Murdered people aren’t murdered. They are just hidden from you
They can still see their hands and feet
feel their eyes move
They’re still thinking
But mostly they’re watching, waiting
Waiting for the world to give them permission to have their way again.
Murdered people just lack confidence. To a disgustingly drastic degree.
The things we do to try to make them act right — threatening them, punishing them, scolding them — often make them worse. They just can’t do what they want, no matter how much you make them want it– that is the point.
Don’t criticize them! The murdered do things wrong so that you’ll criticize them. Your criticism is a weapon in the murderer’s hand. They hand it to the murdered and make them knife themselves with it.
A sudden stop
Their bodies just suddenly wouldn’t move for them anymore, see? Their arms and legs and things just wouldn’t move– maybe the problem was that brain wasn’t strong enough, but more likely it was physical– how could they know? There was some kind of problem.
Over and over again they tried to move them and it didn’t work out, so eventually they stopped trying. Something else took over, something that could still do things, when they couldn’t. Their body went on moving, just without them. So they let that something else take over– they didn’t really have a choice.
Over and over again they couldn’t choose– they were stuck there, immobile. Watching, unable to decide. Stuck in a dull rushing of gray noise, so much static.
And then there were no more choices.
Temptations and despair
There was some kind of neon smile that beckoned, that said here there will be less pain. So that’s where they went. Underneath that neon smile.
But someone is talking to them
Someone is taunting them, nastily.
They talk to the murdered kids, nastily. In order to do anything the murdered kids have to make the spirits do it, the spirits say– the spirits taunt them and say “make me”.
But of course the murdered kids can’t, how could they make a spirit do anything? No one ever told them about spirits. They curse some more–
So someone else has to do everything for them. Do for them if you have to.
What can we do
what can we do
You can trick the spirits, tell them, say
Oh, the murdered person wants to sleep, he wants to clean the house!
Then when you help the murdered person visit his mother, they will laugh and taunt him because he did not get his wish to clean the house, or sleep.
The spirits of the murdered want to oppose, they are taught to oppose, they’ll oppose opposition if they can get away with it. Maybe only one spirit knows where the murdered person is. After awhile they stop listening to the murdered person completely, maybe because of guilt, they wish he was lost.
Feed them!! Feed them!!
They are hungry and they are hungry.
Find them and feed them!! Put the food straight into their hand.
They get no water! The food is all still wiggling, it is this wiggling nonsense you can’t chew..
Feed them the same bland thing 5-10 times, spread out over time. Read them lots of books.
That is how you can get them to trust you.
Give them easy things to do, that they can do from wherever they are now.
Over and over again, ask them for an easy thing. Make a big deal, tell them you really really need it.
Remind them that life is easy. It is just one easy thing after another.
That is how you can get them to stand up.
Do all you can not to hurt them more. They are so delicate, like a wisp, maybe quieter.
If you can, get them to exercise.
Try not to tell them what to do, or even to ask them if you can avoid it. Deep inside they are fighting becoming death’s slaves, they are becoming ultra obedient inside. It gets harder and harder for the people around them to resist telling them what to do.
Resist it though. Feed them, point things out. Don’t say “Change your shirt” or “Can you change your shirt.” Say “Your shirt is dirty.”
That is how you can get them to move.
They hear no kind word. Kindness to them has been forbidden. It is loud where they are– there is a steady flow of witchy trash on their heads, crueler than you can imagine maybe, until you see it.
They are told that every thing about them is wrong, every little tiny meaningless thing, every single thought they have is wrong, they are told–these ideas pile up to push them down down. A wisp under a trash heap.
They want to fight it off when you ask them to, but they can’t just yet. The trash gets worse when they try to move.
They are not stupid. The spirits close in and make a noise “O but I am dumb! O but I am stupid now aren’t I? And you hate it, how dumb! Durrrrr.”
They are dancing, dancing all day long. Dancing to put on their shoes, dancing to eat a sandwich, dancing just to turn their head and look you in the face.
That is how you can empathize with them.
But they are slow. They are just slower than their murderers. They look so stupid, and so fast! How can anything so stupid move so quickly?!
And they are cursing, cursing! At themselves it might sound like. They have been cursing from birth, maybe longer.
They are quite smart, they’re running interference all the time. They can do what they want only if it appears to be at the expense of something they want more.
The little things they say reveal much bigger things they’re thinking. Murder is a lot of work, murderers are lazy– the little things that come out of their mouths are dumb versions of the much more complex things they want to say. They are murdered, so they can’t say them. Instead their murderers repeat these dumb versions of what the murdered would say if they could. It’s a shortcut for them.
They are so sad, and so scared. Put this in your mind over and over again:
They are so delicate, so sad, and so scared, and not stupid.
They are so delicate, so sad, and so scared. And not stupid.
That sympathy– the hushed gasp you make when you enter a sick person’s room– is what they need.
That is how to find them.
Take them places. New places, faraway places. Share about them to a group. A church, a big family, AA or something like it.
That is how you can get help.
Don’t fight the murderers. They wallow in fighting and fear.
Let them have their way, whisper to the murdered, “ha! What crap.” Mock the murderers, to the murdered. They love it. It’s the best thing ever. Of course the murdered hate their murderers, but they also aren’t allowed to. Help them mock them. Give them funny names.
Take it to a higher level. Zoom out and sit together with the murdered, watch them crawl around on their bellies. Help them watch themselves, safely.
That is how you can save them.
Talk about good and bad, right and wrong, important and unimportant with them. In abstract ways, not about their behavior. About other people.
Talk about these things over and over. Let them judge, teach them to be the judge.
They will have to choose which way they are going. They need your words in their memory, to choose heaven or hell.
That is how you can make them strong.
If you can, ease the murdered’s pain. There is so much pain at first, then less and less as they become trained, they are being trained to be dead, like a rat that hears a click and freezes, motionless.
Pain they can’t name. They might think something like “It is the pain of hell itself” but nope– it is just the burning rotting in the soft tissues, inside their nose and mouth–the things that happen when your breathing gets uneven, then stuttery, and stops now and then.
It can be hard to find. It feels like it is one place but actually its in another.
It is murder’s grip. Murder is the way the murdered person is held, held with pain, by anyone who wants to and knows how. No one wants Murderers, anyone would push them away and it would work maybe, except for this pain.
I bet not one of them is breathing through their nose.
The stuttery breathing, the rotting in the teeth and gums, inside the cheeks, the soft tissues downstairs, the soles of the feet– burning away with decay. Pain in hidden places, that gets slighter, and harder to see as years go by.
That is how you can free them.
Tell people how to find them and not to sit on them. It’s like pointing out your invisible friend is sitting in a dining room chair. A lot of people don’t mean to squash them like that. They will feel so happy to find them.
But watch out because some will get mad as hornets when they see their faces in the sun!
That is how to try to keep them upright.
Murder is the wrong word. There is nothing permanent about it. They say murder so you won’t try to help.
There is that old idea that when you die maybe you don’t really die, you just keep going, in a different world, and you aren’t you anymore.
There is a saying that if you can make it to three, then you can just be. If you make it to four, you can be some more. If you make it to two, it might be hard to do, and if only to one, that is probably no fun.
You should not drive while holding a baby, of course. Such things are not allowed.