The Mother Matrix ~ another name for Hell

Betsy really didn’t know how the HELL this had happened. She was about to find out.

I’m sitting on my bed because, let’s face it, it’s the most comfortable seat in my studio. The office chair is okay for awhile but I have to ratchet it up too high for my feet to rest flat on the floor. The wood of the custom-built table is gorgeous but the casters on the legs make it too tall for desk work most days if I’m to keep carpal tunnel syndrome at bay.

The hammock is nice, a great place to rest or daydream, but not so productive with a hot laptop searing my legs. An older model, it’s too hot here for its cooling system to function properly. Maybe that describes us both.

I want out. Badly. There is nothing and no one keeping me here except…I’ve invested what resources I had in the development of this place. I believed in a dream that never happened… or will… sometime in some not yet foreseeable future, if I believe the locals. And I’m dying here.

Betsy thought all this, and worse, as she sat on her bed, trying to write.

Shit! What was THAT!? The lancing pain in her forehead blinded her for a second. More black magic. That stuff most westerners like to believe doesn’t exist. As if. This had gotten ugly, fast. Everyone was infected. What was she still doing here?

Her downstairs neighbor had begun to drift off into an Alheimer’s-like dream world, completely divorced from the day to day. She only came out of it at mealtimes, and sometimes not then. The neighbor across from her was coming apart at the seams. One day high as a kite, the next railing and wailing at her victim status. The great news? These are Betsy’s support team. They work for her. Oh frabjous day! Ain’t this just Jabberwocky?

As another bolt of foggy, distorting, charcoal grey energy insinuated itself through Betsy’s flat, she chose to move. How? Where? Outdoors in Plus-100-Farenheit weather, too muggy and buggy to tolerate, with tarantulas and vipers hiding in the verge? Sixteen varieties of mosquito hereabouts and they all seemed to have acquired a taste for her. The other, larger predators could queue up. If anything else tried to ride Betsy’s ass she’d be honor bound to install seat belts and hand rails.

Yoga then. Or bouncing on the rebounder under the aircon unit? Or maybe, just maybe, the allegedly shared car, held hostage by the black magician running the show would be available and Betsy could escape to…somewhere? Starbucks? Anywhere with aircon and wifi?

WTF? It wasn’t the first time she had thought, felt, or screamed those words. Betsy dashed into the shower, sputtering under the clogging pipes, maneuvering to get enough water aimed at the right places.

“You need to get OUT,” chimed the shower fairy. She has various names, depending on Betsy’s state of mind. Today Betsy called her Ting, short for ‘irritating’.

“I know. Show me how. Inspiration please.”

“Have you seen the pattern here?”

“How this is like that four-year-old curled up in a fetal ball next to the fridge in our first flat, with my Mum unconsciously inviting in every weird energy in the neighborhood? Roger that.”

“So the next thing you need to see…”

“Enough already! E-NUFF! I know you know that I know that you know that I’m not yelling at you, I’m just yelling. Add ‘frustrating’ to the Ting moniker. Why is this repeating? I’ve worked through this shite! I will not have this manipulative black magic garbage in my immediate environment! No effing more!”

“What do you lose if you leave?”

“I’m not afraid. You know I’m not. This isn’t fear.”

“I never said it was,” Ting sighed, gamely trying to reach through Betsy’s physical and emotional exhaustion. “Where is the feeling of loss?”

Betsy didn’t know. Her tears mingled invisibly with the oddly angled spurts from the clogged shower head, some of which actually hit her body. The cold water helped… some.

***

“It makes me so mad, seeing you sitting there with tears in your eyes!” Janie was in ‘fierce friend’ mode.

Betsy left the flat in the jungle, following a trail of Source’s breadcrumbs to find something new; something that would support her in a way she intuitively felt she needed to be supported but had never known. She knew that home was inside her. She knew how to embody that space. She had done so for decades now, but oh man, was she tired of having everything turn to shite.

“It’s not their fault,” Betsy countered. “Things just happened.”

“They’ve taken away your home!” Janie revved up. “Are you going to get your investment back? Is anything being done about it? That was your inheritance! You can’t be homeless and do the work you need to do!”

Betsy smiled a tired, forbearing smile. “I don’t know what will happen. No one does…and it isn’t their fault…”

“You think you’re responsible for the insanity around you?!” Janie exploded.

Betsy’s mind clicked to a dead stop. “Do I?” she thought, incredulous. “Am I blaming myself still?” Her inner wheels began to churn, psychic steam pouring from her ears.

“How have I attracted this? Oh… wow. Somehow I re-created ‘home’ through the template of that first family residence. Some part of my mind and/or body has held that definition of ‘home’ for all these decades. A ‘home’ that was not energetically (though it was, physically) safe. A ‘home’ where the false light and the dark light did battle day and night. A ‘home’ where I learned self-reliance straight-away because there was no other way. A home where my only choice was to hunker down and hold onto Source…”

“Well, hell, so to speak.” Betsy began to laugh.

“What’s so damned funny?” Janie was still revving for battle.

“I am,” Betsy gasped. “I couldn’t be the fish, for the water I was swimming in… or some stupid metaphor like that.” She was still giggling, mostly at Janie, who had dropped the spatula into her signature roux and was about to ruin dinner.

“Tony Robbins says ‘We put up with what we grow up with.’ Ain’t it the truth,” sighed Betsy. She continued.

“As a child… well, okay do you really want to hear this?”

“If it will explain why you aren’t furious with these people for not doing the right thing!” Janie grimaced, rescuing her spatula, and began the task of rescuing the roux.

And so, Betsy began…

Once upon a time, there was me, right? Born into the house of the ‘spiritual teacher’ who was really an advocate of the false light, you know, the matrix. But I didn’t know it, my Mum didn’t know it, and hell, the teacher probably didn’t know it either, at least not consciously.

Then there was Mum, her student, studying the false light principles, which work because they are, like all the best lies, based on truth. Only she has all these past lives using sorcery and black magic. She’s terrified of the occult, or so she claims, but those energies zing through the flat constantly. I’m an empath, and extremely psychic to boot, and those energies hurt. Mum might be living this life to atone for those other abuses of power but it’s not working so well for her.

No wonder I always wanted to live with her teacher… the lesser of two weevils…

“Well that sounds lovely,” Janie was beginning to lighten up. “But what does that have to do with…”

Betsy held up a hand, asking to continue.

“So Betsy finally got herself free. She woke up. And that four-year-old cowering from energies she couldn’t deal with was no more.”

“You’re speaking of yourself in the third person.”

“Well, I am telling a story, aren’t I? Never mind. Somehow there must be a part of me that held onto that template… two (s)mothering forces, both of which happened to be toxic to my energy field, literally fighting to take over my environment, or maybe my field somehow, or at least the flat we lived in. A battle ground regardless.”

“So if this is a re-creation that you’ve unconsciously attracted, where are the two ‘witches’, so to speak?” Janie was beginning to get a clue.

“Well, there is the obvious black magician in the mix… she’d be acting the part of my Mum, handily played by someone else’s mother. Then, there is… me.”

“What?!”

“The layer of this I hadn’t seen was that, in becoming a teacher myself, there has to have been a template of the expectation of a worthy opponent or something to fight for, present… I literally embodied the teacher archetype, but with some vestiges of the false light dynamics unconsciously in play. It was the archetypal form my mind and body learned as a child. My consciousness knows better, but somehow my body re-created this scenario.”

“That’s insane!” Janie was pulling no punches.

“Exactly,” sighed Betsy. “No matter how awake I am, the insanity just keeps showing up… not through me, but in my environment…only now I’ve seen the frigging program… and it’s going down.”

“Finally!” Ting’s exultation rang through the kitchen and out into the yard, where the fire pit beckoned.

“Shall we toss it in?” Ting suggested, grinning wickedly.

“Absolutely,” agreed Betsy. “I’m not losing home, I’m releasing insanity.”

“Welcome…” Ting was all aglow.

“Don’t say it!” Betsy giggled. “Let’s burn this thing! I’ll be ready to hear that word tomorrow.”

“home…” Ting whispered softly, so no one but the other fairies could hear.

***

Thanks for reading. Dear Frank McKinley, This is the one I didn’t want to write. Still think it was a dumb idea. ;) It does have potential, and it did help. Thanks for the advice. And thanks to my other readers for taking the time with something a bit out of my usual.

~Namaste~