(The ‘Back’ Story to this Tale:)

When I was a little boy, we used to play this game. It was called “Remember When”. The other children of the neighborhood (a poor neighborhood in the soft sand hills of Georgia, on a country road, with a scattering of poor houses about) – they taught me this game.

And I think that is part of it: our collective memory goes waaaaaay back. Other children used to scoff at this, my earliest ever memory.

It goes back before I was there; from another house we lived in.

And then it goes back even further, for I remember in this house remembering this dream, this thing. (I was only 4 or 5, my little Mikie says, remembering.)

And it was a beautiful dream; one that has stuck in my heart and minds for over 50 years.  I can see it even now; from way back when, reflected in ALL the mirrors of my personality.  For they know it, too, and voices whisper in my head: It was true.

For this thing that seemed like a dream was like reality as well. I can tell. There is a subtle difference between when I am dreaming, and when I am alone, and when I am among the worlds in my head.

Here we go. Prepare yourselves (talking to YOU and THEM – calling THEM to help me through it – JW)

Imagine:
A small room. It is a military room: antique white walls, well swept floor, no toys or anything.  You are standing at the door, looking IN.  We see a small child sleeping there; no – not even quite a child yet; maybe even a baby. It is small – SO very small.

I don’t think it can walk yet.

The bed is double stacked; its an old Army rack; one bed sitting on top of another.  The bottom one’s mine, the top for my brother; no one’s in, not even my mother, and there’s a golden glow in the room.  The glow comes from a rectangular window set in the middle of those antiquated walls.  It’s got one of those heavy yellow curtains that the Army used to issue; thick old drapes they are.  It is to the left of the bed, that old iron-stead, pushed up in the corner.  The baby lays there, face turned to the wall, laying on top of a blanket.

And then something comes in.

I can FEEL it, I can SENSE it; oh, but I’m just a little boy, you say, only a baby, perhaps dozing, asleep maybe; perhaps I’m dreaming and it’s a big lie.  But no, I can FEEL it in my head, and the baby shifts on the bed, turning to the left and looking up in confusion and wonder.

And then this happens:  and I feel IT, too, coming closer: but this is almost (yes, its true, the voices whisper) – a physical feeling; very real to ALL of us!

The gentlest hands in the world scoop me up … as soft as a breath; I am in awe.  I don’t know what’s happening or who it is.   These are LARGE hands; they fit under my body the way your palm fits under a sparrow, injured and laying in the grass.   And He lifts me. (I will use “Him”, but this a IS genderless thing that makes my heart sing; even as a little baby.)   And I rise in the air, the hand floating me there into the golden light streaming through the window.  Hovering there, I am surrounded by care and a gentle love in that soft glowing.

And a Voice speaks to me, looking down at the baby it holds cradled in those hands.

“I will protect you,” I sense the voice say, but there are no words; just this thing in my HEAD– and I’m not scared.  “Go out,” these Hands say; and I feel a Powerful presence hovering over me, “and experience the world. Have many interesting adventures.”

And I feel LOVE for ME!

This is the first time, we’ve racked our brain for another time when I’ve FELT LOVED (which is quite different from FEELING LOVE!)

For mine was a loveless house, and would remain so for many, many, many long years.

And here we are at the end. The hands drifted me back to bed. Warm, comforted as I’d never felt before – and haven’t felt again until yesterday.

That’s many LONG years folks. A whole lotta time.

I’ve often found myself contemplating that dream – or was it a dream? So many voices are whispering; telling me: it was the truth of it: you felt the hand of God. You were given a life and a purpose to it, to go out and explore and find all there is; you will need to know.

And yesterday while I was thinking; me and them and JW and ALL of us: we understood.

We’ve always known that interesting doesn’t mean “good”, or “fun”. It means . . . everything.

We’ve always known that some experiences are bad, but I won’t trouble you with all that I’ve had; that’s not the purpose of this blog.

Lets just say I was born that day, and have been searching ever since.  I’ve done things that were bad; the others in me agree, we were molested as a child and Mikie remembers with shame.  (He looks at me and us and we, and in his hurt eyes we see the pain ofthis child and the shame that he bears – for it is OURS, also.)  For this poor soul, this small child that begged and traded his body away for love only to be mocked by the ones who hurt him (by molesting, he whispers in that oh so soft voice of his, looking down; barely comprehending the word).

But . . . (soft smile) – I think I’ve been forgiven; the I being all that I am, for now I understand the reason and I’m fine with myself.  I’ve learned to embrace all I AM, even the Beast who drove us to pain.  I embrace them all with scarred arms, results of abuse and attempts at self harm – and I still won’t allow sleeping pills in my house – bad memory.

BUT WE have control: US ALL together, plugging through stormy weather because we know what we carry inside us is the SUN.

THIS is the goal we’ve been working for. It’s not a case of integration; that’s a seductive whore – psychologists and shrinks across the nation, for MPD and folks like me there’s a cure.  It’s called: EMBRACE YOUR SELVES.

And we’ve done it though we’re not even through; there is much more work to for us to do; according to the instructions we’ve been given.

We’ve TOUCHED the CORE, that golden being, that part of happiness and reason for being; we won’t say any more about THIS (the dream).

And that, my DID and MPD friends, is pure happiness.

News at 11:00; see another post on “Embracing Yourself.”
Thank you very much. Elvis has left the building.

JW (addressing selves) wishes to THANK all that participated in writing this; I know it was especially hard for you, little Mikie: (You, the READER: This is the ONLY time that child of mine/ours ever felt love; and up until a few days ago NONE of my parts were able to meet that requirement (M_ tried, but couldn’t FACE the child, for which he is forgiven – and my child has been forgiven for what happened then despite the past.  (shhh, shhh – I hear him ask, asking me about his past; how he begged to be F’d in the A** by his abuser.  Shhh, little mikie: you are / I am; we all are forgiven; you were looking for love lost but still remembered; and remember this: I love you.)  It shall be as it shall be, and as time goes on we will see how this fun party is goin’.

And together (goosebumps rise on the flesh of the BODY): We Shall SING!

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