What I am describing here is the very essence of torture belonging to anyone who cannot share humongous pain – be it trauma of any kind, abuse,war,illness – the occasion where this goes on continuously and there is no-one who will listen or acknowledge what goes on.

In the case of abuse,the family will not under any circumstances acknowledge it, And as soon as your face shows that there is something going on with you, you are told that ” do you have to look so forlorn – you, who are SO well cared for.

So the circumstances are:

constant abuse of any kind – (could be both inside the family and outside, from others,  as in my case) – and you discover that any signs of “something wrong”  psychologically/mentally are simply not tolerated.  If you get a flu, you may get lots of sympathy – breaking an arm gets you “Oh your poor child” and ice-cream. But ANY signs of inner agony – that anything is “wrong with you” – STOP IT. NO expression at all.

The consequence is that you can never relax. You cannot rest anywhere. You cannot even let yourself know how lonely you are, how terrible all that inner pain is, since it is denied from your closest ones, and consequently by yourself too.

This is how grave splits and dissociation happen in the psyche, and we get cases of severe denial and  “multiple selves” – and this is what I describe in my book you see in the right menu – “When Fear Comes Home to Love.”

Dream this morning:

I was hiking with a group of people to a place where we were to stay and live for some days. The weather was rugged, and I saw that I had only my old (at least 40 years old) red rain jacket on.

When we arrived, I went from room to room to find a free bed (mattresses on the floor.) There were clothes on everyone –  all were taken.

The metaphor: I have no place to rest, to sleep.

Maybe you can  recognize that belief – that feeling deep inside?

I saw clearly HOW repressed my desperation was at that time – due to deep abuse and also sexual torture from several people outside the family. It lasted years. It became the normal. My dream showed me the depth of my repression – and anyone’s repression, in the cases where there simply are no healthy people who CAN notice and care for the children who are victims of this. This kind of total repression goes far back through the ancestral lines – and you who read this may be one of those people who were never HEARD and welcomed and listened to.

After this realization, the underlying lava-anger started to erupt. There were strong murderous feelings and images, I allowed them all, honoring that child  – now I received the images of her hacking people to death: “Of course you has these impulses! This was at least an expression of the anger you felt – and any of us may feel  – when any sign of suffering is simply not allow to SHOW. And I am so grateful you did NOT show them there and them – that would most certainly have been dangerous for you. I am so very sorry for what happened to you, and that led to all your beliefs about who you were ( despicable creature being all wrong, not worthy of being seen and listed to) and all the coping mechanisms that you made, that saved your sanity. But I am here now to hold you and support you and  allow you to express any feelings at all – you have a right to them.NOW you are not alone, I AM HERE with you – and that makes all the difference.”

“I hate GOD!” you wail – “I prayed that God stopped them doing what they were doing, and he did nothing! He is evil! He wants me to suffer! And that must mean that I am guilty!!” and the next thoughts, following from this – ” He is punishing me for something – ” and the next thoughts:  “this punishing may save me from Hell later.”

That last one has a deep impact, I feel. That way of thinking actually draws  opportunities for suffering to me.

My printer is now reflecting this to me: the color blue will not print. (BLUE is what I call inner spiritual guidance in this blog.) Also, the support-plate for the paper will not tilt/lean back – pointing to the fact that it is almost impossible for me to lean back and support myself and all I want to share – symbolized with the printed papers with my words on them.

I am one of those who has actively chosen to see anything that happens as metaphors. It has served me well, and the Universe plays with me here – as now, with the printer. Right now a wave of bliss and laughter wells up in me, and  Blue reminds me of all the occasions where I have discovered that God loves to play. I have included numerous of these short stories in my book – all humorous and peculiar and odd.

Here is a couple:

Blue is playing:

Lesson today in A Course in Miracles: “I am not a body. I am free.”

In the evening, I am looking at “Joan of Arcadia” on TV. Joan’s class is performing a play. Their finale-song goes: “We are not flesh and blood. We are love!”


Blue is playing:

“…someone has stolen my words

and my hopes

but my story is still here

under the layers of centuries.

I have a right to tell the story,

but who are the listeners?”

A great light and soft love surrounds me when I finished writing the above, and a Voice speaks:

Child, listen – I am your mother, Aurora – Queen of the Heart

And I know that She has listened to it all


My inner child is doubting that Aurora is real: “Please give me a sign, Blue – let me see this name within three days!”

Next day I read in the column for TV/radio: “Arcadian radio and The Arcadian Explorer’s editorial Staff continue their trip down Mississippi on the riverboat Queen Aurora.”

The Pope IS resigning

Some 10 years ago I had a psychotic episode in the Mall.  My daughter was with me, but suddenly I could not see her. In that moment, I KNEW that my daughter had been abducted by evil men and now she was in their power. The images in my mind were so vivid, the feelings so horrifyingly “real” that there was no doubt.

I called home and left a message on the answering machine

I alarmed the security guards to look for her everywhere. They seemed to believe the seriousness of the situation. Paralyzed from fear I ran down into the library and told the librarian of my abducted daughter.

Then I walked home and found my daughter, and exploded in tears.

It became clear to me that a very early memory had risen to the surface, and I had projected it on her.

This night I had a dream that my daughter had been abducted in a dark wood again. The screaming for help was very loud – and there she came, calmly walking out of the wood! Nothing at all had happened – except in my imagination.

In the dream I clutched her to me, frantic, and while I was doing that, I could observe how good it felt to express all that agony – and how special I felt while doing that. Of course! No judgment at all about it – just a calm realization that I did not need this justification for expressing agony any longer.

It has taken some time for this story to move through the mind and be observed and recognized as a dream in the split mind of the Son of God – but it HAS been recognized now. The symbol of my daughter walking peacefully out of the dark wood allows me to see that it HAS been healed.

The peace and joy in seeing this is indescribable.


Next dream: I am skiing – with the-soon-to-abdicating Pope Benedict and my daughter!

We are great friends. I am enjoying the symbol of the deputy of the  ego’s god in the world – too old and tired now, and in my mind, (as in the world) retiring.

He told me that he wanted to give me some books, he had them packed into a moving cardboard-box…I asked if he could put the box in his car while we were skiing, so I could pick it up after the trip…waking up, I think I’ll let them stay in his car 🙂

Talking this into the recorder,lying in bed, there is an infernal noise from outside. I walk out on the balcony: two huge black surveillance helicopters fly very low in perfect equal distance from each other, making a parallel path over the sky.

One week ago I would have been freaked out and seen it as a sign of “surveillance” from a vindictive god.” Really, I would – or the ego would, and I would have identified with that thought of being guilty and scared.



And then I saw Anna Karenina /Tom Stoppard/Joe Wright –

Never before has it been shown so crystal clear that the world is a stage and that we are the stuff that dreams are made off. As a stage designer I could fully enjoy the details of the old Russian Theater with its 3 levels  –  and the main operative level, (is the correct word string loft?) was of course populated with people with lowest status.

The musical delicacy of the  details and symbols were intensely satisfying: in one scene the audience to a horse race are in flesh and blood (Anna among them) watching Vronsky and others horse racing across the stage. Before they enter, Anna’s tension is mirrored in her way of fanning herself – and the rush-rhythm of the fan is mirrored in the sound of the galloping hoofs thundering across the stage. In the moment when our attention is with the riders, we see that the audience are now seen as painted figures of the set: 2 dimensional, painted on the walls of the theater.

The metaphors of the stage…some time there is like a little mini-theater inside the theater: a very intimate little room with a bed and a person sleeping. All – I say all – the details are exquisite, symbolic and meaningful. In some scenes we are looking into the area of the public – now empty – where one actor is looking out, and the beautiful old-fashioned stage lights are framing them.

And the choreography! Dance is woven into every scene, and makes it even more clear that we – the humans – are all choreographed – but it is done with such beauty and truth that we hardly notice it.

In the last scene the nature takes over the stage – this is such a wonderful image of what the Course calls “the Real World.” My heart opened and a I could sit in darkness and allow myself to have that experience as the credits rolled and nobody were moving and disturbing.

Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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