Depress ctrl and + keys together to increase text size; depress ctrl and – keys together to reduce
Today is December 17, 2014. I was “nudged” in dreams and other ways, and by dreams and visions of a younger woman named Brenda, who lives in Gainesville, Georgia, to publish today what follows.
In the fall of 2013, through a mutual lower Florida Keys friend, I met Jerry Weinstock, M.D., Psychiatry, life-long Mother Nature lover and activist. Now retired, for several decades Jerry had a full private practice and was the local school board’s psychiatrist. I somewhat got to know Jerry and his wife, Donna, socially. Mostly, though, I have gotten to know Jerry via many emails between us, maybe 200 each, mostly regarding environmental and political issues in Key West and the lower Florida Keys. Probably 95 percent of those email exchanges were published in posts at www.goodmorningkeywest.com.
The following emails stem from my having approached my deceased father’s lawyer, and his widow, in November of this year, about my receiving a partial advance, $500,000, of my 2nd and final $1,000,000 inheritance under my father’s last will and testament, which request was turned down, all as reported by me in prior posts at this website, www.goodmorningbirmingham.com.
I wrote to Jerry Weinstock on December 10, 2014:
My friend Brenda up in north Georgia called his morning, said she felt like she was having both a heart attack and a stroke in the right side of her head, she was shaking bad, and was at the home of my father’s widow, in Birmingham, which once was my father and mother’s home. Brenda has lots of visions.
I reminded Brenda of a dream she’d had maybe five days ago, in which two black women told Brenda my stepmother was going to have a heart attack, and would she (Brenda) help them? Brenda said the two black women were wearing dresses, not uniforms, and maybe were working at my stepmother’s home – she does have people working for her, to help her; she has Parkinson’s. Before her hair went grey, she was blondish.
And I reminded Brenda of second dream came a couple of days later, in which she was told my stepmother was having a change of heart, and I said, well, maybe that’s what heart attack meant.
I told Brenda what she was feeling in her heart and the right side of her head was the progression from those two dreams. Brenda said the right side of the brain is the woman side, the part that lets a person hear from God. I said that is correct, and he left side of the brain, the man side, deals with this world and does not hear from God. Otherwise, the right side of the body is the man side and the left side is the woman side.
I asked Brenda how her heart and head were feeling?, and she said the pain was easing.
I called Brenda back. She said she was still hurting, but not nearly like when she had earlier called me. And right after we had talked, an ambulance came and got my stepmother and took her away. Brenda said, after that she no longer was at my stepmother’s house, and she was not there while we were talking on the telephone the second time.
I said what she saw could mean my stepmother actually did have a heart attack and/or a stroke, and an ambulance really did come and take her to a hospital, and she may die and in that way give me an advance against my inheritance, since I receive the inheritance upon her death.
Or, my stepmother may connect the dots and see what’s happening to her is about the request I made for an advance of my inheritance, and she may “have a change of heart”, Brenda completed my sentence, and I said, yes.
Or, I said, it might be a spirit dream altogether, and a spirit ambulance that took my stepmother away to a spirit hospital, where she may have a change or heart in much the same way. Or she may not, and if she doesn’t, maybe she dies physically. Or maybe she dies spiritually.
I told Brenda those were the ways I was trained to view that vision and what she felt physically. She said she was looking at all of that about the same way, although she seemed to me to be leaning hard toward my stepmother having a physical heart attack, which is Brenda’s tendency: to view dreams literally, which sometimes is correct, but often is not.
An empath, Brenda is always picking up on what is going on in other people, to the point she doesn’t like being around other people for very long, because what she picks up makes her feel bad, ache, and sometimes she doesn’t tell them, and sometimes she does. When she does tell them, the response is varied, sometimes okay, sometimes not. My 6th wife was like that; she leveled people, at times, by saying what she was picking up in them. By then, she was an adept star, or spirit, shaman.
Brenda is that kind of shaman, in training, and she is having a rough time thinking she is participating in putting my stepmother through such a trial, and that’s understandable, but shamans are given things to do, which defy human thinking and ways, such as the information my 6th wife and I were given on Mauritius, as described in today’s post: that Jesus’s mother had sexually molested him when he was young.
We received that information to unblock the spirit, where that knowledge and event had festered since the incest had occurred. We were spirit shamans operating in tandem on this world. Everywhere we went on that trip, we were doing planetary spirit work, some of which was visible to us, some of which was beyond our comprehension and seeing.
That aside, Brenda is the reason I made the request for an advance against my inheritance, because I had supported her financially since 2005, gave her around $300,000 over those years, and if that had not happened, I’d have that money now. So it’s appropriate that she be the one doing this with my stepmother, and not me.
However, it should have come to this point months ago, because Brenda was told in a dream last June, that I was supposed to ask my stepmother for an advance against my inheritance, but Brenda decided not to tell me about that dream. She waited until I was almost out of money, in latter October, to tell me. I let her have it, because (a) I wanted nothing to do with it, and (b) I knew it would take a while to deal with, and my learning of it at the eleventh hour was a really bad idea.
I then sweated blood. I flat didn’t want to do it, but my dreams prodded me on, and finally I wrote a draft of an email to my father’s lawyer, but did not send it, because I wasn’t sure it was worded okay. My father came to me in a dream and said I would lose, because I had balked, and I replied, if I lose, he loses, for this was his mess I was trying to clean up.
There had been many messes involving his second wife, going back to shortly after they got married and I was his best man, which relegated me to being the happy camper assigned to intervene in those messes, some of which emotionally and morally rivaled the wonderful Snopes family in William Faulkner’s Mississippi novels. Except she was a pious Christian,and the Snopes didn’t pretend to be pious.
So, I went back to work on the email to my father’s lawyer. I put some meat into it, and I sent it. That night, as I recall, my father came to Brenda in a dream and told her he was going to see to it that his widow gave me the advance.
Then, Brenda had a string of dreams indicating it was going to work out okay, but perhaps not exactly as I had requested in the first email to my father’s lawyer. I, too, had dreams which left me thinking it might go in that direction, but I took, and am still taking, a wait and see approach.
I suppose my Christian stepmother deserves as many chances as possible to change her thinking and ways, and perhaps that is why it has come to this.
Left up to me, I would leave Brenda and the angels to fend for Brenda, and my stepmother where she was before I wrote the first time requesting an advance of my inheritance. I would do what I could to get by on my social security retirement benefits, which would be really thin, but doable, without my going homeless again, as things turned out between me and my landlady, so far.
I’d have to sell my car, of course. Could not afford and really don’t need a car in Key West.
Perhaps a way for me to make money would show up. Perhaps not.
It’s all part of the existential (experiential) gestalt, which is my truly weird life.
Grace under fire, maybe Ernest Hemingway would appreciate. But maybe not, given his adamant insistence there was no symbolism in THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA. Nor, probably, in anything else he wrote. As if the left side of his brain was his entire universe. It was the right side of his brain, though, which brought his novels to life.
I’m an old man, surrounded by the same sea, in a city where Hemingway lived a while and wrote some of his best work and fished; I’m doing a lot of fishing, on the brink of poverty.
I still don’t know how I fell on my head three weeks ago and injured a part of my brain. Maybe I injured the part that remembers what I did :-). Maybe I’ll have a dream that remembers it for me.
Before lying down to take another nap, I pondered what happened three weeks ago, which caused me to fall on my head and injure part of my brain? For the life of me, I could not think if what it might be.
I looked back through my email account, and three weeks ago, I responded to an email blast from a local fellow, who holds himself out as a religious/spiritual expert, and a scientist smarter than everyone else. I responded to his email. Which led to further emails back and forth between me, which went like his and my quite a few previous conversations by email, and before that, face to face.
Two ships passing perhaps most kindly describes it. I told him almost at the very beginning, when he first approached me face to face, that his feminine was shut down, his right brain function was not working, and we would never gee and haw, and he would never know God directly, but only through theological intellectual pursuit. Nothing changes from then.
I wished after I responded to his most recent email blast, that I had left it alone, and I kept wishing that as we continued out discussion. Perhaps that was how I fell on my head and injured my brain, because I well know there is no way to come to common ground with him. Perhaps I need to keep that in mind, in whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, with my stepmother and the men my father left behind to tend to his affairs, all of whom are Christians.
God loves Christians, too. That’s just how God is. Fortunately.
I laid down for the second nap and had a dream having to do with 2016. On waking, I figured I was right about the injury to my brain being the email discussion with the fellow described above, because the angels left that alone in the nap, which tends to be their way of saying I figured something out after they had put me onto it vaguely. And I was to look ahead.
So, now remains, how it goes in Birmingham, and everywhere else I am involved. Perhaps I will be around in 2016. That might or might not please everyone I know. That’s the next major election year. That does not please me.
I wrote to Jerry the next day:
The thing going on in Birmingham, and Brenda’s and my dreams, interests me, in my wondering how it’s going to turn out? Will it be like when my brother went missing in 2010, and I was publishing the angels were telling me it was suicide made to look like murder, before anyone knew he was dead? – he then was still only missing. And then his body was found, and later the local medical examiner and the detective assigned to the case both ruled it was suicide made to look like murder. Or will the thing now unfolding in Birmingham remain like is was before I was gotten involved? Time will tell.
After earlier writing to you, I recalled that, after a few face to face conversations with the religious scientist, I finally told him it hurt my brain to talk with him, and it wasn’t long after that I told him I saw no point in us talking further, and that was the end of it face to face. Circumstances brought him back around later, and there were sporadic rounds of emails, and a few times over lunch with other people, when he would attempt to take over the affair with his views and mind exercises. He’s brilliant, for sure. Probably has a monster IQ. But it didn’t do anything for me.
I also considered that I need to watch myself in your and my conversations, given my history with psychiatry. I confess to hoping to see psychiatry, as well as science, law and religion, exist peacefully with and in working harmony with shamans, even though I know that probably isn’t likely, and even though shamans know shamans are what hold it all together for the rest of the people, and without shamans it would be more bizarre than it is now.
Indigenous tribes knew this, and that they needed a shaman, and a shaman in training to take their shaman’s place. Many indigenous people still know it, but many have adopted civilized ways and thinking, and the shamans are less influential, but they are still around for now. Perhaps some day they will become extinct, and then it might get really wild. It might get really wild anyway, given humanity’s inability to learn from the past. Perhaps it is fitting that shamans become extinct on this world; perhaps shamans did not do enough. Perhaps too many of them went over to the dark side, or became capitalists, or whatever.
I wrote to Jerry, responding to his writing to me that that existentialism is the true path:
I agree, existentialism beats any alternatives I have seen. However, my peculiar existential situation drags in realms and beings which are not human and are as real as the people I know, if not more real. It is given to me to tell lots of stories about my experiences with those realms and beings, because they are part of the mix, and because there are many people on this planet, billions I imagine, who either are having their own beyond human existential experiences, or will have those experiences, or consciously or unconsciously yearn to have those experiences.
I feel today is too soon to publish what I shared with you about what is going on with Brenda and me and Birmingham. But it’s written down now, awaiting further developments.
I wrote to Jerry:
Continuing the still hidden from plain view Brenda-Sloan-Birmingham triangle adventure …
Brenda called this morning to report two dreams last night.
In the first dream, she tells someone her fingers are itching, which means money is headed her way.
In the second dream, a woman tells Brenda, “He (Sloan) would have given it (all that money) to someone else, if he had not given it to you.”
I laughed, said, not a chance.
Brenda said she still wishes she had never let me give her any money, and she still wishes she had never met me.
I reminded her of what I told her the day we met. She said, yeah, she remembered, she would end up wishing she never met me.
All of what I told her was, if she and I started having dealings with each other, she would end up wishing she never met me.
How we bumped into each other that February 2005 day in Gainesville, Georgia, after I had been sent, via dream orders, on grey dog by the angels on a fools errand, because I’d had two beers at the Green Parrot, to Kansas City, to have fun a couple of days and nights in a homeless shelter run by religious people, is the kindest description I can provide right for them right now, and then, by dream lady travel agents, I was grey dog routed back east, perhaps just before the religious folks had me put away for their own good, but when the grey dog reached Atlanta, I was told in ways I can’t explain, it was just something I knew I was to do, to grey dog up to Gainesville, en route to Helen, but grey dog doesn’t go to Helen and I would have needed a friend to come get me and take me there, and the two friends weren’t available, when I called them on my cell phone, which remarkably still had a charge in the battery, so I asked the grey dog lady clerk when the next bus left for Atlanta?, and she said about 6 hours, and I said can she call me a taxi?, and she said sure, and she did, and the same yellow cab came, which I had seen leaving just as I got off the grey dog, and in that taxi was, yep, Brenda, who said, yes, she could drive me to the Atlanta grey dog station, and I asked if she was the kind of person who had experiences not about this world?, and she said she was that kind of person, and during the ride down to Atlanta was when I told her how she would end up feeling about me, if we ever resumed our conversation, and when we reached Atlanta grey dog station, I told her goodbye and went inside and was told a bus for Jacksonville was boarding right then and to get on it, and I called Brenda and told her that, and when I was sent back to Helen for that summer, I called Brenda, and this led to that, and here we are, despite the statistical and the Las Vegas odds of it happening being zero minus, but the odds were 100 percent nonetheless.
Long as that sentence is, if it actually is a sentence, probably debatable, which would really irk Ernest Hemingway, it’s still a minnow compared to two-page-long William Faulkner sentences, which, either Faulkner’s sentences, or Faulkner himself, or both, irked Hemingway, who seemed to resent some people maybe thought Faulkner was the better novelist. I thought Hemingway was the better, maybe because I liked fishing, hunting, drinking, women and trying to be a he-man. His novel’s endings, however, were seriously depressing.
And, what Brenda was told probably was true. If not Brenda, the angels would have roped somebody else in to end up wishing they had never heard of me :-).
Sloan: probably going fishing—(-but have heard —relationship tangles for half a century and yours —although uniquely personal–has many familiar characteristics—-it is a Rhapsody on a theme –one theme;
Got to run my —apologies !!! ——Jerry
Hi, Jerry –
In my last three marriages, the one rhapsody theme was what Christians call God (and I call angels) was slap dab in the middle of me and the woman, driving us nuts, with plenty of help from demonic forces, when we weren’t feeling like we were dying and already gone to heaven. The presence of the supernatural between and all around us was palpable: hearable, seeable, and feelable, to make up new words.
Another thing about paradise mating, we, the lucky couples, were rendered unable to be attracted to another person of the opposite sex, sexually or romantically, while we were paired by the angels.
The angels told me and the women it was “paradise mating”, and if we were good and did everything right, we would end up getting to stay in paradise, after all the anti-paradise stuff in and between us had been fixed. And if we didn’t be good and hang in there and do the full course in miracles, we would go to Plan B, which, alas, was not exactly back to where we were before we were introduced into Plan A.
Paradise mating is the one guy meets gal rhapsody in HEAVY WAIT: A Strange Tale, an autographed copy of which I gave you, not yet knowing you profess to be an atheist :-).
Since arriving in Key West in late 2000, I have known two local men and women couples, who were introduced into paradise mating. So far, it went for them about like it went for me and the three women who tried it with me, one at a time. Except with the two local couples, it ended a lot faster, which I imagine was due to them not having the preparation I’d had in two prior relationships with women, which were on the brink of paradise mating, but did not quite cross over into it. And, the two local couples had not had the other existential spirit training I’d had.
The man in the first couple, sometimes relied on me for advice about what was happening to him and between him and his lady, and the woman in the second couple sometimes relied on me for advice about what was happening to her and between her and the man. Advice is cheap, even if it is given by someone who knows the terrain from having walked and been dragged over and through it.
I have a feeling, if one man and one woman today pulled off a successful paradise mating, it might incite something in the spirit waves, which would change the course of human history. Jesus and Mary Magdalene came close, but she did not wish to leave her culture, when he asked her to go east with him, after he had recovered from the ordeal on the cross.
Sorry, Jerry, you haven’t been hearing about that one relationship rhapsody for 50 years.
Sloan: you covered well one whole aspect of factors that disrupt a relationship—read my contribution at he end of Today’s blog—I have your book which illustrates quite well one dimension of issues…… cool day but nice–enjoy –Jerry.
Jerry later wrote:
Sloan: some of the problems in relationships stem from one or the other participants having an undiagnosed MOOD disorder like a variant of Bi-Polar disorder…some just suffer from severe neurotic disorders—-common but adding complications that can be disabling and disruptive in a relationship; then there is always the addictive family of problems
liquid drug like alcohol or hard drugs like cocaine , methamphetamine, spice, or any of the opium derivatives including heroin or pharmaceutical pain meds. —-all are expensive which weighs heavily on making it together financially.. One member can be just crazy -psychotic which breaks out like the measles. underlying we live in a culture that is definitely anti-humanistic;
deteriorating natural environment, pollution seeps in like illnesses from just swimming in our now unclean ocean and infections that put stress on an individual and the relationship also.
Incompatible personalities come out when the sexual lust depreciates. Consumerism –spending more than the relationship can support—-it is a difficult road to traverse–hanging together–with caring and sensitivity——enough is enough –you know about most of these–probably—–CHEERS-Jerry….
Hi, Jerry –
Yes, and much of the the personal psyche dynamics you describe are intimately familiar to me, both as a husband and a boyfriend of different women, and as as a man who had his share of warts that didn’t do the ladies any good.
Substance abuse was significant in only one of my intimate women relationships, and she straightened out right after I told her both of my parents were drunks and I’d be damned if I was going to be married to a drunk. That was maybe a decade before the angels showed up.
The personal afflictions you listed are, to me, and to the angels, symptoms of soul disturbances, which are difficult, if not impossible, to treat in human ways. And, to your list, I add two more afflictions: the demonic twin each person has, and demonic possession, either or both which, when currently in charge of a person, resemble Mr. or Mrs. Hyde, in the good Dr. Jekyll.
The “hero” and the “heroine” in the early goings of HEAVY WAIT are plenty messed up psychically, but for very different reasons. As the tale unfolds, the angels running that picture show, at first unknown to the couple, set up the healing of those horrible soul wounds, the healing of which is plenty dramatic and certainly off the psychiatric model and charts, but common fare for angel healing, based on my and other people’s personal experiences with same.
But that all is the necessary byproducts of the end game, which is the paradise mating, for unless the couple in HEAVY WAIT are healed, the paradise mating is doomed to fail. And, in that tale, the angels are determined for the paradise mating to succeed, which was a wee deviation from how it went the times the angels put me into full-bore paradise mating with a lady, who had no clue what was coming when she met and decided she liked and was attracted to me.
Perhaps that’s another reason the angels ran HEAVY WAIT though me, to provide women interested in me with fair warning :-), although after the first full-bore paradise mating relationship, I gave the next two women lots of fair warning.
One of them, the last one, was getting to know me when HEAVY WAIT was falling out of me in May and June 2001. I kept telling her it was being written by God, but provided no details. After it was finished, and a friend had a few copies printed off a disk, as I was broke and could not afford to do that, I gave her a copy, and after she read it, she said, “It was written by God!”
That’s when a shift occurred. She told me she’d heard from angels all her life, until a few years before I met her, when they stopped talking to her. And, she had stopped dreaming about the same time the angels stopped talking to her. I told her that was really messed up, she needed to get back to dreaming and hearing from the angels.
Then, she had a dream, which I knew was really important, and I told her so, and that she needed to deal with what the dream was about, which she didn’t want to do, but finally she did, and the heavens opened to her in dreams, and the angels were talking with her again.
But she had only told me part of it, and it was some years, and a number of break ups, before she told me the whole of it, and that was after it was pretty much finished between us, and after a great deal of heartache and worse.
She’s still my favorite of all the women I was with, and she is my political muse, having herself worked in her state’s legislature and its attorney general office. She was not, however, HEAVY WAIT’S muse. That was the woman before me, who had traveled around the world with me, who had been molested by her father from age 3, to age 18, none of which she remembered, but it was shown to her by Jesus and Michael, and then they took her through the healing of it, as I held her hand on the telephone through probably 20 volatile, terrifying sessions.
You and I are not coming from quite the same place, Jerry.
Psychiatry and I became quite familiar with each other when it had me in its clutches, and I knew very well many psychiatric patients. And, I knew very well many psychologists and clinical social workers’ patients, and many spiritual healers’ patients. And, people were coming to me for help, who were being treated by one or more of the above, or had been treated. And, some of them were psychiatrists, psychologists and clinical social workers, and spiritual healers.
That’s what I did before the angels sent me to Key West in late 2000, and sometimes they still had me do it to some degree.
I also tended to learn about my “patients’ diets and fluid intake and drug usage, as that was part of the overall “intake”, and sometimes I made suggestions for different by mouth intake.
I knew a fellow in Atlanta, a wizard with German electronic acupuncture and dowsing technology, was able to discern various environmental toxins in people, and he had homeopathic remedies for purging same from a patient. Nothing American medicine recognized, and when the Georgia AMA doctors tried to get him shut down, he took them to court and, by operating under a licensed chiropractor, got the judge to side with him. What he was doing was in wide use and legal in Germany.
Back then was when I read a federal case, decided in Texas, perhaps Dallas, where the Texas AMA doctors tried to get acupuncture practitioners shut down in Texas, alleging acupuncture was experimental and not approved by AMA. The lady federal judge seemed to me, to be in stitches, that is, howling, in the part of her opinion, which said acupuncture had been around about 5,000 years and was about a experimental as the Chinese language – judgment for the acupuncture practitioner.
I’m not convinced, Jerry, on balance, that Western (allopathic) medicine and mental health practices don’t cause more harm than good, although I myself have been fortunate to be literally saved three different times by American medical doctors from grave biological diseases.
Another doctor who saved me was a young psychiatrist, whose agreeing to take me on as a patient, in early 1997, got me released from a one flew over the cuckoo’s nest state psychiatric facility, where I stupidly had gotten myself through a confederacy of dunces maneuvers.
Alas, the young Methodist doctor, who told me he believed there was spiritual warfare, was a pill pusher, and he darn near chemically killed me, even as I taught him stuff he’d never heard about, like the dark night of the soul, and what the medical malpractice lawsuit against him really was about. He was the only person who seemed to be on my side, during what was the killer dark night of the soul, I realized after it started to lift.
He told me, my stepmother wanted me dead, after meeting with her and my father shortly after he took me on as a patient.
For all of which, I paid him his usual weekly visit fee.
Toward the end of the 16-month killer dark night, he wanted me to go to the famous Meninger Psychiatric Clinic, in Topeka, Kansas, where he had grown up, as his father was a staff psychiatrist at Meninger, and, after completing his own psychiatric residence, my young doctor had gone to work at Meninger, too, operating their clinic for poor people.
My father said he would pay for Meninger, anything, to try to help me. But I wondered, and asked my young doctor, why go there, if he was not able to help me? Go there anyway, it’ a wonderful place, my young doctor said. I said I would think about it. My wife at the time was all for it. Wife 4. Before the paradise mating began full-bore with wife 5, later to show up.
When a good friend, who used to work for my father, asked if I was going to Meninger?, I said maybe, but I was waiting to see if God had another offer. I drove down to Panama City to hang out and fish for a few days, hoping to get some clarity. When I returned to Birmingham, my friend called to say he’d had a dream. He’d had dreams about me during the killer dark night, indicating I was not nearly as bad off as everyone, including me, thought.
What a dream he had.
He and I went to Meninger together. The front of the place looked terrific. The front lobby looked terrific. While I was in the lobby talking with the psychiatrists and staff, he snuck into the back area, and all he found was padded cells and dungeons, and he came back out to the lobby and told me that, and if I stayed there, I never would leave.
I thanked him, and said that ruled out Meninger.
When I shared his dream with a older woman friend, who’d been a Christian intercessor since childhood, she said God was telling her, if I went to Meninger, I would stay there until my father got tired of paying for it, which his second wife would see to happened, and then I would be transferred to the Kansas State mental hospital, where I would live out my remaining days.
I shared all of that with my young doctor, and it seemed to not faze him. Nor did it seem to faze him when I asked for a weening schedule from his pills, and he told me to reduce the dosage by 1/4 of a full dosage, for 4 weeks, and I said I was already on that weening schedule, which the angels had given to me.
He told me not to give up on psychiatry, the door was always open. I thanked him for saving me and being there for me, and went with God’s other plan, which soon became known to me as paradise mating :-). What trip that was!
I dropped in on the young doctor about 5:30 one afternoon in November 2001, he was there, not with a patient, and we talked a while, and I gave him a manuscript copy of HEAVY WAIT, and then I left. I don’t know if he read it. That was the last time I talked with him.
Jerry wrote while I was doing the P.S. and did not see his until the P.S. was sent:
Sloan: On a long term psychiatric ward, where I was trained (inpatient for One year) (outpatient after)
patients themselves furnish much of the therapy —-some are real angels in human form–
they are invaluable —that goes for certain special members of the staff–their compassion and sensitivity and understanding and empathy soar !! All our stories are unique—ouf life’s experiences like snowflakes —similarities yes —but different.–you have been through it –no doubt —life is a risky business but –can be rich and incredible— have a rewarding evening
I don’t know that I was on a “long term” psychiatric ward, but the wards I was on, the only patient I saw trying to help other patients was me. One woman thanked me, and left shortly thereafter. I spend a great deal of time after I was done with psychiatry, and even during the time with psychiatry, trying to help psychiatric patients, who were miserable, but as convinced psychiatry was their only safe harbor, just as church and the Bible were their only safe harbor. It was not possible to persuade them God could heal them, except one man, whom I met later, followed me from Birmingham down to Key West, hoping I could help him, even after I tried to dissuade him. In Key West, he started dreaming and hearing from angels, for real. But he was on Haldol, and that seemed in the way to me, even though he was told in a dream to stay on it. I got myself screwed up in a situation, and then was of no use to him, if I ever was of any use to him, and he went back to Birmingham. He had a great deal of religious poisoning in him, as did most psychiatric patients I tried to help. As did most people I tired to help. I told the angels many times, in my opinion, religion has done far more harm than good.
Sloan: will have to read this tonight or early morning
my schedule right now is stuffed –have swum every day
for at least an hour. Got a 6 lb Hog fish–supper –tonight.
hope you have a good supper –Jerry
Sloan: you covered a lot of ground.
When Key West waters –(-and it is inevitable -)–
are declared a health hazard —-the” turista” — business
may well take a huge hit along with the dirty air we are
promoting downtown—-some honest evaluation of Key West
as unhealthy –that Train is rumbling along the tracks —good story
for the National Geographic traveler –to be picked up by other
journalists in other publications—-eventually the excrement will hit
the fan. Another subject —little Torch to me is beautiful in a good
location—-where I stayed in 1956—can’t understand why you took a bad
loss —oh well the world is full of the inexplicable —enough to make ones
mind long for some tranquility–I may go fishing today and put all my
obligations on hold ——-we live once –harmony of mind –is a necessity !!!.
LITTLE TORCH WAS A PARADISE—-clear water –lobsters everywhere–
magnificent colour in the surrounding ocean –LOOE KEY just offshore was indescribable–
fish and massive living coral—astonishing…..a GEM –[a good day enjoy-] !!–Jerry
we ate fresh caught fish daily–only a tiny aluminum boat and small motor——Jerry (loads of grouper and Dolphin)
Hi, Jerry –
Yeah, there was a heap in today’s post; maybe I should file even more complaints with the angels about unfair labor practices and child abuse :-).
Taking a big loss on the Little Torch property was easy: I paid lot for it, too much, $375,000. Then, the bottom fell out of the real estate market. It was still bottomed out years later, when I was under time pressure to sell, if I wished to keep eating and so forth. Nobody wanted me to pay what a good banker friend told me it was worth, one acre, wooded lot, next to wildlife refuge, right to tear down and remove the trailer and build dream home, he said $150,000, I figured $200,000 for that choice property. It sold for $99,000, and after real estate commission and closing costs, I netted $90,000, having at that moment about $200 to my name, until the next $700 Soc. Sec. retirement check came into my checking account.
Like I said, it was easy, like being dragged through hell upside down and backwards :-), physically and emotionally. The angels did plenty of that in other ways the entire time I lived there, 4 1/2 years total, split up with 3-year stint renting an apartment in Key West, so I could play town fool there during that time. Some folks on bigpinekey.com’s popular Coconut Telegraph forum came to like me so much that they renamed me The Fool on Little Torch (FOLT). They hated me, I mean. I figured I must have done something right, therefore :-).
The fellow who runs the Coconut Telegraph, a friend of mine, who built my websites and showed me how to use them, kept egging me on to stir up the Sloan haters, emailed this morning after receiving his complimentary copy of today’s FOLTing:
“Ho ho, Are you the only full time gadfly crusader in Key West? !b”
I wrote back:
“Probably the only full-time gadfly, but then, the part-time gadflys (or is gadflies correct?, like I give a shit) here don’t say angels heap great mounds of fun shit on them to play in; they just get mounds, sounds sort of like a lumpy chocolate bar, but it tastes like shit, actually :-), and it feels like shit, too :-).
“Did you ever publish this last below, so your readers will know what gadfly means to educated people, as opposed to dumbass ignoramuses?
“Social gadfly – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
“A gadfly is a person who upsets the status quo by posing upsetting or novel questions. The term “gadfly” (Ancient Greek: ????, mýops) was used by Plato in the Apology to describe Socrates’s relationship of uncomfortable goad to the Athenian political scene, which he compared to a slow and dimwitted horse.”
A slow dimwitted horse bought an acre of land and trailer on Little Torch Key.
[He published it in yesterday’s Coconut Telegraph.]
SLOAN: the property loss just makes me very very sad for you——dismal !
I really feel for you—–if you could have just hung on —-some creative
realtor could have made it the get away of the decade —for one of the
1% —citing all kinds of glorious advantages—-climate worsening –unpredictable
up North—baby boomers —a tsunami of people —-we would have considered it —I LOVE Little torch as you well know——a short distance from Looe Key –incredible ; that offshore eating place for meals —temporarily-forgot the name –almost bought that island –it was nothing when we passed it by on the way to fishing daily-1956–(-Donna has been there several times –she is not here now.
Your whole loss makes me ill)——–real estate values rising like crazy here in the Keys —-eventually half a million is not inconceivable —advertized right —-I could have written great script—–
the whole thing makes depressed —-I am sorry –I realize you were in a bind–I hope I haven’t made it worse for you——sorry sorry sorry—-my fond regards —Jerry
Aw shucks, Jerry. It sort of makes me want to cry, too, ’cause I loved that place, which, as I have told you, I called Walden. The Realtor I used was a very good friend, but she had no creative view of what the place could be for the right buyer, and this is going to make you feel even more ill, the fellow who bought it had no feel for what he was getting, it was beyond his range by several dimensions to realize he had gotten a steal on sacred land, for that it was, sacred. People who came there said they could not believe how good they felt on that land, and even in the trailer, which was a knock down, a temporary shelter, as far as I was concerned, but not that land; that land was alive, beautiful old trees, a living shrine to Mother Nature, and just across the dirt road was State of Florida Wildlife Refuge; the subdivision had been condemned, because it never should have been allowed to be, it was too environmentally sensitive for development, only about 10 homes in the whole subdivision, half a mile or more long, about 300 yards wide, my land was the only parcel where a home could be built, because the county was actively encouraging, understatement, owners of trailers to get rid of them and build homes on stilts. That land, VIBRATED, Jerry, that’s a fact.
The fellow I bought it from, a former Chicago lawyer, who came down on vacation once, and went back to Chicago and closed his law practice and moved to Little Torch Key, and I did not sign a contract. I went to the closing able to walk away at any time. I kept asking the angels if this was right?, is this what I’m supposed to do?, and they kept showing me to go ahead. So, I went ahead, closed. About then, I was moved to enter the the county commission race for George Neugent’s seat, which was up for grabs that year, although I was not thinking in that way when I moved into the trailer, as a tenant. I was just thinking of how much I liked the land, and the trailer was okay then, I had not yet discovered the huge water leak in the front, which did not appear until after the closing, when finally a big rain came; a water leak that, over the years, would cause a great deal of damage to the trailer, but it was a kock down, I figured I would some day be able to build a real home there, which would make the people living off the grid on No Name Key feel like they never heard of going green. I knew how to design the home, not do the work myself, I don’t have those skills, but years before I had been to a school, which taught how to build off the grid homes.
Well, that never came to pass, of course. But living there enabled me to run twice against Neugent, and once for that district’s school board seat, all as part of my education in my favorite subject, porkaticks. Dang did I eat a lot pig, as I ran once for county commission in Key West, too, the seat Heather Carruthers won that year, 2008, and four times I ran for mayor of Key West, but that digresses.
After buying the place on Little Torch, I learned the seller’s daughter had cancer, and he had to take care of that and the medical bills, and no doubt he needed every penny I had paid for that place, and still she died. He had looked up and acquired my old books, written from the perspective of practicing law, and he loved them. He was close friends with my next door neighbors, who found me interesting, if not amusing. The woman read most of my daily ravings, sometimes sent me stuff she felt my resonate with me.
Lurking always in the background, was a monster spirit event I’d had on No Name Key Bridge in January 1995, after I came to Little Torch that year and stayed at Parmers Resort, the next road up US 1 – I was off of State Road 4A.
In 1995, I was living in Colorado, and one night was seized and told, “Go to Big Pine Key, go as soon as possible, this is important.” I had been there once before, March 1967, during spring break from law school at Alabama. I had caught a big tarpon in Bogie Channel on the inside (Gulf) side of the old wooden bridge, the charred remains of which still stuck up out of the water then. I was fishing with men, who were contemporaries of my father, in Birmingham. One of their daughters was married to one of my Vanderbilt fraternity brothers. I was staying at my father’s home on Islamorada, and they invited me to come down and fish a day with them. They were staying at Old Wooden Bridge Fish Camp.
Anyway, it got even more mystical, for after being told to go to Big Pine Key, in January 1995, I dreamt that night of being at the Denver airport, buying a ticket to Big Pine, and in the ticket line next to me was my father and his brother buying tickets to Islamorada. In actual life, my uncle fished a lot in Islmorada, I had introduced him to it, after he had fished for many years on Andros Island. I awoke, knowing for sure I had to go to Big Pine, it was a right of passage, I was separating from my father and his brother, who I often had wished was my father, because of how much he and I both loved to fish, which was not my father’s thing.
So, here I am staying at Parmers in January 1995, wandering around Big Pine and No Name, and other Keys, all the way down to the Sugarloaf Lodge, talking with the tame retired Navy and aquarium dolphins they then had there, waiting to be rewilded, wondering why I was sent to Big Pine Key? Day after day, I wondered. Then, on the seventh day of the trip, I wandered again over to the Old Wooden Bridge Fish Camp, and parked, and walked out onto the bridge, concrete now, of course. I’m abbreviating this part a bit.
I walked out to the center of the bridge, where the hump is, with pelicans flying all around me, and sitting on the bridge railing and in the water below, and diving for dinner. I was in a state of grace. II turned and faced the Atlantic Ocean, and was seized. I mean I was SEIZED, by something HUGE. It took my breath away. I felt like my heart was being pulled out of me. I burst into tears, and bawled, and snot ran out of my nose, and I was holding the bridge railing, barely able to remain standing and not fall to the sidewalk. And I HEARD.
I dreamt in a nap a bit ago, that I was going to tell this story, but I didn’t know what the dream meant until just now.
“BECAUSE YOU LOVE THIS PLACE SO MUCH, YOU WILL BE USED TO TRY TO PROTECT IT.”
Then I really started balling and shaking, and what had been rivers of tears and snot turned into tsunamis. And it’s about getting me all choked up to tell it again. And I have been beating the angels up for days about that covenant they made with me that January day in 1995 not coming to anything, about my buying that beautiful land on Little Torch Key, because I KNEW that covenant was in play, and because I don’t see anything came of it; the covenant died, dead.
Well, that’s how it seemed to me, and seems to me, and you better believe I am bawling right now, and shaking, and my heart is heaving, and I’m really pissed off, to boot.
P.S. Perhaps I also should say, when that happened on No Name Key bridge, the pelican was well known to me as the Christ bird. And the night that happened, on a paper napkin in a Big Pine restaurant no longer there, I wrote:
Slow, ugly, clumsy afoot,
but in the air
a great fisher indeed!
And in times of want
plucks out its own breast meat
to feed its young.
I don’t suppose my middle name being Young was in play, huh?
Or that when I came to the Keys to live, in late 2000, I was Sloan Young, who had plucked out his breast meat for his older half-brother, Travis?
Or that my son, who died if crib death when I was in law school, would have been called Young.
Or, hell, there have to be many meanings besides the generally accepted.
And I had a nap dream yesterday, in which the best flats fishing guide in the world, as far as I am concerned, Rick Ruoff, of Islmorada, took me away from a bunch of shit I was dealing with (I wrote all about it yesterday and today), into something wonderful, and that dream, too, was about that covenant, which, I suppose, is not dead, but only seems so. Maybe I should name that covenant, Lazarus?
Sorry, I couldn’t help it :-).
And yes, Jerry, being strapped financially sucks, but living on the street, sleeping in doorways, and on park benches and piers and beaches, and in other fun places, and being hunted by cops for what seemed like sport, sucked plenty more. As did staying in homeless shelters.
Perhaps the angels have a deal they haven’t make entirely clear yet. Meanwhile, they have me so loaded up with spirit poison, which ain’t mine, another kind of feeding the young thing, that right now I’m having trouble distinguishing myself from Chernobyl.
SLOAN: A lot to digest—-and process —-what a shame-
just the whole thing —with feelings and emotions
that may always reverberate, resonate—
so sorry it happened to you—————–Jerry
Well, a whole heap did come up and out all at once, must have been collecting for a while, took a while for it to finish clearing, as I took a bicycle ride to White Street Pier and watched most of the sunset, then headed toward Higgs Beach, and had three most interesting conversations, one with a woman Cuban Conch poet I know, who turns out to be a bit more mystical than I had known. She spoke of the energy vortex at Key West, the second person here, now, who has spoken of it to me since I arrived in late 2000 and felt it almost right away. The first person was the male tarot reader on Mallory Pier, about this time last year. The Cuban Conch talked of her mother being a healer, and said a lot of people here know of the vortex, and the vortex is why there is so much healing happpening here. I held my peace, a lot of healing I don’t see happening here. The reverse, I see a lot. The other two conversations were with Christian visitors, who seemed pretty tuned in for people of that religion, but heavy into Paul, so I dropped some Jesus on them; seemed the thing to do, since he’s the one who they say saved them. Sort of enjoyable, sort of fun, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a stranger in a strange land, which I don’t see changing during my life. The poison started moving out, I was glad for that, because it was pretty awful.
Sloan you are making progress —-alienation diminishing .—–Jerry
Not possible for an alien :-), but the great catharsis also brought powerfully forward in the wee hours this morning the first covenant, in which I offered my life to human service and the offer was accepted in dramatic fashion, as I have reported many times at my websites. It was shortly after I last fished the flats with Rick Ruoff, very late 1986, when I told him I had lost my zeal for fishing and was only out there with him because that was the only way I could spend quality time with him, that I made the prayer for God to help me and I offered my life to human service. And, wow, on waking this morning, there is a riveting Eimers case article in today’s Citizen, and an interesting email from the president of Dump the Pumps re Cudjoe Regional, and an email I overlooked yesterday saying the Peary Court plan has been tossed and the developer is walking away, but the sender said I could not quote the sender on that and to check with city commissioner Jimmy Weekley, and maybe it’s so, maybe not, I’ll have to look into that. All perhaps in keeping with a dream two nights ago, of an old friend and lawyer in Birmingham, who was very deep into big real estate development deals, gathering up all of his folks and assets and, in wagon ho gypsy fashion, was headed down this way. I took the dream to mean reinforcements were on the way. I hope he is bringing money, too – I can’t eat legal help :-).
moi chomping down on a bbq pork sandwich at the wedding reception of a Big Pine Key friend, at his home
Sloan: you are doing just fine –relative to all that you have been through—
your daily writings are for ” good causes” —like the Greek forum—
trying to stimulate thought —may be even critical thinking—-we all
get in miserable binds and make judgments that we wish we could take back
we are imperfect——retrospect is usually close to 20/20—-but that is hindsight.
learn and live and (you are getting much out of life from my perspective)
having fun with some humor intermixed ——-my wishes for you to have a decent day–(and you seem to be always learning)—-a NEW day—-illuminated Cheers–Jerry
Morning, Jerry –
It dawned on me yesterday, during the emotional upheaval, that I had not grieved the loss of my Little Torch Key home, nor all the hard work up that way it seemed for naught. A good bit of the emotion was over that, and a good bit was a different kind of emotion I associate with deep spiritual connection to something words cannot describe, it can only be felt to know it, in my experience, like what I felt on No Name Key that day in early January 1995, as reported in today’s post.
Given how it’s gone in the past, I suppose the angels will never run out of “good causes” and “learning experiences” for me to engage while I’m still breathing and able to type and speak. The alienation, however, is only remediated by my having a paradise mating partner, and only then, when she and I are in sync. When we are not in sync, that’s an entirely different version of hell and being an alien monk is far easier on me :-).
Sloan: you have articulated it so well—I momentarily lost my breath;
seriously you are one talented guy——-;
I only give authentic true responses to you–I hope you realize that—Jerry –
Talented? Hell, if I was talented, you’d think it would translate into me making money hand over fish :-), er, over fist.
What it mostly translates into is somatized grief in my poor, old, tired body, and zapping my energy field. I took two naps THIS MORNING, and then another even longer nap this afternoon, to recharge what’s left of my soular batteries :-), but it will take a couple of ibuprofen to alleviate the internal pressure, and further cooperation from the poop god, or goddess, to render the rest of the situation comfy.
Meanwhile, it’s chopping wood, carrying water :-), and swinging a sledge on the old plutonium rock pile, with intermittent emotional uprisings and sometimes plain old mischievous red neck mystic chauvinist pig fun :-).
Sloan: Chauvinist pig fun –red neck part of the culture—–talent
doesn’t translate into money—-some of the most talented
individuals in history –passed away penniless–making money some of the
dumbest people have made loads of money —fate and a special talent
that may not be virtuous or even smart –fate opportunity exploitation
make $$$$$$$—dumb luck involved. Naps are great —essential
we take a lot of maintenance as humans…. have a profound night—Jerry
a couple of my redneck chauvinist pig pals, Curtis and Leroy :-), don’t mistake them for stupid, cause they ain’t; they own half of north Georgia
That is exactly the point.