Fidelacchius, Esperacchius, Amoracchius.

Archive for April, 2011

It has been a long, long while….. tardis distance, galaxy far far away, you get the picture. It’s been a long time to be silent. I’m sorry. It’s not like this blog has a rabid fan base, but I started a story, and every village story teller must finish the story. Why I stopped is hard to explain. My reasons changed the further I got away from it. My heart changed the longer I let it beat. But the story has not changed, and the truth (As I know it) must be told.

I am trying to do my experience justice. I have struggled since post #3. I wanted to write and continue on, but I just didn’t have the heart. I hurt to remember, to know what I learned, to know what I lost, to see what I gained. I thank God for my chance he gave me. Yet at times I hate him for the choices he put in front of me. I want this to be written, but like the petulant child, I don’t want to do the writing. I don’t want to do the homework. I find it very hard to connect my experience with people. My ego says that people cannot understand, cannot care enough for it to be worth my while. And like an ego it needs to be deflated.

I was worried that after writing it all out none of it would matter. No one would remember me for this. No one would remember this for me. I feel the pain of Nephi who struggled as he finished his record. I find it fitting to paraphrase him and hope none think ill of me for doing so. Book of Mormon, 2nd Nephi, Chapter 33

“And now I cannot write all the things which I learned; neither am I mighty in writing, like unto speaking; for when a man speaketh by the power of the Holy Ghost the power of the Holy Ghost carrieth it unto the hearts of the children of men.

But behold, there are many who will cast these things away which are written and esteem them as things of naught.

But I have written what I have written, and I esteem it as of great worth, and especially unto my people. For I pray continually for them by day, and mine eyes water my pillow by night, because of them; and I cry unto my God in faith, and I know that he will hear my cry.”

I came across the testimony of a man who did not search for god until after he had his own personal peace. He only then searched for god because realized he was not yet truly at peace. His Searching took him to many churches, many faiths, many religions. And when he found the peace he studied it, he partook of it, he spread it to others. He testified of his appreciation for receiving the “Peace which passeth all understanding” . Having felt that peace in my experience, I realized that in my arrogance, I thought that no one would understand. In my pain, I thought I could not give it to others. In my humility, I will continue to try.

I remember.

I remember the room.

A room of such simpleness that it neither drew the attention of the eye, nor a desire to study it further. It was so plain as to be both unknowingly large and small. Yet that does not mean it was void of beauty. And by beauty I don’t speak of garishness, nor sparkling fountains, or wondrous visages. It was beauty… That which is of deep peace, and not just skin deep. And not of starkness and cool edges but… simplicity. Things WERE. There was nothing about this place which held fear or concern, confusion or consternation. I was in a place older than time. It left the feeling of having been there more than eon’s, just more. Longer than human history, longer than elder Daemons or forbidden gods, longer than time.

I rember that there was a set of doors in the wall, or at least connected to the floor. I say that only because I don’t remember the walls, but there must (no, might) have been since I was in a room. There were benches, simply ordained with people sitting upon them. An there were others, with me. Not Dante’sque puppets acting upon the marionette strings of eternal justice. Just people who WERE. Like me they were there and they didn’t know me or I them. And the fact that there were passing strangers was of NO importance to me.

If a tree falls in a forest, does it even matter whether or not it makes a sound?

I sat and I….. Well, I just sat there. Stump on a log, stone in the henge, tree in the forest. I just sat and let time ebb and flow around me. It was with this passage of time that I became aware of my feelings. I was at peace. I was not granted all knowledge and all reason. I am as stupid, more or less than before going to the hospital. I simply felt loved. I knew my life was imperfect, blurred, marred and stained by the choices of every day. But I knew I was loved. I could feel the love of my father. I could feel the compassion and care of some one who was always watching, always existing, ever present. He knew me through and through. Yet with all that, he loved me as if I was just brought into existence. I felt the existence of so many things. The stars in the heavens, the void, the all that is all. I understand that I am a speck of a side, of the corner, of the mote of dust in the existence that is the universe. But even more, I understood the how inimitable I was. I lived the words of Abraham when he was shown the whole of heaven, so much that he could not comprehend it all. I feel the hope and pain of the fictional character, Eleanor Arroway when she says:

“I can’t prove it, I can’t even explain it, but everything that I know as a human being, everything that I am tells me that it was real! I was given something wonderful, something that changed me forever… A vision… of the universe, that tells us, undeniably, how tiny, and insignificant and how… rare, and precious we all are! A vision that tells us that we belong to something that is greater then ourselves, that we are *not*, that none of us are alone! I wish… I… could share that… I wish, that everyone, if only for one… moment, could feel… that awe, and humility, and hope. But… That continues to be my wish.

How rare and precious I felt. I knew I could have done better in my life, but I knew I was loved just the same. How this impacted me from that point on was a matter left up to the person who was watching over me. While there was a tepid sense of loss to what could be gained from a better life lived, I was not wanting more than what I had lived up to. I knew where ever I was, that I was Loved. I found peace spoken of in Phillipian’s that passeth ALL understanding.

Having that peace I stood up and was walking around, enjoying the love I felt and continuing to think about my life. It was at this time that I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I had been approached from behind and a women stood there. She simply told me “Tell my mother that I love her”. I knew her name was Tracee, and I knew her mother Carol who lived across the street from my parents house. I don’t remember saying yes, or responding to her. I don’t remember how much longer I was in that place I just know that some time after that, I woke up after my first surgery.

And now the punch line…. or was that punch in the gut.

I woke up without peace, I was in pain and disoriented. The Peace that passeth all understanding had passed. Attached to a bed, cut open, peoples concern was evident. It felt panic incarnate. AS everything fell out of place and then back in, Kaylene was there to comfort me, my parents were looking over me, I was being watched and cared for. It was not until that day had died down and night had come that I remembered what had happened to me and what I needed to do. In the morning I struggled to let my mom know what was happening and have her send Tracee’s message to her mother. From there it was off to more surgery.