled out my newly acquired tube of StriVectin, things turned ugly.

She examined the number of ounces printed on the label.  “This is 2.5 ounces too large for the legal amount to carry on the plane,” she announced.  “You can’t take this on the plane with you.”  This was my second flight after 9/11 and the one to Hawaii last year, I’d checked my bags on; so I wasn’t familiar with the “load limit” for cosmetics.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaimed, feeling the pent-up emotions from the morning spilling over my face.  “My God!” I thought.  I hadn’t realized I was such an emotional train-wreck!  But the house of cards I’d stacked up in my brain began to crumble in front of the young, blonde security guard and the passengers waiting in line.  There was the “I’m at the bottom of everyone’s list” card; the “how can I leave my kids in their continual state of chaos” card; the “world’s going to hell in a handbasket” card; the “I’m broke and out of work” card; the “everyone sees me as a whore” card; the “how can my ex continue to provoke me” card; the “universal disrespect for menopausal women” card; but I think the final card that sent the whole stack toppling over was the “absolute absurdity of it all” card.  I took a few deep breaths (which usually does the trick) and tried to regain my composure.  “I didn’t have this problem in Las Vegas when I went through security there.  They let me on the plane—no questions asked.”  I countered.

“Well, they must be incompetent there.  We pride ourselves in doing a good job here in Missoula,” she replied, her face beaming.  I held my tongue on my next obvious reply, “So you pride yourself in embarrassing little old ladies carrying expensive tubes of StriVectin implying that they might try to make a bomb out of it and cause a terrorist attack on the plane!?”  The thought was so ridiculous that it wasn’t worth expressing—although those were the implications at that very moment!  Instead I took two more deep breaths and asked calmly, “So what are my options here, young lady.”  Seeing that I was attempting a reasonable approach even though the tears were beginning to course down my face, she replied, “Well, you can check in your carry-on bag for $35 at the check-in counter and they can load it onto the plane—that’s really your only option here, lady.”

The option was not an option.  I had a whopping $5 left in my purse that I’d held out for “emergencies.”  The rest of my money I’d given to my kids for birthdays and school clothes shopping.  Although $35 was far less than the value of the tube of StriVectin (it cost me $75 at Costcos), I wasn’t willing to give it up to get on the plane.  The thoughts of a “black-market” supply of confiscated toiletries in the airport’s back room, flashed through my mind as I grabbed my tennis shoes and purse from the square plastic tub.  I grabbed the StriVectin from the security “girl” (it was probably her first day on the job as she didn’t look older than my 17-year-old daughter, Kelsey).  “Thanks,” I said hastily.  “I’m not choosing to fly on your damned airline.”  I moved past the other passengers in line with shoes in one hand and luggage in the other as hot tears coursed uncontrollably down my face.  I went directly to the ladies room to have my own private “melt-down.”  I also relieved myself on the toilet of some of the constipated energy stuck inside me and then thought about what to do next.  I tried phoning Ariel, who was probably already on the plane, as my call went straight to voicemail.

I then phoned Deserae (who answered, thank God) and blubbered to her about my present state of “melt down.”  I was sure I’d missed the flight and told her to come and pick me up at the airport.  I’d hitch a ride with my stepson, Brendan, tomorrow morning.  After I hung up from Deserae, Ariel called back.  I told her what had happened in the security line and she tried to calm me down with her assertive logic.  “Mom, you can still make the flight.  I talked to the captain and he said if you get through the security line right now—you can make it.”  “But what about my expensive tube of StriVectin?  I don’t want to just throw it in the garbage or give it to some random security clerk,” I agonized.  “Just give it to someone at the gift shop and have Deserae pick it up later,” was her logical response.

Ariel was the “rock” of the family.  With her degree in psychology, she could always reason with any of us emotional “females” of the family when we were going through our regular “melt-downs.”  “Okay, I’ll give it to the security clerk out front and try to butt in line,” I replied, my reason returning.  The line had thinned down a bit and the passengers politely allowed me to move past them in order to make my flight.  I told the sweet adolescent clerk that I’d given my lotion to the other security clerk and to let me on as I was going to miss my flight!  One of the flight crew called down from the stairs for the final boarding of flight 531 heading to Las Vegas—and I yelled up that I was on my way.  Ariel had secured two front row seats on the plane with Sienna on her lap.  I collapsed in the seat next to her and made a phone call to Deserae (who was already on her way) telling her to pick up my tube of StriVectin and the tub of body butter (another item that had been confiscated) at the security desk out front.  A “friendly skies” stewardess (or “flight attendant” to be politically correct) handed me a box of Kleenex as I continued with my melt-down during the next half hour of take-off and leveling-off.  There are still “nice people” left in the world, Ariel reassured me as she became my listening ear and sounding board during the rest of the two-hour flight.

S.O.S (Save Our Souls or Same Old Shit)

The mind is a lot like a computer.  When faced with irreconcilable and irresolvable conflicts it just continues to cycle and cycle until it finally crashes.  That’s what an emotional “melt-down” consists of—the body’s attempt at shut-down before it goes insane (or until it can find solutions to the problems).  Psychologists have a name for it—Cognitive Dissonance—Cognitive (knowledge or awareness) and Dissonance (discord) meaning: the state of inner stress and unease caused by a person’s belief not matching their experience, behavior or the facts before them.  So our thoughts “collide” and our mind “crashes.” Crying seems to help for some people—especially us women—as it helps to clear the circuits.  I have six daughters—Aubrey, Deserae, Ariel, Destiny, Kelsey and Jenny—and although the younger two haven’t quite achieved the same “maturity levels” as the other four—emotional “melt-downs” seem to be a common occurrence in our family.

The last major one I remember was again in Montana.  It had similar aspects to this one.  It was in late August when I’d traveled by car from Salt Lake to see my children for a birthday celebration.  I had three children, Aubrey, Jordan and Kelsey, and my oldest grandson, Sean, who all had birthdays within a week of each other.  It was the year I’d gone public in a news article in the Salt Lake Tribune about my “escape from polygamy.”  Kurt was giving me the “silent treatment” to punish me; and I hadn’t been able to reach him by phone to tell him that I was coming up that particular weekend in August to celebrate my children’s birthdays.  I’d written him a letter and confirmed it with my daughter, Deserae, that I’d be coming up for my monthly visitation, but Kurt refused to respond.  When I got to Deserae and Ryan’s house—no one was home.  When I tried to phone Deserae—no one answered.  (Little did I know they were up in the mountains scouting for game.)  I suspected the worse—that they were all punishing me for my “speaking out” in the newspaper article. 

And so I stuck the four birthday cards containing their cash gifts along with a note inside the door of the office in town, which Deserae and her dad shared.  I then spent the weekend in my own private “melt-down” at Lost Trails Hot Springs—a local mountain retreat that was out of phone service range.  Brad and Deserae had both tried to reach me by phone but only got my voicemail.  Brad suspected the worse—that Kurt, in his uncontrollable rage, had murdered me and hid my body in the backwoods somewhere. (Brad sometimes has a vividly distorted view of reality.)  Deserae, who knew me pretty well by now, suspected that I was having a “melt-down” and simply told Brad to wait a few days until I resurfaced and was ready to talk—before he made the long trip up to Montana to look for my body.  She assured him that her dad wasn’t capable of murder (although he did have extreme anger issues) but Kurt hadn’t confessed to anyone that he’d received the birthday cards and note from the office door, telling everyone where I was.  Instead, he’d taken everyone’s birthday money for himself.  (That part he revealed later to everyone.)

Anyway, this melt-down, as I mentioned earlier, had similar aspects to it (Same Old Shit).  After my eight-hour interview with Jesse Fruwirth from City Weekly in which I specifically mentioned that I would rather him not print some of the intimate, sacred information concerning our unusual sex-life—what did he do—he capitalized on it!  (What do ya know—sex sells!)  This unwanted exposure had really hurt Christy (I’d heard) which had upset Kurt to where he was again giving me the “silent treatment.”  It really didn’t make much sense since Christy’s older brother, Kody Brown, had just signed a contract with TLC Network to make a reality series called “Sister Wives” concerning his polygamous relationship with his three wives and his courtship with Robyn Mark (who BTW was my oldest daughter, Aubrey’s, best friend from Pinesdale).  I mean how much more personal, in-your-face exposure can you get?!  But Christy continues to remain the heroine of this story who stayed behind to suffer through years of abuse from an arrogant, enraged, unforgiving husband and having to raise her sister-wife’s (my) ten children (who would have sincerely desired over anything else to have raised them myself given the opportunity).  I won’t go into all the sordid details concerning this heart-wrenching story—if you want the details—read my books.  I’ll try to remain in present-moment reality rather than dwell on past his-story (or is it her-story in my case ;-).  However, this all did have an effect on my most recent “melt-down”—which I detailed earlier.

When Ariel and I landed at the airport in Missoula Thursday around 8:00 a.m., Deserae greeted us and we all decided to go to breakfast.  Ariel (attempting to be polite) called her dad to join us at the Montana Club in Missoula.  The first thing Kurt asked Ariel was “Are you buying?” which I expressed a audible response, “Oh brother!”  Evidently he overheard me and opted for a “rain check.”  It was around 10:00 when we finished breakfast and arrived at Deserae’s cozy little trailer home just outside of Missoula.  I was hoping my three youngest children, Kelsey, Jenny, and Andrew, would be there waiting or at least arriving soon as I wanted to spend some quality time with them.  School was starting on Tuesday and they were anxious to buy school “stuff” (I always paid for new clothes, shoes and school supplies each year).  But I was hoping to spend some “play-time” with them as well.

Finally around 1:00 the three of them drove up in an old beat-up Ford Explorer.  They apologized for being late as Christy had forced them to clean the entire cabin and make breakfast for everyone before they left.  (Does this story have a familiar “ring” to it?)  Kelsey had “rolled” the Explorer two weeks prior and it now sported a ply-wood back passenger window and smashed windshield.  According to Jenny, they had almost hit a telephone pole which had taken out a side-mirror.  Both had to be replaced as they’d rolled the car onto its side knocking out the other side mirror.  I’d heard about “the accident” via a text message photo (which my phone doesn’t receive) three days after it had happened!  No mother should have to go through that but thank God no one was injured!!  Neither Jenny nor Kelsey were wearing seat belts and Kelsey’s arm was pinned under the car as the window was open and it had flown out.  She didn’t have any broken bones as they’d landed in a field, but she was still sporting bruises on her arm.  As is Kurt’s usual anti-establishment style—the car had no license, registration or insurance.  And it still doesn’t!  How can one not help worry that if there is a next time (I hope and pray to God there isn’t a next time) that they don’t hit another car and injure or kill someone else!  I’d sure hate to be the responsible party on that tragic occasion!   But this is part of the S.O.S. (Same Old Shit) I face each time I journey to Montana to visit my children.  And I must admit—it seems to be a hopeless and helpless situation!

After about an hour of deliberation, we all decide to go to Frenchtown Pond for a swim.  It was hot outside (about 85 degrees) and a nice cold plunge after a plane flight sounded refreshing to me.  Ariel was napping with Sienna in the extra bedroom; and so Deserae said she and Ariel would join us later with her kids (Emalee and Fisher) when Ariel woke up.  I jumped in the passenger seat of the beaten-up brown Explorer, while Jenny and Andrew climbed in the back.  I wanted an up-front and personal experience of just how “good” a driver Kelsey had become.  But first Kelsey had to text her friends (girl and boy friends) to join us at the pond.  Frankly, I was anxious to meet her friends in Montana.

The gas gauge didn’t work on the car, and Jenny (who was the designated “gas gauge”) mentioned we needed to stop in Frenchtown for gas as she thought we were on empty.  I asked what happened if she was off by a few miles and ran out of gas.  She reassured me that they had a ten-gallon gas can in the back that they “normally” filled with gas—but that was presently empty.  I rubbed my face and shook my head at the out-of-control-over-the-top conditions my precious children had to deal with on a daily basis.  Sometimes I just had to let things go and let God—or I would go crazy!

We made it to the pond without incident, but when I looked at the filthy pond water my children were used to swimming in on a regular basis—I cringed.  I couldn’t believe that I ever actually enjoyed swimming with my children in the muddy, mossy water.  Instead, I spread my beach towel out on the grass and relaxed in the sun.  About a half hour later, I noticed a cap-clad Elmer Fudd looking boy walking toward us with his shorter brunette side-kick.  They were introduced to me as Jenny’s and Kelsey’s “boyfriends” and I was then introduced to all of her friends as “Janae.”  When I finally piped up and stated, “I’m actually Kelsey’s Mom” one of her girlfriends looked confused.  “So who’s Christy?”  “Oh, that’s Jesse’s mom,” Kelsey blushed.  Jesse (my stepson) was 16—in between Kelsey and Jenny’s age.  The look on Kelsey’s friend’s face spoke her confusion.  “Oh, I’ll tell you all about it later,” was Kelsey’s embarrassed reply.  “Peer pressure,” I thought, and I tried not to feel hurt.

I saw a lot of that at the Mall the following day when my three teenagers spent hours looking for school clothes.  I gave them each a $100 bill to spend and then found a comfortable armchair sofa (they actually have those in the Missoula Mall) and relaxed while they shopped.  I scolded myself for not bringing my book, Biology of Belief, but settled into “people watching”—a favorite pastime of mine.  Missoula was a melting pot of extremes.  There were the “Red-necks,” the “Goths,” the “Tree-huggers,” the “Studs,” the “Raggaes,” the “Preppies,”—some rich, some poor, some middle-class.  Few were carrying any Mall purchases and most were overweight—a tell-tale sign of an economic depression as Yard Sales are a way of life and fast-food is convenient, inexpensive “comfort” food—not to mention toxic and fattening.  After about three hours of shopping, Jenny and Kelsey came back with a few purchases; Andrew was still empty-handed.  We then decided to stop at Wal-Mart on our way back to Deserae’s house to look for shoes and other “stuff.”  Andrew scored a cheap pair of black tennis shoes and Jenny purchased a tank-top.  I knew they were reluctant to spend their money as they had plans to go to Silverwood on Sunday and “spending-money” was rare as dinosaurs with both parents out of work.  Christy’s weekly paycheck from house-cleaning jobs didn’t quite meet the demands of two adults and seven children all living in a tiny log cabin in the woods.

The log cabin, by the way, which I helped build and pay for with part of my family’s inheritance.  I walked away from all of it over ten years ago when I was forced to leave my children, my home, my land, my husband…my life—in order to keep my sanity.  (I know that sounds like some good lyrics for a country/western song—but I wish someone would please play it backwards!)  Kurt showed his angry resentment towards my leaving by making my life as miserable as he possibly could.  Again, I won’t go into those grisly details here, but know that it has been ten years of pure hell!

I thought things were starting to improve—we’d actually started speaking to each other—but after the CW article, everything shut down completely again.  Kelsey and Jenny had planned to spend the summer with me this year (the first time any of my children have stayed with me on my home turf), but after the article—he refused to let them even come down to Salt Lake to visit me.  They wanted to get a job from Destiny babysitting Adaela, but it was all kyboshed in June after the article came out.  Even Ariel tried to talk him into letting them live with her in St. George so they could enjoy the “finer things of life.”  But with me only four hours away—it was out of the question.  I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t ever answer my phone calls.  And he certainly wasn’t going to make himself available by going to breakfast with me; and he made it perfectly clear to everyone that I wasn’t invited to the family get-together on Saturday where Ariel and Deserae were told to bring the food.  His control strategies always worked so well for him in the past—so why not continue with them?  There was no one strong enough or mean enough to stand up to him so the only solution for all of us was to simply leave.

I couldn’t help contemplating this “impossible situation” as Ryan drove me and my children up the mountains to go huckleberry picking the following day.  We stopped at the Forest Service turn-off to the cabin where Ryan waited for Deserae to catch up so he could grab some T.P. from her car (just in case). 

“Don’t you miss Montana?” Ryan inquired as we sped up the mountain road past Andie McDowell’s old place to a favorite berry-picking spot.  “Ya know, Ryan…I do miss the Montana mountains—their rugged beauty, the clean air and water, and the wildlife.  And, of course, I miss being with all of my kids and grandkids up here.  What I don’t miss, however, is the insanity of the “wild lives” you guys seem to survive in—even thrive in—the lifestyle I would call ‘total chaos.’  I just don’t know how you do it!”  I thought of the words to the song that had played on the radio when we were coming back from town yesterday, which the girls had memorized every word to.  I think it best speaks of their situation here: 

Silver Moons and paper chains,
Faded maps and shiny things.
You're my favorite one-man show.
A million different ways to go.

Will you fly me away?
Take me away with you,
My love.

Painted scenes, I'm up all night.
Slaying monsters, flying kites.
Speak to me in foreign tongues.
Share your secrets one by one.

Will you fly me away?
Take me away with you,
My love.

Now I can’t think what life was like
Before I had you by my side.
Can’t say what I'd do without you,
Knowing what its like to have you.

Hidden walkways back in time.
Endless stories, lovers cry.
In my mind I've been set free.
Will you take this Journey
You and me?

Will you fly me away?
Take me away with you,
My love.

Fly me away with you,
My love.

Take me away with you,
My love.

I wish I could take you away with me, my sweet loves!  I’ve always wished that we could live our lives together!  But all I can say to everyone is—PLEASE PRAY FOR MY CHILDREN—THEY LIVE ON A WING AND A PRAYER!

Saving Private Ryan /Deserae’s and Ryan’s Hope

Movies we watch, books we read, and favorite television programs tell a lot about a person’s character.  I have never been able to sit through a war film and Saving Private Ryan was just such a film I would never choose to see.  That and most of Mel Gibson’s films that are absolutely “in your face violent and gory” including The Passion of Christ which I felt was a total exploitation of the violence of the Crucifixion.  I walked out on it during the first 15 minutes; sat in my car and cried for the next half an hour.  It was just too close to home for me.

But hearing about my son-in-law, Ryan’s, friend Ryan and what he was facing at this particular time—killing innocent victims in Iraq or killing himself— really made me question our society’s addiction to war and violence.  Is war just an outward indicator of an inward need not being met?  Perhaps a need to reach out for love, tenderness and oneness—which is the reality of who we are as a human family living here upon this planet.  And could violence merely be a symptom of unsuppressed sexual needs that aren’t being met?  It’s interesting that in one of my favorite TV series Criminal Minds (now there’s a dichotomy for you— I’m actually curious about what triggers people to become serial killers) that most violent crimes are committed by those who were sexually abused as children and become seriously messed-up sexually as adults.  Is it any wonder we have so much illicit sex and violence at the movie theaters and on our TV screens?  We are typically damaged as children concerning “normal” sex and continue on with our dysfunctions as adults.  When will it ever change?  I vote to change it NOW!

Some of Ryan’s favorite TV programs are from the Discovery Channel.  He records a lot of them and we watch them rather than rent movies.  After watching one called “The History of Sex,” Ryan and I had an interesting discussion concerning the typical mating patterns of most mammals.  It’s interesting that most of them live in herds or “tribal communities” where polygamy (or polyamory, if you will) is the norm.  Take for instance, the Rhesus monkeys (I think)—they mate every time they get a chance and are well-known for their peaceful community existence.  And even in indigenous “human tribes” polygamy is certainly a way of life or sexual lifestyle choice.  Could this be one of the reasons why our modern monogamous society is so violent and prone to war?  Could sexual suppression be a key-note factor here?  Something to think about anyway.

One of Deserae’s “dreams” is to create a film-making studio in Montana where they can have the film-making crew and equipment right there available in Missoula to produce movies.  She spent a lot of time while I was there meeting with her colleagues and investors to get this project off the ground.  I certainly hope and pray she’s successful with her vision, and if anyone can be successful at anything—Deserae can.  She’s been incredibly successful at her modeling/photography business called “Jules Talent and Modeling Agency” which she and her sister, Aubrey, started several years ago.  Aubrey left it all behind (like I’d done) when her and her husband, Mike, got disenchanted living at “Higher Ground” with her father and trying to build a house there.  They left disgruntled and moved down to Utah to start a new life and career there.  Aubrey just went through a recent divorce and is now starting her new career as a public broadcast journalist on the Valley Channel in Logan, Utah.  Please pray for her transition through this painful process of divorce and her future success in her new “single” lifestyle and career.

It has always been one of my visions to produce my book, Heartsong, into a movie—which is about my backwoods polygamous lifestyle in Montana.  I also have a dream of creating a “Heartsong Living Center” in Missoula, Montana where I can visit my kids and grandkids on a regular basis in a picturesque setting.  I feel  I have a rich background of holistic health experience and expertise that could help a lot of people throughout the world using Heartsong Living Centers as a vehicle.  The only thing between all of our dreams and visions is—time and money—and perhaps the energy involved in putting it all together.  I’m beginning my new book, Secrets of the Ageless, this week which documents the holistic health secrets I’ve discovered and uncovered throughout the thirty some-odd years of my life as a holistic health practitioner.  I’m also putting together a new heartsonglivingcenter.com website to accommodate my books and products that will help support the regimes I have outlined.  Again, please pray for my success.

A lot of people have accused me of being on a “warpath” in my vocalizing some of the passion I have towards the injustice I see in the political, religious and health arenas.  I believe that if we don’t stand up for our rights as American Citizens and Human Beings on this planet, that these inalienable rights to our personal pursuit of health, wealth and happiness will be taken away from us.  It is our First Amendment Rights to believe in whatever spiritual path we choose as a religious right as long as it doesn’t harm or interfere with the rights of others.  If we don’t stand up for our rights—these rights will be usurped and/or taken away.  That is why I feel so passionate to “write about our rights” as my personal “voice crying in the wilderness.”  I hope and pray others will join me in this crusade toward freedom and liberty for all.  

Thanks again for listening to me and even if there is only one person who “has their ears on” it has been worth the time and effort to write this.  As Deborah King so aptly stated in her books and radio programs “journaling is one of the best forms of healing.”  Thank-you for participating in my healing (and perhaps yours).  Also please pray for me and my children—and our success in manifesting our visions.  There is incredible power in unified prayer so please pray for “heaven on earth” to be manifest here on planet earth.  Thank-you again.

Believe in True Religion

When Ariel, Sienna and I disembarked from our plane in Las Vegas, I realized why I had flown with Ariel in the first place—it’s difficult being pregnant and flying with a two-year-old, carrying luggage and a heavy diaper bag!  Ariel really needed my help!  So if all things in the universe are perfect, I needed to have my emotional melt-down so I could become completely present for all my children’s needs.  After I realized that there wasn’t anything else I could presently do for my children living in Montana, I prayed a silent prayer for each of them and then turned it over to God.  “Let go and let God,” as one of my favorite author/lecturers Wayne Dyer always says.

Ariel wanted to do some shopping for maternity and children’s clothes at the Fashion Mall in Las Vegas, so we headed there for lunch and shopping.  After a challenging lunch at The California Pizza Company, trying to appease Sienna’s two-year-old appetite for a particular type of pizza (I’ve decided that two-year-olds rule the world!) I sat down at a small table just as the Fashion Mall’s fashion show was just about to begin.  I volunteered to tend Sienna while Ariel took her time shopping as we were both more interested in the models strutting down the elevated run-way then we were cruising for clothes.

Living in Vegas for two years near the Fashion Mall, Brad and I were familiar with the fashion shows they hosted daily.  And having all four of my daughters model as run-way and print models (my two sons and two younger daughters are just now breaking into the modeling industry) I’ve gotten used to watching fashion shows on a regular basis.  This particular show was featuring “True Religion Jeans” and when I noticed their logo on the back wall, I couldn’t help but chuckle inside.

Why should I be so surprised that today’s “true religion” is about owning a thrashed “designer” pair of jeans with a logo of a Buddha sporting a guitar with a thumbs-up signal on the back?  What was so ridiculously funny was the obvious dichotomy in the image as one of Buddhism primary religious tenets is “desire is the beginning of all suffering.”  As the fashion show finished and Sienna and I took a toddler’s tour of the Mall’s “soup de jour” commodities, Sienna soon fell into her own newly discovered “desire”—riding the escalators.  After a half dozen rides up and down the escalator, Ariel called on her cell phone, indicating that she was done shopping and was wondering where we were.  I waved to her from the upper level, and rode the escalator down one more time with Sienna.  As we were leaving the fashion show area, I noticed another interesting advertising image for Criss Angel’s magic show called “Believe” debuting at the Luxor.  Again I was fascinated by the subliminal imagery of this particular logo (featured below):

When I first noticed the poster, I didn’t realize (real eyes) that the two letters on each end were smudged out to reveal the word “lie” clearly visible to the subconscious mind.  Also, Criss is wearing the symbols of the cross and the merging of the male/female symbols on his chest clearly suggesting (in a subliminal way) that the mergence between the male/female energies (marriage) and Christianity are both “lies.”  Also, the white rabbit behind the curtain with the “shhhh” finger signal could also suggest that perhaps the truth is secretly hidden down a proverbial “rabbit-hole” path that Criss is about to unveil.  Images are powerful to the subconscious as they are automatically absorbed by the intuitive mind bypassing the rational mind which acts as the “mind-monitor” or filter.  That’s why it’s important that we are completely conscious wherever we go and with whatever we are exposed to as subliminal imagery can deeply influence you and really mess with your mind.

Now Criss Angel is an interesting character if you’ve been following his career at all.  I’ve seen him on the A&E Network show Criss Angel Mindfreak.  His illusions included walking on water, levitating above the Luxor Hotel, floating between two buildings, causing a Lamborghini to disappear, cutting himself in half in full view of an audience and getting run over by a steamroller while lying face-down on a bed of glass. The show was criticized for relying on camera tricks, editing, and stooges to perform tricks that could not really be performed in front of a live audience.  (Some information I borrowed from the Internet.)

I also saw him on the show Phenomenon, as a judge with Uri Geller and other “bona-fide” magicians who were judges for paranormal and/or magic acts.  In a CNN interview concerning the show Criss Angel told Larry King "no one has the ability, that I'm aware of, to do anything supernatural, psychic, talk to the dead, etc.  And that was what I said I was going to do with Phenomenon.  If somebody goes on that show and claims to have supernatural psychic ability, I'm going to bust [him] live and on television.”

On the Halloween (October 31, 2007) episode of the reality show Phenomenon, paranormalist, Jim Callahan, performed a summoning, purportedly of author Raymond Hill, to help discover the contents of a locked box.  Although fellow judge Uri Geller praised the performance, Angel called it "comical" and subsequently challenged both Callahan and Geller to guess the contents of two envelopes he pulled out of his pocket, offering a million dollars of his own money to whoever could do so. This led to an argument between Callahan and Angel, during which Callahan walked toward Angel and called him an "ideological bigot.” The two of them had to be pulled apart as the show promptly went to a commercial break.  Angel has since revealed the contents of one envelope and at the unveiling after challenging Geller one more time. Geller responded, "Although we were born one day apart—I was born on the 20th of December and you on the 19^th—a lot of years between us—40 years.  You were one year old when I came out with my spoon bending..." Criss Angel cut him off at this point, saying, "I guess this is a 'no,'" and proceeded to open the envelope. The envelope contained an index card with the numbers "911" printed on it for September 11, 2001.  Criss' explanation was this: "If on 9/10 somebody could have predicted that 9/11 was going to happen, they could have saved thousands of lives".

Brad and I are just starting into our new study of “remote viewing” where scientists and researchers have discovered that it is possible to “remote view” the future and also “remote influence” future events.  (See the movies, Men Who Stare at Goats, and Inception for more information on remote viewing and influencing.)  In the introduction to the course, written and produced by Gerald O’Donnell, he states:

With this course, you will learn to Remote Influence thought and through it create your reality.  We are about to embark on a stupendous journey—a journey through the wonders of your inner mind—the inner magical world of yourself.

This course, in its entirety, is about you.  You will discover your infinite power; your power to change and affect your entire world, to influence your life, as well as others for the better.  This power, your birthright, awaits within you.  It has nothing to do with money, social status, or education.  It is the power of manifesting your thoughts.

It is an inner force that all of you possess which will apply its infinite power to accommodate and project to you the world that you desire, the reality that you truly envision with dedicated mental imaginative concentration.  Since this world (Creational matrix system) has managed to trap you and convince you of the idea of scarcity and limitations, you will be taught to go beyond these restrictions caused by your belief systems.  You are the most important part of your Creation.

You are all parts of the One.  The son, as you, is but the manifestation of the Father, as your subconscious Highest Self, who will manifest to you the reality that you have highly energized and believed in through the housing that the Mother, manifesting and vibrating matter, will permit within her operational rules.  You all originate from the ultimate energy.  And as such you maintain and carry the characteristics of the One Mind, the One Self, which is the power to affect reality through thought and its manifestation when it blends with high energy.  The Son, as the manifestation of thought that you experience, is the Father.  The Father as your deepest subconscious thought (the Over Self or Superconsciousness of One), will become the Son as the manifestation of it.  What within, so without.  Nevertheless, what without is not what is necessarily within.  You do not necessarily consciously think what you experience without.  The Son is not the entire Father, in perception, not yet.  He is not the Over Self yet.  However, they were, are, and will always remain but One. For the conscious, slow, linear, critical mind does not necessarily realize that it is creating its whole world by the thoughts that it carries at the level of the highly energized subconscious thought realm of the Father.

The Father, as the Creator, is the Son, as the Created, and Creation.  The Father expresses Himself through the Son.  He begets the son and the world in which the son is surrounded.  For that, the Father enters the feminine subconscious aspect of Mother Nature, who vibrates and keeps the Vibratory light programming of matter.  In that creative act, Mother Nature then gives birth to the projected reality of the Son.  You are all the Father’s active sons:  men and women alike—you are the active parts.

I’ve remote viewed and remote influenced consciously and unconsciously most of my life.  We all do whether or not we want to take the credit for our current situation or “life’s creation” as our personal act of remote influencing.  Life actually is exactly that—a product of our thoughts and beliefs.  If we aren’t happy with our present creation—we do have the power to change it as we change our minds or thoughts.

Just to have fun experimenting with it, the other day at our townhouse community barbeque and drawing, I decided to remote influence the drawing.  I ended up winning a $200 discount on the next month’s rent!  Also, subconsciously I must have remote influenced our car getting home safely from Michele’s “after-burn” party where Brad and I both had a bit too much to drink and forgot to fill our gas tank on the way home.  We ended up running out of gas in our drive-way.  Can you be-lie-ve it?  It truly did happen—I’m not telling you a lie!

Blessings to all my “Beloveds” out there who are listening to my “yarns.”  Yes, I own that my life is my own creation—and I enjoy sharing my life’s experience with my beloved family and friends.  LOLLA (Lots of Love, Light and Laughter Always) J. Bird (wanting to be naked on Little Beach in Maui ;)