Here's the awesome part: I asked Jesus to wash me -- and I saw living water curl around my naked spirit-self, starting at my feet and swirling around my legs, around my belly, and finally flowing off my arms, and I felt cleansed. Then Jesus stood in front of me and reached out his right hand, palm toward me, and placed it over my heart. When he pulled his hand back, there was a beautiful, glowing silver brand on my chest. I couldn't see it very clearly -- it shimmered a bit -- but it was ovalish, with a delicate design -- so glimmeringly fascinating. When I die I'll be sure to look at it more closely. ;-) Then he pulled me into his lap and held me.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but when we pray through these things the sting is gone from the memory -- the first time I open the memory it brings up all those feelings, but after we pray through it I think over the memory and its power to make me feel violated is gone. If it isn't gone after the first prayer, we pray over the part that still bothers me until it's gone. I can flip through these memories and not feel any yuckiness: but until we go through ALL of them I'll still feel that tinge of dread at opening my mind.
More good news: there is a new part of my mind that I think is the beginning of a healed me, 'cause she looks like me. Today she told the beautiful cobra that she needed to stop hiding my memories and let me go through them, and the cobra agreed; so today was much less inner fighting and more actual healing. I've been dreading theophostic 'cause it has been such hard work to pry the memories out, but it will be much easier now. The cobra was very impressed with how Jesus handled the first memory, and very impressed with how much better the four-year-old looked; she actually smiled today.
The second memory was much harder; it was about my friend Karen. It was two memories, but they kinda blended. In the first, I was on the bottom bunk one night when her older brother climbed to the top bunk and molested her. In the second, I was on the bottom bunk one night and he came in and laid on top of me on top of the covers, to show his power -- in this one I yelled, "Get off, get off, get off!" and kicked and pushed; his mother opened the door and he told her I had pulled him on top of me -- so she told him to go to his own room. I've always been very connected with the spirits of those I love, so I felt much of her feelings as my own. We had opened this memory last time but not had enough time to go through it totally, so we went back into it today, and I think there must be a closely related memory still to go through, 'cause I'm not through being bothered by that one.
The most potent thing about that memory was my helplessness. I didn't know what to do (I was only seven) and my whole being cried out, "Do something!" but I was trapped by my youth and belief that older people were always right. So when we asked Jesus to talk to me about it, he stressed again that age/authority is not always right, and that truth is more important than authority. I asked how I could live that way, and he said for me to question everything I do with why, and if it is for authority other than him (or him speaking through others in a way I see as truth), not to do it. He also told me that he may have let me experience terrible things, but he never left me or looked away; he always had his hand over my heart. After he said that I felt a shield over me; when Karen's brother laid on top of me, I couldn't feel it, and I no longer felt helpless; instead I felt protected.
I also was terribly angry -- oh, I would have delightedly slaughtered Karen's brother had I had the chance. Last time John had asked if I would give my anger to Jesus and I said, "No." Today he asked again, and since Jesus had just built my trust I said yes, figuring that he's more powerful and can do more damage to Karen's brother than I could. Some of the anger began to slip, and I protested to God, "but it isn't fair that he should get away with it!" and he said quietly that no one ever gets away with it -- that doing such things destroys the soul more surely than AIDS destroys the body. Thinking on how merely being the victim can eat at a soul, my anger eased greatly; he may try to drown it in porn or drugs or whatever, but he'll experience a lot more hell than I ever will. After Jesus said that, I went through the memory again, and instead of seeing Karen's brother as a fearsome aggressor, I saw him as he really was -- a skulking, miserable creature, full of fear himself. I didn't feel pity, mind you, but I didn't feel hate either.
Lastly, I had to give up carrying Karen's burden. I can pray for her, but holding her wounds in my heart will do no good and cause me pain. That was difficult, but I'll start praying for her. I think she was actually my favorite friend, but as I grew up my mind hid so many memories of her that she has been a haze in my mind. She is a beautiful person -- I wonder if I will see her again.