Sophias Story

There are two. One is the abuser, the other abused. The latter, due to being born into it, very rarely questioned and accepted that “Thats the way it is”. Unwillingly she slid into the role of victim because she was unaware imperative and narrative at play or the fact she could say “Nay” and facilitate change. But when one is artfully broken and offered to the world as a token by one who says “Look, look at this. I am demonstrating my gift, our collective team skill because I may seem one but this truly is a group effort” as he stands back with a proud grin its hard to think like this because survival is the only thing she thinks and ways in which to reduce her “punishment” for being such an evil thing.

With a totally skewed set of judgements and perceptions of Self she alternately attempts to comply to requests before they are even fully formed as a way of preempting the vent of rage and destructive emotions from the one she feels stuck with. Other times she rebels and wishes death upon all, mostly herself, because it would bring an escape from this life of torment and suffering. The natural forces of nurturing and care within have been corrupted and twisted so much that often she barely recognizes herself. Just a fractured shell, going through the motions.

To the world an image is sent that is totally different to what lies beneath the carefully engineered veneer of he being a business man slash charitable deed doer extraordinaire. For he is rich, rich enough to live without a care and fully secure in the fact no one would dare disclose what kicks in the privacy of his residence or the fact that he allows his pillar of the community friends to come through and commit wickedness upon the poor miserable wretch who just quietly takes it. Never fights back, never says a thing. This makes him grin to know that her spirit is entirely broken and that she belongs totally to he. “A God I may not be but I’m goddamn close for she” he bellows and screams as his team, decked out in gloves so dainty, place the beats and then feast on her agony with pure delight at the entire scene.

Eyes wide shut to the true nature of the beast people think these men to be something they’re not due to the image they’ve been crafting in the minds and lives off all they meet for one can smile and smile and be a villain, indeed. This team has mastered this scheme to a level of infamy and thus whats done in the light needs a vent in the dark, especially when the entire cause has larceny in its heart. So it seeks out one they can mold at their will and whim in order to suppress the gifts she possess which are bountiful in their essence as she came equipped with a sense of empathy that could flip the entire nature of the village in which they live. She could look at people and with a glimpse they would warm in her presence as they felt the sincerity within and with a few words she could change what they think and felt as well, as their old belief systems were pulled into the glow she presents and they would become flexible and return to their essence like an ice cube placed on a ledge in direct sunshine which melts.

To these men of business that was a threat. They after all ran everything in the village and it all worked mighty well. The Chemist thought “Who would buy all of my pills, powders and potions that need constant redosing if they could simply sit with her for a moment and pull out the weed within, root, flower and stem. Never to be seen again?” “No, we can’t have this” said the massage therapist “People come looking for a quick fix when what they actually crave is contact thats intimate. I’m happy to sell the image of this but if she provides the authentic without pressing their skin so they can simply feel the change in her presence? Why that would be bad for business” he said. “I agree with him” said the purveyor of alcoholic beverages “They need a little something to dull the edge of living, a harmless habit that some find reason to over indulge in” “For good reason” I may add said the Mayor with a grin at which point they all started laughing as they knew the true nature of a wretch who was seeking Spirit and ended up drowning in spirits instead and the benefit this brings as the victim places themselves in a detrimental positions “We all know pain makes tills rings. We’re all in the business of selling remedies to suffering these fools don’t realize we’re inflicting” said the man who sells company for the night to lonely men from the stable of women he calls his “We engage in a most profitable business, both legal and illicit as both are different sides of the coin they must flip and either way, we win”. “We most certainly do” said the Banker, needing to chime in “By the way the time has come to sift some of what we’ve been syphoning, I’ve spoken to the Vicar and the Builder so were going to make it look we’re doing a drive which intends to rebuild the roof of the Church and once they pile the money in we’ll hit up our man in the Council to put his in and under the guise of donation we’ll flip our covert profits in and extract them via the businesses which are, as usual, going to get the contracts to build and renovate these things” he says with a glint in his eyes as almost as much as money he adores the position in which he sits as the “The left hand of God, talks too much methinks” said the Chairman with a grimace. “What if someone were listening to the little confession you’ve just shared” and he was right because she was there, even though no one paid her any attention and she knew the whole script, outside and in. How these men were nothing like what they seemed and truly wicked in every sense. But if she told she was scared that they might bring her life to an end. That in itself didn’t mean nothing because she wasn’t truly alive in any sense but the fact that none would believe her because of the image they had built, so well crafted and the way they controlled everything, anyone with any power was given by their decree, no matter how it may seem because they ran the entire community.

As they had done for centuries because so long ago a man deigned to conceive a scheme that would appeal to the vanity and greed of those within the village with a bit of power and some money to obtain more by signing on to his deal. Twas a most risky plan initially, one that had to be floated with great subtlety in which first he invited in all of these wealthy men under the guise of guidance and ensuring the prosperity of their little community realm. At first it was all harmless, how so and so isn’t doing so well so we all collectively will rally around him and give his business a lift and such similar events. It was easy to see why word spread because who doesn’t want a friend that opens their wallet to them and individually the contributions were small but to the one who gains the favor so immense that they were forever thankful and more than willing to pledge whatever their benefactor would accept.

Slowly those were picked who had a greater role to play and more influence as they were inducted one by one into the business of square dealing, so called because each angle was the same and geometrically perfect and this is how they wished to conduct themselves with everyone seen as vital as the other, irrespective of their current real world standing because the hymn they’d sing is “We are chosen and choose ourselves as well therefore all within are equal”. Which ensured they’d invested heavily in the fact that they were special and privy to a secret which brings more power to them, like it did to their fathers before them and who are they to question the tradition which well served them?

Flash forward to modern times and the Chairman sits pondering at the miserable wretch who, beyond everything, is still ticking when she should’ve long since drowned in the misery they surround her in. Simple, effortless, there in an instant when she was communicating with anyone as they felt her sincerity from within and it made his hatred toward her so much more intense till one day she turned to him and said “I know why you do this and there is a truth in here you won’t accept. You can claim and profess to be above them who don’t know what rests on the other side of your image but I’ve seen your true visage. Not just that extra dark one you feel comfortable exhibiting around your friends when you do what you do best, seemingly separate limbs controlled via one intent that permeates all of your actions but that silent one, the small one who lives at the end of the path you don’t dare tread”. If they weren’t in full public view he would’ve killed her this instant. “Who in the hell do you think you are talking to me like this you miserable cretin?” he said through pursed lips, ever careful of image as he placed a firm grip around her arm and pulled her close in “I haven’t even began to make you suffer yet and best believe tonight is going to be the best it can get as we’ll turn it all up a few increments” “Go ahead” she says “How long have you been doing this and how little progress? You’re too dim to realize you walked into a trap your father set just like his before him and his before him. Man would rather run up a hill that is paved in broken glass barefoot that sit and truly examine himself. I see that wound within that such men cannot help but inflict upon their children because they at that point of resonance see through the image, the who you like to think and present and thus touch the heart of darkness. Consequences of which are often tragic. Its why your recollection of your childhood is spotty at best. A few carefully culled fragments woven into a narrative then dressed with ad hoc rationalizations formed via a curious blend of a childs once upon an innocence and the tainted awareness an adult brings”

He wanted to stop her but there was something that prevents. Something deep within him that wanted to progress down that path which was sign posted “DO NOT ENTER UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH” that he had been warned back when to never even attempt to climb in. “Its for the best, Sonny Jim” said his father after inducting him “After all I didn’t get to this position by not listening to the wisdom of those who came before and this is what they said and it served me well, don’t you think?”. “So desperate for approval and scared of disappointing him. “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link” is what he said when admonishing you back when because you were there before I’d even stepped into this realm. His method of venting his darkness. Not to mention the entire facade of the day care thing which actually bought a steady stream of victims who were swiftly silenced so the image could continue ticking as people need things to invest in” she said, continuing to read him from his depths and he was powerless to resist nor could he negate what she said because the truth has a simple elegance that most will do anything to prevent it from entering their awareness. “But when it does then we wish to be entirely saturated in it because its the only way back to inner sense in this realm and not getting caught up in the tale you tell yourself. Why do you think you can’t recollect so much of your childhood then? Lets come face to face with the image and see how it stands under its own strength when scrutinized from within” “I, I don’t know. Isn’t that just how it is for everyone?” he says, for the first time unsure of himself because this was uncharted territory. Not something he specialized in as he felt himself wandering past the sign which had previously scared him but now felt not a thing thanks to her guidance. “It works like this” she said and suddenly an image popped in to his head as he heard her talking “Imagine an emotional rolodex which contains every event and sequence you’d ever experienced since a kid“. As she flicked through the tabs full bodied vivid sensations swept in to his awareness. He remembered the day he stopped to pet a kitten and his father kicked it with full strength then reprimanded him for even daring to show such weakness in full view of the village because “We are their strength and they need our guidance”. Suddenly it clicked why he’d never had a pet nor allowed his children the same, no matter how much they request. But without effort she came next to another slot which was filled with sadness at the random death of his mother which made no sense and how he wasn’t allowed to grieve but was bundled up to present a certain kind of image which was enforced via a threat of “If you don’t listen you’ll meet the same end” as he, a small child, tried to make sense of the fact his father and his friends spent the entire day with a grin then the night drinking and celebrating as they’d randomly sing “Ding dong, the witch is dead” then burst out laughing. “She took his secrets to the grave with him once she’d served her purpose” “What, what are you saying? That she was killed? No, no, it can’t be. I reject what you’re saying”. She flicked again and he eased as he felt himself lying in bed, warm and happy. The plush mattress supports him from beneath with a quilt on top to keep him cosy but its his mother sitting near and whispering in his ear about… “What is that?” I can’t hear says he as he strains to embody the memory. “See, that is what I mean” says she removing her fingers from the activating points “Come, look see”.

On one side sits a packed to the brim rolodex with countless colored tags and labels that represent access to the events and everything he has seen and been since stepping into the flesh. On the other is the same thing but only a handful of tags are present. They’ve been almost thumbed to death and the pages to which they connect are quite tattered due to repeated sifting and yet those on either side are immaculate and not accessed. “Look closer” she says “Notice anything different?”. He reaches forth a hand and pulls out a record which recalls a family outing in which he caught a fish and his father was proud of him. He tries to reach the next card but there is no tag he can grip so instead she pulls it and it fills more details in of how he hated the stink, didn’t like how the fish felt, how he was horrified about how they bled when his father reeled them in and he wondered about the consequences for the fish family that was now left with random members missing as his father and friends drank and enjoyed themselves. Eventually when one of them got a bite his placed the rod in his hands and let him reel it in and that is when his father said he was proud of him but the sarcasm was immense. “So much editing” he thinks as he looks closer at the index which now has a tag that he can grip and he recalls at once the full bodied experience. He compares the two entries in each hand, what it was and what he thinks it is and notices the first is written in a childs hand, raw and in the moment where as the other was edited again and again and is now written neatly in an adults block capitals “Hence adulterated” he says as realization kicks in and he wanders down the path to where true power lives “See the only thing worth having in this realm is what we came equipped with as children. The absence of this fuels everything from the seemingly benevolent to obviously wicked” she says as she looks at him “And, you, you aren’t mad because of what we did?” he says barely able to glimpse at her eyes in the moment due to what he is experiencing within “No, why would I be? After all you and your friends never let me forget. Its why I can access the places you’ve forgotten as this is my rolodex” she says as she points to the one fully labelled “And one who knows their Self can share that gift with any in their presence. Its why you found me to be a threat, why you suppressed me with wickedness and all of those other deeds designed to make me more like you. All so you can continue to wield the power you feel over the community whilst engaging in duplicitous deeds and much chicanery of which your children will suffer the most” “Meaning?” says he because as far as he was concerned he tried to be the best father he could be. “Watch this” says she as she flips a different rolodex, one he hasn’t seen previously that contains even less tags than he.

Suddenly he is a small boy, around three of four he feels as he quietly sneaks outside to the barn, bright and early. With him he has a saucer and some milk for the kitties as a pregnant cat recently moved in to give birth to her litter and he is thrilled at seeing this happen and each day brings them treats and plays with them before anyone else is awake or knows about his secret deal. He is so happy to see them as he is they and they start mewling in unison as he comes bearing milk their way. The trust and affection in the air is so immense he feels like he can’t breath as he’s suddenly aware of something heavy in his chest as he hears someone breathe down his neck and yank him by the scruff as he screams “Pussies play with pussies” and he throws him across the barn and watches him fall and weep. He feels so powerless, scared to the very depths of his being. The mother cat is hissing and pulling her brood in as closely as she can but that doesn’t stop he as one by one he picks them up and snaps their necks easily before stamping on the cat and leaving a bloody pile of death and misery where once were happy memories instead. “Why? Why did you do that?” he feels himself scream as his body racks with emotion ever so intensely and immense rage wells up directed purely at…

Suddenly it all stops. He is back to the state previously known as himself and he feels a sense of discomfort and turns to she “What, what just happened? We didn’t have a farm? I was never allowed to have kitties?” and then the penny drops. “Of course, that is why he acted the way he did“. Suddenly it all makes sense. “So my grandfather killed my fathers secret pets that I saw in that memory” “Correct” says she “but that sequence was edited from his memories which is why no tag was seen. However that fine day when you stooped down to pet the cat on the street…” “It reactivated a memory in he which would lead down the “DO NOT ENTER” path should he proceed and this caused an immense discomfort in he that he could neither define nor excise beyond repeating the same tyranny. Its why your children make you rage for such small things as they see life in its full spectrum and not just an edited piece. For the adulterated this means a light is shone on a dark place draped in misery and inaccessible memories that an edited narrative is placed beneath, around and above with the intent to deceive the one who lives within the vice like grip of inherited ignorance.

The man is now sobbing, all thought and pretence of image have left and all that remains are feelings that he felt was never allowed to express. His thoughts are tinged with regret, fear, pain, ambivalence. It feels like he is going crazy and then he feels her hand on his chest as she says “Remember your inner sense” and it all does fade as he comes back to something closer to his usual state. But there is a difference which he intuits is due to what he’s witnessed and there and now he can access more of his rolodex as memories previously buried alive within are now accessible and present.

Suddenly it all make sense. How people are broken on purpose and there are already institutions in place to take advantage of this shattering to further their own intent as its members inflict the same cruelty on their children because people thoroughly neglect the nature of their traumatic inheritance. Seeking instead a scapegoat upon which to vent and attempt to blame everything, a clever diversionary tactic that along with many other tricks hold so many denizens of this village in its grip as they know not they are the cause of all suffering whilst also simultaneously the potential solution as the battle between think and feel rages in the heads and chests of those who profess wisdom but are in effect ignorant of the true nature of things due to crafty diversions which guide them to try and injure the presence of their embodied salvation as Sophias story hints as well as offering an invitation to dialogue to those who know where she rests as this glimpse behind the veil suggests.

Till we meet again

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