INTRODUCTIONWell what I have decided to do today is to get down to the job and actually write for a change, lay it all on the table so to speak.
My other entries have been short and sweet,
and through this , not really giving one an idea of who I am.
I guess it has become quite habitual of me to hide,
its my "operative" word,
Its what I do!
Why?
Hell , who knows.
Did I lose my faith and hope in humanity?
Did I create a phobia that I could use to keep me safe?
Safe from what?
(Judgement, hurt, scorn = People!)
Too many questions there...
So let us leave it at that for now
Let us go back, far back.
To a time of innocence and honesty and truth ,
through the big green eyes of a little blonde girl with
a troubled mind....fondly referred to as
Landy-loo.
OK , so where were we? Ah, Landy-loo, my childhood nickname
used only by my mother of course. It was her pet name for me, an
endearment if you will.
I have the best mother in the world, but thats another story for another time.
The hardest part of getting these words
out to you is remembering.
My memories are like an old discarded jigsaw,
missing so many pieces that it can never be a whole picture again.
Forgive me if I must return and add on.
When discussing our younger days, my sister noted that she had the same problem.
A whole lot of blanks between our growing up years.
It is rather unusual as I am only 34 years old.
( please say I look younger!!!)
I will however share the parts I recall and try my utmost to put it into some sort of organized, and at the same time, reasonably interesting ,
reading.
My earliest memory is of being in a hospital. There were these very tall glass windows in my ward. I saw my mother in the parking lot leaving me after a visit. I was crying, screaming hysterically
for her to come back.
I can see myself turning to a vicious hollering at the doorway, where there stood an old lady all in black robes. She was mean looking and intimidating, and I know I was terribly afraid,
I quietened after that.
As an adult I learned that she was in fact a nun, which accounts for the scary dracula garb she was flaunting . Give me a break, apparently I was but 2 years old.
Lucky Madonna came into my life at 12 and said Nuns are sexy!
I put on my rosaries and forgave them!
I had enough to deal with at night.
I know that kids go through the whole bogey man thing , either under the bed, in the closet, behind the door.
This was not the same.
This I can say even now at 34 . There was something there.
There has always been something there.
Yet another story for another time?
When I was most happy, I would be pottering about outdoors with my mothers huge cast iron bowl.
Id make brews of all kinds.
Some sand, some leaves, carefully selected stones,
and Id happily stir away
totally delighted with what I was creating.
Other days we would make mud cakes and leave them in the sun to "bake".
I was an eccentric child and loved running around topless and climbing trees.
I would loveplaying make believe and my mother says I spoke with the fae.
I dont remember that of course, but have hooked up with them again as an adult...yup, you guessed it,
Another story for another time!
I never liked the night time then..
my playtime would be over , and even worse, my Dad would
be returning home from work. Thats when you dont "breathe"
properly. Well this is how I saw it in my childs mind.
This was when all laughter was over.
All sillyness or childliness was to be put away inside
myself somewhere.
Dad didnt like "sillyness".
He didnt like us to laugh or giggle.
It annoyed him.
So we tried not to when he was around.
When he left , and it was just us and our mother,
we could "breathe" again.
He had his moments when he would put his arm around me and say
"my wish for a boy"as he embraced me.
Why dont I feel moved?
I think I knew if I came into this lifetime as a boy he would have done to me what he did to my half brother.
Wise choice on my behalf.
There were those nights of screaming though where my beautiful mother would take cover in her car for the night.
I never understood why.
I never saw him lift his hands to her, yet she was terrified....
I guess we all had something to fear at night.
Now let me tell you some happy stuff.
Let me tell you about my special friend.
His name was Sea-wisdom, and he lives beneath the water.
I dont recall when he actually entered my life.
I had two almost drowning
episodes, yet both times saved. The first time was by people, but
the second time was somewhat mysterious.
I was in nursery school, or pre-school as you may call it over seas. Probably about 4 years old.
I had gone out to the pool at the preschool owners house, as it was just next door and my mother would collect me from there. I dont know how it happened, but I got in too deep and could no longer keep my head above the water. I could not swim and I was drowning.
I remember spluttering and wriggling in desperation, I remember hearing the big dog , a black rottweiler, barking and barking like crazy far far away .
All of a sudden I could see him through my half closed eyes, I could see him...
I was at the edge of the pool and holding onto the side, safe.
I recall the adults running out at that stage, hearing the commotion,
yet all was well apart form my state , but I could never tell them what happened.....
They never asked and I did not know.
Until around eight when I can clearly remember Sea-Wisdom.
I only ever mentioned him to my sister. I dont even know what I would have told her, but I know I did once.
I was not ashamed of this friend, or of what people may think. It never occured to me that it was unusual even.
It was just secret.
Today I would use the term "sacred".
The meetings would take place at the bottom of the swimming pool at the deep end side. I have no idea why it was this way, but I would be so excited about getting there.
When I think about it now, I dont know how I breathed?
I dont know if I breathed, but I would spend a long time under the water with him without needing to go up.
I also cant recall what he said in our meetings, and I remember in the beginning I would try to talk in the water.. I can still hear myself through all the bubbles saying
"hello sea-wisdom".
The rest of the time I did not attempt to speak with my mouth, I know that our communication was telepathic. Of course I did not realize what it was then. I imagine I have an incredible amount of information stored and hidden well within myself.Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could tap into it?
As a witch I have learnt much about Gods & Goddesses, I have found that images of Poseidon or Neptune, move me beyond words. He is always depicted as my sea-wisdom - strange
Whats even stranger is that I have never gone back in the water since I was a teenager. From being almost a fish to never going back is certainly some sort of self preservation on my behalf...
I know he is still there , I know alot of things , but allowing it all to come to the fore may be my downfall.
What I mean by this is then I will have to remove my safety net .
I will have to "come out" and risk people thinking Im as mad as a hatter if I told them half of what goes on in my brain.
I cannot stop the visions in my head, the unusual thought patterns I seem to have, the voices telling me to sleep with my owls feather tonight, or put some rosemary in in the candle holder before I put the candle in, or the exasperating emotion when meeting someone new...stuff comes off them at me...
I like the net!
With the net Im in beautiful denial.
Enter the teenager..That was pretty much short lived for me , but we can get to that a bit later.
I recall another weird thing when my grandmother took ill.
I was 12.
I never really knew her well. She had to come stay with us as she could no longer care for herself and was pretty much bedridden.
I would be the loving soul I was and rub her legs and feet with cream
to make her feel better. She would just sit there and smile at me in a gentle Grandma way.
Eventually she deteriorated to the extent of having being admitted to hospital.
I was sitting along side the swimming pool, just laying straight out with my head hanging over the edge, looking into the water.
My parents were most probably visiting at the hospital.
Something was stirring inside me and I had no clue what it was.
I felt I had an overwhelming headache quite suddenly and
decided to take some painkillers.
I went back to the pool.
A short while later I went for more painkillers.
My parents came home, night set in and before i went to sleep I took some more...
In the morning when I woke it was weird. I needed to take more painkillers. I did not have the headache , just the need to take more.
I took more. When I got to school I had come prepared with more than just the painkillers. I had brought pretty purples and pinks along too, courtesy of my Dads liver hassles.
So I went to the school bathroom and got all colourful on myself.
All the while not knowing what the hell I was doing or why.
My last trip was indeed the last as I was seen by some other kid who entered the bathroom.
Of course the story came out that I was taking drugs, they loved to think the worst of me even though I had never even seen any form of drug at that stage of my life let alone use any.
So on the way to the office my legs got weak and I guess all the medicatiuon was affecting me.
Through slurred speech I managed to say I had taken alot of pills.
They called an ambulance and called my Dad.
He was deputy chief at the police and well known in the community.
(well they thought they knew him...)
He got there in record time and pleaded with the principle to cancel the ambulance - I was just a naughty child who deserved a good hiding.
The ambulance arrived. By then I had worked myself into a state, sobbing hysterically and getting the old adrenalin pumping. My hands had gone all stiff and I couldnt move my fingers.
I imagined I was going to die or something
and I didnt even know why...
At the hospital they shoved tubes down my throat which hurt like a bitch.
I remember having a bit of a giggle as the ambulance drivers keys fell into the bucket they had used.
After that they decided to admit me for the night for observation.
They thought I was suicidal !
Where was I put?
The very room next door to my dying grandmother.
Coincedence or synchronicity?
That night I "dreamt" that I talked to her, no, a better word for it would be "communicated" with her. I dont recall what she conveyed to me, but something made me know it was important.
Bright and early the next morning when my mother arrived, they called me from my ward to say goodbye to grandma.
She was leaving this plane
(my Mom was a spiritualist)
So she did and life went on once again.
For years after that I would peek into my Mothers room while she was oblivious to my presence, and watch her writing furiously in a note book like some crazy person.
She would do it quite often. I sneeked in oneday and took a peek at the book.
Hello! Earth to Mom , what was this?
It was frantic scrawl in no particular order, with mostly unintelligable script, and a few words in between that told me that this was some weird sort of communication with the dead going down.
I knew my mom was that way inclined.
At about the age of 8 , my sister and I sat our first Glassy glassy circle as she needed participants.
What a freak out. It works.
So that pretty much added to my confusion and my interest in "the other side".
Sometimes Mom would do some strange things,
like pouring salt across the bedroom doorways.
I never asked why.
She did however fess up to communicating with her deceased Mother, mentioning that she received the scent of lavender when she communicated. This was her mothers scent.
I stored this info safely within as I must have known that someday I would need it.
.
A troubled teen I was. As I hit 13 I hit the road!
I decided that I needed to go into the world for some reason.
Nothing drastic had happened really.
Nothing new.
I just waited for my folks to go to bed one night, packed up my belongings and head for the highway.
I was heading for another province which was about 6 hours drive away from my home town. I hitched a ride and ended up staying with the man for 2 days. He handed me over of course to the child protection authorities once he had made me more of a woman so to speak!
So they stuck me in a "place of safety".
Its kind of the procedure as they needed to investigate the ins and outs of why I left! Wow, what an experience being instituitonalized.
I saw stuff you know. I saw abused kids who had nowhere else to go. I watched a Mom torn as she left her two little ones behind to protect them from an abusive father. I saw kids so messed up they cut themselves to pieces to remove the pain in their hearts....
I saw why I was there!
I knew that something was very "wrong" with the energy of that place. I knew that the "darkness" was there.
I was still so young and not aware at that time that I was a warrior.
I felt like a victim.I awoke one night to find my arms bleeding like theirs. They said I did it, but I know I was asleep.
I believe I shared the pain of those kids that came in and went out of that place over the 2 months I spent there.
I tend to carry other peoples pain with me for a bit before I can let it go.
Road kill gets me in a tizz for days!
So, eventually I was sent back home, all was forgiven, life went on.
By 14 they realized school was not working for me.
I had too many opinions that wouldnt be still and expressed them perhaps too openly!
It was a nightmare.
I had an entire highschool up in arms!
So they sent me to college.
Two months in I hooked up with another free spirit who said "Hey lets go".
So once again, I packed up my belongings and the two of us found ourselves , thumbs out, heading for the city I never reached on my first mission.
We made it!
Two young girls on the open road, it was a breeze getting the lifts and we made it in record time with lunch included by some good deeder!
She had a friend in the city of Johannesburg, so we would be cool for the night at least.
My first experience of the big city that day was watching a guy getting stabbed in a pool bar! I wanted to go home! That was unbelievable to me that someone could actually do that to someone else!
I stayed, but I had that to deal with inside myself.
Its not my intention to turn the 3 months on the streets of Hillbrow into a diary, so Im just going to kind of give you the highlights and my interpretations of what went on.
Let me begin by telling you what Hillbrow was carrying within her decaying womb...
As a runaway I neednt have worried about being caught up with anytime soon.
It turned out we were a community on our own.
There were so many.
Wasnt anyone looking for them?
Most had turned to drugs and prostituition.
My first day there I began marijuana.
This is the done thing.
When you become one of them you become one of them!
I began spending my days hanging out at the main shopping centres bumming money by day with the friends, and clubbing all night on free complimentary tickets.
We stayed in one place one night and another the next night.
We lodged with punks, satanists, weird pervos, a sick man with parkinsons, a businessman , a christian group - you name it.
Not one night did I ever sleep on the streets.
I did however get into making money in other ways....
One night as my friend and I were returning to our apartment where I had hooked up with this really nice drug dealer
( all I had to do was allow him to use me in his brutal "love" sessions),
we came across a major commotion.
The buildings have security gates in front of them, so one would need a key to get in. There inside,were two african men in a desperate struggle, I realized it was a fight and no-one could get in to stop it!
When the one one began chopping at the other with an axe, right before my eyes, I died another death inside my soul.
HOW CAN THIS BE?
How can a man do this to another?
Along the way I was introduced to a very strange man.
He was a very bad man, but as a runaway, when you are promised stardom and all the good things in life, you kind of think this is your Knight in shining armour.
He would take us to the movies, and expensive dinners, always with some very fine and succesful Japanese gentleman. I felt like I had made it!
The man then asked us if we would be prepared to come in to the local newspaper to give our stories. Our runaway stories. He never went with us, but I believe he got his cheque. It was a big mistake to go in. They were onto us after that.
We gave our stories, and at the same time, my policeman Dad had set all his eyes and ears out all over south africa.
We were unaware of it at the time, but we were being watched.
The night they bust us they just came out of nowhere , handcuffed us, and took us on a trip through the city.
They wanted the man.
Who was he really? He was Stan Vroom. He had been in a mental instituition for 7 years of his life and was a confirmed paedophile too.
Why did they want him?
He was about to sell our asses!
yup, the lovely book of teenage runaways in his little porfolio did not make their movies, they got sold to very rich and wicked men overseas!
Our information and evidence busted the syndicate but in the meantime we were shoved in the cells for 3 days.
I have to admit it was fun.
The night they caught us the cops brought us a quart of beer and a bit of weed to boot!
I was quite the actress and the charmer back then, kid or not!
We then did the childrens court bit, and they shipped us off to yet another instituition.
Norman House!
And I thought the first one was bad...
PLEASE MOVE ON TO PART 2
AS THIS IS MY NEVER ENDING STORY....
This is me at 14
And yeah - Madonna was my inspiration!
