Like I said earlier, we never know the burden's one carries inside them. It is true the scars someone carries inside them, the invisible ones, no one see's. At times not even ourselves. My fathers demons and the scars he carried in his heart, ran deep. So scarred up, it is nothing but a tough piece of hard flesh. This dream is the hardest, well one of them. If only in my dreams? No God, I don't want to go back. I don't want to know. Just the symbolism is horrifying.
To my family and my friends from Hazen Highlanders and Renton Indian's. The gold, the blue, the red and white. I am truly sorry down deep inside for any pain and suffering you or your loved ones have experienced this time. Why we are all here today? Why we walked this journey one last time together? To all my brothers and sisters from so far back you don't even know. Please try to remember where we live? Please try to remember just who we are inside and why all the pain inside we carry? We are here for our children. Something about the ages and the last five generations. We are warriors and we are here for one last fight to clean this God Forsaken house. By God this is my rock, this is my heart, this is my family and if I'm God's God Damned daughter then so be it.
God's big plan, and who you are inside. This dream was the hardest one. Please find that rock and light inside you. I know it's hard to believe just who's family we truly belong to. We are the indigo children, we are the lion's, we are the native's, we are the wild ones. Together we are all brothers and sisters and I'm so sorry to tell you up in heaven we are all brothers and sisters through blood and essence. Our names and numbers keep over linking and crossing paths again and again to be here today. We fallen Angel's are related to that one fallen angel. It seems I married Cane. For this dream I am so sorry. It is our family. It is our numbers. It is my children, Your flock is my flock and its time for a heads up. It's time to wake up and smell the coffee. The one face I did not see in this slaughter was Greg's. My children's father. Greg's/Cane's job was to take out the mother, burn me out and kill me off so I can't feed my children.
On this journey, I saw my father after he died in my dreams only. I thought it odd that he was the one who showed up just before Jim moved in with me or just after. I was on the back porch and we were sitting on a bench. My father told me "he's not a good man." My answer was "I know dad. All he needs is love."
He disappeared I didn't see my father for about ten years until sitting in Earthwork's Park. He stood next to my brother in a white shirt. My brother in a loin cloth. Brother Todd had dark shoulder length hair, swinging a rock on a rope in his right hand. It was here I sat and wrote "I am here for these two ring's, but later I discovered their are three." I had just taken off after the third set of sevens walked through the door. I said "dad, I can feel you. I do not see you. Where are you in all this?" Then the conversation with me saying "no dad, I don't trust that German man and Japanese woman to bring my children home."
I started to wonder after my brother grew bigger and the answers came to just who my brother truly is. The sex and orgasm's were weird. The intensity. I didn't know what to call my own father? I could not and would not look to my own father, for who was doing that to me. So I asked one day, what do I call my father? Who does he represent? I was walking down the hill by a white cross that said, Dale Shepard and he lived and died on his 32nd birthday, sometime in July. I was standing in front of a church and the answer hit me, "JC." I started wailing and screaming with my right hand in the air. My head thrown back. I didn't care who saw me. Never alone out here anyways. No place to have a moment. My father was a good man and I loved him very much. It turns out my fathers burdens were heavy. Until I got taken back to these dreams last night and what they meant. All those dreams I didn't remember having. I never truly understood just how heavy my fathers burdens were and just how he represents JC. The pain and suffering of JC's sacrifice and what he went through inside his own purgatory. I never knew their was even an answer to that question.
My father had a younger brother named Richard. My brother/father couldn't say the word pig. He was only two. It came out Pij. So that became my Uncles name, Pij. He married a woman named Penny and they moved to California and had two daughters. They both became school teachers. Their daughters were Sandy and Sherry. I believe Sherry had the migraines.
I went back in my dreams to stay with my father. He was living alone in his parents house. It was in Othello Washington. 1151 Juniper Street. The house was a lil different this time. I did not see my father hardly. We barely spoke. Most of the time he was in my grandmothers old room locked away. This was the room that I saw primary colored women floating around in in my dreams. They were my families, Irish Fairies.
I was following my father one day.
In the backyard their was a train track that wasn't there before. It was dark inside. Allot of shadows. An old black steam engine train. I snuck and followed my father onto the train. It was abandoned. It took us to a old barn huge barn. I followed my father inside. Their was movement and I remember hiding somewhere in the barn and watching something. The second time I snuck out and did the ride alone, actually I wasn't alone I was being followed by someone I could not see. So I rode out in plain site on this train. I kept going back day and night on my own. Usually followed by no one I could see. Another place to hide out in and watch and see. It was what I saw that was so horrifying. Just the representation of what I saw in this dream.
In the backyard where their used to be crabapple tree's and a garden, my father and his brother had a farm. They were the two in charge. It was my father wielding the butcher knife. I had to be part of the team to see what was inside. I pretended to go along. Like I was their to work. So I could see in every room. In every cage. It was people. In cages disguised as sheep. It was a slaughter house for sheep. In these faces, cages and bodies were my classmates that I crossed paths with. From Renton Indian's to the Hazen Highlanders. Their are two other schools in King County. Lindbergh and Liberty.
I stayed with my father for two weeks. I kept going back each night. Not even aware I was having the dream. I kept going back to dig around. The town was pretty desolate. Like so many houses in so many other dreams I went poking around in. I remember sneaking the sheep out, and making deals with the workers to turn their backs.
This took place toward the back of the house It was off my grandpa Jack's bedroom back then. He was an alcoholic too. Sweet. sweet, peaceful man. He had a fruit and vegetable stand sometime in the past. I heard it was because of him that my fathers family had a comfortable life. Every one I knew back then always told me what nice people they were. Truly they were. They loaned money to people who were struggling and it was amazing they always paid it back. They were burdened but not unkind. They kept a nice neat house on the outside. My father wouldn't leave that house. I remember the last few times I saw him. It was like he was transforming each time.
Once a neat clean man. James Dean type in good looks, except that lil ball on our noses. He grew his hair long along with his beard to cover the scabs and scars from Wolfe Disease. He looked like he had a rough ride each time I saw him. He looked like Rip Van Winkle for awhile. Like he was chained inside a cave a dungeon long ago and forgotten about. No matter what, my father went from being a quarter back of his school, a carpenter and a gifted man. Over six feet tall with that wiry wrangley look. To a decimated shell of a man. He had long thigh bones and I described my father as the walking dead. Except that half smile with a chuckle and sparkle in his blue eyes.
He died hating me, his daughter for taking his freedom away. I know one thing, I gave him a house to fall into. Thank God he could not know alive then what I know today. I took my father out of that house. Their was no freedom in that house. It was hell's slaughter. My family was keeping those gates closed for another generation. At my Fathers funeral attended by his brother Richard, Cane my X, my sister and my niece, I sang Amazing Grace. I kept my singing voice hidden. I didn't like to sing out loud in front of anyone, but for my fathers so called miserable life, knowing what I know today, releasing my father from those chains of hell. Just in that one song. From Father to daughter I now know what that song means, along with the rest of those dreams.
Found my father a place in Graham, Washington. He died in a convalescent home alone, or so I thought. When the nurse called me she did not tell me or my sister he was dying. Just giving us a check-up, but not wanting to be the bearer of bad news, she told half of the truth and left us to carry the load and blame for not being there when he died. My father was a King. He was a hidden King his burden's he carried inside so I could not see, yet somehow I got handed the burdens.
In these dreams during these drinking dark times. Shari was usually there. My brothers daughter who was in my wedding in Hawaii. The one who when we stood together, I could see in our T-zones just how much alike we really look. Different shapes, but everything else the same. My father's name is Jack. He is the other Big J in this family of Johns.
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