Emerging From the Matrix: Healing Human Trauma and Ending Global Enslavement

by Salini

Overview

"Love always wins in the end darling daughter. Bless this beautiful book."

-Holy Mother Ammachi

"This book is a 'must-read' for anyone with chronic illness and a history of trauma. Salini's heart-felt words and sharing of her long and difficult journey gives us all hope and truth that we can all heal from trauma, no matter how severe, with the inclusion of positive thought and knowledge of higher forces leading us on truly spiritual paths."

-Daniel Beilin, O.M.D., L. Ac. Aptos, California, Doctor of Integrative Medicine, Lecturer in Regulation Thermography.

This is a true chronicle of powerful lessons learned at the hands of dark power while tempered by the forces of light. Salini is a secret society daughter born into a dark, global organization of domination, hatred and violence, yet through her mother she is also the heir to a powerful legacy of female healers and shamans hailing from a long lineage of love, light and awakening. Salini was forced to reconcile the two together to prevail, alchemically bringing forth a great healing power to alleviate humanity's suffering. These are the lessons she learned both as a sex slave and as an initiate into love and healing. This is who she became in dying and resurrecting herself. And this is the healing she offers for those still in bondage.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781504334921
Publisher:	Balboa Press
Publication date:	09/18/2015
Pages:	542
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.38(d)

Read an Excerpt

Emerging From the Matrix

Healing Human Trauma and Ending Global Enslavement

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By Salini

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Salini
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-3490-7

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CHAPTER 1

The Silence

And no one dare disturb the sound of silence....

~ Simon and Garfunkel

I was slumped over my desk again. My neck and back ached. I must have fallen asleep writing.

"Damn, not again. Why do I always fall asleep when I get to this point?" I said to myself out loud.

I got up and walked around. I stretched my arms down to my toes. Then I sat down and did some yoga until I felt the muscles release. Soon I was gripping the soles of my feet. The blood began to flow. I went into the child pose and stayed that way a while. I did my breathing exercises and soon I felt a peace enter in. I walked outside to the lawn where the weeping willow was. I sat under it and started meditating. Eventually, I felt the serenity flow through me. I chanted my mantra 108 times with my mala beads in hand. Again, peace flowed through me. I was ready to write again. So, I went back inside and sat at my computer.

So what was it? What was it that kept happening?

It was the silence and it was back again ... the nameless, invisible, everywhere choking void. ... so elusive and all-pervasive. It just snuck up on me ... like a foggy morning camping at the seashore......on you before you even woke up. I never saw it coming and didn't understand what I was feeling. ... not then anyway. All I knew was that every time I sat down to write this book, there it was - threatening me, holding its dark hand of terror to my face, as though it were about to cover my mouth. It was so close that sometimes I thought I could see it. Something was warning me to stay silent. ... or else.

But what was the or else? That was the inexorable crux of the problem. Like an ever-present, unseen Facebook friend with an anime icon, it refused to tell me its real name ... but continued to threaten me every time I tried to express the truth. I felt totally thwarted, frozen in time and place, unable to speak or change the reality of the situation. And I stayed that way for a long time.

I'm not certain when the silence began, but I'm sure it was very early, because I can never remember not feeling the terror. The terror of ... you must never, ever tell ... anyone! But the irony was I knew I wasn't supposed to tell, but I couldn't remember what I wasn't sup- posed to tell. At least not at first. Why was everything so murky, dark, and creepy? I had questions a small child cannot answer for herself. And when you live with adults who themselves cannot or will not answer them, and who also live in terror, there is nowhere to go with this reality but deeply inward.

So, that's where I went back then. Deeply inward to another, safer self than the one who had to live outside in the terror. I traveled to a place where there was light, beauty, peace and a sense of oneness with something greater ... more benevolent. But I didn't know what that was either then. How could I? I was just a little girl. I just knew I always wanted to be there instead of where I was living every pain-filled day of my young life.

I found it for a while in the tree behind the house. I still don't know what kind of tree it was, but it sure was big. This sprawling tree with its thick, twisted fingers of strong branches grew behind the hidden woodshed in the back yard of the house on Davis Street. It was only accessible by walking the edge of the high fence behind the house, or by making your way into the fenced-off jungly foliage behind my bedroom where no one ever went. It was far too scary to venture into that jungle. Seeing what was in there was impossible. It lent itself to my imagining frightening scenarios going on in there, like prehistoric monsters or magical forest creatures I had read about in books.

Either way, no one dared to follow me or look for me there, so I frequently stole back to the tree and climbed it. No one could see me once I got into the tree. The branches and leaves were just too thick. They made a billowy canopy that felt like a cool blanket lightly draped over me. I imagined myself to be a camouflaged bird, unseen and unheard, safe from predators. So the tree became one of my safe havens. Sometimes I brought lunch up there and sat there for hours, munching apples or potato chips. After eating, I would lie on a branch and meditate amongst the leaves.

And if I felt extra adventurous, I would walk onto one of the branches straight onto the roof because the bigger branches straddled the bedroom roof. I could just stroll right out onto the rooftop. I did that when I felt bolder and wanted to see Mom and Dad come out looking for me. I would walk over to the chimney and lean against it. Someone would come out and call my name. I would sit down so they couldn't see me and watch for them to reach the grassy yard and come into view. I could see them but they couldn't see me. It made me feel just a little bit powerful for once. Their voices called out, but I never answered. The roof and the tree were my sanctuaries, the places where they couldn't find me. They couldn't hurt me there. So I went there whenever possible and found the place of light inside myself.

There were other sanctuaries along the way, other hiding places to run from the monsters. But in the tree, at the church nearby and inside my soul, these were the most treasured sanctuaries to this small girl. ... little Mighty McGinty as they often called me. Nicknamed me after an old Irish priest of all things. And what a magical leprechaun of a guy he was. I guess I lived up to the nickname because my adventures just kept on coming.

Yep, I came to this place called Earth on a quest, the heroine's journey. But what little girl knows that? Even if she is named the Mighty McGinty.

That was when my soul transformation began. I had been gravely wounded then, but I was already seeking relief from the pain in God. I just didn't know it yet. I thought this was how all little girls lived – afraid, alone and in pain every single day.

So, I slipped on my SuperGirl cape, strapped on what weapons I had gathered in life so far, and ventured forth into the frightening jungle called life. Mighty McGinty was born.

But I never, ever broke the silence. Not until today ...

* * *

It was dinnertime, or the tail end of dinner I should say. Another gourmet meal from Mom. Wieners and sauerkraut, sliced white bread and milk. That was it. We were allotted one serving of each at dinners usually. Rarely was anything left over, there was so little to eat most nights. Except on wieners and sauerkraut night. No one wanted to eat much those nights. It was slim pickings when it came to food at our house. Mom and Dad were Depression-era parents and they never got over it. You had to eat every bite, or else, whether it was any good or not. And it could be cold leftovers, something out of a can, or just a disgusting slab of liver. There was always a hard piece of wood or a belt nearby to remind you just in case you resisted. But, I always knew how to get around that. Hell, that's what napkins were for, and glasses of milk ... and dogs. Saved me a few beatings, those sweet dogs did. They suffered alongside me stoically and loyally. We knew what was in store for us if we disobeyed, so they never betrayed me. Partners in crime we were.

"Pass the wienies and sauerkraut please." Dad barked loudly. I jumped a mile. He had his napkin stuck in his collar and it was hanging down in the shape of a triangle protecting his chest from a possible waterfall of sauerkraut juice. A strong possibility the way he ate. A fork and a knife were in each hand held upright like weapons. There was even a string of sauerkraut stuck to his cheek. It seemed like we were all seated at a medieval round table, waiting for the King to speak. I stared at his cheek. The sauerkraut there bothered me.

Mom specialized in weird, quickie dishes like this. I was used to it, but this one was my least favorite meal. This, and liver and onions night. Tonight it was canned sauerkraut that she boiled into limp, lifeless ribbons with chopped up coins of spongy wienies floating on top, soft and colorless ... just water, no spices. A foggy, void soup of a meal. So, yeah, there was definitely some leftover. Other nights we were treated with defrosted, pre-packaged chicken pot pies. At least those had some sauce and flavor. Sometimes there was Spam. Dad hated it when she served Spam. That's all he had to eat during the war so he didn't much like it. I think that's why Mom served it. All she knew how to do to get back at Dad when he was mean, which was pretty much all the time, was passive-aggressive stuff like that. He was too scary to confront directly. You took your life in your hands if you challenged him.

My favorite meal was salad, rice and teriyaki beef sandwiches. They made that meal special for my birthdays. Dad loved to barbecue, so he would barbecue it himself for me. Those were the good nights. And at least once in a while, we had a good meal ... and a night of peace.

Looks like Dad was going for it. He took the sauerkraut bowl from Mom.

"Don't you want some McGinty?" Dad taunted me.

I shook my head. "No. I don't like sauerkraut, you know that Dad." He laughed and scooped the rest into his plate and began to chomp it down. He took a few swigs of whatever he was drinking. Probably some scotch or gin. I had seen the liquor bottles out so I knew he was drinking. Mom probably was too, always vodka for her. They both drank most every night but I never realized how much back then.

Everyone finished up eating, mostly in silence. Dinner could be touchy. We never knew when Dad would get upset again. So most of the time we didn't talk a lot, or we talked about school. I listened to my siblings talk about their school experiences. I had finished my meal. I waited until I thought enough time had passed.

"May I be excused?" I asked looking around cautiously.

"Sure honey." Mom said. She smiled at me.

"But start cleaning up," Dad snorted, "We have guests coming over soon."

I took my plate into the kitchen and washed it and my utensils, putting them into the drain board. I came back and cleared some empty serving bowls and washed those too. I had done my part. My siblings would have to do the rest. Then I went to my room and closed the door. That was where I could be alone, safe and quiet. I could think things over; I could play with my dolls and make happy family scenarios. After a while there was a knock on my door.

"Come on out McGinty!" Dad was at the door.

"What do you want?" I answered.

"It's the Coopers. I told them about you and what you could do.

Come out and show them sweetie."

"Oh, not again, really?" I opened the door. He was grinning. He probably had enough gin to make him happy. Maybe it will be a good night tonight, I thought.

When he was nice, sometimes he was okay. I smiled at him.

"Okay, Daddy. Give me a minute to get ready. Tell everyone to be ready." I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. An actress for sure. I never enjoyed anything as much as performing. Mom and Dad seemed to really like it, so every so often they would ask me to perform for their friends. Looks like tonight was going to be one of those nights.

I got out my special costume and put it on. I had some lipstick I borrowed from Mama so I got it out and put that on too. I even had her long costume diamond earrings. I put them on, then caught a glance in the mirror. A smile spread across my face. I was ready.

"Won't they be surprised?" I whispered to myself. And then I slipped out of my bedroom door, into the hall and burst out into the living room.

Everyone was in the living room waiting for me. I went into my Mae West routine. I hunched up my shoulders, put my hands on my hips and swiveled them around. Then I tossed my hair back with one hand and strutted across the room.

"Hey there big boys!! Why dontcha come up and see me sometime?"

Everyone burst out laughing. I had my long satin dress on, the one I found at the neighbor's garage sale. It was purple and had sparkles on it. So pretty and shiny. Definitely a show dress. Mama had some pretty long gloves, black ones with beads on them. I was wearing those too. I started singing Mae's big hit......and danced around the room.

Frankie and Johnny were lovers Swore to be true to each other But there sat her lover man Johnny, makin' love to Nellie Bly Yeah he was her man, but he was doin' her wrong

When the song ended, the whole room was in an uproar of laughter and cheering. I closed it out by sashaying over to Mr. Cooper and winking and repeating Mae's line, "Why don't you come up and see me sometime?"

They gave me a standing ovation. I looked over to Mama and Daddy. They were smiling at me. I had pleased everyone tonight. I could rest peacefully this time.

"Good girl. Now go to bed honey." Mom said.

I kissed her goodnight, waved goodbye to everyone and went back to my room. Got my jammies on, brushed my teeth and got in bed. I got out a book and read awhile. After some time, the noise quieted down. I fell asleep.

Then, I felt something next to me. I don't know how long I had been asleep or how much time had passed but the house was quiet. My sister wasn't home. Someone was shaking me awake. And then I felt his sweaty hands ... and his hot, alcoholic breath on my neck.

"Daddy, no!" I gasped in terror. "I was a good girl wasn't I? I tried so hard; didn't I do a good job?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter," he growled deep into my ear. "You'll always be my bad girl. And no one will ever, ever love you, not like I do, not like this. Just remember that always."

I started to cry and shallow breathe. I thought I might vomit. I felt his hand come quickly over my mouth to silence me. "Shut up if you know what's good for you." He whispered threateningly and tightened his grip on my face until my cheekbones hurt. I sucked in a sharp, scared breath and held it in. And it began, just like it had so many nights before, for as long as I could remember.....until I couldn't bear to remember anymore. ... and he taught me how to forget.

And so it continued throughout my childhood, and in different ways into my adulthood. He was my own personal lifetime stalker. He never left me alone, always appearing and threatening me in some way. I stopped remembering somewhere in there out of sheer survival instinct. The situation was so hostile and dangerous that even as a small child I knew my life was in danger. I suppressed it when I was very small. I didn't remember then. Not until much later.

But during that period I also experienced the first of my mystical encounters. I was too small to understand what was going on and usually too scared to look. But every night when I was in bed crying and trying to sleep, I saw a man sitting in the corner of my room looking at me. He often came out of the closet as soon as I returned from an abuse episode and walked towards me. I was terrified of him. I would cry and tell him to stop and go away. He would obey and stop and just watch from a distance. I saw him nearly every night for years. One night, when I was about 3 years old, I was crying hard and chewing on my hand after an abuse episode. I was too distraught to realize he was coming towards me until it was too late. Suddenly he reached me. I was scared and took a deep in-breath. He leaned down gently over me and held my hand, softly pulling it from my mouth. He sat near me for a moment and said, "You don't need this anymore. I'm here to protect you now and always." I stared at him and realized he wasn't going to hurt me. Later I realized he was a guardian angel there to comfort me after the abuse. Or perhaps Jesus himself. I allowed him to be near me after that but at some point he disappeared. Or I couldn't see him anymore. I was receiving so much abuse that after a while my perception was dulled. I prayed for him, he may have been there. But I couldn't see him. But now I knew there was someone looking out for me.

Life went on. And they devised so many special ways to silence me. As a result, I learned to hold in my feelings very deeply and tried to control my responses unnaturally. I was being conditioned into suppression. And so I learned to be silent, and I learned to forget, escaping into a world of creativity, writing newspapers, music, plays, stories, movies and home melodramas that I wrote, staged and acted out myself or with my best friend.

Part of the abuse included the family ridiculing my feelings. Compassion or comfort for me was forbidden. Of course, they were always at risk as well. Forgetfulness, denial and then unconscious behavior set in for everyone. When the abuse began, they fogged out. That's the only way a disempowered person can live in such an environment. The blame had to rest elsewhere. ... and I was chosen. They had their scapegoat.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Emerging From the Matrix by Salini. Copyright © 2015 Salini. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

1 The Silence, 1,
2 The Beginning, 21,
3 The Wound ~ Sex Slavery, 41,
4 Walking Dead ~ The Separation, 77,
5 Initiations, 107,
6 The Sacrifice, 133,
7 The Secret Holocaust, 151,
8 Exiting the Matrix, 181,
9 The Rape and Resurrection of The Divine Mother, 195,
10 Energetic & Emotional Anatomy, 233,
11 The Trauma Codes, 271,
12 Trauma as Transformation, 311,
13 Sacred Alchemy, Reiki & The Truth About Healing, 343,
14 Soul Transformation & Reiki Healing Miracles, 371,
15 The Great Awakening, 449,
16 Glossary of Terms, 473,