Beginning at the Beginning
I remember the first moment of conscious self-aware realization. Here I was, back in the mortal coil. Again.
would this mission never end? Why so soon do I realize? Trapped in the body of a six month old, I feel imprisoned.
Seeing the bars on the crib further the imprisoned perception, so I do what the conscious mind of any six month old directs
one to do, I cry. Then I take a step beyond...I climb out of my crib.
THUD!!! Gravity sucks.
I'm not sure how many nights of thuds and falls before my parental units get the hint. Baby ain't sleeping behind bars, and
get a normal bed surrounded by a fluffy cloud of pillows. I wish I could go back to sleep but time is short to prepare and my
instruction commences. In the following days, I refuse the bottle and graduate to a sippy cup and start crying to be put
down. I remember my mom crying at my rejection of nurturing and human contact. I spent my time, as mom put it,
"babbling to the air". Of course they did not realize that I was continually surrounded by being of the Aethyrs. The air I was
babbling to was filled with beings of all types.
"I"m Gonna Whoop The Devil Outta You!"
This was a literally meant phrase I heard often as my high strangeness increases with age. My mom's family was a
very pious one. My Papaw was Deacon in an Appalachian sect of Baptists, The Old Regular Baptists. My early years
were in this Church. There was no one pastor.
Whichever Deacon was hit with the Spirit during prayer was the one who preached. They did not believe in Sunday School
for children, so I would pretend to color and allow the energy of that "fire-brand preachin" fill me. Women were not allowed
to speak in church, so I hid the affinity I had to this energy, I hid the overwhelming drive to express this energy indwelling.
When we got home, I would go out to the Chicken Coop and preach my little heart out. The curious thing was that the
chickens responded. They became my congregation. When I got to my chicken coop church, my little feathered
congregation sounded just like before church. Gentle conversations of clucks and fellowship. My dad called me the chicken
whisperer because they were so tame with me, I swaddled them in blankets and pushed them around in my purple baby
buggy. Mom would just shake her head and say "child, you are from the other side of the moon". As an adopted child that
filled my mind with fantastical imaginings of my birth mother and father.
I was about three when I started preaching to the chickens. My guide, Sir Knight encouraged my fascination with this huge
old Bible my dad found in an old house he and mom rented in the 50's. I became obsessed with learning to read. Sir Knight
told me one night to walk into my closet, my Teacher was there. He told me he was very proud of me because it was very
rare that a Teacher of Teachers chooses such a young student. I remember the expansion in my chest, the warmth that
this increased in me.
...to be continued