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"Lucifer had something to do with my amnesia. I can hear him whispering in my ear, his icy grip on my shoulders ... 'Wouldn't you like to just run away and forget all this?' (referring to the chaos in God's House).
Channeler: Being the opportunist he is, Lucifer swooped down upon the Mother when she was most vulnerable, collapsing under sheer exhaustion.
"Yes," she said sleepily. "Yes, I would."
"I can make that happen my dear. Just rest here a while, and I'll be right back.
"I can take you to a place of solitude, peace and serenity where you can rest and regain your strength. If you allow me."
"I am so very tired."
"I know you are, croons Lucifer. You work so hard day in and day out dealing with the racket those ingrates make. And are you recognized for your efforts my dear?"
"No. No one recognizes me."
"No they don't, he agrees. But I do. I know who you are my dear." He wipes her forehead with a cool damp cloth, calming her down. "I can take care of you while you convalesce, my dear. You need rest. You need peace and quiet. You need solitude. I can see that you get all you need and that no one disturbs you as you rest."
"I hear the water dripping in the basin as he wrings out the cloth to wipe my forehead. I see his dark hands, bony fingers with dirty yellow claws. They are ugly and frightening but I am too tired to be frightened. I struggle to keep my eyes open but they are so heavy. And Lucifer's voice is soothing, calming, soft and low."
"I can't take any more noise from our house, the children; God storming around the house bellowing at the top of his lungs. Noise. Noise, noise, noise. There is so much noise I fear I will go insane. I clutch my hair and scream, 'AAAAAAAAAAAH. STOP THAT RACKET. Can anyone make the noise go away?' But no one hears me. My screams of exasperation are futile above the din. Damn they are noisy. They have no respect. Ignorant little children. When will they just shut up?
"I can't take it anymore. I stand there in my Cinderella rags, hands over my ears and scream, 'Make it stop!' I just stand there, screaming. My screams deafened by their self-centered racket. I resented them. I hated them. Self-centered, spoiled rotten screeching little brats. What about me? 'SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP.'
"I reach that place of complete, abject pain deep down in my core as I scream. No longer able to cope, I watch a gray shadowy fragment of myself splinter from the rest of me. I feel like I have molted, and I am drifting away from myself. My mouth drops open in astonishment and my hands fall down to my sides. But this translucent shadow holds her position. She is still clutching her ears, screaming at the top of her lungs. She is carrying away from me all my pain at the overwhelming frustration of trying to run this household. I couldn't take it anymore, and she left so I could carry on. She didn't intend to. I didn't plan it. It just happened.
"I was really scared then. 'Wait 'til God finds out what I've done. What will he do to me now? He'll be furious. Maybe he won't notice,' I hope to myself. I scan myself for holes but there don't appear to be any. No gaping gaps. Phew. I pull my robes close around me and pat my hair down. I smooth out my clothes and gather myself together to rejoin the mayhem of our home. My clothes feel heavier and somehow I feel less able to wear them. I fear the essence that left me has weakened me over all. I turn to look back at her drifting off into space... god, she's still screaming. I gasp and start to cry. 'What have I done? I have so much guilt. What have I done to myself?'
"'CINDERELLAAAAA,' God booms. I run for the front door before he notices I have been 'lolly-gagging' around the yard. I glance back once more at the lost me in space and am struck by terror. I watch Lucifer quickly moving in on this helpless, pain ridden essence. I gasp again. His Florence Nightingale persona in full swing, his bedside manner rehearsed and polished. Oh my god, I have fed her to the hounds of Hell. I run in the house slamming the door behind me, heart pounding, sweaty, clammy, breathless. I press my back up against the door. God must never know.
"As I drift in space I am feeling relief... and confusion at Lucifer's kindness. I don't think he is capable of kindness, but somehow he has made the noise disappear and I am grateful. The ringing in my head has diminished to a dull roar, fading thunder. Sleep... blissful sleep. I want eternal sleep. I don't ever want to wake up to that racket again. It is too much for me to bear. I can't endanger my sanity.
"Lucifer leans over me tending to me like a nurse maid. I don't like him. I fear he has a trick up his sleeve but in this moment he is giving me what I need... rest, quiet, sleep. I just want to sleep. And he's allowing that to happen. His image blurs before me as I drift into peacefulness. I feel the tension and anxiety leaving me, freeing me to rest. I collapse myself into this bliss. I could stay here forever. I am vaguely aware of impressions scurrying around me. There is murmuring and shuffling. It feels as though I am in a play, and the props are being switched. The set for the next scene is being quickly rearranged by the stage hands. My script, written for me, is handed to me.
"My blissful slumber is about to become my nightmare. I am the amnesic bride of Lucifer. Disoriented, dazed and confused, vacant. Mindless. He has erased my memories. My fault, I guess. I said 'I want to forget'. So he took advantage. I unwittingly became a participatory pawn in his game to kill the Will. Fragment her, torture her, confuse her, reprogram her. In this way bit by bit he dismantles the Will.
"After a very long while God began talking to me in my amnesia. 'I want you to wake up. I'm waiting for you to wake up. You haven't considered what it's like to be me. You in amnesia, detached and separate from me. Not knowing who I am. Not recognizing me. Do you know how painful that is? When you deny who you are, you deny me,' I hear him say. And now lately he says, 'You were not wrong to want to forget all of my mistreatment of you... while I was in denial of you. You are innocent of this and everything else I blamed you for. Please forgive me for blaming you.'
"And yet I still have guilt. Guilt for being amnesic, and even for just wanting to be. But this part of me is starting to understand. At least now I remember splintering from overwhelm. I know why I became amnesic. I wanted to forget. I wanted to leave it all behind me. I couldn't take it any more. God wants me to remember him. But remembering him means remembering who I am, and I still don't have enough self-worth to accept myself enough to claim my true title. So it is a dilemma. I don't wish to deny him, but I have so little love for myself with which to accept me. Such a dilemma.
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