A Portrait of Homelessness : Made on the streets

By DeVa SoNa





One day a lil girl went running towards the sea.  Chased there by life herself.  It looked an innocent scene but;
She had no idea how to swim, nor strength to stand up against the waves.  Not even knowledge that she might drown.
AND so, she ran.
Chased along the beach into the sea.

And her mother stood and watched.


I want my child back!!!!!!

Alex and mermaid

Ya Muhammad http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqMxzOoGqqc


I shine a light on your dark side.  All is known.  There is nowhere to hide from my beaming light.

Darkness is revealed.   Collapsed on cold wet tarmac, passed out in car parks, hidden in corners, under buildings, inside holes,

I am the bringer of light, Lucifer.  Angel in the Darkness.

Dancing with morning’s  light.  (BOB murder audio)

promise in hiding from policevideo arrest video, rape abuse video. let me go video  cctv diceys

The invitation http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucNYwRLYYB4&list=UUy6EYMrAfIRHPJ3dNbwyaEw&index=21&feature=plcp

All I need is me. I’m beautiful sure.  I know what goes on inside me.  I’m beautiful me, everything I need, me.

Lost in thedelicious mesmerism, singing, stretching, drumming yum.

I’m really beautiful me.  A goddess bee, dripping honeydewed nectar.


What if god were the heat at the core of the earth?  The volcano tearing out mother’s souls; engulfing children in flames.

What if Lucifer were the angel shining light on us: Mother:Child, Man:Woman, as we journey these lvarous coals?

What if?

And what if god were the shining light poured upon his children in an extravegant plan?  What if god were in each and everyone of us?  If we were part of the fabric of it all?

God playing games with himself, calling it life.

I see myself now. The great provocateur.  I always was except I didn’t understand and the adjectives used were weird and chaos.  Love triggers passion, openess, fear.  Shit hits the surface, shooting out like machine gun bullets from the enslaved.  Freedom is terrifying, riddled with terror, infested, making man act in ways that push love away.  Stamping out life, avoiding her.

They do not know my song.  They are not HU man.  It means nothing to them when I sing of love.

What I write isnt for your eyes.  Your heart can’t comprehend it through your putrid messed up mind.  my words are beyond you.  You would hack, chop and spew them into oblivion for touching you.  my words although of the fabric of your heart are vile to the sordid mind.

govindra the invitation


I listened to him screaming, bullied in his pain.  Asking how may I help this man?

Then releasing a Duarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, a healing mantra.

A soft blue cloud swept across the station and we eased.

(hiding from police video)

Police Bitch

I stretched into the basin washing my feet, with my ass in the air – Off CCTV.

And he oozed onto a wall watching, offering freedom and coffee in exchange for a glimpse of my tits.

I obliged.  – Off CCTV, just to be free.  In another choice, space, free. Then I danced in their courtyard- On CCTV.  Entertaining them with yogic maneouvres, healing me in a place with flashings of sky and breeze.  Flashings of free.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0GHjti_wzM   > Stigmata

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-czwy-aVbbU kill bill

I’m a modern day shakespeare.  A writer on the run.  An undercover journalist.  Russian Spy, Lara Croft, activist.  Broken and bleeding mum.

Writing on the streets, walls, floors anywhere I will be seen.

Locked up, injured then rereleased for it.  Ordered by their courts to stop, beaten into submission, into conformity by many police.

I’ve begged them for a pen but no sobbing of tears softens those souls.  Non the less am a writer,  I write

Hula( maya angelou video)

I waled towards her graceful smiling face:

“She’s dead”

A strolling tear fell from her cheek.  Her eyes leaning into mine, she cast a buoy, keeping herself afloat.

And she breathed. Stretched, bent and breathed again, easing herself into sleep.

Goodnight Mum

And Dad and Zen and my sweetest smiling Angel.

“Be Love”, she whispered.

Promise http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnOggy_YWEI&list=UUy6EYMrAfIRHPJ3dNbwyaEw&index=40&feature=plcp


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Valentines Week newsitem *Whispering thru Keyholes*

Please view this letter, and accompanying videos.  & help me to get several love messages aired  as news items this Valentines week to the beautiful people I met recently, in a psychiatric hospital.

I apologise for the messy presentation.  I am weak at the moment 🙂

There are many people whose hearts  will be touched by this  sharing of humanity..  I know because I worked in many hospital throughout my life,  meeting many similarly fated people.  Vowing every working day to bring an end to their suffering .  I now find myself in a position that people have hystericly begged me, to help them, after sharing a hospital facility with them for the past two weeks, and being set free.

I am committed with my love.  I AM helping !

I have  listened to them no less than scream to me down the phone,  begging me to help end their 24 hour torture, in health care.  They have gathered in groups and pleaded, discussed, problem solved and screamed again for help.  Strangled themselves in Tv lounges, bean beaten on public view,  watching thier friends run around, screaming in fear.  Their eyes have rolled in the backs of their heads with hysteria, watching violence, drip down bloodied walls.  They’ve been woken either by alarm bells or big men at thier windows.  Turning on the lights every 15 minutes as they slept.  What human can endure this ?  Particulrly when pregnant.

They begged me to help.  I am still in shock, but I am trying my hardest.

Please assist.



Dear News reader –

I would like to make a request from my heart, and the hearts of 15 beautiful young women, for your assistance in sharing love messages, over the course of Valentine’s week.

I wondered how I could ever convey my story to you, so that you could consider even the possibility of assisting me, and thought the best way to do it is with a video.  One teling my story so far, and how I met 15 beautiful Angels in a psychiatric ward.

They have each and individually asked me to help them with what is commonly experienced as 24 hour a day suffering in hell.  We have committed to help each other by being as calm, and loving as we possibly can and sharing this amongst each other.

The following is a video, excellently portraying my own journey into hopsital. Ironicly the love videos that Iwish to share this Valentines week, are also vidoes, used against me as evidence  to place me in hospital care.  I know the girls will laugh a lot when they see them.  They  also  serve as the best way I know to convey love messages, through a very tiny keyhole.

I would like to share Love* with those still in hopsital, allowing them to know that I am here.  I care.  I love. We may sing and dance, even in the war zone.

& set our selves free, no matter what 🙂

Thank you

From: healingmillions@googlemail.com [mailto:healingmillions@googlemail.com] On Behalf Of Sue
Sent: 10 February 2011 13:25
To: samhallimond@freedomlaw.es; samhallimond@gmail.com; ian@monaco.mc; mel.stride.mp@parliament.uk; Craig Giffard; Michael Hayman; Richard; richard@gowmans.co.uk; Richard Minshall; Fairchild, Mark; McKenna Mark; chico_da_ponte@yahoo.com; Rebecca Tonge; Straker Penelope (DEVON PCT); Sandra.Shepherd@thechelsea.co.uk; MS GYPSY; Guy.COCHRAN@devonandcornwall.pnn.police.uk; guy.opperman.mp@parliament.uk; Bennetts Deborah (DEVON PARTNERSHIP NHS TRUST); p.bowen@doughtystreet.co.uk; totnes.times@tindlenews.co.uk; Hopkins Richard (DEVON PCT); Evans Kathy (DEVON PARTNERSHIP NHS TRUST); Jon; editor@ukcolumn.org; editor@observer.co.uk; fchristophers@tiscali.co.uk; steven@turtonsofdevon.co.uk; Robert Friedman; Branka Končar; editor@guardianunlimited.co.uk; editorial@londonmetro.co.uk; editorial@gooletimes.co.uk
Subject: Fwd: recordings health and social care abuse. Patients begging for help

audio files, together in a zip file.

From: J
Date: Mon, Jan 31, 2011 at 1:50 PM

this is a copy of an email sent to Ian Josephs.

he has a website containing information about the state of the social services in England

link to website.. http://www.forced-adoption.com/introduction.asp

For the attention of Ian Josephs.
I am writing on behalf of a friend (Sue
Holland), who is currently being held against her will “involuntary
hospitalisation”, at a London Cygnet hospital. This follows on from a
2 year fight with the Social Service after her daughter’s case was
poorly dealt with. I believe that this ‘hospitalisation’ is an effort
to undermine and dissuade Ms Holland from taking further actions
against the SS and authorities.
The details are…
On Monday 24th Jan 2011, Ms Sue Holland was taken from her home
(Devon, UK) and taken into – “involuntarily hospitalisation”, in a
private London hospital, Cygnet Hospital Beckton.
Sue has been a close friend and colleague for several years, and in my
opinion she was not a danger to herself or the public, or exhibiting
any signs of psychiatric disorder. Another friend and colleague Mr
Richard Herbert, (an NHS mental health care manager), can also attest
to Ms Hollands condition.
Over the past 2 years Ms Holland has been investigating and making
enquiries into possible child abuse in the Devon area, this was
regarding her own daughters treatment at a local private school and
the social services refusal to co-operate with Ms Holland in any
investigation, resulting in the child being taken into care.
I have concerns that the hospitalisation of Ms Holland may be
motivated by the authorities desire to hide evidence and dissuade Ms
Holland from taking further actions.
Ms Hollands treatment in the hospital has been disgusting, she has
been left to wear urine covered clothes for several days, without
access to fresh air, or adequate access to liquid refreshments. After
several days new clothes where provided for Ms Holland, however they
were too large. Sue has now been informed as to the reason for the
detention, of which include, self neglect, sending emails alleging
abuse, drying clothes over the oven, having a strange arrangement of
mirrors in the living room, being agitated by several police and
doctors coming into her bedroom in the middle of the night, and being
agitated during a psychological assessment.
There are a number of issues as I see it.
1. the unwillingness and neglect on the part of the authorities to
co-operate and attend to the serious questions and concerns of Ms
Holland regarding the abuse allegations.
2. the apparent ‘harassment’ of Ms Holland by the authorities
supposedly in place to protect and serve members of the public. this
is refering to remarks made by the SS and the private school regarding
Ms Hollands state of mind.
3. the wrongful detention of Ms Holland, for, as i see it, persisting
in the effort to establish truth and justice.
4. the mistreatment of Ms Holland whilst held in secure confined
quarters, eg. not having access to fresh air and clean clothes,
adiquate liquids, being subject to violent conditions and exposed to
unnecessary risk and stress, under the label of ‘Health Service’.
I understand there is a lot of complex information here, and it may
take some time to digest it all. If you feel you are able to assist in
any way, please get in touch.
Ms Sue Holland is contactable via
Cygnet Hospital Beckton
Hooper ward
23 Tunnan Leys
E6 6ZB
Tel: 020 7511 2299
Fax: 020 7511 3399
She has told me that she will soon be moved to a new location, we do
not yet know where this will be.
Thank you so much for your time.


Forwarded conversation
Subject: For Immediate & Rightful Intervention

From: healing millions <healingmillions@googlemail.com>
Date: Wed, Feb 9, 2011 at 11:38 AM
To: mel.stride.mp@parliament.uk, Craig Giffard <sprout_house@hotmail.co.uk>, Michael Hayman <mhayman@bynes.co.uk>, Richard <ribald@hotmail.co.uk>, richard@gowmans.co.uk, Richard Minshall <richard@minshall.co.uk>, “Fairchild, Mark” <Mark.Fairchild@hmcourts-service.gsi.gov.uk>, McKenna Mark <Mark.McKenna@ombudsman.org.uk>, chico_da_ponte@yahoo.com, Rebecca Tonge <Rebecca.Tonge@ipcc.gsi.gov.uk>, “Straker Penelope (DEVON PCT)” <pstraker@nhs.net>, Sandra.Shepherd@thechelsea.co.uk, MS GYPSY <gypsymystic@optusnet.com.au>, Guy.COCHRAN@devonandcornwall.pnn.police.uk, guy.opperman.mp@parliament.uk, “Bennetts Deborah (Devon Partnership NHS Trust)” <deborah.bennetts@nhs.net>, p.bowen@doughtystreet.co.uk, totnes.times@tindlenews.co.uk, richard.hopkins@nhs.net

Dear Health Ombudsman, Chief of Police, Mel Stride.  Michael Hayman, Richard Porritt and all others in recepit of this email. Please investigate immediately and urgently and afford appropriate legal measures to address GROSS and recurrent ABUSE,  through any monies that I may have on account, legal aid, and standard measures offered by customary government protective and investigatory services..

Thank you

This information is so painful, I can barely write it down.  But I am unable to facilitate assistance even in the simple act of recording a  voice message to a solicitor, or other ” body” without resistance and ultimate failure.

So,  I am trying my best to write.  But I am utterly presently ” fucked” and make no apology for this fact. Nor for my humanity.

Letter from Terry Grace Mental health manager ?  April 2009

Following a meeting with Mrs Susan Holland and her supporter “Richard”, earlier this week, I would wish to provide you with the following clarification on behalf of Devon Partnership NHS Trust for Mental Health and Learning Disabilities:
We understand that Mrs Holland daughter is currently in the care of the local authority and that events leading up to this happening involved a member of DPT, Pauline Weston, Community Psychiatric Nurse, sharing her view that Mrs Holland was “psychotic”. This seems to have been shared at a meeting with Social services and Sands school and may have contributed to opinions about Mrs Holland’s mental health and parenting abilities?

We wish to clarify that Ms Weston was not qualified to diagnose Mrs Holland as psychotic, which would have required medical assessment by a Consultant Psychiatrist. Mrs Holland has not received any medical assessment or diagnosis by any employee of Devon Partnership Trust and the view expressed by Pauline Weston is therefore unreliable with regard to any opinion about Mrs Holland’s mental health at that time.

We wish to apologise to all parties concerned for this error.
Mrs Holland has informed us that she has since been assessed by an independent Consultant Psychiatrist appointed by the Family Court and you will be aware of the outcome of that assessment.
Mrs Holland has told us that she believes her daughter is a victim of emotional abuse by her teacher at Sands School and that this has damaged her relationship with her daughter. She has also told us that she believes her daughter is still subject to abuse as a result of the care arrangements she is currently experiencing, and that she has made a formal complaint to Devon Social Services which is currently under investigation.

Our meeting with Mrs Holland was at our request to acknowledge the misinformation Ms Weston contributed to past events and to offer our apology, which has been accepted.
I trust this clarifies the situation and please feel able to contact myself of our Clinical Team Leader, Tim Francis, should you wish to discuss further.

Yours sincerely

Terry Grace
Assistant General Manager
Wellbeing & Access

Please see section 2 papers composed following the actions of Tim Francis, after a second meeting with him, myself, Richard Herbert -Health professional, witness and friend, and Deborah Bennets   – Jan 20011.

At my second meeting with TIm Francis we discussed acquiring a public enquiry into evidenced, witnessed and partially admitted emotional abuse of both myself and my entire family, along withchildren in Devon Social Services care and Sands school.  Including investigations into the police, family courts, CAFCASS, several solicitors, medical professionals and other government and private individuals.

Four days after this discussion eight legal and medical persons entered my home whilst I was in bed.  Injured my neck, bruised my body ( again ), handcuffed me, refused to let me pee, and took me to a police cell for a mental health assessment to determine whether I was mentally ill.  This interview, including police officers, is on cell footage. And despite 15 minute, 24 hour assessment, even when sleeping in bed I am still deemed as not expressing signs and symptoms of psychosis, violent, self harming behaviour, nor any other mental illness.  Non the less they wished to keep me in  PSYCHIATRIC INTENSIVE CARE UNIT for longer, IN ORDER to determine whether I might be mentally ill.

I was detained IN A POLICE CELL, then driven in a blacked out private ambulance, with 3 carers to a private Psychiatric Intensive Care clinic for violent, self harming people with a diagnosis of mental illness, as it was determined I could not be managed in the community, nor anything but the most secure mental health setting in London.  Where I was prohibited from contacting persons to inform them of my  “Abduction” from my bed with nothing but a pair of shoes, jeans and a cardigan.  Discover why my Mother was in hospital and contact her, or deal with the impending reposssession of my home.Where I was left without underwear, toiletries and could not brush my teeth for a week, nor change my clothes, without one hell of a war.

The reasons for this section include –

– The resurrection of information falsely spread by Pauline weston 2008.  Brought back for professional discssion 2011, despite being determined as inaccrate and damaging – ? April 2008

– Having clothes drying on top of my oven, due to having a broken boiler for 3 years, and no heating.

– Having a mirror ” unusually” placed, facing a window

-Allegedly being underweight at size 12, and unrecognisable by my GP

-Having made a complaint about my gp for ignoring both my general and mounting medical needs and my ability to protect my family from partially admitted and acknowledged abuse.  Something my GP then denied knowledge of in the police cell.

– Being unkempt

-Allegedly not taking iron tablets, despite 2 requests for repeated prescriptions on GP records.

-Being ” paranoid ” about police involvement in my life, despite injuries on my medical records, folowing visits from the police. Including a prescription for iron, after bleeding for 2 months when previously, unnecessarily and extremely damagingly, arrested whilst trying to inform my daughter of my Father’s death and visit him.  With ? 48 police contacts on record since 2008

-Having knocked a hole in a bedroom wall to let in both heat and light, into what was once and undertakers office where the dead were laid to rest.

– Sleeping behind my sofa , to assist my neighbours in witnessing false, unnecessary, deeply damaging intervention from police and other professionals.

-Some other utterly stupid shit which I forget.

Police have now falsely evidenced that I have kicked and spat at them – I never have.  That I was sexually inappropriate and spoke about alien abduction in the police cell – I did not.

A doctor has determined me sexually vulnerable after being raped 20 years ago.  Deeming it necessary to keep me in a violent facility, where I have watched people physicly violated by staff, and I have been kicked, and repeatedly punched in the head.

The evidence is on CCTV footage.  Staff have repeatedly assaulted and emotionaly abused patients at the CYGNET hopsital Beckton.  I am informed the NHS pay 800 pounds a day to keep patients in their private care facility.  And that there are approx 500 other similar hopsitals through cygnet.

Thankfully an insightful and humane psychiatrist, with a modecum of intellect assessed me during a 7 hour tribunal and saw through the bullshit, allowing me to return home.  I AM IN SHOCK  at the concentration camp facility I have been forced to exist in for weeks.  I am asking for this matter to be dealt with appropriatly and humanely.

I have had doors closed in my face, been repeatedly igored, or spoken to with contempt or agitation.  I have watched staff assault clients.  Medicate them for singing, Allow them to headbang repeatedly night and day.  Turn on lights waking patients every 15 minutes.  Lay in bed listening to 3 radios surrounding me and playing night and day.  With a tv on 24 hours a day, bright lights that can not be turned off, and restricted access to a caged outside area to smoke.  I have sat in urine and faeces, vomit and blood.  Walked in it and smelt of it for weeks.  With no alternative offered.  I have looked at blood left on walls from headbanging.  Seen mounting cigarette burns on patients heads, after they could not find a way to express the experience of being placed in an environment of 24 hour alarm bell ringing, patient running and screaming like animals in distress.  Being shouted at, pounced upon, injured and injected night and day. DESPITE one patient being 8 months pregnant ! Utterly placing both Mother and baby AT RISK

I have no intention of re reading this letter as it is too painful.  I beleive I have expressed enough to merit a thorough, humane and rightful investigation into GROSS ABUSE.

Cygnet hospitals require instant and immediate investigation.  As do Sands school, devon children’s services and others.  The abuse of my entire family, and all others in the ” care ” system must stop.  NOW.

Thank you.

S Holland

Ps I refuse service intervention from my GP Dr RIchard Hopkins, but am evidencing my situation on my medical records via his contact address, as I have no other access.

From: healing millions <healingmillions@googlemail.com>
Date: Wed, Feb 9, 2011 at 1:17 PM
To: david.mclaughlin@edwardsduthie.com

Dear David

Firstly I would like to thank you for your extraordinary genius with regards to my self.

I am forwarding a letter, sent this am.  I would like to ask whether you could take one further action on my behalf and forward it to the equally extraordinary gentleman – the independent doctor, whose name I have regretably forgotten.

Thank you

Sorry to be different

Sue 🙂

My love videos, for fellow patients – starting with one of the videos used in court as evidence against me.  🙂

And another one –

And yet another one –

One for the Angels that I met whilst working in a similar hospital in Bermuda

Lets –


And finally, one Iwas prohibited from airing.  Breaking my heart, yet again.  I have decided to air it. No man will stop me being in my heart, with my love 🙂



Ps Malka would like somebody to tape her plea for help, over the phone. It is very distressing to hear, but she needs to release this.  I don’t have recording facilities.

Her number is 020 75112299

ty from Malka.

further information available on facebook   Devas Ona – The book of faces.  A book written backwards by facebookers

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

I write

I write these facts because I have to, to get them out of my skin.

I write these facts because we need to know them, and neither of our memories are reliable.  Mine went missing in action, and hers is utterly corrupted by “the system”. Brain washed, re programmed.

I write these things because they are wrong, worthy of correction.

I write these things because a force inside me has to.

I write so I may breathe in their release, and a prayer that there truly is justice,  good health care, and honest government ministers, and they can’t wait to assist us.

I write because what I hoped and prayed for has not been found.  These systems wiped out our lives, along with those of many others.

 And, they may change.

I write, bringing that change about. Starting by getting to know myself, learning what in hell is going on ?

I write even though you threaten me with prison, because I know, nothing calling its self justice could send a woman to prison for writing for her rights, and the safety of herself and a child. 

Only the corrupt and inhumane could incarcerate for this. Which they do.  Ignoring diabolical abuse of entire families.

Writing, waiting condemnation, unfolding non the less.

I write.

What is it that I write that troubles you so much.  I speak of truthful expression, love, creativity, and protecting children.  What in this causes you to violently oppose, assault and falsley imprison me into silence ?

What offense is it  that I commit, that causes government officials to become so fearful, deny human rights and violate.  Waking me from sleep to do it  ?

Posted in Uncategorized | 9 Comments

Letter to Santa

Dear Judy
This is something I wrote.  I have no idea whether it is something you would dare to or ever consider publishing.  But in my fantasy world, its a beautiful human christmas story, worthy of publication.
With Love
Sue )
Dear Santa Claus
I tried writing to everybody but it seems nobody is home. Family, friends, neighbours and old lovers, MPs, GPs, the Mayor and the portrieve.  Dressed in their golden medallions and puffing cheeks. Mr Cameron, and all his undermen, henchmen and churchmen, solicitors, barristers and even a Judge, not to mention the queen, and every other person that I could think of. But they chose to ignore me.   
Just how did it come to this ? How do they not look interested for even one second when I say there is child abuse ?
How ?
” You’ve got 3 weeks from the date on the letter that we sent you last week.  Didn’t you read it ?  We’re repossessing on the 27th.  Can you pay some money ? “
” I didn’t realise.  The man said I had 3 months, and No ! ” 
” Hi, it’s PC Bodiddly, you know what I’m gonig to say dont you ? ”   ( before I hang up on you again. )    ” We won’t be protecting your child and family, or your rights with the law.  Your car can be taken, along with your child, home, money, safety and anything else you thought we might protect. And yes we can burst in any hour of the day and night and brutally drag you into the streets.  ( Slamdown phone.)
The snow is really thick.  It really is Christmas.  Finally it’s white.  Christmas isn’t quite real somehow without snow.
The light heals me, sparkling and dazzling my eyes as if a fairy waved her wand in my face with a woosh .
Theres no heating, and noone to share it with.  Im often unconscious, dehaydrated, mistreated, tortured, anaemic, missing one child who was stolen, angry, sad, panic stricken, and dragged out kicking and screaming from my bed,, thick bloodied, missing one thyroid, lost in time, lacking memory, malnourished in modern day Britain, hypothermic,disabled and paralyzed by services, that wiped out my life with another whoosh, then failed to put anything good back in.
And what was it that I did, to bring you flocking through my door with such great force and inhumanity ? 
Argh yes that old chestnut ”  NO thing ! ” Other than send a child to school one Morning. 
After that all hell broke loose.  Then you demons swooped in, and dined upon my life, for absolutly no other reason than its all that you know.  Destruction and utter carnage in the name of “service provision”.  Something service users learn to dread.
You expect me to walk into the street, ignoring that sometimes I can’t get up from the floor.  It will be interesting to experience what you do.  I have no doubt from recent expereince that you will delightedly force and stretcher me out of here, dumping me out there, before asking me to move along. Ridding yourselves, finally of the proof of your crimes. You may breathe. 
Arrest me for breaching your peace, if I don’t.  Call upon the hospital, again.  See if you may finally diagnose me mad ? There are many vaults to conceal  people with, whether they agree or not.  What does it matter that the jailers are middle ages henchmen, drunk on solicitation, utterly nuts and injecting drugs.  Your outcomes are guaranteed time and time again. Squash the people out of their rebellion, until they dribble and drool.  Coffin box liners, taking their time, lustily devouring their slaves. if only my words were ironic, elaborate use of creative language, or just a bitter and twisted old bat, being bled.  But they are not.  If only …

On Fri, Dec 24, 2010 at 1:34 PM, healing millions <healingmillions@googlemail.com> wrote:

Dear inspector Nott.
I agree not to call upon you again.  It is apparent you have no intention of servicing me with the law.  However in return, please could you promise also to stop calling upon me.  When I commit a crime or turn mentally lost, I will call upon your officers.  Otherwise please leave me be, except of course for the investigation of the abuse of families.  If ever you decide to apply the actual law.
Lives have been put at risk, and I have received injuries as a consequence of Devon and Cornwall police refusal to investigate life threatening abuse, and their resultant misuse of the law.
If I write too often, it is because of this.  However you have made it clear that you have no intentions of carrying out the law, and will continue to compound the effects of crime with bullying, illegal and inhumane practices of your own, including stone walling.
I will ask once more that evidenced, witnessed and partially ADMITTED CHILD ABUSE IS INVESTIGATED.  Children and families protected, and the harrassment of myself from many sources is stopped.

I practised being out there this week.  Stepped into the snow and panicked, thinking, how will I sleep in this.  And cars roared by me, splashing iced cold onto what had almost been a warm spot, ignoring me utterly as a human being and driving on, depriving me even of dry as I stamped and marched out panic onto the road,  swerving cars around me, insisting on my right at least to have a path to place my foot on, without risking death and car abuse.
An Occupational Therapist and Health Service Manager, made incapable at times of getting up off the floor. How do I even walk into this street and permit you to repossess me.  I’m often incapable of possessing myself, or even laying down to sleep.  My lungs hurt me!  A result of being visited too often and for no good reason by service providers, set up allegedly to assist me .  But somehow I kept getting squashed, in all forms imaginable, including underneath a pile of police.. making reasons up as they went along, excusing outrageous actions. Wiping out an entire family, ignoring abuse, then pouring on your own. . Do I exaggerate ?     If only… ! 
Is this letter too long ?  Too unbarable  to see, to  know ?  Too honest ? Free ?, weird, strange, too scarey to read ?  What is the reason these things may exist ?
I, a Mother have read your notes, written in week one of this mess, written too many years ago.  Saying ” Let’s ship her to a stranger on the otherside of the world, ”   And not trouble ourselves to investigate blatant, evidenced, witnessed and even admitted child abuse.
I ‘ve spoken to the entire world, asking them to make it stop .
You walk past me, or look the other way.
It means nothing.
Who  screams back how soon they will help ?    or more importantly ” It has been stopped ! “
I find these facts unsettlingly strange.
I will sleep in the snow.  She although very cold, is also very kind to me, and makes the world  much more fun.
Dear Santa Claus
Please send some human beings this Christmas.
Thank you
PS I’d like to experience myself as a Mum, again.  I believe we did nothing wrong. I’d like my Daughter to have her Mother’s love returned, immediately, to her heart.. 
There is no earthly reason to deprive a soul of this. Please deliver my love priority delivery. With Rudolph and jingling bell kind of things, just for fun.
PPS –  Please leave  a gift for the couple that listened when I had a panic attack, in the posh lingerie shop.  In return for the love they offered me, splashed with baubbles and pink lace.  I think there might even have been a Christmas Robin somewhere : )
Dear Sue
Thank you for your letter for possible inclusion in Around Ashburton. 
The Christmas edition has already gone to print and will soon be distributed (snow permitting!) so I am afraid your letter is too late to be included.
With best wishes for a happy Christmas.
Kind regards.
“It’s Christmas,  I hear a wand whisping . “
Enter stage left an Angel:   wearing nothing but Wings and a smile 🙂
And maybe a Hula Hoop, and a few feathers, a bit of glitter, that kind of thing 🙂
The End.
I am a light, removing this burdening of self 🙂
Stage right : Walk in God, with a torch
Dear Santa Claus
Please  also post this letter in god’s chimney, whilst your delivering his gifts, ty.
” Dear God, what took you so long   ? “

There are no mistakes in Heaven or upon earth. Just meals that we forgot we’d ordered. Making them seemingly difficult to digest, at a table already filled with all form of dishes. A task made even harder, whilst shouting at the waiter for delivering them.

Instead. let’s toast our servants with wine, no matter what undesirable meal they deliver. Cleanse our enemies feet with spykenard and tears. Feasting as brothers together, upon life – A meal prepared unerringly by and for the gods within us.

Without my life force I am death. Within it I am the whole is and isn’t.

Rio de Janeiro, December 15, 2010
Dear Reader,

As a way of thanking you for the continued support throughout 2010, and in maintaining with the tradition of years past, I am sending along a Christmas story that I wrote for my column, which has been published in many newspapers around the world.

May the universe conspire in ways that all your wishes for 2011 are realized.
The Pine Tree of St. Martin
As the parish priest of a little village called St Martin in the French Pyrenees was getting ready to celebrate Mass one Christmas Eve, he began to smell a wonderful fragrance. It was winter, and the flowers had disappeared a long time before, yet there was the pleasant smell of springtime floating through the air.

Intrigued, he decided to go outside and look where the smell was coming from and across a young boy sitting in front of the school door. Next to him was a golden Christmas tree.

“What a beautiful tree!” said the vicar to the boy, “It seems to have touched the sky, and it gives off such a delightful scent! It’s made of pure gold! Where did you find it?”

The young man looked up at the priest, seemingly unhappy with what had been said.

“Truth is, the longer it took me to carry this home, the harder the leaves got and the heavier it felt. But it can’t be real gold, and I’m scared of what my parent’s reaction will be.”

The young man continued his story.

“This morning, my mother gave me money to go to the city of Tarbes to buy a Christmas tree. When I was going through the village, I saw a lonely old woman who had no family to spend Christmas dinner with. I was certain I would be able to get a good discount on a tree, so I gave her some of the money I had for her to buy herself some dinner. As I continued through the town, I passed by the prison and saw an enormous line of people waiting to go inside to visit their loved ones. I overheard some of them say they did not even have enough money to buy a slice of Christmas fruit cake. I was so moved by these young people waiting in line and I decided I would share some of my money with them too. I gave most of it to them, keeping just a small amount for myself to buy some lunch. The florist I was going to visit was a friend of the family and I was sure that if I promised to work all next week for him, that he would give me the Christmas tree for free. When I reached the market, though, I found out that the florist I knew did not go to work that day. I tried as hard as I could to find someone who would lend me the money I needed to buy the Christmas tree somewhere else, but it was all in vain. Frustrated, I decided that having some lunch would help me clear my head and I walked over to the restaurant counter. As I approached the bar, a foreign-looking little boy asked me if I could spare some change because he hadn’t eaten in two days. I remembered that at one time even Jesus may have gone hungry, and I handed over the little money I had left and began returning home. On my walk back, I broke off a brand from a pine tree and tried to decorate it as well as I could, since I didn’t get the Christmas tree I was supposed to get. But as I continued to walk it just kept getting heavier and heavier and turning into metal, and it’s far from being the Christmas tree that my mother is expecting me to come home with.

“My dear boy”, said the priest, “the perfume that is emanating from this tree leaves no doubt whatsoever that it has been touched by heaven. Let me tell you the rest of its story.”ť

The priest sat down next to the boy and continued, “As soon as you walked away from that lonely woman, she immediately asked the Virgin Mary, a mother like herself, to give you an unexpected blessing. The parents of the prisoners were convinced that they had come across an angel, and said prayers of thanks for the Christmas cakes they were now able to buy. The boy you met at the restaurant gave thanks to god for satiating his hunger. The Virgin, angels and Jesus heard the prayers of those who had been helped and when you broke off the brand from the pine tree, the Virgin bathed it in perfume. As you continued to walk, the angels touched the leaves and they turned to gold. Finally, when everything was complete Jesus looked upon the work and blessed. From now on, whoever touches this tree will have their sins forgiven and their wishes fulfilled.”

The legend goes that the sacred pine tree is still there in St. Martin, and that its force is so great that all who help their brothers on Christmas Eve, however far they may be from the little village in the Pyrenees, are blessed by it.
(Inspired by a Hassidic tale)
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My response to your email.
A letter to Santa Claus, from  a witch of portobello. A story I’d considered sending to you this morning, as I watched Sufi dancers and began to spin 🙂
Then you emailed me giving me an excuse.
With Love

St. Martin’s Day, also known as the Feast of St. Martin, Martinstag or Martinmas, the Feast of St Martin of Tours or Martin le Misércordieux, is a time for feasting celebrations. This is the time when autumn wheat seeding is completed. Historically, hiring fairs were held where farm laborers would seek new posts. The feast day, is November 11, the feast day of St. Martin of Tours, who started out as a Roman soldier. He was baptized as an adult and became a monk. It is understood that he was a kind man who led a quiet and simple life. The most famous legend of his life is that he once cut his cloak in half to share with a beggar during a snowstorm, to save the beggar from dying of the cold. That night he dreamed that Jesus was wearing the half-cloak Martin had given away. Martin heard Jesus say to the angels: “Here is Martin, the Roman soldier who is not baptised; he has clothed me.” [1]

The Skirt of a Sufi is but Jesus ‘ cloak spinning.

Tonight an Angel, disguised as a Viking travelled, this time from Ireland ,to hold me in his wings, before leaving again in a truly heartbreaking Christmas kind of way. Leaving me to myself .  The scariest place to be 🙂

You may slam your hammers down, disemboweling me in your courts. Throw your papers  upon my soil,  and even leap on me.  Email, telephone and directly inform me.  Non the less ,I will write. 

 Free, being me.

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Virtual Reality



Although these images are only animations in a virtual reality. The scenes that unfold are co created by real human beings. Omnipotent, free willing, designers of their unique experience.


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Osho Rain Dancing

The scholars are so clever in destroying all that is beautiful by their commentaries, interpretations, by their so-called learning. They make everything so heavy that even poetry with them becomes non-poetic.

I myself never attended any poetry class in the university. I was called again and again by the head of the department, that ‘You attend other classes, why you don’t come to the poetry classes?”

I said, “Because I want to keep my interest in poetry alive. I love poetry, that’s why. And I know perfectly well that your professors are absolutely unpoetic; they have never known any poetry in their life. I know them perfectly well. The man who teaches poetry in the university goes for a morning walk with me every day. I have never seen him looking at the trees, listening to the birds, seeing the beautiful sunrise.”

And in the university where I was, the sunrise and the sunset were something tremendously beautiful. The university was on a small hillock surrounded by small hills all around. I have never come across…I have traveled all over this country; I have never seen more beautiful sunsets and sunrises anywhere. For some unknown mysterious reason Sagar University seems to have a certain situation where clouds become so colorful at the time of sunrise and sunset that even a blind man will become aware that something tremendously beautiful is happening.

But I have never seen the professor who teaches poetry in the university to look at the sunset, to stop even for a single moment. And whenever he sees me watching the sunset or the sunrise or the trees or the birds, he asks me, “Why you are sitting here? You have come for a morning walk–do your exercise!”

I told him that, “This is not exercise for me. You are doing exercise; with me it is a love affair.”

And when it rains he never comes. And whenever it rains I will go and knock at his door and tell him, “Come on!”

He will say, “But it is raining!”

I said, “That’s the most beautiful time to go for a walk, because the streets are absolutely empty. And to go for a walk without any umbrella while it is raining is so beautiful, is so poetic!”

He thinks I am mad, but a man who has never gone in the rains under the trees cannot understand poetry. I told to the head of the department that, “This man is not poetic; he destroys everything. He is so scholarly and poetry is such an unscholarly phenomenon that there is no meeting ground between the two.”

Universities destroy people’s interest and love for poetry. They destroy your whole idea of how a life should be; they make it more and more a commodity. They teach you how to earn more, but they don’t teach you how to live deeply, how to live totally. And these are the ways from where you can get glimpses of Tao. These are the ways from where small doors and windows open into the ultimate. You are told the value of money but not the value of a rose flower. You are told the value of being a prime minister or a president but not the value of being a poet, a painter, a singer, a dancer. Those things are thought to be for crazy people. And they are the ways from where one slips slowly into Tao. ggate06

We have been given such a beautiful existence with such glorious seasons. In the fall, when the leaves start falling from the trees, have you heard the song? When the wind passes through the dead leaves which have gathered on the ground…even the dead leaves are not as dead as man has become; still they can sing. They don’t complain that the tree has dropped them. They go with nature wherever it leads. And this is the way of a true religious heart: no complaint, no grudge but just being blissful for all that existence has given to you–which you had not asked for, which you had not earned.

Have you danced while it is raining? No, you have created umbrellas. And it is not only against the rain…you have created many umbrellas to protect you from the constant creativity of existence.

When I was a student in the university, whenever it used to rain it was an absolute certainty that I would leave the class, and my professors became aware that “When it is raining, you cannot stop him. He has to go.” And I had found the loneliest street, with tall trees reaching and touching the clouds. On that silent and deserted road, there were only a few bungalows belonging to professors and deans, and the vice chancellor. It was a silent place and it was a dead-end street.

The last bungalow belonged to the head of the department of physics. His family had become accustomed to it, that if I was there, the rain was bound to come; or if it was raining, I was bound to come. We had become simultaneous, to the family.

The whole family used to look–“What kind of crazy boy is this?” Soaked in the falling rain, in the dancing winds…and because that was the dead-end, I used to stay under a tree as long as it continued to rain. The family was certainly curious. They wanted to inquire, “Who is this boy?” But the head of the department of physics had become interested in me for other reasons. He was a lover of books and he always found me in the library. There were days when we were the only two persons in the library.

He started becoming more and more loving and friendly towards me and he said, “You are a little strange. You should be in your class, but I see you most of the time in the library.”

I said, “In the class, the professor is almost always out of date. He is saying things which he read when he was in the university thirty years ago. In these thirty years, everything has changed. I want to keep pace with the growing wisdom, knowledge, science. In fact, in the library I am more a contemporary, in touch with the latest findings. So I go to class once in a while when I feel a desire to argue. My professors are happy that I remain in the library because whenever I visit their classes, it is always trouble. There is a gap of thirty years and I have all the latest information.”

He said, “One day I would like to take you to my home. I want you to be introduced to my children, my wife, to show them that here is a student who has come to the university not for degrees but to learn; not for certificates and gold medals but to keep in tune with the explosion of knowledge in all directions, in all dimensions. Sometimes, even although I am the head of the department of physics and you have nothing to do with physics, you know more than I know. Now it is too late to cover the gap of thirty years; I have lost contact.”

So one day he invited me. He was feeling that his family would be immensely happy to meet me, to talk with me, to listen to what I had to say. But he was very much shocked–as we entered his house, the whole family started laughing, and they escaped inside the house!

He said, “This is very strange. They have never done this before. My wife is a postgraduate, all my children are getting educated. This is not a behavior…. ”

I said, “You don’t know; I know your family, we are well acquainted. Although we have not spoken to each other, we have known each other for two years.”

He said, “This is strange. I wasn’t even aware of the fact.”

I said, “Don’t be worried and don’t feel sad and sorry and hurt by the behavior of your family. What they have done is absolutely right.”

We entered, and the family gathered. He asked them: “What was the reason for you all to start laughing and why did you all escape? Is this a way to welcome a guest? And I had informed you that I was bringing a guest that you would all love.”

They said, “But we are almost in love with the guest already. He’s the craziest fellow in your university. Not only does he waste his time, when it rains, he wastes our time too because we cannot go inside until he leaves. He’s an interesting fellow.”

Then I explained to him that I loved running miles against the wind–one feels so alive–going for long walks without any umbrella, particularly when it is raining. Even when it is a hot day and the sun is throwing fire, it has its own beauty–to perspire and then to have a jump in the lake. The water feels so cool, just the contrast.

One who understands life will not be left behind. mess113

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You were meant to have my arms around you, for the rest of our lives.

For our entire lives, I never wished us anything other than my arms around you.

I wish you a Mother’s arms around you.

I wish my arms softly around us.

I wish you wished that too.

& breathed smilingly into the experiencing of love.


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