But it was not hateful bile that was thrust from me, it was an angry hatred that can only come from those that I had been repressed over the years. It was just subtle cracks that were forming and that was my response coming through. I spoke about the lies that she had subjected the family to, and her gross laziness, expecting Dad and now me to drop everything for her, were she could just as easily get here. And no she can not say I may not be in as this was essentially a night job. It was always the same old role that she wanted to play, the wounded wife and mother, by those that supposedly loved her but this was a self opposed persona and I told her as such. I do not know who was more shocked by the change in me, me or mother. What was shocking was mother's response, that Dad had always called me the specially impossible child, mother had always focused on the impossible part, but now she could finally see why Dad had thought I was special as well. It was a moment of rapture that was disturbed by the book demanding attention, or should I say the person in the book was demanding attention? And with that the spell was broken and mother returned to her normal self, bemoaning that if I did not go visit her soon that I would be written out of the will and I meekly said I would visit soon.

The deal is this. You be the hero. Come down here. Unarmed. Come inside with your hands on your head. I'll let everybody go. Then I'll blow your fucking head off. Sir. How's that for a deal? You buy it?

The dead pull the living down.

We're all hunters in my family, you know. Deer, ducks_damsels.

Love is stronger than both fear and hope - if you can love the natural beauty around you, the amazing gifts and skills we have, the fact that you are alive to experience life, each moment that you have, and love yourself and those around you just as they are, then there is no need to be owned by fear, or even hope, you just live the best you can, being the truth of that love that you are being, representing the stream of consciousness experiencing itself, always knowing that you will someday return to it again, and flow as part of it infinitely on.

Everything that God sends us is beautiful, even though we may not understand it - and we only need to give it some proper thought to see that what God gives is just sheer happiness; the suffering is what we add to it.