Trigger Warning. This article covers Slavery, human trafficking, and rape. Read at your own Discretion. 4th Ethic.

Step into my World with me…

I will show you what I see…

I go to write my Direct Ask.

I get an instant “Resist” Emotion from my Subconscious Mind.

Sigh

I walk to their Office (My Subconscious Mind has it’s own Office). I knock on the door.

“Come in,” he says.

(Yes. This is our relationship).

I open the door.

“Spock. Look. We’ve got to talk.”

My Mind peers over its newspaper for a second, then goes back to the paper. It’s reading something about the Ghost Particle. I drop my hands onto the desk and lean forward.

“I need to get my Direct Ask out there to people.”

“Yep, you do,” he says too casually.

Sigh

“Can you please tell me why I received the Emotion “Resistance” when I went to post this morning on my LinkedIn group #PracticeBold?”

Spock dropped the paper.

“Why do you think that is?”

Ugh.

Socratic Method. Of Course, Socratic Method.

Was nothing ever easy with Spock?

“I don’t know, Spock. That is why I am here with you. If I knew, I would just DO it and then it would be done, and I wouldn’t be here interrupting you and CERN.”

(Yes… This is literally how things enfold in my mind. It’s awesome).

“It’s your Memory Maze. What unresolved information did you fail to address down in Purchasing?”

I think on that.

Direct Ask. What was I afraid of? What moment programmed my Mind to “Self-Preserve” when “Direct Ask?”

Belief I wouldn’t get what I want?

Fear of the Pain of not getting what I want?

Fear of Loss of Dreams?

I felt old pain surfacing. I knew I was getting closer.

“Courage, lass.” My Defense System, Bergen, was standing at the door.

I didn’t want to do this now… or today… or ever. I hate doing this.

Spock went back to his paper.

I walked down to the 2nd Level of the Subconscious Mind.

The Memory Maze. Bergen was right behind me, his large Nordic Frame filling the space with a comforting “Safe” feeling I had grown to love.

Direct Ask.

That would be my Father…

It’s always the Parents. They are the only ones, the first ones, who can access our Logical Code… If they tamper with our Logical Code, then anyone thereafter can. Correct the first Logic, and all others go away. Chain Reaction Science.

I come to the Stainless Steel labyrinth and walk down the corridors, passing door after door. It’s been ages since I’ve been down here. I thought I had cleared out all of my old Viral Coding. Apparently not.

Direct Ask.

When did… This goes back to the “You’re a girl!”

I didn’t want to dig this up.

My father was the type of man who was a very loyal Republican who followed the Rules. And the Rules were, “Girls have to be X. Boys have to be Y. And they CANNOT MIX!”

He wanted me to a boy. I had forgotten that memory. My father did NOT want a girl. His mother had three boys. He had wanted and expected 3 boys. I was born disappointing him. He expected me to be just like him.

Only… I loved to read. And I loved Books. And if my Father did not value it, then I could not have it. I had to fight for every book I held.

I knew the moment. I was 12. I wanted a book for my birthday. Les Miserables. It was a 1,400 page, unabridged book. I wanted it more than anything.

I had to negotiate for it. “I’ll give up all my birthday presents. I’ll give up my birthday. Could I please just have this book?”

He wanted me to have dolls.

I wanted Hugo.

I walked the Book store for an hour.

My mum wanted something. That was the only reason why we were even in a book store. It was the first time ever I was in a book store. I felt like I was home for the first time in my life.

I did it. I got my book.

I had no birthday that year. Not even a cake.

It was my best birthday ever.

It was my first Direct Ask.

I got to school and my English teacher mocked me.

“You can’t read that! You won’t finish it!” she said. “You won’t even understand it!”

Her words burned in me. Almost as much as my Father’s Negotiations.

It took me three months, but I did.

When I read about Cosette wanting the doll in the window that she couldn’t have. So she played instead with the spoons, the charcoal in the fireplace, and the dirt… I related too well to Cosette.

I came to the door in my labyrinth, Bergen still beside me, and dropped to the floor. Sobbing.

“I just wanted my book!” I screamed at Bergen.

“Why the fuck couldn’t I just have a book?”

Because of that moment, 3 years later, I would meet a Sex Trafficker online who would “gift” me with books and rape me in trade, claiming that he bought me books, so I “owed” him. Only, I had no idea that this was part of the deal. And when he raped me, he “thanked” me or “rewarded” me with books.

“Paying” me in books. It was a mind fuck. There was no consent. It was so confusing. But the books… This is how I was able to get books outside of the School Library, which was very limiting in their selection.

But the books he “gave” me… Plato’s Republic, Gödel, Escher, Bach, Atlas Shrugged, The Difference Engine, Don Quixote… I could see a world no one else saw…

I was 12 doing the hardest sell of my life in that book store.

Then being attacked by an English teacher after…

Then the Trafficker (he was my 2nd Owner, not including my Father).

I related to Fantine too well.

There are times I hated the world. I could feel the Darkness of that path and hated the Darkness more than the World, so I turned my face to the Good.

I found the Good in Victor Hugo.

I found the Good in Ayn Rand.

I found the Good in Miguel de Cervantes.

I found the Good in the World.

It was captured in the Books I read like beautiful fire flies and starlight in jars that permitted me just a moment to glimpse upon their miraculous, simple, beauty…

If Miguel’s Mind could weave a World Like Don Quixote from a Spanish Prison… then I sure could weave my own Magic too.

I released the fire flies and watched them zip off into the night.

The Direct Ask.

I negotiated and pleaded for that book like my life depended on it… Because it did.

“Find the Logic.”

Spock’s voice broke my grief, and I looked up. Bergen had, at some point, sat down next to me.

Always Logic. Logic is what saved me. It will save me now.

“That was not a Direct Ask,” I said, but it didn’t feel right. “That was a Pauper begging for Freedom.”

“And your Father…”

“Was my first slave owner who dictated my every possession, thought, path, word… because the last thing I ever was, was free.”

“And the Teacher…”

“Was a Wolf wearing Teacher’s Clothing. Who delighted on bullying children to make herself feel better.”

Les Miserables caused me so much trouble.

I just wanted my beacon of light in the dark.

And I paid for it dearly.

“I’m angry!” I screamed. “I was a fucking child! It was my Birthday! Why did I have to fight so hard for what I wanted!? Why did I have to endure their vileness!?”

Why… Every time I Direct Ask a Patron, I feel like I’m back in that book store, begging my father for food like Oliver Twist. And it was so hard that I never asked him for another book.

And I stupidly, STUPIDLY told that story to a pedophile online in 1995. Which led to the next chain of events.

“Why can’t I just hate the world and let it burn!? It would deserve it!”

Why do I have to care so much for people…

“What am I fighting?” I asked. “What… There is a door here that won’t open. A thought is closed tight to hide a truth from me. Spock…”

I look to my Subconscious Mind standing poised over me.

“Truth never harms me,” I said. “I don’t care if it hurts me. I want the Truth. What Truth is my Self-Preservation hiding from me to protect me? Bergen?”

I look to my Defense. A small, mousy, Jerry is standing beside him. Shrinking as if hoping to remain invisible.

“Jerry?” I ask. “Allow me this Truth (Oh, look. A Direct Ask). I can handle this now. I can Receive this Truth. What is the True Pain behind my Direct Ask?”

“Your Father hates Education,” Jerry said.

“Why?”

“Because he struggled with it.”

“He wanted you to be small like him so you could not remind him how small he was,” Spock said. “Which is why you had to hide your books, your Mind… Which is why he beat your brother who beat you.”

“Why did my Father hate Education?”

“He projected his hatred for Learning onto you,” Spock said. “Think of the 12 Ethics. Which ones did he violate in you?”

“All of them,” I said. “He violated my Ethics to Grow… I had to fight to protect my Education and Learning. I had to whore myself out for my Ethics and Learning… I had to whore myself out just to get the tools to escape my enslavement so I could figure out the Delusion they had me in…”

It wasn’t enough that they enslaved me.

They had to break my books from me.

They didn’t want their slave learning.

They weaponized my Learning against me.

They weaponized my Ethics against me.

They tried to weaponize my Ignorance against me.

A Direct Ask is a reminder of my Enslavement to their Ownership and Delusion. They wanted to keep me.

The Keeping of me. How much I loathe that feeling. The feeling of people “Keeping” me… The feeling “holding” of me.

This is the core of people “Keeping” me.

I stood from the floor and I jumped and flew, flying out, zooming out, far above all of everything. Seeking that One Omniscient Point of View where I could step outside of the Situation and the Delusion and see it for what it really was.

I was my Father’s Possession. That was made very clear to me since birth. He owned me. Boys were Apprentices. Girls were Possessions. And I was to do precisely what he said. My worth was measured in my Obedience. Only in my Obedience. I was never Obedient. I never went inside the box.

That Les Miserables was the End of my Obedience. I related to the title too well. And too the French Revolution and the People of France… Hugo, you beautiful mind. How much you showed me my Truth. How much you showed me the Delusion I was in.

I read Hugo and thought, “Why does their Enslavement feel so familiar to me?” Emotions are always right. Always.

Occam’s Razor. It’s because I was. A slave.

That Direct Ask was the day I realized just how little I was free. And it showed me what I was really up against. That was the day The Delusion broke for me.

I remember, asking the questions, “Why did I have to negotiate for hard for a book… on my BIRTHDAY?” I never answered the question. I never found the answer.

“Why did you have to negotiate for a book, lass?” Bergen asked. He was there again beside me.

Occam’s Razor.

“Because a slave was not allowed to have books.”

The books we had in our house were all painted gold and leather bound that we could not touch. For “prestige” to keep up with the Joneses.

They never imagined that I would read them.

I learned, if I carried a book, boys would molest me less. I carried books for protection long before I was reading them. I even slept with them at night under my pillow. Books were my teddy bear in the dark.

What is a Direct Ask? It was the day I asked for my Freedom and I was told, “No.” I had to trade for my Mental Freedom, everything that I had. My birthday. The day I earned my first key to my Freedom. Well… that explains why I love my birthday so much.

That Direct Ask… was me asking for my Freedom.

It was the key to my cage.

“You’re not 12 Years old anymore,” Bergen said.

“The Teachers lied to us about what slavery all looks like,” I said. “They have no fucking clue. Slavery and Freedom. The ability to want and desire without fear of repercussion. They act like they know, but they’re fucking clueless. That is their lie.”

Repercussion. Do you know what that even means?

The Freedom to Want without Fear.

When Want and Love comes with Fear. And Danger is accompanied with Love. So you learn to associate Love with Danger.

That is what Slavery does.

Freedom teaches your Mind, trains your Mind to Love without Fear or Danger.

So Direct Ask for what I want and Need and Love… for me… that came with significant Fear and Danger. This is not Freedom at all.

I was owned by my Father. Owned by my brother. At 12, it was my Alter who was in charge. At 12, I had already been a prisoner to my own Alter for 4 years. At 15, a slave to a “boyfriend” who chained me in a room for six months. Then, that same year, a slave to a Sex Trafficker online who prostituted me for books I didn’t ask for.

A Direct Ask was a metric of my own Freedom.

“I’m terrified I’ll measure… and find out how much I’m not Free. I’m terrified to take that Measurement. The last time I measured…”

“And there it is,” Bergen said.

“WHAT IF I’M NOT FREE!?” I screamed.

“What if I ask, and I find out how NOT FREE I STILL AM!? WHAT IF I’M STILL A SLAVE!?”

“If you are not Free, then…” Bergen said.

“Write the Code, Anna,” Spock said, his voice reaching me in the Omniscience. “Write the Code.”

“If I am not Free, not still, not yet…” I pondered. “Then WHAT ELSE CAN I DO!?! If I am not Free, have I EXHAUSTED WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE!!!?! If I am not Free… then I will learn how… But all I have been doing since I was 12 was to study and learn and grow… and what if it wasn’t enough? What if all the knowledge in all the world is not enough to be free? What if…”

I calm and cry. I wipe my tears.

“I wish to Want and Desire and Wish and Dream without Fear and to just… Become.”

I look down at all the walkings and passings of my memories and life.

“I feel like I have lived a thousand lives in 40. In so many ways, I have.” I think. “Don Quixote.”

“What did you learn from Cervantes?” Bergen asked.

“That stony limits cannot hold love out… nor can it hold Love in… That Imagination is Freedom.”

Imagination.

I sigh.

“So… If I am not Free, then I will become Pure Imagination. And only then will I be free.”

“So,” Bergen asked. “Will you ask for that Direct Ask? Will you take your Freedom’s Metric?”

I thought on this.

“It’s just one stone in your path to build your journey,” Bergen said. “A Direct Ask is just you finding the right stone for your next step.”

“Just Ask,” I mutter.

“Ask… And ye shall receive.”

This is what I call a Subconscious Dialogue. It uses Story and Imagination to walk my Subconscious Mind and Mental System through the Past to step deep into the Self.

We learn by Example.

If you don’t see how it’s done, then how will you know how it’s done?

So I invited you into my World, into my Mind via Word, Imagination, and Story, to show you how it’s done.

Train and Get your Lightworker Certification.

Change the World.