Sunday, October 21, 2007


Please check out Ed's Page on "My Links of Interest" because this information is on his Website for your opportunity to explore the Native Teachings of our Homeland, America. This is the most Vital time in History because it is now that we need to examine these teachings. My spiritual-grandfather Chief Frank Fools Crow, spoke of this time were living in as it being time for all nations to recognize our Oneness. I am grateful for Ed Little Fox for sharing along with his Friends on his Links.


There are many issues of Native American concern deserving of attention and support.
Preserving Sacred Sites, and this one in particular, is important as it represents the beliefs and spirituality of a 10,000 year old culture, which is the link from the distant past to the present, and a key to the future. Sacred Sites are a means of connection of Man to Mother Earth and Father Sky, and to all things that dwell there-in, the physical and spiritual realities, the forces of nature, the expanses of the universe, and the Creator of all.

In just 200 years after contact with the Spanish explorers, approximately 95% of the Native American population had been wiped out by European weapons and disease. In the ensuing 300 years the descendants of the survivors have had their lands stolen, were forcibly and tragically relocated, had their rights of culture and religion denied, children taken from families, and suffered many other atrocities to try to annihilate their culture and force them to assimilate into the dominant society.

Despite the worst of conditions, some survived to carry on their heritage and re-claim their culture. Under threats of death, and many paying that price, their spiritual beliefs and knowledge of Old Ways were secretly passed down thru the Wisdom Keepers.
The discovery of this ceremonial site, and information regarding it's past, are due to the knowledge passed on from generation to generation, and the guidance of Creator that brought things into place.

Now the time has come to bring forth this legacy of the ancestors to public awareness, so that it may be preserved from desecration and destruction, and restored as a place of spirituality, higher learning, peace, and unity for all Native American Peoples. As such it will stand as a symbol for all Peoples of the world, and of the coming time when the Eagle of the North will again fly with the Condor of the South.

The future of Eagle Mound is in our hands

Message from the Hopi People -- People of Peace

We have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour.
Now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour and there are things to be considered.

Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in a good relation?
Where is your water?

Have you prepared you family?

Can you live from the Earth?

Know your garden.
It is time to speak your truth
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for the leader.
This could be a good time!

There is a river flowing now very fast
It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.
They will try to hold onto the shore.
They will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer greatly.
Know the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, and push off into the river, keep our eyes open, and our head above the water.
See who is in there with you and Celebrate.
At this time in history, take nothing personally.
Least of all ourselves.

For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.
The time of the lone wolf is over,
Gather yourselves!

Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that you do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
"We are the ones we've been waiting for..."

(The Elders, Hopi Nation, Oraibi, Arizona)

Contributed from Ed's Pages/ Growing Up Native (Click on Link)

Tuesday, October 16, 2007


This story was derived from a black woman's experience whereby she was being evicted for; (quote)” attempting to make a cultural statement on the properties where she was living.” Being that she had been given permission by the previous owners to teach on the land this made the eviction seem suspicious. The new property owner was overheard saying to another person not of color, that she was just another colored Woman! This piece is dedicated and written on behalf of this woman in hope that individuals will be mindful of the words that they choose to use and the power that they contain, to build up or to tear down. May we always remember the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks!

She's Just Another Colored Woman!

She's had 30 something operations in her life and she's only 50 plus years old, but she's just another colored Woman!

She has traveled all over the United States discovering her roots and teaching others to care about theirs, but she's just another colored Woman!

She has pitched tents, dug fire pits, moved the grandfathers (stones) all over the country to redistribute energies (history/herstory), but she's just another colored Woman!

She has helped women everywhere she has traveled, to become visionaries, better mothers, better sisters, better lovers, better community builders, but she's just another colored Woman!

She has traveled not only to discover her own roots, to build bridges to others, but she's just another colored Woman!

She has rediscovered and felt the pain of injustice to her people in her search but she's just another colored Woman!

She has survived the injustices inflicted upon her because of her birth but she's just another colored Woman!

She has remained quiet in the quake of all out discrimination but she's just another colored Woman!

She has worked on forgiveness at the core of her being when some have never tried, but she's just another colored Woman!

She has worked on her own healing through her craft but she's just another colored Woman!

She will rise again like the Phoenix from the ashes because she is a colored Woman!

She is a web weaver, a medicine woman, a midwife, a wisdom keeper, a storyteller, and she is a colored Woman!

She is a colored woman, she is a powerhouse of the Spirit, she is an instrument of the Most High, so don't be mistaken the next time you think you see just another colored Woman!

Written and Submitted by: Brenda Williams/ Sacredflower

The Great Impersonator

I had a lady one time tell me in a reading... you are a great impersonator! I didn't really know if that was an insult or a complement. First, I had to think about if I knew what the word really meant. Yeah, I guess I could agree with that but I would describe it as a survivor. I guess she was saying that I could fool a lot of people to my benefit. This is something I think actors/actresses go to school for. Maybe I missed my true calling? One of the benefits of being an only child is that you do a lot of observing people's behavior, even when they don't realize it. Body language has a message of its own. I have realized that my white face has helped me a lot because my children have always reminded me of white privilege. With a white face, at least you get in the door and sometimes heard. Of course, women have a tendency to try and block one another; after all, you do have to get past the receptionist. After a lifetime of thinking that my studying, applying myself, positive thinking, assertiveness, and divine intervention was what got me in, I was reminded by my children constantly, that my white face had a lot to do with it. Once you got in, you were able to display your attributes in order to sale all what you had to offer, by way of your talents. With a little bit of divine intervention you could be well on your way toward the experience you had asked for. When the opportunity presents itself, sometimes we regret the choice but we learn a lot out of it. My heart bleeds when I see my children and friends of color not have that same chance. I feel that, those of us that have white faces, have the responsibility of stepping in any way that we can to help another person have the chance to be heard and seen in this society. If this is the way I use white privilege, hopefully it will work towards healing racism. Every person has the right to work and make a living for their family. Even if someone walks a disruptive path but wishes to try it another way, they deserve a second chance. I feel that we as a people cannot turn others away because they have bucked the system only to find that maybe it didn't quite work out as they thought it would. Compassion will create a whole new society for the giver as well as the receiver. If we do not give people a chance that are looking for it, someone else will be waiting to tear down their self-worth for their own selfish gain.(Drug dealers, pimps, employers that are looking to exploit, etc…). We are hurting not only the individual but we are hurting our society because once someone lowers (abases) themselves; it's even harder to change them. God uses all of us as he/she sees fit. So, be ready at all times to be used for the good. Use that white face if necessary to make someone else's day! Be an impersonator if that is what it takes. There are those that only see what they want to see and that may be just your white face!

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


It was 4:00 a.m. on September 21, 2007 in New York city when I was running through the airport trying to make my flight on time and when I was just about to make it to my terminal,Bam! I fell to the floor not knowing what hit me. My bags were everywhere, clothes all over the place, when I look up, there she was speechless looking at me with the most beautiful face, like a queen! She was quickly picking up my boxer shorts, jockstrap, ( oh no! Not that I was thinking!) and her underwear, bras, along with everything else that had fell out of her bags. This was a pretty common scene for people that didn't leave home early enough to make their flights on time. We both were apologizing to one another and just trying to get re-acclimated to where we needed to be. I was trying to pull myself together straightening my vest, adjusting my pants to where I could look as though I still had it all together. We thanked each other and hurried off. I got to the ticket agent in time to get on board but I had lost sight of where this beautiful queen had disappeared to. I rushed to find my seat and when I got there, I was shocked to see that there she was, my mysterious queen. I sat down and smiled. Hi again, smiling I said. My name is Woody and yours? I am Queen Christina from Yanesta, Egypt. My eyes just about fell out, oh my God, she is a queen! We began to talk about each other's lives and she discovered that I was a Christian and that she was a Muslim. Then the conversation began to go in all kinds of directions because neither one of us felt like we needed to defend our religions, as a matter of fact we were amazed to find the commonalities between our faiths. We began to talk about each others everyday lifestyles. Then I discovered that late at night she gets herself a big bowl of buttery popcorn, calls up her girlfriends and listens to each other's stories on conference call because they have a writing group. I told her that since I travel for a living there isn't much that I do that's traditional. I said that I have crazy cravings late at night like, pancakes. She laughed with the most beautiful chuckle. She doesn't eat pork which I can understand from her faith in. She shows me pictures of her country and I am looking at llamas, while I share pictures of my travels where she had never seen a moose. We both just laughed as if we had known each other forever. Getting to know this queen was certainly a treat that I would never forget. We continued to talk and laugh until we both fell off to sleep. I'm sure that while I slept, I dreamed of my Queen.


Lunchtime at work is always the time of day I look forward to because I can do some cooking in the kitchen. While I'm sitting around the table all kinds of ingredients come out for the recipe of the Day.

Today my friend José sits with me and we start talking about the politics of our different countries. He starts our discussion about culture by him telling me that he wanted to be buried in his country when he died. I guess I was kind of surprised because his wife and children are here in America. His wife is American and his children are Mexican-American. I questioned him about whether or not he had considered his family may want to visit his graveside. He was sure that because of his tradition they would understand. I have witnessed a lot of funerals and my experience with the families left behind has been the statement most declared is, no one told me that!

Death is something that a lot of people would rather not discuss. The wishes of the deceased are sometimes never carried out because all the immediate family members were not told of the deceased wishes. It can be a very disturbing time for those left behind, even with the best plans. Heartstrings are not easily broken.

I listened to Jose intently as he told his story of his sacrifices to be in this country. He said that he had told his story before many times but a lot of people did not believe him. He was seven years old when he started working in Mexico to help his parents at home financially. He would take his monies home to his mama when he got paid and she would give him what she thought he needed. After high school, he chose work over more education because he saw the poverty in his town and he wanted to help his family.

When José came to this country with his father he came to work tobacco. Coming over here he had to do whatever was necessary to survive. That included drinking unclean water from creeks where cattle and other animals drank, along with whatever else the animals did at the drinking hole. One of the things that I admired while listening to José's story was how he always used his money to help his family including a brother that was furthering his education as a doctor.

While I sit at that table with my friend listening to his experiences on this side of the border I realized that he earned his rights to be in this country and to enjoy the fruits of his labor some 30 plus years later. I also realized that as an American voter I could not go along with any immigration policies implemented that would change his ability to stay here now or ever. There are people born in this country that have not earned the right as much as this man that sat in front of me to live in this country freely.

I cannot imagine what it must feel like for people that come to this country, in the name of freedom from poverty or religious persecution, must emotionally and mentally go through wondering, if today will be the day. The day that a person in the White House with the power of the pen, could change in just one moment in time, their entire destiny if they deemed it necessary.

It is amazing how, by just hearing someone's story, it can empower you, with knowledge that could change the course of history, by your power to vote. When people’s entire level of existence can be affected by a law, in my opinion this law has to be voted upon by the entire population of a country.

I feel that the jury of our peers should be implemented in this situation. The jury should be all the voting people of the land. Knowing someone and being able to put a face in the story, makes all the difference as to how one understands the implications of the charges and sentencing. It seems to reason that when we as a people stop getting in the business of how our country implements its decisions on law, we also stop caring about what freedom represents.

I am grateful to my friend José, for sharing some of his story with me because I hear this story in the many faces of survival in our country called the land of the Free. For me, this means that every one should listen to one another's stories before we just believe what we are told is in the best interest of our country. We are talking about people's lives, not numbers.

The next time I hear about immigration issues I will be really paying attention to what is being said for the sake of my many friends faces that I have a name for not just a number.

I am so grateful for the kitchen table and what is served up there for the soul.

Submitted by: Brenda Williams/Sacred flower @ The Writer's Cafe'


"It's all about the money, ain’t it", was his question to me. I have always enjoyed my conversations with people that are not originally from this country. The question that Sha’ presented to me this time had me really thinking because it's not the first time in our conversations that he has posed it for discussion.

I reflect back to our conversations of him coming to this country at a very young age of eight years old. He already had become accustomed to his culture, and then drastically was presented to an unwelcoming environment of American schools. I could really understand why this question of money became a theme in his life. There is no doubt that America is losing its appeal through the dire disease of materialism fueled by selfishness and greed. When any country has been given the title of, “land of the rich and famous”, people have a tendency to want to experience that ideal.

Children are treated different in our schools by what they bring to the table, materially. There is no doubt about that, our children are suffering with the cut in school budgets, underpaid and overworked teachers, along with the pressures put on the principles to meet the numbers expected of them in testing. Everyone is rushed and pushed to provide success in the numbers for the politicians who are trying to prove that they are the ones who can get the job done at any cost to the children. The separating doesn't just start in the lunch rooms, it starts at home.

When we have the conversations with our children about what success is what do we say? Is success the college degree, the fight to get to the top of the best companies, the biggest house your money can buy, the name brand products and clothing in the interest of quality? What is quality? Does it define who I am? Who am I? Does my achievements to define who I am? At what cost must we win? Where are the boundaries? When does family values come first? Do they ever rank first? When do we say it's enough? At what cost, to of us as families, a community, a nation, yes even the world, are we willing to pay? Are these the values we want to cultivate within our children, should be the question.

Will the materialistic drive in this country destroy everything in the name of freedom? Going back to my friend's question; “isn't it all about the money?” This is a question I think is worth pondering individually as well as collectively. How far are we willing to go and what are we going to sacrifice within our families just for the money. To my friend I would like to say, yes, on the surface, if we're not careful and observant everything in our lives will be driven by the money. Let us all be mindful. We are not the first generation to be challenged and asked to step back, look at the bigger picture and make a choice that you want to live with. The choices that have been made by those that we have placed in power and our own decisions have brought us where we are today. Now we have to be accountable for what we bring on the next seven generations. I pray that I will pay attention to what I contribute to the whole. Hopefully others will do the same.

Money will always be an issue in our lives, which is the design of our economy; however, it is important that we drive the car, not the car driving us. It is time for true freedom in a country that prides itself on the word freedom. Are we prisoners within a society that calls itself free? Maybe that's another thought to ponder. Especially since our free society continues to build prisons rather than reconfigure its teachings. Tell our people, to free themselves from the shackles of this world is what I am screaming!

Submitted by: Brenda Williams/Sacredflower@ The Writers Cafe

Friday, October 5, 2007


Freedom is a word that frightens most writers because most writers of the heart know that freedom is something rarely experienced in published forum. By the time the truth has been chopped up and dissected from the heart of a piece, you're only left with something that is acceptable by the powers at large within your society. When I read Kahil Gibran's letters in, “A Second Treasury of Kahlil Gibran”, I realized what the implications of freedom experienced by a true writer felt like. I could identify with what the soul is experiencing and wanting to share opposed to what our society is willing to hear or accept. This is the challenge before all artists/writers I suppose. Eventually, it seems that it comes down to finding a forum that will allow your voice to be heard, until you are considered worthy, which may not even be until after your death. Maybe we have to just write, come what may and be content as to who receives it. When it is time it will be discovered by those whom are worthy to receive. As writers we are the blessed ones to have received the understanding which we write about. To have the bounty of birthing something into creation is a gift beyond measure. We have to continue birthing so what is within will not spoil. All things within, have purpose without. Just as there are children birthed into the world, that others, see no use for, it is the same for ideas. Everyone and everything birthed has purpose. For those that can see, it is a blessing. We have to keep challenging ourselves to change, rather than maintain only one perception as to how it is now! If change does not evolve ones thinking, then progress cannot be obtained. The organic process of progress is why the same things continue to be written. There are those souls who are ready to receive and it flows forth from the pen for the ones that await its arrival. It is by the grace of something more Divine, that every season brings forth a fresh supply to partake from. What may seem new, is only so for its receiver. Ancient truths exist in eternity, for the discovery to the one whom is on a quest of unfolding its delicacies. To savor its sweetness, is as refreshing as a warm summer breeze. To stand in the essence, of the embrace that holds one to its endearment, is beyond words. The journey one follows in the deep silence to depths of spiraling unfolding, leads one back to the center of true embrace. This moment, fills the soul with a remembrance that cannot be contained. Again the pen flows. Once again, will we be heard? Being heard is not as important anymore as staying in the eternal flow, which begins to take a life of its own.

Submitted by: Brenda Williams/Sacredflower @ The Writers Cafe


Over here at the writer's café we are stirring up things in the kitchen. My sisters need to awaken from their slumber. Every time I hear of another fallen sister it nudges me to say out loud… wake up! The lover we search for through others is within ourselves. There is no way to draw a picture of what I mean but it is a retreat to self that you have to make, in order to spare yourself a lot of unnecessary drama. If you have someone and still don't understand why you feel like you're missing something, it's because you are. That longing you have has nothing to do with the other person as much as it has to do with you. It's great not to have to walk alone on your journey but if that person does not respect your spiritual boundaries and vice versa, you might as well be alone because there are going to be a lot of lonely days ahead. When you get to the crossroads together you still have to spend time alone in the wilderness with the one who loves you beyond boundaries. Your Beloved demands time alone with you. If you cannot hear the gentle call, it can get very loud. The gentle nudge can be very comforting but when you get so distracted that a tremendous stop has to take place in your life, you wonder what happened. Sometimes we even get called home because we are so stubborn. That is what I am seeing with child abuse and spouse/partner abuse. When we allow ourselves to stay in abusive relationships we really need some, “timeout”, to evaluate ourselves. To be truly honest, means to go out in the wilderness even if it means putting our families in safe hands while we get with ourselves. Most of the time in abuse cases the victim loses connection with their core being, their center, which is our connection with all that there is. Every being that has experienced abuse knows that center place, because in the early stages of abuse you can hear the subtle warnings within. The signs pop up everywhere. You know what I mean. Yes, I'm talking to you! One on one! We know who we are. Why do I need this person so-o-o-o bad? I deserve better treatment than what I am getting! I don't deserve this s-h-i-t-! Why don't I just walk away? I can do better by myself! What am I afraid of? Do not put so much energy into what you do not understand. Remember back in school, what we were told at test time? Don't spend a lot of time on what you don't understand, go on and do what you do know! Same advice goes for the tests in life. Fake it, until you make it. Self-confidence, faith and strong will, it will bring you through every time! This power I'm talking about, is not left behind in the counselors offices, in the churches, these institutions are only tools to direct you back to your center, your source within your self. When you don't have the monies to get the finest doctors, ministers, books, foods, etc… remember, what you need, will be provided. That is a promise in your faith that you can bank on. The first step to avoiding abuse, is to not go there. Read the handwriting on the wall. Do not ignore the signs and try to be a hero in order to avoid loneliness. Teach your daughters, that they hold the jewels and someone is always going to try to get them. If you have already crossed that safe zone, it's never too late to turn back. Let there be no shame in your game to step back and take a second look at yourself, reevaluate yourself about what you deserve. Know thyself, is one of your greatest discoveries. Broken dreams can be rebuilt, restored, and redefine. You came to the world to bring something to the table. Be strong and serve it up! Explore the ingredients in your recipe, add to or take away but make it original. Your authentic self knows all of the spices you came to the table with. Do not be afraid to stir things up in your kitchen and when you're ready, do what you need to do! Ladies be an example and passed on those valuable recipes! Live your life and kick it up a notch! Do not wait until someone is trying to kill you for what you have. Get out while you can because an abuser is so far down into self gratification and not knowing their self-worth that the only thing they can do is try to steal someone else's jewels. They want to control, what they cannot within their own lives, their direction. We always have a choice to change the ingredients to the recipe (directions) but we have to have the balls!! I challenge you to check out the recipe to your life and add to it whatever you need to make it authentically say; I’ve got the balls!! Serve it up!!

Submitted by: Brenda Williams/Sacredflower @ The Writers Cafe

"Why Didn't Someone Tell Her?"

The phone is ringing; a call comes from a friend in high school. Her name is Carol. Hey Sashay, how are you? Fine and how have you been, I said? I just thought I would call to see how your workshop was going, Carol said. It has been great, I said. I knew there was something else on her mind because she never called me unless there was some juicy gossip down in South Carolina that she wanted to share. That was about the only way I knew of anything that was ever happening down there because when I left the past behind, I thought I had freed myself from the shackles of that world. As she began to share the latest news, I realized that I have never left things behind and that is why I do the work that I do. Do you remember that guy down in the cove a few years ago, that the police arrested, because he raped a little girl. I believe it was his niece and she was about eight years old, she said. Yeah, I remember that because my mother kept the clipping from the newspaper and I found it after she passed, I said. Well, I just heard that he is about to marry a girl from out of town that doesn't know anything about his history. People are saying, that her mother is having a fit because she has a nine-year-old daughter, she said. Why doesn't someone tell her, do you think she knows anything, I asked. Well, you know how people can act when someone is accused of rape and doesn't get charged, Carol said. Yeah, but you know from all the stories I've done, that not being charged doesn't mean you're innocent, I exclaimed! Keep me updated as to what happens, okay. I really hope for the child's sake that she doesn't marry this guy, I said wearily. I know right! I'll call you if I hear anything, Carol said in a hurry. This call is what prompted me to write the story, “Why Didn't Someone Tell Her?” I hope that this story will encourage ladies to think very seriously about how well they know a male friend, before trusting their children's lives to them, especially, considering the amount of sexual predators exposed through current TV shows. Even though this story is fiction, it is a lot of children's story in our society. Every one of the adult stories is somebodies story in our world. My intention is to try to present the splash factor, of our choices and how every person the splash touches changes their lives forever. The “splash factor”, is a metaphor used to help people envision how we all get wet by another person's actions.

Why Didn't Someone Tell Her?

Why didn't someone tell her? That's what they all said when the child was found in the woods back behind the cemetery. What a fitting place to leave a child after you have ripped away her life and chance of ever having a childhood of playing again. Her childness laid on the ground in a pool of blood where he was a giant in comparison to her small body. In his drunkenness he was pounding away at her while she fought back and cried, hoping someone would hear her and come to her rescue. Now, after eight long hours someone discovers her limp body, barely breathing from the raped episode that lasted so many hours she can’t even remember.

Lying in the hospital with cold dark beautiful brown eyes that now look hollow from the experience, you can’t help but wonder, who would do such a thing to a child. While the mother is sitting next to her child crying, you can hear the local nurses whispering, why didn't someone tell her? Tell her what! I wonder if they would tell me if I just went up and asked.

I was just a stranger passing through and they didn't know me, but that might be more reason they would feel safe sharing this gossip. What can I do? I feel so sorry for the mother. I have been doing stories on sexual predators for ever and nothing surprised me whether it was on the East or West Coast, North or South.

I have always been curious about where they hide out to be able to always find another victim. I got up and went over to the two ladies to ask the question. I introduced myself as a writer for the New Light Magazine and how these stories are what I have been writing about for 10 years to try and inform women how to keep their children safe.

They were nice and said that this man had been accused five different times for this crime but he always got off because he raped children within the family. However this child was the child of his girlfriend. She moved from the west coast so she didn't know his history. They said that a lot of women don't want to hear about a man's past as if it doesn't matter. Just because he is not prosecuted does not mean that he is not guilty. The woman should have found out everything she could about him, being that she had a daughter. They informed me that his family was so embarrassed by his actions that no one ever talked about it, hoping he would change his ways. They said he would always wait about five to seven years and then strike again. If no one locally would have anything to do with him, that should tell you something.

I was so startled by the things they were saying but it wasn't something new, only a different town, different faces, but the same stories all over the country. If the man is not prosecuted and put on sex offenders list, a mother only has the gossip or rumors to depend on. So, this is one more story to mothers to say, please be aware in your dating for the sake of your children and don't just depend on lists and agencies to keep your little ones safe. Take your time with someone new; check out their character and background by any means necessary. It is not a pretty sight to be sitting in an emergency room on your vacation for something you did stupid, to see a small child and their crying parent fall victim to someone who should have been locked up a long time ago. Take heed mothers, if your child is safe now! To our communities I would say, don't be afraid to speak up on rumors or gossip if it may save children's lives. To the families of the predators I would say in this case, blood is not thicker than water when it brings one person sin down on the whole family for generations to come. The question still is, why didn't someone tell her?

The Victim 20 years later:

People have always told me that I need to tell my story, so that other children will fill safe to tell theirs and so mothers can hear a child's cry out for help. It has taken me 20 years to get to a place where I could even start to let the world know my feelings of embarrassment, discuss, just trust, injustice, hatred, envy, jealousy, guilt, neglect, and feeling ashamed. This is a short list in comparison to what I have had to experience because of someone else's issues.

Why would any eight-year-old have to experience losing their childhood to an adult who was supposed to love you and care about you is truly sick in my book. However it happens every day somewhere in the world. It is happening right now as I speak, maybe at your neighbors or at your own house. It doesn't even matter if it is a best friend or a family member; someone is being abused, right now! I didn't think it could happen to me. As a matter of fact, I didn't think about it at all. I was always taught to listen to adults.

My mother's boyfriend seemed nice enough but he drank on the weekends kind of heavy. He always got friendlier when he drank. Always offering for me to ride with him to the country store for ice cream and cookies. He always told me how pretty I looked. I didn't think anything about it. Was I supposed to? My mother is the one that should have been suspicious. Now I understand that after years of therapy and blaming myself as if it was something I did.

She was relieved that I live, that eased her conscious. But, little did she know, is that I've just started to live when I met Charles, he has a lot of patience though. If it wasn't for his patience, love and understanding we wouldn't still be together. I still have my moments of crying when I realize I am not in the now. Whether it is a fear of something when we are making love all when I lashed out at him because he is not being sensitive enough. When I had these moments I try to catch myself and we have an agreement to not retaliate on the first round.

It takes a lot just to make it through a day, for me. I know it's hard on Charles to. He wishes the guy death all the time because of what it did to my freedom. We get through it though, one day at a time. I have my moments where I just have to stop and cry. Grandma tried to tell Mama that the guy was no good. She told her the rumors but mama had already fallen for his game and his family. Grandma drove mama to him because of the issues they had with one another. The issues between daughters and their mothers can sometimes cause great harmful to kids because healthy boundaries are not established. By the time the daughters are mature enough to see the wisdom from their mother's mistakes they have already put their children in harm's way.

That's the way it was for me and a lot of other children. Mom had to work that weekend and grandma had been arguing with her about mama wanting to move in with Gerald. The next thing I knew we had suitcases in the car and headed to Gerald's family house in the country.

Gerald was excited that mama had stood up to grandma. He had mama right where he wanted her, trusting him. Three weeks passed and everybody got a little relaxed. Grandma stopped fussing but she was still concerned about me because mama and Gerald were talking marriage. She always reminded me that I could come live with her if I felt the least bit uncomfortable. She was trying to be patient because she found out that mom was pregnant with Gerald's baby. Grandma may have lost the fight but she felt that she was still in the battle for my safety.

It was Saturday morning about 8:30 a.m. and mama had left for work about 6:30. I hear Gerald in the kitchen trying to cook. I got up and stumbled to the kitchen, he was just starting to get to grits, eggs and bacon going. He had a beer already open and drinking while he cooked, that was his breakfast. He told me to go get my bath and hurry back. I did as he told me and hurried back to a good smelling kitchen. Little did I know, this was going to be the beginning of a long day? After breakfast, we went to town to run some errands. Before we headed on the way home, we had stopped at several of his friends houses that had children and I played with them. He had been drinking with his friends at every house and they were smoking blunts too. He got louder and louder. It was getting late evening and I was getting tired, so we headed home. He turned up the music and was singing the lyrics as we bounced down the dirt road. I fell asleep. The next thing I knew we were in the back of the truck with the camper door closed with him on top of me. I will never forget his stinking breath and him putting his hands over my mouth every time I tried to screen. I was hurting so bad. He slapped me a lot and told me that no one would believe me if I told. He told me that I wanted him to do it because I flaunted around him all the time with short dresses and sometimes in my panties after a bath. I ended up passing out
from exhaustion and when I woke I was in a hospital with mama beside my bed crying. It took a long time to heal and the doctor said I might would never have children because of some damage done to my private areas.

However, by the grace of God, I am pregnant and Charles is very excited. I am a little scared because I am in my seventh month. Everything is okay thus far but I will feel better when I can hold this little girl in my arms to count every toe and finger.

Grandma took me from mama after that episode because mama was never the same and I needed lots of love along with therapy. Mama lost the baby, I guess because of the stress. I was sorry for her. Her boyfriend never got any time for what he did to me. I don't know why, but I do know that his life has been terrible and I hear that he got hooked on crack after Mama lost the baby. Justice works out in mysterious ways. All I know is that I never sought vengeance on him because my grandmother taught me that the good book say it, vengeance is mine saith the Lord. That has sufficed me all these years while I have been healing. After all, I am having a happy life now with Charles and expecting my own little girl. I am promising her every day that I have worked on my issues with my mother, so that I will not bring it to the table for our relationship. I also have learned about recognizing patterns that need to be broken between the generations, along with establishing healthy boundaries. I also was very careful in allowing God to bring me together with someone who could grow with me in my joy. I may not be perfect but I am making my choices and not letting my choices make me. I owe my life to God and my grandma.

Grandma 20 years later:

When I look at her now, I can't hardly believe we've come this far but I am so grateful to God that things have turned out for Sheryl the way that they have. It hasn't been an easy road to hoe but God is good all the time. It has been 20 years since that ugly episode happened to my grand baby but I knew in my heart that God would pull us through. It broke my heart what happened to her and then I had to wedge a knife deeper between me and my own daughter, to save my granddaughter. Enough mistakes have been made in our family towards the girls and I was determined it would stop with my grandchild.

The sexual abuse goes back as far as I can remember with stories from the elders, about the women in our family. The women were made to believe that they only came to serve the sorry men they had chosen in our lives. My mama’s father died and her mother remarried. He used to take them into the tobacco barn to do his business. If they tried to tell, no one believed them, plus everyone was so worried about keeping the man around. It wasn't anything for the men to whore around. It seemed to have become accepted behavior. They all went out sometimes and got drunk together just to try and forget the madness. I can remember the first time my step-daddy slapped me down in the barn to tell me who was boss over my body.

When my husband died, I remarried because I needed help with those six children and the farm. The first time I caught my husband about to hump my girl, I got the shotgun, loaded it and shot in the air. I told him I would shoot his damn brains out. He was lucky I didn't, but somebody had to raise the children. He got up, got his clothes, and left. I never saw him again. I'm vowed it would not happen to my daughter. I never remarried but I may have been bitter to my children, because it was hard being 27 with no man and six children. We had to work hard and share everything. We never had much and they did with the best I could do.

Cheryl always resented that she didn't have what other children had but I did the best I could. If it wasn't for my children, I don't know. My children gave me purpose. I didn't know about psychology or therapy back then but I can appreciate it, now that I have hindsight. I look at my child and her eyes are so empty with the crack look. She and her crack husband have had a time.

I think that my granddaughter is going to turn the direction of our family around by the grace of God. Our God is a forgiving God and I have learned that life is so much better if you can find it in your heart to forgive. We can have anything we want if we are willing to forgive and strive forward. My granddaughter has really taught me more, than what she says I have taught her. I was just trying to survive but I am trying to teach her how to live. Set yourself free my darling. Grandma loves you.

Mother 20 years later:

I am a mess! Nothing in my life makes any sense to me. Why am I killing myself with this drug? Because, I don't deserve to live. I allowed a man to come into my life, and destroy my child's life, my life and my mom's life. Who am I fooling? Everybodies life is much better than mine because they decided to do something to change theirs! I on the other hand would rather blame myself and lay in self-pity and get high to try to forget! It doesn't work, it never goes away, and it’s always in my head! The memories will not go away! I thought he loved me.

No one loves me, the world is a fraud! My own mother doesn't love me! My daughter doesn't love me! I don't blame her though! I let a man fool me because I was lonely and full of shame, thinking no one would want me with a child and I would never get married. So, I settled for less than what I wanted for me and my child. Now look at what I've got! A big fat nothing! My daughter has told me a million times that she forgives me but I just can't forgive myself! That would be too easy. I must punish myself for what I allowed to happen to her.

She keeps asking me to get some help. She tells me she loves me and that she wants me to see my first grandchild. The child would be better off if I was dead. When she knows the truth about what I let happen to her mother she will hate me anyway. That's what I'm afraid of. I can't handle that! But, that is what I deserve! I owe it to my daughter and to myself, I know, to be a better grandma that I was a mother. I will never be as good as her grandmother as my mother was. My mother was brave; she had courage to take my door away from me to give her a chance at life. I don't know if I could ever do that. Take a risk and no one loving me. Wow, I have already done that!

If I can straighten up as well as I have messed up that would really be a story to tell. I should really go to get some help because I can’t do this by myself. The Women's Circle helps women like me and they are open until 8:00 p.m. It's 7:45 p.m. maybe I can make it, if I hurry. Arriving at 8:02 p.m. the doors are locked. Oh well, maybe I'll try again tomorrow. Walking down the street with her head down she walks by an alley and someone hit Sheryl over the head and knocked her unconscious. When she awakens in a hospital emergency room, she looks up to see those same big brown eyes from 20 years ago with tears falling down, “Mama I love you! Please stay alive to see your first grandchild!”

The Predator 20 years later:

The dim light from the lamp causes my eyes to burn as I strain to get my flowing thoughts out on paper, before the moment passes into the utter darkness of forgetfulness. What makes me think those memories will ever part from my mind is an illusion I keep imagining will manifest. I feel desperation to get it all out before they decide if my sentence is going to be death or castration. Do they think cutting my penis off will be a punishment? It will actually be freedom from my haunting desires that I have no control over.

Trying to remember how it all began takes me back to when I was six years old. Mom would send me over to the seminary to work with father George. She said it would be good for my soul to see what a sacrificial life looked like. I felt like she was sacrificing the lamp to the wolves but how could I get her to understand that without telling the secret! I often asked myself, if I was a girl would she have insisted for me to go over to work with father George. Maybe she did know what was going on at the seminary and that is why she sent me. That is too cruel to even imagine but I still wondered. Mom, would send me over every Monday, Thursday and Saturday with instructions to do what ever I was asked to do, because service was the highest calling, she would say.

The first time I was suspicious of father George's intention was when we were alone in his office and he said that we were going to file some books on the high shelves he couldn't reach. While I was showing the books he talked to me about the celibate life choice and how it could be difficult sometimes but that was why it was such a high honor to be of service to those that had made the choice. If they were being tested by their natural inclinations it was an honor to be of service to them, he said. I didn't know what father George was talking about, but I reflected back to the day I caught him with his hand inside his roab, moving. When I was coming down the ladder he called me over and asked me to help him with something under his desk that he couldn't reach. As I was getting up off my knees he put his hand on my head to rub my hair. He said I had beautiful hair. When I turned around he grabbed me and pulled me toward him. I was startled and he explained that he had chosen boys that helped him in ways that no one else could. He told me, that if I help helped him I would be blessed and my mother would be so proud of me. It didn't sound right but my mom continued to say, to do what Father George asked. He rubbed my shoulders and started moving his hands down my back, quickly he reached around to my pants to unfasten them and then to slowly move them down, just enough, to push himself inside of me. He leaned me over his desk and I was crying but he couldn't see my tears. He kept telling me that this was our special secret. It hurt so badly but all I could think of was how proud my mother would be. Father George told me not to tell anyone because then they would think he was weak. He also said, I wouldn't receive my blessing and mother would be punished. This hideous act continued three times a week until I turned 10 years old. I was so ashamed that I couldn't tell anyone.

Mama got suspicious when I started refusing to go. I tried to help her understand that I wanted to play sports with the other boys. I began to notice girls and I wondered if I would one day have a girlfriend. Kids picked on me all the time. The boys used to call me a faggot and the girls picked at me because I didn't make passes at them like the other boys. The confusion that was going on in my head was starting to cause me to have thoughts of violence. Maybe, I would tie a girl up and force her just like I was being forced, even though I was being obedient to my mother's wishes. Maybe, I would have someone to hold a boy while I did to him what Father George was doing to me. Then they could be blessed too! Maybe, then they would leave me alone! Nobody wanted to let me fit in. Did they know? Did Father tell someone?

Seven years passed and I was walking home one night from the movies. I saw two girls walking ahead of me and I split off through the woods so they wouldn't think I was following them. They looked scared and I didn't want that, because then they would take precaution. One girl went in her house, while the other walked on down the street toward hers. I came out of the bushes behind her and covered her mouth while she was fighting me. I knocked her out with the tree of limb. While she lay there I looked at her and wondered what it would feel like for her, if I did to her what was done to me. I unzipped my pants, pulled her panties down and then I flipped her over to enter her from behind. I felt a warm sensation come over me, it was like Father George said, and I couldn't help myself. Maybe she would be blessed, like I was promised by Father George. I took out my handkerchief and wiped her off; gently like father George did me, and kissed her buttocks. I realized at this moment, as if I was looking in a mirror, I was seeing Father George through my eyes. I pulled up her panties and straightened her dress just like nothing had happened. I ran and hid to watch. I had to make sure no one hurt her. When she woke up she was startled but she felt her head and placed her hand on her panties in shock, as if she were saying to herself, nobody raped me! She got up and ran home. The next day, the paper read that someone had attacked a young girl but there was no evidence of rape. That was my first of many attempts at rape but I always thought I was blessing the children. This time I went too far. This was the child of the woman I was going to marry. The woman that finally loved me for me but she didn't really know me. The deep dark secret finally caught up with me and stole any possible hope of my ever having a life of happiness. There was a part of me that was really tired and for once I came really close to being blessed by a woman. That moment came and passed me by so quick that I missed it. Now I sit here waiting my fate.

Written and submitted by: Brenda Williams

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Soul Listener

One of the writers at "The Writers Cafe" used a term the other nite, it was Soul Listener and I was intrigued. The more she spoke of this term the more I recognized its definition. While I was on my retreat one of the things that stood out for me was, Spider with her beautiful web. There were five around my cabin and everywhere I went I was being reminded of the interconnectedness of humanity. I have always been a Soul Listener and I think this is what I was realizing at the workshop the other nite. I want to hear what people are saying on a much deeper level because I feel people on that level. I think that most of the time people are just waiting to be heard but they need to feel safe to express their true selves. Our society is spiraling out of control but I think we can mend the web of our society through the heart center of every individual. It is through everyone understanding our interconnection and realizing that just because we turn our heads the other way does not mean that what we see will disappear or that someone else will take care of it. Things show up so we can see the reflection within us that needs attention. When we heal ourselves we heal the world. I will continue to be a Soul Listener because I understand the need to be heard.

Submitted By: Brenda Williams/Sacredflower @ The Writers Cafe