The Lost Boys

Abigail appeared to me, standing in the doorframe at my sister's house on Mother's Day. I couldn't believe nobody else sensed her there, the feeling that she was there was overwhelming. I asked my sister, in utter disbelief, "you don't see her?!" 

Apparently my sister has a ghost woman with long brown hair, that has been so attached to the house she lived in once, that she's lingered since the year 1967 (the year she passed on). She just wanted my sister to know that she was there, and that she considered them friends. She felt they had a lot in common, and thought for sure that my sister saw her while looking in the mirror.

My sister hadn't sensed her though, and was quite taken aback by my revelations. In fact, my whole family fell dead silent as I passed on messages in front of them. My family has never really been my biggest source of support, as they are really more Earthbound spirits (nothing wrong with that), and I somersault through different dimensions as easily as a pro-athlete nails a landing again and again.

Abigail didn't linger, or have much to say. I don't understand some spirits stay for so long after their death? Can you imagine being so attached to a house, a garage, a life, a body, that you just didn't want to leave? I guess the only thing that would make me become a ghost that lingered (can you hear the Cranberries singing, do you have to let it linger?) would be my attachment to my boys. It's actually the only thing Earthbound Alisha feels attached enough to to stay in body for now. Truly, there aren't a lot of experiences I care to have. I feel I've had them all.

After a while, being human is boring, unsatisfying, predictable. It's like once the Ego is eroded, you don't have many reasons to strut around thinking this life is awesome. They don't tell you that about the spiritual journey. They don't tell you that love will look more thinly veiled attachment and childhood core wounds. I never thought in a million years that I would someday be the woman questioning whether love is real, or if it's a biological reaction. I mean, if spirit is oneness, than love between a man and a woman is manmade, like Religion.

The predictability of life is what most of us crave, and yet it's what suffocates our souls. I don't know how we get here, safe, hidden, undervalued, but thankful to be alive. Even if life is stifling, and there seems to be no greater point to it than to figure out the next solution to a long suffering problem. I don't know, maybe I am negative. Or maybe I'm a realist. Or maybe my big ass soul opted into a small life, an underground experience that really expands the soul, because in this life, the ego had to go, whether I liked it or not. A life of poverty will do that, and I have lived a life of poverty in every sense of the word. (Can you hear Britney singing, "I can't get no satisfaction"?)

What is the spiritual significance for Emptiness? It would be self discovery, to spend time reaching for one's own deepest depths. If life is a work of art, and we are the artist, then our lives are the canvas, and this journey is an unfinished masterpiece. It's totally invaluable. There is no price you can put on a life, on someone's journey, no matter how judged that path is by others. 

This reminds me of a message my guides shared with a friend from the past recently, "you must recognize the value inherent in each life in order to become the Humanitarian you want to be." It sounds harsh, but even the best hearts can (and often are) overshadowed by human privilege. Rights given to them in their current life, and denied to others. In other words, you can not help anyone if you are looking down on them. If you are failing to see the oneness that runs between you. 

I've found it very odd over the years to watch otherwise good people reach for status by helping those less fortunate. But when faced with the opportunity to listen to somebody (usually with no status) right in front of them, they fail to even see a human being standing in front of them. You do not have to move to a third world country to serve the poor, downtrodden, or less fortunate. There is always somebody right in front of you who could use a little love.

I don't know where that all came from, but I've been feeling repressed, a little depressed, and just plain stressed out. My babies at work are the highlight of my life right now, but everything else about the job is becoming old, and I am exhausted from carrying the weight of those who are supposed to be helping me. In childcare there are a certain number of children one teacher is expected to handle, but being that childcare isn't for everyone, we are often understaffed. 

I don't mean to scare the daylights out of parents everywhere, but you don't need to do much to qualify as a teacher. Meaning, people are hired off the street with little to no experience with children. A lot of kids right out of high school are hired, and sometimes the help feels more like extra children to watch after. 

I decided that sticking to a routine definitely makes things less crazy, so I want to run with that theme, but to be honest, I'm already sensing that my time to move on is close. It's crazy how you can find what you love to do, and people who are worth it, but an inconsistent workplace that gives you whiplash, can put a damper on even that. 

To be honest, I'm not sure I love becoming attached to people I will ultimately have to say goodbye to. I feel that's abnormal. It's made it really hard to make the best decision for myself in moments, because as a good mother, I would never want to abandon them. It's such a shitty reality that the people being hired right now will come in, be the fun parent, and leave a mess behind, while the person who really cares about them, will maybe be given the credit they're due. They'll see them as cute babies they can play with and be entertained by by two minutes, and then they'll move on, never glancing back, when they realize how hard it all really is. 

I snapped at a co-worker pretty roughly the other day, and I wasn't the least bit apologetic about it. Kids need structure. They crave routine. They want safety and security. And they deserve that. There is a little girl named Kimberly (The Brave), who cried eight hours a day when I first started, who has now adjusted to daycare. She's content and she knows there is a teacher there who isn't going to push and pull her in every direction for her own entertainment. But rather who she can count on to have the simple things done, like a water cup with her name on, always filled and ready to drink. 

We think love has to be hard, but consistency is the definition of love. Especially for those with trauma. I think it's all I crave in love anymore. And when you read about children coming into foster care, the success stories are all based on consistency. A steadfast love that provides safety, therefore a chance to grow in a safe place. Kids from abusive homes lack that, and it's all they really want out of life. It's the reason the minute love is taken away, or they perceive it to be, they are in pain.

There is a two little boy who when he sees me automatically reaches up for a hug, and then he remembers the possibility of rejection, and he pulls back just as quick. As if I wouldn't want to hug or embrace him with all my heart. You see some hard stuff in daycare, stuff you never think you'll see until it's there right in front of you.

You really start to appreciate the parents who are excited to see their kids when they pick them up. And the ones who always make sure they have what they need. You start to see the reasoning behind the bad behavior from a chronic biter, troublemaker, and generally hard to handle little boy. Once he trusts you, he can't seem to get enough cuddles or hugs. He clings, because though he has done everything in his power to get your attention by behaving badly, all he really wanted was to be seen.

It's the tough ones you have to be willing to look deeper at. But let's not forget the quiet ones either. I think all in all my working at a daycare has already served a purpose. I was told by my guides that one day I will work with boys specifically, and they will be called the lost boys. I always knew there was a purpose behind my having a family of boys. I don't know how, or when, and I frankly, don't have the energy to dream of bigger and better right now. I'm exhausted, sad, tired, happy, oddly content, and living.

I love these little monsters, but our journey together may end sooner than I really wanted it to. I am utterly traumatized by the memory seared in my brain, of my Riley with a bite mark out of his side, like cheese. Riley was eaten like cheese at daycare, and I can't unsee it. I cried today when I relived this nightmare scenario to my sister. I know it's more than Riley being eaten like cheese, but goddamnit, I've never seen such a traumatic thing happen to a human body before! 

My apologies to every doctor, nurse, and officer who had to see the mutilated flesh of the teenage girl who attracted trouble everywhere she went. Bite marks, metal stuck through a belly button, and the melted flesh of a vagina. I mean, you're the real heroes. Throw a spiritual trauma at me, I'll be fine. Show me (or put me through) physical trauma, and I'm not such a superhero after all. I guess we all have our roles.

Guys, I just had a lot of thoughts tonight. Enjoy my latest diary entry ...