Judebaker's Blog

     In 1990, I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder.  This is a disorder directly associated with trauma.  In 2000, I was also diagnosed with disossiative disorder.  This disorder probably started around the time I was being sexually and physically assaulted.

     PTSD as it is most commonly referred to causes under extreme stress, flashbacks.  These flashbacks are directly related to the trauma that brought about the disorder to begin with.  In my case, I would flash back to the abuses, actually reliving and experiencing the same pain and terror as when it actually occurred.  These flashbacks will also occur when one who suffers from PTSD considers himself/herself in a threatened position.  Ex:  Innocently, a friend came up from behind me and grabbed me around my arms,  I immediately went back physchologically to my assaults.  The sexual battery inflicted on me lasted for nearly 5 years, beginning when I was 7 years old.  I also attempted my first suicide at 7 years old.  At the same time that I was being sexually attacked, I was being physically and emotionally tortured by a parent, ex;  during one of her attacks, she poisoned my dog and made me watch while he died.  Many of my flashbacks will include this scene.  It's important for people to understand that when someone living with PTSD have the episodes, we are actually reliving them.  I am there and it is happening to me again.  The disossiative disorder also started around the same time.  When I was being attacked, I would simply "go away".  I had alter personalities or fragments of my own personality that would take over in order to keep me safe.  It is important also that I say that disossiative or personality disorder is NOT multiple personality disorder.  I currently have two alters.  When I am stressed beyond control or feel threatened in anyway, one or both take over.  They both reinforce what I am incapable at the time of doing, they remind me that I am safe, and no one is going to hurt me.

     These disorder ARE treatable, and with proper therapy and controlled medication, as well as learning stress control techniques, the ptsd and disossiative episodes are less frequent and don't go as deep.

     If you or some one you know is suffering with one or both of these disorders, and if they are not already getting the attention they need, please strongly encourage them to seek help.  We are not responsible for what happened to us, but we must take responsibility for taking care of ourselves, and only through treatment can these disorders controlled.

Much love and peace,

 br. Jude

     When I turned sixteen I got permission from my father to test for my driver's license.  I you think back to when you received your license I don't need to tell you the excitement that new found sense of freedom gave you.  My dad was a high ranking police officer with our state's police force and a man I love and respected more than any human being on the planet.

     A week or so after obtaining my license, three school friends of mine came to me at school one day and told me about this great rock concert that was being held the next weekend.  They had come up with the idea that since I had my license and they didn't, (I immediately knew where this was going) that we would tell our parents that we wanted to spend the weekend at someone's house and instead take off and go to the concert.  Are you crazy I said, we'll never get away with this.  Sure we will, just tell your "old man" that we want to take in a drive-in movie and need a car.  First of all I said with intense anger, don't you ever refer to my dad as "old man" again unless you want to eat your teeth.  They apologized, not out of fear of any physical retaliation from me, they wanted transportation and if you'll pardon the pun, I held the keys.

     After hearing about the concert with such appearances such as Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, I became to excited to resist and agreed to their plan.  My father's study was just to the left of our entrance way, so when I arrived home I noticed his door was open.  I saw him sitting at his desk, knocked lightly and asked permission to speak with him.  I quickly discovered that when I lie, I stutter.  Ssssssir I asked, tttttthis wwwweekend ssssome ffffriends of mmmmine, anyway, you get the picture.  When I had finished spitting out my lie, my dad gave me a rather odd smile and told me he would let me know his decision after supper.

     Later he gave me his consent with of course the obligatory names, addresses and phone numbers.  He was still giving me that wierd smile.

     Friday came, I rushed home, his study door open, I entered and asked again for permission to borrow my mother's car, she being out of town.  He handed over the keys, and I went as calmly as I could to my room and retrieved my duffle bag which I had packed the night before.  I had to remain calm, after all, I was only spending the weekend with school friends and taking in a movie.  I drove out of the driveway slowly in case he might be looking out the window and gave a wave as I drove away.  I made it, I couldn't believe that I had actually pulled this off.

     I picked up my friend's and we were off.  One of my friend's had swiped a pack of cigarettes from his father and soon my mother's car was filled with cigarette smoke and blasting rock and roll music.

     About a mile from the border of our state, I passed a patrol car.  I told my friend's to stay cool, I was driving well within the speed limit so there was no reason why we would be pulled over.  Famous last words.  As soon as I had passed him, on went his bubble lights.  Perhaps he got called out on another call I thought to myself.  Fat chance, he pulled in behind me and turned on his siren.  Put out those cigarette's I yelled, and keep your mouths shut, I'll handle this, after all I am the son of a cop.  I waited until the officer had stepped up to my window before rolling it down.  He leaned in just as billows of cigarette smoke boiled out the window.  After a couple of lung hackers, he asked me where we were head.  To a rock concert sir I answered.  Really he replied, I hear those are great fun, never been to one myself.  No sir I said, neither had we.  I hear there's a lot of smoking and drinking goes on at those things the police officer said to me.  I heard that too sir, but we don't drink or smoke.  People as stupid as I was at that moment should be locked up, this guy had nearly strangled on our cigarette smoke and I had just said we don't smoke.  I was too stupid to live.  I heard him give a little bit of chuckle.  The next words out of his mouth nearly caused me to pee my pants.  Okay Bruce, (my birth name), you're to turn this vehicle around and head home.  There was an audible gasp from the back seat.  Sir, I asked?  You heard me, your father stationed cars at all the exits, figuring that you were going to this concert.  You're to head home, drop off your buddies and meet him in his office.  Please officer I thought to myself, pull out your revolver and shoot me, I'm a dead man anyway.  He watched traffic while I made a U turn and headed back to my impending doom.  That had to be the longest most quiet car ride in the history of automotive transportation.

     When I entered the house, I tentatively went to the door of my dad's office and knocked.  "Hey son, come in, come in, he said"  When my dad was about to play games, he repeated himself and imitated Jimmy Stewart.  "Sit down, sit down, let's have a nice chat".  Yes sir, I said.  "How was your weekend he asked me".  Well sir, considering I left here only an hour and a half ago, not so hot I responded.  "No, no, didn't think so, didn't think so", that wierd smile was back.  "Say listen, mind if I take a look at your driver's license he asked"?  No sir, I responded of course not, certain that he would take out his scissors and make mince meat of my beloved license.  He took it, looked at it for a moment and returned it.  I must have had a rather puzzled look on my face, because he asked me if I thought he was going to destroy it?  Frankly sir I said, yes I did.  "No, no (continuing with that repitition) I just figured that since you aren't going to be using it to drive for the next three months, you might on occasion enjoy taking it out and looking at it".  "Was I mistaken"?  No sir I said, that's exactly why I wanted my license, so I could look at it.  "Perhaps it would be prudent to spare the sarcasm he retorted".  I apologized and asked if that was all.  "Is that all, and with a chuckle oh no that's not quite all, he said".  Shortly after you left and by the way what was the name of that movie you were going to see, I might take in a movied tonight my self, he asked"?  I don't quite remember sir I responded.  "No, didn't think you would remember, never mind, probably a movie about rock concerts or something and you know how I hate those".  He was the cat and I was his mouse and he had just flung me against the wall.  "Anyway shortly after you left, I couldn't help notice the grounds need reseeding, so this summer you'll work with groundskeeper and resow grass, our house sat on three acres of land.  "In addition, the house is badly in need of a paint job and I propose you get the job, now won't that be fun"?  He had just picked me up and flung me against another wall, and was throughly enjoying himself.  "Also, and if that wasn't enough he continued, your mother and I have many social engagements over the summer, so the cars need to be in top shape, so every weekend I want you to wash them inside and out".  Do you have any objections to my requests?  No sir, of course not, I just wanted out of that office before I puked.

     Very well, you're excused, I managed to pull myself out of his very expensive high back Victorian chairs and was relieved to discover that during this fun little meeting I had managed not to wet myself all over the imported leather.  I turned and walked out much more humbly than when just a few hours earlier I thought I had pulled off the scam of the century.  Oh well, that was my dad, and I dearly loved him.

If you're feeling a little blue this holiday season, perhaps if you remember some humorous event from the past it will help to add a little cheer to your day.  It certainly did mine.

 

Have a most blessed Christmas, love, br. Jude

 

     It was Christmas 1988.  It's fair to start by saying that I hate shopping, especially window shopping.  If there's anything I hate more, it's decorating.  I'm good enough at some things to accept what I am not good at in other things.  My beloved Jim was extremely talented at both.  The first few Christmas's we were together, he asked me to go shopping with him.  I didn't want to give him a bad impression, so I went with him.  As soon as I walked into the mall, the feeling of "I don't want to be here" would hit me.  I would say to Jim very quickly, you go on and shop, I'll meet you in the food court.  After an hour or so, I would see Jim walking into the food court, his head leaning slightly to the side, (this was his way of pouting) and I would immediately know that I was in for a lecture.  I was never disappointed.  Jim had a wonderful way of making Christmas a magic land.  It never ceased to amaze me where and how he would find the materials from which he would change a room into whatever he wanted it to be.

     Anyway, after a few times, he stopped asking me to go shopping with him.  I think he was afraid I would cause us to go broke from eating in all the food courts.  Allow me to say that I didn't always eat, I love watching people and had many ideas for my writings come from watching people dart here and there.

     The night we or rather he decorated our home, I was downstairs watching "It's a wonderful life" for about the zillionth time, minding my own business.  Jim came downstairs and had this very mournful look on his face.  He came over and sat next to me on the couch, my initial reaction was to say WHAT, I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!!!  He told me how bad he felt, never allowing me to help with the decorations and since this was our first Christmas in our new home, he wanted me to decorate the tree.  Dear God in Heaven I thought to myself.  Of all things to decorate, the tree.  The first thing most people see when they enter a room for a festive holiday party, the tree, please just shoot me now.  Oh that's okay I responded, giving just a mild expression of hurt.  I understand.  You do it so much better than I, so it's okay.  No, no he said, this year, you're going to decorate the tree.

     After saying several Novena's, I commence to decorate THE TREE.  Jim had gone back upstairs and left me to my chore.  I placed the tree in a corner near our stone fireplace, but made sure it was a safe distance away from the fire itself.  I opened our thirty different boxes containing enough ornaments to decorate Time Square with enough left over to light up the Eiffle Tower.  I unsnarled our forty strands of tree lights,(and I'm not exaggerating), forty strands.

     When I finished, which by the way had taken me nearly two hours, I called to Jim and asked him to come down and take a look.  He came into the living room, walked this way and that around the tree, looking it up and down.  I felt like I was back in the military going through inspection.  After a couple of minutes, he said why don't you move this bulb to there and that one over here, too many lights, take off some of the garland and oh yes, the star on top is crooked.

     Okay, I didn't say anything, except sure, why don't you go on back upstairs and when I finished making the adjustments you can come down and take a look.  Alrighty he said and gave me a peck on the cheek.  I wanted to bite him.  He went upstairs, I went into the kitchen, got a soda out of the refigerator, went back into the living room just for an encore presentation of you guessed it "It's a wonderful life".  After about an hour, I got up went over to the tree, gave it a shake, got a napkin off the bar and called to Jim.  When he entered the living room, I was patting my brow and humming some God forsaken Christmas carol.  He walked over to the tree, walked this way and that, came over to me, gave me a big hug and said that he couldn't have done a better job himself.  He was very proud of me he said and went back upstairs to finish his decorating.  For the briefest of moments I felt guilty and thought about telling him the truth.  The I regained my sanity and finished watching you know what.

HAVE A HAPPY HOLIDAY EVERYONE, love br. Jude

    Most of the people who have visited me know that I am a monk.  I live in a monastery in Georgia.

    We eat our midday meal, (which is our main meal of the day) in silence.  That is to say, we don't talk during meals.  We do have a monk selected every week who reads to us during our main meal. The selection varies from some form of spiritual reading to not long ago we read about Seabuscuit.  Most of the time I tend in all honesty to "zone out" during these readings. However, last week the biography of Mother Theresa of Calcutta was being read to us.  I suddenly heard something read that really caught my attention.  For me it was a revelation that I needed so much.

     One day a young Indian girl came to the home of Mother Theresa, actually it wasn't her home personally, but the home where she and the nun's in her charge lived.  This young girl was carrying her desparately ill infant.  Mother took a look at the child and knew there was nothing that could be done.  She brought the girl and her child into her home, made them as comfortable as possible and sat with this young Indian girl while her child died.

     Mother spoke very gently and softly to this young grieving mother.  She told her that when God gives a life, he does so with all the love he has.  Sometimes God for reasons known only to Him takes that gift back.  If God in His infinite mercy can take a soul from himself and give it to a mere mortal to care for, we must try if the times comes to return this most precious gift with as much love as we have. 

     Mother witnessed much suffering and dying in her beloved India.  No matter how many times s assisted in the burial of a loved one, she always embraced the grieving mother, father, or child and whispered ever so softly to them, give them back to God with all the love you felt for them while they were with you. You see, people never belong to us. They are merely lent to us.  This is why we should cherish not only the people we love, but people everywhere, because it is only through love that God's spirit can be healing to a world full of hurt.

     What I have written, is not quoted from Mother's biography, I used my own words to express how Mother's help to that young peasant Indian girl touched my heart. To any of you who may be grieving, think about how much you loved the person who is no longer with you and offer your love instead of your grief to God in thanksgiving for having been given such a wonderful gift.

 

     There was a gentleman whom I shall name John.  John awoke with a jolt, it was 2:00am.  This was nothing unusual, John hadn't been getting a full nights sleep in months.  He pulled himself out of his bed, lumbered into the bathroom and bent over the bathroom sink, just staring into the darkness.  Finally, he gathered enough energy and turned on the light.  What stared back him in the mirror only served to increase sense of loss and pain.  What once had been a face filled with joy and eager anticipation of the future was now blank and lifeless.  Eyes that sparkled at each new achievement, dull and empty.

     John managed to get dressed, retrieved his car keys from the hallway, got into his car and just drove.  After an undetermined amount of time he found himself pulling over in a lot that had a scenic overlook of the Pacific ocean.  He walked over, climbed over the wall that held posted warning signs and went over to the edge of the cliff.  He stared out across the ocean, black with the night, hearing the crashing of the waves beneath him and suddenly felt a sense of relief.  This sense coming from his realization that soon it would all be over.  He took a step forward, and just as he was about to take that final step, he heard a voice call out from the shadows of trees that he stood near.  "You don't really want to do that".  Go away and leave me alone John cried out angrily, this is none of your business.  John started to lean forward toward the abyss beneath him when he heard the man say again, "you don't want to do that".

     Great John thought to himself, my last seconds on earth and I run into a shrink wannabe.  Look just go away will you John replied?  But instead of going away, the voice came back and said to John, "if you had one wish what would it be"?  Terrific John heard himself say out loud, not only a shrink wannabe, but a nut job to boot.  After a few unchosen curse words, John replied to this shadow voice, "look if I play your stupid damn game, will you then go away?  Answer my question, what would your wish me was the only come back.

     Fine, I would uh, er, wait, this is what I would wish for John said, I would wish that I could go back to my youth, knowing what I know now and start all over.  There I've told you my wish, now get the hell out of here John angrily shouted.

     Suddenly John found himself back at his high school, surrounded by the faces of friends long forgotten.  He looked down at himself and began laughing, he was wearing clothes that he wore during those days, bell bottoms, platform shoes and he could feel his hair was down to his shoulders.  Son of a b.... he thought to himself, I'm back, I'm really back.  It suddenly dawned on him that his wish had been granted.  He was back in his youth and yet knew what the future held.  He also suddenly realized that he not only knew what the future held for him, but he also knew the future of those people whom he had known so many years before.  There's Mike, he was killed in a car wreck the night before graduation, Sue,  I heard that she gotten married and divorced five times, Sue was voted the most likely to succeed.  All the others, people from whom he had not heard in years were there, walking past him, oblivious to his presense.  John found himself feeling even more miserable, he didn't want to be back there, didn't want to look into those faces filled with hope and dreams, some fulfilled, others not.

     From somewhere inside his head, John heard that familiar voice from the shadows ask him if he was ready to come back.  In a whisper filled with pain, yes John answered, bring me back.

     As suddenly as he had disappeared from the edge of that cliff, he was back.  John looked out briefly and then screaming out a sob of primoridial porportions, collapsed to the ground, clutching his legs into his abdoman, trying to squeeze out the utter dispair he was feeling.

     With tear filled eyes, John looked up and watched the man from the shadows walk towards him.  He reached down and with hands as tender as a father picking up his child who had fallen, lifted John up so that they were face to face.  The clouds that had blocked the light of the moon as if on command parted revealing the face of the man from the shadows.  John heard himself gasp, it was his face, only it was different.  Instead of a face void of emotion and hope, John saw a face lined with creases from years of joy and contentment.  Instead of eyes blank and unseeing, John saw eyes filled with knowledge and hope.  The man's hair was almost white, but not from worry or dread, but from years of having lived and not just existed.  His wrinkled hands were not those of fists balled up in anger, but soft and inviting as if saying allow these hands to help you.

     The face from the shadows, John's face, smiled at him, a smile so warm and full of life that it was hard to gaze upon.  The John heard the man's voice, his voice say softly, come grow old with me for the best is yet to be.

     I remember a day so very long ago, yet it seems only yesterday.  I was running with my friends through a stream laughing and shouting, carefree as all children should be.

     We chose up sides and played king of the stream.  Each team would take a side of the stream and would attack the other team.  Whoever fell in the water was out.  It wouldn't take long before we would be laughing so hard that we would all just fall in the water.  No one really wanted to be king because, we were friends and we would always be friends so being the king wasn't important.

     Finally drenched to the bone, we would like on the grass next to the stream, attempting to dry off before going home.  I looked up at the warm summer sun, a soft breeze would occasionally blow  the leaves between my eyes and the brightness of the sun creating an almost hypnotic effect, like having a person swing a gold watch in front of your eyes.

     I glanced over at my friends, they too were gazing up, lost in their own small world at that moment.  We all felt the same thing, absolute peace and contentment.  What other terrors might await us later didn't matter, we were together, we were friends and comrades and it would always be just like it was that day.

     Fifty years have passed since that day, I revisited that same stream a few years ago.  What in our minds was a raging torrent, destined to sweep us away at any given moment was simply a small brook, clogged with all sorts of debris.  The hills we considered mountains were nothing more than small lumps of earth, now covered with mud and garbage, eroded away with time.

     Even with the changes I saw that day, I could still hear the laughter of my friends and I.  I closed my eyes and watched as we ran through the fields, splashed in this raging river and lay on emeralds beds of grass.

     Someone once said, "you can never go back".  There is probably much truth to that statement, but I went back, I revisited my youth.  All I had to do was look through the eyes of a child.

Did you ever feel like you didn't belong any where? That's how I'm feeling right now. I think I have some idea of how a child who lives in an orphanage must feel. It's announced by the headmistress that perspective parents are going to take a look at all the children and perhaps select that lucky child who will become a member of their family. We all line up at the foot of our beds. Stand straight we're told, comb your hair, button up that shirt and for God's sake, don't say anything stupid. So there I am, standing at the end of my bed, hair combed, shirt buttoned, saying nothing. In they come, walking down the middle of the isle looking at this one and that, sometimes pausing for a second but mostly just walking on by. They approach me, give me a once over and keep on walking. What did I do I think to myself. I didn't say anything, maybe that was my mistake or maybe I combed my hair the wrong way, I must have done something. The would be parents finally stop, look down at a child, say something to the person in charge and they take the child with them. Why didn't they want me? Am I too old, too young, maybe to skinny or too fat. I smile too much, I didn't smile enough. I was too serious, I shouldn't have been so serious. It's me, it's always been me. Do I sound as if I'm indulging myself in self-pity? Perhaps I am. The holidays have always been difficult for me, this year is proving to be the worst in a long time. Should a monk feel lost? Probably not, I live in a monastery, I'm serving God and my fellow human beings, so I shouldn't be feeling like that kid that nobody wants, but I do. Some might say that I'm self-absorbed, other's have so little, what do I have to groan about? Nothing, but right now I can't help but feeling lost, groping my way through darkness, attempting to find my way out and can't. Anyway, I decided to write this because with all the wonderful things you my friends and you are truly my friends have said I know that you'll understand.

I am obviously more computer stupid than I originally thought.  I thought I had followed the very gracious instructions given me to open up my comments, but guess not.  PULEEEEEEEZE help me again, I really want to read any and all comments from you.

thank you, br. Jude

We have just finished our last communal prayer service of the day, it's called Compline and we have received the night blessing from our abbot.

Some retire to their rooms for prayer or meditation, others find solitude in a darkened corner of our abbey church.

I have found my niche in a secluded place where I listen to the wonderful sounds of silence.  The noise of the day behind me and the quiet engulfs me into a world separate from everyday life, separating me even from the confines of the walls of the monastery.

The sounds of silence are beautiful.  One need only allow them to be.  It can be a time of reflection and meditation.  When I first enter my fortree of solitude, I perform something referred to as an examination of conscience.  I do this so as to rid myself of as many distractions as I can.  I can look back on the day and do an inventory of my behavior and interaction with members of my community or the lay people who work for and with us.  I ask myself a series of questions, (1) was I less charitable to someone, (2)did I show less kindness,(3) could I have been more generous in the giving to others of my time and spirit?

I think that in some psychic way, we are all linked or connected to one another.  To be less to one is to be less to all.  Scripture quotes Christ has having said, "what you do to the least of my brothers or(sisters), you do to me".  After these reflections, I simply pray and ask that I do better tomorrow.  No one is perfect, we are only asked to try to be more Christlike in our daily interactions with others.  Someone once said that when we stand in judgment, our accounting will not be so much as what we did, but as what we failed to do.

Once I've completed this task, I settle into the silence.  The sounds of the night bring me contentment and peace, even the rustling of the leaves when a soft breeze blows through, the scratching of crickets or an occasional hoot of an owl I find wonderfully silent.

This small spot , this dark little corner is my palace of peace where I find my serenity and for a brief period of time this is my world and I am happy.

While attending a dinner at the home of a friend, I was introduced to a gentleman named Peter Abrams.  We immediately got on well and soon became friends.  We spent much time in each others company, going out to dinner or theatre, or hours just talking.  On the second occasion of our getting together, Peter told me that he had been diagnosed with leukemia and that the doctor's gave him a year.  Considering all the losses I had already suffered, I should have been devastated at yet another, but wasn't.  Peter's aura of peace and acceptance precluded any selfish emotion I might entertain.  It was almost a year to the day of our meeting that Peter passed away.  Though I am not Jewish I was invited to attend services for him which meant a great deal to me.  The soul of this story is Peter's, I have taken the liberty to change names and places.  This Peter is for you and wherever you are, I promise I will never forget.

For Peter, his story

Picture if you can a home, complete with curtains, doilies under lamps and pictures of friends and family everywhere.  There's a piano in the corner where on special occasions mom would play her favorite sonatas.  In the living room is my pop's arm chair, worn with age, cushion sagging where he would drop himself after a long day at work.

Pop's at work now and mom is cooking dinner for her family.  The aroma of mom's cooking can be smelled all the way down the street, especially when she bakes bread or cakes.  Sometimes our supper is simple because mom says pop's check doesn't stretch as far as it use to.  That's okay, whatever my mother cooks is hot and delicious.

My name is Peter Abrams.  I have a younger sister named Miriam.  I'm going to be a lawyer when I grow up, so pop tells me that I must study hard and make good grades because getting into a good university is difficult.  Miriam wants to be a ballerina and doesn't understand why she must study so hard.  Mom is always patient with us and explains to sis that perhaps her dreams will change as she gets older and she must be prepared.  We adore our parents and would do anything to please them.  I am eleven and Miriam is eight.

We live on a street where everyone knows everyone else and we used to have wonderful street parties.  Everyone would bring something delicious to eat and of course there would always be ice cream.  We haven't had one in a long time, I asked pop about that and he said times have changed.

One night while we are sleeping, I am awakened by the sound of sirens.  Men are shouting at our neighbors and throwing rocks and bottles through windows.  This has happened before.  Sometimes after they come, people disappear.  I asked my pop what happened to Mr. & Mrs. Benjamin and their two kids Joshua and Sarah.  They were gone after one of those nights.  I notice that pop is sweating even though it isn't hot, and mom goes into the kitchen.  I hear her crying, I don't understand, what's wrong?  The next morning while I'm helping Miriam get ready for school, I hear pop tell mom that they have to get us away while there is still time.  I hear pop say that he's going to send me and Miriam to our Aunt and Uncle's.  I run into the kitchen and cry out that I don't want to leave, pop leans down to me and says that we'll discuss it later.

I decide to ask my teacher about all that's happening.  She walks into the classroom and looks like she's going to be sick, kind of like the time my friend Jimmy and I had a contest to see who could eat the most worms without throwing up. I lost.  I walk up to her desk and ask why so many children aren't in school and about those men who come only at night.  She tells me in almost a whisper that I should go back to my desk and study.  It's hard to study, more and more of my friends are gone.

That night at dinner, everyone is quiet, pop is just moving his food around on his plate, my sister notices that mom's hands are shaking and she asks mom if she is nurbus.  She's too small to be able to pronounce nervous.  Mom takes Miriam in her arms and hugs her so tightly that sis cries out that mom is hurting her.

Everyone is in bed sleeping now, except for me, I'm too excited.  My teacher told me today that I was going to receive an award for the highest marks.  I'm not telling mom and pop, I want to surprise them.  In the spring, I'll beginning studying the Torah and the Talmud.  I going to have my Bar Mitzvah and pop tells me I must be prepared.  They're going to throw a party for me and everyone will be invited, including Auntie Shumah.  I like Auntie even though she reall isn't my aunt, but she pinches my cheeks till they hurt.  I heard mom and a friend hers laughing once that Auntie Shumah attends everything, whether she's invited or not.  It's okay, everybody really likes her.  Just as I am drifting off to sleep, they come again.  I hear our neighbor across the street scream, "my baby, my baby".  I run to the windown in time to see her son Jaren wrap himself around one of the men's legs and bite him.  I started to laugh until I see the man raise his hand, he has a club and comes down hard on Jared's head.  Jared falls down, he isn't moving.  They drag the lady into one of the trucks and her husband into another one.  They are beating him as he's being dragged.  They drive away and one of the other nieghbors comes out and picks Jared up and takes him into their house.  Miriam is hiding under the bed, she's crying, I go to her and try to tell her that everything is okay, but I don't really believe that myself.  Mom and pop come running into our room and tells us to be quiet, no one is going to hurt us.

The next day at breakfast mom and pop are just staring into space.  Miriam starts to ask a question and pop screams at her to shut up.  This isn't my pop, he's never yelled at us.  Miriam cowers in her chair, pop goes over to her and apologizes and says he just tired and that he didn't mean to yell at her.

A different teacher is in our classroom today, what happened to Mrs, Scmidt I think to myself.  I go up to ask him and he glares down at me and tells that they're taking all the kikes and niggers away and it's about time.  Kikes and niggers, I've never heard those words before, I'll ask my pop what they mean tonight.  I notice that Clem and Barnett aren't in school today.  They are the only black kids we have in school.  They are really nice, just like their parents.  What's happened to them.  In the hallway, I hear some of the kids talking about Jimmy Little Elk, he's gone to.  I spoke to him once and he told me he was an Indian from out west, I teased him about taking scalps and teased my about my wearing a beanie all the time.  Once we were walking down the street, it was windy and a man in front of us looked like he was trying to hold on to his hair.  All of a sudden, his hair went flying.  Jimmy ran after it, and I thought he was going to return it to the very bald man.  Instead he start whooping that he had taken his first scalp and ran down the street.  The bald man was ruuning after him screaming to Jimmy to give him his hair back.  I finally caught up with Jimmy and we laughed so hard I thought I was going to wet myself.  Why would those men take someone as nice as Jimmy away.

At dinner that evening, I remember the words the teacher had used.  Pop I ask, what does kike and nigger mean.  Before I knew what was happening, my pop reached over and slapped me hard across the face and screamed at me to never use those word in his presence again.  He shoves himself away from the table and runs into his bedroom.  Mom goes after him and after a while comes out and kneels beside me wiping my tears.  She tells me that pop is sorry for hitting me, he's just upset, but that I must never say those words again because they are bad words created by bad men.

The next morning when I get up, mom and pop are packing.  I ask where we're going and pop just says away.  We can't go I cry, I'm getting an award and what about my Bar Mitzvah.  Maybe someday I'll understand pop tells me but they have to leave because he lost his job that morning and they must move so he can find another one.  Pop has worked hard for that place for a long time.  He's never missed a day of work and even worked when other people didn't want to.  Why did they fire you I ask, but pop doesn't answer.  He tells me to hurry and pack only my clothes and to help my sister because we have to leave right away.

As we're driving away, those men are back, some are wearing ghost costumes with pointed hoods, others wear some kind of uniforms with funny looking x's on their sleeves, others are completely bald and yelling bad words.  Pop tells me and Miriam to stay low and not to look out the window.  I do anyway.  Just as I do, I see a man holding a bottle with a rag sticking out of it.  He lights the rag and throws it through a window of our house.  Our house is on fire I scream, pop yells for me to get down and not to look out.  I suddenly discover what it means to hate.  One day I'll be back I hear myself say, I'll get even, just you wait and see, I'll be back.

Many years have passed since that day, I never became a lawyer.  Miriam married one, so I guess that counts for something.  They have two kids, Saul and Deborah named after our parents, they live in Montana and Miriam refuses to talk about those early days.

Mom and pop are gone now.  Pop died first.  I heard mom say at the services that my dad died from a broken heart.  We moved seventeen times over the years.  Pop would lose his job and we would have to move again.  Mom died not long after, I think she also died from a broken heart.

Me, I became a roamer, never being able to settle down no matter how hard I tried.  I go about giving speeches about equal and civil rights.  Some people listen most don't.  I ran into someone from the neighborhood not long ago.  For some reason I asked about Auntie Shumah, his expression turned to one of anger.  Not longer after we left he said, the men came to take her away, she fought them and tried to run.  They shoved her into a store front windown and stood and watched while she bled to death.  I want them to suffer I thought to myself, for all the pain they've inflicted on me, my family and my friends.  What's the point I hear myself ask, they don't suffer, they enjoy what they do and what's worse is they get away with it.

I heard about such things happening in places like Poland and Germany, but we lived in America when these things happened.  A small town in the south, things like that aren't suppose to happen in America.  When we moved the first time, it was 1967, now it's 1990 and these things are still happening.

We must remember, otherwise history will always repeat itself.  I will never forget people like my parents, Clem and Barnett, Jimmy Little Elk and all the others.

It's okay to ask yourself questions about these things, but the first question you should ask yourself is DO YOU REMEMBER?

I have lived in several metropolitan cities, and they have much in common, beautiful buildings, theatre, and exotic restaurants, basically everything anyone could want or need.  They also have something else in common, something no body wants and that is poverty.

Many times I walked down the streets of these wonderful cities and inevitably would come upon some poor soul sitting or sleeping on a cardboard box or crouching in a doorway, wearing ragged and dirty clothes.  Sometimes they would look up at me, their eyes void of hope and full of exhaustion.

I can't help but ask myself, what happened to these people?  What force propelled them into a world not entirely of their own making.  These men and women were children once, they must have had hopes and dreams and I'm sure when they as children were asked what they would like to be when they grew up, not one of them ever said, "I want to be a homeless person".

Occasionally I would see a man wearing an army fatigue.  Perhaps he had served in the military or just picked it up somewhere, it didn't matter because many of the homeless men are veterans and were unable phychologically to let go of what they had seen and done in war.  Their nightmares followed them back.

I served in Viet Nam, from our arrival the terror could be seen on these young faces.  We functioned, we followed orders, why?, we had no idea, we were there and we wanted to make it back home.  Home, when we returned we weren't met with cheers and tears for our safe return, we were met with demonstrations, pelted with rotten fruits and vegetables, I was spat on and called a baby killer.

Military men weren't the only homeless I saw, young women who appeared no older than eighteen or nineteen with three or four children all huddled together in an attempt to keep warm.  What sort of devastation had occurred in these short lives to push them into such an existance?

Generally if one asks the every day person what they think happened to these people, the response is usually the same, "they're drug addicts, alcoholics and prostitutes".  There's probably some truth to that, but they didn't start out to be drug addicts, alcoholics and prostitutes, something happened.

Time to time I worked in soup kitchens and shelters as a volunteer, I got the courage a couple of times to talk to the people who came in for some hot food and a warm shelter.  Most of the time I would get just a blank look from them, other time, the individual might be so seriously ill psychologically any coherent response was impossible.

I spoke with one of the other volunteers one night.  She had volunteered there for three years and told me in this particular city alone there were more than eight thousand homeless and the number grew everyday, imagine, eight thousand men, women and children living in one of the wealthiest country's in the world who starve each day.

I think about those poor souls everyday, the sad part is that no one is immune from the possibility of winding up on the streets, there was even an American president who died impoverished.

I am reminded when I think of these human beings of the two dolls Raggedy Anne & Andy, the dolls no body wanted because they were tattered and torn.

Some believe beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I believe beauty is in the soul of the person.  In these days of war and hate, it's rare to see the beauty in anyone or anything.  However, all one need do is look to the soul and the rare beauty that is in each of shines forth like a full harvest moon.  It's not superficial nor is it fake, but the true beauty of the heart demonstrated in the writings and deeds of the individual.  So easy it is to see this beauty, yet so many people fail in the attempt because they only seek the beauty that will answer questions of there own agendas.

The gift that has been given to Jasmine is truly a gift of the spirit and the absolute grace of its ownership can extend to all who have the wisdom to behold it.

I have seen this gift before and once it is recognized, one cannot forget the impact it has.  We touch each other in many ways and for all times.  Years from now, I will be able to look back to a time when I read the beautiful writings of a beautiful and most extraordinary young lady and I will in my prayers say, "thank you God for such a soul as Jasmine".

Before I get into this story, it's only fair that I explain a little of what my friend Jim's personality was like, he was not only a wonderful school teacher, but a gifted set designer even though he had never had formal training, he told me many times over the eighteen years we were together of his fantasy to become a broadway set designer.  Jim had all these wonderful talents and gifts, the one gift he did not have however was the gift of patience.

A friend of ours own a ballroom dance studio, Tom found out that Jim liked to do original decorations and hired him to decorate for his holiday parties.  The first party Jim decorated was for halloween.  Before the Bronx zoo closed for the season, Jim took a tape recorder and recorded various growls and howls of the animals.  He made monsters of all shapes and sizes from manequins and placed recordings inside each monster, setting timers so that they would go off at intervals creating an echo effect.  He also kept a control switch which he put together with him so that when he would see a coupld dancing near a particular monster, he would hit a button and the monster would let out this horrendous scream, causing more than a few party goers to jump, it was great.  He wound up being hired privately, but had to stop because there were to many demands and too little time.  Tom hired Jim to do his Christmas party.  Jim created a toyland with various fairytale themes, Cinderella's castle, Repunzle's tower, complete with another manequin streaming with long golden hair, the three little pigs, complete with three live pigs, Tom wasn't happy about that, but let it go.  Finally Jim found an old sleigh, had his sixth grade class paint it up so that good ole St. Nick would be proud to drive it, Tom stopped Jim at having live reindeer. I hate shopping, especially window shopping, in the beginning Jim insisted that I go along and help, as soon as we entered the mall, I would say, "see you in the food court".  An hour later Jim would come searching for me, giving me one of his forlorn looks and I knew I was in for a lecture.  This happened three or four times, I always went to the food court, Jim stopped asking me, I think he was afraid we were going to go broke with all the money I was spending in the food courts, I'm surprised I didn't get to be the size of a blimp.  In Christmas of 1988, Jim and I bought a new home, it was gorgeous, our first Christmas, Jim decorated in blue and white, significant of the Virgin Mary's traditional colors, also in silver and gold for the gifts of the three wise men, the place not only sparkled from ceiling to floor, but there was an almost mystical aura of spirituality.  I was sitting in the living room, minding my own business when Jim came down from upstairs, he had this sad kind of look on his face and told me he felt horrible about not including me in decorating our new home.  I knew where this was going.  That's okay I said attempting to give the appearance of being slightly hurt and left out when all along I didn't want to decorate because I knew Jim wouldn't be happy and change whatever I did.  You're so much better at it I said attempting to placate him.  No, No he came back, I want you (Oh God,) I thought to decorate the tree.  THE TREE, YIKES!!!!!!  Of call things, the first thing people notice when they come over for a Christmas party and he wants ME to do it.  He told me he was going upstairs and would leave me alone.  So I started, I placed the tree safely in the corner of our wall to wall stone fireplace and commenced to unload the close to five hundred different decorations we had as well as the sixty strands of lights.  Yes that's right folks, sixty tangled, nerve biting, hair pulling strands of lights.  After an hour and a half, I called to Jim to come check it out.  He came down, walked around the tree looking at this way and that,(I felt like I was back in the military and going through inspection with my commander).  Finally he looked at me, smiled (I actually thought I had done good and he wasn't going to criticize my efforts) and said, maybe you could take off some of the bulbs and put them here and there, lose some of the garland, and why all the lights?  I was mortified but simple said okay, go upstairs Jim and when I'm done I call you.  He left, I got a soda from the refigerator, continued watching "It's A Wonderful Lifr" for about the bizzillion time, got up once in a while, rattled some boxes, hummed a few bars of an unknown Christmas carol.  Finally I went over to the tree, having done absolutely nothing to it, gave it a bit of a shake and called to Jim to come down and have a look.  I grabbed a napkin, pretended to wipe my sweated brow as he walked into the living room.  He again walked around the tree, looking it over, gave me a smile, came over and gave me a big hug and said he couldn't have done a better job himself, he was so proud of me,  there was no way I was going to tell him that all I did was give the damn tree a shake.  He never knew.

Two months later, in February, Jim came home from work, had a massive coronary and died in my arms. That was eighteen years ago and I've never had a Christmas tree since until last year.  I live in a monastery now, I am a monk, after a tremendous amount of pain, I assisted in decorating the tree for our monastery.  As I was finishing, I had just this slightest feeling that I should move a coupld of the Christmas ornaments, I chuckled to myself and said out loud, out of ear shot of my brother monk's, you're still doing it huh Jim?  How many times have you redecorated heaven.  Now I can look toward Christmas with peace and happiness and accept that no matter what, Jim is watching over me and..........making sure I decorate HIS way.

Have a wonderful Christmas, think of only the good things and be happy, we all deserve that. 

 Little Boy Found, An abused child’s encounter with Christ

 

 A little boy at seven years of age should be playing snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.  He should care free and happy.  At least that’s what all the text books say a boy of seven should be.

Such is not the case when he is being repeatedly raped and beaten with belts designed to hold up pants, not to be used as a weapon against a child’s back.  A child should hear that he is loved and important, not that he is worthless.  He shouldn’t be called names most of which he doesn’t even understand the meaning, only that they’re being directed at him and therefore he must be a bastard or son of a bitch.

 A child isn’t brought into this world to be used as an instrument of pleasure, or as a punching bag. When children are subjected to abuse in any form, they’re thrown into an adult world completely without preparation. They become lost in a darkness from which escape seems impossible.

I was such a child, one of many children, a statistic.  Like many children, I became prey, victimized by persons vowing love yet demonstrating behavior that was quite the opposite.

One particular night I was in my room.  I managed to finally stop the bleeding from an attack earlier in the day.  I cried into my pillow, because I certainly did not want my mother to hear me. My room was very dark.  I liked it that way, the darkness made it easier for me to hide. 

A light began to shine, softly at first then brighter and brighter.  It became so bright that I thought it was morning even though I knew I had just gone to bed.  Oddly enough, I wasn’t afraid, not even the slightest. I just laid there watching and feeling this most wonderful light. From nowhere a boy about my age was sitting next to me.  His face shined brighter than the light in the room and he wore a robe that sparkled.  I couldn’t figure out how he got into my room without anyone seeing him. Both of his hands were resting very gently on top of mine.  I noticed that there were holes in his hands.  I became afraid, not for myself but for him, because I thought like me he too was being hurt, however when I looked up at him, he was smiling at me.

Then he spoke to me, yet his lips didn’t move.  How could he be speaking to me and not move is lips, I thought.  I found myself asking him how he did that, speak without moving his lips.  He laughed slightly and told me that he was speaking with the voice of his heart and that his voice was speaking to my heart.  He also said that I would always be able to hear him if I listened with my heart and not my ears.  Strangely enough, I understood what he meant.

He told me how much he loved me and would always love me.  He also said that he would never leave me alone and I needn’t be afraid and for the first time in my short life, I wasn’t afraid.  What a wonderful feeling.  He said to me that there would many times in my life when I would be hurt and when those times came he would put his hands on my shoulders to let me know he was there with me.

As instantly as he appeared, he was gone.  What remained was that wonderfully warm glow.  I soon discovered I was the
only person who could see or feel it.  It stayed with me a long time and whenever I was about to be hurt, I would feel just the slightest pressure on my shoulders and I would know that he was there with me.

Well, time marches on; as I grew older, my cynicism grew deeper.  I had thought of that night all those years ago many times only to conclude that it was nothing more than the imagination of a tormented child.  I told myself that my life hadn’t been all bad. I did have some pleasant memories.  There were special Christmas’s and birthdays, summer vacations, times when I could make believe that all the pain hadn’t really happened at all, they were just bad dreams.

There were however times when my life in fact became too difficult.  Survivors of abuse come to believe that no one else suffers like we do and we mustn’t tell anyone about our pain.  We are bad people; we deserve being handed everyone else’s crap.  We aren’t entitled to happiness or love, that’s for normal people and we are far from being normal.  When one is told these lies repeatedly, especially if the individual is a child, we believe them to be true.

The one thing I could never discount was that at the lowest periods of my life when I was ready to chuck everything in and check out, I would feel just the slightest pressure on my shoulders and would remember the promise made by that child all those years ago in my bedroom.  So these days I’m not afraid so much, I can actually say that I am becoming a happy man because I can look at myself and smile realizing that I am no longer that lost hurt little boy, feeling alone and frightened.

Now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was never really lost.  All I have to do is stop, be quiet and listen with the ear of my heart and I know that I’m not alone, and NEITHER ARE YOU!

In March 1990, one year after the death my life partner, I decided I needed to get away from all things familiar.  I took an Alaskan cruise.  We sailed to Anchorage and then Juno.  I wasn’t interested in the tourist stuff.  I just wanted to be by myself.  In Juno, I happened to see an advertisement for a seaplane trip to an Indian village north of Juno.  I hired the plane and fortunately for me I was alone.  We circled the small village.  A few of the locals could be seen going about their daily chores oblivious to our invasion.  From the air I saw kayaks and other assorted boats on the shore of fjord.  After we landed, I left the pilot and just walked around, it was cold but the sunshine was brilliant.  As I walked, I noticed several totems and on top of each totem was an eagle with wings extended.  I walked into a small store, bought a couple of sandwiches and a soda.  I asked the man behind the cash register who was a member of this particular clan why the totems I saw were topped with figures of eagles.  He told me that to his can, the eagle was a most revered and sacred creature, they believed the eagle carried their souls to heaven when they died.  Our conversation ended with that because of other customers in the store; however, as I walked out of the store I felt a stirring inside me that I hadn’t felt since my partner passed away.  I returned to the ship, went to my cabin and wrote this song.  The inspiration comes from what I saw in that village and from what the owner of the store shared with about the eagle.The old woman begins her song.  The soul of her husband will soon leave. Her song is not a song of lament or grief, but one of pride and love. She sings to the high mountain because there lives the Guardian of her people.  From His Mountain, he can look down and see the whole world and all who live in the world. He knows all things.  He is the first born of her people, He guards the “ Path to Paradise ”, which no one may enter unless He grants his permission. It is He who sends down the great eagle to bring the souls of his people to Him. She mustn’t lie or sound boastful, this would dishonor her husband. She sings of his adventures, the many whales and walrus he has killed so that he may feed other people within the clan.  She also sings of the time he brought down the greatest of all bears with a single spear. He gave her the bear’s claws to adorn her neck.  They were much younger then and such things were important.  She wears them now because she has loved him, and loves him still. The old woman knows her husband’s time draws close.  She sees the eagle circling high above their lodge. She must sing with thanksgiving.   She watches the eagle whose wings spread from the moon to the sun float on the wind coming closer.  Suddenly it swoops down; gliding close to the earth, gathering the souls it is to bring to the Guardian who sits atop of the world. Her old husband breathes no more.  The eagle cries out to her and in its cry, tells her that all is well and her husband of many years rests on its wings and is bound for paradise. She stops her singing, a single tear drops from her eye and disappears into one of the many creases of her aged old face. She is smiling.  The cry of the great eagle has also told her that soon it will come for her and once again she will be with her husband of many years. She closes her eyes, continues to smile, for now she knows that she too will ascend to Paradise, borne up on Eagle’s wings.