Where Did It All Began? In “Vega Grande.” Don Miguel’s Domain and Terrain….
It began in a beautiful hole in the back of beyond Guatemala, called “Vega Grande.” Don Miguel’s domain….
Journal—An Ongoing Dialog Between thiaBasilia And Master Yahuwah/Yahushua. …
It’s Friday, February 16, 2018 at 12:53 am. Finish posting. Going to sleep now.
Wake up at 3:31 am.
Saturday, February 17, 2018 at 12:25 am.
Father? You know what’s going on in the search to optimize The Family—A True Story. I will turn off the computer. Unplug it. Go to bed, and? Hope You give Your beloved sleep.
It’s 4:31 am. Thanks my Father for the much needed sleep. Today it’s supposed to rain, but! The rain has not started yet. I woke up with one thought in mind. Oh?
One thought, Where Did It All Began? Chapter 1 To Continue The Grand Saga Of The Mother In The Family—A True Story.
From The Original Autobiography ….
I was born in a beautiful hole in the back of beyond Guatemala, called “Vega Grande.” My birth was recorded in Spanish by hand in the books of The Registrar,
“Nombre Basilia Licona nacida en Los Amates, Departamento de Izabal, el 14 de Junio de 1939 a las 3 de la manana. Nombre del padre Miguel J. Licona. Nombre de la madre, M. Teresa Zarceno. Registrada en el libro 28, folio 275.”
In that beautiful hole where I was born, I remember how my father would import a “maestra” (teacher) from the city to come and teach how to read, write and arithmetic to everybody, grown-ups and children as well.
It was like having an in-house teacher because of the seclusion of the land no worker could commute on daily basis, so she had to live with us.
Everybody lived in the land, family and relatives as well as field workers, servants and their families and the “Maestra” (Teacher). Her name? Dona Julia.
Awful, grotesque memories about play time to haunt me for many, many years.
School time at that time must not have been bad, because I don’t recollect any bad memories about it.
But there were awful memories about play time. Those grotesque memories were the first of many other painful memories that were to haunt me for many, many years.
Those were the memories that bound me in the chains of rejection and fear from which no psychiatrist in 20 years could set me free.
Those memories, as I recollect, were the severe beatings and shamming that I suffered because of sexual promiscuity among the group of children that were the nucleus in the environment of my early childhood.
We were a group of children, ranging in ages from babies to 13 years, both girls and boys.
It was not that we were so terrible wicked, as it was…?
It was not that we were so terrible wicked, as it was that we did not have adequate supervision.
We were allowed to run like wild goats just to get us out of the grown-ups way, for all grown-ups had lots of work so there was nobody to watch us when we were out of school at play time; yet, when we were caught in any misdemeanor?
We were whipped and shamed. We were whipped and shamed, and we were left there like wicked, hopeless criminals.
Nobody seemed to know that there was such thing as the loving discipline which God approves or God’s forgiveness, for nobody seemed to know too much about the Word of God.
I became the escape goat among the whole group, why?
We were not brought up in God’s way and I, it seems to me as I recollect the grotesque mess, was the one that became the escape goat among the whole group, why?
Because, I had, from an early age, an impulsive nature, a good imagination and a bright mind, but! I lacked common sense.
I was gullible from early childhood. I could figure out more than one way to get myself into trouble but not any way out of trouble.
So, I was the one who always got caught to suffer severe punishment. Punishment that caused me not just the mere suffering of physical pain, but!
Something even more painful and tragic yet, the suffering of deep emotional wounds that would remain bleeding for many, many years to come.
My parents were moral and religious people, with good intentions, and high moral standards.
But above all, and despite the wounds that I suffered because of the treatment that I received from my parents?
That treatment was not imposed upon me in hate, for my parents were not hateful, nor wicked irresponsible beings.
My parents were moral and religious people, with good intentions, and high moral standards. And they did love us. Nevertheless? The saga shall continue in the next chapter.
Waiting For Good Results? Waiting For Promises To Materialize? No Need! ….
Dear Reader, something good is already happening. I mean something really, really good is already happening within my being. It’s happening in my surroundings. Oh?
Perhaps, the main thing happening? The Spirit within my being has moved me to express myself to my Father with genuine humility. What do I mean?
I mean I no longer ask for any material thing. I simply confess my distress and frustrations adding to my confession:
“I do not know what to ask or how to ask. I do not know what is it that I need, but! You do my Father. Show me what to do. Give me the power to do whatever You want me to do. I do not want to live by my willful ways. I deny myself. I wait on You.”
It’s uncanny how the Father/Creator responds to His Spirit within my being. Immediately! All my distress and frustrations halt, like magic!
Power. Wisdom. Discernment. Peace. Certainty. Joy inexplicable. Intense genuine love from above? It all, sustain—suspend me above this insanity ridden world that we inhabit.
On that note? I close this first chapter of my life’s saga. Meantime and until the next post? His love in my heart for you and for all stays there to stay for eternity, thiaBasilia. 🙂
