Feeling the Soul's Core
Finding out that someone you lovehas become unrecognizable, is not something that we grow up ever expecting. To mourn someone who is still alive but you can't see their soul anymore, THAT'S TRAUMATIC. I've seen the moment, before death, when the soul or spirit leaves the body, there's no doubt about it, it's visible and visceral. But I have also seen people that are still a fully functional meatsuit and no longer have their soul, or no longer have their spirit, there is a difference. I guess working in nursing homes and hospitals over the past decade should have prepared me for it more than most, maybe I can spot it more that's why it bothers me? I worked in the psych and Alzheimer's wards a lot, and I love to people watch. Interestingly I sometimes found people that had been stuck there, not because they were crazy, but because they didn't know how to communicate on a level with the people making decisions. One man spoke only very broken disjointed English, but spoke Spanish and Chinese fluently. Between what I could understand, I ended up getting a very lucid convincing story from him, but to outsiders it was a mix of testing different words and seeing if I understood. No one else had the patience. His story was that he had relied heavily on his wife for everything as she could speak English, her children now grown though sympathetic, only spoke English, and had relied on their mom to communicate everything. He worked and she handled the money. After decades together, she suddenly got a new boyfriend and was kicking him out. When he didn't know where to go, she called the cops (in the same town that they tried to do it to me years later, coincidence?) and did all the talking and convinced them that he was crazy. With the language barrier they believed her. The children would come to visit and he would just sit crying, ignoring any attempts to communicate.
I guess I was also partial to his story because of my dad's experience that was similar. He said that one time the stress of everything got to him and he had a nervous breakdown and took himself to a mental institution, but when he got there everyone acted like he was speaking gibberish even though he could understand them. They couldn't understand him. This went on for two weeks, by then he had calmed down and wanted to leave. But they wouldn't let him because he was speaking in gibberish. This led to him thinking that they were gaslighting him because he could understand what he was saying and what they were saying. He was a polyglot, but none of his other languages helped as they only spoke English and he thought he was speaking English. Serendipity would have it, that there was a visiting doctor that they wanted to show off the strange case to; who also spoke Mandarin Chinese. He told them that he was speaking in Mandarin. He said "How? I don't know Mandarin Chinese." "Apparently you do as that is what we are both speaking right now." After hypnosis and therapy they got to the bottom of it and what's more, that he could write it. The reason that he couldn't distinguish led back to trauma and coping mechanisms. He learned most of his languages before he started school, but in school he was required to speak English that he didn't know . Every time that that he spoke in a language other than English, he was punished by getting rapped on the knuckles or put in a closet. In the closet there were all kinds of books on Mandarin Chinese and picture learning for writing it, he began to see it as a retreat, a safe haven from the harsh nuns. After school his homelife was traumatic so he spent every chance he could with his friend who's parents owned a Chinese Laundry. Before he told me this story though, I experienced something along the same lines. I was probably 13 and I fell asleep listening to Gaelic music though I couldn't understand a word of it. I woke up in the middle of the night and walked outside. Suddenly I realized that I knew all the words of the songs AND what they meant. I started singing them, I was amazed. I ran in to tell my dad and test if I was right as Gaelic was one of his first languages. I started to tell him and he got a really strange look on his face and said "Are you on drugs?" "No dad I'm not, I'm speaking Gaelic I just don't know how." "Godamnit! You're on drugs! What are you on?" I tried to speak in English, nope still Gaelic, slower ... willing it to be in English now... still Gaelic, or gibberish? Since he couldn't understand me and technically I don't know Gaelic..."Go sleep it off! You're grounded!" I cried myself to sleep trying in vain to speak English, then woke up normal. Since then I've had countless dreams in languages that I don't consciously know. Years later when he told me his story I said "That's exactly what happened to me that night!" he remembered it and wondered why he didn't recognize it. What is the soul? And what is the spirit? Are there ways to communicate with them once we recognize the communication for what it is and not just gibberish? Are there ways to communicate with other souls and spirits? How do we scientifically test the lines between an actual communication with something other than bodies and lunacy or delusions? When I was trying to figure out what if any blocked memories I had, thankfully, I had a reprieve from work to take advantage of. Because of the gaslighting that my ex husband was doing and my spiritual awakening, I was questioning my own sanity. I wouldn't want someone operating on me if they questioned their sanity, so no way in hell was I going to do it to someone else. From my friend's deprogramming revealing prostitution, I didn't have high hopes for mine, though I had a burning drive for vengeance against whomever orchestrated all this. Vengeance was a wholly unfamiliar emotional state to me. I'd lived my whole life fully behind 'leave vengeance to God,' and 'the best revenge is a good life.' I don't know if it was borne of a desire to prove that I was worth more than just carnal seduction and it became a self fulfilling prophecy. But I started to have dreams that at first I dismissed as PTSD from not decompressing after so much gore from surgeries. As the dreams repeated they became more detailed, I could read things in them, I had a different knowledge base, I knew things about quantum physics and electromagnetic waves that I didn't know normally. In my dreams, we were experimenting on trying to get the soul or spirit to manifest in testable, visible ways as it left the body in death. The idea of demons sometimes being ourselves run amok fits in with this. If a soul had not kept the desires of the flesh in check;(leading to addictions or abhorrent things) Then their spirit,( pure passion tempered by the soul) would have demonic aspects to it and would act as a demon. Our next question was were these demons in this case that had been possessing the people, or were they human spirits that were demonlike? One of my dreams we had set up a hightech hospital room in an abandoned house that had most interior walls taken out. There were Three hospital beds with dying patients. one held a morbidly obese man, another a smalk woman. I don't remember the third. We were watching the Obese man starting to die. when he did and we isolated his spirit, it was like a caricature of him with a and intense hunger. his gluttony had not been kept in check. It had become a part of his identity. It was apparently driven by an all consuming hunger. Just then we were all distracted by a little girl peaking through the crack on the door. She was yelling "I know you're in there! I telling my mom and she'll call the cops! 'cause no one is supposed to be here!" This distraction had allowed this ravenous spirit to get over to the woman who's spirit was coming out of her. He was EATING HER SPIRIT WHOLE. His mouth had gotten cartoonishly huge and he was shoving her whole into it. Someone said "We've got to do a burn." I said "What about the patients?" he answered "They're dead either way, look at him! We can't control it! BURN, it's the only way!" Everyone started scrambling. I grabbed a jug of chemical and read it (now I don't remember the specific chemical like I did when I first woke up.) in big letters it said "SEN JANSEN" and started dousing everything with it. I woke up right when they started a controlled burn. I googled the chemical, it was an açcelerant made by Jansen and Jansen. Later when I had a daydream of meeting my soul, I said that if it was true I saw it as unethical experimentation. She told me that things would change and I would see it differently. Afterall she was my soul and at peace it. I asked her about looking for my soulmate. She laughed at me, and said "I wish you could see how trivial that really is." On a hunch that proved true, I just now googled the meaning of Jansen and it means "God is gracious" which is the answer I was given when I had a daydream that I was trying to stop a future me, (me now?) from , and I said "she'll burn, then I was given the answer of her name means GOD IS GRACIOUS and that he would provide grace. Not long after that, there was a fire nextdoor to friends of mine who's husbands name is the same as my ex husband that means laurels, and the wife's name means "God is Gracious." I was bothered at the time by her(my) response Back to the idea of mourning someone who is still alive. Arejn Gandhi ...Interesting, I left this and came back and those last two words were there when I didn't type them... I typed them into search and This came up.Now what had transpired between the time was intimately tied with that and the idea between mourning the loss of a person's soul, GOOD THAT YOU KNOW WAS THERE vs. the Loss of your Illusions i.e. someone acting as if they have a good soul while KNOWING THAT THEY ARE LYING TO YOU. I need to simmer in some answers that I recieved, I hope that you do too, then feel for your soul's core.