I suppose some slight history might be necessary - I fear this writing shall be long, too long for some with PTSD to fully sit through, don't give up, take it in small chunks. I am the youngest of eight children, born 5 yrs after my closest sibling. My dad retired from his career military when I was two, so while I did not travel as much as the rest of my family, we still moved often. Until the day my dad flew over this small town and saw this BIG, OLD house and fell in love. He than uprooted us, since his work was not in the current town and moved us there. We moved into, at the time, a 104 yr old house that had once been part of the original fort of the town. In the olden days it was considered a mansion, but simply due to size since it only had, 2 normal size bedrooms, 2 tiny bedrooms, 1 1/2 bath, kitchen, pantry, family room and living room. The basement was not even 1/3 of the size of the foundation. I could add a lot of things about the town, the house, perception, etc but that is off track of this telling so I will leave those for another time. Needless to say, old houses equal old haunts, literally. I have only one memory of where we lived before I was two. I remember the day we moved at two and have sparatic memories at best from than on. I was eight when we moved into the scary, large house that made A LOT of noises. Being the youngest, my older siblings were not patient with me (not many older siblings are), would tease me about my fears, and would try to "grow me up" by making me let go of my mother and face my fears alone. Wanting their approval and all of this is very normal in any family, I did what they taunted me to do. What I did not understand though was that this old house was haunted. I know that many do not believe in hauntings, yet I am here to verify that there is a spirit (ghost most would call) that lives in our mortal bodies and that when the flesh dies, this spirit is set free. From the teachings of my church I know very little of the spirit world, except that it is still here, on this earth and because of the natural man, most are unable to see it, feel it, or confirm its existence. Many struggle daily and have made it their lifes work to uncover the spirit world or "catch" technologically something from the "other side". Those of us who have experienced interactions with, can either be frightened or enlightened. I chose to be enlightened. I am not saying that living in a haunted house was not frightening or at times terrifying, I am saying that as I have grown in mind and body, I have accepted and acknowledge that which must exist for life to continue on, as I hold in my beliefs.
Due to growing up in a haunted house and other experiences in my growing up years and since my PTSD, the reading of this book has made me very emotional. Things you feel and yet do not know how to express are suddenly shown to me as I read. I am not saying that I have had a near death experience for I have not. Yet I do not believe that one has to almost die to have the gifts of the spirit world opened occasionally. I have thought long and hard about what going through all of this has meant, for what purpose and for good can I bring from it? My mind sticks saying I don't have the right words anymore, the presence, for who am I to think I can do this and why? I do not know my role here, I simply know that I can help if I am allowed. If I am in tune and open, I have a wonderful gift of discernment that for years have granted me access to other peoples lives. I often have wondered why people feel they can tell me anything, share with me private thoughts and emotions and it has humbled me to no end when they do. I honestly do not know if anything I say to them helps in any way, yet if it would only allow them a moment of peace or a thought to a solution that they find through chatting, than it is worth it to me. I won't know until I pass this life I guess whether or not it was all me just being full of myself or whether I really assisted someone, somewhere in healing, thinking, or finding solutions. I really hope it is the latter, I have enough faults that constantly play through my mind that I find adding more to the list decimates me and throws me into depression.
The title of the book is Visions of Glory as told to John Pontius. It is available in the US in the public libraries to borrow; therefore, I am sure it is available on the internet to purchase. I shall be looking to find it there, for I am only on page 56 and have already found myself searching for paper and pen, highlighter, anything so that I can go back and revisit the clarity a passage brought to me. I, as anyone else who reads it, need to remember that it is one man's revelation regarding his life. Each of us is privy to our own and shouldn't look to someone else's as predictions of the future. Their life and future may have nothing to do with our own. To quote on of my dad's favorite poems "Bag of Tools"...
Isn't it strange how princes and kings,
and clowns that caper in sawdust rings,
and common people, like you and me,
are builders for eternity?
Each is given a list of rules;
a shapeless mass; a bag of tools.
And each must fashion, ere life is flown,
A stumbling block, or a Stepping-Stone.
-RL Sharpe
and clowns that caper in sawdust rings,
and common people, like you and me,
are builders for eternity?
Each is given a list of rules;
a shapeless mass; a bag of tools.
And each must fashion, ere life is flown,
A stumbling block, or a Stepping-Stone.
-RL Sharpe
Yes, isn't it strange. Paix (peace)
