Email dialogue with Sancho Panza, prompted by yesterday’s “I Never Promised You A Rose Garden” post. Sancho lives in New England; we have been writing back and forth a good bit since 2002, as I recall. Sancho is his chosen pen name in his dealings with me. Meaning, he tagged me as Don Quixote. His comments first, then mine.
In the name of Angels(or Demons) many horrible things have been committed! But besides that, Sloan, there seems to be a logical contradiction in your argument… for if you only do what you are “told by spirit”, how can you possibly screw anything up? It seems to me that the negative feedback mechanism you’ve described would only be necessary if your were willingly disobedient to the Angel’s wishes… which is antithetical to the very definition of what you claim to have become(by crook and hook), an unapologetic servant of God. You cannot both claim immunity, vis-a-vis, “The Angels Made me Do it”, and at the same time take credit/blame for “screwing up”! When it comes to morality, you’ve come up with the perfect defense: I am just an instrument of GOD! Why would God be in the business of electrifying and otherwise torturing his/her own limbs? That would be a schizophrenic God indeed!
But the biggest problem here is not the rationality of your moral justification for what you do or is done onto you, for even if you were correct about this trailer woman’s unconscious childhood trauma, unless you can prove that she openly and willingly told you about her molestations you could be held liable for damages to her ability to attract a mate, career opportunity, libel, defamation, etc.! But I guess that at this point, you could care less about that!? I wish that I had such morally infallible spiritual compass to direct my steps… in my life, it seems that I just stumble through one event after the other, driven mostly by fear and a need to protect myself and those close to me through some kind of territorial imperative from within.
Actually, your life seems to be a work of literature and these missives are its chronicle!
Sancho
Back in the spring of 2004, when you introduced me to Eilene and it seemed she and I might become an item, I was shown in a dream that I was going to begin some sort of female training. After that, anytime I wrote and published something that did not suit the angels, I got zapped. It left me feeling really fucked up, and really afraid, for the rest of the day and throughout the night. My outside life was fucked up, too. No rest. Contrary, if I wrote and published okay, the rest of the day and that night were idyllic. I got it right about 1 in 10 times. Meaning, about 9 days in 10, I was really fucked up.
After about a month of this, I decided I had dreamt up being told to run for the county commission. So I pulled out of that race. I became very unstable and wrote about it, maybe you recall that. About two months later, I was told in my sleep that I had been the keynote speaker at a homeless conference and didn’t even show up. I awoke in a state of pandemonium. Then things started to change, and I entered what turned out to be a two-year rehab program. It might not have taken so long, but I screwed up a couple of times, and that made it last longer than it might have. Of course, I had no idea how long the rehab program would be, and was only vaguely aware of what it was when it was going on. Retrospect helps me see better what it was. It was the new female training, albeit modified from the original template.
There had been early signs of the zap corrector dating back to 1998. Usually it showed up when I was talking with someone and crossed a line, and then it would hit me. If I backed off, changed my tact, it usually backed off and I felt okay. I remember in 2003, in a televised candidate forum, I said we should dress our cops up like pirates. I had gotten this idea during the day, a publicity stunt. So far, so good. Then I added, ”because they often act like pirates.” Zap. I had to live with the zap the rest of the forum, and the rest of the night. It was the gratutious add-on about how cops behaved that got me zapped.
A few days ago, when I was talking on the phone with the woman living in my trailer on Little Torch Key, I was leaning on her pretty hard. So far, so good. Then I leaned on her harder, and my left testicle suddenly felt like something had moved into it, to live. It hurt, but not just physically. There was a sense of something ominous. I altered my tact, it went away.
Two years ago, I left a candidate forum after speaking, and got zapped down the left side of my neck and left arm. I tried to drive away and it stayed with me. So I went back to the forum, went inside, and it went away. I heard something said that I needed to hear, and tried to leave again. This time nothing happened, so I drove away feeling okay (for me). Two of my friends went haywire on hearing of this, demanded that I go in for a medical exam. I could tell many stories like this, about the internal zapper.
How about how I met Sandy Downs. I’m driving down US 1 and pass three youngish people, maybe 20 years old at a bus stop. I often offer people at bus stops rides, but passed these three (two men and a woman) by. Zap the left side of my neck and down my right arm, like real intense pain, but not much in the ominous sense. Like go to a chiropractor pain. I drive maybe a quarter of a mile, it doesn’t let up. I turn around and head back to the bus stop. By the time I asked them if they wanted a ride, it was gone.
As we talked and they learned what I was involved in, one of them said I should meet Sandy Downs. I said I had heard of her and had heard she and I should meet, but had been unable to find out how to get in touch with her. He said he worked for her and her husband’s company. I had copies of HEAVY WAIT in the car, and gave them copies. Maybe six months later, I get a phone call from Sandy, saying she had been trying to find me for months. I don’t remember how she said she got my phone number, but she said she had read HEAVY WAIT and had given it to her father who lives in a rural Kentucky community. He liked it too. He’s somewhat older than me. Sandy and I got together for lunch.
For maybe six months, I’ve had a smallish sore on the top of my left forearm. It kept scabbing over and the scab would come off, or I would pick it off, and it would start over. Finally, it started growing and getting pussy. I started applying the Vaseline/iodine remedy given to me by the woman in my trailer, which I had used on a MRSA sore in 2008 and about which I wrote the other day. The sore on my forearm started coming around. Then, I realized the sore was coming off of her. The left side is the female side; that’s why all of this zap stuff almost always happens on the female side, although a couple of times it happened on the right side. As I dealt with the woman in my trailer, the sore started to shrink.
When I first spoke with her about what had happened in her youth, she knew I was taking about molestation. And again when we talked about HEAVY WAIT. She told me she was too busy dealing with winding down her recently-deceased father’s estate, to deal with what I had raised. I kept coming back around to her needing to do her own inside work, and she kept putting me off. Finally, I told her that maybe she was losing where she was living because she did not do her own inner work. This was late last year, before I knew I was moving back into the trailer, but I knew she had to leave.
I learned by living with four women who were molested that they had multiple personality disorder. Oddly, if you don’t believe angels arrange things, I was called day before yesterday by and elder man in the Keys, who’s been on my email list a good while and likes what I write. He wanted to get together, because he was concerned about me. This fellow is very well respected throughout the Keys.
When we met yesterday morning at his home, he told me he once had been with a woman psychiatrist, who had been molested and had dedicated her practice to working with women who had been molested. She told him that such women always turn on the people, especially men, who try to help them, and if she moved in with him, some day she would turn on him. Three years later, she kept her promise.
He was pleased to hear me call him back yesterday afternoon with news that the woman in my trailer was in the process of moving out, maybe completing by tomorrow (Friday). She said yesterday (Wednesday) that she will transfer the utilities today. The elder man didn’t want me to give her until Friday. I said I was okay with it, she was a pack rat, had gobs of stuff. And I had until 20 March to get out of my apartment in Key West.
After I made the first post about her the other day, I felt okay. But after she lit into me on the phone, I felt moderately zapped down my entire left side. I didn’t know if it was because I had screwed up, or because I had been attacked. I called a man I know well and told him about it. It started to lift. Then I received a call from a woman I know, who’s got the same problem as the woman in the trailer, and who I’ve been trying to help. What was left of the zap left me. So I took that to mean it was the result of an attack, and not due to my having screwed up.
I dreamt about this other woman earlier tonight night. I knew early on she had been molested, told her, and she said it was true. She remembered it. Probably most people don’t remember. I have seen and felt her soul courting me all along, and have been very stiff with her at times, and only once felt a tinge of the zap and it receded when I corrected my tact. She has some ability to work internally, but is undergoing a total psyche collapse. Her unconscious is unloading everything at once. Her entire world/life has been turned upside down, and I am not sanguine she’s going to get through it, with or without my and/or angelic help. She may well be headed for an institution, and if she keeps seeing a psychiatrist and taking pills, she will almost certainly end up there.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say Eilene was molested. She was really skitzy, played her cards really close to the vest. Gave out lots of come-ons in a human way, and a lot more in spirit ways, but she was wild as a March hare. I did maybe thirty soul drawings of her, and that seemed to trouble her, too, that I was seeing her likeness, au buff, without ever seeing her in a human way. Her soul really wanted to be with me, but she had no ability, it seemed, to work internally, and I saw no way for it to work out for us, because that’s a requisite to doing this kind of life I live.
Sancho, I do not operate within the limits and rules of modern mental health or pastoral counseling or depossession. There is no way to appreciate what I experience, because you have not had any thing like it happen to you. I told someone the other day that often I am put to call people out, if they won’t do the work. The call out shows other people what they might not otherwise see, which might help them, even though the one called out isn’t helped. Sacrifice one, hoping to help many, is the theory. I don’t care for it, but it’s happened many times, and I was clearly put to do it, and there was no zapping.
I told the elder man that I’d treated several psychiatrists, and an equal number of psychologists, clinical social workers, psychological counselors, addictions counselors, New Age healers, shamans, gurus, and even more ministers, and it ended poorly with all of them, although a few went pretty far before falling away. This was all I did before I was put into politics in the early 2000s, and it was pro bono. I did not go looking, they were put in front of me.
The very last thing anyone should want to do is sue me for something I said or wrote about them. It would be a pain in the ass for me, certainly, but it would be a real ordeal for the plaintiff and everyone associated with him/her. The angels would use the litigation as an invitation from the other side’s souls to turn them all every which away but loose. Every secret they ever had would be laid bare. It would be horrific. I would hate evey minute of it, even as I would keep wanting to tell them, “I told you not to do it, you would regret it.”
Don Q
On the bright side, imagine having a county commissioner with the kind of internal zapper and internal radar I have. Well, you do want to have transparency in local government, don’t you?
As for literature, I suppose time will be the judge of what is and what isn’t literature. The elder man told me yesterday that he felt older people who don’t use computers and the internet probably are more interested in what I write than younger people and people who go online. He said I need to start a newspaper for those people. Anyone have any suggestions for a newspaper?