The Tree

 The unseen, the visible,  the porous thin Veil,  osmosis leaking. 

I have been thinking about my former husband recently.  As emotionally I try to retrieve my memories the attempt within itself is a struggle. For years I never thought of the man I had once been married to and had deeply loved. I was seated in an auto repair shop with a friend when the announcement came over the TV that Ted had died.  With my former husband having come from a prominent family and the fact that he had a high profile position in government caused any health issues or any others major issues considered news worthy to be reported by national media.  

I knew because of the media that my former husband had a very serious illness.  Ted had been diagnosed with brain cancer and the cancer was in an advanced state.  Almost daily the media would report on his medical progress or the lack thereof.   Because of MkUtra,  in August of 2009, I didn't know then any more than I know now how many years it had been since Ted and I had lived as husband and wife. When via TV news, I heard that Ted died, I didn't do as much as raise an eyebrow.  

During that period of time, I was registered with an international house-sitting service and was scheduled to leave on an assignment in Birmingham England in a few days.  By the time I arrived in England the thought of my former husband's death or any type of reaction therein was not present.  

I had no idea how many years had passed from the day the federal agents entered my home and  the year  2009 but I do know that from 2009 and 2026 that seventeen years have passed.  Seventeen years exactly come August 25th of this year. and it has now been less than a month that I have begun to think about Ted on a daily basis.  

I remember the fact that we spent our honeymoon in Canada. I remember that we had a son named Patrick and that Patrick brought great joy into my life.  Questioningly, I wonder why after so many years that I am now thinking of Ted, why after so many years am I now remembering that I once loved him and that I currently am missing him.      

                                                                The Tree

Metamorphosis, transformations, that reflection in the mirror.  The death of a brother, the disappearance of a wife, the destruction of the decency within. 

                                                               The autopsy

A dimly lit chapel, the quietness within. The coffin was closed,  the brother seated alone with a lowered head.   Another tragedy, is this a test? What are the expectations?  The emptiness, the loneliness, uncertainty, the hollowness of the unknown.  "There is something about to go down and we don't want you in the middle of it."

Oil pastels, a sketch pad.  sequestered hours of prayer.  "How could I have not known whose soft hand had covered my eyes," he stated. The prolonged kiss he placed in the palm of my right hand.  The loneliness which is not acknowledged nor mentioned.  Truth compressed stifles integrity. 

If you try to return to Iran we will kill your son and then we will bomb Iran.  

There is something there beyond greed, beyond the insatiable need to control.  What are they hiding?      

Boy! I thought I would  never see you back here again. 

I did not tell them to worship me.

Was it an ordinary day or just made it to appear that way.  It was lunch time and the children of the household were all seated at the dinning table.  A cousin of the family who visited often was also there for lunch.  I think that there were times when I heard the phrase, "They say to watch her closed eyes for any the slightest movement which probably means she is coming out of it." 

The missing time. Trauma and deception.  Can mental survivors mean keeping the painful truth from oneself.  If you go back to Iran we will kill your son then we will bomb Iran.  

It had been years since I had remembered my lineage.  The sudden forced separation from my parents, my culture, my five year old realized identity.

When the federal agents forcefully removed me from my home, my marriage, my motherhood and myself then the injection of Mkultra into my life did not allow me the processing of emotional grieving.    

 Because of Mkultra and its destructive methods, its removal of precious memories, its severing of vital connection with the perception of self. I was not able to process the devastating losses. Because of trauma based amnesia, a devoted mother did not remember having a son.  An accomplished woman is reduced to a zombie-like state while seemingly dazed within a mental vacancy due to extreme physical and psychological  abuse.

I could chronicle volumes of deceptive and inhumane actions taken against me but today I want to contemplate on the reasons I have to be grateful for the things I was spared.  

Survival of extreme abuse is an extraordinary accomplishment.  

The Iranian Dream

The intimidating decision to take the first step toward validating a reality which had been stolen from me since early childhood caused me to force myself to forge through fear and pick up a phone and call the Iranian Embassy in London England.  Because I had experienced the horrible reality of having been kidnapped as a child then used for years like a valueless pawn the fact that I had the mental, emotional and the  physical capacity to one day pick up a phone call the Iranian Embassy to make an appointment demonstrated an inner personal deep need which most often went unacknowledged.

Prior to leaving for England, since I have always made it a habit to arrive early for appointments, one day, as I waited in a doctor's office, I noticed a starling headline on a magazine laying on a table in  the waiting room which stated that during the then current war in Bosnian that Muslims women were being raped to death or until they became pregnant.   

Stunned, I suddenly felt the same paralyzing effects of a bee sting,  I took the magazine from the table planning to read the full article but the horrifying details of what was happening to these Muslim women caused me to become nauseous and slightly dizzy.  I knew at that moment that a trip to England was essential for me.  It was terrifying to read the details in the article but realization of the inhumane treatment being endured by those women prompted for me the decision to go to England  and within a few weeks I was landing at Heathrow Airport.     

The few months spent in England, mostly, the time was in Cambridge, England.  I stayed in a hotel for a month or less before renting a suite in a private home.  For me, the time spent in Cambridge was quiet and quaint.  There were a few other renters in this house yet since they were students they were up and out of the house before I got up most of the time.

I think it was my landlord who told me there was an Islamic mosque in Cambridge.  I don't currently remember how I got to the Mosque the first time I attended Friday prayer.  Cambridge wasn't a very large town but after my first visit at the Mosque,  I tried several times on my own to locate the building again but never was able to find the Mosque on my own.  One Friday after services,  I jokingly asked one of the women where they hid the Mosque once Friday services were over.  Smilingly, she stated, "Ah!"  "That's our secret." 

Surprisingly, ironically,  mysteriously, on my own, I was never able to locate the Mosque.   Once I began to interact with the women in the Mosque I learned that one of the ladies was an attorney.  When I learned that one of the female members of the Mosque was a practicing lawyer, somehow, years of stagnant dormant emotions found the ability to breathe.  The year was nineteen ninety four,  and at that time I didn't remember how many years had passed since I had been forced from my home, my marriage, my child, my career and my life as I knew it at that time.  My then six year old son and I were home alone when two men in American law enforcement came into my home unannounced and unexpected.  Both surprised and annoyed at the unwelcome intruders, my immediate inquiry was to question how the two men had been able to enter my house. The men didn't feel it necessary to answer my question even though I repeated the question a number of times with various degrees of intense.  The only response the two men offered was the statement, "Something is about to go down and we don't want you in the middle of it."   They then inquired about my son who I had instructed if given a certain signal that he was to hide until he felt safe when someone he knew  and trusted had arrived. The men asked again where my son was and having been kidnapped myself at the age of six, I was most definitely not going to tell them where Patrick was. When I  refused to tell the men where my son was they told me that I might want to think about the decision of not telling them where my son was since I might be gone from my home for at least six months or much longer, perhaps never to return.

Angry, and determined not to leave my home, I told the men that they needed to leave the house. The men did not budge but instead began to threaten me.  They told me if I didn't go with them that they would arrest me for a crime they knew I hadn't committed.  Heated, verbal altercations between the men and myself as I continuously asked for the reason they were at my house and why they wouldn't leave. 

After a while it became obvious that the men were not leaving my home without me.  I asked if they would at least let me call my husband and was told no.  Since at the time I was a practicing attorney, my next request was to call my law firm, again I was told no. 

My determination not to leave my home caused the men to become aggressive.  They told me I had the choice of  leaving my home with or without being handcuffed.  Once again they mentioned my son.  "You might want to reconsider leaving him as it might be a long time before you are allowed to come back here if at all."

I was very unsure about the situation that day, but one thing was certain, I was not going to expose my son to an unknown. 

The men did allow me to stop by a friend's house.  While there I asked to use the bathroom and I left a note inside the towel paper roll.  To this day, I don't know what year it was when the men intruded into my home and to this day, I don't how many years passed from the day of that intrusion till the day I arrived in England and found a connection with the Muslim Community in Cambridge.  

Because of the childhood trauma of having been kidnapped there is a section of me which is guarded by me and from me.  I was kidnapped at the age of six, brutally ripped away from my parents, my cultural heritage.

Once I got in contact with members of the Muslim community someone would kick me up for Friday prayer.  Some of the ladies in the Mosque had started a Quran study group and I was invited to join. The group met once a week and joining the group helped make me feel more comfortable with the community. 

I don't know how many years had passed from the day I was forced from my home till  the time I spent in England.  Once I had been taken from my home placed in a facade called protective custody it was decided that I fit the profile to be used as an Mkultra subject.  There are so many blank days and hours and years missing from my memory from the day I was taken from my home till now. There is a hollow space somewhere within me where water activated paper doll  images are saturated in pools of unknowns. 

Trauma based amnesia.  Medically unnecessary electric shocks treatments. Hours and years of psychic driving, sensory deprivation and medically induced hours of sleep.   The audacity, the chicanery, the arrogance, the total disregard for a persons' legal, moral, human rights.   

Once I became comfortable with a female attorney at the Mosque I began to confide in her.  I  don't really understand why I began to  trust a person I had only known for a few weeks but trusting someone at that time was essential for my mental health. Perhaps, my feelings of trust and comfort with my newly found community had more to do with my personal needs.   

Prior to my trip to England I had been visiting a psychiatrist because I sensed that I had gaps in my memory. Someone I worked with at the time suggested, Dr. George Ulett, once he learned I was struggling with  loss the doctor used several techniques in an attempted to help me retrieve my memories. 

From the day I was forced from my home till the day I arrived in England everyone in my life supported the lie I was forced to live with.  I don't know if the constant barrage of falsehoods which surrounded my daily life in the United States was orchestrated to deceive others or for the  purpose of calcifying the prevarication so deep within me that I would never uncover the truth of my own identity.     

Dr.  Ulett exemplified intelligence and confidence wherein exemplified for me someone who could be trusted. The lighting in the doctor's office was a little dim which I found very comforting.  On my first visit the doctor asked if the lighting in the room was bright enough I then explained that I found it relaxing.  When the doctor asked me what brought me to his office, I explained that I had major gaps in my memory. I further noted that it felt like there was a gigantic internal magnet trying to pull me toward an unknown which needed to be known.  I told him  how confusing and disorientating I felt and that whatever it was that I had forgotten must have been very important. On that first visit the doctor and I decided that we would do what was necessary to retrieve my memories and that  we would attempt this without using medication.  Dr. Unett explained that medication would only mask the symptoms.   

Dr. Ulett's treatment was somewhat unorthodox.  I think he had decided that it was necessary to have me become as completely relaxed as possible before he started more traditional therapy.  The first few visits with him we would talk for a few minutes then he would attach me to a device which had needles and a slight electric charge would be emitted.  I don't think the treatment was exactly acupuncture because the needles did not puncture my skin. But in any event, the method was effective because by the time the doctor came back into the room I felt no tension and could freely talk with him.

The mental prison of blocked, suppressed memories is suffocation.  For years, I had no idea that I was not the person all the people in my immediate surrounding told me I was.  I sat in Dr. Ulett office, a mother who did not remember that she had a son.  A daughter who did not remember her parents.  An attorney who didn't remember that I had a law degree.  The person seated in that doctor's office was a survivor of one of the most viciously inhumane government funded human experimental programs of the twentieth century.  The callous indifference of governmental officials who would never want or allow a person to do to a member of their own family that they so matter of fact did to me.

The sessions with Dr. Ulett were ironically effective as I started to experience anxiety attacks. Wisely and with empathetic patience the doctor taught me how to control the attacks through self-hypnosis and meditation.  At this time I had not regained any memories from my past but I had begun to process trauma memories.  

Prior to learning how to control my anxiety the intensity of the attacks caused me to call for the emergency nine eleven services often. I had contacted these services so often that one day one of the ambulance drivers jokingly stated, "you know we are not a taxi service."   The driver then informed me that it had been decided that since I did not receive medication even when taken to the hospital that the EMT's should try and talk me down.  The EMT stated that if I wasn't transported to the hospital that I would not be charged.  So I was placed in the back of the ambulance and both of the EMT's asked me to talk about what had caused this particular attack.  I told them that in my mind I had heard a gun shot and that the gun blast was very close to my ear and that I could smell the sulfur from the shot.

I told the women that I was confused.  I further stated that I had never been around a gun and most definitely not close enough to a gun shot to smell the sulfur.  One of the EMT's seemed a little irritated and she said to me, "you have to remember what happened in California." " After all these years are you telling me you still don't remember what happened."  The EMT said a name but by then something within me had closed down; when I heard that statement something inside of me turned off.  Subliminally, the woman words must have connected with a deeply buried traumatic memory because as she continued to talk I could not hear a word she was saying.  The other EMT had taken notice of  my mentally retreated state.   The power of the protective self. I could see the movement of the EMT's lips but could not hear their words.  After a while, the amount of time I could not tell you, I saw one of the EMT's hand being waved like a pendulum in front of my eyes.  I don't remember the ambulance attendants walking me into the house or just letting me out of the vehicle but I do remember hearing the phrase, 'boy!! I have never seen someone zone out  quite like that." 

When Dr. Ulett explained to me that anxiety attacks void of the remembered trauma were ways of processing the emotions.  What I didn't know at the time was that in the intensity of anxiety's grip that the processed emotions although experienced, did not yield any memories.  Since Dr. Ulett and I agreed that I was to try to retrieve my memories without the use of medication, the doctor explained that in order to get on the other side of the trauma I had to walk through it.

The method Dr. Ulett affected took a little time but proved very effective. The doctor made me a few relaxation tapes, taught me deep breathing, meditation and self hypnosis.  With the attacks being at bay, I was looking forward to getting my memories back. 

Trauma based amnesia. Phantoms, ghosts, images without forms.  Sadness detached from a known cause. Dizziness, nausea, blankness, a paralyzing stare, symptoms. 

On my first visit to Dr. Ulett's off he asked, "what brings you here."   My reply, "A brown leather suitcase."

The months I spent in Cambridge were like respites.  The sessions I had with Dr. Ulett had not  elicited any past memories.  The doctor did suggest that I go to places I thought I had visited before my memory loss.  Between the disturbing magazine article and  the nagging feeling that I had something to do with England I took the doctor's advice and left for England.   

The inexcusable audacity of ripping an individual from their home, their family their life. The inhales, the exhales, the right to inhale and exhale without governmental infectious incisions. 

She saw something we don't want exposed. We have to make sure she never tells  One of the ways we can handle this is to discredit her. Then the only people allowed  near her are those who will reinforce our lies.

With these covert and cover-up constrictions on my life it is no wonder that when I was making plans to return to Iran that the treat was verbally made to me by a men who had gained entrance into the Iranian Embassy by shadowing me so when I was buzzed into the embassy he was able to come from the place where he had been hiding.  The landscaping which surrounded the front entrance of the embassy included large bushes.  The bushes were obviously a perfect place for a person to hide.

Once in the embassy, when upon seeing  the startled look on the face of the diplomat whom I visited weekly, I immediately became confused.   "How did he get in here," the diplomat asked?  "He just came in directly behind her when I buzzed, the receptionist answered.

In an indifferent and somewhat nonchalant voice, the stranger looked directly at me and stated, "if you try and go to Iran we will kill your son, then we will bomb Iran."

         

           

Shattered Memories

 If she does not do for us what she did for the Russians; kill her

  The reason we brought you out of it was to give you the chance to agree to work with us.

  I have prayed for years for my memories to return.   The frail fragile remnants of slices of moments of my past prior to the inhumane injection of MKULTRA into my life creep into my conscious mind like an unexpected phantom.  I remember a parade, a loud bang, something suddenly covering my head.  I felt my body leaving the ground.  I don't remember what I felt at that moment.  I don't remember feeling fear or confusion, I don't remember feeling anything  One second there I was enjoying the excitement of the Piccadilly Circus, as only a five year old could, the next second my life would be changed forever.

As I become less of an efface for exclusively only housing vague yesterday's traumatic memories, I  wonder how I can take the next step.  How can one step out of a quagmire that someone else created and continues to fortify the murky soil of lies. Several days ago, I remember the fact that as a senior in high school the senior female class was to spend two weeks in a local convent. I was excited about the prospect of spending quiet time without distraction in prayer. 

Teenagers and confinement not surprisingly created an interesting and unique situation. The routine in the convent was regimented and very rigid.   

I started writing about the time I spent in the convent a few days ago but the emotional impact of the full details which I later found out about the stay caused me to postpone continuing to write.

Someone I had known for years but had not seen for a long time came by one day for an unexpected  visit.  I don't know where I had been that day but when I entered the house there she was sitting and talking to the person who I believed at the time was my sister.  I was very glad to see the girl as I now remember that I was very fond of her.  

For the first few minutes that day, the girl, the person I thought was my sister and I talked about things in general.  Things like how have you been?  what are you doing now?  Nothing of any major significance. Since, I had been told that the friend had decided to become a religious Nun, I asked her if she was on leave from the convent.  I knew enough regarding religious novices to know that prior to a person  taking the final vows  they must spend time away from the convent.  When I saw the girl at the house that day, I thought this was the reason she was not at the convent.  When I questioned her regarding this matter she told me that she had  decided not to take her final vows.  When I asked her the reason she had changed her mind she hesitated. I could tell that she was almost in tears so I immediately apologized and tried to change the subject but she pushed herself and stated that things were not what they seemed. I then shared with her that I was thinking about spending some time in the convent after the few weeks I had spent there as a senior in high school.  The friend seemed puzzled.  She looked directly at me and stated with this incredulous expression on her face, "You were in the convent for two years not two weeks."

I know a little about the concept of a protective self.  For me, it is like an internal valve involuntarily rotations.  On that day, after hearing the words, you were in the convent for two years not two weeks, suddenly, in that room reality rotated and the transition of the words I had just heard had been spoken miles away.   Some emotional section of me had left that room.  I don't remember when the friend left the house.  Trauma, abuse, mental torture. the inhumane indifference which would allow for the justification of devaluing a human life. 

What I heard in that house that day instantly vanished from my memory. Mentally, Int  remember I still only remember the two weeks spent in the convent.  I remember hearing some of the girls plotting escapes.  wo weeks seemed like a short time for any stay but for some of the girls it was like an imprisonment. How the girls ever found a phone too this day reminds a mystery to me as I can't imagine the Nuns not locking up all assess to phones but some of the girls found phones and one night I heard that they had ordered a pizza and they were very pleased the the would be delivered.  It seemed that in previous years other students had found a way to have pizza delivered to the heavily gated, fortress-like convent.                                                                                                                                                                 

I don't remember having to share a room with another student.   I do think that some students did share a room because they wanted a roommate. I vaguely remember that we might have been asked if we wanted to share a room or not during the orientation.    

Of the time I remember in the convent, it was peaceful.  I remember writing that (the silence was more loquacious than).  Sorry but I don't remember the completion of that writing.

I remember hearing the excitement of some of the girls on the day the two weeks ended.  some of the students had been comparing the convent to a prison.  Within the first few weeks some of the students had phoned their parents asking them to come and get them but none of the parents had been accommodating.

What happened between the day the other students and the other 102 weeks in my life is still unknown to me.  I have a few memories of those 102 weeks which seem more like faded shadows in a dream than reality.    

I remember a nun who had been a teacher at the high school being at the convent for a while.  As it had been in my childhood whatever method which was being used to alter my reality so that I did't remember the every day activities of my life was once again employed during my time in the convent.

I don't remember crucial things like having breakfast.  I don't remember taking showers or dressing.  I don't remember conversation with any of the Nuns nor do I remember talking with anyone outside of the convent. 

There are only two things that I remember.  One day the Nun who was a teacher in the school I was attending prior to the convent stay came where I was sitting on the grounds of the convent.  I had heard one of the Nuns who lived at the convent say something to the effect that the Nun from the school had a close friendly relationship.  I have always loved being in nature and was seated outdoors on this one occasion that I remember the Nun's visit.  Sister, as the Nuns were called by the students found me seated in the cemetery which was located on the grounds.  I remember that she told me that the Nuns who lived in the convent were worried about me because I spend so much of my time in the cemetery, that I might be considering  harming myself.   

The time I spent at this high school was during the period of the Cuban revolution.  Because of the revolution members of the Fulgencio Batista family, the ruling class of Cuba at the time were removed from Cuba.  Because of the removal of the Fulgencio Batista  and his family one of Batista's sons became a student of the high school  I was attending at the time. The young man was aristocratic, impeccably mannered, and exceptionally handsome.  In school, the entire student body from the freshman class to the senior class did not exceed five hundred and fifty students.  I met the Batista young man because he became a member of the Spanish class in which I was enrolled.  

The Spanish class was very small there were only seven students including myself and one of the students was an Italian boy named Dominic.  Dominic's aggressive verbiage toward the females in the class had delegated him to a row of his own. I felt sorry for him and one-day decided to sit in the chair in front of him in his own private empty row.

Dominic was also unbelievably handsome.  Once I began to sit in front of Dominic I found him charming, annoying, an interesting conversationalist and overall a somewhat tolerable person.

There were times when overheard one of the other female students make a comment like he hasn't said anything to upset her yet.  Other phrases like give it time she will be back sitting with us.    

The Spanish was very informal and with such a small class size teacher allowed Dominic and I to keep our daily conversation going without fear of chastisement.  

The Nun who taught the Spanish class was originally from a Southern United State.  It was not until the Cuban student joined the class that I learned that we were being taught Spanish by a person with a Southern Drawl.

The teacher made few demands on us as students. She didn't require that we speak only Spanish in class.  I don't remember ever being given homework from this class. Although this was my second year of taking Spanish my Spanish vocabulary was very minimal which became very obvious once the Batista student joined the class.

By the time the Spanish class was ingratiated by the Cuban student Dominic was again sitting alone in his isolation.  As predicted, one day, he made an inappropriate remark to me which I found extremely insulting and humiliating.  In my stunned shock, I stood in front of him, turned a ring I on the third finger of my right so that it would be perfected centered then I processed to to use as much force as I could manage to slap him as hard as I could.       

After the first slap landed my anger did not subside and the inclination to go back for a second round forced my right hand backward again with the full intention to land a second  blow.  the second attempt was unsuccessful as Dominic grabbed my wrist stating, "I deserved the first one."

I walked to my left maybe one row maybe two rows over and sat in the third seat behind two other students.  My bottom lip was trembling so intensely that one of the other girl students went in her purse pulling out enough Kleenex to slow a flood.                                                         

It was maybe a few weeks, maybe a month, after this incident that the Cuban student joined our Spanish class. Dominic was still occupying his own private row and the Cuban took a seat in the same row with Dominic.   After Batista had been in class a few weeks, Dominic approached us ladies requesting to sit in the row next to us.  We the girls of the class could of course not say no to the request without seeming to be rude to the international guest so Dominic sat in the row immediately to the left of mine and three other female students and the Cuban sat directly behind me.

I am not sure that the Spanish teacher was very knowledgeable in Spanish.  In the two years I took her class I don't remember her writing on the blackboard.  I don't remember ever getting homework.  I knew a few phrases in Spanish like; what is your name?  How old are you?  What school do you Attend?  I knew a number of adjectives and nouns but would not after two years Spanish class be able to keep a conversation or order anything in a Spanish speaking restaurant.     

Dominic became an ideal emissary for the Cuban student.  He was like a junior diplomat.  Dominic mannerism  changed.  He was combative and withdrawn.  After introduction, let's call the student Juan just to give him a first name.  I honestly don't remember the Cuban's first name but let's call him Juan as that is a good name in any language.          

The student in Spanish class did talk with Juan regarding the situation in Cuba.  We of course did not press him as we were told not too and  we were sensitive to his feelings and sudden dramatic change in his life,

Juan's demeanor is polite and friendly.  He was not standoffish or snobbish. After two or three weeks in our class Juan asked me if I took a bus to and from school.  I am sure he knew the answer to the question before asking it and when I said yes,  he asked if he could ride the bus with me until I got off at my stop.

I knew nothing about Juan's living situation but what I did know was that a chauffeured limousine was at the school to pick him up each day after school. 

Juan explained that he wanted to get to know more about the average American and that that was not possible riding in the back of a chauffeured driven limousine. 

I will leave to the imagination of the reader to visualize the reactions of the passengers of the bus when they learned that a chauffeured limousine followed the daily until I got off the bus and the Cuban would go get into the limousine.

From the first day of our ride, I directly the Cuban that we would sit in the very last seat of the bus as it was a long roomy sit where we both could sit and be comfortable.  The first weeks of the ride, Juan and I exchanged as much conversation as our limited knowledge of the other's language would allow. I could tell that Juan was very pleased at having an opportunity to experience an ordinary life void of expectations and restrictions.  

Each day when we got on the bus there were cordial exchanges among the other passengers and Juan and myself.  I had begun to recognize some of the passengers who rode the bus daily.  We had the same bus driver everyday as that must have been his route.  After a few weeks of riding the bus the driver became more relaxed when communicating with Juan and I was concerned.  He jokingly asked, Juan one-day, "You make her pay her own fair."  I think Juan may have answered something to the effect that she won't let me pay.  

As the weeks progressed  the passengers on the bus felt comfortable enough with us to begin friendly interactions.  After paying our fares, we would turn around to be met with smiling faces asking questions like, "How was your day?'  "Is that your limousine following the bus?"   "Why are you riding the bus?" "If  were able to ride in a limo rather than a bus, believe me it would be the limo."

After a number of weeks several of the daily passengers felt comfortable enough to come to the end of the bus seating themselves directly in front of Juan and myself.  The friendly questioning continued.  The passengers made curious inquiries such as; "is that a private school you attend?"    "Is it difficult to get into school?'   "Are the academic requirements to get into the school very high/"

The dialogue developed between the passengers on that bus and the young  displaced Batista was humbling and very moving.  Individuals who never thought that they one-day would meet a person of Juan's social, economic, political status soon found themselves feeling comfortable in his presents.  

The reality of the bus exchange seemed to help the young Batista validate in his mind the managerial direction his father had intended to veer Cuba towards. One of the passengers on the bus with respectful sensitivity brought up the subject that the poor people  in Cuba did not have access to education or healthcare.       

Juan's friendly demeanor did not become defensive when this subject was raised.  In school Dominic and other students had broached this delicate subject with Juan who quickly acknowledged that a vast inequality which existed between the ruling class, people of wealth and the poor.  Juan firmly stated that the gross injustices were one of the first things he father had intended to address.   

A young man, a daily on the bus passenger, who looked like a high student began to perch himself in front of Juan and I daily.  When asked, the younger man told us his name was Tomas.  When I  began to pronounce the young fellows name in Spanish that pleased him very much.One day, Tomas asked me what he could talk with Juan about when I told him John Coltrane both of the young men's faces demonstrated being excited.

The language barriers between the two did not subside but somehow their communication increased.

I don't remember when the bus ride ended.  I know that the stay at the convent had not taken place before the rides.  I heard through someone at school that Juan and his family had been given residency in Spain.  I also heard that Juan was to become engaged to a member of Juan Carlos family,  the then king of Spain.

  Of the few things which I remember about the two/two years stay in the convent was a visit from Juan where he said to me, " I did not want it to happen this way."  " I didn't want them to do this to you."

MKULTRA.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Nostalgia Two

 As I journey through the gracefulness of aging, I find that politeness can be a form of avoidance. When I heard the phrase with a surprising tone, "Wow! "You look good for your age. "I often politely reply, "thanks" when in reality I wonder if I should really be insulted or annoyed.  Although, I know the person emitting the remarks means them as a compliment, there is a bit of condescending undertone.  After all why not just say, you look good today, or something like you must really take good care of your health.  You must exercise often.

Perhaps us maturing adults, should publish articles and pamphlets indicating the conversational etiquette which should be used when attempting to compliment a person of advancing age.

Still, I must admit that when I look into the mirror first thing in the morning, I wish my first thought would be something like that you look good for your age.  Or perhaps something like, not so bad.  No instead, the mental stream which goes more like, are there any physically recognizable features left of that thirty year old? Should I use more retinol?   Is cold-pressed black cumin seed oil really beneficial and should I consult my physician before starting to use it?   

I lift my eyebrows very high toward my hairline and do several extreme versions of facial yoga.  The fish-face exercise is a favorite.  You know the one where you raise your eyebrows upward, your jaw is lowered, your lips structuring the design of a fish stretching its mouth in a wide oval shape. And of course, there is the one where you fill your mouth with air and move your cheeks from side-to-side in an attempt to strengthen the facial muscles while reducing the frown lines.   

OH! Well!  Let's get out of this state of insignificant vanity and start the morning grooming, especially since a freshly completed shower and the lowering of the body from the midriff to brush the hair produces more facial vitality.   

Look deeper, whispered that perceptive inner voice, the hairline is thinning but your character is not.  With age for some reason the nose grows larger but also does your sense of patience and consideration.  Your kindness did not leave you and you still have a strong capacity to love.  

Remember the time when you attended the orchid show at the botanical garden and was mesmerized by their variety and beauty.  Or the time at the art museum  when you were so enthralled with a Claude Monet painting that you felt as if you were standing in his garden with him and he offered you some tea. And you will never forget the total awe experienced the day you visited the Canterbury Cathedral in Kent, England.  The massive size of the interior of that cathedral was breathtaking and humbling. And I know that you recall attending a violin concert by a noted European violinist whose name I have forgotten but I have not forgotten the fact that his brilliant performance brought tears to my eyes.

Realistically, if I spent too much time criticizing the inevitable changes of aging and not reflect on the contributions I made in the lives of others or the volunteerism or the hours of listening to classical music or the sheer appreciation of the beauty of nature,  I am when taking away some of the most precious gifts given in the forms of grace.   

 

Nostalgia

 As nostalgia involuntarily meanders through my ethos, I question how it seems that one day I was playing games like hop-scotch, hide and seek, jacks, and kick-the-can than several seconds later my doctor is  making statements like at your age you should expected certain changes in your skin.

Does expecting changes in my skin mean that I should expect teenage white heads, occasional pimples and should I go out and buy some Clearasil?   

I can now certainly see the benefit of my subscription to the, (Massachusetts General Hospital Newsletter), as it recommended the use of salicylic acid for maturing skin.  My physician's comment was void of any recommendations or suggestions.  If a  person that is a few decades passed forty does that make their vanity concerns less valid?  As one, if I am being honest, who is actually three decades past forty, I certainly don't want to look in the mirror in the morning and see a protruding white blotch in the middle of my forehead.  

In witnessing a whitehead, I may not have experienced the teenage devastation and drama, but I must confess that I find the conspicuous white blotch unattractive and physically disturbing. Perhaps I misunderstood the doctor, my thirty year junior, and maybe she was not being nonchalant, dismissive or indifferent.  It might have just been that she could not equate with why the blotch mattered to me.  My math was a little off a few sentences ago, the correction is that she is (my forty junior).

The games we children played in our early years were actually building our physical agility and strength.  The  challenges of playing Double-Dutch, the leg muscle building of bike riding, and why do children prefer running to walking?

As a child , I was fascinated by ladybugs.  Those tiny creatures with the red body speckled with black spots.  I often used an index card so that the bug would crawl on it then I would allow the lady to walk onto the back of my hand, all the while being completely in awe.  I never understood the rhyme,  "    Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children all burn." I learned today that the rhyme is,  "an illusion to the practice of farmers burning their fields after the harvest."

Ladybug, ladybug is also considered a chant to send on its way. The ladybug beetle is helpful to farmers by reducing the number of harmful larvae and insects on crops. In certain parts of the English-speaking world, farmers chanted right before and they burned their fields after harvest.  " Ladybug ladybug, fly away home/ Your house is on fire, your children alone (or your children are gone).  Some people still recite the verse when a ladybug lands on them and before gently flicking the insect off of them, because swatting a ladybug is considered very bad luck.  ( Information regarding the history of the Ladybug rhyme was collected from, ("The Webmaster's page").

  

The Audacity of Arrogance

Sura 34:38

Those who strive against Our Signs, to frustrate them, will be given over into Chastisement.

When a person or a community of people experiences systemic exploitations which too often are justified within the pretentious clock of patriotism, rather realized or not, they are not alone. 

A squash insect reduces the potency of its species' purpose. ""The earthworm has an important role in the ecosystem through enhancing decomposition of soils. The honey bees cross-pollination are essential for  

the germination of plants, (pthomeandgarden.com)." The magnificent and exceptional contributions given to the sustainability of humankind by such minute creatures as earthworms and honey bees are undeniable,  consequently how can the dignity and purpose of even one human being be dimensions, dissipated or ignored under the umbrella of governmental self-interest.   

While a visitor at a mosque in Birmingham, England, the Imam made a statement which was significantly impacted by the path of supplication.  The cleric mention that it is selfish to pray only for ourselves.  When us finite, healing human beings, enter into prayer often our emotional scars are being felt.  We go into prayer asking our Creator for comfort, guidance and strength.  When an individual has suffered excruciating physical and emotional pain, often these experiences are endured alone.  Therein, it is understandable that a request for help would travel a singular path.  I never prior to Birmingham considered my prayers non-inclusive or shallow.  Yet, now, when I submit my invocations, the Uighurs of China are included, the suffering Muslims of India, the innocent inmates of Guantanamo Bay, the raped victim, the neglected and abused child, the homeless, the misunderstood mentally ill.  the multitudes not mentions here and those unknown to me are included now in my prayers.

Almighty Source, we humbly implore You to manifest Your Compassion, Kindness, Mercy and Healing Powers upon the suffering masses within humankind.  Magnify Your powerful Graces whereas they may be experienced. felt, realized and absorbed.   .

I respectfully request Your Guidance and Clarity from the bewildered state which hinders my spiritual energy while stagnating my hope.  The unhealed mental and emotional lacerations suffocate. I don't remember my biological mother's name but I remember the coercive words when shown a picture of my mother contained in a family heirloom locket, "if you tell we will kill your mother."