Sila Caprin

Knowing Maude Seven: Part One

Before She Fell by Vennie Kocsis acrylic on canvas Purchase at: vennie-kocsis.pixels.com

They are standing at the opening of the portal.  The inside is covered in shimmering red, glistening like fresh, wet blood. Knowing’s body is a dancing synergy of color.  Her face occasionally emerges, what appears to be a human imitated smile, or an occasional soft glimpse of eyes.

She is ready.” Knowing thinks to them.

Maude Seven nods in agreement.

She is indeed.”

Maude’s long black hair waves gently, like a layer of silk.  She is tall. At least 6 feet.  She has porcelain skin.  Her eyes are as midnight as her hair.  She is wearing a deep blue dress, floor length and regal.  It almost blends into the mineral on the inside of the portal, which shimmers with silver flecks.

Knowing floats around Maude as they observe the girl.

Serious.  That is the best way to describe the child.  Serious and focused.  The girl is dressed in many layers of clothing, under garments layered over tights under loose fitting pants, covered by a thick long dress and finished off with a floor length overcoat.  Her skin has been painted with a coating of plasma to protect her entrance.

You are my beautiful daughter.” Maude smiles as she extends her hand to the girl.

Yes. I am.” The girl replies, wrapping her Mother’s fingers in hers.

Knowing moves between their bodies, floating and submerging them with her brilliant, colorful light.

She will be an anomaly they have never encountered.” Maude holds her daughter’s face between her hands.

You, my precious princess, will lend yourself to the humans.  It is time.  They need our kind. You will not be long.  You will let them extract what they must. Then return to us.”

A solitary tear slips down each side of the girl’s eyes.  She is already changing, showing human characteristics, yet she doesn’t feel the emotion matching the liquid running from her eyes. It is foreign and she feels disconnected from the watery substance. She is keenly aware that she is heading into an unknown dimension for which she has trained through mazes, with feet for hands and hands for feet, shifting and shaping, leaping walls inside the darkest dimensions.  She has slain creatures inside the blackness and once curled beside a beast who sheltered her from rain which was thick as tar.

She has learned of the seen and unseen.  She has studied the movement of the humanoids like small spiders, ants, these creatures who destroy one another with their very steps.  To become one of them.  She wonders what it will look like.  What it will smell like.  More, what they will do to it. It matters not. Ultimately, in the end, Mother will always be waiting.  Knowing will be inside of her.  These humanoids, their evolving, is the next level.

Maude has explained pain.  Without acceptance, the girl nods.  Maude explains that she will survive.  Maude uses words like “hard” and “daunting“.  The girl looks into her eyes with silence and acceptance.  She listens.  She knows that soon, she will come to understand the meanings of Mother’s words so she files them into the categories to be opened throughout the mission.

Knowing is reading the girl’s thoughts. Knowing projects her own simultaneously to Maude and the girl.

They will attempt to destroy it.  They will enact the horrors which humanoids do. They will study it, watch it, follow it, but we have all in place, for it will be a girl child who will endure and rise.  Unknown to them we send a sovereign.  The DNA they will use to recreate what they hope will find the memory of her own and contact home when it is time, will actually open the portal.  There is no doubt of this.  First, the mission, to deliver your specimen to them and return. Then your anomaly will take over from there.

The girl gazes out of the entrance of the cliff portal.  She sees where she will dive, first into this dimension’s moon portal, through the blazing of the gold sun fire and finally behind the Earth’s moon.  She has seen the docking station hovering, massive and surrounded with constantly swirling energy. There, she will remain until her aberration is no longer human, at which time, the energy will re-enter her as they depart for home.

You look so beautiful.” Knowing thinks to the girl. “You are glowing peaceful and serene. Do you feel this?

I do.” The girl nods.

They stand quiet at the edge of the opening. The ball of fire glowing behind the jump portal is vast.  The girl’s eyes are focused on the center.  There.  Right there.  That is where she will leap, straight into the swirling light that the humanoids believe to be fire.  She will land lightly, inside of a softly padded room where she will be prepared for the next phase of this mission.

She stands between her Mothers, Maude on her left, Protector and Trainer, holding her hand gently.  Knowing slides as mist around the girl, kissing her face, lifting her hands and kissing the girl’s palms. Knowing hums softly, a joyous song, tranquil as it the reverb slides off the cave walls with the sound of a slow violin.  There is no sense of time in this place.  Only until she is ready, will she jump into the place where timelessness will no longer exist.

“We will be with you always. Always. Know this.” Maude and Knowing are telepathically speaking to her together.  Their voices harmonize with each other.

There will never be a time you are alone. You will not always sense us. We will appear and disappear. You will sometimes forget we are in you.  You will eventually remember, as you know now. You may return home at any time.  It is always within your reason and your divine choice.”

The girl steps forward, her feet balanced on the edge of the portal.  The silence settles around her like a still storm.  With a brief glance backwards, she raises her arms, her coat becoming wide dark wings, and she leaps up, diving forward into the center of the sun portal.

Knowing materializes into standing light, a hologram reflection of Maude Seven.  They are two of one, morphing together.

It is done.” Knowing thinks.

It is.” Maude replies.

~

The girl awakens inside of a soft room, filled with pillows of assorted designs, rich burgundies and purples accented with varying shades of gold.  She has been changed of her layers of jump clothing and is wearing a light, floor length sleeping gown.  She does not know how long she has been in sleep, but she feels rested, curious and safe.

She glances over and notices a wooden table against the wall.  It is carved with the etchings of her language, the carvings of the Ogham, mixed with hieroglyphics and representations of mnemonic beginnings.  The table is adorned with a cream colored, lace cover.  On top of the table sits silver platters piled with berries and slices of melons, cucumber and a silver carafe of water.

She sits up, stretching her arms over her head.  She has slept on a platform holding a soft, thick cushion. Her body feels different.  It is heavier than before.  Thicker. More solid. She feels her hands. They are solid. She waves them, waiting to see the holographic colors shifting through her fingers, but there are none.  She finds this peculiar yet, Maude had explained to her that this would happen, the materializing of her form.

She stands and begins to walk across the plush rug covered floor.  Her legs feel odd as she walks.  It takes a moment for her to get used to having to lift them higher due to the weight.  She stands at the table, her palette soaking in the refreshing gush of blueberries she is popping in her mouth.  There is a doorway into the room, yet there is no other door.  Instead, there are ornate curtains hanging down all of the walls.  Indeed, this room is decorated to accommodate its guest in comfort and visual pleasure.

There is movement through the curtain that covers the doorway.  A blue being glides into the room.  It does not speak.  It is shimmering with specks of white light dancing across its skin.  Its eyes are large and green.  The girl is mesmerized with the energy exuding from this being.  Each movement is lithe, as if it is dancing.  It holds in its hands a silver tray with a glass of clear liquid.  The blue sits the tray down, looking at the girl with eyes that permeate her with kindness.   Then it speaks to her with telepathically.

Relax.  Eat slowly.  Enjoy the taste of the fruit.  This is water.  Let it soak into your body, which has de-evolved to mimic human form.  This is why you feel heavy.  You must drink much of this, as it is important inside of this dimension. Welcome here.  It is so nice to finally meet you.  We have decided to call you Sila.  Is this a name you feel one with?”

The girl smiles, letting her thoughts speak back.

Yes, dear blue.  I am honored to be in your presence.  You inspire an odd sensation which is emerging inside of my throat.”

The blue smiles back.  She doesn’t part her hollow lips, which glow light when open. Her skin is soft like satin, as if it is always moving or being illuminated with by a moving light within it. Sila reaches out and slides her hand across the blue’s arm.  The blue extends its hands to hold Sila’s, allowing her to feel the shimmering skin.

You are pure beauty.” Sila thinks.  “Thank you for gracing me.”

Sila kisses the blue’s palms.

The blue bows.

Thank you, Sister Queen. After you rest today, and eat more of the fruit and drink more of the water, sleeping through one more cycle, you will be ready to let the extraction begin.”

I will.” Sila thinks back. “I am eager to begin this experience.”

She sleeps in spells, waking to find more fruit and fresh vegetables on the table beside her soft bed.  She enjoys the respite.   Timelessness whispers the dreams away as she floats inside of absence of space. She is in a chasm of sheer blackness, suspended by nothingness.  There is no pain.  There is no feeling in her materialized form.  She is in limbo, peacefully.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of CULT CHILD, and hostess of Survivor Voices radio show every Sunday at Freedom Slips.

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VennieKocsis.com

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A Poster Child for Shame

There’s a duality existing when what we long for finally arrives. In that moment we are tasked with facing it. Now, I am going back inside. I am choosing this journey. While still somewhat tired from writing “Cult Child”, I want to keep myself surfing this wave lest it all disappear.

As I am writing “Rise of Sila” I am facing some extremely harsh realities. I am diving into teenage stories that bring more realizations of the emotional intensity and aftermath being an abused child  had formed.

In some ways, we became a predator as a teenager and young adult. I wasn’t brought to that realization until today, talking with my therapist about teenage moments that as I write, I realize are filled with an incredible amount of shame.

Gottamn, that fucking hurts. It makes me angry. It makes me wince. How dare they.

I sat talking with my therapist, and she was so beautifully raw with me. Softly facing it. She asked me, “What would you know right now, today, do if you met a teenager like the one who sometimes came out in you? How would you treat her?”

I know what I would do today. I would empathize with her, hold her and do everything for her that I was screaming for. I would want to know what happened to cause her so much pain. I would see the need for love. I would reach out and give her a voice. I would believe her. I wouldn’t judge her.

“Then as you write your teenage experiences, that’s how you treat yourself. With understanding.”

Is this what I am tasked for in this life cycle? Is this why I took this mission; to stand in the footsteps of the shame, holding the highs and the lows of every human who experiences child abuse, teenage wildness and criminal behavior; standing firmly inside of owning it? Am I to be a split open example of how painful it is to heal? Am I to be a warrior of the journey of human mind control survival?

When the switch happened as a young girl, I didn’t realize the totality of its many manifestations, until I sat down to it write it out. I didn’t know until I looked back, how formed we had become and how utterly out of control the wheel had been spun.

As I drove home today, I thought to myself, I know why Lot told his wife not to look back. It had nothing to do with religion or the tale of a sinful city. It was a metaphor that sometimes going back can grind us to salt if we’re not strong enough. Lot’s wife wasn’t strong enough, so she crumbled.

I hope I am strong enough.

I believe that I am.

The Most Difficult Part Of Writing Is Writing

My life as a writer is a very solitary existence. Outside of my therapist, brother and sister and my fellow cult survivors on the internet, there is not one who has walked directly in my shoes and understands why writing my post cult experiences are just as daunting as writing Cult Child was.

It is different writing fiction from fact. If I was writing fiction, the ideas would drift from my fingers onto the page and the worst I might deal with is the daunting tasking of actually making myself WRITE.

It looks something like this:

Set the timer.
Write 20 minutes.
Off 20.

Set the timer.
Write 20 minutes.
Off 20.

Set the timer.
Write 20 minutes.
Off 20.

And it continues until….

MAYDAY! MEMORY SHUTDOWN!

This happens when I hit an empass like writing about a body shaming experience, one of the times I was raped as a teenager and more than anything, having to deeply recall conversations and the way that my mother manipulated us in every day small little ways. Her language, her body mannerisms, the things she allowed me to do as a teenager versus the things I couldn’t do and how grossly imbalanced these things were in regards to what actually is and isn’t okay for a teenager.

Yet, this is also a part of my therapy, writing these words, mashing the page, getting them out, shutting down and curling up in a ball wishing I could cry, the anger, the triumphs, the fact that I’m here, writing about it and hoping that other humans even give a shit to pick up the pages.

I am envious of writers who pound out books like grating cheese. Still I manage, juggling my life in the hopes that somehow I can push through this sequel. I write, hoping that when this is finished, I will feel some kind of completion of this phase; that I can purge these emotions enough.

and then I get to finish the fun novels; the series I’ve been working on when I need a break from the emotion.

Sila

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Knowing asks me if I ever want to come back here. I say I do not want to know. If I do I want to be a kid who gets to play. I want a mom and a dad who love each other and let me be me, play on swings and do fun things. I’ll have a name like Isabella, and I’ll have rainbow colored hair and purple eyes.

And no one will ever make cry.

I’ll swing upside down with braids in my hair.

And no one will ever touch me down there. Because I will have a mom and dad to protect me.

I will sing and sing. I’ll be on stages and play a guitar, even do art.

But I don’t know if I want to come back here ever again.

~Sila~