#god imagine existing and never having learnt from abusive parents to give reason for your every breath to be considered worth anything

[lynxalon]

So, TARGET are a funny group, and Hyun, Woojin, and Zeth/Seulchan (those two feel like a comedic duo) made me laugh a lot. Still don't know much about them, so what better way to get to know them than take a screenshot, put words on it, and post it on Tumblr!

[thewitchywriter]

4. Who are you most grateful for having in your life?

My child

My soul purpose for existing, my rock, my angel, my partner in crime. My baby who stopped being a baby years ago has given me reason to live.

Days before finding out I was pregnant at the age of 15, I had planned my death. I was ready to end my life. I wasn't getting anywhere in school, I felt like a failure. I felt as though I was letting my family down. I was already actively hurting myself and thought why not take things to the next step. Put an end to the sadness. And then I found out I was growing a person inside of me. And my perspective changed. I all of a sudden had a reason to live. I had someone to keep living for. And let me tell you my precious bundle of joy. My moody, beautiful, little crazy person has never gone a day without making me proud. Its like arguing with a mirror sometimes, and I can't exactly yell at them for just being... me. My little clone, my mirror imagine. My reason for insanity and pure sanity. My reason for living. My saviour.

When I saw those two lines appear on that pregnancy test. I knew I would always be my babies protector. And since then, I've worked my damn hardest to provide, to support and to care for them. I've raised this child entirely on my own, and there have been days where I have wanted to rip my hair out. Days where I have thought it better if I weren't here. And then I take one look into those beautiful blue eyes and I remember who they need me to be, and if they need anything from me. Its for me to just be around for them to grow up beside.

Because, for you my love. Life is truly worth living.

My parents

I have three parents; my mum, my dad and my step mum. And although we have argued many many times. We have upset each other in ways I wish not to remember. They have always been there for me. Always provided me with support. Always been behind me every step of the way. Although we have disagreements and those disagreements happen quite often, you're my family, the family I would choose. The family I am glad I grew up with.

I have taken on so many traits, some good, some... not so good. But because of them I am strong. Because of them I can see clearly. Because of them I am capable of going alone. Because of them I love with every fibre of my being. I have learnt not to settle with abuse and emotional terrorists. I have learnt that I can stand my ground. I have learnt to fight, I have learnt to survive, fight for what I believe in, fight for those who cannot fight, put those who need cherishing first, give to those not in hopes to receive -but just give with love and have no expectation of anything in return.

We have all done some pretty shitty things questionable things, said some vile words but I never once doubted our love.

My partner

This man. Oh my god this man.

I have only known my partner for a year and after a matter of months I knew I was in love with him. I had never been in love before. But I just knew with him. In just a few months he made me see myself differently. He gave me a new perspective on life, myself, why we do the things we do and so many more things I couldn't even list.

I know that even when I am physically alone. He is still there for me. Regardless of my ups and downs. He's there whenever I need to speak, whenever I need to rant, when I need to cry. He's always just a message away. Regardless of how busy he is. He makes time for me. He has my back, always. He respects my views even though he doesn't always understand them. He listens to me and waits for me to stop interrupting him so he can make me see his point of view.

He doesn’t use my faults against me. He doesn't make a big deal of my mistakes and he doesn't flip his lid when I say the wrong thing. He asks me what he can do to help. He asks how we can fix my problem. He offers me perfectly rational advise which I usually ignore he supports me through my low moods, and my god there's a lot of them.

He not only supports me mentally. But he is there when times are hard. He offers to pay for that thing I want (even though I very rarely accept his offers) He gets me the book that he sees and thinks I'll love. He knows what I like, what I love what I probably do need or want. He just knows.

I am grateful for his existence. Grateful that I get to call him my human. Grateful for his terrible jokes and dad humour more like grandad humour. Grateful for his advise and his never ending support, his pretty amazing music taste (although I'll never tell him that), his gorgeous face and his big old arms, his bloody chest hair that I find randomly in my bed.

He knows what he wants in life and he's going for it. And even though it's time consuming and often means placing me at a lower priority level I admire his goals and aspirations.

He is my best friend. He is the one I want to tell all my problems too. He is the one I want to tell about that funny thing that happened. He is the one who's day I want to hear about even though it is full of words I just DO NOT understand.

He deals with my crazy, he supports all that I do and all that I believe in. He is my human radiator and often a second brain for me. He picks me up when I'm down. He apologises for his wrong doings. He holds my hand in public (which is also a god send because I'm incapable of crossing a road safely).

He never wears socks and the smell after wearing his purple bloody trainers offends my nostrils. -But I'd never change a thing about him. He puts himself down constantly but I've never met a man who makes me feel, and I mean really feel. I think he's absolutely gorgeous inside and out. And if he isn't perfect. Then I don't want perfect.

I couldn't face not being with him. I know that realistically if for whatever reason we couldn't be together I would have to deal with it. But it would tear me apart inside. I know I wouldn't recover from it. When we had a separation period, it destroyed me. I know now why we called it quits before. But I cannot explain how glad I am to have him back in my life.

To put it simply... I love him. And for some reason he loves me too.

My best friend

My ride or die. My best bitch. My fucking soul sister.

I met this stupid bitch about 6 years ago?? Under VERY unfortunate circumstances. And even though I wish I could reverse that time in my life so that it never happened. I am so so grateful that I got my girl from it.

She knows me, she's as blunt as they come, she's my chosen family, she has given me a gorgeous god baby and another one is on its way hurry the fuck up by the way there was a time when you were there for me when I had nobody else. You were there for me through the darkness. You put me back together and used all the tape you could find to fix me up. You listened to me ball my eyes out when my heart was broken. And you helped me escape from a horribly toxic situation.

You taught me never to fake who I am. You taught me to never take anybodies shit except yours of course. You have seen me at my best, my worst, you've literally watched me shitting out the McDonald's and we've laughed and spoke all at the same time.

You've rescued me from myself multiple times. You've made me see clearly. You've seen my booooty holeeeee more times than anybody. Ever. You zoom in and screenshot the ugliest pictures of me, making me look like a fucking idiot.

I could go on and on about you and the times we have had. From break ups to nights out.

But I want to thank you for your crazy matching my crazy. It brings me a little sanity that I'm not the only crazy bitch around.

I love ya to the fridge and back. And that will never change. See you in the retirement home hunnnayyyy. We've got this.

[firewoodfigs]

into each life some rain must fall 

Six times he stands before a grave in the rain, grieving. But this time, courage is reborn. [5+1 Things] 

read on ao3 

i.

Riza Hawkeye is terrifying. This is the first thought that crosses Roy’s mind when he sees her slicing up the carcass of a chicken (or is it a duck?) without even flinching. So when it rains that day, he doesn't think it’s necessary to find her, in hopes of passing her an umbrella. Truthfully, he doubts someone like her is even capable of catching the common cold.

Perhaps it’s childlike bravery, or sheer stupidity, but Roy decides to search for her anyway. He can think of many reasons why this is an awful idea. First, Roy knows he’s kind of good-looking, the same way he knows he’s sort of ingenious and incredible. But he also knows his aunt is paying a lot of money for his lessons, and that he’s here to learn; not to chase girls or get a girlfriend. Second, he knows from his sisters’ stories that the female imagination is capable of unimaginable things, and he most certainly does not want her, of all people, to get the wrong idea.

If word ever gets out about the little stunt he’s about to pull, his sisters would never let him live it down.

But thunder rumbles in the distance, and rain pelts down incessantly, relentlessly. It’s enough to make even a grown man shiver. So he jogs over to her school in quick strides, searching for a socially awkward urchin with messy golden hair and a terrifying glare.

Roy only manages to find her in the end, after what must have been hours of searching. She’s not at school, no. She’s kneeling in front of a tombstone with a bunch of wilted freesias and roses, staring blankly at the inscription written on it.

He says nothing, only lifts his umbrella over her grieving form and lets half of himself get drenched.

Miss Hawkeye glares at him when she finally notices his presence, but accepts the umbrella begrudgingly nonetheless. As she turns around to face him, he sees rivulets streaming down her cheeks, and Roy wonders if it's the rain or her tears.

She rubs her eyes impatiently. “It’s just the rain,” she insists, even though the umbrella shields her from the raging storm overhead.

ii.

Master Hawkeye dies in his arms after begging him to take care of his daughter. He’s only twenty, halfway through the academy and still unacquainted with death. He’s too stunned to care about decorum and propriety and honorifics at the moment, and ends up yelling for Riza to come.

She appears a moment later, hair still a dishevelled, dampened mess; knuckles white from gripping the doorframe so hard. Her eyes are hollow and she’s too numb, too shocked to say or do anything as she stares at her father’s unnaturally still form.

For a long while, nothing he says seems to elicit any kind of response from her. It’s almost like she’s catatonic; trapped in another dimension where he can’t reach her.

He ends up taking care of the burial and the estate and everything else.

The funeral passes by in a haze. It’s a small, quiet affair. His master has never had many (or any, actually) friends to begin with, anyway, given his eccentricity and preference for seclusion.

Roy stays by her side before a gravestone again afterwards. It’s a sunny day. She doesn’t kneel this time; only stares quietly at the name engraved on it like it belongs to a stranger rather than a father.

To his dismay, he learns that, unlike him, she has no other living relatives or family to turn to. How lonely must it be, then, being trapped in this nondescript, deserted town all by herself?

So he offers her his contact details; his dreams and aspirations for the future as an excuse for them to maintain some semblance of a friendship. It’s probably closer to an acquaintanceship, given that they hadn’t really spoken much even during his stay at the Hawkeye manor. Either way, it’s better than being all alone, he thinks.

In exchange, Miss Hawkeye simply responds with a small, sad smile before asking if she can entrust her back to his dream; offering her own naive ideals and hopes for a better, brighter future.

And then, she unbuttons her blouse as soon as they return to the manor to unveil an intricate array begging to be deciphered. For all his brains and talents Roy can only stare, shell-shocked.

What the hell had his master done?

The sky begins to weep for the abuse she’s endured for the sake of bearing an alchemist’s legacy. But the misty rain can’t wash away the ink splaying out like blood on her back; the pain she must have suffered during the excruciating procedure.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can say to break the silence that hangs over them like a death sentence, as he crosses the distance between them to ghost his fingers over the apology inscribed onto her back.

Miss Hawkeye offers him an impassive shrug. “It… it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, but her shoulders are quaking and her hands are trembling as she grips on to her blouse for dear life.

iii.

The war finally ends. Rain descends from the heavens like drops of silver after what must surely have been hell on earth. A rarity, Roy thinks, where condensation in the air is caused only by blood, not water. A gift from the gods (do they exist?), perhaps. He lifts his palms heavenward, as if begging for the rain to wash away his sins; his scars and his very soul.

It doesn’t. A soldier like him now inured to violence and gore doesn’t deserve such a reprieve.

At the very least, though, the Hero of Ishval is grateful that it renders him useless. A hero. The title sits uncomfortably on his tongue, in his gut. He’s nothing more than a murderer; a monster, and he doesn’t want any medals of gold or glory emblazoned across his military garb. Not when they’re just symbols celebrating death and destruction.

Roy watches from the distance as a sorrowful silhouette with a familiar tuft of blonde hair kneels over a makeshift grave.

“An Ishvalan child, shot and left to die on the roadside alone,” she explains reverently with a forlorn smile, when he inches closer to ask whether it’s a fallen comrade.

He swallows thickly. God, if only he’d kept his ugly mouth shut back then. Then maybe she’d still just be shooting birds and rabbits and antelopes. Maybe she’d still be making chicken soup for dinner now (imagining the smell of cooked meat is enough to make him nauseous). Maybe she’d still be stuck in the raffish countryside; in that countrified, eerie manor all by herself.

Being alone, he thinks, is still infinitely better than being surrounded by cadavers in a deluge of blood-stained sand.

The… sniper (The Hawk’s Eye leaves an awfully bitter taste in his mouth, like he’s biting a bullet) clenches her fist when she’s done, before asking him for the impossible.

“I have a favour to ask of you, Mr. Mustang,” she begins. “Please burn and crush my back.”

“There’s no way I can -” Roy replies immediately, almost yelling. How in the world could he burn her flesh, with the alchemy he’d learnt from her back?

“Please,” she says, begging for him to liberate her from the bonds chaining her to a deceased man so that she can be her own person. Just Riza Hawkeye, not the keeper of her father’s secrets.

“Damn it,” Roy curses under his breath. She makes it sound like it’s her fault for entrusting her father’s research to him. But isn’t he the one who had abused the power entrusted to him; defiled her trust, destroyed her hopes of everyone getting their happy ending somehow?

And yet... endings like these only exist in grand castles and fairy tales. Not in arid, scorched deserts, and most certainly not in their horror stories of ruthless murder and bloody genocide and endless strife.

If only he’d been a little less foolish back then. If only.

Roy relents.

iv.

Rain pours down in heavy, roaring torrents when he burns her back. Roy wishes it could fall through the roof somehow; douse the fire eating her at her flesh so he doesn’t have to hear her suppressed screams that come out as whimpers as she bites down on an old, ragged cloth. It breaks his heart to burn her, a friend he’s come to cherish and appreciate through all the hell they’ve endured together over bland coffee and stale bread.

But he does so anyway. Because it’s what she wants - no, what she needs. He lets the massive downpour swallow the sounds of their cries; lets the wind carry away the lethal secret that has killed hundreds (or thousands?) into the dark, endless void.

“It… it’s done,” Roy whispers breathlessly at last. He removes the burnt tissue carefully, mindful of her quivering frame before covering them with sterile dressings. Then, he gives her the painkillers he’d gathered from the apothecary, which she eagerly swallows.

He doesn’t dare meet her eyes while she’s still conscious, fearing that he’ll only see hatred swimming in them. How could she not, after all that he’s done? He wouldn’t blame her, to be honest. She has every right to, and he deserves every ounce of it.

Fortunately, the medicine kicks in quickly. Roy kneels before her half-lucid form as her eyelids begin to flutter shut. God, he wants to beg for forgiveness, but...

“I forgive you,” she murmurs sleepily even before he says anything, before finally falling into painless oblivion. Roy stays by her side, nervously close and gentle as he wipes her forehead with a cool, damp cloth to make sure a fever doesn’t develop.

Afterwards, he goes to her parents’ grave to beg them for forgiveness; to repent for all that he’s done to their daughter.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t fulfil your last wish, Master,” he cries, filled with regret that he hadn’t listened to his warning back then. The stones only stare back at him wordlessly. Self-reproach swallows him whole, the way squalls of driving rain completely engulf him.

A little less than a month later, Riza Hawkeye marches into his office, stoic and stalwart with an unrivalled expertise in guns and an unyielding duty to the living and the dead. He’s inclined to believe that maybe, just maybe, he can make the necessary reparations and restitutions with her by his side. And so he makes her his personal adjutant; gives her the right to shoot his back if he steps off the path.

It’s the least he can do after he’s defaced hers, after all.

“Will you follow me?” Roy asks apprehensively.

“If that is your wish, then even into hell,” she states, not flinching in the least. He wants to tell her that she’s already been through hell with him, and she doesn’t deserve anymore of that.

Instead, he grits his teeth and looks on ahead resolutely, determined not to let her down this time.

v.

Brigadier General Maes Hughes is buried on a relatively bright afternoon. The sun shines as birds sing and flowers begin to bloom. The spring sky shimmers overhead in a vibrant, cheerful shade of blue like it’s paying an ode to his sprightly nature.

And yet, the ceremony is distinctly somber: it’s filled with soldiers who aren’t allowed to break protocol and say their eulogies and prayers; a wife whose heart is torn asunder, who still yearns for him to return home, and a child who’s far too young to understand that he’s not coming back.

Colonel Mustang stands at attention as the soldiers lower his best friend six feet under. His stomach coils as his heart wrenches. He feels like throwing up again. A part of him wishes his body would stop behaving in this manner so that he can at least attempt to convince himself that this isn’t real; that it’s just a feverish dream which will be chased away by the morning light.

But it’s real. It’s not a dream. Because Elicia, darling Elicia is crying for her father. “Why are you burying Papa?” she yells. “He has to return to his work!”

Roy only barely manages to stop himself from grieving aloud. Years of military training, perhaps. He continues watching quietly as the bugle sounds off in Hughes’ honour instead, and waits for everyone to leave before saying his piece.

Well, almost everyone.

“... Are you alright?” His Lieutenant asks.

“Yes,” he answers unconvincingly. “It’s… it’s a terrible day for rain.”

She looks up at the vast horizon above them, a pretty pastel pink with tender ribbons of lilac streaking across. “It’s not raining -”

“Yes, it is,” he whispers, before donning the military cap once more.

Thankfully, Hawkeye understands. She gives him a moment to grieve, not bothering with senseless platitudes or empty sympathies. A crow caws in the distance, calling for the departed soul of his friend as he stands, uniform dry but cheeks inexplicably damp.

“Let’s go, sir. It’s getting chilly here,” Lieutenant Hawkeye calls gently. Colonel Mustang nods and obliges, leaving his best friend behind in the setting sun.

Daybreak arrives once more, like clockwork. His eyes are raw and red and swollen shut as he mulls over the consequences of ditching work for the day.

Hawkeye turns up at his doorstep with freshly baked bread and a warm cup of coffee just then: the morning light that offers him a brief respite from grief.  

vi.

It’s pouring this time as he stands in front of Hughes’ grave. Somehow, it always does whenever he stands alive before death.

The sky and rain are like sackcloth and ash, Roy thinks, as it falls on his shoulders and shrouds him from the rest of the world in a sad, pearly grey. But he’s been so scared and frustrated and exhausted over the past few months - from losing his closest friend, to dealing with a government corrupt to its very core and an impending nationwide catastrophe - that it’s a welcome relief.

“It’s almost time, Colonel,” comes a gentle voice in the midst of the gloomy darkness.

The downpour gradually lessens into a soft drizzle.

It’s impossible to miss the scent of her, lavender and petrichor masked beneath gunpowder even in this graveyard reeking of death. And it finally dawns upon Roy then, why the time they’d spent apart had felt like an eternity; why it’d pained him so badly like someone was ripping his innards out. Because he loves her. He loves her so much that it pushes out through every fiber of his being; that he almost can’t contain the urge to kiss her; hold her, keep her in his arms forever.

Behind him, he hears her feet shift subtly. Her breathing is weary and slightly laboured. A well-timed reminder that she’s very much alive, not buried underneath soil like the other rotting corpses in this god-awful place.

Roy bites on his lips, hard, to restrain himself from crushing them on hers. They don’t need any more fires between them when they already have enough to extinguish.

But she’s here now, at least, and that’s more than enough. It’s enough for him to keep moving forward despite having buried a part of himself alongside the man he’d seen as a comrade, a friend and a brother. It’s enough for courage to be reborn; for him to face another day with strength and hope.

“Let’s go, Lieutenant,” he says at last, a genuine smile crossing his features for the first time in months. She hesitates for a moment before trailing behind him, footsteps quiet and steadfast. And when they depart the land of the dead (together) to meet the maelstrom awaiting the living he’s not afraid anymore.

[3staroracle-gemmanelson-blog]

A Picture Of Me

(this is a repeat posting, however our guides encouraged me to re share this in the now, because someone that needs to see it shall and I pray with a deep love in my heart that my share helps you)

Yeshua has asked me to share some of my story in short with you, so that you may see who I am in the now and where I have come from, how human I am and that as much as I have done much work and self healing there is more to be done, which is our journey isn’t it.

Yet if one person is helped by this share, it is worth it! Healing is the intention!

I was born to a woman wanting to keep her husband, at six months old it was over, so the father figure was separated right there and then, years passed and I started school and recall the day I had the download of how to read occur, I was reading the three pigs with a teacher called Mrs Marsh, I was just over five years old and the page went from blurred to clear and then I could read…

I also recall the day they took our fingerprints and were very careful about that… I’ll let you have your own thoughts on that.

So at this point I had 2 older sisters and a depressed mother, who then found herself another man and bought him into our lives, in an instance our lives changed, we were now under a dictatorship unable to freely roam our village, in fear of violence, sexual subjection, intimidation, mental abuse, this in short was to be our childhood from age 7-21…

At school I would converse with my ‘imaginary friend Violet’ and would also find I was able to track and help injured people by following the sound of their heartbeats…

Until the school said how odd I was to them of course.

We were involved within a religion that was a strict Christian religion and our step father hid behind this, my grandmother my mothers mother advised me age 15 what he had done to my older sister, she wished to protect me… I therefore spent years thereafter keeping myself awake at night, reading by moonlight, sometime there after my sister was beaten up and sent to our natural fathers because she was apparently uncontrollable after she had told the religious leaders what he had done to her…

I recall the time our step parent got chucked out of the religion for smoking rather than for all the years he was unkind to us, I had learnt about Satan within the religion, so called out abuse and hate to this being, I experienced a reptilian face that screamed without noise in my face as a warning to respect that the god/creator allowed them to exist here for good reason the scream I know was silent to take into account I was a child. (Yet lesson learnt I was to always respect any energy) what I am thankful for as regards this religion was how it taught me to speak directly with god/creator/source from my heart and how they taught me to see truth and untruths within their Bible book…

In short we held our breath at night as our step father walked about the house, we could not speak for fear of saying the wrong thing, which seemed rather frequent, this is shared to give a picture of my childhood, as this now I accept as part of my chosen life experience and the carving tool that made me who I am today, I chose to forgive yet move on not being connected to my natural mother or father and my step father spent a little while behind bars…

Our mother a lost soul, who sold her soul and ours for money really…she became a victim to his behaviour and although had many opportunities to separate or save herself and us always went trudging back.

These lessons taught me how never to be and help me lay some good boundaries that have lived with me in adulthood.

As a child, within a religious organisation that chose to protect this offender… I lost all respect for that said organisation and left when I left the family home, when a further education college counsellor and I devised a plan to get me out after a further beating for a made up reason.

So at less than 18yrs of age, never having been on a train, or to the cinema, I was told I would have to do all alone to leave for a new life in Surrey from Leicestershire England, kindly a religious member decided to take me and connect me with people who could look out for me.

The few times I did go and report the beatings to doctors they suggested that if I went to them again they would have to report it… Interesting that it came across as a threat to me, rather than them wanting to suggest they could help or protect me.

Moving forwards whilst I did the voluntary work in surrey it was protected freedom living in a nurses hostel with the grounds I worked and having contact with other religious people in that area.

As time moved on I then found other paid work caring and housekeeping for a lady in her own home and then lived as a lodger in a woman’s home whilst working in a departmental store and as I started to begin the healing process and the realisation of all that I lived through I had a break down and it all led to me returning back to that home, I recall when I called my mother and said that I didn’t want life to be how it was before, she suggested I should behave myself, which was interesting as we didn’t dare say boo to anyone.

Regardless he came and collected me and that drive back was uncomfortable, yet I will say that I had grown wiser and living back there was never as bad as it was before, so I had learnt to set boundaries, the worst he did was throw a cat that he had been beating up at me as I had asked him to please stop. I had learnt to ask if anyone needed the toilet before I showered etc…

So at around 21 & 1/2 I was now able to drive, had my own flat, had met a man that didn’t speak hardly a word of English and I was in love with the idea of being in love, so in between work I would drive endless hours back to Surrey to be with this man, this man also helped me sever the ties with the religion and yet again helped me heal whilst being protected, as time went on after being married to him, accepting his children seeing and realising we were on totally different planets and it couldn’t continue we divorced, within this marriage I had taken on four of his children proved it was possible to be a good and caring step parent, learnt another language, had early gestation and late gestation pregnancies, he had many a time attempted to be violent towards me yet the strength I took from my childhood would always reinforce that boundary, even to the extent that I could sense in another room when he was about to hit his child. Many a time throughout my life and the loss of my babies I would then find my belief system evolving always returning back to really what quantified as a spiritual belief, tarot readings, reiki level 1, reading spiritual books like the Celestine prophecies all impacted, yet as each dark corner was approached I would not know what to believe anymore and would just be, until the next awakening came.

Before I decided to leave this husband we went to court to say what had occurred to us as children and we learnt that our step father had a whole history and pattern that weaved a nasty path, so even with all of that he was given four years, yet again I was shown how organisations really protect the ‘wrong doer’…

At this time I worked with in a bank and the support through the years they gave me was awesome, showing that even when the going gets tough that support comes from the most unlikely of places.

So when I left my husband I had a good job and ended up in a woman’s only hostel, hoping that society would finally realise all I had been through and assist me, yet I was the only person in there working and paying my way, funny as the time passed the social workers saw that I had a way with ‘bullies’ and they put all the vulnerables in the wing with me.

I suppose you could say at this point I had my time of self discovery and my wicked way with the world, free and single, met a man who tried to imprison me as I had allowed him to take me to a city I didn’t know, he also aimed a gun at me and I told him he looked pathetic and if he was going to shoot me then he could do it in the back of my head… Amazingly I survived and returned, connected with a man of an old family friend and together we found a landlord who would accept me because I had a job, no deposit and a pet cat. So here was my new beginning, I had felt so happy to have this place that not having a bed etc didn’t matter, I slept on just the duvet for weeks and was so happy, I found time to write what I wished for to the universe, this included what I wished for in a partner… An old family friend of my natural mother moved in with me and she became the mother mine could never be, we had such fun there and a colleague lived at the back of me and I’d often go there for chats, all was going well. I then met through a chat site at my friends house my now husband who is all I asked for and more, bless when he first met me, I believed in nothing religious or spiritual and wanted to ensure he wanted children because time was getting on. Lol

Well within 6months we lived together, 2 months after that he asked me on one knee to be his wife, 1 & 1/2 yrs later we were booking our wedding after my delayed divorce came through, 3yrs after we met we got married.

2 years after that my 8th baby loss, led me down a dark hole of totally disrespecting myself, mind, body and soul… For I would get to 24 weeks pregnant and my body would just eject and the perfect child too small to continue would pass.

I had met a consultant who transfered us to a miscarriage clinic for further investigation, right from meeting him I knew he was an earth angel. He did tests etc and we left it at that, let’s see what happened and go from there. It was leading up to my birthday and months had passed and it wasn’t happening so I decided that I would love a dog, so family clubbed together to get me Betty, imagine this… earlier that spring all the plants were telling me how excited they were and wouldn’t let on why (literally they were so excited it was bursting from them), so I banked it after acknowledging it and I would look out for something, at this time I believed in mother earth and nothing else, because of events…. I was cuddling my puppy in my arms and was reminded of my first daughter that I had given birth to within my first marriage in the year 2000, they felt so similar, I stood in my garden and sobbed, then I became angry and told mother earth that I deserved to be a mother and to prove I could be a good mother, I affirmed that I am a good person… The joy in the heavens its what they had been waiting for, funny thing is I must have already been pregnant because two weeks later we had a positive test, that surgeon moved heaven and earth to give me the very best treatment that I deserved and now my boy is five years old.

We found out that the lady that became like a mother to me had terminal cancer and I had severe fibromyalgia, which had meant I couldn’t work and lost my job due to it almost two years after my son was born, this was to be my final no going back awakening in 2015, I assisted my dear heart adopted mother with a smoother passing using all shamanic healing within me, I had started angel card readings and developed that within a spiritual group this served to distract me from the physical manifestations of pain that was present, plants and trees were talking to me again, as were my guides and I was developing at a fast rate, our guides even fast tracked/jumped my timelines with an unforgettable experience within a meditation, (this was recognition for my efforts within life) where I met my native guide, a star being guide, a shrimplike guide that told me he was an intrinsic part of earth, I also had pleasure of meeting a counsel of many wise beings, such an honour, they even connected me to oneness and allowed me to affect all the energies, weather and more.

Leading up to my dear hearted adoptive mothers passing I knew when she was laying in her bed looking like she was asleep she was also communicating with me just like spirit would and there is no room for doubt within my mind that it was anyone else but she, the experiences I and others had leading up to her passing left no uncertainties this was to be my life, a life in service, being in the right place at the right time, taking items I knew were needed, giving messages of love, nurture, healing, activations, clearings and more.

Many people have gone and come into my life, either to teach or be taught and I’ve had many lessons for which I am truly thankful for.

Delores Cannon, Adama, Nana, Mary, Commander Ashtar, Dragons, Fae, Druids, Griffins, Hatuey(salamander)Yeshua, Hathor, Thor/Thoth, Goddess Isis, Archangel Metatron, Haylel, Haniel, Azrael, Ariel, Sophia, the seraphim collective and more continue to teach me with the connecting of consciousness, channelling, telepathy, animal communication, supporting clearing and smooth transitions at end of life, most of all I’m taught to be limitless, this is who we are, all that I do and am learning to do is possible for you if you wish.

With the help of the physical illness and Archangel Chamuel and Raphael I’m so much better at listening to myself honouring my truth and loving myself.

I am now off all western medicines, have a continuing plan to keep ensuring I improve my diet and have made good advancement on that, stopped smoking and more, always there is a journey on working upon self, we wouldn’t remain humble else, all of us are students and teachers.

Many people ask how has your belief system helped you and I answer this.

It has healed me from depression, insomnia (except upon full moons and energy downloads. Lol), fibromyalgia, diabetes, broken hearts, despair, phobias and or paranoia, self loathing, I could go on…

I am thankful for both difficult and easy experiences and have made my peace with it all and can truly give thanks and draw strength from them.

Because through it all I have love, hope, the desire to help us have a better future, to help others find their truths, to have vision and self love, with empowerment of self and to gift this to others.

I have the inner peace I always wished for and know that together we can all find this.

This is not a boasting, or a competition, or a look at me, its to share that no matter what you can overcome so much and be who you wish to be in the now, with a pure and humble heart and a readiness to be in service. Knowing you can ask for help from the ‘unseen supporters’ and receive it.

Blind faith, trust and belief has taught me much, even that without an income or access to benefits/state payouts, the universe has our back, be open to receiving in whichever way the universe wishes to provide for you.

We are in the age of mastering our life and actualising mastering the embodiment of ourselves in the flesh, hereby bringing heaven upon earth. Look within and you shall find and look beyond and you shall see, all you are meant to be xXx ❤ xXx

If you wish to contact me for any of the above services, our guides have confirmed that my journey is to be in full time service and I too desire to honour this.

I am happy to receive clothes/shoe vouchers, food vouchers or deliveries, monetary exchanges to assist with paying Bill, spiritual healing items such as quartz crystal bowls or a handpan, set at divine 432MHz to aid healing sessions… there are also some decks on my wishlist also

If you have any other ideas I am open to them.

Just message me.

Payments for services or donations are to be sent here:

paypal.me/gemcraft153

Thank you for being a part of me and thank you for allowing me to be a part of you.

xXx xXx

XxX

[impulseoflife-blog1]

Temporal Rummage

Why? 

I am glad that I have a platform where I can type these three letters and scream out loud, and no one would judge me or ask me to keep it to myself or be submissive. Why should I be submissive and be subject to any atrocities? Does being a woman mean that I demean myself? 

From the moment of conception, millions of thoughts run in our society. Why a girl? How are we going to raise her up? What if she brings shame to our family?These are just some questions that I have heard over and over again. With the advent of the 21st century, I took it for granted that all of these prejudices and skepticisms would change. Little did I know that I was born into one such society till I moved to India. Personally, my life has been immensely blessed. I had the privilege of being born and raised in a country so far away, with no intervention of society. I held on to my faith and the rich Indian culture. I never knew that the system was shattered back in India. You, like me could have had a very blessed life. But, I am taking this opportunity to voice out several other souls who do not deserve this in any way, shape or form.

Womanhood is not a curse. And in a culture like ours, it is heartbreaking to see how womanhood crashes down most of the time because of ‘women’ themselves. Such an irony! I have been blessed with a wonderful family which let me take pride in my womanhood. Fortunately, I have been designed to be an empath. Fortunate I say, because I feel the pain of those who are less fortunate, and feel much privileged to voice their torment.

Men and women have been designed to complement one another, but in no way exercise power or superiority over each other. Often times, people mistake ‘respect’ for power and control that we see women submitting to the slavery that they are forced into.

My recent encounters with women in different stages of their life, stuck in the bondage, instilled in me a notion to ponder upon their unacceptable status. Beginning with being judged for being raised in a city or a certain circumstance to reasoning for her every action, women are subject to the opinion of a large mass. The people that form this society do not influence a woman for the better, rather trump her down and lead her to questioning her very existence. For understanding this, I think it would be most appropriate to walk through a journey of a woman from her teenage till her marriage.

The instant a woman attains puberty, it is the mark of a whole new life with prejudices and rules which is reinstated and passed on from generation to generation. These rules may lean towards good and bad, but the intention with which these rules are conveyed is purely out of the joy of seeing another woman in misery. Yes! “Don’t smile too much when you talk”, “Don’t touch any guy”, “Be more submissive”, “Why are you still running around like a kid?” are some of the several dialogues that you keep hearing bouncing off the walls. Overnight your life changes! I remember spending sleepless nights and praying that I had one more day to enjoy being a kid. Of course I never heard any of this from my mom, but of course our society never lets parents take charge, does it? I have always wondered if these dialogues could ever be replaced with “Be more vigilant”, “We have all been through this. And we’re here for you”. If you��re one of the lucky ones who has had a better experience, cherish the people you had and have in your life. There’s only a handful.

The next phase is adolescence, which is marked by the excitement of college life. Besides the area of study, there are several challenges that you face - making new friends and creating lasting memories. The relationships that you form here can make your or break you, since it is such a vulnerable stage of life. This stage or any stage of life, for that matter can be aptly compared to a ‘performance stage’. You perform your best to please the audience (the so called society). Any mistakes made here is always blown out of proportion. You have limited chance to learn from any of them, because by the time you learn from your mistakes you are trashed and brought down to a very belittling meaningless object. I have seen women taken advantage of, abused, manipulated and ruined. Do these women deserve to be judged? Do these women deserve to be wronged? Who are we in all this? Who are we to judge? The innate tendency of a woman would be to condemn evils and bring goodness to all. I still recall several women being blamed for mistakes that they never did. The reason being, if a man was involved, it was always a woman’s fault. This only makes me question, are men the weaker sex? Is it so hard to accept mistakes? Remember, this is indicative only of the few demeaning men that I had encountered, who are the most poisonous ‘weeds’ among the others. (Let me refer to these men and woman who cause eternal damnation on earth as ‘weeds’, for the purpose of making this more specific to those with such evil notions). So, from here you try to unload your baggage and try walking upright. It takes a lot of strength and courage to do it. What do we do when we watch inspirational stories of world leader who failed several times, but made it to the top due to persistent effort? We respect and honor them, but we don’t do it to women. Women who face these challenges and take a leap forward are often termed with offensive words and respected by a handful.

Soon after, she is displayed with the finest of jewels and clothes and adorned with sweet fragrance. Oh yes! this is how she is sold for her marriage. I was once told that being a woman was a curse and that it was a very expensive one. My father would never approve of this statement, nor will my brother, but remember I said weeds, yes one of those weeds. I was deeply affected and felt like a burden since I never felt any of this till I moved back to my own country. I also recall my father having to face people who often told him to be careful with his money since he had to marry me off. I salute my dad for responding to all of them with a smile and a few powerful words, “Such a family will never deserve my daughter”. And he remains true to those words till date. During this phase, I encountered women displayed in those art galleries with a price tag and weeds walking down the aisle picking and choosing the best price. Forgot to mention that the color of a woman’s skin was an added benefit. I saw some weeping as they were forced into getting betrothed. I saw some preparing to put up with a life that they had no clue about. I was stunned and shaken. Soon they were all sold. But nothing ends here. Here are some ‘truths’ and ‘facts’ that I had learnt from few of the ones who were subject to this kind of life. 1. “If you’re honest with your better-half about your baggage, you are assured of abuse in some way, shape or form. You are mistaken if you think trust can be built through honesty”. 2. “No matter how bad you’re tormented, put up with it, since your relatives will have to respond to the questions from the rest of the society”. 3. “As a woman, you’re considered temporary with regard to everything. Your job, friends, parents, possessions are all temporary”. 4. “Your in-laws use you to live their fairy tale”. 5. “A woman is a machine. She is meant to produce babies. The sooner she does, the better”. 6. “You can never live a fairy tale that you had dreamt of in your younger years”. Again, I think at this point it is worth mentioning that i am taking about the weeds and not everyone. Living with these truths and facts become second nature. Do any of these people take a moment to think of how sacred marriage is? Do they take one minute to realize that any major life changing decision is personal between the couple and God and none have the right to interfere whatsoever. The frustration of not being able to fulfill your purpose and live the life that you’re meant to live is a curse in itself. And it is the society and the weeds among men that impose this curse.

Faith has been my very pillar that led me to believe that there is a fairy tale that is designed for each of us and when we look up to God, we are always safely placed in the path that he has designed for us. I married into a family which believes in God and love. I have encountered God’s perfect love through the very existence of my beloved. My father proved himself right to the society which tried to bring this curse on me. I have broken through every chain that could have pulled me back into the pits and now live a life that I could have never imagined. But, through all of this, I see how rapidly empathy is growing within me. I use the strength that I have mustered up with the help of my husband, to pen these brutalities without a second thought. If you are one of the many women who go through these cruelties, it is time that you seek out God’s purpose for your life. It is imperative that we kill the weeds as and when they start blooming. I have witnessed the destruction that they can cause.

All of this only brings me to one thing. When we have an innate tendency to love and give to people, irrespective of their gender, why do we let evil creep in? Why?