QUOTE(Boltwave @ Jan 9 2006, 05:31 PM) [snapback]1014051[/snapback]
Hi, this may seem like a stupid thread but I happen to know that this would be the perfect place to gather people's experiences on their spiritual possession.
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I'm also hear to learn so if you have any stories or can relate to anything spiritual please share
Boltwave,
This is one of the most thoughtful threads I've seen in regard to filmmaking on this site. It's not stupid in any way. Your willingness to learn despite what you've been taught otherwise is admirable.
Just a few questions, in case you believe your script will have screen potential:
How much of the story are you willing to devote to the victim's pain that leads to possession? And can this be done effectively without driving people from the theater in tears or with soiled undergarments?
Have you considered how mundane these attacks can become from the victims' perspective after several weeks/months?
There are so many paranormal events that lead up to the possession attempts, that it's barely a shock at all by the time your soul is ripped from the body and tossed like a yo-yo. Yes, this happened to me. And I lost control of my body for brief moments in the night on a few occasions, but never during waking hours. The next morning I'd get up and eat my cereal like any other red-blooded, American bachelor. Deep depression does not strike like lightning and fling a person into a sudden possession. It's gradual, and seldom escalates unless uneducated, external influences magnify the negative emotions to empower the entities toward a Hollywood scale. It goes without saying that there are feelings of hopelessness in the beginning, but joy and love are all it takes to bounce back.
Is a victim failing to wake up in a state of panic in the mornings following possession attempts going to provide enough sensationalism for your movie? Documentary or otherwise?
Are you prepared to be called a fool by the world of skeptics if your script should go Hollywood?
All Readers,
Please be advised that there is disturbing, sexual abuse-related content below and heartfelt words regarding my recently deceased father, so close this thread now if you feel that you cannot tolerate such discussion. However, I feel it's important to reveal it for the sake of Boltwave's script's integrity and as a show of respect to others who have suffered in innumerable ways throughout life. I meet a variety of men who have relationships to their mothers that suggest similar abuse to my own, but given that every therapist to whom I spoke cried, it must be fairly uncommon to retrieve these memories from the repressed state.
These are not ordinary lives by any measure that lead to possession phenomena, so it's going to be a difficult script to compose with any hope of marketability. Stories such as mine and HK's are not for mass consumption. Stephen King's
Carrie is a fairly accurate, though watered-down, representation of the sort of home life that one could expect of a possession victim. The supernatural powers portrayed were extreme, but the obsessively Christian mother paints a shocking portrait of the deep depression that results from misinformation mixed with poor parenting.
My mother abused my brother and myself, I believe, in part because my father was a closet homosexual. Many of her needs were failing to be met, and it was in 1997 that I had my father's status confirmed by my mother, following his phase of homophobic remarks and related anger/paranoia. If my intuitions of having been my paternal grandfather in the previous life are true, bizarre as that is, I cannot fault my father for not being honest about his sexual orientation. Strict, military families, especially those in the 40s and 50s were far less accepting of homosexuality than the mainstream. Perhaps the reincarnation issue explains why I had such an emotional closeness to him in some of his final years once I'd reached adulthood.
What my mother did to my brother and me is completely unforgivable, but to heal I must love her soul as I do any other. I can hate her brain for all eternity, and I'm not a fan of human brains as I've stated before, but I cannot, must not, hate her soul. Her soul is a part of me, and a part of every one of you as one of God's creations.
Through her control issues and bodily function fetish, my mother opted not to potty train my brother nor myself. This was something she had always done for us, she took pleasure in it, she was oddly fascinated by excretory humor, and it's not as if these issues are discussed in public, so how was I to know that anything was wrong? It wasn't until I was 10 years old and had had more public exposure without her presence that I sensed something horrible was afoot. My deepest state of depression began around age 15 when I'd go to bed with a bag over my head, hoping to asphyxiate. Thankfully, obviously, I never succeeded. I knew something in my life was out of whack, but it took many more years to find answers. In 1993, when I learned of the genetic blindness, the asphyxiation attempts were coupled with self mutilation, and a bitterness that I wore on my face as visibly as spectacles.
It was at the age of 27 when I realized how sick my mother was and severed ties. I avoided contact with my father, too, and he died this past October. I hadn't seen him in over 5 years and wasn't able to say, "Goodbye". In the end, I didn't blame him for the abuse that he did nothing to prevent, because I knew in my heart that he lacked the emotional fortitude to confront his wife. I didn't get a chance to tell him that, either. I did see him in spirit about 3 or 4 times following his death, and they were peaceful dream encounters.
I'm confident that he has now reincarnated and I have no worry of his emotional state. My brother told me that my dad had a vision of me while he was in the hospital on a minor dose of morphine, and he was happy in seeing that vision. I felt very moved by this, and began to cry for joy and sorrow, simultaneously. Then, cruelly, my brother mentioned that my father had also seen a vision of a cat holding a gun. My dad loved cats as I do, and he was a proud member of the NRA, so it made sense to me in a weird way that he'd see something like that. Though I didn't appreciate the jokery that surrounded my brother's testimony, nor the urge for frivolous revelation. My brother's fears of the unknown and possibly jealousy for not being seen in a vision himself tainted what would have otherwise been a beautiful memory of my father in his dying days. White lies are okay, sometimes.
A few of you likely laughed or groaned in disgust at the nature of my abuse, and that's a perfectly normal response to a f---ed up situation. But realize that the affects went far beyond the bathroom. I wasn't led to believe that this was something I could do alone, so staying at friends' houses for sleep-overs, going to camp for a week, or any such thing was a nightmare about which I worried throughout my youth. Sense of autonomy, freedom, self-confidence, social development, etc., were all affected. As a teen, I feared public restrooms, and this doesn't even begin to describe the gravity of my suffering in the physical or metaphysical realm. I found my comfort in academic pursuits, and that accounts for my writing ability. However, it's taken the bulk of my life to develop any sort of emotional fitness.
I think I've provided enough background at this point, so if you take anything from this, at the very least you should open your mind to the fact that it's not just men who can be filthy perverts. Most importantly, for your own sake, you're far better off loving them in spite of their sickness than hating them; hate destroys you, not them.