REBIRTH- a Gift

By Stacy Benton

REBIRTH-a Gift is a family saga captivating the reader into a drama filled story of emotional and spiritual intensity. Meticulously igniting fury, empathy, and compassion for victims of complex trauma. A woman's feminine essence is: Powerful...Beautiful... Graceful. Once intuitively true intrinsic nature and spiritual power is unleashed... becom

• Language: English
• Publisher: RMN Publisher
• Release date: Jun 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578812762

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Rebirth

A Gift

Stacy Benton

All rights reserved

First Edition, 2020

Copyright © 2020 Stacy Benton

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the Author.

Preface Transcendence

The act of rising above something to a superior spiritual state. Achieving an existence or experience beyond the normal humanistic level.

Rebirth is a profound spiritual humanistic experience and transcendence into a superior state! A gift from the Divine celestial realm and Divine universal being for predestined souls selected to excel past ordinary limitations. Anyone that reads this book will be supernaturally touched, renewed, and transformed if only to believe. With God all things are possible. Miraculous can and will happen. Faith in the Divine Creator…the Infinite One…God is the ultimate life game changer to become victorious as an Empath. Era of the Empath is a predestined time for human beings with high empathic traits enduring a Rebirth experience to become powerful beings. This tedious process consists of three spiritual and physical phases…Conception, Travail and Birth.

Rebirth is a second chance to turn the trajectory of life and to fulfill selected and Chosen to accomplish in the Earth Realm. Predestined to suffer as an intercessor for humanity, destined to attain a superior state, life for the Empath and Super Empath can feel unbearable. Enduring the pain of such a transformative humanistic spiritual elevation is an influential experience. Do you feel compelled to change…a spiritual pull never encountered before? Now is the time for the Super Empath’s transcendence. Believe and have faith in the only ultimate powerful source…more powerful than your fragile humanity…the Power of an Omniscient Universal Presence…the Almighty God.

Rebirth is a gift from the Universal Divine Infinite One (God) and Eternal Infinite Spirit (Holy Spirit) is a transformative path of enlightenment. A journey that starts with a physical birth and ends with a spiritual Rebirth. Transcendent of a Super Empath into a soul with spiritual power is an intricate process. REBIRTH, a Gift, is an inspirational and artistic piece written from a feminine introspection and perspective while enduring the stage of Travail and after receiving the Rebirth experience. Please, read with an open heart and spirit. While reading could trigger internal emotional and mental wounds, and encounter various conflicting emotions: anger, sadness, joy, fear, sympathy, and empathy. Victims of complex trauma are explored in the most vivid encounters and characters in hopes to unveil the stigmas surrounding survivors of abuse, violence, and assault. Please, if you are a victim of trauma it is imperative to not remain in silence… but reach out for help! Listed on the last pages of the book are lifelines and phone numbers to anonymously call if experiencing any form of trauma, abuse, or suicidal thoughts. Painful humanistic emotions are imperative for transition into your chosen spiritual identity. Life’s difficult experiences and obstacles were not imposed to still…kill…or destroy, and leave the humanity and feminine essence of the woman in a reduced diminished soul and spiritual state. The great awakening is designed to trigger a change of heart and to examine the current state of a complex humanity. Always remember you are not alone.

It is vital to turn to the higher Universal Power (God) during moments of intense emotional triggers and challenging life experience is the Travail of a soul. Supplications of prayer, repentance, and meditation is vital to reduce the mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical anguish waiting for retribution. Super Empaths endure heinous acts of violence, abuse, and trauma before discovering a resolution and restoration. It is critical during these experiences to seek guidance, encouragement, enlightenment, and inspiration is vital for transcendence into a powerful human being as sons and daughters of the Infinite One. Super Empaths have one of the highest calling...a Chosen Generation. Rejuvenation, regeneration, and revitalization of the Super Empath is a humanistic state only achievable through Divine guidance, protection, sacrifice, and dedication. Spiritual conversion into this transcendence existence is a born-again experience…Rebirth!

Sections

PART ONE CONCEPTION

PART TWO TRAVAIL

PART THREE BIRTH

Part One ConceptIon

Origin To begin the formation of purpose & destiny

Chapter One

"I need to tell my story…I need someone to know the truth…

Predestined for an assignment… to fulfill a Divine Purpose at conception…

Chosen…

Birth is the end."

Lightning striking from the sky left a ringing roar in the darkened atmosphere. Unsympathetic cry of the earth backfiring against a relentless animosity in nature captured our souls. Merciless the rain foreshadowed a life engulfed in complexities. Motionless in the rain reverberated a stillness as if time ceased to exist. Every streak of light revealed and uttered vulnerability. Speaking a prophetic language from the heavens. Confusion was quite evident and vivid if could stare into enlarged eyes pierced with fear and see through eyes of a lost child. Tormented gaze exposed a relentless and hopeless brokenness. Perplexed, the circumstances unfolding and witnessing on that dreadful night is a premonition to the mental anguish imparted. Watched in horror, at a defenseless age of five, captivated by her desperation, as a life altering fear gripped a young soul. Ripping away any residue of humanity foreshadowing of a feminine state that was raw and real. One that is visited again in a toxic bloodline…generational curse of a fragmented coexistence… sealed a twisted identity. Chaotic in a symbiotic state a peculiar woman recognized as a stranger violently snatching to be released from the imprisonment strategically bound is a haunting image. An old beige project housing--surrounded by a cement walkway, iron poles with wires attached for hanging laundry interconnected by graveled roads progressed outward in opposite direction--became an oblivious foundation of a callous existence. Isolated desolate place in the New Orleans, Louisiana was where it all began. Creation of a fragile human.

Clear raindrops manifested a remorseless fury as it poured down unto the cemented ground singing a song to a creation of broken souls. Destined to manifest, could not escape the apparent wrath of God unleashed that night. Stoic in a state of shock and standing outside hidden behind stiffened legs and helpless hands grasping tightly the hem of a crimson ankle length skirt remained motionless with terror. Hearing echoes of dire screams surface a salacious atmosphere with elevated rhythmic thumping sounds cohesive to cold raindrops—could not hide the agony of those piercing shrieks. Cries so gripping that the sound remains subconsciously hidden. Vibrational resonance of desperation from the deepest aspect of an agonizing soul. Silhouette of her nudeness in the darkened atmosphere became visible by the headlights from the automobile leaving a lasting emotional quiver in disbelief of viewing her frailness. Anatomy of a skeletal, bones protruded from a skinny back as an extremely bony physic, weakened by years of neglect tries to resist the inevitable. Rippled spine and frail shoulders constructed appearing to be a deformity made it difficult to decipher if a human due distortion of a grotesque anorexic figure. Exposed degraded femininity exacerbated a deep-rooted hopelessness reverberating a vibrational coexistence and impartation into a frightened child. Peculiar woman ripped of dignity is unable to protect the most precious gift birthed due to a dishonorable generational label, and continuation of a dominating vicious force within a blood line. Chiseled and defined cheekbones seemed to exaggerate an uneasiness felt in that moment as she anguished in disbelief. Demise of a vision once shared during a beautiful conception ripping away the miraculous gift of motherhood.

Once vivacious, obvious the mysterious woman’s distress was consuming every ounce of humanity she once embodied. Humanistic nature stolen in the darkened night. Pounding rain echoed throughout this numinous manifestation of a dominating power. Clouds were so thick, prohibiting the moon or stars’ lunation eliminating comfort. A white van waiting patiently to snatch her from the howling night and whisk away into the darkened night became an imprinted nuisance of bondage. Little hands gripped the only fingers that provided solace. Hands of firmness and coldness. Instruments of punishment that would later cause bruises and welts from an extreme animosity relinquishing fury penetrating an immature mind and causing disassociation. An innocence unapologetically stolen. Tears of absolute anguish filled sorrowful eyes and rolled down smooth rounded cheeks. Expressions of pain were rooted in the deepest crevices of a little broken soul. Hidden wounds never bandaged. Distortion of God’s creation…a complex being created.

Painfully and shamefully head held down finally found the courage to look up into her eyes--the eyes of the woman who was being forced away from her own property. Treated animalistic and inhumane placed into an unfamiliar vehicle by two hefty men, who showed no mercy, ripped of her humanity. Jerked and pulled stiffened and resisted arms behind her back. Held them there in distortion until thrust upon feeble knees surrendering to a massive masculine force. Exposure of full breasts and unshaven vagina left an imprint seared in the imagination of childish recollections disturbing an already shattered reality. Sacred femininity exposed to absolute strangers is an inscription never forgotten. White jackets danced in the wind from the rain as they dragged her to the van rubbing the skin from cracked knees. Unpleasant sound of gravel scratching and scrubbing beautiful brown skin was accompanied by screaming and fighting to regain freedom. Contrast to her outer beautification despite the unfolding circumstances--was hope lost? Never…ever forgot words of immense conviction stammering from parched lips and white fuming mouth. Vocalized despite the unfair punishment unfolding in the darkened night of terror. Words immersed with conviction proclaiming one day a hope of retribution. Concealed truth, yelling in mire desperation of communication the last words to be heard from a lost little girl, trembling and quivering lips exposing a dire truth. Consumed in absolute desperation, spoke prophetically and profoundly, a voice of vengeance pleaded with a boldness despite the stormy night. Strength conceived from a life despite desolation and in protection of innocence.

Opal, Opal, please don’t ever forget me. Please don’t ever forget me!

Ankle length little pale-yellow dress, sparkling red shoes, and two braided elbow length ponytails drenched from cold rain soaked an outward reflection of how a throbbing heart begin to ache on that dreadful evening. Deep knowing—innate inclination under no circumstances will ever see the enigmatic woman again. Instantly, embraced a deep revelation… of a broken heart. Secret notions that spoke to every genetic imprint through a piercing stoic glare and soulless eyes holding the key to cease transformative life events. Undeniably, filled with grief and desperation left powerless to change the events transferred that dreadful night and inherited a recognizable pain. Familiarity conditioned as acceptance…twisted fate. Before firmly secured and shackled down in the white van, the haggard woman’s face was embedded in a conflicted mind, a memorable imprinted image prayed to forget. Uncanny and unnerving infliction consumed with disparity. Embedded inclination there was a connection. Last image imbedded remained a shadow of pressed thin fingers as a slow dispensation of a foggy residue. Small, imprinted hand upon the window relayed a clairvoyant message---for that spilt second in time---in that slight moment---felt her---an indescribable feeling! Hesitantly yet deliberately reached out a tiny little hand to help despite an inner confliction not completely understanding the inescapable situation. Extending a helping hand no one seemed to grasp in a connective embrace of desperation is left with a throbbing emotion and origin of loneliness.

Unapologetically, two husky men dressed in white without hesitation rushed away disappearing into a murky night. Unable to say goodbye last impression of her face tainted an injurious idea of womanhood. Disturbing screeching tires speeding away on a graveled road roars, and hidden tears begin to fall in cohesive with the mixture of the cold blistering rain…a sound of desperation. Ringing sirens sanctioned as a constant tortuous reminder of treacherous events dramatically altering her future. Comprehension to how profound implications that occurred in a pivotal moment remains an enormous opened wound. Festered, eroded, and smelled transcending time and stealing solitude. Delicate, pain, became a friend dominating entire existence as; mind, spirit, and soul became detached.

Immediately following her departure, hand was snatched down and firmly gripped. Nails ripped into gentle hands of purity. Hatred for the woman seen still jerking and yelling trying to be set free transferred to a grieving child. While she held tightly, a grieved heart skipped a beat, and the rhythm never restored to its rightful pace with imparted fear.

This vicious and undignified night haunts an awakened existence. Unable to escape its significance in dreams either. That is why must feel the crippling pain and vital to understand the severity of an obtrusive struggle. Hopefully, revealing decades of hidden truths will help heal a divided existence. Finally, receive the freedom to move past this dreadful night that ignited a coexistence of hell on earth; a place of purgatory unsuccessfully attempted to escape for years. Revenge has captivated a broken soul…retribution for a lost inner child screaming to be rescued and heard. Cultivated in a silenced voice, one that must be heard, remaining discreet is no longer an option.

If people realized what was going on in that horrid pale blue house, would not believe how disgusting the hidden world was sustained. Really believe it existed as a portal for dark energies and entities to freely enter and exit. Petrified and sickened by the place forced to call home after succumbing to an ill fate is a waking nightmare. Times when the surroundings were unrecognizable unable to acknowledge constant change in locations or the unfamiliar faces forced to call family. Alone, often awoke frightened from a dream looking around confused at the walls and furniture and wondering whose house living in. Sometimes would crawl around the bed from lower dimensional encounters enthralled in extreme spiritual terror and end up completely on the opposite side or on the floor. Absolutely in a reverse position from where fell asleep. A never-ending internal torture, sleep should be rest for a weary soul, but it was snatched away by sleepless tantalizing nightmares. Dreams seemed to get intertwined with the reality enduring a complicated situation. Paralyzed in a state of bewilderment unable to rationalize a rapidly diminishing cognitive state of a haggard existence still too immature to comprehend the significance of one simple question…why? Although, an intuitive child sensed the dire situation of walking through the doors entering a house everyday growing up felt like prison and not home. Helplessly and consistently immersed in reactive state of fight or flight senses became heightened at an early stage. Could sense a toxic room or emotional instability as negative energies vibrated stronger and stronger due to extreme unhealthy living arrangements was an overwhelming yet normal way of life. Immaturity of a child’s mind cannot understand the magnitude of this existence but left a loneliness that only the broken can fathom. Chaotic minds filled with complexities.

Defenseless, could not change the inevitable circumstances, but embraced an innate ability to sense intensity in an atmosphere. Immaturely perceived that perfection could induce a love desperately yearned for. Seeking unobtainable unconditional love as a child and approval from two invasive adults extremely altered healthy attachments and the ability to properly process adult relationships. Life altered for purpose would have turned out drastically different if … Only What? Can a child recognize the magnitude of failure from those who supposed to freely give love or receive a premonition into the future? What could a lost soul have done differently or was the Divine Infinite One cultivating a warrior? In the beginning the foundation was ruined and shaken. Dealt a difficult hand from the beginning insuring a terrible prognosis, not a fighting chance of survival. Absolutely damaged at conception.

Consistently resisting flashbacks of times when memories were vague and during other occasion’s memories vividly recalled. Creating two internal dynamics and inner dialogues, because of an oppressive dissonance, navigated the dysfunctional home environment daily in survival mode. Internalizing every scene and repetitively playing out tortuous events of a complex past resulted in fragmented pieces of reality displaying a fragile existence. Certain horrible actions remembered in detail while others remained suppressed until triggered by an unfortunate event, which became more prevalent in adulthood. On the contrary, if things started differently could have been remarkably successful, but life is not fair. Limitless to a child’s dream when nurtured. Once receive unconditional love, security and guidance things would be drastically. Only a predestined humanistic nature could fathom what endured! Earnest desire is to tell the world what was cowardly imparted into a broken spirit all those years. Traumatic experiences disastrously influenced adult decisions profoundly, causing a downward spiral rather quickly in all aspects of humanity. Agony nipped away at a split soul transforming into a conflicted and fragmented individual. Inward destruction ignited a fury beyond imagination and unveiled an unrecognizable inhumane soul with a shattered personality…undeniably fragile.

Idealizations so intimate only expressed in tears and violently released to a point of wishing for death suffering in poisonous potent mixture of secrecy…shame. Enthralled in an insidious brokenness, heart ached with ultimate distress as if every beat pounded intensely loud, a crippling paranoia. Hoped that the day of redemption would finally uncover the inner innocence screaming within to be heard. Obsessively thought, maybe someone could hear the thump…someone must understand…someone else must feel this pain too? Apparently, no one knew the secret…no one accepted the truth…who would ever believe a little girl? Humiliation, and thoughts of devious reactions disgracefully wondered if someone eventually found out exposure would only induce more anguish. Revealing heart expressed into a suffocating atmosphere in that home private matters only shared during confessions or prayers.

Contrarily, deep down inside desired to finally expose the fakeness and obtain freedom from the dungeon of a captivated spirit. Secretive thoughts needed and desired to be heard. But why should this burden be placed upon a feeble being and to be dealt with internally alone? Why didn’t someone stand up and advocate upon the behalf of an innocuous child who was enthralled into an uncontrollable situation? There is an answer. Malicious cowards sat silent and watched the evil inflicted were an abomination: Weak imbeciles only concerned with keeping the deceit alive. Stealing the pureness of an innocent soul. Evidence danced mockingly in the enabler’s faces showcasing conflictive realities; did they know, or did they not know? They must have known! Deep within a conflicted spirit have an intuition everyone blatantly witnessed devious actions. All the signs were there, and numerous others went unnoticed. Desperate words rang from within, but never from sealed lips. Prayed for someone to ask, be inquisitive or inquire. Just ask a simple humanistic question; How did the little cute girl feel with the big, beautiful brown eyes everyone adored? Earnest desire was for someone…anyone to entreat upon or question the wellbeing of the little girl. This act of kindness and mere acknowledgement was visibly yanked, tugged and pulled from the deepest private aspect of being. Invisibility became the norm, and lack of interference adversely impacted life decisions as matured. Direct correlation for detrimental hindrances as an adult.

Instead dirty looks of judgment and hatred were the expressions given hurtfully and repeatedly as a repulsive gift. Absolute disgust for the person became. Uncovered what happened and did nothing, not one thing to provide protection. Innocent, untouched by the world and only needed someone to say, No, she’s innocent! Protect the lost child. Those cowards did nothing, with their uncaring, hateful, arrogant, deceitful, and prideful poor excuses of human beings. All those years carried the burden alone. Scars of internal anguish. No one said a single word. Their silence became a curse. Left to figure life out alone and fend for self. No one ever defended an insecure innocence, no one. What could a child have done? The only thing a child could do is rooted deeply within humanity’s survival instincts. That is… to do whatever it takes to survive…live…exist! Game on! Ignited an inner fury of flaming destructive fire only a powerful Universal Eternal Spirit can transform.

Right now, at this very moment, as an adult, painful past of growing up in such dire circumstances has taken a toll upon what is left of a tattered existence. Perplexed inner being devoured with affliction. Only those similar can comprehend. Tremendous feeling that God has forsaken his lost child is the result of a predestined generational assignment only a chosen vessel can fulfill. Forgetting haunting experiences exacerbates an inner struggle controlling every aspect of life. This path was chosen. Is it a gift? Externally trying to survive yet spiritually dying inside; contrary to what envisioned. Is this the existence tragically succumbed to? Can an intervention possibly reduce an unavoidable death sentence? So many questions need to ask this family, but so little answers.

Reluctantly sit up after expressing these memories on paper and wiping the tears soaking the red ink from white pages. Wanting to savor every movement, the pen dances across the paper fluently while memoires are resurfacing not desiring to miss recording this vital moment. Writing in a journal has been a therapeutic habit committed faithfully to document events, memories, and experiences for nine years old. Close weary eyes and reluctantly reopen again trying to escape the confusion of the scenery. Followed by a twist of the neck and shake an exhausted head. Alleviation of a constant gnawing of this dreadful feeling constantly grips awakened emotions, and with acceptance return to a safe place of denial; a person only searching for the truth. Reclaiming an identity feels as if constantly drifts away like dry leaf easily crumbling before can understand why. As an adult must take responsibility for a mistaken journey that is continuously leading to a path of disappointment. However, confusing gap in time when traumatic experiences appear to be indifferent and stagnant remain suppressed and locked away from a lost key. Disassociation or recalling memories is as detrimental as unmasking the infliction of a hidden self.

Like amnesia, but sometimes these emotions and memories once suppressed are prevalent. Today, dominating and controlling everyday existence, compulsively reminding. Sometimes extremely difficult to decipher truth from lies or honesty from dishonesty. Continuous unresolving internal struggle is responsible for sequential and detrimental events after remembering that fatal night. Unfortunately, leading a loss soul down a rabbit whole, and searching, yearning, and desiring for an escape. A way out! Some of those vital events and circumstances remained hazy. Suppressed by denial and lack of acceptance. Vitally, it is imperative story is heard and understood. Hopefully, it can help others who are suffering.

Journaling always been a pleasant escape, and after completing those sentences, place the crimson velvet covered journal and red pen on the nightstand signifying a time to put away those sincere thoughts and heartbreaking emotions away for now. Putting away the memories and locking away intimate reflections preparing for a triggering morning. Compartmentalizing, attempting to separate past from present, reclaiming life. White tiled ceiling seems to close around forming a dark unescapable trap but learned to suppress emotional pain until can revisit memories again. There is a patch of light peeking through the window comforting and singing a mellow song revitalizing a saddened spirit as the full moon illuminates through the small window. Morning should bring a new beginning, a new day…a fresh start. As usual, misery will come knocking tomorrow. It will be waiting when eyes open from a slumberous sleep. Reality cannot be escaped. Days will be the same a repetitive cycle of sadness both internally and externally. Dreadfully, everyday only foreshadows the same---a precarious existence in anticipation that anxieties and frustrations will finally end. As usual while interacting on Sunday’s is the same. Hope slowly slips away when reality sets as a young woman as the inner child weeps.

Pleasant aroma of breakfast overpowers the morning sunshine pouring into the small white blinded window, rays revealing dried tears from the last night, and smooth blemish free skin glistens in the luminous light. Fragrances of fresh coffee overpower the stuffiness penetrating swollen nostrils. Scents of bacon, pancakes, eggs, grits, biscuits, ham, sausage, toast, and coffee dance about in the air above, consuming every negative sensation of guilt and shame. One special thing about that woman is that she really knows how to throw down in the kitchen. Engrossed in shortcomings but preparing an exquisite tasting southern meal is not one. Everyone brags about how well that lady can cook Creole cuisine like gumbo, dirty rice, jambalaya, fried catfish, and crab cakes to name a few are her expertise. That woman can cook and enjoy smelling the food and every minute of eating it when she is in the kitchen. Today, a pleasant mood is in the house and seem lighter…happier than usual, and for some strange reason feel the brightness of the morning appear to have promise to be a beautiful day. Usually, Sunday is that day one day of the week when there is a small ounce of peace in this house. Ironically, everyone tries to get along on this supposedly sacred day.

Leap from bed in one single step and immediately begin glancing through a small empty closet for what to wear to church this First Sunday. Tradition is for the pastor and his wife to share breakfast with the family. Pressure is mounting, and this Sunday is the church anniversary, and the unpleasant special occasion almost slipped a normal forgetful mind. Not up for the challenge of pretending today, but one important thing that can convince to be present at the dreaded table is food! Sometimes the thought of being around this dysfunctional family induces a hate for life. However, today, must find an avenue to release these emotions and church is the only positive avenue available due to minimalistic existence. Attending church service is a diminutive way to embrace spiritualism and externalize pent up emotional distress. Hopes to find a little normalcy amid confusion. God is the only person that could possibly understand someone perplexing. An awkwardness that could be recognized by others as a social disorder, but today really need a touch, despite usually feel a disconnection from the Divine Being. There is a distant relationship, and sometimes a love-hate relationship.

Voices begin to clamor from the hallways, bathrooms, and kitchen as the morning brings an end to the quietness of the night. Everyone slowly staggers and stirs about in the huge old house. Dark brown oak wooden floors squeak and echo as footsteps march back and forth from the halls, bathrooms, and bedrooms. Mama’s voice rings loudly, bouncing off the walls as she sings and pray, getting ready for the service today. Everyone accepts her inconsistencies and dares not interrupt her as she wanders about the house in this disruptive loud transit tone. Here excuse for the disruption is that she religiously vows getting her spirit ready to receive God’s power and the word from the pastor today. A usual routine on Sundays, and on good days sing along privately, because singing helps lift a heavy spirit.

Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, and I am worn. These powerful words ring from stammering lips with an intense conviction and can intensely feel burdens lifting like blankets being pulled off on a cold winter’s morning. Before joining everyone at the table for breakfast decided to say a small prayer. Not sure if God is listening but hope he can hear.

"God, I thank you for waking me up to this morning and starting me on my way.

I thank you for the food on the table that I am about to consume and the breath in my body. God, I thank you for my strength to go forth today and worship in your house. I know there are times when you are not proud of me and times when I make you very angry, but God, please, I mean please, help me to look past my present situation and not become bitter and fill my heart with malice, hatred and strife. I feel so dirty and unclean at times, and I am hurting desperately. Today I need you; I do not want anyone to really know what is going on with me. I do not want to reveal the truth behind all the hurt and pain. Give me the strength to press on and the faith I need to overcome. In Jesus name I pray. Amen."

Quickly, wipe tears a gesture all too familiar with, and a weakened soul is consumed with a peace never felt before. Instantly, received the reassurance that God is listening. Faithful confirmation and premonition that the life position in right now is just for a season; soon this too will past, and a bright future awaits just underneath the horizon, despite feeling a gloominess last night. Courage overcomes a heavy heart and encouraged to face the demon that will be sitting at that same table. Conviction and realization hits like a ton of bricks! This is not the time to reveal the devil’s real face. His time is coming… His time is coming real soon.

Everyone is impatiently waiting for an untimely arrival. Reluctantly, approach the table head held slightly down in dishonor. Can feel undermining eyes quickly glancing at one another in disgust, as a nonverbal and judgmental communication, unleashing precarious thoughts. Deliberately resisting to make a good impression upon the pastor, in a rebellious disrespectful gesture is to be fashionably late. Upon entering the dining room notice lacking the familiar décor. Undecorated bland and uninviting decorations are not present. Cherry wood furniture has been adorned and decorated in beautiful antique china ware that was passed down from five generations. Antique silverware is shining brightly and dancing in the chandelier light that usually is covered in a thick dust. Scratches and scuffs from shoes no longer mar the hard-wooden floors but are renewed to the house’s preexistence. These dramatic changes catch an observant eye and attention immediately. Glances of disgust passes over disgustful facial features imitating gestures of disgust. Impulsive anticipated pleasure of wrecking an ill-fated illusion rushes through boiling revengeful veins and the hot sensation from anger engulfs any sense of spirituality prayed for this morning. Did not imagine it would be this difficult to suppress an innate eagerness and disruptiveness. Apparently, before could sit at the table evil had once again triumphed over good and was ready to let expose everyone. Just seeing him at the table dramatically alters the mood.

Pastor Johnson is the first person to break the silence, and at this point really do not need to hear from his stinky breath. His personality is one of arrogance, ignorance and hypocrisy, and his shiny silver tie horribly contrasts with a dark, greasy, and round fat face. He also has these tight dark eyes that squint repeatedly in disgust for anyone who diverts from his belief system of what or who think God is; minimalized to a religious understanding. Judgmental is an understatement to describe Pastor Johnson’s personality. The man is hideous, but the blinded sheep called his congregation, are spiritually stagnated retarded imbeciles. May sound rather harsh but have supportive reasons to diminish his followers of a cursed man parading around as an anointed man of God. Just the thought of him makes insides to shiver with extreme discomfort and dislike. Appropriate table manners were never taught to him, and stare in disgust as he places both of his elbows on the table with his fork and knife tucked between his stubby hands. Bacon grease dripping from the sides of a gluttony face.

You are late, young lady, and you should have more respect for the woman and man of God than this.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, but I had a hard-restless night." I purposely emphasize the word hard.

Witty sassy response intricately placed to make everyone wiggle helplessly from the antagonistic statement. Only the people in this awful family really understand the significance of such a disrespectful and sarcastic tone. Pastor Johnson’s ignorance allow the words to fly over his head. Thought true preachers of God should have insight into the truth behind the human soul. Apparently, this gift was not given to him, probably because God knew that he was a fool, and avoid giving gift to discern good and evil to a hypocritical religious fanatic.

Well, if you were preparing to be in God’s presence today and not running around like Jezebel, you wouldn’t be so tired.

He rolls those tight beady black eyes to the top of his head, and it was only the good Lord that ceased ready hands from slapping his ugly, greasy, fat disgusting face. This inward vision alone brings much pleasure, and grimly smile directly towards him. Visualizing unapologetically releasing a fury built deep down inside for years. An ultimate action of the utmost disrespect, and Pastor Johnson abruptly turns away afraid of the backlash not ready for a confrontation with an inner beast. Just cannot stand that man!

Chauvinistic degrading remark really infuriates by shaking inside with an animosity so profuse feel heat rising from within consumed with anger, and at this point the little ounce of strength and self-control gained in prayer this morning is completely gone.

Sorry, everyone, but we all realize that everything is perfect here, and I’m just the harlot! Would say something else far more degrading, but did not want to get struck down by lightening from God or would God care putting a disgraceful servant of God in his rightful place is the work of what feels like righteous indignation.

Veretta antagonistically interrupts, and before defiantly releasing any more intentional or disrespectful pain with an unrestrained mouth that is ready to let loose and cause more havoc. Tired and fed up carrying the shame and guilt of this family. At this very moment felt a burning sensation to explode and reveal the truth. A deeply embedded exposure behind all the madness silently and shamefully endure.

Opal, you know better than to talk like that in the presence of the pastor. If you refuse to apologize right now, you will definitely regret it.

Her inadequate attempt of discipline causes further aggravation. A tired, broke-down response of discipline left a perplexed mind pondering for a while what else can say to cause more devastation and commit to verbally abusing this entire despicable family. Continue the relentless insults and inflicting utter destruction upon disgusting poor excuses for human beings. However, before replying feel tears welling up in already exhausted eyes that are finally ready to confess. Strength obtained in prayer this morning before bombarded with these people becomes extremely difficult to maintain suppressing feelings of a lingering loneliness and isolation. A divided house cannot stand and realize how much desire to gaslight the projection of ignorance upon the target of brokenness. Repress the tears embarrassed to show weakness in presence of idiots! Pride gives strength, and despite deeply desiring to cry a mountain of tears reluctantly hold them back.

Tracie loudly and rudely interrupts… Miss perfect: Pass me the bacon, please; I am hungry, and everyone should know by now that Opal is a disordered lunatic. Rolling perfect almond shaped eyes and tilting a symmetrically rounded head to the side, which is a gesture that causes to envision ripping every strand of hair out her head one by one. As if just crawled out of bed this morning and already looks better than everyone on good days. Long sandy brown hair, hazel green eyes, slender freckled face, full pink lips, and rosy high cheek bones are contrary to an aloof, rude and nonchalant personality. Graceful physical attractiveness could never compare to Nancy, who is extremely successful and exceptionally beautiful. Most important aspect about Nancy’s relationship is the fact that she is truly a best friend. There is absolutely no comparison. It is like comparing a Ford to a Rolls-Royce. It is quite evidential Tracie is Mama’s prized possession. Tracie is a self-proclaimed mama’s girl. Mother and daughter bond are despicable and resentful. It is far from a healthy relationship, a weird combination of codependence and clinginess. Both need to be weaned from one another like a baby from a nipple.

Relieved by Tracie’s rude interruption, but deep down inside, will get revenge. Yes, today will not be the last time reveal the hatred for this broken and dysfunctional family. Going to feel the wrath one day. Inability to accept the truth is suffocating beyond realization. Staying in a household where unable to share true emotions is not a family atmosphere that anyone could thrive in. Constant feeling of suffocation and intoxication rips at a broken heart every second, sucking the snippet of positive air from the atmosphere, vital for surviving one day in this family.

Rebellion and disrespect are the result of years of trying to persevere within this dysfunctional environment, always gripped in a constant feeling of paranoia that feeds a neurosis since childhood. Fueling an anger of intense despair. What if say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing? How untamed behavior is going to impact a family disconnected from numerous years is no longer responsibility of this family’s creation. Repressing thoughts, controlling an unhinged tongue, and resisting speaking a perplexing truth is no longer a priority. Living in this manner is a catastrophic existence, hell on Earth, and become closer and closer to an eruption the longer exposed to a grimacing dynamic. A life remorsefully lived for years is all too familiar in the worst way imaginable. Dark destructive secrets have paralyzed the Dubar family for decades, but it is only a matter of time before a revelation. Yes, in due time exposure will come. Tired of being treated like the outcast labeled the black sheep, because not willing to go along with this fake reality and as punishment is labeled the rebellious one. Someone to blame for all the mood-altering state and disfunction because unwilling to continue to live in this required false reality to feel accepted.

Quite the contrary to life behind closed doors, the image portrayed to the neighborhood, church members, family and friends is astonishing. Family sitting at the table breaking bread with a pastor of a mega church has been fooled and is beyond repair. Extensiveness of hidden attitudes and actions is beyond belief. A highly esteemed family distorted perception is a psychotherapist nightmare. The well runs deep. If examined a family therapist would beyond astonishment if given the chance to thoroughly examine and conduct a psychoanalysis of the Durbars’. Living with a seared consciousness, no one is incapable of acknowledging an astonishing fact; everyone is beyond repair. Public persona and perception is that this family is God fearing, and if exposed to be sincere with honesty would be petrified if realized the truth. If only could get a glimpse into the souls and minds of individuals sitting beside. Wish realized the corruption, and if could see what occurs behind closed doors… If walls could talk. Everyone in this neighborhood would be absolutely petrified. When that day arrives, will be released from this dungeon called hell. Free to fly off like a beautiful white dove in the clear blue sky. A significant part of retribution is to witness the demise of everyone responsible, and to get what is coming. God’s wrath will be revengeful, and may he have mercy.

Plates are sopped up with gravy and the sound of clanking forks intrudes the silenced emotional residue moments before. Smacking mouths moving with intense concentration causes tremendous agitation and is evidence that previous disrespectful words changed the mood completely. Mission accomplished. There are a few conversations among everyone else but remain quiet the remainder of the breakfast daydreaming. Internal stimulations are far more enjoyable than their listening to boring conversations. A great opportunity for a wonderful escape.

That night felt like a fantasy. It was magical and felt like Cinderella at the ball. This was the first time truly introduced to the life Nancy lived. Many years enjoyed a friendship with Nancy, but never really had the chance to attend an event together, and this was the first powerful experience that there is light at the end of darkness. Hope became a living entity. Recently had turned twenty-one and finally considered old enough to get in the events Nancy attends. This night decided to gulp down some harsh liquor outside of the strict rules of Mama. Perhaps this is not a good time to think of that night in the presence of the pastor and his wife. Whatever. A night of passion was so exciting and fulfilling. Many nights secretly watched him from the window in a pathetic spying intrigue. Completely engrossed with him and awestruck in the way he possessed such intense masculine power. Adoration for someone realized was in the league of guys never would look twice but wanted him to recognize his sister’s best friend. Nancy would always warn that he was a player, and do not fall for her brother’s charades. However, Justin seemed to have the touch to make girls feel what appeared to be loved, desired and respected. Yearned to be associated with him, another female seduced by Justin’s masculine finesse. Not sure what was the attraction given his history or why unable to resist despite realizing not the kind of guy a young girl should admire. Those bad boys are exciting in the most tantalizing way. Best to run as far away as possible rather get involved or waste time. A young mind is so feeble and rebellious.

However, the person who entered on that splendid night during this first vivid encounter was far more rewarding, wished or imagined to be. The designer gown fitted like a glove. Never felt so confident. Having hair and makeup professionally styled and finally transformed into a beautiful woman always envisioned…an enormous achievement. Embrace so powerful can still feel his masculinity. Strong arms effortlessly took charge creating an imaginary chair. Reminiscing on that night resurfaces a yearning to be embraced combined with a feeling of extreme guilt. Abruptly, the sociopath rudely interrupts —the daydream abruptly ends and removed from a world of escapism.

How things been while away for school, my beautiful Opal? Do not know who gave him the right to speak or the audacity to form his mouth to ask any questions. Those days of the old Opal are over! Purposely ignore his attempt to spark up a conversation, and for the good of all of us, Mrs. Johnson, the pastor’s wife, decides this is an excellent time to interrupt the tense silence that follows his dreadful voice. It is so thick with a distinctive New Orleans accent, which is full of much ancestry, but his existence has tainted it. If not familiar with the dialect or hear him speak often, perceive he was a native of Haiti. Refuse to respond and completely ignored him.

Unlike the imbecile, the Pastor’s wife is a woman of peace and has a good motherly distinctive nature. A slightly overweight woman with a highly erected chest accompanied by a smaller lower frame with a soft tender comforting voice. Hair is always nicely done, today is cut in a neck length bob, dyed jet black and with a sharp bang. A youthful style that is also respectful and professional and enhances those beautiful ethnic features. Mrs. Johnson’s chocolate brown complexion is smooth and firm. Appear to be much younger than her ugly outdated husband, who is a poor excuse for a man, pastor and father from the stories and rumors always circulating amongst the congregation. Sometimes, inquisitively ponder what she saw in him or how became involved in an entanglement and married an absolute idiot. It is true. Opposites do attract like magnets.

Have you’ll heard about the family here in your neighborhood? Mrs. Johnson is inquisitive, but the sincerity in her tone cannot be ignored.

What family? Mama quickly glances over at Mrs. Johnson, waiting for her response.

There is a family here that I am hearing about. Everyone is talking about them. So, you’ll are telling me that you’ll haven’t heard anything? Mrs. Johnson is not revealing whom she is referring to, and it got me thinking about maybe she is talking about this family.

"There is a family rumored to have some foster kids whom they are abusing. Now I do not know how true this is, but I’ve heard some awful things they have done to these kids." Mrs. Johnson pushes away from the table and cautiously places her napkin upon her plate.

What awful things? Mama quickly asks appearing to be concerned. Loving to hear stories of others suffering absolutely insane in Schadenfreude; getting pleasure from the pain of others, a Psychology term learned that directly exemplifies her insanity. It is a true saying; misery loves company. Always talking about the problems of others in avoidance of facing some dire truths watching for years with a sickening disgust how eager she is to hear of stories of the most heinous acts against humanity. Really, the only time see her face light up besides when bragging on Tracie’s accomplishments.

Some of the things that I can’t mention, but I feel that you’ll need to know so that maybe can be on the lookout if you see anything. There was a young lady who came to the church, and she told me witnessed one of the children going from house to house asking for food. The young boy was barefoot and looked frail and disheveled. He said that their refrigerator at home has a chain on it with a lock. The young lady also said that he showed her where the house was, but I am not going to share that with you will. I told her that I would keep it confidential. She also said that she used to live in that house years ago, and she was gruesomely abused and neglected by the adoptive parents that she was living with. Mrs. Johnson only pauses to gather thoughts and quickly continues.

Detailed terrifying stories she told me while afraid for her life or what retaliation they would do to her could not me made up or lies. They were just too graphic. Now she was adopted by the family around the age of nine but left the day after graduation and never returned. She also said that she almost lost her mind living there, and the entire family is crazy. The grandma, aunt, cousins, and uncles of the family that come there all the time know what goes on there, but no one will ever say anything. Adoptive parents also have foster children living with the family and treats the children as slaves. Controls them with money and tormenting tactics like; locking them outside in the cold, forcing them to go days without food, allowing the girls to be molested and raped by men in the family and boys in the home, beating them for things did not do, and not getting the young girls—teenagers early prenatal care when pregnant. This place is not a home, but a house of horrors. I have already reported them to authorities and child protection services, because could not just sit there and do nothing to help those poor children. They have already silently endured enough suffering, and it is the right thing to do as a believer in Christ. However, until they intervene, please be aware if you see or hear anything in the mean- time. Would not want any more harm to happen to those innocent children? Now, I want you will to be looking out for anything unusual, because these kids are innocent and have been through enough. All those children, about ten of them, don’t need to be abused anymore, and as a retired social worker despise to hear stories like this. Innocent children abused and neglected while enduring foster care and a problematic system. Mrs. Johnson give a grandmotherly stare and all nod in agreement. Quickly she changes the subject, avoiding evoking more questions hesitant to answer.

So, Opal, how is school coming along? Her voice is soft and tender, yet assertive.

School is great, Mrs. Johnson, and I’m really having a great time away from home.

How far are you?

I’m a junior. Answer quickly and respectfully making eye contact for a short moment before looking down poking around with the tablecloth as a distraction.

Isn’t your major psychology?

Yes, ma’am, it is, and I’m learning so much about human behavior and the mind.

Well, I wish you good luck--and keep up the hard work, your life is just beginning. But be careful and guard your spirit from negativity and do not let anyone make you feel that your dreams cannot come true. That your life does not have any meaning. We all have purpose.

Always thought highly of Mrs. Johnson and is always an inspiring woman with meaningful encouragement. A quick conversation with a true woman of God is refreshing. A feeling of refreshing moves inwardly in a previously agitated spirit, and now is renewed and ready for church service today. Mrs. Johnson has a supernatural insight into a person’s true being. She has an eye to see deeply into the souls of humans, deeper than most people can, beyond the physical. Receiving positive support is ironic on any occasion and induces counterintuitive reaction of comfortability. This simple and true statement induces a quiver momentarily, a confusing combination of excitement and dismay. Multifaceted emotions kindled leave an inquisitive sensation and questioning the true nature of those words. Maybe were a premonition or some sort of warning? Hopefully, it is sincere and truly meant for encouragement. The Dubar family is pathetic. Someone showing the slightest interest agitates and manifests an enviousness beyond imagination; everyone quickly scatters from the table. Amazing how the pastor’s wife’s positive reinforcement causes so much discomfort. Burns the souls of haters, blood is not thicker than water, sometimes family can be worst enemies to a dream, vision, or purpose. However, exactly what deeply desired and yearned to hear…a little encouragement.

Mama annoyingly gathers the dishes, while Pastor Johnson is grabbing his suit jacket from the coat hanger and walking to the door. Mrs. Johnson’s scarlet red dress dances in the sun exiting from the foyer onto the steps.

Alright, Veretta, this has been a wonderful breakfast, and enjoy the lovely meals you prepare for us on first Sundays. This has been a tradition accustomed to. Absolutely love and enjoy them, and thankful for your generous hospitality. God will truly bless you, and pray your family continues to grow in the Lord and become an absolute miracle.

Mrs. Johnson turns around swiftly looking back into the hallway, waving her hand to bless the place. Gives a reassuring nod and smiles gently. Mama never murmurs a word but carries on in her robotic fashion as always done after these meals, which is an uncomfortable situation for the rest. Faithful disciples of the charade understand that it makes her extremely happy to act civilized when the pastor and his wife are over as a guest.

Pastor Johnson’s unpleasant annoying visit this morning left an unpleasant residue. Still disgusted with church and this despicable family a feeling think will never leave. However, press through the disgust and emotional stress…all the baggage, and attended the morning service. Drive to Spiritual Healing Full Gospel Church is annoyingly quiet and intense. No one utters a word, and Mama’s lips are pressed together extremely tight in an uncomfortable intense stare. Blue veins protrude underneath a very thin neck revealing immense frustration. A passive aggressive physical appearance would only be understood by someone who has endured her wrath. Tenseness visible with a tightened draw is extremely uncomfortable to see and twitch back and forth, and instantly recognize this gesture as anger. An intense argument before service is out of the question. Therefore, Mama remains purposely quiet. Shallow pale skin allows the sun to cascade a shadow against a disgruntled face presaging the true revelation into a weary soul. Illuminating the fact life has aged her tremendously. Distracted temporarily from observing a peculiar specimen, stare out of the window. New Orleans city appears to be quieter on this Sunday morning than usual. Ride down Interstate-10 to reach Canal Street from the house, nervous, as always, while traveling on the interstate. Numerous shacks, abandoned houses, restaurants, apartments, and housing projects speed by traveling down the multi-lane highway.

Construction work is a continuing task hindering the flow of this busy, culturally diversified city. Many residents have not and will not return to embrace the enormous fighting, free-spirited metropolis, because of a tyrant that ripped through the city without remorse. A historic city all the Dubar and family ties reside. It is familiarity. Thankfully, residential home was not completely devastated by the natural disaster but took years for New Orleans to return to normalcy and took over three months to have the house cleaned from the mildew left behind. One of the fortunate ones whose home not completely submerged under the thirty-foot flooding water but suffered severe wind and rain that damaged the roof. It nearly blew off. Despite the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina, after it ruthlessly tore through the city, New Orleans’ vibrant nature eventually returned, and a thriving culture remains. Many families torn apart, and the suffering from those victims still are vivid haunting images today when think about the families on the rooftops begging for water and to be rescued or abandoned in the Super Dome with dead bodies and human feces with no running water, toilets or drinking water are images that leave a lasting imprint upon the frailty of humanity. Impressionable memories of the intense continue social injustice and inequality rampant in the black impoverished communities.

Merging into the left lane positioning to turn, the Super Dome is still standing without defeat. Images of this historic facility were televised nationally, showing the catastrophe nature left behind hurricane’s Katrina ‘s fury. Still recall the impoverished residents, who either decided not to leave or could not get out, waving their hands helplessly at the base of the structure. Victims of this massive storm had to flee to higher ground, some swimming in the soiled murky water with dead bodies floating through it, because the flooded water had imprisoned them. Before being fully renovated, the round structure had some dents in the roof, and there was paint missing, but its presence still dominated New Orleans. Spirit of fight resonates with the people in this wonderful city, and its energy transformed the New Orleans Saints. Who dat talkin’ ‘bout beatin’ those Saints? Who dat? Who dat? Victorious chant rang loudly and proudly in the streets throughout New Orleans and cascaded through the entire state of Louisiana. Finally, won the Super Bowl! An amazing accomplishment, and proud to say rom this extraordinary city. Inspiration gained from the fighting spirit of the Saints unified residents of Louisiana, and the entire nation can feel this enthusiasm as well.

Souls of those that passed in the mudded flooded waters unified in the heavens and granted this miracle. Lives stolen are the reflection of the past, but the souls in heaven reflect the glimmer of hope that shines upon any broken life. Every day is a day to persevere towards a brighter future, which is the driving force for determination as well. New Orleans’ people survived and endured the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Survivors were able to mend the broken pieces of destructive lives and homes as the city revived with encouragement to continue preserving and fighting and keeping on is built in the fragment of the African American communities.

Refocus attention again towards Mama, uncomfortably staring into a distorted face and hoping can uncover the mask mysteriously hide behind and finally know who she is. Lack of emotional presence is disturbing, but aging physical features attempt to reveal truth. Lines from a wrinkled forehead and eyes reveal a tattered black woman who has had some unfortunate events in life, especially these past ten years. Despite her age, she is still a beautiful woman to be in her late forties. It is an absolute disgrace do not know mother’s exact age, but it is a topic that she does not openly share. Honestly, there are not too many topics she openly shares or talk about, and always been introvertive. Lack of communication only exacerbates the space of an already strained relationship, and always been a major concern. A young woman needs the love, support, and affection of a mother. Wonder, all the time how was she growing up. Rarely speak of the childhood although raised right here in New Orleans. In earlier years, Mama was a brick house, an urban name for a curvaceous African American woman in the South. (Extremely small waist, large hips, and bottom; a figure eight) Recent continuous slimming figure either because of age or stress has caused her hips and buttocks to shrink tremendously smaller. Once shining jet-black long wavy hair has transformed into a thinning dull mane with gray strands becoming extremely difficult to hide with dyeing. Maybe she can sense the critical examination, and sharply turns glancing quickly again with those piercing intense stern hazel green eyes.

Right away, through that quick glance, realize very displeased with her daughter due to disrespectful behavior this morning at breakfast. Sometimes feel guilty and want to apologize, but always is too late. Damage already done. Throughout the years learned to read all the hidden non-verbal cues and facial expressions. However, have an intuitive spark and can sense the fear in her eyes. Deceitful and manipulative ways will not allow simple gestures to reveal any emotions, weaknesses or worries that could be bothersome. Can sense anxiety like a predator after its prey, because have dealt with its debilitating side effects since childhood? Disruptive inquisitiveness is debilitating and can feel emotions rise inside. So many questions but understand will never know what her true feelings or thoughts are, and only will grimace and say nothing is wrong, everything is fine. Always had this unbreakable wall. Unfortunately, no words are spoken. An intensity that is unbearable and extremely uncomfortable the entire drive, but thankfully arrive at the church. Everyone is rushing in and jumping out of cars with nervous haste to avoid being late, and follow parking quickly engulfed in an eager silence.

Dubar family has generations of traditional connections to the Spiritual Healing Full Gospel Church. Ever since a little girl attended this church. Many of happiest and saddest memories occurred at this sanctuary. Weddings with laughter and tears of joy, as well as funerals that consist of intense pain and regrets, have had a significant impact on perception of life. Church has always played an intricate role, and no matter what the home environment or personal struggles have so much history and memories here. A vivid and significant memory has transformed the Dubar family forever. Haunts dreams and every aching minute of life since this profound transformational occurrence. Flashbacks of that day play over and over in a perplexed mind attempting to gain understanding of its significance, a constant reminder of painful and heart-breaking past. Absolutely do not comprehend the small details and confusing circumstances surrounding this disturbing event but understand that something tragic happened in this church a long time ago. Memories have been suppressed for protection. Every time revisit the sanctuary snippets of traumatic memories resurface and feel stagnation and spiritual impact. Some reminiscences are deeply embedded in a conflicted soul and other recollections are becoming more vivid. Acknowledging an oppressive force is an experience in this reality has made it extremely difficult to maintain a since of clarity. Fortunately, one valuable lesson learned is that childhood is not irreplaceable.

Repressive