the space between
AWW ~ 4/25/12
___________________
My teenage years were spaced.
At 13 I fell in love and became romantically involved for the first time. I lost my virginity, but I don't recall the "first time."
At 14 I ran from the police for the first time. I was on foot; I'd thrown dirt clogs at a passing car as I'd hid on the side of the road at 2:00 AM. I outsmarted the police as I lay in the field of tall grass while the police were shining flashlights. I held my breath until they were gone.
At 14 or 15 I drank my first alcohol. I don't recall the first drink but I imagine it was Boones Farm wine. I could buy beer and wine in the local beverage store; the old man never did card me.
At 15 I got high on pot for the first time. It was my third or fourth time smoking pot; I hadn't felt its effects the first times I'd tried it. Wendy was driving her car; I think it was a Gremlin. I sat in the front passenger seat. As Wendy crested the large paved hill in the wealthy Shuford Devlopment with its giant houses and long driveways, I felt the high. It was like I crested with the Gremlin on that giant paved hill. In the middle of our side of the road, a patch of concrete became alive...like it was rising out of the dark pavement. My eyes got big and butterflies flew in my tummy. Wendy laughed. Wendy was 17 and I dated her brother Dale, who was around 19. Dale thought folks who smoked pot were freaks so Wendy made me promise to not tell Dale. Dale drank a lot and was the boyfriend who used to hit me.
At 15 and 16 I got high on chemicals and speed for the first time - MDA, LSD, mescalin, jimson weed, window pane, black beauties, gummy T, hashish, and I don't recall what else. I tripped a lot in a one-year period. I can't recall my first trip. I can recall some of the trips, especially the jimson weed. The jimson weed hallucinations are still vivid in my mind.
All my trips were good, except for the jimson weed and then, near the end before I quit drugs...near the end the trips began to turn bad.
But when the trips were good...they were oh so good.
When the trips were good, I could taste and touch the space between life and eternity.
The entire earth - every crevice, every molecule, every atom, every tiny space and portal - every thing was filled with purpose, with substance, with love.
When the trips were good the spaces between whatever consist in spaces between knew no emptiness, except within the echos; there was space between the echos.
___________________________
April 25, 2012
Psyche Betrayed
journal entry
4/22/12
_________________
How does one put into words the effects of betrayal?
What is the worst betrayal?
I think it would have to be the betrayal of one's self.
Lately I have struggled again, deeply and daily, with the after-effects of Knapp's betrayal.
Within Knapp's betrayal I betrayed my self.
How so?
I lost a part of me that trusted people.
And I tried to wear shoes that Knapp thought I could fulfill; that of an activist for cult-recovery.
I'd never seen myself as an activist.
On the other hand, I was an activist for The Way, at least in my early years as a believer. I'd "witness the Word to anything that moved." So, I guess that was being an activist.
Yet, it turned sour when I AWOLed the Way Corps twice. I broke my word - my promise to God, to myself, to my financial supporters, to my Word Over the World Ambassador family and team, to the HQ kitchen staff and the set up crew for the Outreach Services Center.
How do I put into words the damage Knapp wrought in my psyche?
I pulled out one of my goal journals today. In it were notes from when I used to counsel with Knapp. He told me I was a writer and an artist. I heard his kind voice today, in my head - the counselor voice, as I read those notes.
I then felt bad for having spoken out as I have against him, revealing his hypocrisy.
It ripped me apart on the inside.
I fantasized today about the hearing...if I end up having to go to New York to testify against Knapp. I fantasized Knapp's defense attorney asking me why I went public when I did.
I had three answers:
1) Knapp was soliciting people and money from the public for his non-profit of which I had knowledge about and his dishonesty in how it was put together.
2) Once he began soliciting, I wanted to retract my previous public endorsements. To do so, I revealed why I was retracting them.
3) For my own empowerment and self-respect after decades of silencing my voice within a restrictive religious group.
In my fantasy, Knapp's lawyer asked, "Which one of those reasons was most important to you?"
My answer was, "I don't know. I can't measure that."
"You must choose one. You cannot have an ambivalent answer," the attorney replied.
"Why not?" I asked.
"We don't allow ambivalence," he replied.
I feel such deep hatred at times toward Knapp. Why can't I get his influence out of my blood stream? How did I become so infected?
How can I be kind, when at times I feel vengeance in my heart regarding Knapp? It's not like he is Hitler.
________________________
4/22/12
_________________
How does one put into words the effects of betrayal?
What is the worst betrayal?
I think it would have to be the betrayal of one's self.
Lately I have struggled again, deeply and daily, with the after-effects of Knapp's betrayal.
Within Knapp's betrayal I betrayed my self.
How so?
I lost a part of me that trusted people.
And I tried to wear shoes that Knapp thought I could fulfill; that of an activist for cult-recovery.
I'd never seen myself as an activist.
On the other hand, I was an activist for The Way, at least in my early years as a believer. I'd "witness the Word to anything that moved." So, I guess that was being an activist.
Yet, it turned sour when I AWOLed the Way Corps twice. I broke my word - my promise to God, to myself, to my financial supporters, to my Word Over the World Ambassador family and team, to the HQ kitchen staff and the set up crew for the Outreach Services Center.
How do I put into words the damage Knapp wrought in my psyche?
I pulled out one of my goal journals today. In it were notes from when I used to counsel with Knapp. He told me I was a writer and an artist. I heard his kind voice today, in my head - the counselor voice, as I read those notes.
I then felt bad for having spoken out as I have against him, revealing his hypocrisy.
It ripped me apart on the inside.
I fantasized today about the hearing...if I end up having to go to New York to testify against Knapp. I fantasized Knapp's defense attorney asking me why I went public when I did.
I had three answers:
1) Knapp was soliciting people and money from the public for his non-profit of which I had knowledge about and his dishonesty in how it was put together.
2) Once he began soliciting, I wanted to retract my previous public endorsements. To do so, I revealed why I was retracting them.
3) For my own empowerment and self-respect after decades of silencing my voice within a restrictive religious group.
In my fantasy, Knapp's lawyer asked, "Which one of those reasons was most important to you?"
My answer was, "I don't know. I can't measure that."
"You must choose one. You cannot have an ambivalent answer," the attorney replied.
"Why not?" I asked.
"We don't allow ambivalence," he replied.
I feel such deep hatred at times toward Knapp. Why can't I get his influence out of my blood stream? How did I become so infected?
How can I be kind, when at times I feel vengeance in my heart regarding Knapp? It's not like he is Hitler.
________________________
April 18, 2012
Ponies and Fly
It's April 18, 2012. I sit alone in a condominium in Duck, North Carolina.
Duck is located on the upper shores of the Outer Banks. The Atlantic Ocean laps the seashore less than 1/8-mile to my east. The Currituck Sound calmly ripples some two miles, if that far, to my west.
I sit alone at a breakfast table. The table top is clear glass, about 1/4-inch thick. It has a rounded shape. Actually, it's a square with broadly rounded corners.
The glass stably balances on a sturdy, white wicker pedestal. The pedestal is more narrow at the bottom than the top. Four shapely ovals in the sides of the pedestal distinguish where to place chairs around the circular, squared table top. Four white wicker chairs with rounded backs and pale green cushioned seats match the table.
I sit in one chair with my right foot resting in one of the pedestal ovals. I sit alone...facing one of the three windows that surround the breakfast nook.
One chair sits empty to my left, pushed under the rounded table top; it's front legs face the oval on that side of the pedestal.
Another chair sits empty across from me on the other side of the glass table top.
The fourth chair sits alone in the bedroom around the corner - my clothes that I've worn tossed across its pale green cushion.
I arrived at Duck this past Monday, April 16, around 4:00 AM after I'd driven alone over 5-1/2 hours. It was a beautiful night drive. The road before me during the last three hours was long and straight and empty. There were no street lights. My moon roof open on my '99 Explorer, I could look up and see the stars in the darkness.
When I arrived, the guard for the condominiums was fast asleep as he sat upright in his chair in the guard house, his head leaning back bobbing a bit to his right, his mouth agape, snoring. I hated to wake him, but I needed to get into the gate. Tap, tap, tap. My fist gently sounded on the large glass window in the door. He awoke with a start.
By the time I got my luggage and groceries moved in, it was 5:15 AM. The sun would rise at 6:27 AM.
Carol, you might as well stay up and catch the sunrise.
It was a beautiful sunrise. The night slipped away into the day as it has for millions of years, I guess. A big ball of fire overlooked the Atlantic.
______
I am not completely alone in the condominium. A fly has been a resident since I arrived.
Today I left around 2:00 in the afternoon and returned around 6:30 in the evening. My fly friend was here when I left, but I haven't seen him, or maybe it's a her, since I've returned. I hope he hasn't died or flown the condo; I'd miss him...or her.
I had no plans today when I left at 2:00, except to exchange the bicycle I'd rented Monday. Only two of it's three gears were working. Yet even with just two gears, I had a great 25-mile bike ride Monday. I have rented the bike for the week.
Once I'd exchanged the bike, I climbed back into my '99 Explorer and took out my complimentary, colorful Outer Banks map.
Do I go north or south today? I asked my map.
My map displays wild ponies to the north.
North it is.
Once north, I spent a couple hours four-wheeling while a local named Jake drove the four-wheel drive touring truck; I was his co-pilot. I learned about local life - its history and into the present including about the wells, the septic tanks, the schools.
North Carolina Highway 12 in this northern most part of the North Carolina Outer Banks becomes the beach, literally. The beach is the highway; there is no paved roadway. There is no "roadway" at all, except for the beach. When the tide is at its highest, this section of Highway 12 becomes impassable. It is the only way to drive to Carova where some families live year round. Elementary-age kids ride boats to get to school; their school is located on Knotts Island. The county even provides garbage pick-up among these houses in the dunes.
We drove north along NC Highway 12, which is literally a beach, before turning west on the sand roadways to go into the midst of the small dunes. Four-wheel drives are mandatory. Among the dunes are houses, built on stilts - houses that cost in the millions. Most have sand yards with bits of scrubbage and grass where the wild ponies, which are protected, graze. The largest house has 23 bedrooms.
There is an island for sale near here. The island comes complete with home and dock and luxury. I think it is located in the Currituck Sound. The cost? 6.4 million, at the moment.
On the tour today, us tourists saw eighteen ponies; eight were strolling the beach.
Locals say the ponies rule here.
It was a good day. I hope the fly had a good day in the condo.
Duck is located on the upper shores of the Outer Banks. The Atlantic Ocean laps the seashore less than 1/8-mile to my east. The Currituck Sound calmly ripples some two miles, if that far, to my west.
I sit alone at a breakfast table. The table top is clear glass, about 1/4-inch thick. It has a rounded shape. Actually, it's a square with broadly rounded corners.
The glass stably balances on a sturdy, white wicker pedestal. The pedestal is more narrow at the bottom than the top. Four shapely ovals in the sides of the pedestal distinguish where to place chairs around the circular, squared table top. Four white wicker chairs with rounded backs and pale green cushioned seats match the table.
I sit in one chair with my right foot resting in one of the pedestal ovals. I sit alone...facing one of the three windows that surround the breakfast nook.
One chair sits empty to my left, pushed under the rounded table top; it's front legs face the oval on that side of the pedestal.
Another chair sits empty across from me on the other side of the glass table top.
The fourth chair sits alone in the bedroom around the corner - my clothes that I've worn tossed across its pale green cushion.
I arrived at Duck this past Monday, April 16, around 4:00 AM after I'd driven alone over 5-1/2 hours. It was a beautiful night drive. The road before me during the last three hours was long and straight and empty. There were no street lights. My moon roof open on my '99 Explorer, I could look up and see the stars in the darkness.
When I arrived, the guard for the condominiums was fast asleep as he sat upright in his chair in the guard house, his head leaning back bobbing a bit to his right, his mouth agape, snoring. I hated to wake him, but I needed to get into the gate. Tap, tap, tap. My fist gently sounded on the large glass window in the door. He awoke with a start.
By the time I got my luggage and groceries moved in, it was 5:15 AM. The sun would rise at 6:27 AM.
Carol, you might as well stay up and catch the sunrise.
It was a beautiful sunrise. The night slipped away into the day as it has for millions of years, I guess. A big ball of fire overlooked the Atlantic.
______
I am not completely alone in the condominium. A fly has been a resident since I arrived.
Today I left around 2:00 in the afternoon and returned around 6:30 in the evening. My fly friend was here when I left, but I haven't seen him, or maybe it's a her, since I've returned. I hope he hasn't died or flown the condo; I'd miss him...or her.
I had no plans today when I left at 2:00, except to exchange the bicycle I'd rented Monday. Only two of it's three gears were working. Yet even with just two gears, I had a great 25-mile bike ride Monday. I have rented the bike for the week.
Once I'd exchanged the bike, I climbed back into my '99 Explorer and took out my complimentary, colorful Outer Banks map.
Do I go north or south today? I asked my map.
My map displays wild ponies to the north.
North it is.
Once north, I spent a couple hours four-wheeling while a local named Jake drove the four-wheel drive touring truck; I was his co-pilot. I learned about local life - its history and into the present including about the wells, the septic tanks, the schools.
North Carolina Highway 12 in this northern most part of the North Carolina Outer Banks becomes the beach, literally. The beach is the highway; there is no paved roadway. There is no "roadway" at all, except for the beach. When the tide is at its highest, this section of Highway 12 becomes impassable. It is the only way to drive to Carova where some families live year round. Elementary-age kids ride boats to get to school; their school is located on Knotts Island. The county even provides garbage pick-up among these houses in the dunes.
We drove north along NC Highway 12, which is literally a beach, before turning west on the sand roadways to go into the midst of the small dunes. Four-wheel drives are mandatory. Among the dunes are houses, built on stilts - houses that cost in the millions. Most have sand yards with bits of scrubbage and grass where the wild ponies, which are protected, graze. The largest house has 23 bedrooms.
There is an island for sale near here. The island comes complete with home and dock and luxury. I think it is located in the Currituck Sound. The cost? 6.4 million, at the moment.
On the tour today, us tourists saw eighteen ponies; eight were strolling the beach.
Locals say the ponies rule here.
It was a good day. I hope the fly had a good day in the condo.
April 8, 2012
Imposters in Masks
Saturday, 4/07/12
Journal entry
Full moon tonight. If Jesus was resurrected, it would have been (possibly) late this afternoon, sometime before sunset, some 2000+ years ago. There was no light pollution back then. The night would have been quite bright with that full moon.
I wonder if their really was a resurrection?
I was thinking today about Jesus on the cross...how he forgave people. How he was willing to be the scapegoat and that God, if there is one and if He inspired the Scriptures, chose the word "lamb" instead of "goat." Jesus was willing to be wronged. He didn't have to prove he was right; he knew it.
I don't have to prove I'm right regarding Knapp.
But I confess my blood simmers when I read Knapp's words condemning liars, charging leaders to own up and be accountable, mocking corruption, calling out people who Knapp perceives as crossing boundaries, and playing a victim of continued abusive relationships. I want to call him on it. Those acts of others which he is so loud about as he points fingers at them, are the very acts of which Knapp is guilty; yet, he hasn't owned up. He has erased, discarded, masked. Just like the hypocrites' masks of the ancient Greek stage.
I think the most honest words I ever heard Knapp state were, "I'm an imposter." Knapp and I were talking on Skype on July 27, 2010. I had made an appointment with him the night before. I made the no-charge appointment to discuss some emotional upheavals I'd been having, mainly due to the new working relationship with Knapp. He had solicited my help as "Creative Director" on a then-forming non-profit, and I was volunteering on his then-cult-recovery support and activists online forum. It was hard on me, and I wasn't sure of my place nor how to approach him about what I was dealing with. I wasn't even sure what I was dealing with. Knapp was my "life coach" at the time and had been my mental health therapist, but I had stopped paying him at the end of June. I was still emotionally and psychologically weaning from my client/therapist relationship with him.
The July 27 appointment started with me talking about the hard time I was having in this new role. The appointment ended with Knapp sharing his challenges...how he was distraught and overwhelmed. He had problems in his marriage, his finances, his work. He didn't see a way out from under the pile that had mounted.
I asked him how long it had been since he'd had a vacation. He shook his head and said, "Years." As Knapp shared I wondered to myself, "This is my life coach?" Immediately I rationalized that thought; John was just having a bad day and needed to vent. He's human too.
I looked at him and listened to him on Skype; his eyes were teary as he gazed into the distance. He ran his hands through his hair in distress. I noticed how thick and dark his hair was. He turned his head to his left and looked downward. Shaking his head and wiping his eyes, he said, "I'm an imposter."
I never ever imagined how very true to fact those words would become. He really is an imposter.
At some point I might call Knapp out with his own lies. But, I don't know if it'd be worth my energy. If I do approach it, I'll wait until after NY state's gavel determines its penalties, if any.
_______________________
4/25/12 Added note: Re-reading this piece, the "thick dark hair" description brought to mind how Knapp literally changed his appearance. I have no problem with people changing and getting make-overs, but Knapp's timing in his make-over is another indication (to me) of Knapp's deception. I mailed my complaint to the NY Office of Professional Discipline the last day of September, 2010. New York opened my complaint in December, 2010. The left photo below is the John I met in 2008 and what he looked like through at least July, 2010. The right photo appeared online sometime around February/March, 2011. The photos below are readily available via the web.
Journal entry
Full moon tonight. If Jesus was resurrected, it would have been (possibly) late this afternoon, sometime before sunset, some 2000+ years ago. There was no light pollution back then. The night would have been quite bright with that full moon.
I wonder if their really was a resurrection?
I was thinking today about Jesus on the cross...how he forgave people. How he was willing to be the scapegoat and that God, if there is one and if He inspired the Scriptures, chose the word "lamb" instead of "goat." Jesus was willing to be wronged. He didn't have to prove he was right; he knew it.
I don't have to prove I'm right regarding Knapp.
But I confess my blood simmers when I read Knapp's words condemning liars, charging leaders to own up and be accountable, mocking corruption, calling out people who Knapp perceives as crossing boundaries, and playing a victim of continued abusive relationships. I want to call him on it. Those acts of others which he is so loud about as he points fingers at them, are the very acts of which Knapp is guilty; yet, he hasn't owned up. He has erased, discarded, masked. Just like the hypocrites' masks of the ancient Greek stage.
I think the most honest words I ever heard Knapp state were, "I'm an imposter." Knapp and I were talking on Skype on July 27, 2010. I had made an appointment with him the night before. I made the no-charge appointment to discuss some emotional upheavals I'd been having, mainly due to the new working relationship with Knapp. He had solicited my help as "Creative Director" on a then-forming non-profit, and I was volunteering on his then-cult-recovery support and activists online forum. It was hard on me, and I wasn't sure of my place nor how to approach him about what I was dealing with. I wasn't even sure what I was dealing with. Knapp was my "life coach" at the time and had been my mental health therapist, but I had stopped paying him at the end of June. I was still emotionally and psychologically weaning from my client/therapist relationship with him.
The July 27 appointment started with me talking about the hard time I was having in this new role. The appointment ended with Knapp sharing his challenges...how he was distraught and overwhelmed. He had problems in his marriage, his finances, his work. He didn't see a way out from under the pile that had mounted.
I asked him how long it had been since he'd had a vacation. He shook his head and said, "Years." As Knapp shared I wondered to myself, "This is my life coach?" Immediately I rationalized that thought; John was just having a bad day and needed to vent. He's human too.
I looked at him and listened to him on Skype; his eyes were teary as he gazed into the distance. He ran his hands through his hair in distress. I noticed how thick and dark his hair was. He turned his head to his left and looked downward. Shaking his head and wiping his eyes, he said, "I'm an imposter."
I never ever imagined how very true to fact those words would become. He really is an imposter.
At some point I might call Knapp out with his own lies. But, I don't know if it'd be worth my energy. If I do approach it, I'll wait until after NY state's gavel determines its penalties, if any.
_______________________
4/25/12 Added note: Re-reading this piece, the "thick dark hair" description brought to mind how Knapp literally changed his appearance. I have no problem with people changing and getting make-overs, but Knapp's timing in his make-over is another indication (to me) of Knapp's deception. I mailed my complaint to the NY Office of Professional Discipline the last day of September, 2010. New York opened my complaint in December, 2010. The left photo below is the John I met in 2008 and what he looked like through at least July, 2010. The right photo appeared online sometime around February/March, 2011. The photos below are readily available via the web.
