Up in Lights: The Iconoclastic Memoirs of Holiday Shapero Book Four

By Holiday Shapero

The child reaches for her hand. “Look. That light…coming from the cave. What is it?”

“Fire. Long ago, the gods stole it from us, but Prometheus risked his life and took it back. We must never let them take it from us again. Do you understand?”

He squeezes her hand. “Yes. With fire, we are free.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669863410

Holiday Shapero

Holiday Shapero is continuing to study ancient Greek astrology with Robert Schmidt, creator of Project Hindsight, designed to bring back to the world, the entire corpus of surviving works of the Hellenistic astrologers, beginning around 200 BCE. She is also working to raise the awareness of the people on Earth in order to protect the wild and return Earth to health. She is the author of three previous booksScarlet Waters, Tears of Amber, and Lluvia Suavewhich are a series containing her memoirs of this life.

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Copyright © 2023 by Holiday Shapero.

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Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New

International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International

Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved. [Biblica]

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Rev. date: 03/14/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

787026

To Zahid, who met me in that delicate borderland, where, for precious moments, we embraced all we had suffered and ran hand in hand in search of our primitive roots . . .

CONTENTS

Introduction

On Show

The Sugarcoated Devil

Tear-Stained Pebbles

In the Sea

A Thousand Yom Kippurs

Chain-Smoking with Spiders and Mice

A Karmic Tryst

The Chant of Frankencense and Myrhh

A Five-Foot Gangster

A Gypsy on the Road

The Garden of Betrayal

That Milk Carton

The Taste of Poison

The End of the Mayan Calendar

Milarepa’s Cousin

The Promised Land

The Exodus

All My Dirty Secrets

A Desert Dream

Guided by Fate

Epilogue

Post Script to Epilogue

INTRODUCTION

When I was a little girl, I used to lie in bed with Mama Bella and have her tell me stories of our life in New York City. As we had left my father there, I especially wanted stories about him. But no matter what theme I chose, before we began, I would have her write my name in the air with her cigarette. I closed the curtains and shut the door so it was nice and dark in there, and then I gave her my instructions. They never varied; I always wanted my name with lots of light around it. "Put me up in lights like New York City, Mama Bella." Then I would watch as the bright ember of her cigarette wound its way gracefully through the air.

ON SHOW

I have lagged behind because this latter part of my life was shadowed by a type of trauma, the worst I have ever endured. If you have read my first three books, Scarlet Waters, Tears of Amber, and Lluvia Suave, you are probably stunned. I can hear you asking, How could it be worse than that?

I suppose there is more than one answer to that question. The suffering I endured from 2000 to 2012 is more recent. When I wrote my other books, much time had passed between the events and the telling of the tales. With this one, the sting is more vivid, partly because of its nearness, but also because I am more conscious in this phase of my life. I did not repress as much, nor did I do drugs to take the edge off. But also, the nature of what I faced was nearly beyond my capacity. Nothing on Earth is more challenging than dealing with evil beings on the invisible realm, precisely because you cannot see them! Psychic battles are far more difficult than physical ones, especially when your adversaries are very powerful, as mine are.

Granted, they were behind the scenes all my life, working through humans at times, to kill me. But it was not until the twenty-first century when they stepped out from behind the veil and I was able to see from whom the attacks were coming.

You might say, since they had been my secret enemies all along, it should have been a relief to see them unmasked, and I agree it is helpful to know who you are facing. Generally speaking, open enemies are less daunting because there is less shock involved. But what about when your adversaries turn out to be those you love? That is far more complex to integrate and not easy to write about either.

Perhaps that is why it has taken me sixty years to clear the wounds and the conditioning of what happened to me in the first seven years of my life. That also was a circumstance where my attacker, my father, was someone I cared about.

So these events that happened in recent times, 2000–2012, and the events that took place in the first cycle of my life mirror each other. Of course, they do. All unresolved emotional issues repeat themselves. And those that begin when we are a baby are undoubtedly patterns our soul is trying to work out.

Yes, it has taken me some time, but I am victorious. Although it has been painful, I have recently cleared the trauma around my father at the very deepest level. Also, I am no longer bound to relationships with beings on the invisible realm. I have enough freedom now to write this final book.

For that, I am eternally grateful, and as always, as I tell you the stories, another type of closure happens for me. We, humans, are storytellers by nature. We have been sitting around fires, telling stories, since we were living in clans.

So let me begin again. I left you hanging at the end of Lluvia Suave at the darkest of times. I had just crashed my Carmen Ghia and was about to leave Kane, ending a very long cycle of being with satanic men. Certainly, that was helpful, and it was the beginning of a turning point, but I still could not see why things were happening as they were. Perhaps it was fitting then for me to move back toward my roots, as going back to the origin often reveals things we might have missed. Still, logical as that may be, beginnings are not always rosy. Yet that grand loop was my road. I boarded a Greyhound Bus and headed for Memphis, Tennessee, straight into the arms of my infamous father, Wesley, Daddy, my all-time star and idol.

THE SUGARCOATED DEVIL

The time I spent in Memphis with my daddy was coated with sugar on the outside, but every time I bit in, it tasted bitter. I used to be tantalized by bitter things though. Why else would I have been hanging out with satanic men for years?

So I was lured in by my father in the same way I had fallen for all those men. Or more likely, I was with them because my life had begun with him, and I was repeating my patterns that had begun at birth. By now, you have probably forgotten the stories of my childhood in Scarlet Waters, book 1. Even I used to forget what happened to me back then, but I made myself remember because those events hold the keys that unlock the secrets of my life. Driven by the demonic lust of heroin, my father took me sexually when I was a little girl, and I was forever imprinted to draw in sex and drugs and demons.

A lot of that time in Memphis is a bit of a blur in my mind. I was stripping in several clubs at night and prowling the bars by day. I only went in dark bars though; it was hard for me to confront the sunshine, mostly because I was more lost than ever. My precious letters from my brother still smelled like gasoline from the Carmen Ghia wreck, and I had no idea what to do with my life. But nevertheless, I was able to score meth and keep myself satiated.

There are two events in Memphis that stand crystal clear in my memory. Although one happened at the beginning of my time at my father’s house and the other at the end, they are linked.

Of course, they are. Every action has consequences. In India, they call that karma, and I was linked in a karmic embrace with my father. I was irresistibly drawn to Daddy. I wanted all his attention.

I also liked the woman my father was married to. In many ways, Sammie was more of a friend to me than Wesley was, but it was him whom I craved. And as fate would have it, on my second day there, Sammie went out shopping, leaving me alone with Wesley.

I remember exactly what I was wearing and where I stood when it happened. I had on a hot-pink sleeveless one-piece leotard. It was skin-tight, and I wore black leather boots folded over just above my knees. I was leaning into the door frame, smiling.

We started out like that, me smiling at him ever so seductively as he kneeled to pull a bottle of French red wine from the case, but of course, we found our way to my room. And although I am sickened by this now, I bit in to the bittersweetness of my father. It was hard to swallow, but the red wine helped. The French make very seductive wines.

As the weeks went spinning by, my father was gone a lot. He was avoiding me, probably because he feared Sammie would catch us and throw him out. She was very wealthy, and he probably did not want to risk his privileged condition for a couple of flings with me. I still wanted him though. As I had seen my father rarely in my life, Wesley was like a mythical character to me. I knew him mostly through my mother’s stories, but I had embellished them, so he was a hero more often than a villain.

The second event in Memphis indelibly etched in my memory is the morning Sammie asked to speak to me. I do not know if she was aware of what happened between me and Wesley. If she did, she hid it well. She was very kind to me. I felt no resentment or anger; rather, she spoke in a quiet compassionate way. Still, what she had to say was hard to take. She told me she was very sorry but Wesley wanted me to leave.

I was in shock, but I knew she was telling the truth. There was sympathy and pain in her eyes. I knew her pain was a mirror of my own, but I could not get at it. I felt only numbness. I did not want to accept my father was rejecting me, especially since I had given all of myself to him. But I shook it off quickly, like a cat that has been drenched in a downpour. I left the next day without saying goodbye to my father.

TEAR-STAINED PEBBLES

It was with a wet coat and a bruised heart that I left Memphis. I danced my way across the country. The thing about being a stripper in the 1980s is that work was plentiful and commitment was a seldom-used word. I came and went as I liked, and the drugs were everywhere. That was the one thing about me that had not changed; I had been doing drugs since I was eleven. But something extraordinary had happened to me on the way to Memphis, and that memory began to haunt me as I danced my way back to San Diego. I did not feel ready to deal with it, so I pushed it away. That worked fine when I was alone, but when I got to the West Coast, it arose to the surface. I went directly to Tareena’s house; I had been calling her on pay phones from every state.

It is a sunny day in late summer. Tareena throws her arms around me, and we twirl until we are dizzy and fall onto the couch. Her dark brown hair hangs to her waist, but her bangs are short, giving her a baby-doll face. Her hazel eyes are bright and searching as she looks at me. There is joy to see me certainly, but there is concern also.

I hardly know where to start, Holiday. Thank the gods you made it! Ever since you and Kane crashed the Carmen Ghia, I have been on edge. On days you did not call . . . I wondered . . .

I touch her knee and light a Kool. I am sorry, honey. I guess it has been kind of touch-and-go. In some ways, I can hardly believe I am back in San Diego.

You can stay here as long as you want. Henry is cool with it. In fact, he wants you here because he thinks it might settle you down. He is a papa at heart.

I smile. "That is sweet. I hope I can live up to his good intentions for me. Who knows, maybe my time in San Diego will turn out different this time?"

Tareena takes my Kool and lights one for herself from the ember. "Hmm, it sounds fated . . . the way you said that. Did something happen?"

I take a deep drag and blow the smoke out slowly. Well, yes, but my past is filled with deep ruts in the road. I have so many samskaras.

Tareena grins. You are as mysterious as ever, Holiday! Out with it.

I take a deep breath. "OK. So on that morning, when I left Kane, I had to wait at the bus station for five hours. After I checked my boxers in, I went out to the back parking lot and lay on the ground. It was quiet back there, just me and the birds and the squirrels. It gave me lots of time to think. In fact, after a while, my whole life began to flash before my eyes. One tragic event hooked to the next . . . with me constantly leaping my way to victory from one hellish event to another. It felt sort of dreamlike, but I was fully awake. Yet the night before, I hardly slept, so I was sort of mesmerized. Still, it was very vivid. So I am seeing all these visions of what I have lived through, and then suddenly . . . everything stopped. But it was not just the memories that stopped, Tareena. My mind stopped. I had no thoughts. It was so quiet in my head, it startled me. It was stunning, though, because I was incredibly present in my body. I have only felt that once before, when I was thirteen, and it only lasted for a few minutes. But this was longer and deeper and wider. I was so spacious, and my lifelong desire to run away was absent. All the anxiety and noise of my life was gone, and I was at ease in myself.

"In the beginning, my eyes had been closed, but by then, they were open. I looked at the tree I was lying next to. It seemed so present, like a wise old friend. Everything was awake. Even the ants walking by had a purpose. I am not sure if I am conveying this well, Tareena, but everything was connected, even all those rough and raw visions of my life! I could see all things were part of a grand design, and it was all OK, even the pain and the terror and the trauma. I felt the meaning that underlies life, and when I felt that, my heart opened! It was as if all the armor I had built there for my whole life suddenly melted and I could feel so many emotions. It was like a giant waterfall, and I was drenched in its bounty. Strangely, I was able to stay present.

"And then I closed my eyes, and I could see a big hand that opened. It moved slowly and gracefully. I was in awe. Once the palm was all-the-way open, I heard these words, ‘What would your life be like if you did not do drugs?’

"Honestly, I was stunned because the concept felt utterly foreign to my mind, yet strangely, it was coming from a deep intrinsic part of my being.

The words rang inside me like the tolling of a bell I myself had made long ago yet forgotten about. Then the hand disappeared, and I was back in the quiet again.

Tareena’s eyes were wide. Wow! That is so intense. What happened after that?

I cried. I cried so long and hard, the ground was soaked with my tears. I have not cried very often in my life because Mama Bella begged me not to when I was a little girl. But I made up for it on that day.

So what do you think about all that, Holiday?

I meet her eyes. "Think? Well, I do not know what to think or what not to think. This whole message seems somehow beyond my mind. And it feels so big, Tareena. Of course, part of me wants to run away because I do not know how to live without drugs. I have been getting high since I was eleven."

Tareena nods slowly. I know what you mean, babe. Certainly, I don’t run hard like you do, but I probably would if I wasn’t married to Henry. But that was a profound experience, and it must mean something.

I try to manage a smile but feel no enthusiasm. Undoubtedly, it does. I can still smell all those pebbles wet with my tears.

IN THE SEA