Lucky buckeyes

My anxiety was high Tuesday. I had to gulp air throughout the morning, like my lungs just weren't getting enough oxygen. That's been the pattern for the past however-many weeks. I finally went to the doctor Wednesday, though I'd already surmised the oxygen drinking was most likely due to anxiety and not a heart condition. Heart disease - another side effect of long term steroids.

I felt panicked last week as I lay in bed while waiting for sleep, drinking oxygen, wondering if my gums felt swollen, thinking of the added fatigue I'd been having, feeling the tingling in my hands and feet wondering if it was nerve damage or pooling of blood from a heart condition, wondering if my pulse was faster than usual, mulling over other symptoms I'd been monitoring... Oh God no. Not this side effect. No. I devised a plan how to handle it if it was heart disease.

One of the elements in my self-diagnosis of probably anxiety and not heart disease was my cycling. How is it possible if I have a deleterious heart condition, to be able to ride my bike like I do, twenty miles or more at a time? And get relief while I ride? Currently it's at about mile five when I feel the flip of the relief-switch.

The switch-flip now includes relief from the oxygen-gulping shortness of breath. Other symptoms are still relieved too. Pain. Fatigue. Weakness. Cognitive dysfunction. Loneliness. Depression. Pointlessness. Disconnectedness. All that and more - relieved by my bike-rides through the woods. With the trees. Oh my beloved trees! How often I feel them cradle me and welcome me, "Hey Carol! It's so good to see you again!"

I began my ride Tuesday with high anxiety. Residual effects from some vicious verbal assaults (containing vile language and false accusations toward me and a loved one) continued to linger - a complex scenario that I was pulled into in February. It's been a difficult, draining seven months. I received the verbal pummeling via texts, late night on August 19th, in Boone, as I was driving back home after visiting one of my sacred places - Roan Mountain (the same sacred ground I visited when an ex-mental health therapist falsely accused me privately in August 2010, and publicly in August 2011 when he tried to smear my character). The August, 2019, evening on Roan had ended in the night hours, stars shining clearly, with a significant, hour-long conversation with Wiley Oakley who claimed to be the grandson of the Wiley Oakley, which I have little reason to doubt.

Brokenness. Shame. My brain in a vice grip. That's part of what I felt when I started my ride Tuesday.

I rode through the woods on a rail-trail alongside the New River in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a 24.6-mile route I've ridden now at least ten times. Along my ride I stopped to remove some obstacles from the trail - five tree branches, one loose rock about the size of a couple bricks, and two broken pieces of glass. This must be my job today. Instead of finding a debit card, or a wallet, or a cell phone. Things I have found on my rides this summer, items which I put in my hip pack until I could find their rightful owners, except for the debit card which I mailed to the address printed on the card.

As I rode along I saw a buckeye on the trail. Aren't buckeyes good luck? But buckeyes don't grow here, do they? Maybe it's a chestnut. Either way, I'll pretend it's a lucky buckeye. I've become a bit superstitious in the last few years. I stopped to pick it up. It was cracked on one side. My heart sank a little. This is me. Cracked. Broken. I stuck the cracked buckeye in my hip pack and continued my pedaling on the trail.

A few miles later I saw another buckeye, and another and another and another and another! Five buckeyes and none were cracked! They were perfectly formed, beautiful, though each had its own distinct features. This is my family! My husband John. And our son Josh and our daughter Sarah and Sarah's dog Yerba. And me!

I thanked the trees and put the buckeyes in my hip pack.

***

I later looked up lucky buckeye: Why is a buckeye seed in your pocket good luck?

And I learned that what I found are indeed buckeyes (and not chestnuts) from the yellow buckeye tree. I recognize the exterior fruit shown in the picture on the link, some of which I saw laying on the trail and I wondered at the time if they were pears, but didn't stop to investigate.

Along my ride Tuesday I had 12 deer sightings; 3 of the deer were probably repeat sightings. Each deer paused to look at me. Then, as deer do, each one took off running, its white tail bright as it gracefully bounded along the trail and then up through the woods or down the bank, stopping to look back once or twice or thrice. And I saw two groundhogs, one on a long bridge. From a distance as I rode onto the bridge I wondered, What is that? A giant squirrel? A cat? Then saw it was a groundhog. Made me smile big; I have a fondness for groundhogs. The little feller ran and would stop, rest a moment, look back, and run again as I very slowly pedaled along staying behind it. We both finally made it to the other side of the bridge. The second groundhog ran across the trail in front of me. He was fast. I often see groundhogs on the Mt. Airy greenway, but not as often on the New River rail-trail.

The doctor Wednesday confirmed that my heart is good, and that if I had a heart condition, I'd feel worse for riding my bike. Anxiety appears to be the culprit. Iron deficient anemia (one of my conditions) can also cause windedness, but my iron levels are good. And this shortness of breath is different from the windedness I've experienced with my anemia. There's more to the story, part of that having to do with my gums. Suffice it to say, I'm again awed at how the psyche can affect our physical condition.

*~*

Sun setting behind Roan High Knob. 8/19/19. 

"Why would they lie?"

Note: Since publishing this piece, I've edited it like a thousand times (figure of speech), trying to pinpoint what it is I think I want to convey and to do so accurately. Maybe I've succeeded, slightly. It's a complex subject, and can be exhausting. I find myself slipping into the need-to-explain-my-why-behind-my-every-statement mindset. I don't like that mindset. It can really take the joy out of writing, not to mention life and relationships.

*~*

I recently finished rereading James Comey's book, A Higher Loyalty. I, for one, believe Comey and most others who have shared their Trump gaslighting stories.

All that said, I have questioned my self. What of Comey's story? What of others' stories? Are all these people just lying? Why would they lie?

Comey's Trump experiences brought to mind certain people's experiences who had once been in The Way. Memoirs and accounts like Kristen's and Charlene's and Karl's. An abundance of stories online that aren't published in books on paper. The many unpublished stories shared with me in private. Accounts of Wierwille's and Martindale's and others' abuses -- sexual, financial, verbal, emotional, spiritual. I was a lay-leader when in The Way and am not without blame from the verbal/emotional/spiritual abuse that I doled out -- not a lot, but some, following my mentors' examples who followed their mentors' examples ... all backed up by scripture. I'm not absolving myself (or anyone) of personal responsibility, just pointing out that I was doing as I'd been taught alongside the creeping normalization of doctrine over personhood.

When I was loyal to The Way (beginning in 1977), and first heard stories (around 1989/90) of Wierwille's sexual abuses and possible cover-ups...what did I think at the time? How did I rationalize what I heard? How did I keep my cognitive dissonance in check, in the bubble?

Well, some of my rationalization went something like this...

• Dr. Wierwille was human. Humans make mistakes. He shared with us openly that he was only human, that love covers a multitude of sins, that we live in the age of grace, that God is a forgiving Father and He looks on the heart, that people are to be loved and things are to be used. The Bible is full of examples, especially in the Old Testament, of men of God who sinned. The flesh is weak, but God always looks on the heart and has cast our sins as far as the east is from the west.
• Why weren't these accusations brought while Dr. Wierwille was alive? Why wait until he's dead when he can't defend himself? Are the leaders who have split off making these accusations known just because they are jealous and wanted to be president and weren't chosen?
• Some of these accusations are outright looney. How many are based on innuendo? How many are outright lies? If ANY are true, did those women seduce Dr. Wierwille? The devil is the "accuser of the brethren" and the "father of lies." He and his devil spirit realm have access to anything that happens in the senses realm. He will twist and distort and lie, especially about believers who are standing with the Household.
• If ANY accusations have some truth to them ... still, Doctor taught the Word, the Word, and nothing but the Word. The good he's done outweighs any of the bad. And my personal and group experiences with him were always uplifting, always good.
• The devil's ultimate goal is to distort and vanquish the accuracy of th Word, especially the "great mystery" and the "Household." To do that, he attacks the Ministry and its leadership. The Apostle Paul was accused by the brethren. Dr. Wierwille was an apostle bringing old light as new light to our generation.
• My immediate, local leadership has looked into this; they are continuing with The Way. And I trust them. What is the profit in bringing all this dirt up, other than to destroy? The Adversary is always out "to steal, kill, and destroy."

Skip. forward. A WHOLE lot happened between 1989 and the early 2000s. But I and my husband continued with The Way, our children in tow.

~*~  

In 2002, or thereabouts, I was hanging at my favorite hang-out spot, Borders Bookstore in Winston-Salem, journaling. I ended up witnessing to a dude, a black man in his 30s maybe, who had been trying to understand the holy spirit field. He was quite excited about what I was showing him from the scriptures. I was too.

When I gave him my phone number, in case he wanted to check out a fellowship, he responded, still excited, "I'll check it out online and give you a call." I responded, having never searched The Way online and being instructed by leadership to not search online and that the evil things posted online about The Way were inspired by devil spirits and only served to destroy the accuracy of the Word and the Ministry, "Well, you might find some controversial information that isn't accurate. The Ministry has had its problems and been through some changes. If you want to know from the horse's mouth, give me a call." After all, I'd been around for decades; I knew The Ministry, or so I thought.

After that encounter, I felt I should search The Way online; in case the guy called me I could handle whatever questions he might have. That's when I found GreaseSpot Café, an online gathering place for former followers. I chuckled at the name because a follower couldn't forget Craig Martindale, The Way's second president chosen by the founder Victor Paul Wierwille, hollering that folks who left the Household would be a "grease spot by midnight!" Due to a "consensual affair," or so I thought, Craig had "stepped down" from being The Way's president in 2000. He had been out of sight for a year.

I perused the Café and read a bit. I laughed when I read an accusation that Rosalie, who became The Way's third president when Craig was forced to step down, was a lesbian -- the same kind of laughs I'd laughed for decades when folks accused The Way of being a cult, and when I'd heard accusations against Wierwille back around 1989. That's ridiculous. Rosalie a lesbian?! Lol. If this place is saying that, how can anything anyone says here be trusted? I read a little more. Murmurings from embittered former followers, was my impression.

But … I had had my own doubts about things in The Way, doubts that had been building for years; and now I had opened Pandora's box. Plus I'd disobeyed leadership by searching The Way online and reading the words of people who were designated "mark and avoid" for "causing divisions" and teaching doctrines "contrary" to the "accuracy of the Word" and who were either "possessed or influenced by devil spirits."

Still … I went back again and again and again.

As I read and read I thought, Are all these people just lying? Why would they lie?

The dude I witnessed to never did call.

Bullseye

8/01/19
Prompt or not: bullseye
~*~

Winning.
Trump consistently brags about winning.
He rarely mentions service.

In the summer of 2016, when I read Tony Schwartz's exposé, Donald Trump's Ghostwriter Tells All, in The New Yorker, I found myself drawing comparisons to how things turned out with my ex-mental health therapist.

I've been through some bizarre things in my life. Most people might think the trip with jimson weed would be the most bizarre. And it was bizarre. 

Yet, even compared to that, my experience with John Knapp was bizarre and bewildering. The bewilderment has eased as years have passed.

In one of Knapp's thirteen 2011 online smear pieces, he made a statement, "Game on." But he was the only one playing a game. He lied. He threatened. He made himself out as a victim. He name-called. He assigned evil motives. He rallied his supporters, until he then turned on most of them.

Almost a year earlier Knapp's last words to me in an email, where he accused me (among other things) of "destroying our friendship" and of disloyalty were, "Have a nice life." 

Almost a year later Knapp threw those same last words publicly at one of his defenders whom he had turned on. Someone who, like me, had been one of his clients. Someone who, like me, Knapp chastised for their disloyalty.

As I read Schwartz's exposé, it was uncanny -- the similarities with Knapp. But the uncanniest words came at the end when Tony Schwartz writes Trump's last words to him, after Trump chastises Tony for not being loyal and for not remaining silent. Trump said, "Have a nice life."

For a moment, I stopped breathing.