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

I sat 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. She came running into the house screaming that she had found a “KATAPIT”. I immediately realized that she was referring to the brown and yellow fuzzy caterpillar she had let climb up her arm. My honest response was “Wow, How cool is that! Let’s find a jar to store it in.” So we put Mrs. Catapitty in a mason jar and poked holes in the top for air. Determined to make her new friend’s home comfortable, my daughter set out to get a stick and some leaves from the bush where she found her new fuzzy friend. Along with a small bottle top of water she placed all the objects in the jar. She left Mrs. Catapitty in my motherly hands went out to play. At the age of seven she knew that caterpillars turn into butterflies. She was convinced that she would witness a miracle.

My transformation from a being based in fear to one that is based in love is similar to the story of the caterpillar. From 0-10 I was cute and fuzzy but kept in a jar and eaten. 11-25 years I was still 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 soldier was released.

In The Bottle – The Creations 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 woops. Our family was the classic 60s-70s dysfunctional family. My oldest sibling is 13 years my senior. When I was 5 he was on his way to Vietnam and my oldest sister was pregnant at 16. My brother was seriously wounded in Vietnam. At the age of 7, I went with my family to San Francisco to pick him up from a VA hospital. I actually walked the halls of those wards. Some have said that my father wanted us to know the gray effects of war. It was terrifying to say the least.

Then things got really upset; my other sister decided the heck with all that and started down a path of drugs and alcohol. I have memories of sitting at the dinner table, knowing she was tripping on acid and instinctively covering for her, I was about 9 years old. Within a year and a half she ran away to join the hippie movement in Haight-Ahsbury, San Francisco. During this time my mother had a mild nervous breakdown and my father became consumed with finding her. We moved from our family home to an apartment, some said my father couldn’t stand the memories of that “dream” home.

While I was in that bottle I was verbally fed tons of wrong things, my environment (bottle) was not one to grow emotionally, physically, mentally or spiritually. You see Mrs. Catapitty did not survive nor did any of the friends that were added to her jar. They just weren’t in the right environment to do what they were born to do. This was a hard lesson for me and my 7 year old daughter.

Escape plan – Warrior bent over – One flew over the cuckoo’s nest

At the ripe old age of about 12, I started looking for a way out of that jar. Some of my methods were not very healthy. I picked fights in school just to see what it would feel like to physically fight someone. I got drunk to the point of passing out several times under my parents’ noses. You see I was still in the bottle. They treated all the stuff on the outside of the bottle. My poor mom was so overwhelmed with depression and grief. You see my father managed to find my sister and bring her home. She was lost forever, but he did it, he found her. She was very, very sick with addiction and physical ailments. They briefly hospitalized her and then she was sentenced to the State Mental Institute. Remember this is the sister I instinctively tried to protect. I spent every weekend visiting her and going on group outings with her fellow inmates. You see I fought for her. I felt responsible for making her better, so that my parents would see her as the amazingly funny person that she is. I was bravely protective. This extreme need to protect her lasted for years, well into my twenties. No matter what she did, how she acted, who she hurt, I stood up for her because I saw something different than the others did. This was the beginning of my enablement.

By that time my mom had pretty much given up on taking us to church. You see, in our family, my dad would go to Sunday mass at dawn so he could play golf and then my mom would take us little girls to mass later. But when we lived in the apartment, she gave up. I don’t remember ever going to church during that time. But I did attend “Jesus Freak” Bible studies. My friend’s brother piled us 12-13 year old girls into his station wagon and we attended a Friday night Bible Study with a bunch of hippies. I still wonder why my mom let me go. Maybe she instinctively knew I needed another 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 remembered someone telling me that “I was love”, that “love” lived inside of me. I kept this fact from my family. In a distorted sense I felt that what I was doing was wrong, I tried to overturn the jar and break it.

During my teenage years, I had a few more moments of truth where I briefly accepted the knowledge of my birthright, the idea that I am love. I experience enough of this knowing to make me look for a way out, to shake the bottle trying to tip it over to effect an escape.

I was pretty beat up in that bottle, I experimented with drugs, experienced deep depressions, found boyfriends who liked the fact that I was in the bottle and easy to control. I was the epitome of a codependent enabler. I found my purpose in others; I was a warrior for others. I defended, protected and fought fiercely for the very people I allowed to abuse me.

The Tipping Point – The Bottle Shatters

10 days after my high school graduation I moved to California to be with my older sister and my boyfriend. You see I have now taken upon myself the duty of protector of my oldest sister. She lived a self-imposed exile from her children and family and I chose to live with her. I became her warrior. No matter what she did, how she acted, who she hurt, I stood up for her because I saw something different than the others did. I saw the loving kind mother sister who held me and wiped my tears when I was young. Overtime she gradually became sicker with drug addiction and violent behaviors. I reluctantly began to back away. I really shook my jar.

I was married at the age of twenty and immediately prepared to move to Venezuela. My sister was very hurt and dismayed that I was going to live in another country. I looked for my way out and chose to leave, far away. The bottle was about to shatter.

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

Once while we were on that tarmac my oldest sister was involved in an accident. She experienced a head injury that caused severe brain damage. The details don’t matter. The result is that I found myself among broken pieces of glass; my bottle tipped over and I gasped for air.

In the days before her accident we all stopped talking together. Now I was in ICU standing in front of a distorted version of my sister asking for a priest to administer her last rights. This happened while my parents and brother were in Salt Lake trying to find flights to join us in California. I found my 20-year-old self being asked to make decisions about her impending death. I didn’t sleep for over 24 hours while I waited for her to die or for my parents to show up. Not knowing what would happen first.

Susie’s body did not die that day. Although the Susie I knew and loved did. She remained in a semi-comatose state for more than 5 years; she went to her cocoon and I moved to Venezuela to start experiencing life out of the bottle.

Walking on Broken Glass – I don’t know how to move this

I had nothing to prepare me for the world I now found myself in except my warrior spirit and my looks 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 those events were written in my Book of Law, they were how I perceived this life and sometimes I did not want to participate. I suffered through intermittent bouts of depression and self-loathing. I slipped away from the shards of glass to climb a branch and start building a wall around me. It was time to go into the cocoon.

Untangling the threads- Searching for sunlight – Love is calling your name

I think I would have remained in that protective blanket, not knowing my potential, not experiencing my perfection and magnificence, had it not been for my earthly angels, my teachers, who happen to be my children.

You see, I tried my best to have the perfect family. I talked the talk and walked the walk. No one, not even myself, knew we were down. It wasn’t the same kind of dysfunction I’d experienced earlier in life, but it was there. You see that I have now taken upon myself the duty of my husband’s protector. No matter what he did, how he acted, who he hurt, I defended him because I saw something different than the others did. He also became progressively sicker with his violent behaviors.

The story began to repeat itself, oldest son involved in drugs and alcohol, daughter suffering from depression and needing hospitalization and my youngest the innocent dimwitted cat watching the whole thing. I, the amuka warrior, ran around protecting and trying to fix everything and everyone. I needed to get out of that protective cocoon. I need to unravel the threads that made my protective suit. I HAVE TO SEE THE LIGHT! DEAR GOD PLEASE LET ME SEE THE LIGHT NOW!

On the 27th day of December 2005 my cocoon opened. My husband of 25 years, physically assaulted my daughter who was home from college. His rage was so intense, so directed, that it took 4 of us to pull him off. You might be shocked that I just shared this with you. Let me assure you that that day is not regarded by those concerned as a day of punishment. It is kept as a blessed day, a day of awakening. On that day I crossed over, my wings were untied, and a new me was on the horizon.

The road to peace is an inner journey – Breadcrumbs to love

Within an hour of that incident I sat quietly in front of my family wrapped in the peace of God understanding that every moment, every moment in that bottle and cocoon was me preparing for the next chapter of my life, and I continued with grace and ease. You see, I realized that this life here is my life, my illusion, my creation. Everything that happened in that jar, in that cocoon was created by me, was the laying down of breadcrumbs to the discovery of my perfection, my magnificence. I realized that “I” was the only being who needed to say, know, experience, prove that I AM LOVE.

Since then I have made a wild discovery of self-love that has led me to this moment before you today. I am on a mission to surround myself with love, to be love, to exhibit love, to be a spiritual warrior for love. Don Miguel Ruiz says that a person who embraces the Toltec Teachings of “The Four Agreements” is a Spiritual Warrior. This is about me showing you that you are made of 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 reset button is there available to you at all times.

I am in my knowledge now

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