Sundering Undone: The Mending of Shattered Minds Through a Divine Promise
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Sundering Undone: The Mending of Shattered Minds Through a Divine Promise
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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780595456437 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 08/28/2007 |
| Pages: | 96 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.23(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Sundering Undone
The Mending of Shattered Minds Through a Divine PromiseBy Karen Logan
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2007 Karen Logan, M.S.W., L.C.S.W.All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-595-45643-7
Chapter One
Sundering Undone: The Poem
She sits quietly, deep within her mind, fearing what is to come, but knowing it is inescapable. The sins of generations have descended upon the moment. Freedom and truth can no longer be denied. Her body trembles. Her spirit hesitates. But, she is a woman of courage, strength, and grace. She will embrace the pain. In so doing, she will discover there is something to release and something to receive.
I sit quietly alongside her watching her descent into darkness, waiting for the inevitable. We did not ask for this moment; it came of its own choosing and now we are both spectators and participants in this event.
A small frightened child takes her to a place in the past where innocence is sacrificed and goodness dies, a place where pain, sorrow, and betrayal are celebrated by those who have lost their humanity. As she and the child become one, the horrors begin to unfold.
I know all too well this place, this journey, but she does not. I try to comfort and guide her, but the pain is too great. She's lost in the agony and cannot hear my voice. As the memory engulfs her, a look of calm comes over her face. With a soft, reassuring voice, she says to me, "It's OK now, we're all at the river with Him." She pauses before continuing:
I think they're coming at last for me
Blaze, Sage, Damon and Sable
Cross the river
Scooping me into their arms; hugging me, kissing me
Soil their white robes with the blood I am in.
"Don't fret," they say, "don't worry."
"We are all in the cleansing water; the clear river ...
The magic river washes the blood from us all."
On the bank of the river stands God
not at all imposing, but
one who wears the look of a
child's friend.
And these are the words he said:
"My dearest, sweetest child,
The work of my hands is never barter,
and what is mine will never belong
to the Great Evil.
Let them delude and drunken
themselves with power.
For all the evil men and whatever evil device
they may perpetrate or conceive,
will never be as strong as my frailest petal,
as my softest, sweetest girl child.
And thus, is my power made.
Let them rant and bloody and shatter
But know this: you were never alone
for all their slaughtering
I hid and protected your core.
Every tear ever shed, every scream
ever uttered, echoes in my heart.
And know this: in my own time
I will make it right
To each of my delicate, dear
females ever sullied.
And at a time known only to me
I will cause them to walk forth in their ranks,
Standing in the light of day, for they are my power.
And all will watch as the Great Evil
And his slaves shrivel in the Light,
Slink to what they are—death personified.
You have won, little one
because you have comprehended them
And embraced me.
No matter what they do
Your great shadow consumes them.
Go. Whisper to your sisters this hope
that there is a plan, and you are all a part.
You all have won.
Through you, the circle of my love
breaks the power of the darkest circle,
the darkest chant or the most imposing man.
Though it may seem so,
You are never alone.
I have a plan."
—[Sundering Undone 1993]
She left her fear and sorrow at the river that day. She found all of herself and the strength to go on. In the months to come, she returned many times to heal all of those who had suffered on her behalf. Each time she was loved and comforted by the One who stands on the bank of the river. She left her past at His feet and returned with a profound message for all of us.
Early in my career as a psychotherapist, I came face to face with the horrors of child abuse and all of its staggering implications. I was hoping for some reprieve from the tragedies that were already upon me. But, it was too late for that. Entering this arena of healing challenges, shatters and redefines your reality forever. Both therapist and client embark on separate journeys, alone and together. Neither will ever be the same again. But, once decisions are reached and commitments made, the journey begins.
Sundering Undone is the story of a divine promise kept through the healing of five women. This book follows their remarkable healing journey with all those, both seen and unseen, who came to help. Our purpose in writing this book is to share with you the promise, the hope and the reality of healing. Through their journey, these broken hearts and shattered minds rediscovered a power within themselves to heal, a power in which "we all live and move and have our being." (Acts 17:25). In finding this power and sharing it with each other and you, they have kept their promise to "Go. Whisper to your sisters this hope."
Chapter Two
The Gathering
One by one over the course of twelve years, Tori, Ann, Sharon, Joan and Shadow found their way to me. Each came for different reasons, with different pain. There was no apparent connection among them. They came from all over the United States. Four of them were haunted by the vague images and thoughts of childhood sorrow, but were uncertain of their recollections. They were searching for answers, past and present. The other one did not need answers. She was searching for freedom. She had never escaped her abusers and knew full well what her hauntings were about.
A skittish woman with large childlike eyes, Tori often looked like a frightened fawn that could bolt at the slightest provocation. But with nowhere left to run, she spent many hours locked in her bedroom, lost in dissociative states of unawareness. Her husband and three children, who believed her to be depressed and tired, grew accustomed to her bedroom retreats. By the time Tori found the courage to try therapy again, the dissociative episodes were consuming her days.
I felt Tori's fear from the moment I met her, and wondered how to keep her present long enough to explore it. Little did I know at the time that her ability to "leave" was the entrance to where we both needed to go.
Tori had spent eight years in therapy with little relief. She had suffered through medications, misdiagnoses and a failed marriage that she believed was her fault. Her search for answers had only brought more questions and more unrest. She sensed a terror inside, but had found no safe way to explore it. She had recurring dreams of sexual violence and sadistic rituals. She was tired, discouraged and afraid of something unknown. Her closest friend had heard of a group for women and a therapist. She gathered up all her strength, courage and faith to make the journey inward. Standing at the river as a child before God, she found her answers and more, and in so doing, returned with the poem Sundering Undone.
Partially crippled by childhood rickets (more evidence of parental neglect), Sharon's flight from then to now was more of a labored hobble. As she made her way into my office, Sharon took relief in just sitting down for an hour. I immediately wanted to make her more comfortable than my office furniture would allow. Plagued by additional complaints of fibromyalgia and severe asthma, Sharon's pear shaped body looked far too tired and burdened for a woman in her mid-thirties.
Her hair was cropped short as if to have one less thing to manage in her life. I could see when she smiled that at least one tooth was missing, but Medicaid didn't cover crowns or bridgework. Sharon was living on government assistance with her two adolescent children, had no car and was getting additional financial help from her church to pay the rent for an apartment that should have been condemned. I felt sad for her and angry at society for not taking better care of good people. But Sharon did not want my sadness, pity or outrage. Both of her children were already showing signs of posttraumatic stress and dissociative behaviors. Sharon wanted my help to heal herself so she could be there for her children because that is what good mothers do.
Sharon had been running her whole life from persecutors she knew all too well. She ran from a sadistic adoptive mother who cursed her existence. She ran from her mother's angry, vengeful God who justified a childhood of punishment. She ran from the other religion her family practiced at night in secret places with pedophiles and perverted theology. She turned to drugs and alcohol to dull the pain of a tortured adolescence. She fled two abusive marriages. She ran away with her children hoping to spare them her own fate. Voices inside her head taunted and degraded her with punitive scriptures and warnings for the wicked. One day she heard a small, comforting voice that urged her to run one more time. Her final flight was guided by a different kind of voice than she had ever heard before. She listened.
At first glance, Ann looked like a six-foot-tall overgrown cherub; a displaced angel who must have taken a wrong turn on the upside and fallen to earth. Her silky blonde hair, rosy complexion and soft smile were truly angelic. Her presence was pure and unassuming, almost apologetic for taking up space. Sometimes Ann moved as if she were still trying to understand gravity, bumping into things and then laughing at herself. She had to be a newcomer to this place, one who had received a most ungracious welcome. Ann's descent into matter had shown her the worst humanity had to offer. Now, with the little otherworldly optimism that remained, she began her search for the better side of life.
Ann never understood why her life was always in such a state of chaos. Nothing good ever lasted. Jobs, friends, relationships and schools changed as often as she did. She was 35 years old and had never finished anything in her life. She trusted no one and expected the worst from everyone and everything. She longed for stability and contentment, but was driven by fears she did not understand, anger that could not be satisfied and a sadness that seemed to have no cause. Ann had spent much of her childhood in this mountain valley and felt compelled to return to this place. She would return to bring order to chaos.
Joan moved out west to work, go to college and build a life away from her family. But, the peace and fulfillment she sought was shattered one day when a child confided in Joan that she was being molested by her father. As this child shared her secret, Joan realized she had kept her own secrets, buried deep within a time that no longer seemed real. Joan reported the abuse, but there was not enough evidence to pursue an investigation. She believed the child, but could do nothing. As Joan's helplessness turned to anger and sadness, she began to question her own childhood. The reality of a child betrayed became her own. She could not help this child, but would find a way to help herself.
Joan and I hit it off from the beginning. She was my first paying client in private practice. She had taken two months of family medical leave from work, requested a female therapist who specialized in childhood trauma, and arrived at her first appointment ready to do the work. After six years of working in an agency for someone else, I was excited to escort Joan to my new office, my new furniture and my new life.
I sipped my afternoon coffee and studied Joan as she began to tell her story. For a thirty-two year old woman who had never been in therapy before, Joan seemed to know exactly where she needed to go and how long she had to get there. She was as organized and responsible in her approach to treatment as she was as a health care professional. There was also a strength and grace about Joan, a great and quiet presence not acquired in this lifetime, but something much more ancient. Her strength, gentleness, energy, even her physical appearance (thick upper body, narrow hips and strong legs) reminded me of a buffalo; not just any buffalo (that could be quite insulting), but the sacred white buffalo woman of native mythology who appeared centuries ago to the American Indians. First, she appeared as a white buffalo calf and then turned into a beautiful woman, teaching the tribes of North America about love, compassion and the connection of all things to the Great Spirit. I wondered what Joan would teach me.
After our first session, Joan brought her own coffee. By the third session, she brought coffee for both of us. Private practice was working for me. Six months later, Joan announced that she was finished with therapy and that this would be our last session. She was, in fact, correct. Joan had done two years of therapy in six months. I said (among others things), "So.... does this mean no more coffee?"
The day of Shadow's first appointment, I walked into the waiting room that I shared with five other therapists to greet her. I saw one individual dressed in camouflage pants, hiking boots, an insulated jacket and a cap with a mallard duck on it. I thought, "It must be hunting season" and returned to my office. Moments later, I checked the waiting room again-still only one "hunter." It was Shadow. A short, stocky woman with enough hair to be covered by a baseball hat, Shadow looked like someone who should be on the cover of Outdoor Life magazine. And yes, she was a hunter. She also taught hunter safety classes and had a concealed weapon permit. As I became more familiar with her history, I wasn't sure if I felt more or less safe knowing that.
Shadow was an honorable woman; honest, responsible and competent in many areas usually reserved for men. Both her male and female friends admired her versatility and integrity. In the midst of all the chaos in her life, she had managed to finish college, hold the same job for fifteen years and surround herself with good people who respected her. Shadow knew the importance of maintaining a respectable public life, not as a cover, but as a way of reclaiming herself. I quickly learned from Shadow that it was always hunting season. She was the prey. But what the cult (or "group" as she called them) failed to realize in their relentless pursuit of her was that the hunted would eventually become the hunter. They had taught her well, too well. In addition to the wild game that Shadow harvested, she also had another kind of beast by the horns and was determined to thin its menacing herd, no matter the cost, no matter the outcome.
Shadow was born into a family that had practiced Satanism for generations. She was indoctrinated into their practices from birth. For thirty-seven years, she endured sadistic rituals designed to fragment her mind and capture her soul. As soon as she could run, she did. She fled seven states in ten years trying to escape the cult's grasp on her, only to be caught and punished time and time again. For centuries, leadership of this group had followed the family bloodline, and she was next. Shadow had rejected their claim to her and would need help even surviving. The penalty for breaking the bloodline of power was death. At the conclusion of our first psychotherapy session, Shadow asked, "Where have you been all of my life?" I answered with a question, "Trying to learn how to help you?"
By the time Shadow began therapy, I had been practicing for fifteen years. I knew the way back to the river. I knew that across the river in those unseen, parallel planes, guardians, healers and guides would provide all the help we needed. I had come to know them as friends; including one I call Mother Light who I believe is the female counterpart of God the Father. As my guide, teacher and comforter, I knew She remained ever close and committed. I better understood the miraculous defense mechanism of dissociation and multiplicity. I had developed a more complete understanding of the poem Sundering Undone. By now, I realized that it was not possible to treat survivors of ritualistic abuse with traditional psychology alone. Ritualistic abuse (or any abuse for that matter) is spiritual abuse, separating its' victims from their own innate goodness by any means available. Like it or not, any therapist entering this arena will delay treatment, be less effective and even negate the experiences of their clients if not open to the spiritual implications and realities of ritual abuse. I had no illusions about the magnitude of evil on this planet and what perpetrators are capable of in their pursuit of power, pleasure and profit. But, at the same time, I had witnessed the power of truth and seen love shatter lies and heal wounds in ways I never believed possible. Yes, I had learned much from Tori, Sharon, Ann, Joan and many others. Each had provided more pieces to an emerging prototype of treatment. So, with some degree of confidence, I told Shadow I could help her. Having said that, I also knew that treating someone who was still being accessed by a cult had its own unique challenges and dangers. I had taken on this task several times before, but with no one as valuable to the cult as Shadow. With all the precautions I had exercised previously (being physically vigilant and professionally impeccable), I hoped to God I hadn't overestimated my abilities and underestimated the risks with Shadow. Time would tell.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sundering Undone by Karen Logan Copyright © 2007 by Karen Logan, M.S.W., L.C.S.W.. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. 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.
Table of Contents
Contents
Chapter 1 Sundering Undone: The Poem....................1Chapter 2 The Gathering....................5
Chapter 3 Shattered, But Unbroken....................12
Chapter 4 The Crucible....................21
Chapter 5 From Darkness Whispers Hope....................29
Chapter 6 Where Healing Waters Flow....................37
Chapter 7 Nexus....................50
Chapter 8 Reaching Out....................60
Chapter 9 The Reach Beyond....................67
Afterword....................77
Sundering Undone 1993....................81