Voice in the Dark

By Erica Grobler

As a child, Ophelia was a peace loving and sensitive soul. To her detriment, she saw the good in others, never focused on the negative but cared enough to help uplift where it was needed.
Because of her natural inclination to serve and fill the void, she fell into the trap of narcissists.
Unfortunately, she was born into familial and societal bondage where she was programmed to fit into a pre-determined mould but she had a deep desire to be free. Not specifically the freedom where she could do whatever she wanted to or go wherever she felt like going at any given time, but the freedom to be her Self. She wanted to be free to think and feel the way she did, free to express herself and free from the expectations and manipulations of others.
She realised that desire alone meant nothing and that action was needed.
Alone and without any external support, she found the courage within and set out on a long and difficult journey to find and liberate herself from bondage and the shackles of mind and emotions.
At the end of this perilous journey where she encountered judgement, condemnation and abuse, she not only liberated herself but she liberated her lineage as well.
How is it possible for someone like her to not be broken but more determined to live a life of peace, beauty, love and light?
How did she do it? How did she escape and manage to survive the psychological abuse she had endured at the hands of those who professed to love her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erica Grobler
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005150723

Book preview

Survival

Aargh, get this thing out of me! I can’t take it anymore. Get it out! Get it out! a woman screamed at the top of her lungs.

This continued for some time until she collapsed, eyes wide open, barely moving and now wholly silent. She did not answer when the nurse asked her name. Too afraid to breathe, she lay there dazed until she felt the now familiar tightening of the next contraction.

With eyes wildly looking around, she yelled: Get the doctor. I’m dying here, please help me. Get it out, it’s killing me!

The nurse tried to calm her, but she continued yelling and screaming until after lunch. To be precise, at 1:45pm the torment was over and the nurse held in her arms a tiny, below- average weight baby girl. She was wrapped in a pink blanket and presented to her mother, but the woman was disinterested. She did not want to look at the baby and bluntly said: I don’t want it, take it away.

The doctors and nurses believed she would come around after a rest, but what they did not know was from the day the mother discovered she was pregnant, she had not wanted the baby. She had tried to abort by drinking a concoction of penny royal, brandy and who knows what else.

The nurses made her comfortable and she slept. On her waking a few hours, they took her the tiny infant, but her motherly instincts did not kick in as expected. She did not want to look at the squealing little pink bundle, much less hold or nurse her. The nurses were left caring for the infant until they could convince the mother to nurse her. Fortunately, logic was on their side and they explained the baby’s suckling would bring relief to her swollen breasts. Mother and baby finally settled for the night and by morning the mother had made peace with reality and reluctantly did the necessary.

A few days later, mother and baby were ready to leave the hospital, but the new-born was dumped with the neighbour. In her defence, the mother said her baby Ophelia was tiny enough to fit into a shoebox and she did not want to accidently hurt her. However, it was abundantly clear she had no love for the tiny infant.

***

The above true story was written from Ophelia’s perspective after her mother had relayed her version. Not exactly every detail as it would have been cruel to tell a child outright it was unwanted, but, as a child her mother told her she was so tiny she could fit into her father’s shoe box and she really had left her with the neighbour for the first few weeks of her life.

We Are All Equal and Valuable

In sharing her life story, Ophelia touched me to the extent I felt the urge to write about her life. I sought to write a book to touch and support others, specifically those who were or felt unwanted and unloved and anyone neglected, abused and disempowered.

No matter how we enter this world, no matter how welcome or unwelcome, as humans we have a purpose and are valuable and equal. Whether we are male or female, white or black, intelligent or dumb, religious or atheist, rich or poor, we are valuable, equal and born with a purpose.

We are here to experience, learn, grow and develop into our true selves. This is a different self to the limited one we have come to believe we are since that one is driven by the negative programming we receive from birth. When we are our authentic selves, we are strong, happy, mentally free and powerful individuals… a blessing to the world and ourselves as we step into our life’s true purpose and share our knowledge with others.

BACK TO OPHELIA

One evening, at an event with strangers present and after a glass of wine, her mother boldly told them she had tried to abort Ophelia. Silence engulfed the table and everyone eyed her in utter shock. Yet, this was the confirmation and affirmation to the thoughts and feelings with which Ophelia had grown up. Since childhood she had felt unwanted, did not belong and was born to the wrong family. She intuitively knew her mother did not love her and the way she was treated confirmed her feelings.

As an 11-year-old, she had been punished for confronting her mother about it. She had said she had always known her mother did not love her. There was a blow-up between mother and daughter followed by an unbearable atmosphere in the house. For the first time in her short life, Ophelia contemplated running away, but fortunately realised the pitfalls as she had no money and nowhere to go. How would she survive in the world on her own? was her question.

Being at a loss, she turned inward and spent her time alone, communicating with the invisible presence always accompanying her. She figured the loving presence she had constantly felt since early in her life must be God and was therefore never alone or scared. She could tell her constant companion anything and the relationship endeared love and protection.

BABY OPHELIA'S HOME LIFE

She was unclear on the details, but after some time being cared for by the neighbour, she was taken to live with her birth parents and three-year-old, first-born sister Mara. Mara and her mother developed a special bond, something she had not experienced.

Ophelia had longed for her real mother, a woman she believed to be out there somewhere. She most probably bonded with the neighbour, but who she never saw again as they moved away.

Her mother was not wholly bad. She fed, cleaned and clothed her. She didn’t feed her pets’ food or physically abuse her. Emotionally is another issue. She taught her good manners and how to be a lady. She remembers her mother motivating her by reading the story about the little steam train who kept on going – repeatedly reading her the line I think I can, I think I can, I know I can.

Her father was gentle and kind and she loved him deeply. She felt he was the only one who truly accepted and loved her. The only one with whom she could have a real relationship. He stood up for her when others attempted to bring her down.

Back to Mara. Ophelia does not recall their early years, but shortly after turning 10, Mara gleefully told her how she would excitedly call her with the pretence of playing ring-o-rosy whenever she saw dog pooh on the lawn. She would spin her sister and cause her to fall on the pooh. She was also excellent liar and her stories typically landed Ophelia in trouble.

Ophelia’s mother and Mara habitually indulged in long baths together and usually afterwards, Ophelia was punished in some way without being told what crimes she had committed to deserve their punishment. As an insight, Mara would tell their new maids she was an orphan and their parents had rescued her from a hellish life in which she had been beaten. She elaborated saying her legs and arms were sometimes tied to four horses then driven away so her body was painfully stretched. The maids would feel so sorry for her they did everything to make her life easy.

Even as a child Mara was a skilful manipulator and, only in later life, did Ophelia realise why she was a good liar. She relayed her stories countless times such that they became her reality and she believed them to be the truth.

Once they had visitors and she was caught telling them she had lived in Europe for seven years. To her embarrassment, their mother called her out before everyone and fetched her passport to prove they had only travelled through Europe for seven weeks or so. Watching Mara’s face, Ophelia saw the shock and surprise echoing everyone else’s on hearing the truth. It was there Ophelia realised her sister honestly believed her stories.

Her brother arrived four days before her first birthday and about two years later, her younger sister was born. Growing up she felt she did not belong and that she was the only sibling without family names affirmed her feeling. As a teen she thought she did not get along with her sibling because of their age differences. She also realised although she wanted relationships with them, it was not her choice alone. It was as if she was from a different world and spoke a different language, one they could not understand.

Her world included faith, trust and the invisible reality. Yes, she might have, until a few years ago, seen the world through rose-tinted glasses. She did not ridicule their world as they did hers. There was a major difference between their perspectives on life and living, between the ethereal frequencies they radiated and their attitudes towards the broader world. Forcing positive and negative together is akin to mixing oil and water.

Another issue causing complications was she saw, heard and experienced things they either could not or did not want to see or experience. She had visions, heard voices (her inner voice) and dreamt vividly in which she sometimes received much-needed information and, at others, information she found difficult to interpret.

There were times when she was woken by a voice saying: You have unleashed death 22 times; now it is time to go.

Initially she had been alarmed, but after contemplating and meditating on the symbols, concluded it was a positive dream. Habitual old and negative ways of thinking, feeling, doing and being were released and she was told to go… move forward to a rebirth of the Self.

At other times she saw words in print, dates, amounts and names. She knew they were important and kept a journal in case something cropped up and she needed to refresh her memory. Some of her visions and dreams came true. Once, out of the blue while completing a mundane task, she had an alarming vision of a red pick-up truck exploding.

It was vividly real and Ophelia felt she was present. For days afterward she could still hear the blast and see flames engulfing the truck. She could almost feel the heat and confusion of those around. She did not know what to do. How could she warn the owner if she did not know whose truck it was? She did not know anybody with a red pick-up truck and had no idea why she was given the vision. What was she to do with the information?

Two days later she told her brother about the vision and he asked if she had seen the colour. He then told her it had happened up north. A political group had planted a car bomb in a red truck.

Years later, when she told people at church about her visions, they said they were wrong and she had to see a pastor about it. According to their church, she had to be delivered from the unnatural ability and a meeting was arranged where the elders prayed for her visions to be taken away.

Apart from visions she saw places she could describe without having visited them and envisioned meeting people beforehand. Another strong ability was sensing, on entering, the energy in a room or within a group. Although she did not know the details, she knew intuitively what had happened before she had entered and could feel when those present were in conflict.

Because some people are scared by these events, she learnt to shut down and only share her experiences with people who accepted her for who she was. However, she believed they were a critical part of who she was born to be and there was a solid reason for her abilities. Only later she realised her abilities were for everyone’s benefit, not just herself.

On top of feeling unwanted and being ridiculed and rejected, growing up was difficult, especially dealing with her jealous sister. Ophelia felt she had the right to say so openly as Mara had told her a few years into adulthood she had always been jealous of her. When questioned about it, she had no explanation and merely shrugged. Ophelia thought her jealousy unnecessary as Mara had far more going for her than she did.

- CHAPTER 2 -

Painful Experiences

As a nine-year-old Ophelia had a friend she particularly liked; a handsome boy in her class. He had beautiful blue eyes and curly black hair and it was a sad day when they said farewell as Ophelia’s parents were moving away. He promised her he would get his father to move them to the same place and school. During break they hid behind a tree, held hands and cried.

Afterward she dreamt of the day they would meet again. Every time she heard of a new boy at school, she would search for him, but sadly she never saw him again. Throughout her school years, she kept her eyes open for him, hoping someday he would re-enter her life.

Even at that tender age Ophelia would think deeply. She thought about life and living; why things happened and about friendships, love, ideas, God and other different topics. She was mostly intrigued by people and the reasons for their actions.

At school there was an ugly looking boy in her class. Every morning he smelled of urine and nobody wanted to sit beside him. One day, while the class was copying something off the black board, he arrived late and the teacher sat him next to Ophelia. She instinctively moved to the far end of the two-seater desk to put distance between them.

After she had finished writing, she intently studied him from under her brow while he was still writing. His deep-set eyes had dark circles underneath and she could virtually see his veins through his translucent skin. Overall, his colour was not healthy and he was too skinny.

Yet, while looking at him, something strange happened. The longer she studied him, the more beautiful he became. Gone was the terrible smell, dark circles and sunken eyes. His face was beautiful, almost glowing. She sat there amazed, perplexed and open to what went down. Later in life she realised it depends on how we look at others. Do we view them through our physical eyes and our judgments of the outer person or through the eyes of our hearts to the person within?

It would also dawn on her that, apart from rejection and ridicule, poor little Willie was suffering from an undisclosed illness. Without knowing, we can be cruel. Reflecting on that experience, she has never again seen an ugly person. What she actually saw was the ability of evil and how it distorts beauty.

Another cruel incident happened when Ophelia was around 12 years old. Although her body was developing, she was innocent about the birds and the bees. Her older cousin had visited and given her a gift… a cookbook signed with love and an inscription stating how the path to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

One day when she and Mara accompanied him to the sports ground, he demanded she hold his hand. She felt uncomfortable and questioned why he did not insist Mara also hold his hand, but he did not answer.

Back home Ophelia was in trouble with her mother. Her cousin had angrily complained she did not want to listen to him. Ophelia tried explaining she did not feel comfortable holding his hand. Her mother had the same angry reaction as when Ophelia had told her she did not like it when her mother’s two brothers came to visit. Her uncles always tried putting their hands up her dress and touch her inappropriately. Mara had the same complaint, but to no avail and the sisters would hide away whenever their uncles visited.

Fortunately, when she relayed the story to her father when he came home, he agreed there was no reason why she had to hold her cousin’s hand, especially when it made her feel uncomfortable. Her cousin returned home, but not long afterwards his mother pitched up on their doorstep when Ophelia’s parents were not at home and delivered a mouthful about her flirting and trying to seduce her son. Ophelia had no idea what the terms meant and burst out crying. She did not understand what was happening and it was too much to bear.

MOVING ON

When she was ten, the family moved from the north of the country to the south. Looking out the window and seeing farmlands and countryside, she decided as an adult, she would stay on a farm and write a book. Two years later she received a typewriter and typed up her thoughts. She contemplated the meaning of friendships, love, truth, peace, relationships, marriage and so on.

Her holidays were spent reading books; sometimes three adult library books per day. When exactly she had planned her first book, she cannot remember, but she still remembers one story she began when she was 14. It was about a jockey and his horse. She loved horses. Unfortunately, she cannot remember what happened to this story; only she never finished it, managing to write to the seventh chapter.

Apart from writing, Ophelia loved drawing and painting. When an older boy once asked her what she wanted to become when grown-up, she, replied without thinking: An artist.

He burst out laughing, falling to the ground and clutching his stomach, thinking she was funny and ignorant. When he recovered, he said: You can’t become an artist because you have to be born one.

Ophelia went silent and pondered the idea. Years later she realised she was an artist. She thought, felt and acted like one and anyone who creates something new from nothing – whether a painting, music, a poem, a dish of food or a garden – is an artist. We are born with creative abilities, but it depends on what we do with our abilities. We may not all be Rembrandts or Hemmingways, but we can aspire to do our best by creating authentically.

Unfortunately, too few people value the arts. When it came to a career choice, Ophelia asked her parents if she could enrol at a Cape Town art school when she began high school. Their immediate reaction was: No! Only hippies go to art school.

She tried explaining why she wanted to go, but no matter what she said, the answer remained a definite NO. She was told she could still write, draw and paint in her spare time.

Fortunately, she had earned money working at the local public swimming pool where she sold entrance tickets; took care of clothing baskets or worked in the tuck shop. After passing a life-saving course, she earned welcome income as a lifeguard working during the holidays and over weekends. This money was invested in buying paper, typewriter ribbons, art material, books and other paraphernalia demanded by anyone pursuing the arts. Whatever was left, she saved.

In 1969 their swimming club drove to Bloemfontein, the city of her birth, to represent the Western Province at the South African Games. This was a happy time as she had by then discovered there was life outside their home.

It was only her father and herself within a group where she felt accepted and valued. Although the club performed well, they did not win the trophy. Yet the experience was something Ophelia would never forget. One special memory was where she and her father sat in the hotel restaurant eating fried onions for breakfast. The atmosphere was light, happy and filled with excitement as they anticipated the day’s events.

Ophelia’s mother insisted she attend Sunday School as she belonged, although only on paper, to the Dutch Reformed Church. Her mother never attended church or any church related gatherings.

Ophelia did not like Sunday School, but she liked church. Sometimes she was the only family member who walked to church on Sunday mornings. Her brother found it strange she would go when she did not have to do so, but there was something about church that kept her going back. She said maybe it was to get away from home or perhaps the sense of belonging to something greater she found so satisfying.

On the other hand, she also wanted to know more about Jesus and some of the Bible stories helped her cope with her circumstances. Take for instance Joseph who experienced vivid dreams and his siblings had major issues with him, even though he was simply sharing his dreams. He did not deserve their treatment and either did she.

According to the Bible, separation and divorce is a sin and her mother, who forced them to attend church, upped and left them one day. She booked into a hotel and did not want to return home. Her parents had experienced a difficult time in their relationship and were arguing. Ophelia had read crisis and disaster sometimes bring estranged families together, so prayed and volunteered herself as sacrifice.

Today Ophelia believes in regularly attending church, she was blessed and cursed. Why cursed? some would ask. She believes she was indoctrinated and negatively programmed to see God, religion, the world, authority, life and living in a way she today finds limiting, devaluating and disempowering. After extensive contemplation, she finds religion, tradition, heritage and religious marriage to be major stumbling stones on the way to self-empowerment and even enlightenment.

- CHAPTER 3 -

Living to Die and Dying to Live

Apart from almost being aborted, there were a few other-near death episodes. First, Ophelia nearly succumbed to cot death. Apparently she was found in her cot not moving and with blue lips and gums and rushed to hospital in time for doctors to resuscitate her. However, she wonders how this is since the hospital was a fair distance away from their home, meaning it would have been a sheer miracle she survived.

Then, as a pre-schooler while on holiday in Port Shepstone, she almost drowned. Her father was fishing and she was playing on the water’s edge when a wave toppled her over. Her mother could not swim and was running up and down the beach screaming when she saw the backwash was pulling Ophelia deeper into the sea.

Fortunately, another wave washed her back on to the beach and she can still remember standing up on wobbly legs, sand covered and in shock thinking: Not even the sea wants me. It took me in, then spat me out.

Just before her 16th birthday and a few days before the December school holidays, after about three years of complaining about the sharp pain in her side, her appendix ruptured. That particular morning she felt too ill to get out of bed. She had also started menstruating during the night and woken up to soiled sheets and pyjamas. Although she felt terrible, it was the last day of exams so she forced herself to dress and attend school.

However, she was unable to ride her bicycle and asked her father to drop her off. Slowly she inched through the empty hallways to her classroom where lessons had commenced and the door was closed. She stood before the door resisting the urge to turn around and go home, but did not have the physical energy and knew she needed help.

After knocking and entering, the teacher saw she was in a terrible state. Ophelia was nauseous and asked to be excused. En route to the sickbay, she passed the toilets, but was still not in time. A yellow flood gushed from her mouth; her face and skin were yellow and the floor around her yellow, yellow, yellow. She wanted to clean up the mess, but was unable and someone took her to the sickbay. Her father was called and Ophelia was rushed to hospital.

BETWEEN WORLDS

by Ophelia

What’s happening? Where am I? I called out while looking around at the unfamiliar place in nature.

I was, totally alone, standing on what may have been an altar. The dark granite beneath me was the size and shape of an adult coffin and carved from natural rock. It had been left at the bottom of a ravine with dark cliffs towering above on both sides.

In the distance I heard sound, but I could not define it. Initially I thought it could have been a river as it sounded almost like a murmuring stream, but then distinctly heard voices from on high on both sides. They were calling me, beckoning me, but I did not know what to do or where to go.

Part of me wanted to go, but to where and to whom? Anxiousness overtook me as I felt pressured into making a choice, but then something amazing happened. The sky seemingly opened and a beautiful warm soft, but bright, yellow light shone down. It first touched the edges of the cliffs and then spread down to where I was standing. Perplexed, I wondered: How is it possible to look straight into this bright light without straining my eyes?

Still looking into the light in awe, I heard a comforting voice filled with love emanate from centre of the light saying: It is not yet time for you to come. You have to go back and finish the work you have been sent to do!

Entranced, I stood in silence until darkness swallowed me and I fell through the dark void, spiralling down to where I heard voices saying: She’s back, she’s back!

What’s happening? I moaned, trying to open my eyes.

When I eventually managed, I saw faces covered by surgical masks and realised these were doctors and nurses. I was in hospital and remembered the excruciating pain on the right side of my abdomen, the nausea and the dash for medical assistance.

When Ophelia