Sexual Healing For A Little Boy
When I was 4 years old, my mother divorced my father. This catapulted me into the dark years of my childhood; she married an alcoholic man ten years younger than her. Almost immediately, the beatings began, the tearing apart the house, the shattering glass, and the shouted accusations of infidelity.
My mother was indeed promiscuous. To see her now, crippled by major strokes (though living independent with minimal assistance) would give anyone inspiration to the determination of the human spirit, and foster compassionate forgiveness for a woman who now lives with the memory of past mistakes. I fly ‘cross country about every 3 months to visit, fix things around the house, and administer hugs whenever possible. The issue isn’t about forgiving her; it’s about forgiving me.
In early kindergarten, one day we were assigned to play house, and I was matched with a Japanese girl named ‘Susan’. As the play went on, I didn’t know what to do. One of the other children said “Do what you see at home”. I hesitated, then pushed Susan over the stacked crates that were the pretend walls of the house. I began shouting the obscenities I had heard nightly at home, including accusations that she had f----- him.
It’s a hazy memory after that, but I know I was sent to the principals’ office. Shortly thereafter, every Monday morning, the classroom intercom would beep twice. My teacher would dutifully pull down the intercom switch, and say “Yes?” Invariably a woman’s voice announced: “Send Roy Stokes to the office, please.”
This went on for a few years. In fact, the class began chiming in with the announcement. Classmates asked me what happened when I left to go to the principals’ office. I said I played fun games with Mrs. Hopkins. It wasn’t until years later I was told she was the school psychiatrist. My outburst had made clear to the school what the conditions were at home, and they were trying to help.
I arrived home from school one day to witness yet another drunken beating, which ended with my step-father dragging my mother upstairs to rape her. At 6 years old, I was helpless to do anything.
This exposure to unhealthy sexual behavior became compounded when I was molested at 9 years old by the neighborhood homosexual. All these events and experiences forged my outlook on sex, and those sexual energies would dictate much of my behavior well into my 50th year. It was then I began to try to sort out the spiritual from the human, the healthy from the unacceptable.
I was prompted to write this because of a walk I just took. In the woods, I pondered some old ghosts from my past, wincing at the memory of my kindergarten outburst. My Guide Spirits told me something very loving, and I wanted to share it with you:
“You’re not responsible for those days or actions.”
And I’m not. I have accepted responsibility for volumes of things I did and said, particularly during the 30 years of my own alcoholic follies. I went into Alcoholics Anonymous when I finally realized I was becoming that abusive step-father, and it was a matter of time before I began reenacting those horrible episodes with Janice…the first true love I have experienced this life time. I approach three years sober.
My heart asks the ages to send my feelings of apology across the days to Susan, and all the others over the years, and I am confident those messages get through. I am now asking Roy to PLEASE let go of that which was never my fault.
In the current Earth ascension, as these impacted energies are rising up to all of us, it is not a sad task, and I embrace it for the universal healing it offers. It feels a lot like the look Bette Davis gives the old man at the end of “Hush, Hush, Sweet Charolette”. All this time, in the back of my mind, I convinced myself I was somehow to blame. Now I am convincingly informed, by kindness, that I didn’t create those distant flickers of ghosts.
I only harbored their whispers.
Beautiful and poignant, Roy.
What a moving story. I'm glad you could face some of your demons. This just brings to light for me that circumstances certainly do shape our life, and patterns do emerge from them, but that we can also break them.
Thanks for sharing :)
Thanks for the care.
I can only send love, a lot of love. Healing love I hope. m :)
Both my boys went to a preschool where they learned this song
"Clean up, clean up,
Clean up, clean up,
Everybody do your share"
This has become my spiritual mantra since. We take the good stuff from previous generations, and overcome some of their short-comings. The question is only why some apparently have to work so much harder than others. Well, God only knows.
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks, marinik. In a metaphysical way, I retrieve my little boy...I've been doing this for years...and send along your care to him. Interestingly enough, when I ran away from home, I had a sort of visitor who conveyed just such messages. It always kept me going. Who's to say, therefore, that your kindness has not transcended the ages and helped!?
The abuses went on for years, and what I've shared is only the tip of the iceberg. My mother kept taking this guy back in, and did so until I was 13. This is why I just don't understand when I read other posters talking about being abused, then taking the guy back in. They aren't going to change the fellow, and if he makes no significant steps to rehabilitate himself, he's a parasite. I assure you, without this element, the abuses will only escalate. I can't count how many times I lay in bed, wondering if my mother would be alive the next morning. It's remarkable the physical abuses the human body can take.
I think you are an amazing individual and an inspiration to others who may have gone through similar situations but are not as brave in sharing their stories. You have gone through so much, yet your outlook is simply beautiful...I'm sending an intention to you for letting go of the past and for a bright and wonderful days now and into the future.
Thank you, StacyT and zeitgeist. Statistically, what I should have turned out to be isn't pretty. I've had some divine interventions in my life...as we ALL have...and those are the miracles humanity depends on. (I literally had a Divine Intervention in 1977).
I rant some more, HERE but thought this forum's readership might not want to hear it, so I didn't post.
YouTube - Rush- Tom Sawyer
All I can say is whoa. No one should have to go through that. You are so incredibly strong, you could have carried on that tradition, but you broke the cycle. You are the turning point. I congratulate you on the upcoming thee year mark. That is a significant accomplishment that I can guess you worked very hard for.
You are awesome!
You're a wonderful spirit yourself, LMM.
It IS up to us to break that cycle. While I regret (to some degree) that I did carry it on for a while, these experiences forged me into the person I am...and better late than never.
I have seen worse stories with my own eyes, and on the flip side, most people have no idea what it's like to really be hungry (many times I was sent to bed without supper) and i must say, I'd rather have this life experience than to have lived a protected life like Wally and 'The Beav'. Such pampered lives really cannot relate to real-world experiences or people. The Beatles~"Everybody's got something to hide, 'cept for me and my monkey."
Because of the brutal and harsh realities I've been forced to witness, I can pretty much look any situation straight in the eye, with courage. I doubt Ward and June were able to impart that life-experience to 'The Boys'.
(BTW, I was honored with the nick-name "Tom Sawyer" because of that song. I had to learn it for the band I was in at the time, and it wasn't easy...particularly to sing. One day, building a cinderblock wall for my mother, the bass player came by and simply said, "What's up, Tom?" It has been with me ever since).
Some years ago I was forced into a psych ward for an attempted suicide. (Long story). I spent three days in there. During those three days, I soon forgot my own problems when I began talking to others about why they were there. Their real-life tragedies made mine seem small, and actually selfish. I have never forgotten those who touched me with their sharing. It is my hope I help others by merely having the courage to bare the very personal (in an appropriate way).
Thank you for sharing this, it was very beautiful.
You're such a magnificent Human being Roy.
It was an honor to witness this 'diary entry' account you just gave. Thankyou for sharing this with us.
When my family was intact, I had off-world visitors in a variety of experiences. One such visitor was a Japanese-looking boy who insisted he was a Martian. His ability to pop in and out of areas was stunning, and we had interesting exchanges. My family was not interested in my reports about him, and casually explained the sightings away with “there’s no such thing as Martians”. The same phrase expressed their feelings about ghosts.
Paranormal activity was abundant in the wee hours of morning, none of it explainable by conventional terms, and all of it dismissed with 1959 thinking. Forty-some-odd years later I began to understand the type of soul I am, and from a Divine Intervention in 1977, I have come to understand that I have never really been far from the Indigo roots I came from. Recent metaphysical/spiritual information on fairly reliable websites state clearly there are a population of souls from Mars, long since destroyed by war, hence the reputation “The War Planet”. The spectrum of ancient souls trying every possible way to contact earth people is now becoming harder to explain away in order to retain our comfortable numbness. Earth, Herself, is being recognized as speaking to us in terms we cannot deny. Some still do.
Some still dismiss Indigoes, some still get drunk and beat their partners. A whole culture is built on lies they came to clasp to their chests and refuse to relinquish, fighting tooth-and-nail to preserve their comforts. Calling themselves “Christian” because it seems an indestructible identity, their actions are perfectly opposite of what Christ taught. They’re the first ones to march into my space, bibles in hand, and spew rhetoric from the tape recorder of their mind. Beliefs they never questioned…because they were instructed not to…from a book whose tampering they can’t comprehend. The scope of their history is only a few days in comparison to what has actually happened since the blobs of magma ejected from the sun and became planets.
They told us DDT was safe. Asbestos was a miracle fabric. There’s no water on the moon. Earth is the only place you’ll find water, in fact. They put lead into gasoline, considering automobiles’ existence more important than a human life.
They said there’d be snow for Christmas/ they said there’d be peace on earth.
They show us the latest cars zipping in and around race tracks, praising the modern advancements engineered into the vehicle. I majored in auto mechanics in high school, and I know that the only difference between a Model T Ford and an Infinity is that the tin has been replaced by plastic. Explosions still force pistons to push a crankshaft. You have to fuel them. They all, eventually, leak oil on the ground.
An ideal environment for an Indigo Child to be born into doesn’t exist in such a society. It speaks volumes for the Indigo Spirit to have volunteered to come to this planet, prompted by compassion, to help correct the wrongs perpetuated by the for-profit kingdom of comfort. And we’re tough customers, but not tough enough to not be beaten down by the sheer brutality that constitutes being “A Man”, expected to live up to impossible and spiritually foolish ideals. We’re not only thwarted at every turn, there is a conscious agenda to kill us off, and many from my tribe haven’t made the journey. Very few, over the years, have been able to clutch that tiny ember to our hearts, trying to keep it alive. Shivering under a packing quilt in thick bushes in front of the high school, my run-away hiding place, somehow positive spirits came to me when I was 6 and seven. You can read about Dick Greggory’s struggle, fueled by baloney sandwiches because it was all they could afford. If condescending character assassination didn’t work, total poverty might do the trick. If you get too smart, George H.W. Bush’s CIA might have a remedy. If you demand changes against the Agenda, don’t drive past The Grassy Knoll.
If you take another look at my childhood picture, notice the shirt I had to wear for school picture day.
What’s the matter, here?
The original plan for the Indigo spirit was to unstructure the dysfunctional system, plowing the spiritual ground for the next wave of Crystal souls to be born. They would usher in the new era of Christed awareness. Something has gone dreadfully wrong, because it is being reported that Crystals are dying at or before birth; the toxicity of the planet is too much for them. The campaign to kill off ANY Christed spirit is succeeding, and for deeper reasons than the mainstream mind can comprehend. Besides, it’s uncomfortable for them to even think. Period. Much less imagine there is something more intelligent than their pragmatic scientists and molded preachers. They are, in a word, doomed.
And so it is coming about that reliance is being placed on what Indigoes have managed to survive, to ascend them to Octarian; a quantum leap, but still a good move. In order to do this, we have to move into a hyper-drive mentality, cram for our exams, and hope there are enough of us to do the job. Part of that ascension is to disperse our impacted energies, amassed not only this lifetime, but from previous lives, as well. It ain’t a pretty picture, and it’s a grueling process that doesn’t let up. We’ve been bombarded non-stop with every dysfunctional energy known to the Dark side, and sexual is one of the most successful. If the mental contamination doesn’t get you, A.I.D.S. will. I know: I spent a lot of time in the gay community, watching them drop like flies. My own lover slowly withered away from the “Sheep Brain Rot” strain of AIDS. There are 9,000 to-the-tenth power strains of AIDS, a fraction of the light-dispersing frequency of 380 nm. Speak this information to most, and standard-issue “kook” gets laid on your name tag. Just another arrow in our heart.
But I resolve to address these energies. I insist on accepting the sacredness of sex, and dedicate myself to KNOWING what those energies and actions are. I refuse to participate in actions that pollute me and destroy me. I have to be the Indigo Warrior I was born. It is at this junction I make my decision, and I don’t look back at the disbelief the Doomed convey to me; as a matter of survival and commitment, I can no longer even listen to them. I listen almost purely to Spirit, and Its tribes.
In “1984”, Winston Smith was certain the hope and salvation lay in the “Proles”…proletariat, the working class. He wasn’t far off.
In the Balance stands
The sound a whisper makes.
Is the Dolphin’s Dance
When he’s bound to no mistakes.
Bound not to silence;
Bound not to hate…
The waves, the tide
Of the species’ survival.
How fragile in the setting sun
Are the silhouettes of trees -
The masts of public living
In the neon breeze~
The Dolphin swims
To cop a view
Of the sunset’s hue
That he sees.
Oh how fragile.
This story is available in essay form at Sexual Healing For A Little Boy . Anyone who wishes to may copy and share it.
I'm not getting what's wrong with the shirt? I keep looking at the pic, but I don't get it. Am I being too literal about it?
It is not ironed, wrinkled, and improperly buttoned. A reflection of the home I came from that morning.
It still amazes me, though, the look on my face I was able to give the camera. This photo had been lost to me for many decades. My step-sister uncovered it after my father's death.
It was taken circa 1963. My mother cut my hair, in those days.
No, I get what you are saying. I just wasn't seeing that detail. If you ask me, I don't think the smile is insincere. It looks like to me someone that, even if things were rough at home, still had an internal light that could come on and shine through.
I was really shocked to have a few classmates from that era tell me recently that I (of all people) was the bright spot in their day.
Since I'm baring my soul, I'll let on to a few things many can relate to.
In 1963, you didn't attend school with holes in your pants or any sign of poverty. I had no choice. In fact, I actually had to repair my own shoes or at least stuff cardboard in them to keep the ground friction from putting more holes in my socks.
Of course, this brought me unwanted attention. Thus, folks, the sense of humor came into being. It was my defense. It became my stock-and-trade. Unfortuneately...and I'm sure virtually everyone here has this experience...I resorted to deflecting the unwanted attention on the poor souls everyone picked on.
I have done a lot of prayer and apologizing for this. That sort of teasing can...and DID...push people to the point of suicide. If the others survived, I won't be at all surprised to find they're a lot like me.
Love WILL prevail.
On Earth as it is in heaven.
BEST POEM IN THE WORLD
I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights or its decor.
But it was the folks in Heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp--
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics and the trash.
There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.
Bob, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.
I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.
'And why is everyone so quiet,
So somber - give me a clue.'
'Hush, child,' He said,
'They’re all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you.'
Remember...Just going to church doesn't make you a
Christian any more than standing in your garage makes you a car.
Every saint has a PAST...
Every sinner has a FUTURE
Janice and I with my mother on one of her two daily walks. A trained eye can see Janice properly positioned for a handycapped person; her Home Care training is a natural for her to exicute.
My sister took this photo. It is not that I'm walking with disinterest; she caught me with my eyes closed.
This was the only trip to L.A. Janice took with me, and it was this visit that prompted me to visit every 3 months, which I have done until recently. I am trying to schedule my next trip for March.
It's never too late to be a good son. :)
Because of the past three years' personal growth, we parted on loving terms. Her death provided a new life for me, and I have every confidence she's happy with it.
We all came out alright, Mom.
Your story nearly made me cry... Bless your soul! Life on earth is really tough... This is not even normal although we are conditioned to believe that it is. There is a huge drive within me to help bridge more light into this world. This story amplified the emotion. Now I am getting really pumped up to realign with my HS/Oversoul and get started! Oh my gosh... So sad, but uplifting due to your courage.
O..M...G Roy! These things were a terrific burden for you to bear. I am sorry you had to experience these things.
But look at that face! (You -the little boy) -he's shining! He knows something they don't!
Bless you....from me.
I spent a number of years within the abuse recovery community. I heard all kinds of stories like this, and others, all equally heartbreaking. I never got used to them, though I failed to be surprised by them after a while. Your story breaks my heart as much as any I've ever read (and yes, I have a story that breaks peoples' hearts, but I've come to terms with it now).
I sincerely wish you continued healing, and I particularly send love and genuine compassion to your inner child. Truly, we (my own inner child and she who is writing this) understand. Be well, be whole, be loved. All is well, and all will be well, and all is well. And so it is.
Lots of love and healing, Roy.
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