"Ruth's Mom"

18oct14

18Oct14

Doris Mae Nelson- Davis

The realities, the unfairness, the challenges to the serenity and peace this banishment to the wild lands had gifted her (and the other early ElectroSensitive Refugees) with came home and came home dearly in the inevitable times like these.

Certainly not the only homo-sapien (even Homo Bordellus) who was ever shackled with circumstance into the emotional paralysis derivative from condition...left with no alternative but to find the peace of mind...much less the beauty and joy...in deep challenges...but alone...completely alone...deep in the seemingly indifferent red sandstone desert.

In those early days...all but the rare and precious few...usually only those also visited by the draconian consequences of cell phones and wifi deployed to the levels of psychotic inebriation...could understand not just the physical reality of a meridian system in constant attack on your nerve endings because of its torture from synthetic radiation forms...but the emotional devastation of the abandonment from those who refused through subliminal denial to credence or even look at the evidence of ElectroSensitization's reality...their inevitable withdrawal from the lovers, brothers, friends, employees...who thresholded into sensitization to toxic emf sources to the point that their avoidance became the mandate consequent to whether or not they would sleep that night.

All of us went through this. Those we trusted, loved, hoped for, needed...all vanished...without apology...often with sneering ridicule toward the "wierdos, whackos, delusional and psychosomatic elite". Understandable enough when you're on the near side of a threshold into living inside a skin that suddenly starts its dance with the wireless devil and its incessant mantra to kick you out.

But once on the other side of the threshold...the devastation of never again being able to sleep, forever and increasingly living with inflammation pain, the psychologically induced panic, anger, paranoia and depression of synthetic high frequency emf...watching your own ability to work, think, sit still, hope...all vanish. At this point, the thing you need the most is the love, care, support and understanding of those around you. In ElectroHyperSensitization...at least prior to the Moab Melt Down, Derango's vanishing into a ghost town with wireless digital parking meters and the solutions that we erected in the places like the Mustang Ranch Bordello (not to forget its most blessed crystal clear hot springs and sunning deck) ...before we found social recognition and medical certification and the circle of friends we knew...from those we previously trusted and loved...the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, lovers and friends...these were usually the first to go.

Just the mention of the fact that we now knew we had developed a painful and invariable allergic reaction to the cell phones they insisted convenience demanded they need...just that fast...they vanished with condescending sneers and increasing distance...usually very fast.

Social isolation and discrimination far beyond that which is the invariable experience of the terminally ill, the virally infected, the mentally deranged and the inconveniently differing skin color and cultural norm.

But Ruth''s Mom was the exception.

Doris Mae Nelson-Davis.

This tiny five foot zero stocky, staunch conservative baptist, 16 years the widow of a stern man who seldom spoke, carried a strict countenance and who...despite Ruth's constant love and need of...could never be approached with an expression of love or any kind of need.

When he died, Ruth's Mom turned suddenly into a warmer, richer and more compassionate...even expressive...being.

Thank God...because it wasn't going to be more than a handful of years until this woman's daughter...who long since had defied conservative religious upbringing...divorced and going-nowhere marriage and followed her destiny into the mountains of Colorado from that Oklahoma nightmare in quest for her Kokapelli passion for exploring land and her forever dance with the camera...Ruth thresholded into severe Electro Sensitization. She just quit sleeping one day. Her day shifts at the Wiesbaden Hot Springs in Ouray, owned by the narcissistic, draconian and fundamentally evil Linda Minter spit her out like the fodder at a cattle trough and then fought even the pittance of unemployment support due her as Ruth fled in her car jam packed with possessions...not to forget her three cats...to shiver relentlessly in the colorado winter snow in the closest wild lands findable...because it was the only hope for sleep she would have.

Doris didn't understand this...electrosensitization...people who go ditzy because of light bulbs...particularly the fluorescent ones.

But Ruth's mother was a creature of rare spiritual magnitude...a degree which had nothing to do with religion. You find this among the noblest of homo-sapiens...though it takes its damn sweet time manifesting. People possessed of a level of human consciousness which allows them to rise above the constraints of their own idiosyncratic belief systems, the biases, their religious dictates...and see another (even perhaps their daughter) as someone different, someone apart...and to respect that...to love them with an open hand.

Not long after Ruth was taken to the deep desert 19 times in a row to have her sleep and sanity return...balanced by 18 times returning to Ouray, the Wiesbaden and her apartment with enough electricity passing through the water line under her floor to light the building and the city wifi antennae on the fire station out her bedroom window with enough wireless radiation to light up her cerebrum only to find her sleep function to fail...that on the last trip, she concluded to skip returning...live abandoned with the geckos and bunnies on the wild lands, now without job, apartment, friends or hope....every month in the mail box came a letter from Mom and a check for a couple of hundred dollars.

Ruth's oldest son John...ironically an electronic engineer in telecommunications and a fundamentalist christian...without a word slammed the door on his "whacko" mother and contacted the sheriff's department to have the man who had taken her to the desert arrested.

Her kids were soon to follow. Ruth was never sure her father wouldn't have black sheeped her as well if he were still alive. Her brother and sister waxed immediately and irrevocably silent.

But Ruth's Mom's communication, support and care never wavered.

What a shrinking, painful and seemingly unjust irony now...11 years later...as her mothers vibrant but aged health had first wavered, then the letters stopped, and the checks, the occasional news of her falls, venture into assisted living...one day became the inevitable. Ruth opened her email that evening and there it was. Doris had had a stroke, was in hospice not expected to live...and Ruth realized yet one more time...there was no way for her to travel from the deserts of Arizona and Utah content to the harboring steep canyons that protected her from the antagonist which at any moment could take her own life and go to her mothers side...even just to say goodbye. She would be deprived of even that one blessed moment....by an impairment this woman never understood, mysteriously respected anyway and who had given what Ruth then realized was one of the crucial ingredients to her recovery and rebuilding her own life into the gorgeous one she now lived...but which would take away the last supporting family relationship she would have...and this leaving her in a stance of isolation, silence, stillness...alone.

An electrosensitive can travel in a vehicle one...maybe two hours a day. The emf fields in car drive trains and electronics are horrific enough to make any competent emf meter shriek. Impacted with inflamed fingers, frozen legs, spiraling headaches...the EHS has to arrive at the end of that drive in a safe site and stay there to reset...probably for a couple of days...before they can get back in the car and move on.

Ruth had done this...little by little...determined...pushing the envelope of known safe sites and the decrease of fields in "The Ruth Mobile" year after year...it took three years...but she came eventually to be able to travel virtually from the Idaho hot springs very near the Canadian border...to Mexico...leapfrogging safe sites and down days until she became what we know today as the ElectroSensitive Kokapelli...and the icon of hope for so many of us who secumb to the enshacklements of ironically accurate impairment pain from a wireless communications technology the manufacturers and retailers knew and know damned well should have never been deployed in the first place.

But you only deal with deep sensitization for just so long until you begin to realize its gift...and the depth of the layers its lessons will go.

EHS is obviously physical...challenging with a level of incessant pain which daily only gets worse...a challenge for those determined to live of obvious magnitude. One most do not overcome. The suicide rates in EHS cases is close to 90%.

But the emotional impacts are worse. It was soon learned, consequent to accepting the fact that electro phenomenon are not destroying the neurological system...but the meridians...and that the meridians not only control all other metabolisms but are the bio-electronic circuitry of emotion itself...that exposure to the wrong library wifi router can induce the emf patterns our minds interpret as panic, depression, anger...fear. EMF is emotion...and it can be contagious. This plants a level of vulnerability, volatility and fear beyond description. But one mandating it be overcome...for those convinced will victor and survive...and at that in style. Ruth is one of those.

Ultimately, all venture of this kind of depth end us at the spiritual threshold. No physical solutions, emotional freedom will ever proceed or sustain unless they are based on the spiritual transcendence which must proceed them.

And so Ruth sits today in her tattered collapsing lawn chair bare feet in the warm red sandstone soil which returned her sanity and life, with her morning coffee and drenched in the seemingly endless tidal waves of convulsing tears as she cries deeply and irrevocably for her mother who lays over a thousand miles away in a terminal coma..not knowing if her end has come or she remains...as the annals of memories of the times shared between them unreels in a relentless roar of unstoppable thoughts and memories, realizations of the life they shared together, of the injustice of situation this Mother overcame to support her daughter and the seemingly horrific situation in which she now...back on her feet...never-the-less realizes that to go to this woman's side at these the last remaining moments of her mother's life...even if she could make it in time...which probably she wouldn't...it would cost Ruth her own life...just to try.

Despite the presence of a Mother at our birth. We are born alone. And with or without the presence of any other being...we will die alone as well.

Despite all the hopes and values and "shoulds" we attach to this single most irrevocable and poignant event...the passing of our mother...the woman who gave us life itself...it is never-the-less a venture she not only will make completely alone...whether or not her daughter is there. And this is the way it should be.

This is a spiritual dilemma...a puzzle...which challenges so many. But in its solution...if we're lucky enough...we will find the same elevation Doris found when...instead of abandoning Ruth on the advent of her daughter's electrrosensitization...she supported her, contrary to the rest of the family. The identical transition into spiritual transcendence is what came to Ruth there in the desert saying goodbye to the last physical vestiges of the creature who bore her originating life...one possessed and guided by a passion Doris did not share or understand...not the nomadic bond to the land or the sensitization to synthetic fields....both of which she would come to honor and respect none the less.

And so Ruth's dance with the powerful juggernaut of loss and grief began...there with the realization that she would never see her mother again...at least in living form...and that her venture though the charybdis vortexes of desperate pain and loss this parting entails...that this quiet, beautiful and blessed land with its deep serenity would never the less open, take her in its arms, hold her while the hurricanes of tears shook her, the desperate gasps of letting go and the blessed relief in the aftermath of crying from our deepest souls would grow her into the new and more powerful woman she would become...ironically consequent to having withstood yet another disaster...with courage, solitude, serenity and grace and walked one day into a brighter sunrise because of it all. This carrying the buoyant sprit of her mother as the guidepost even to the extent of using and relying on it to deal with the loss of her mother herself.

And so it was, as the first disbelieving, denying, paralyzing, then angry rolls of the news of her mother's passing passed and the need to move on, but to commemorate the life of the woman who gave her her life became obvious...along with the limitations and definitions Ruth had created for herself...that she concluded what she would do.

She would venture to the iconic pinnacle of the ancient stone age cultures of this new land which was her passion and her Kokapelli lifestyle...there she could be safe...but also in the deepest spiritual realm attainable...Chaco Canyon...and there she would hold the ritual which would be her memorial to the Mother of her life. There she would do justice to this passing. There on sacred soil she would find the letting go, the gratitude, the rich memories which would allow her to carry the spiritual remnants of Doris forward with her...and to come to peace with the conclusion of their time together.

Why? Because this place...Chaco...had become one of the monuments of the life her deepest intuitive guidances of a lifetime had led Ruth to. Her mother supported that. Would Doris have driven a mile out of her way to go stand among the remnant walls of a civilization a millennium long since dead. Hell no. Why? Because this was Ruth and that's what Doris would have wanted.

What we carry forward from the instant of the passing of a friend, a lover, a sibling...given that we wrap it in serenity, peace, understanding and love...is that it has become a part of ourselves. Doris will live in Ruth now...the only place left where she will.

The dead live on in our memories, our commemorations, our stories...and with our passing, eventually they will fade as well. But what's important now is not what happens to them. That has already happened and it will not happen again. What is important now is what we do with that.

And in these times, the only...ironically the best...things we can do...is sit still, let the memories and feeling pass through us, be with the loss, learn to love and cherish the tears, not to run from the pain...it will grow us...to know that this is an important juncture, one we need the time to heal with, respect and process...not let ourselves be bogged down in depression, keep up the minimal and diverting functional demands of today...but for these days...for a month...probably a year...know that these waves of memory, sadness, tears, convulsive despair, then relieving, resolving joy...will come upon us with thundering power. Like the waves in the ocean...to fight or run from this is dangerous and won't work. Dive, let it take us, roll with it, make friends with the pain, open ourselves to the sorrow, know that the crying is the way we resolve the transitions into rich memories and love that will carry us to our own ends.

We do this alone...just as we are born...just as we will die. And if we're wise we will learn from these grieving times...how best to prepare ourselves for those moments, the last second in that instance when we discover that this time...this time...its us...the end of our own lives. This we can only hope to do in the humblest grace, having given the best of what we had to others and that we will live forward in the best memories of those we loved.

(Quoth the Raven) (Home)