How Many Hours Of Sleep Do 4 Year Olds Need The Transformation of the Catapity – Was I Born a Warrior?

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The Transformation of the Catapity – Was I Born a Warrior?

I sit down to write a story today; a story of transformation. What came to mind was an event when my daughter was about 7 years old. It happened on a beautiful spring day. He ran into the house shouting that he found a “CATAPITTY”. I immediately realized that he was referring to the brown and yellow fuzzy caterpillar he let climb up his arm. My earnest response was “Wow, that’s cool! Let’s get a jar to hold it in.” So we put Mrs. Catapitty in a mason jar and poke holes in the top for air. Determined to make her new friend’s house cozy my daughter went out to retrieve a stick and some leaves from the bush where she found her new fuzzy friend. Along with a small bottle of water, he put all the items in the jar. He left Mrs. Catapitty in my mother’s hands and went out to play. In seven years he knew that caterpillars transform into butterflies. He was convinced that he will witness a miracle.

My transformation from a fear-based being to one grounded in love is much like the story of the caterpillar. From the age of 0-10 years I was cute and fuzzy but kept in a jar with food. 11-25 years old I was always in the jar and very determined to find a way out. 26-40 years I was in a cocoon. 41 – 45 I started gnawing my way out. The warrior was freed.

In the bottle – the creation of a warrior

I grew up the youngest of five in a Catholic family in Salt Lake City, Utah and I’m sure I was a woops. Our family was a classic 60-70 dysfunctional family. My oldest sibling is 13 years older. When I was 5, he was on his way to Vietnam and my older sister was pregnant at 16. My brother was seriously wounded in Vietnam. At age 7, I went with my family to San Francisco to pick him up at the VA hospital. I actually walked the halls of these parishes. Some have said, that my father wanted us to know the effects of grizzly war. It was horrifying to say the least.

Then things were really troubled; My other sister decided the heck with all that and began to take a path of drugs and alcohol. I have memories of sitting at the dinner table knowing he had tripped on acid and instinctively covered for it, I was around 9 years old. In a year and a half, he fled to the hippie movement in Haight-Ahsbury, San Francisco. During this time, my mother had a nervous breakdown and my father grew tired of her. We moved from our family home to an apartment, some said that my father could not bear the memories of the “dream” of this house.

While I was in this bottle I verbally ate tons of bad things, my environment (bottle) was not a person who grew emotionally, physically, mentally or spiritually. You see Mrs. Catapitty didn’t survive and neither did any of the friends that were added to her jar. They just weren’t in the right environment to do what they were designed to do. This was a hard lesson for me and my 7 year old daughter.

Escape Plan – Warrior goes a skew – One flies over the coo coo’s nest

At the ripe old age of about 12, I began to look for a way out of this jar. Some of my methods were not very accurate. I picked up fighting in school just to see what it would feel like to physically fight someone. I drank to the point of passing out several times under my parents’ noses. You see I was still in the bottle. They were dealing with everything on the outside of the bottle. My poor mother was so overwhelmed with depression and grief. You see my father succeeded in finding my sister and brought her home. He was on the verge of being lost forever, but he did it, he found it. He was very, very sick with addiction and physical illness. He was briefly interned and then sentenced to the State Mental Institute. Remember that this is the sister that I instinctively try to protect. I spent every weekend visiting him and went on group outings with his other inmates. You see I was fighting for him. I felt responsible to make him better, to make my parents see him as the funny person he is. I was bold. This extreme need to protect him continued for years, well into my twenties. No matter what he was doing, how he was acting, who he was hurting, I defended him because I saw something different from the others. This was the beginning of my enabling.

At that time, my mother almost gave up taking us to church. You see in our family my father would go to mass on Sunday at dawn so he could go golf and then my mother would take us girls to mass later. But when we were living in the apartment it was abandoned. I don’t remember ever going to church during that time. But I went to the “Jesus Freak” Bible study. My friend’s brother would put us 12-13 year old girls in his van and we would attend Friday night Bible study with a bunch of hippies. I still wonder why my mother let me go. Maybe he instinctively knew I needed another kind of food to be added to my jar. Like all good lil ‘Jesus’ Freaks I was led to the altar to accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior. It was the first time in my life that I remember someone telling me that “I loved” that “love” resides inside me. I kept this fact from my family. In a warped sense I felt like what I was doing was wrong, I was trying to tip the jar over and break it.

During my teenage years, I had a few more moments of truth, where I briefly embraced my birthright, the idea that I loved. I experienced enough of this knowledge to keep me looking for a way out, to keep me swinging the bottle trying to flip it over so they execute an escape.

I was well hit by this bottle, I experimented with drugs, I experienced deep depression, I found boyfriends who liked the fact that I was in the bottle and easy to control. I was the epitome of a co-dependent enabler. I found my purpose in others; I was a warrior for others. I defended, protected and fought furiously for those I allowed to abuse me.

The Tipping Point – the bottle breaks

10 days after I graduated high school I moved to California to be with my older sister and boyfriend. You see now I have taken on the duty of protecting my older sister. He was living a self-imposed exile from his children and his family and I chose to live by him. I became his warrior. No matter what he was doing, how he was acting, who he was hurting, I defended him because I saw something different from the others. I saw a loving mother sister who held May and wiped away my tears when I was young. Overtime he became sicker with drug abuse and abusive behavior. I reluctantly began to pull away. I really rocked my jar.

I got married at the age of twenty and immediately I am preparing to go to Venezuela. My sister was very hurt and distraught because I was going to live in another country. I was looking for a way out and I chose to go far, far away. The bottle was about to break.

A month after my wedding day I was standing on the tarmac of Los Angeles International Airport repacking a container. The crew let us out to empty it and repack it to see if we could fit our tables and chairs. While doing this, a horse shoe my mother gave me fell and hit me on the head. Time stopped for a moment. I knew that, I knew that something terrible had happened.

Once while we were on this asphalt, my older sister was involved in an accident. He experienced a head injury that caused severe brain damage. The details don’t matter. The result was that I found myself among shards of broken ice; My bottle was overturned and I was gasping for air.

In the days before his accident, we all stopped talking. Now I was in an ICU standing in front of a distorted version of my sister who asked for a priest to administer her last rights. This was happening while my parents and brother were in Salt Lake looking for flights to join us in California. I found my 20-year-old self being asked to make decisions about his imminent death. I didn’t sleep for over 24 hours waiting for him to die or for my parents to show up. Don’t know what would happen first.

Susie’s body did not die that day. Even though the Susie I knew and loved did. He remained in a semi-coma state for more than 5 years; he went into his cocoon and I moved to Venezuela to start experiencing life out of the bottle.

Walking on broken ice – I do not know how to move in this

I had nothing to prepare me for the world I now found myself in except my warrior spirit and my glimpse of Love. I lived in Venezuela for 5 years and had 2 children there. I started playing the role I would play for the next 20 years of my life.

You see all these events were written in my Law Book, they were how I saw life and sometimes I did not want to participate. I suffered from intermittent depression and self-loathing. I slipped away from the shards of ice to climb a branch and begin to build a wall around myself. It was time to go to the cocoon.

Unravel the threads – In search of sunlight – Love is calling your name

I think I would remain in this protective blanket, not knowing my potential, not experiencing my perfection and my magnificence if it were not for my earthly angels, my teachers, who happen to be my children.

You see, I tried my damnestest to have the perfect family. I talked talk to walk to walk. No one but myself knew that we were dysfunctional. It wasn’t the same kind of dysfunction that I experienced earlier in life but it was. You see now I have taken on the duty of my husband’s protection. No matter what he was doing, how he was acting, who he was hurting, I defended him because I saw something different from the others. She also became increasingly sick of his abusive behavior.

The story began to repeat itself, the older son is involved in drugs and alcohol, the daughter suffers from depression and needs hospitalization and my youngest innocent catapitty fuzzy watching the whole thing. I, the warrior ran amuck, ran around protecting and trying to fix everything and everyone. I needed to get out of that protective cocoon. I need to untangle the threads that made up my protective clothing. I NEED TO SEE THE LIGHT! DEAR GOD PLEASE LET ME SEE THE LIGHT NOW!

On December 27, 2005, my cocoon opened. My husband of 25 years, physically attacked my daughter who was at home in college. His anger was so intense, so directed that it took 4 of us to pull him. You might be shocked that I just shared this with you. Let me assure you that the parties involved do not regard this day as a day of punishment. It is born as a blessed day, a day of awakening. That day, I transitioned, my wings were released, and a new me was on the horizon.

The path to peace is an inward journey – crumbs of love

In an hour after this incident, I sat calmly in front of my family wrapped in the peace of God who understands that every moment, every moment in this bottle and cocoon is me preparing for the next chapter of my life, and I was continue with grace and grace. ease You see I realize that this life here is my life, my illusion, my creation. Everything that happened in this jar, in this cocoon that I created, was the breadcrumb for the discovery of my perfection, my magnificence. I realized that “I” was the only one who needed to be told, to know, to experience, to demonstrate that I AM LOVE.

Since then I went on a wild discovery of self-love that brought me to this moment in front of you today. I am on a mission to surround myself with love, to love, to show love, to be a spiritual warrior for love. Don Miguel Ruiz says that one who embraces the Toltec Teachings of the “Four Accords” is a spiritual warrior. This is about me showing you that you are born with this same light. The light of your creator. You are Love. Touch your heart, this is where your true essence resides. Your reset button, your start over button is always available to you.

I am in my knowledge now

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