This story contains broaches the subject of both rape and child sex abuse from the point of view of the victim.
Today, we shall take our magical spyglass and put it to our eye. The eye I speak of is our third one, our spiritual one, the one, that those of us who are in true tune to as creators, allowing us to see parts of a cosmic whole. There are writers out there, who don't use that eye. One can tell when one comes across one of those because they write using Neural-Linguistic Programming to manipulate the reader for a personal agenda. (I would hazard that in some way, shape, or form, they are on the Illuminati payroll. Good for them. Their eventual wage will be death.)
Dear Reader, caress my words with your mind as we shuffle through the myriad of creatures dancing to their own rhythm in the depths of my psyche. Let us scroll through and find the character we seek.
Nope, not Josh. Josh, white and in his mid 20's, has a large shovel, bent over, digging a hole. His oppressors stand up, in line behind him, with weapons pointed. They have the (sometimes the m is silent) masses jeering at him. Look at the glow on Josh's face from the sweat. Observe that mad grin. Did you catch the glint in his eye?
Let us scroll through a bit more of the characters cavorting in my imagination.
Betsy isn't who we are after either. Yes, Betsy is kneeling on one of those luxury gardening kneepads. I would place our dark-skinned Betsy at about 80. Watch her unfold that beautiful bulb (species unknown) from the golden cloth. With care, she buries it in the small hole that she made. With soft hands she replaces the dirt, patting the ground even. Isn't she wonderful at what she does?
The next scene flips through my mind.
This one is dark. It is nighttime. Clouds scuttle across the horizon. Stars peep here and there only to be shielded again. Where is the moon? Oh! There it is. The clouds part, avoiding it.
What else is in this scene?
There, on the ground, kneeling on bare knees is Salvadora. Salvadora is of mixed heritage, a multi-national, and in her 40's. With dirt-encrusted nails, she scrabbles at the hard-packed earth. Minutes pass. She makes no dent.
Hours pass. It is the motion of the moon that keeps us abreast of time. Salvadora continues to grapple with the ground.
The moonlight strikes the few scratches Salvadora has made. Blood seeps from her fingertips, drenching the earth. Soundless tears flow, softening the ground.
Let me adjust my spyglass. Where is Salvadora at in her own mind? What is this poor creature thinking? Perhaps I shall use some of my author's telepathy to eke out meaning to her senseless actions.
Memories from the past float through her upper mind.
Sexual abuse from her father, brother, mother, and maternal grandparents cascade.
“Where is their karma?” she sobs verbally. “Where is my justice people keep telling me is coming?”
There was violence, torture, pain with some of the crimes. Her mother used to get great joy from inserting laxatives in the derriere. Her mother's smile gave it away.
Her father groomed her for sex before 5. He would leave the toilet door open, inviting her in when he was using it.
Her brother that didn't touch her, he took explicit photos. He always had a lot of money whenever he took these photos.
Her brother and his wife, she stayed with them when she was 9. They would have dinner parties, with her as the entertainment. There were also trips to nude beaches where they insisted she is naked.
Her maternal grandparents: the grandmother turned her back as her grandfather would rape her with his hands or... never mind. She was 10.
Salvadora broke that train of thought before the thoughts overwhelmed her.
Yet these criminals have more money than she does. They have had plenty of everything. Society accepts them. Does society know their evil secret?
Salvadora has nothing.
Memories from a distraught adulthood stream through her consciousness.
Her first husband. He pimped her out. There is no nice way of saying such evil. He destroyed her. He used her as a punching bag, unable to control his temper.
Her second husband. He did the unforgivable. He touched her children.
Both men went on to live abundant lives while she struggled for every dollar.
Then there were rapes. Multiple rapes by multiple assailants. Some of the rapists even wore uniforms. These are men were are programmed to trust. They abused their authority in her case. Some rapists were hardened criminals. Salvadora should have known better to give people a fair go when no one ever gave her an equal opportunity.
These men never received their karma.
Many, many beatings, from the many narcissists she had been foolish enough to allow into her life. Beatings that left her crippled and scarred. Even with physical evidence, they rarely got charged, and even when the proof was there beyond a reasonable doubt, they never got convicted.
Evidence that karma isn't real. Proof that justice, divine or human, does not exist.
Salvadora lost what little she had.
She had no children, no money, no future.
The world called her names and accused her of doing things that she didn't do. Society protected the perpetrators, the rapists, the wife beaters, the pedophiles. They persecuted her relentlessly.
She would never return to doing any of the things those evil people had groomed her to do.
For more than 2 years she had followed Jesus faithfully. Salvadora read her Bible. Salvadora prayed. She sowed positive behaviour into her life. This had nothing to do with the existence of karma. It had proved that it didn't. If karma existed she would have money and a family and a place in society.
Salvadora sowed positive behaviour, right action, correct thoughts because she had suffered for her entire life and did not want to suffer for eternity.
Some of the men she had been with had killed her, not permanently. She had seen the other side. Salvadora understood the soul was eternal.
If the world had accepted her, she might have been inclined to sin, had she benefited from it. She noticed that a lot of people did the wrong thing, deliberately, without punishment. She understood, that in her Christian way of thinking, these people had the 'Mark of the Beast' in their soul.
It was obvious to Salvadora that she didn't. It was vital, then, for Salvadora to work for her salvation, sowing the seeds of righteousness into herself so that she could reap eternal peace.
Moonlight glinted on a tiny circular object between her knees. A solitary teardrop splashed onto it. A green tendril shot forth from it, penetrating the ground with ease where her struggling could not. Within moments the seed disappeared, following the tendril into the ground.
Salvadora remained unaware.
A thin twig burst from the ground. With rapidity, it surged upwards, stretching forth branches from its sides. Unnaturally, the branches encircled Salvadora. 10 spheres of light, each different in hue, appeared on the ends of the branches. Each sphere overlapped into Salvadora's body.
The final sphere blossomed above the crown of Salvadora's head. It was a bright white. A thin white fibre reached from above the sphere to end at a point undisclosed in space. It expanded beneath the sphere into her skull. Everywhere it touched other fronds appeared in her skull, all unfurling at once. It looked akin to a lotus flower.
Salvadora tilted her head back, staring with sightless eyes into the full moon. Illumination flowed from the giant orb, tinted with a touch of the sun, into her retina. Golden luminance coursed from beneath the lotus flower in her skull, into her midsection, where the 5th sphere up, was.
Beneath that, the darkness from the planet seeped in to colour the sphere, 2nd from the bottom was. The branch it dangled on was in her groin area, coloured murky indigo. After that, the energy went to the colours of a summer forest floor, littered with leaves of differing colours. The bottom-most sphere overlapped her feet and the earth.
Salvadora slumped, losing consciousness.
Where our heroine went from there, I do not know. There are not words, nor adjectives beautiful enough, even with a thesaurus to describe everything I saw within and around her. It felt sacrilegious, spying on her like that.
Perhaps, dear Reader, you will enlarge on her story. Maybe you can bring her the justice she deserves and ensure that those who perpetrated the evils she suffered, pay the price in karma. Or maybe, we just leave her from here. She seems determined, does she not, to reap eternal peace?
In order for that to occur, she must sew the seeds of righteous behaviour, and right thought, regardless of circumstances so she finally gets the reward she deserves.
NEVER THE END