THE VOICE THAT IS NOT HEARD; CAN YOU HEAR ME?

THE CONCLUSION

Part III

by

Hossca Harrison

2012

 

Their story made some cry, some angry, and some fearful. This date, we have heard from 33 people who attempted suicide or planned to commit suicide. After reading about these young people, they have chosen to live and heal. Through their death, they are saving lives. It has been almost nine months since I wrote “The Voice That Is Not Heard; Can You Hear Me?” Part One. Tens of thousands of people read both Part One and Part Two. The vast majority of readers, who chose to respond, responded with love and compassion for these young people. Some, a very few, were angry that I would share their story. It did not fit their belief in death. Some stated, “My angels would never allow this to occur. When you die, Jesus and the angels greet you.”

One even stated, “You ruined a perfectly good suicide, now what am I going to do?”

One New Age guru wrote to me and stated, “This is not teaching the New Age. However, one dies, their guides and angels surround them. They instantly become at peace. It would be best if you were not relaying these young people’s messages. It does not make one feel comfortable with the suicide of family and friends.”

For the last 30 years, I have met and talked to dead people. Over the years, I found discrepancies between what I would read in New Age books or hear from different New Age teachers. It began to dawn on me many of these teachers and gurus do not see or talk to these people who have died. It appears they reiterate teaching that has been passed down. I feel they want to sanitize the experience of death. I understand; they carry a desire to make the family or friends left behind feel better about what happened. I can only speak for myself; I would rather know the truth than experience a false “feel good.”

In my last group encounter with these seven young people, Doug made a powerful statement. “After I woke up from my death, I was able to revisit my funeral. I could hear the minister say,” ‘He is now with Jesus. When he died, the angels took hold of his arms and carried him up to Jesus. He is now at peace”‘.

Doug went on to state, “If my extended family knew what happened to me after I died, they would have offered assistance, but why offer assistance if they think I am with Jesus or the angels?” Doug stated, “I could not forget the image of a movie I had watched some time ago. In the movie, this guy was captured and buried alive by a friend. His family came looking for him at this friend’s place out in the desert, only to be standing on top of his grave, where he was struggling to breathe. His friend told the family their son had decided to take a journey out west to find himself. He would be back in a few months. The family accepted this statement from their son’s friend. They stopped looking and walked away while their son died just feet away.”

The “Conclusion” is for these seven to come together again with me. It will be their last time as a group. I will have future experiences with them individually, but they are moving on. Their request was to come together one more time to offer their love, and thanks to those who offered them love and assistance in their healing. It was their request to answer questions from you, those who have been following their healing experience. Not all questions submitted were presented to these young people; there were just too many of them.

This time, I decided to go out into the desert to have our last group get together. I am writing this surrounded by desert and hot sun, but with air conditioning. I started to prepare for a group discussion, but before I could prepare myself, they were all present, smiling, laughing, and playing with each other.

“We are ready, Hossca. Let’s talk about our healing.”

Naveed was the first to talk, and he shared with the group that he and Aban would be moving on to continue their healing. They had connected with their guides and became at peace with the trauma of believing they had betrayed each other. The trauma of being hanged and betrayed by his mother was healed.

After their announcement, Doug, Justin, Giovanna, Adimar, and Peter were anxious to share their healing experience.

The seven and I visited for about an hour, just playing and teasing with each other. We started working on this article to share with you, the reader, what they have learned and experienced from their death.

“OK, guys, here goes. I will ask the question, and whoever wants to answer speak up. More than one can answer if you desire.”

“The first question; ‘I would like to submit a question to all of you. What was it like to die? What was your experience as you transitioned? And thank you all for your willingness to share and to heal. Love and Blessings to you all.'”

“I want to answer this,” Justin called out.

“No, Justin, I must be the one to answer this question,” stated Givanna.

“Why?” Justin asked. “I wanted to answer her.”

“Justin, I know this person. I will answer the question.”

“You always get your way Givanna.”

She replied, “Only when I need to. Now, I will call her Sister J, being that I died in a traumatized state. I took my entire trauma with me. What was it like? I will draw a picture for you. If you can imagine being very, very hungry, and all the food you love is right there in front of you, but a glass wall is between you and the food. That is how I felt. I felt like a tornado came and picked me up and took me to Rome. I have since talked to others, and some also experienced this tornado, but most do not. I’m told the tornado was a collection of beliefs establishing my mind created reality, which happened to be Rome. I know your religious beliefs, Sister J. I attended the same church. They have a sex issue and project the sex issue on its members. It took me some time to look at it and forgive them, but I am still angry that so many other people, dead and alive, are ignorant enough to continue holding onto their pain of sexual denial.”

“Here! Here!” Peter shouted in his ever formal, English voice. “I could not agree more, Givanna. I also went to my funeral using past time. I could hear all the pricks saying wonderful things about me.”

Givanna shouted, “Peter, watch your language. You know Hossca is going to write every word you say.”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Givanna? They are pricks. When I was alive, they looked at me as if I was scum. Then I die, and I am this wonderful person? All I can say is this; if you want to say nice things about people who have died, you better had said it to them when they were alive because if you don’t, you will have some very pissed off dead people. Yes, they are pricks. Deal with it, Givanna.”

“You are right, Peter; I have been learning to call things as they are. Yes, they are pricks. I don’t feel that is a judgment, just a description of their personality. Now back to sister J, what is it like to die? Be complete before you die, and you will feel at peace. You can accept the love of your guides. You can understand where you are and where you want to go. But it is a big but, if you are not complete, don’t take the chance. I remember Hossca’s teacher, the Jonah, who says, ‘There is no escape, only resolvement.’ I did not kill myself, but I did create the suicide environment, the belief of suicide. I carried so much despair walking the streets of Rome. Thankfully, we had each other, and we followed the advice of the voice we now know as Naveed. Next time around, I will state who and what I am, and I shall take no crap from these spiritual holier than thou people.”

“You go get them, Givanna,” shouted Justin. “I like the word prick. Where does that word come from anyway?”

Doug bent over laughing. “It refers to male private parts.”

“I don’t get it,” replied Justin.

“Let’s move on,” I said. “We have more questions.”

“The second question is, ‘I have considered suicide many times; even now I seem to be stagnating a slow death for release from the pain. The pain is my non-acceptance of self. How can I forgive myself and those that have caused me pain? I am elderly and waiting for this life to be over. Your healings touch me.'”

Peter jumped in.

“I want to begin answering this person. I know what you mean.” I considered suicide many times. It was because I thought about it so many times that it was easier for me to do it. If only I could rethink my mind. I keep thinking to myself, what if I had stood up to those people Givanna called “holier than thou”? I would have felt so powerful with my life. I could have actually enjoyed life. One thing I have learned. Simply because someone says it is so does not make it so. It is when I say it is so for me, does it make it so. Unfortunately, I would say it is so just because others told me it was. It is hard to forgive yourself if you look to others to forgive you. This is your life; stop looking for forgiveness from others. You say you are elderly and waiting for this life to be over. Believe me, madam, this life is never over, but each day can be a new beginning. I was taught to be like everyone else, but I was not like everyone else. I was like me, but I forgot to accept me. I was too busy accepting others and what others thought of me. My pain became too great for me to handle, only because I looked to others for acceptance.”

Adimar then jumped in. “I always saw my body as unacceptable because that is what my father taught me to see. I accepted his opinion of me, which did not allow for my opinion of me. Every day became a life of more pain. It is true what Peter said. The more you think about suicide, the easier it becomes. We have met others who committed suicide out of fear and guilt because of who they were or were not. They did not begin to wake up until they could accept themselves and stop accepting what others thought of them.”

Naveed stepped forward, holding Aban’s hand. “One thing I have learned the hard way. The teacher Jonah says, ‘Intent is the building block of the outcome.’ It is not the act of suicide itself that creates so much pain. It is the intent of suicide. If one carries so much pain and anger, suicide increases that pain because you have one less body to carry the pain. The more bodies you have, the more the pain is dispersed. Aban and I did not commit suicide, but our pain was great. It was much more significant for Aban because of what was fed into his mind while in prison. He believed I had turned against him, so in his mind, it was so.”

“Yes,” said Aban, “I had so much fear and anger against Naveed because that is what they wanted me to believe. I was tortured before death and after death. I believed it was so, but it was not. I could not see assistance, I could not feel assistance, but I could hear this voice. It was the voice that began to wake me up. My biggest issue was regret, accepting what others said, and not trusting my love for Naveed. Many teachers say death is wonderful; death brings enlightenment and ends your pain. It is like jumping off a high cliff into the water. If you know what you are getting into, you can swim. It can be exhilarating. If you are not, you become traumatized and drown. Oh, sorry, Peter, I forgot.”

“The third question is for Justin. ‘Justin, you said you were tortured in your private parts. How come after you died, did you still carry the pain? Wasn’t the pain only to your physical body?'”

“Finally, I get to answer a question. Yeah, the pain was in my physical body, but I was also tortured in my emotions and mind for years by my mother. I knew if she had known how different I was, she would hate me. Do you know what it is like being hated by your mother because of how you are born? When you hate yourself, you feel the pain in your body. When you die and hate yourself, you feel the pain as well, as if you still had a physical body.”

Doug spoke up and said, “Suicide is a bitch. I was in so much pain I wanted to kill myself again. After I woke up and began to heal, I discovered I could travel to events in past time. I have not been able to go to a future time. So I saw my funeral and all the hypocrisy of ones saying wonderful things about me. But when I was alive, they treated me like scum. They would tell me I was too tall, had too many pimples, was too skinny, and did not have girlfriends. It was always something wrong with me. Then these bitches get up there and say what a wonderful handsome person I was. I know I still need to work at healing my anger about this. But getting this out is helping me to heal. Thank you, Hossca, for letting me spout off. I feel better now.”

“The fourth question is for Aban and Naveed. ‘You say you were both gay lovers in the physical. Are you still gay? Or does that end when you die?'”

Naveed said, “I do not like the word gay. I am a person, currently without a physical body. Why is it people want to address you based on what you do with your penis or vagina?”

Aban then spoke and said, “We are soul mates; we are lovers, whether we are in the physical form of male, or female, or male/ female. We were born attracted to the same sex. Perhaps next time, we will be born attracted to the opposite sex. It makes no difference, only that we continue to love each other. We will choose our next incarnation in a society where it does not matter if one has a penis or a vagina.”

“Oh, my heart wants to create such a place,” stated Givanna.

“That is a bloody good statement; well put my man!” Peter shouted.

“You have all come together to heal your core pain. You are all on your way,” I told all of them.

“Some of you are going in different directions, not better, not worse, just different. I wanted to use this opportunity to express your gratitude for all the love you have received since I wrote the first part of your story.”

Naveed spoke up and said, “I have a statement I want to say. This comes from all of us as we talked about it together. Please, Hossca, share this statement to those who offered their love to us.”

“Our friends and fellow humans. We have lived the human experience of denial of love, and we still remember well the death experience while walking the streets of Rome and the shadow people who wanted us to live in greater pain. We all made choices we regret, but now we are making choices to heal. We will take our knowledge and return to the physical to teach what we have learned. You are and will forever be united with us in the bonds of love.”

Naveed, Aban, Doug, Justin, Givanna, Adimar, and Peter.

THE VOICE THAT IS NOT HEARD; CAN YOU HEAR ME?

Part II

by

Hossca Harrison

2011

“Justin, you told me about your mother finding the picture, and then you jumped to being tortured. What happened in between? How did you end up being tortured? Who did it?”

“I can’t remember,” he said.

“You must remember Justin; this pain is what is keeping you in pain.”

“You mean if I remember, my pain will be gone?”

“If you remember, you will be able to work on your pain. You will be able to look at your death and what brought you to that choice.”

Giovanna walked over to Justin, put her arm around him, and said, “Please remember Justin. We all must remember.”

Justin had a look of repulsion on his face. He then fell to the floor and began sobbing. Giovanna sat down next to him, hugged him, and told him, “If you can heal, then I can heal.”

Justin looked up at me and said, “I think I remember. After my mother found the pictures, my dad, another man I did not know, and the bishop came over to my house. They made me sit down on the couch as they all stood in front of me. They said I had two choices. I could pack my clothes, but only two of everything in my backpack, leave and never return. Or I could go with this other man and be cured of my evil. I did not know where to go; I was so scared my body started shaking. I told my parents I would go with this man, I did not know what to do, so I got in his car, and we drove for about an hour out into the desert. We came to a gate with a big no trespassing sign on it. The man got out and opened the gate. As we drove through, he spoke his first words to me.”

“Do what I say, Justin, and you will be able to go back to your family.”

“Who are you?” I asked him.

“It does not matter who I am. It just matters that we get the evil out of you.”

“We drove up to a small old building standing itself. We walked into the house, down a hallway, and into a large room. The center of this room was a wooden armchair with straps, facing a white screen with a projector. Next to the armchair was another chair, with a wire laying off to the side connected to a battery. He told me I had to take off all of my clothes and sit in the chair. I was so scared I did not know what to do, so I took off my clothes and sat in the chair naked. He strapped my hands and legs to the chair.”

He said, “I am going to show you some evil pictures. If you get excited, I am going to shock your testicles with these wires. You can scream all you want; no one can hear you out here.”

I had never seen porn before. What the man was showing me was disgusting. I felt so scared. All I could think when is someone going to come and help me? Then I started to get angry at this guy. I noticed his pants began to bulge. I asked him, “Are you getting excited, looking at me naked?”

He started screaming at me, jumped up, knocked over the projector, and yelled, “You little fagot.”

“He grabbed my dick, stuck this wire up it, and flipped on a switch. I screamed. My whole body ached. I remember him saying,’ Now every time you piss, you will feel pain. It will remind you how evil you are’.”

“I think I passed out because I remember I was dressed and riding in the car back to my house.”

He stopped in front of my house and said, “Get out, you little fagot.”

“I felt like I just wanted to die. I walked into my house, and my parents were standing there.

“As soon as I closed the door, my mother said, ‘Your entire school, church, and neighbors all know about your evil. You are a disgrace to our family, church, and community. How could you do this?'”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“After you go, go to your bedroom. We do not want to see you again tonight.”

“I tried to pee, but I was so swollen I could not go. It hurt so much. I went to bed so angry, sad, and lonely I came up with the idea, I will show them. I will kill myself. My mother took a prescription sleeping pill; that is what I will do; I will take the whole bottle. I waited until everyone went to bed. I snuck into their bathroom and found the bottle of pills. I went back to my bed and swallowed every pill. The next thing I remember, waking up on the floor in my pajamas. I thought I was still alive. I said, shit! I can’t even kill myself. I looked out the window and saw different cars with their red and blue lights flashing. My first thought was, maybe my mom or dad had a heart attack. I walked down the hallway. Both of my parents were standing there looking at me lying on a bed with wheels.”

“I heard my mother say; ‘At least he will not be an embarrassment to the family now.'”

“My head started to swirl. I felt like I was in a tornado.”

The other five spoke up and said, “Yeah, we all felt like we were in a tornado.”

Doug spoke up and said, “More like a dust devil. I think the devil came and got us.”

“Is this how all of you ended up in Rome? You all felt like you were in a tornado?”

“Yeah, man, it was weird,” said Peter. “I had only been to Rome once when I was ten.”

“Tell me about your story, Peter. I know you are from Portsmouth, England.”

“I don’t want to,” he replied.

“This is too f–king weird man. I thought it was going to be all over when I jumped into the water. Then I end up in Rome, now here. So where is here?” he asked.

“You are in Colorado, in the United States,” I said.

“No shit,” spoke up, Adimar.

“Will you guys watch your language?” Giovanna stated. “You know I don’t like it when you speak like that.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened to you, Giovanna?”

“No,” she replied.

“Who wants to talk?” I asked.

Adimar spoke up and asked Justin, “You talked a lot about what happened to you, Justin. Do you feel any different?”

“Yeah, I do. The pain in my heart is gone. My dizzy spells are gone. Shit, he replied, interrupting himself. Look, I am not in my pajamas. I am wearing my favorite jeans. Yeah, I feel a lot better. This talking shit works.”

Giovanna spoke up and said. “Justin, your language, do I have to be your mother?”

“No, please do not be her. I will talk better,” replied Justin.

After a few minutes of silence, Giovanna spoke up.

“I am ready to talk. I am tired of this hole in my stomach,” she replied.

“I think I liked girls,” she said. “I did not know who to talk with, so I decided to talk to one of my teachers. I felt strange about talking to her, but I decided to anyway. She seemed to understand her students. Was I wrong on that one,” she replied.

She took a few deep breaths and started to cry. Aban walked over and put his arms around her. He told her, “Giovanna, you have never talked about what happened to you or put the knife in your stomach. It is time,” he stated.

“How do you know?” Giovanna asked.

“The voice told me.”

“Well, that voice you hear has saved us a few times.”

Giovanna continued to talk. “So I shared with my teacher. I think I like girls. She told me I was just confused because I was not pretty enough, and the boys did not like me. After school, I went home, and my father was there. He was outraged. He told me my teacher called him and told him I like girls. He always drank a lot, so I felt safer if I went to my room and locked my door. When my mother came home, I could hear him shouting. I knew he was drinking, and it frightened me. The more he drank, the louder his voice became. He asked my mother to get him more wine. I heard her leave, and it became hushed. I thought maybe he passed out, as he usually does when he drinks a lot. Then I heard him shake my doorknob.”

“Open the door,'” he said.

“No, stay away from me,” I replied.

“The next thing I knew, he kicked the door open, standing there naked.”

He walked in and said, “I will teach you to like real men, you maschiaccio.”

“He ripped off my clothes and raped me.”

I was shocked; I had never seen my father naked. When he finished, he just walked out as if nothing had happened. I felt sick, and I was bleeding. The next thing I remembered, it was morning. My mother and father acted as if nothing had happened. Every day I became more depressed. About six weeks later, I noticed my body began changing. I told a friend about it, and she said I was pregnant. My heart just stopped. The only thing I could think to do was go to the priest. I told him what had happened, and he told me it was my fault.”

“God punishes people like you,” he said.

“You are carrying a demon child. This is your punishment. You will raise this demon child, and no man will ever want you. Go away from here. No one wants to see you. You are a disgrace to God.”

“That night, I was lying in bed, and I started to bleed. I went into the kitchen to get a towel when I saw my mother’s large knife next to the sink. All of a sudden, I found myself lying in bed with the knife stuck in my stomach. I do not remember taking the knife to my bed. I guess I killed myself. I tried to pull the knife out of me, but I could not hold on to it. I stood up, and the knife fell out onto the floor. I began to feel sick. I ran into the bathroom, and I looked in the mirror. I could not see myself. I went back to my bedroom, looked at my bed, and there I was lying on the bed with the knife on the floor. Then I felt the same thing the others felt, like a whirlwind. The next thing I know, I am in Rome. I am standing outside the Vatican.”

“Giovanna, the deepest part of the trauma, ones will often forget. In remembering this, it is your key to healing what is keeping you in such despair. Just like Justin, when he chose to remember, his pain started to heal. He even got rid of those awful pajamas.”

“Hey,” spoke up Justin, “they were not that bad.”

“Purple and yellow? Yeah, they were bad.”

The other five quickly agreed.

She closed her eyes and fell into Aban’s arms. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and stated, “It cannot be. What I see just cannot be,” she said.

“Giovanna, if what you see is correct, the knife hole in your stomach will begin to heal.”

She stated, “I saw the knife in the kitchen, and I thought I should bring it into the bedroom. But what I remember was not to kill myself, but to protect myself. I fell asleep, holding the knife in my hand. My father came into my bedroom, took the knife out of my hand, lifted his hand, and stuck it into my stomach. My father killed me,” she cried out. “My father killed me. Holy mother of God, I did not kill myself,” she screamed.

Peter shouted, “Look, Giovanna, the hole in your stomach is healing.”

“Shit,” said Doug.

“Look at your dress; you have on a different dress. The blood is gone.”

Doug put his hand up to his ear and said, “My ear is still missing. I want to talk next,” he said.

“Doug, you remember killing yourself, so what brought this on?”

“My dad always talked about queers.” he said. “He did not know I was queer. He used to be an MP, and now he worked as a security guard down at the docks. He came home one night, telling me they found a couple of queers down at the docks. The other guards threw them in the water, waiting for them to swim up to the surface. They did not come up. My dad said all queers should die.”

“Where was your mother?” I asked.

“I did not have a mother. She took off when I was born. I never saw her. I went to bed and felt like shit. My mother did not want me; my father would kill me if he knew I was queer. I thought I had no choice. When he went to sleep, I went into his bedroom and got his gun. I locked my bedroom door and sat on the bed with the gun. I kept thinking to myself. What life do I have? The more I thought of it, the more depressed I got. I then had the thought. I would take five bullets out of the gun and spin the chamber. If the gun went off, then that was a sign God wanted me dead. If it did not go off, I would pack my clothes and run away. Either way, I could not stay living with my dad. I put the gun to the right side of my head and pulled the trigger. I do not remember the gun going off. I just remember trying to open the bedroom door, but it was locked. I saw myself lying half on the bed and half on the floor with my head in a pool of blood, and my brains splattered on the wall. My pain was so deep, and I felt much worse. I went to grab the gun lying on the floor to try and kill myself again. But I could not hold the gun. My hand just went through it. Shit, I thought the pain would be gone. I did not want my life to end; I just wanted the pain to end. I remember my dad kicking open the door. That is when I felt the dust devil. I knew God wanted me dead, so it had to be the devil. The next thing I know, I was in Rome with these guys.” “So, this was 1962?” I asked

“Yeah, man.”

Doug reached up and touched his ear. It was still missing.

“F—k man, how come my ear did not come back? I told you everything.”

“You told me everything you wanted to hear,” I said.

“You did not say everything that happened to you. The deepest part of your trauma is still hidden from you. I want you to think about it. I keep feeling you guys need to go back to Rome and talk among yourselves, then come back, and we can finish the healing.”

In less than a few seconds, they were all gone. I planned on talking with Jonah that night to see what more information I could get.

A couple of days later, they all arrived back to continue their healing. I asked Doug, “Did you remember more of your experience that lead up to your suicide?”

“Yeah, man, it is f—ked up.”

Giovanna spoke up quite angry.

“If you do not watch your language Doug, I will take off your other ear,” she blurted out.

“Yeah, that is easy for you to say, Giovanna. Your knife hole is gone.”

Peter then spoke up in his very formal voice, “Why are you getting angry?”

I spoke and said, “All of you are feeling a sense of anger because you are looking deep inside yourself, and you do not like what you see. This is common in your state of mind. So Doug, what have you remembered?”

“School,” he stated abruptly. “Everyone in school hated me. They called me queer, because I did not have a girlfriend. There was this one guy, and his name was Steve. He said he wanted to become my friend. I trusted him. We started hanging out and doing things together. He asked me one night when he came over to spend the night, ‘Would you like to kiss?’ I had never kissed anyone before, so I said yes. He then jumped up and said, ‘I thought you were a queer. I will tell everyone at school you are a queer and tried to make out with me.’ I knew if my dad found out, he would kick me out of the house. It was that night I decide to kill myself. I just wanted the pain to end.”

He started to sob. Giovanna came over and hugged him and said, “I love you, Doug. I love you for who you are.”

Then Giovanna had a startled look on her face.

“What is it?” I asked Giovanna.

“That is the first time I have ever said I love you to anyone. I can feel the love, not sex love, just love for all you guys.”

Doug’s body began to shake. The others stood around Doug, and all gave him a group hug.

Adimar spoke up and said, “Doug, your ear is back. You f—king healed your ear. I mean, you ah, ah, I mean, you healed your ear.”

Aban spoke up and said, “The voice told me to tell you what happen to me, and you would help me fill in my missing memory.”

I knew what his missing memory was. Jonah had filled me in on what happed to him.

Aban spoke up about his missing memory, “My friend, Naveed, and I was lovers. He was fifteen, and I was sixteen. One night the security police came into my bedroom when I was sleeping, grabbed me, and put me in a truck. I was told I would be executed for committing crimes against humanity. I was in jail for two years. I never saw my parents or Naveed. No one would talk about them. I was told I had a choice of four types of executions. One was being hanged, and the other three were stoned, cut in half by a sword, or thrown off the highest perch. The others in prison told me to accept the hanging. They said you only feel it for about ten seconds. There is not much pain. One day they came for me and said,” ‘Today, you die for your crimes against humanity.’

“I had already told them I wanted to be hanged. They all smiled at me and started laughing among themselves. Don’t I even get to see my parents? I asked?”

“Yes, your mother will watch the execution.”

“When I was taken outside, I then knew why they were laughing at me. There are two types of hanging. One you stand on a platform, they drop the floor, and you fall with the rope around your neck. The second you stand on the ground; they put a rope around your neck; it lifts your body into the air. It takes about five minutes to die. They made me stand on the ground. It hurt so badly. Just when I thought I could not handle the pain anymore, I fell to the ground. I thought the rope broke. I looked up and saw my body hanging by the rope. My neck still hurt; it continued to burn until you put your hand on the side of my neck.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“The next thing I remember was standing in my home. My mother was there talking to the security police. I had never known how they found out about Naveed and me. Then I heard the police say to her, ‘You are to be commended. You have rid our country of poison. You will be rewarded for turning Aban into security.'”

“When I heard this, I fell to the ground. I could not believe what I was hearing. I had thought Naveed was caught and told on me. It was my mother who told on both of us. I also learned he was hanged about a year before I was. I thought my mother loved me, but she loved Islam more.”

“Aban, I think it is time to see the face to the voice you have been hearing.”

“What, I can see it, the voice I mean?” Replied Aban.

“Yes, I want you to let go of the judgment of Naveed. He was not the one who turned you in. He tried to protect you. He loved you, Aban. Even though you knew this, you still had anger towards him. Remember, the other prisoners filled you with lies. They wanted you to hate Naveed so that you would hate homosexuality.”

Then Naveed appeared. He stated, “Aban, I am the voice you have been hearing. I am your guide.”

“What, I do not understand,” replied Aban. “Why would you not just come to me? Why? All this time, just a voice?”

Naveed replied, “You believed in your mind so strongly I could have turned you in, even though you knew it was your mother. You had much anger towards me. You could not see me because of your anger. Now that your anger towards me is gone, you can see me. I love you, Aban. I have loved you many times. Aban, you are my soul mate. We will always be together; our love can never be destroyed, only interrupted sometimes.”

The others grouped around Naveed and thanked him for his assistance over the years. Naveed looked at Giovanna, Adimar, and Peter. “Your healing time has come,” he said.

Peter spoke up and said, “I jumped off the bridge. I was tired of being bullied at school. My parents thought being gay was evil; I felt no one could understand what I was feeling. For years, every day I went to school, I was hit, spit on, and even kicked. One day I was beaten up, bleeding, and taken into the nurse’s office. I was accused of starting the fight. The headmaster told me I was going to be expelled for being a problem maker. The nurse looked at me and said, ‘”People like you should think twice before deciding to be a homo. You deserve what you get. We are reporting this to your parents. You will need to find a different school, a school that might accept your kind.'”

“I was waiting in the office for my mom to pick me up. I decided to get on a bus before she got there and just ride around. I did not want to go home. I was sitting on the upper level of the bus when the bus stopped next to a bridge. I decided to get out, not sure why I was just feeling numb. I had no one to talk to, and no one loved me. I walked onto the bridge and stood there thinking, what are my choices, being beaten up for the rest of my life, or ending it now? I just felt numb. The next thing I remember is falling into the water. I went really deep in the water. The current pulled me out to sea. Then the next thing I remember was sitting on the shore. My body looked like this, all bloated. I also felt the tornado and ended up in Rome. Aban has helped me a lot, and his voice, I mean Naveed, helped me a lot. But the pain of rejection was so great. No one loved me. Everyone thought I was a problem maker. No one would listen to me.”

As he was speaking, his body began to return to its normal size.

“Look,” said Justin, “you are skinny.”

“I can touch my toes,” said Peter.

“The pain is gone; I can feel your love.”

“Now, Peter,” I said. “Drop your formal language, just be yourself. That formal language is your father’s. It is time for you to be you.”

“I feel dizzy,” Peter replied.

Again a group hug took place. They all turned and looked at Adimar.

“It is your time,” they all said with one voice.

Adimar, who looked pale and frail, just hung his head. “I wasn’t gay,” he said. “I liked girls, but they did not like me. My dad wanted me to be a libero.”

“What is a libero?” I asked.

“It is a sweeper in soccer.”

“How much did you weigh before you died?” I asked.

“About 50 Kilos,” he replied.

“I just wanted to be an artist. My dad told me only sissies are artists. I needed to be a real man. I was the smallest on my team. The rest of the team saw me as a joke. Every day in the showers, they would hit me with towels, push me down, and kick me in the balls. I started to skip practice. I would spend my time at the Kunsthalle.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“It is an art museum. I would love just to sit and look at art, wishing I could be an artist. My dad found out I was skipping practice. When he asked me what I had been doing instead, I told him I would go to the Kunsthalle. He got so angry he hit me in the chest. It took all the air out of me, and I could not breathe.”

“You skip practice one more time you will wish you had never taken your first breath,” he said.

“I would go to bed and see myself looking at my favorite painting.”

“What is your favorite painting?” I asked.

“Der Wanderer uber dem Nebelmeer.”

“Ok, what would I call it?”

“The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog,”

Adimar replied, “I kept seeing myself as a wanderer. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was this wanderer standing above the fog. That is when I had the thought for the first time. Maybe if I closed my eyes and pretended to be this wanderer and died, I could become him. The next day I went to practice. This time they hit me more than before because I had skipped practice. I hit my head when they knocked me to the floor. Another guy kicked me in the balls. The pain was so intense. I just curled up in a ball and cried. They all left laughing while I was lying on the floor. When I went home, I just went to my bedroom. My head was hurting. There were blank spots in my vision, and my balls were still aching. I laid there with my eyes closed, picturing myself being the wanderer. It just came over me, now is the time to die. I felt at peace with dying. I went into my bathroom, got my razor blade out of my shaver, and went back to bed. I cut my wrist and lay back, picturing myself as the wanderer. I was surprised. There was no pain except the pain in my head and balls. The next thing I knew, I was standing there looking at my body. I was so disappointed I was still there. I wanted to be the wanderer. My head still hurt, and my balls still hurt. Then I thought maybe I am not dead. Perhaps this is a dream. That is when the tornado came and got me. I ended up in Rome.”

As Adimar was talking, we all noticed his color came back. He was no longer pale. I could see the light in his eyes.

Naveed spoke up and said, “Adimar, that was you in another life who painted this painting, your name as Caspar David Friedrich. When you were Caspar, you were very depressed, just like when you were Adimar. You took on the depression of two lives. This brought about your death.”

As I was listening to Naveed speak, I knew I knew him. Then it clicked.

“Naveed,” I said, “you were in the Essenes with me. I knew I remembered you.”

He smiled and said, “Yes, all of us were in the Essenes.”

“This is the connection, yes. I feel a deep bond with all of you.”

“Why did you end up in Rome of all places?” I asked.

“Rome is the one place we all had a lifetime together, at the same time. It was common ground for us to heal, I included,” said Naveed. “When I was hanged, I died believing Aban turned me in. They even told me Aban was set free for turning me in. It was after my execution I was able to learn the truth. I kept going to Aban’s prison cell and tried talking to him, but he could not hear me.”

I felt our time was coming to an end. The healing was occurring. I knew I needed to share with Giovanna what happened after she was murdered.

“Giovanna, you need to know the rest of your parents’ story after you died.”

“Why?” she asked.

“You will understand,” I said. “As you know, your father was an alcoholic. He would go into drunken rages. When you died, your mother went to the same priest. She also thought you committed suicide. She went to confession as she thought she was responsible for your death. As your mother sat in the confessional, the priest opened up to her about what he had told you. He told your mother you carried a demon child and said you should go away. Something happened to your mother when the priest said this. She later said she just went insane. She opened the door of the confessional and pulled open the other door where the priest was sitting. She grabbed his robe and started hitting him across the head.”

“You evil bastard,” she told him. “I want you to rot in hell.”

The priest started screaming, “Help me. Help me.”

The other priest quickly came and pulled your mother off of him, but not until the priest had a bloody nose and a very swollen eye.”

“Leave and don’t return,” they told her.

She stood up straight and said, “All of you rot in hell. You killed my daughter.” She shouted for all to hear.

She did not know your father killed you. Your mother became a very different person. She went home and saw your father sitting in the chair, drunk. She grabbed a frying pan and started hitting him over the head, shouting. “You get out of here, you bastard. I never want to see you again.”

“Your father left and never returned. About ten years later, he stopped drinking. It was then he realized all he had done. He saw himself as evil. He stopped attending church. He would go to the port and started feeding the poor children as penance for his sins. He died of a broken heart from his deep guilt about twenty years after your death.”

“When did I die?” Giovanna asked. “Since I have been in Rome, it is as if time does not exist.”

“You died in 1961,” I told her. “Your mother is still alive. She never remarried. She lived the rest of her life as a single person. She is very old now, 88 years old. She will be dying soon.”

“Did she ever find out how I died?” Giovanna asked.

“Just before your father died, he wrote a letter to your mother. By the time the letter arrived, he had died. He confessed to raping and killing you. He said he was encouraged to raping and killing you by the same priest. It is this same priest who also molested many boys in the church. Your father does seek your forgiveness.”

“I feel so different,” said Giovanna. “I can feel love. I can feel as if I can now forgive.”

The others all said the same thing, “We can now feel love.”

“We have all been in hell,” said Doug.

“No, I replied you have not been in hell. You have been living a mind generated hell.”

“You mean all this time it was our mind that kept us here?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“What about the shadow people who kept trying to hurt us?” asked Justin.

“They are dead people like you; they are just in a deeper mind generated hell than you were.”

“Naveed,” I said, “I understand you have been preparing a place for all of you to journey to, to complete your healing.”

He looked at me, surprised, and said, “Yes, how did you know?”

I smiled at him.

He said, “Of course, you know. I created a nice house on the coast overlooking the ocean. It is mind generated, but to us, it will be real. We can be at peace and learn to forgive our tormentors so that we can forgive ourselves. This will be our time to remember our journeys so that the next journey will be chosen in wisdom and love.”

“All of you, in time, will meet those who tormented you. You will have a choice to forgive them. Giovanna, soon you will meet your mother. She will appear to you at the age of which you died.”

“Wait,” Justin stated.

“Before we go, did my parents regret me dying?”

“Your mother did not. Your father did find out about the electric wire in your penis when they did the autopsy. Your father, for the first time, was filled with rage about what they did to you. He confronted the bishop. They, in turn, confronted the man who tortured you. He was threatened with charges if he did not leave and not come back. He moved to California and was later convicted of child molestation. He is currently in prison. Your father left the church, which caused your parents to get divorced.”

I looked at all of them. I said, “You will not be returning to Rome, but to a place to rest your spirit. You have healed enough to move on. Although your next journey is a mind-created reality, it will be real to you. It will appear as physical to touch, smell, and assist your ability to feel. One thing to always remember; there is never an escape, only resolvement. Your suicides took you into a mind generated hell. Because you chose to heal after all this time, you are now free from your own hell. Now is your time to complete your resolvement.”

Justin spoke up and asked, “If my father left the church, and my mom, did not my suicide create this?”

“Great question, Justin. I want to share with you before you leave what my teacher Jonah told me about what your life would have been like if you had not committed suicide. First, with you, Justin. Had you demanded to see a doctor after the man injured your penis, your father would have required the bishop, and he talk to the man who injured you. This man would have been prosecuted at that time. Your father would still have divorced your mother, and you would have lived with your father. Your father would have come to understand the persecution of gays by the religions of the world. In fact, your father would have become an advocate for gay rights. In college, you would have met your partner, and your ability to love would have been unhindered.”

“Doug, if you had not committed suicide, your father would have disowned you, but one at school who you had not made friends with would have befriended you, you would have moved in with his family who did accept your sexuality. You and this friend would have created a relationship and moved to the east coast. You would have developed many friends of like heart and like mind.”

“Giovanna, if you would not have told your teacher, as you felt not to, and told your mother instead, your mother would have accepted you. She still would have left your father. Your mother would have sent you to Greece to go to school. There you would have met one who also was a friend of the heart. Your father would not have raped or killed you, as he would not have been there. You would have become an international advocate for gay rights.”

“Aban, if you had not tried to prove to your mother you were born gay, in a year you and Naveed would have traveled to Turkey and ended up in Hungry. You two would have been able to live your life in peace. The two of you would have become counselors for gay teens.”

“Peter, if you would have stuck it out and changed to a different school, you would not have experienced the persecution you did. You would have found acceptance and become a college professor. You would have been known as the gay professor. Gay students could have come to you for advice.”

“Adimar, you only had two months left of high school. In college, you would have met a girl who you would have fallen in love with, who also loved art. She would have become your wife. Adimar, you would have become a very successful artist.”

“It is not to carry guilt. Life can and does present its challenges, but with all the challenges faced head-on, solutions are found. Sometimes it takes time and determination to find the answers. I think you have all learned. Suicide does not create a solution but creates deep pain. As you said, Doug, when you killed yourself, you wanted to pick up the gun and reshoot yourself because the pain was so great.”

“This world is filled with pain, anger, and judgment. Those who are going to move on in life are the ones who face their fears, and through facing their fears, will find solutions. Many choose to commit suicide one way or another. Sometimes they choose slow suicide where they kill themselves one day at a time. The lowest common denominator is always the easiest choice. Escape is always the easiest choice in the short term. But it is always the most painful choice. All of you made choices that resulted in your mind creating and hell. Now you are choosing to heal, and your next reality will be filled with love and the ability to be loved.”

“When one commits suicide, they not only disrupt their pathway, they disrupt the pathway of many whom they would have encountered through the journey called life.”

Peter spoke up and asked, “Can we come back and visit with you?”

They all spoke, “Yes, can we Hossca?”

“I answered, yes, you are all welcome to visit. If you need assistance with something, come and ask me. I am proud of your healing. You have developed the courage to face life again.”

TO BEE OR NOT TO BEE, WHAT IS TO BE?

by

Hossca Harrison

2011

 

To bee or not to bee, a honey bee that is, also called the Hymenoptera family. Hymenoptera comes from the Greek words hymen meaning membrane, and ptera meaning wings. The honey bees are a highly social insect that produces their own environmentally safe home for up to 20,000 to 60,000 bees. They work together peacefully in a well ordered collaborative environment. Each bee belongs to one of three groups called castes. These castes are queens, drones, and workers. The queen will produce two million eggs in her lifetime. The queen has a stinger without a barb, allowing her to sting multiple times. Humm, then you have the drones that have no stinger. Their sole purpose in life is to mate with the queen. How many men would like to be a drone? Drones towards the end of the season are considered nonessential and driven from the hive to die a lonely death. Then you have the worker bees who are sterile females. They do all the house cleaning, temperature regulation, collecting pollen and nectar, and defending the hive. These bees have a straight barbed stinger. When a worker bee stings someone, the stinger is ripped out of their abdomen, killing the bee. A most intriguing aspect of the honey bee is their hive, the honeycomb. The comb is a hexagon perfectly consistent in its shape. The cells are a precise distance apart, depending on the use of food or a nursery area for young bees. How can the honey bee be so intelligent when their brain is the size of a sesame seed? Why is it bees can solve complex mathematical problems which might take computers days to resolve? How did the bees learn their waggle dance, and what is the purpose of this bee dance? Search this. Why are the bees now disappearing? What intelligence do they have? What message do they have for humans? How do the bees know what to do and when to do it? Who taught them the social order in which to live? Perhaps if this were understood, humans could learn from the bee. What is the social nature of humans?

History books present Aristotle was one of the first to study bees, but it was actually Socrates who began the study after being stung in the forehead while teaching in the marketplace of Athens. What can be learned here? How can bees carry such intelligence from birth?

What is the difference between a bee and a human? Is the bee born with innate intelligence, to know what their purpose in life is to be? Why is the bee born with this knowledge on creating an environmentally safe home that is not detrimental to the earth?

It brings about the question; are humans also born with innate intelligence? Throughout my years of studying human behavior, humans are copies of their environment, or are they? Take, for example, feral children, or called a wild child. Wolves raised the boy. Sheep raised another boy. Not just boys, what about the Hungarian bear girl? The list goes on and on. How do these children learn a language? Is it the language of the wolf, sheep, and bear? Look at the study of Noam Chomsky, who spoke of the innate capacity for children in learning languages. Not all agree with his findings, but his research goes deep into human abilities.

I asked the question, are humans a copy of their environment? Why do these children take on the characteristics of the animals that raised them? You can study abusive parents and find their children often become abusive parents. What about an alcoholic parent? How often do the children become alcoholics? I can’t tell you how many times I have heard someone say to me, “I am angry because my mother was an angry person. I am depressed because my father was depressed. I cannot stay in a relationship because my mother married five times.”

Are children a copy of their parents and or the environment? If they are copies, what about their innate intelligence? Is it that bees copy each other? How can a bee begin its purpose starting at day one? If a bee has an innate intelligence, then indeed, a human must have innate intelligence. But where is it as a whole? Why can a bee create an environmentally safe home, and humans do not?

Look at our educational system. A child begins school; they are taught to read and then tested on what they read. A child is not taught if the book is correct or incorrect; no, they are trained to memorize the book’s content. Is this not teaching a child to be a copy of the book? What about a college student who is studying history? What if he or she were to read a history book and be tested on the book? During the exam, the student wrote on his or her test page this history is bulls—t. It is all a lie. What are the chances the student would fail the test? Is it that children and young adults are praised for being a copy and punished for using their innate intelligence? As a philosopher, I have looked at the different types of philosophy, metaphysics, epistemology, logic, ethics, and aesthetics. I do not prescribe to any one particular philosophy. Years ago, when I began studying philosophy, my Chinese Teacher revealed, “Oh, but the philosophies of the world keep one in the world. The philosophy of the innate keeps one in universal wonder.”

It reminded me of the statement Socrates made, “Wisdom begins in Wonder.”

How does a person break out of the mold society, parents, and teachers have placed them? How can a person begin living their innate intelligence without accepting punishment? I often see people try to move out of their expected role in life, only to walk into a wall of judgment and condemnation. How many then turn around and walk right back where they came from, saying to themselves, I knew I would be punished? They bow their head and pray for deliverance (symbolically, of course, or maybe not). How many decide to stay in their mold while asking God, angels, the universe, or something in-between to take away the pain? Can one walk out of their mold and not tolerate abuse? Can a person use their innate intelligence to walk away from harm? Perhaps God, angels, or the universe is not delivering you out of suffering. It is waiting for you to step out of your mold that has inhibited innate intelligence from being fully known in your conscious mind? Be as you wish you were. Educate yourself out of the illusion of mass hypocrisy. Innate intelligence is aware of where you came from and where you are going. Innate intelligence knows the pathway, the journey, and the joy of the journey. Like the bee, you are born with innate intelligence.

One can ask the question, why is it so hard for a human to live one’s innate intelligence, and be so easy for a bee? Could it be the bee is residing in its complete natural environment? Could it be humans do not belong here in this dimension of evolutionary cycles? Could it be that humans’ innate intelligence becomes blindsided, trapped in an illusion because the innate intelligence of humans does not resonate with the third-dimensional animalistic life frequency?

Is it possible for a human to empower their full innate intelligence? Yes, but how many are willing to do the work it will take. How many allow themselves to learn what is taught to them? Many are ready to set aside their painful beliefs to understand an enhanced way to ascend out of this illusion. How many are willing to listen, hear, feel, bond, or love?

So what is to be? What is to be with your life, your purpose, your path? How many justify their existence by saying, “Because of what I have experienced through life has made me what I am today.”

Some time ago, a person came up to me after an Intensive and made this statement. I asked them, “Is this why you are bitter, angry, and resentful?”

“No,” they said, “it is because of the events that have occurred in my life that made me what I am today.”

“Yes,” I replied, “bitter, angry, and resentful.”

How many define themselves by the events in their lives because of living in a mold? What if the mold is the illusion? What if the illusion is the mold? Could this be why humans want so much to copy each other? Could this be why plagiarism is so dominant? Could this be why when one comes up with an original idea, they are copied by others who claim to have the original idea? Could this be why so many want to be a copy of someone else? Perhaps they want to be a copy of their teacher. Maybe they are so discontent with their own life; they try to live the life of another, being a copy of another. Can one become an original human? If yes, what will it take? What will it take for one to become a unique human? No longer copying your parents, teachers, or society’s suffering, but being your genuine individual self. What will it take to live your dream? What will it take to walk your path? What will it take to respond to the home of the heart? If you can answer these questions, then that is what it will take.

Corporations make billions of dollars a year, selling antidepressants to millions just in the United States. Could it be the corporations have an invested interest in keeping you in your mold? Could it be you were taught to protect your mold with your life? Could it be you are an exemplary corporate citizen?

I had a woman tell me she decided to start taking antidepressants to compose herself to go to her family reunion. I asked her, “Wouldn’t it be wiser not to go to the family reunion and not take antidepressants?”
“Oh no,” she replied. “My mother would never forgive me if I did not show up.”

“You must be the perfect daughter. You are just like your mother.”

“Oh, thank you, Hossca. What a marvelous thing to say.” She did not get it.

Once years ago, when I was hiking in Colorado’s mountains, I came upon an older man who told me, “A wise man must know where he came from to know where he is going.”

He did not give me a chance to ask him what he meant; he just kept walking. The next time I met with my Chinese Teacher for my Tai Yi lesson, I asked him the meaning of this statement. He replied, “If one does not know where they come from, they do not know themselves. If they do not know themselves, then how can they know where they are going?”

Do you know from where you came? Please do not give a copout answer; I came from God or came from the universe. Do you know from where you came? Is it a theory or a fact? But then some will state how can it ever be a fact? Must not existence be proven? Must the majority accept the fact? Indeed, many years ago, many believed the earth was flat. It was considered a fact because many thought it so, and “important people” with titles said it was so. Can the truth of where you came from be known by the progression of becoming your innate self? One can follow in their social given mold and defend their right to self-abuse. One can argue for the right of self-abuse, “important people” with titles will ensure you believe self-abuse is a fact of life and then give you a pill to hide from it. To bee or not to bee, what is to be?

Socrates asked a long time ago, “When knowledge is taught, are the students listening?”