Memories: 19 December 2023

19 December 2023

19 December 2022

The second night of Chanukah. The festival of freedom and triumph over our oppressors. No matter whom or where on this earthly plane or in other realms, other dimensions. The G-d within calls me to claim my divine right and my place in service to the multiverses.

I pray it is a blessèd gentle existence unlike the missions, tribulations, emotional/mental torture, constant fighting almost to the death and being sent back from the waiting room of death many times.

I pray for my true sweet kind authentic love to arrive at last in my life. I pray for peace, joy, better health, prosperity, safety and sanguine gnosis. With harm to none, competition with none. So it is Done. Amen v’selah.

…

Happy Chanukah to those who understand the value of triumph over adversity and still remain in the Light!

Blessings from Sacred Space at Titania’s Realm.

…

I just woke up from a very bad trauma processing nightmare starring former friends and members of my former Brisbane Jewish community. It was intense. At one point in the dream she stabbed me in the stomach with a very long thin needle, the length of a knitting needle.

I was wearing a white dress. I looked down, there was no blood even though it hurt quite a bit so I kept fighting and then she stabbed me with a box cutter.

Again no blood. Alison even looked amazed. There was a large crowd and no one came to my aid but somehow it was not a life threatening wound. I told her openly and honestly that I had been a good friend to her and did not deserve this Insanity or abuse.

I woke up feeling dehydrated and mentally exhausted. The dream had been long and detailed and had mainly focused on her husband (not the husband I remember who was 20 years older than her!) but in the dream he was our vintage and a conman and I was exposing his operations. He was buying up land and claiming it was gold fields and selling shares in it. Wtf?

Anyway when Alison stabbed me she said she was upset I had not recognised her after all these decades. She was wearing a black wig that was shoulder length and cut in a straight bob. Of course I didn’t recognise her! She berated me for not recognising Amy. I said “Amy was a young child of Bat Mitzvah age the last time I saw her. Also Blonde!”

I woke up and I asked myself why I was dreaming of Alison Clunes? I have not even thought of her in years! My mind flashed back to that actual bar mitzvah in 2000 or 2001 when I was told I was not invited to the reception party afterwards but could come to the service. I went to the service and was looked at with condescension and contempt for showing up.

Davidson sat opposite me and leered at me so much that even Myrna Freed must have wanted to prove some point as she and her daughter with her brand new baby daughter were sitting behind me and handed me the newborn so I could cuddle and rejoice in her new existence on this planet.

I melted as I was very maternal in those days (had actually hoped to have another baby as I was hormonal and 35 or 36 so knew the opportunity to have another child was fast closing in on me). I was wearing white that day. A beautiful smart casual white skirt.

I was feeling emotional as I had had to summon up courage to attend the Bat Mitzvah service as I felt it was important, as our children went to Sinai College together and it is a rite of passage in every Jewish child’s life. I had not realised there was so much enmity and animosity towards me.

But with Davidson’s presence at that Bat mitzvah (what was his connection to Alison and Amy Clunes I wonder?) Well dead men tell no tales and I held my own that day. I left the service without attending the kiddush. Davidson later asked me why I didn’t stay for the kiddush? I replied “what was the point? I had done my duty by that child by attending the service!”

I had felt ill. I staggered down a few blocks to the Botanic Gardens then discovered to my horror that I was beset by an unexpected early manifestation of a heavy period! Luckily it had not flowed onto my white skirt! I sat in the public toilets, wadding myself with cheap scratchy toilet paper and bawled my eyes out.

I went straight home and lay down wracked in grief and pain wondering why they, my former Jewish community had played such vicious games over that bar mitzvah. I was glad that I had gone in spite of their nastiness and slander. It had been quite a shock to see Davidson in that shule, leering at me.

But that explained a lot. He had turned former friends against me with his malevolence.

It was many years before I went to that shule again. I don’t pray in hotbeds of evil anymore. They can figuratively stab me with their pointy blades in my guts but they cannot ever kill The Tanya or her right to joy, peace and freedom nor her reclamation of her soul after decades of abuse and violence, slander and treachery.

So I must ask myself. Why am I dreaming of Alison Clunes stabbing me? Or her daughter or her (husband?)

In such a horrifically awful nightmare. In real life the bar mitzvah was co-opted to somehow humiliate or embarrass me but in true Tanya-style I rose above it. Yes I loved Alison that much and had thought her a true friend.

I cut ties after that event. Permanently. I never spoke to her again. What’s the point? I chose to keep my life free of their toxicity. Flying monkeys of that evil cunt Davidson could just fly to hell where they belonged.

It also came as quite a shock when he haunted me shortly after his death in early June 2016. I found out only recently that he died on May 22 , 2016. I still don’t know what of? Rabbi Jaffe gave him a lovely Jewish burial which I found interesting!

The last time I attended Margaret Street shule I think it was in 2019, he greeted me cordially but his hands shook so much he could barely unlock the gates. The keys rattling in his hands. Hmmm. I thought.

Why did Davidson Devo haunt me? He had only been cruel and sadistic in our interactions? Why bother to come to me in Death? Did he fear the consequences of his actions that much, in his life review?

I was astonished, sickened but also a little bit triumphant. God had shown me true hearts and minds at last. Shown me my power as a woman, a lover, a friend. One who gets a long goodbye when my enemies or former lovers die. Unusual. That closure. That recognition of my heart and my spirit.

So the dream is a reminder: hold your ground. Know thyself. Have faith in your Holy One. Chanukah is here. Light, love and peace surrounds me. My enemies have all fallen away.

Life is beautiful. I am free. Those former friends from decades ago? Either dead or dying or veritable zombies by now.

Meanwhile I was courageous even in the dreamscape. I know that faith and courage so well. A testament to my fierce Berserker spirit that craves justice, human decency and true love so very much. Always have…always will.

19 December 2021

…

Blimmin’ heck! Charley just flew from the golden rain tree across Topaz street, right up to the neighbours fence. A distance of about 25 metres.

I will have to clip her wings! This is what comes of letting her free range with the wild birds. Jaysus!

(Wing is now clipped!)

19 December 2019

19 December 2018

I had my debrief. My dr says I will not be controlled. (Even he has tried). We laughed. He says people are attracted to or attached to my strength and resilience and fail to recognise my vulnerability, sensitive side. So they will try to drown me if I allow it. But I am highly Avoidant after decades of abuse and I abhor people who are either bullying or overly needy. It sickens me actually. Makes me feel stifled and suffocated and creeped out. So I detach.

He says I am right to maintain my firm boundaries (I told him about my neighbour and their street party I refuse to participate in). He agreed it was not a good idea after their recent invasive bad behaviour.

So now I am home, in my garden, under my skeletal tipi, shepping naches in my dog, bird, hens, cats, letting a breeze calm my meridians, dreaming of another kind of life but still grateful for the freedom and serenity of this one, as I cannot possibly survive another toxic relationship so really, why crave for someone who can’t give me safety and soul! Why, indeed?! The bittersweet unrequitedness is interminable. Lol!

There are very very few people who actually love me in a healthy way. I am grateful for these people.

Respect, genuine care, honesty. Love.

Hmmm. What will the next few days, weeks bring? Primordial gifts of spiritual equanimity. Flux and flow. Give and take. Harmonic resonance. True love, solid authentic friendships and new experiences. With harm to none.

19 December 2017

Lying in bed, processing the recent mystifying miraculous events and the turbulent emotions that arose from them.

I realised that the purpose of my life has been to be a leader or guru of sorts. To shine a light in dark places. To evolve my consciousness and spirit while trapped in the body of a bodacious intrepid but so gullible and so whimsical a reincarnation (perhaps? 🙂 ) of a famous Icaenean Queen Bodiccea (the Mother of Bodacious Vivacious Wrath and Vengeance!

Trapped in a hobbit body with the sensual euphoric feminine power that subsumed and consumed the hearts of men in a fireball of Love that I can not even handle.

Tormented and molested and raped by men and betrayed by envious vicious women (including my own mother and sister). Thrown to the wolves (my wild, Free, true Kin). Awhhoooooo!

Even sacrificed to the gods of abundance in volcanoes of hellish smiting.

It took decades to crawl out from the smoke and fire and tyranny. So transmute the grief, trauma, dis-ease. To sing and laugh again, and learn to manage or drive this vessel of a hobbit body, with her beautiful but fucked mind and a Neshamah that would not ever quit.

In this moment I realised that I am in Awe of myself. Just a little bit amazed at the great and powerful miraculous healing, at my power, at the beauty that is wrought by manifesting Love amidst chaos and trauma, debauchery and treachery yet so Loved.

So Seen and cherished by such rare and exquisite humans. My Beloveds. The one who sent me a rose in my spiritual war yesterday. How could she have known?

The man who has loved me as a loyal friend and adopted brother. My gorgeous Jarrod who has held me up when I dove into yet another abyss.

My beautiful brave and devoted friends.

I love you. I honour you!

I am in the throes of a very strange breakdown but the epiphanies and purgative power keeps swirling.

It is fascinating and for me personally, terrifying. But this too shall pass and another paradigm will grow out of it.

7th day of Chanukah. Let the Miracle of my Life be manifest. With gentleness, beauty, comfort, humility, grace and the greatest truest Light and Love. Let my heart be full and noble and protected.

Cracked light in my psyche but with Pure intent and honour release the demons of anger and negativity. They have nothing new to teach me. Only old agonies and violations of my Being.

My re-birthing is taking place. Grateful to the Holy One who brought me to this season, whom sustained me, and lifted me up on invisible shoulders and who brought me spiritual gifts of love and wisdom and blessing.

Arise and Shine. Blessed Be! From Sea to shining sea, across this land, and in the supernal heavens, in the hidden sacred depths of Gaia. We come and we create. We rebuild ourselves. (We have the technology). Also the heart and Will!

So it is and always shall be. Amen v’Selah!

…

I had a lovely evening with my beautiful friend Jarrod. He cooked me dinner and we drank wine and we listened to music. We grounded by sitting on the grass and our little dogs played with us. Beauregard had lots of fun playing ball with Jarrod. Charlie joined in with the antics too (mostly just constantly kissing me!)

Jarrod managed to sort out my issues with my other Storyteller account and we had some fun with the account I made for Cees so I could post his family photos on Facebook in the vague hope that one of his relatives in Holland sees them and claims them. If no one claims them in 12 months I will just burn them as I don’t want to hoard relics of the past of people long dead who were not even decent to me.

Time to let go of all the albatrosses and horcruxes and negative influences.

Anyway it was hilarious when Jarrod posted pics of “dancing girls” under Cees photos in the comments and I pretended to be Cees answering in German or Dutch with his favourite insults. For a brief moment it was like Cees was really here and we giggled like naughty children.

But the spirits got their revenge on my mischief in a very profound way. My aging cat Penny had been stuck in my boudoir so when I came in to go to bed I was met with a giant pile of steaming excrement right in the middle of my queen size bed on my favourite embroidered doona cover which I had just put on that morning. So much for crawling into a bed made with fresh linen.

I just cleaned the shit off then sprayed the spot with an enzyme cleaner and crawled into bed. Exhausted. I didn’t even yell at Penny. Although why she picked my bed to shit on is rather unusual. She usually does it on the floor underneath the bed.

Such is life. Shit happens. But so did Cees and my mother and father and Angela.

Penny got back on my bed during the night. Let me know she was sorry by headbutting me a few times. I just prosaically gave her a pat. She really was naughty! But she is my girl! What can we do but clean up the mess and get on with life!

…

I managed to cancel my psych appointment for tomorrow because you know...Breathes out excitement and delight...I am going to Byron Bay with Jenny and Beauregard tomorrow! On the occasion of Jenny’s Birthday. We need the sea so much.

I was delighted that today my dr also had cancellations so I am going in for my debrief after all. A day early but it means I don’t have to wait another few weeks.

I need my synchopated psychotherapeutic tweak as my life has not been normal and I still struggle every single day with more weirdness than the average person could ever imagine.

My poor Dr. Even he gets his mind blown by my continual spiritual unfoldments.

Like cures like, Man. (That was a flashback from the dead devo homeopath David Davidson. Hahaha). He had no idea who he sought to destroy. Actually neither did I!

Well, here we sit. Relishing the feast of epiphanies and the feat of Thrival. Fuck the Haters.

…

Just had my debrief with my doctor. He says I have been purging the trauma and horror of the past after being triggered by the events on Thursday.

He says that I am honouring the spirit of Chanukah which celebrates victory and light after oppression and desecration and especially with the recommendations of the Royal Commission into Institutional abuse being handed down, where the Catholics and the Jews have been directed into how to move forward after decades of evil perversions perpetrated against innocent children, I am riding the wave to bring back the sacred, the ethical, the righteous and the Holy.

Bring back the Divine Feminine in all her glory and bring back respect, love and care and honour to all her children, in particular the young, the vulnerable and those unable to gain justice.

19 December 2015

…

…

Mama Pupparazzi, glitterati, be dazzlement is so annoying...but cute!

Here I am, going nowhere but round and round on the unicycle of life trying not to fall off my perch. (Done plenty of that in 2015!) Still in recovery from last malicious puppy breakdown aka Bev and Alcide.

The universe blessed me with a sturdy healthy little Shit-Maltese bitey thing but I am delighted. Some days he looks like a wirey Jack Russell. I don't even mind what lineage he has.

He is a bouncy baby Boychik with the attitude of a grumpy old man and the wisdom of the ages dripping off his whiskers. Beauregard. Beautiful gaze who heralded his arrival by that name popping into my head.

Bashert! Meant to be! Big big Love!

He is chilling at my feet while I await the imminent kettle boiling cup of tea express. He is playing nice with Penny, head of the new new new nubile mobile facile new world leaders.

He dares not upset Her Majesty. She has seen many cats, and another dog (her soulmate Bella Rosa) rise and fall to oblivion. Nothing and no one gets between her and her precious Mama. Not even a Marvellous Maltshi. Meow! So there!

…

John came home. I thanked him for the Chop bone. He said he didn't give it to Bobo. He threw it on his compost. Mr Crow and his crowhorts must have flown over with it. They like chucking meat in my pond which makes no sense except to a crow. So the crows are responsible for the bone. Haha! Nuts!

John says now he knows Bobo loved it so much he will keep bones for him in future. He gave me 6 zucchini as he got a box cheap at the markets. He finally got to meet Bobo. Who gave him a big sloppy puppy smooch. He says it is good Bobo is a mixed breed. Stronger, healthier, not so precious.

Still Alcide was so beautiful. Just my Solomonic serenade. It doesn't hurt so much now. That she lied to me and slandered me on her Pomeranian group. At least I know Alcide is healthy again.

Bobo is the best.

19 December 2014

19 December 2013

4.04am. Laila tov/Boker tov! Sky is a lovely aqua/turquoise shade. Just had a lovely chat with Ironic Boddhisattva from Paltalk. His mother's funeral was yesterday. She was 92. Bless her!

He seems to be coping well. He was a fantastic son and nursed her at home. Very brave kind sweet thing to do.

Time for me to schluff.

…

5 am Still not asleep. So got up to let chooks out. Took some seroquel to aid sleep and will read for a bit. This nervous energy is driving me crazier than usual. Grrr!

…

8 am. Woken by lawnmower man. Yayy! Lawns are being cut. Last $40 spent on that.

I only had an hour of sleep. So that is not cool. Now epically tired! Will try to sleep again. Have taken my morning meds so they will perk me up again. Mind you, it might reset my body clock having them at 8 am.

Will see. My mood has been very dark, agitated and anxious. So I hope I mellow out in next few days. Hard to mellow when my whole body is super-charged. More rest is in order.

Garden looks good. Glad I decided to do the burning of all the scrap wood and branches for last night's Full Moon Ritual. Very cleansing.

…

7.09 pm. Just woke up. Slept all day. No wonder I have been so agitated. Exhausted. Saw Dawn come in, now seeing Dusk. Almost the same colour only lighter. Weird!

I had to take my rings off as my fingers swelled up during the day. I think I might be a bit dehydrated so time to drink heaps of water.

19 December 2012

Just woke up. Only 6 hours sleep after finally dozing off at 6 am. Feel murky and blah due to lack of sleep and the heat. Damn! Might as well get up now ... Or not! Hmmm! Sleep is still curling its comforting alluring tendrils around my brain.

At one point early this morning I told myself of all the things I could be achieving if I had permanent insomnia... Like write a book for example. It just doesn't work that way cos when my brain is overly alert I am so exhausted at the same time that my mind becomes a circular hurdy-gurdy jumble of mush. It also remains that way for up to two hours after waking up these days! My brain is fried, Woeman! What can I say? That's Life!

…

So tired...managed to flood kitchen floor grrrr so had to clean up. Came back to couch and got some lovely Miss Bella Rosa kisses. Worth it!

…

2.30 am. Still Hot, just had a quick cool shower and stood in front of the fan with my sarong wrapped around it so neighborhood stalkers can't see me in my abundant blissfulness Lol! Feel much better! I love this hour...most of the Snoops are Snoozing so I am Free!

19 December 2010

When I was very small, my earliest memories involved my halfsister singing to me. This came back to me in a flood at a Bar Mitzvah when my friend John had us all sing “Dona Dona” to the Bar Mitzvah boy.

This was my sister’s favourite song which she sang to me often, trying to settle me to sleep in the back of our car while my parents screamed as per usual, at each other.

I used to identify with the cow about to be slaughtered, even from a young age. Not knowing the full impact of what the cow was about to endure.

It was sort of indicative of my life to come: fraught, abused, neglected, rejected, abandoned, but always eternally optimistic and hopeful.

I sought safety, love and life, even when these things were impossible to achieve and constantly denied to me. I still seek these things. A love-filled life after a life where I have been mostly abused, threatened, compromised by the men who chose me or whom I cast my lot with. So many many disappointments. So much grief.

I still don’t know how I survived it all. I may never know how much more I can endure. If I knew for certain that this is all I will ever have, all that is my Destiny, I would end it now.

(How many times have I felt this, and yet here I am Still…waiting…for Godot, for goodness, for loving kindness, for justice, for recognition, for kinship, for love and belonging…)

How long can I continue to wait? When will I know I have waited in vain? When my life ends? When I enter the next journey? The true destination of a life lived in the Void?

My sister sang me songs of love, wise songs, joyful songs, songs of fight and self-determination. “The Lord above gave me an arm of iron so I can work and never ever shirk”. With a little bit of luck, yes My Fair Lady :-).

There was nothing fair about the lady of our house. She loved only for herself and my sister entrenched in denial, played puppet to the drama queen’s abuse systems, neglected and betrayed me as she self-soothed with her songs of what? Hope? Love? Overcoming obstacles? How did this help me the traumatised infant/child grow into stability?

How I loved her songs! Only recently did it hit me with the pain of a thousand bee stings, with the morose taste of betrayal, that my sister’s beautiful singing was not for me, the innocent child.

It served her purpose. Self-soothing, they call it, and I was the fortunate beneficiary of this emotional davening. This duck and dive, this keening dance of grief my sister sang with such kavannah. Her religion of the Self.

These are a few of my favourite things…followed by a bridge over troubled water to soothe my soul and my infant favourite was Puff The Magic Dragon then Morningtown Ride…0h how they inspired me, how they comforted me, thinking of all the thousands of other children cuddled and coddled and sung to, to ease their fear and… despair.

Music still has the power to heal, to wreak vengeance, to make real what we hold deep within our hearts but dare not speak about.

Heather Nova, and her wonderful lyrics to which my mother gazing honestly at me, considered “such lovely Melodies, dear!” Did you listen to my silent scream, Mother? My screams of pain, shame, fury and disappointment?

My acknowledgement of your neglect, rejection, abuse of the “dirty little girls”: the ones expected to live with your shame, your trauma, your betrayals, while you fucked our enemies and engaged them in your evil web. My Heather Nova who sings from the soul, the words we wanted to sing to you, but could not! Lovely melodies indeed, Mummy!

And now you project your hate and evil and callowness into your will, and you want me to roll over and play dead. You created a future for me of Death, Guilt, Shame and Trauma and if I should fight for happiness, for success, for health, for normalcy, you crushed me.

You crushed me with your men, with your lies, your delusions, and your illusions of grandeur. You told me I was stupid and insane, so that is what you wanted me to become, and oh how I outperformed your wildest expectations!

But I was never stupid Mummy, only damaged, damaged and in pain, and striving to keep sanity where there is none. For how can you justify cruelty, negligence, abuse and trauma? How can you sanitise/minimise/disguise? By lies, self-abnegation, deceit? By becoming you, Mummy?

So my sister left me behind with my abusers, went on to continue to abuse by denying my pain, my existence. If I was doing well in life, I had a “silver spoon” in my mouth and when I was locked in the never-ending cycle of trauma, divorce, despair, depression, failed relationships and poverty then I was the black sheep, the outcast, the embarrassment.

I have seen who is sick. You who laugh at me when I demand my rights, my life, my validation, my justice. You who will not “see” the truth, acknowledge the truth, you who sold me down the river and smugly told me I have no right to comfort, peace or love.

You carry the torch so well, my sister. My mother and father passed on the mantle to you and you wear your lying coat to mask your ugliness yet you tell me you are beautiful and how hard you have worked fur that beauty.

But your heart and soul, my sister, that is tainted beyond belief and although my looks are gone, from years of suffering, stress, trauma and grief… I still shine, shine deep within myself, even if only I can access my light, I know it is within me.

So sing Angela, sing into the night, sing all day, sing of slaughtered calves and baby sisters , sold out into poverty and abuse, betrayed…while you sing yourself to sleep.

I will answer only to the still, silent voice inside me…the one that breathes, go on, keep going, survive…and THRIVE.

Who told you, a calf to me?

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons