Willing Victim



I live and work on a dairy farm with my mom and step-dad in Pennsylvania. My step-dad is more a guru to me than a parent, and over the years we have attained a high level of conscious awareness together. My biological father, however, is having his
mental problems. I live with him to help him out mentally as well as do a little work on the horse farm he owns in

This winter my bio father and I got into an argument, and I left the ranch, found an apartment and started doing some part time work at McDonald’s to make ends meet. I’m a very spiritual person and spend a lot of time meditating. Even at the best of times I don’t have a lot of attachment to the material world or what most people call the real world. One day I found I couldn’t break my “trance-like” meditative state and was unable to interact with the reality that used to be me. I could view my real world as though I was looking through a thick distorted glass, but I couldn’t make contact with it. I was able to overcome my fear of death and stay calm, but I felt I was trapped on this astral plane type of existence which made me feel very isolated.

I became aware of another presence, and when it touched my mind I knew it to be my step-dad. He was able to leave the material plane and find me here in never never land. He told me that what was happening to me usually happened to someone just before the soul left the illusion of personality and body behind and reincarnated. He thought,in my case,I would eventually gain control of my body again without going through the messy process of death. In the meantime,he explained, my soul was running my body for the purpose of healing my dad, which is what I came there to do. In a sense,I was a willing victim. And through his mind I could see what was happening to my body on my material plane of existence.

It seems my bio father and his wife decided that I needed psychiatric help and got a lawyer who got a judge to sign a paper allowing my father to come and take me to the funny farm with the help of two policemen. For about a week he showed up at my apartment with the two policemen to drag me away to a mental health facility. But I was never there at the same time the police were, and I was able to elude being captured for awhile.

Then two days later the police found me hiding in a closet and dragged me away, complete with handcuffs and leg irons. I
sat in front of another judge while my father worked over this second judge to force me to be admitted to the local insane asylum. That’s where I stayed for a few weeks. Then they diagnosed me as schizophrenic and let me go into the loving care of my father.

He treated me like his schizophrenic pet. He would leave me in this house, which was being paid for by his boss, all day long with nothing to do and nowhere to go until he returned at night to feed me. I could go long periods of time meditating, but I didn’t feel this situation was taking me down the path toward enlightenment. Through my awareness of the situation, I could tell I was being held prisoner there to put pressure on my mom to move back to Massachusetts because my fathers’ boss had
the hots for her, and he used his money to manipulate people. Also my father was enjoying sticking it to my mom and step-dad for living a life of their own without him. But unfortunately for him I am a karmic mirror in this game, which means all the players will end up eating their own karma or reaping what they sow.

The telephone rings. I pick it up to discover my step-dad is on the other end.

“Hi sweetheart,” I heard his darling voice say over the phone.

“Hi Dad,” I replied. “I’m amazed you got me. I feel like I’m in solitary confinement here—no calls and no visitors.”

“Well, your father is making a big deal of this situation. He’s told your mother that in order to relate to you she has to leave me and come live in Massachusetts.”

“What a shit head he can be.”

“Nevertheless,” my dad continued, “you have to get yourself out of there to stop your mother’s pain and shift it onto the people who put this shit sandwich together. I would come and get you myself, but that would give the impression that I’m snatching you away, and this stupid game will start all over again. Best if you walk out the door, stick out your thumb and trust in God.”

“I’m ready for the exit out of here by any means,” I exclaimed.

“That’s good, because there will probably be a lot of resistance to overcome.”

“OK Dad, I’m out of here. See you in a few days,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster.

After hanging up the phone I knew I had to make my move right away before I lost my courage. So I left my biological dad’ in Massachusetts and with a backpack full of all my belongings and I started walking down the road. I really didn’t feel I could go back to the farm in Pennsylvania with everyone thinking I was crazy. My step dad knew where I was coming from but you can never just go and physically be with him. In order to reach him, you have to expand your consciousness to his level. And that was exactly what I planned to do or die trying. So I started hitch-hiking to up state New York which is about 300 miles from where I was standing at the moment. I had heard there were lots of apple orchards there and I felt it wouldn’t be hard to get a job picking fruit. After all I was carrying around this official crazy label now so chances are I wasn’t going to make it big in the corporate world. Besides I had done some fruit picking and really liked the purity of the job. You just get paid for the amount of fruit you picked, no fancy resume required.

So I started hitch-hiking and got a ride right away. But by this time it was getting late and the driver asked if I had a place to stay for the night. I told him I had a tent which I could pitch just about anywhere. But he insisted I come home with him and eat something and then he would take me to a beautiful beach where I could pitch my tent. Of course I was scared, but figured my life was in the hands of God at this point so I agreed. So true to his word I found myself in his house, just me and him, eating a meal. I wasn’t really afraid of him or what he might do to me. I’m really good at picking up where people are at and he was just a normal guy. But to my surprise, I found myself very upset because I was lost. I didn’t know how to get back to the main highway and it was freaking me out. I really couldn’t tell if this guy was going to bring me back to the highway again. But he did bring me to the beach as promised, and it was a beautiful site to pitch my tent. I finally got rid of my fear of being lost by realizing my destination of picking fruit was pretty flimsy at best, so I decided I would rethink my destination in the morning if he didn’t show up and bring me to where I could continue my trip.

He did show up the next morning and took me to the entrance of the toll road I needed to take in order to get to the orchards I was traveling to. Unfortunately, they didn’t allow hitch-hikers on the toll road so I had to try to hitch a ride in front of the toll booth where people had to pay to enter this highway. I was standing in back of a sign where someone had spray painted the words,” No rides out of hell hole.” At first I thought it was amusing but after about 5 hours of thumbing, with night time setting in, I understood exactly what the author of this message was telling me. I found some bushes near by and pitched my tent and hoped for better luck in the morning.

But the next day was the same. No ride after another 5 or 6 hours. Finally I snapped and started hitch-hiking in the opposite direction with absolutely no idea as to where I was going. Now I figured this is insanity taking me over again and driving me over the edge into the abyss. Then a truck stopped and I got in and the driver asked me where I was going. That was the most difficult question anyone has ever asked me up to this point. He could see I was having trouble answering him so he told me he was going on the toll road but in the opposite direction that I was trying to go in. So I asked him if he could just get me past the toll booths so I could start hitching from the highway itself. He said sure and after paying his toll, he dropped me off on the road and I crossed over to the other side to continue my journey to find God. If a police car happened by, I would be picked up and made to pay a fine, but instead a car stopped and picked me up and brought me all the way to where I wanted to be,

It was at this point that I realized that when my will, ego, and intellect failed me, I didn’t descend into insanity. Something else stepped in and put me on the path I wanted to follow. I realized I had truly touched the mind of the God I was looking to find.

So I arrived in Alton, New York on the banks of Lake Ontario not really knowing where to go to find apple orchards. Then I came to the Alton unemployment office and went in to see if they could help. Well the guy I saw just wanted me to fill out a bunch of forms but wouldn’t tell me where they were hiring pickers at any of the orchards in the area. Then as I was leaving, he finally relented and told me there were lots of orchards around the shore of the lake. So I hitched up to the lake where there was a beautiful beach and started my quest to find gainful employment.

All day I went walking and hitch-hiking around to the various orchards in the area but they all were hiring Jamaican pickers and would only hire me if they ran short of pickers. Each night I would return to the beach on the lake and lick my wounds. I knew time was running out for me. I had to plug into the system very soon. On the surface of things it looked like I had no hope, but inside myself I felt strongly I was in the right place at the right time. This is the point where I had to materialize in order to stop the world from doing its’ crazy chick number on me again.

So the next morning I got a ride but the driver wasn’t going as far as I wanted to go so he left me off at a turn in the road. I started thumbing again but noticed I was standing in front of another apple orchard so I left the road and went over to find the owner. As it so happened, a few of his Jamaican pickers didn’t show up and so he hired me on the spot. He said I could camp out in his woods and showed me where I could start picking. This circumstance was proof to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was materializing my world from the inside out. I spent some lovely days picking apples and camping out. Once in awhile the owner would show up and yell at me if he thought I wasn’t picking fast enough because by this time I had a strong tendency to fall back into myself instead of bringing my energy to the surface. And so I forced myself to come to the surface and found I had the energy I needed to pick apples as fast as I needed to. I was doing so good that I asked the owner if I could move into one of his cabins that he had for the pickers and he said he had a single cabin I could have for the season.

So I moved into my new cabin surrounded by Jamaicans. There was a stove and refrigerator, heat and even a shed out back where I could take a hot shower. I was very aware of the fact that my mind was putting my world back together again to satisfy my needs in the way I had become accustom to. At this point I took nothing for granted.

The Jamaicans came to visit me and some were idiots but some were very consciously aware. All were in excellent physical condition. For the most part they liked me and thought I was a colorful addition to their camp situation. One day I went over to another cabin to find out something from the guy who lived there. And to my surprise, a Jamaican woman answered the door and invited me in. I wasn’t sure of the relationship she had with the guy living there but asked her to tell him I wanted to see him and started to leave. She told me there was no need to go and wanted me to stay for coffee. So I did and started to settle in for some girl talk. But the vibration was all wrong. For one thing she only had on a T-shirt and panties which I thought was a little odd for her to wear when entertaining someone she only met for the first time. And for another thing the small talk I was trying to start never really got off the ground. Instead I felt this attraction for her that I’ve only experience a few times with guys. And then it hit me. She was in the camp to make money off of the Jamaican guys though her sexual appeal, which at the moment, I found, very strong even though I didn’t realize I could go both ways before this moment.

But I had fought too hard and long for the energy I was using to survive and wasn’t about to give it away to this chick for a little pleasure. I heard later that a few of the guys were giving away their whole pay checks to her for her favors. I felt sorry for them and felt a little guilty about being part of the female gender.

Nevertheless, I settled into my new environment of picking apples in the day and living with the Jamaicans at night. Then one rainy day when we weren’t picking fruit, I went hitching into town and saw a motorcycle for sale on somebody’s lawn. Now I never drove a motorcycle before but figured, “How hard can it be?” So I went up to the house, contacted the people who were selling it and bought the dam thing for 800$. I taught myself to drive it and found I could tie my backpack to a sissy bar on the back of the seat so I could do some long distance driving when the apple season ended.

It was November when I finally picked my last apple, packed up my few possessions, and headed down the road on my motorcycle. All the Jamaicans were heading down to Florida to pick oranges so I thought that was as good an idea as any. I had on every bit of clothing I owned as I traveled out of New York Sate into Pennsylvania because it was so cold and dizzily. Just as I was crossing the state line, a police officer who was directing traffic motioned for me to pull off to the side of the road. Then he came over to me and told me to wait in the cruiser.

So as I was sitting there I couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that I was warm and dry for the first time that day since I had spent the day riding in the cold and the rain. I knew I should be thinking about all the bad things that could happen to me but I just couldn’t get past the fact of feeling good about being out of the weather, so when he returned to the cruiser I was in a pretty good mood, considering.

So then he started asking me questions to find out who he was dealing with. Unfortunately for him who I am is mostly God in a box called sue and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he was looking into the smiling face of God.

He asked me where I lived and I pointed to the back pack tied to the back of my motorcycle. Then he asked where I came from and I told him I was picking apples in upper state New York until the season ended. Then he wanted to know where I was going and I told him I was going to Florida to pick oranges. He wanted to know who I knew in Florida and I said nobody. So he got all upset and said he could take me to jail for vagrancy and I said that’s cool, Florida can wait.

Then the whole victim, victimizing mind set stopped and he calmed down and said in kind of a defeated voice that he was going to give me a ticket but when I got to Florida I should pay it to avoid a lot of trouble. So I said sure and he let me go.

As I climbed on my bike I smiled as I remembered what my girl friend said to me when I told her I was going to hitch hike across the state. She asked if I wasn’t afraid of getting raped. And I replied,” you can’t rape the willing.”

It took over a week of riding my motorcycle and camping out before I got to Florida. I then started asking around and got directions to an area that had started picking fruit. At the orange packing house they told me to come back in the morning and get on the orange pickers’ bus.
So the next morning I was there when the bus pulled into the packing house parking lot and I got on it. I was the only white person on the bus but
for once I wasn’t the only female. The driver was this big black lady
named Sally Mae and one of the pickers was a girl also. After she
found out how well I picked fruit, Sally Mae took me under her wing
and became my surrogate mother. She got me a place to stay and yelled
at anyone who gave me a hard time. I remember her saying to everyone
on the bus that I was one of them even if I was white. I really loved
her. Sometimes we would stop at a place to pick up a picker and the
picker wouldn’t come out of his house because he was too hung over,
and Sally would send a couple of guys from the bus to drag him out of
the house.

I stayed with them until May when I got back in touch with my mom and
she wanted me back on the farm to help with the cows.

Leaving Sally was hard and we hugged and cried a lot and promised to do it again but it just wasn’t meant to be.



About cowgirlsue

I live and work on my parents dairy farm. I'm into metaphysics and spirituality. I'm kind of a cosmic milkmaid.
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