November 1, 2017, Galactic Medicine Wheel, West, Tiferet Sepheroth
Wednesday, White Rhythmic Wind, Kin 162, Crown Chakra
Expanding upon the story about the death of my dad on November 1, 1967, I consider the experience I had with my son an example of “Love Play.” After I got the call that my dad had just died, our two children were already in bed. We made flight plans to go to Danville, Illinois and I was packing and getting ready for the trip. After I had washed my hair I went downstairs to the recreation room to dry my hair. My son, Brett’s bedroom was right above me. At that time I had the first chance to realize that I had just lost my dad. I began very softly crying.
After a few minutes I heard little feet in footed pajamas coming down the recreation room steps. Brett was four and a half years old. I looked up and there he was coming straight to me and he climbed up on my lap and said, “Mommy why are you crying?” I had never tried to explain death to our children and this was my first attempt. I said to him, “Honey, Grandpa has just died and he won’t be coming to visit anymore.” I began to talk about fond memories that we had had with my dad.* In my family my dad was the emotional one; who laughed easily and cried easily and was very playful.
Brett and I remembered stories about my dad that I had told him about when I was little. Stories like how playful my dad was when we planted our huge garden and he would talk to each popcorn kernel we planted saying, “this is for a holiday, this is for a Sunday.” The whole garden seemed to be alive and playful. I had told him about scarecrows we had made with my dad… every year as they became more and more elaborate the birds loved them more and more. And then Brett followed with little remembrances he had had with my dad and we shared lovingly for quite a while. The sharing brought smiles and gentle memories of happy times about my dad and Brett’s granddad.
After a while, Brett snuggled on my lap, looked up at me and said “Isn’t this fun, Mommy?” At first my heart sank and I was thinking in an adult way of losing my dad was not fun. Then quickly I got into the consciousness of my very young son and realized how limited his vocabulary was. What he was saying to me was isn’t this wonderful to feel so close and so loving and to share happy memories together? After realizing what Brett said I smiled at him and said ” Yes Brett this is fun!” I had to move into my child’s emotions to feel this beautiful bond between us. In love play, the adult must move into her inner child’s world.
I actually have an unusual background. My dad was a whistle blower about the secret government, as it was called in the olden days. I knew about this secret government as a junior in high school. My dad had gone back to school as a graduate to U of Illinois. He was studying the formation of the Republic of the U.S.A. (He always wanted us to know we are a Republic.) The founding fathers and the annexing of land, and taking it from the native Americans. Many things that are still not in our American history books. He said the Louisiana Purchase was never ratified, and other interesting things. Among them, that the federal reserve bank is a privately owned bank by the wealthy, and the IRS was illegal because that article had never legally, according to the constitution, been ratified. He was studying international law, economics, governments, and everything associated with these topics. He got his masters degree.
Even the fact that his under graduate degree was in accounting, and he had an accounting and income tax return licensed business is interesting. He tired of that and bought a large building , then a mansion that was lost after the Second World War. It had gone into foreclosure. He and my mother contracted builders to create apartments out of these buildings. In time, my parents still fairly young had made enough money that our family could easily live from the rents accumulated from the 2 apartment buildings.
That’s how my dad got to the U of Illinois, conveniently being only 1 hour away from Danville, Illinois. He apparently got in with a group that really knew what was going on. He stopped paying taxes before Joan Baez did. He created a foundation in which he explained why he wasn’t paying taxes; writing, speaking, and contacting other like minded souls. Norman Cousins (who healed himself by laughing ) was one of the persons he consulted with. It was my dads full time job.
In 1968, he had a mysterious fall off of a garage roof, when he was trying to help tenants, a young couple, with a problem they had with a window. The fall caused his left arm and his right leg to be severely damaged. No surgery was possible, and after 6 weeks, he was ready to be released from the hospital to rehab. I remember the night well, because by then I was a young housewife and mother. I was out holloweening with my 2 young children. When we got home my husband said that my mother had just called, and said my dad wasn’t doing very well.
This was strange, because my dad was released, and plans were in place for him to go to rehab the next morning. Instead, my mother told me that she had been told that unexpectedly, my dad started to slur his words and became confused. They said that a blood clot had broken off of the damaged arm, and had gone to his brain. Later they said that he wouldn’t survive the night, October 31.
With tears, I now made plans to go to Danville the next day, November 1st. I traveled with my younger sister from Washington, D.C., and my older sister came from Portland, Oregon. Events had changed. Instead of my dad going into rehab, his body was at the morgue.
Strangely enough before we arrived to make plans for his funeral, way less than 24 hours after his death, the IRS had already been to my mothers door, and said she had to pay the back taxes and the fine. Strangely enough, also, an autopsy was never allowed, at least for our family to know about, to prove what really happened.
Written on May 4th, 2016
Black Lace Yarmulke
The childhood church of our family when I was growing up was just a few blocks away from my mothers’ residence. On Sunday morning before the funeral, my two sisters and I decided to walk to the service. I had on my head the black lace yarmulke that women wear to Hebrew funeral services. I had worn this to my husbands’ fathers’ service a few years before. It just sits on top of your head with a few bobby pins holding it on. Unnoticed to myself or my sisters, the wind had blown the yarmulke off my head on the walk to the church. When I noticed it in church I was really hoping that we would find it on the way back. We did find it close to my mothers’ residence and for some reason that seemed very significant to me – I would be able to wear it to my dad’s funeral that afternoon.
My Mother’s Red Dress
My dad’s funeral that afternoon was at a large home that had been converted into a mortuary. His death had been unexpected and our family had not pre-arranged his service. It was a small funeral and the casket was there because there was no crematory in the small town of Danville, Illinois. His body would be taken to Indianapolis, Indiana after the service.
As I mentioned before, my mother had been in a fire caused by a wood-burning stove when she was 20 years old. Her mother and sister had been killed in that fire and she was rescued. When she woke up in the hospital a few days later her mother and sister had already been buried. Her father was a minister and had performed a double service. This is the reality my mother woke up to.
In those days there was no name or therapy to deal with survivors’ guilt and post-traumatic stress disorder. As a result she never went to funerals. Everyone in Danville knew that Dorothy Wilson did not go to the memorials or funeral services. This would be her first service and she chose a red dress. Red was my dad’s favorite color and we girls felt that this was a beautiful and honoring gesture. Our cousins for years later reminded my sisters and I how much they enjoyed my mothers’ courageous decision.
Little Boy in Blue
In the evening after my dad’s service, I went out to get food for our family. On the way back I was very close to the funeral home. It was snowing very lightly and I decided I’d like to stop and see if my dad’s casket was still there. Because his casket would be going to Indianapolis, I was just curious if it would still be there. I parked in front of the funeral home and walked up the steps to the wrap around huge porch. I looked in at the window where my dad’s casket had been and what I saw brought me back to my present life. There was a little boy about five years old in a casket with white satin lining. The little boy had blond hair and was wearing a light blue suit with short knee length pants. He looked like an angel that was already in heaven. Of course I was startled and quickly brought to mind my two children of four and six years who were at home and safe and healthy with my husband. I couldn’t even imagine having the sorrow that these parents would have upon losing their little cherub of a boy. How grateful I felt for my little family at home.
My dad was a lover of classical music. He liked Brahms lullaby, and my mother and we 3 girls decided that, at the funeral we would like to have the lullaby played on the piano, and sung softly by a woman vocalist. It seemed appropriate to invite a peaceful rest to this man who had dedicated his life to bringing forth the TRUTH of our government.
Now on Monday of this week, October 30, 2017, 3 men involved in high government affairs, are the first to be indicted. For me, the timing of this week is so appropriate for having the first actual constitutional, legal event on the road returning to our Divine Government – “WE THE PEOPLE”.
Happy 50th Anniversary to you, Charles Carrol Wilson!