In years past this blog has sported articles about my mom. Logistical circumstances have brought me to make a review of those missives, combining some of them in this posting. I apologize for the rather out-of-the-ordinary weirdness of what is contained herein. It is what it is. I lived it. I think my mom is the best. Long time readers will roll their eyes with all of this, you know, “Here we go again!” Anyway…
Some of those writings were spurred on by a guy who, after years of apparently sloppy “intel” harassment, presented himself as a CIA *ass*et to a friend, whom he tried to offer a very far-reaching bribe (deep into DC darkness) for info about yours truly. Ooo! Info! Sigh. I’m such an open book. So, like, why? Boring! Anyway, the bribe, connected with that self-identification, is about as lawless as it gets regardless of the truth of anything claimed. He burned himself on that one, as it were, so to speak. He’s fake based just on that, unless, as it happens, he lost it, was desperate, didn’t know how otherwise to get some street cred. There was also, at the same time, terrible baiting from a guy who I call my “Shadow.” Long time readers are acquainted with that drama. My “Shadow” is a guy who has been established with secured identity by DS, which identity happens to be mine because of stupid oversight during the very beginnings of Fast and Furious arms transfers to cartels by these USA, stupid oversight which those in the know laugh about to this day, but I do not. That‘s the driving engine of many incidents in my life.
When one is on the radar of the CIA for whatever reason (in my case, because of my “Shadow”), there are evaluations to be made as time goes on with perpetual and interdepartmental programs. About the most important aspect of an investigation into the personality of a candidate who is to be or is already in some way connected with the CIA – knowingly or unknowingly – is about one’s own evaluation of one’s mother. Shrinks are always the same, wherever they are to be found! This is about deep seated perspective on what goodness is to be in the view of the subject, and therefore what he is capable or incapable of doing on various assignments or as a fall guy. This information is to be had through analyses wrought on answers to innumerable questions coming in from innumerable angles, written, oral, and otherwise, all of which inasmuch as possible are confirmed, verified. I was voluntold early on in life – in grade school – to do up such admitted at the time to be experimental exams, and those went on through junior high school and high school, diversely in prep school, diversely again in the seminary, diversely again by other ways and means. But this is all other than what one goes through when being associated in some way with the CIA. This *ass*et guy, self-tasked with the always important and tell-all follow-up to any such company evaluations as years go by, decided to go the way of tricked out baiting that speaks to an admission of one’s history with such evaluations, that is, with “conclusions” pasted on an individual such that any subject believes what evaluators have to say, with their evaluation made to be your own because of the undeniability of answering the way one did in grueling million question psych exams. I don’t know if anyone can read between the lines here… Anyway, the baiting?
- “Verbalize your evaluation of your mother.”
“Your evaluation” refers to assessors’ work about you. “Verbalization” (distinct from any evaluation) instantly provides permission to distance oneself from the conclusions of previous evaluations foisted upon the individual, having one verbalize an ad hoc personal evaluation that is perhaps not so consonant with what has already been analyzed in the past through those days and weeks and months of others sorting through of one’s psyche. But I’ve never belonged to the CIA or been involved as any kind of asset.
The reason for the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy asking about mom isn’t just because I had instead been posting a lot about dad after the great Mark Meadows (our back in the day NC Senator and then White House Chief of Staff) had obtained for me my dad’s super-abundant war-time medals from both the Navy and Army – and therefore not putting much emphasis on mom just then – but rather also because of something that happened following the message I left with CCS at Main State back in the day, that was on Tuesday, 18 December 2018, with me trying to distance myself from my “Shadow.”
Shortly after that message about my “Shadow” was left with CCS at Main State, my “Shadow” called me up for a two hour and forty minute phone call, which amounts to more than I’ve spoken with that “Shadow” guy my entire life put together. At one point, my “Shadow”, beside himself, beyond so very many times saying that he was god-damning me and stating that I should be in hell forever, beyond stating that he wants to kill Jews (also my heritage, therefore, a threat), my “Shadow” said that my mom was a B****, if once, then a dozen times, with great vehemence. shrieking. Mom died in the early-mid 1990s. May she rest in peace. The rant of my “Shadow” was truly epic, the kind of thing that would be recounted in a presentation at the International Spy Museum by CIA shrinks trying to figure out what makes spies tick. For him to be pumped on mind-numbing but utterly raging and outraging adrenaline for two hours and forty minutes is quite impossible, as this would lead to collapse. During this call – which I’m guessing and hoping was recorded by CCS – I always maintained a calm voice and forgave the guy at the end, saying that I hope that he, instead, would make it to heaven (he hung up at that point after like eight seconds of dumbfoundedness). Does that mean I don’t care about what he said about my mom? Am I some kind of monster who is not offended when my mom is offended? Just how is it that I evaluate my mom? Isn’t she worth defending? What makes me tick? Interesting, thought I, all this happening, as I say, very soon after my message left with CCS at Main State about him.
The picture above, taken by some friends of my parents, goes back some thirty+ years. It’s winter time. Myrtle Beach. Dad’s birthday and mine (we were two days apart). Good times with both mom and dad. Everyone happy. I’m wearing a shirt and sweater they gave me as birthday presents. If you want to know what my mom and I thought of each other, take a look at that picture. See the two foreheads together? That’s a kind of Vulcan mind-meld, though as a matter of the heart, of currents of existence that escape categorizations and evaluations. Meanwhile, notice mom’s free hand on the one shoulder, dad’s free hand on the other shoulder. I’m totally the son of my dad and my mom.
As to the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy’s request for verbalization of any evaluation of mom, becoming reflective, I simply said to his face that she was melancholic and liked to read a lot. That was me baiting him. After all, what kind of question is that about your own mom? That question is, in and of itself, monstrous. Love is much more than mind games. In return, the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy baited me once again, immediately telling me a story about a compulsive reader. “Compulsive.” Sigh… Such a baiting word. Why not just say she’s a B**** who has prostituted herself to books? But that’s the bait for reaction. So I did react.
I said that she was willing to go through all-out-hell as a guinea-pig at the Navy’s N.I.H., literally in deadly conditions, at the edge of death, for weeks at a time, in screaming pain, for my sake. I remember the phone calls we would get at home from N.I.H. setting up the sessions out East. Even the phone calls were traumatic. The sessions were monstrous. I can’t even bring myself to relate what she described. My mom? She’s a martyr of love for me. What do you think I think of her? Thanks, mom. You’re the best. You guys did good, too, at N.I.H. The head doctor for this talked to me over the phone back in the day, giving advice which has stood me in good stead all these decades. What they did, what SHE did, has saved my life countless, countless times over. This was able to be set up because, of course, dad was USMC, which is the history of the Navy’s N.I.H.
Bonus story about mom: I found the picture above of the hand-carved Pietà which, at least when I was a kid, was situated in a side niche chapel in the at-the-time beautiful but now long wreckovated crypt church of Saint Mary’s Cathedral in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. This used to be a purposely-in-the-shadows mysterious just-lit-by-candles shrine with long kneelers surrounding the banks of candles. Now it’s annoyingly lit up more by spotlights than candles. At least they left one kneeler there. I’m happy to see it’s well worn.
My best memory of mom is when – frequently, mind you – she would bring me, just a couple of years old, then three and four and five years old… when she would bring me down into those mysterious candle-lit shadows and we would kneel before Mother Mary holding her ever so dead Son, the Incarnate Word. She taught me how to light a candle. I would look on in wonder and awe at the majestic Mother of God holding Him… Jesus…
I would return here on my own when I knew a bit of Latin. Understanding what it meant, the verse was instantly ingrained in my mind in Latin, and has re-echoed throughout my life quite continuously:
- O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus.
- O you, all of you who pass by the way, be attentive and see whether there is a sorrow such as my sorrow.
That, of course, is from the Hebrew Scriptures, Lamentations 1:12, that is 1:ל. You know the inscription above, the abbreviation for the Latin, INRI, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. It’s a fuzzy picture, but there are also the beginning and ending letters of the Greek alphabet, the Alpha and Omega, you know, the First and the Last, He Who Is. And then there’s the more visible symbol of the Greek letters beginning the title Christ, that is, Messiah, the Anointed One, the Suffering Servant, the One who takes upon Himself all our transgressions, sins, standing in our place, the Innocent for the guilty, so as to have the right in His own justice to have mercy on us.
So, Mary beholds the sins of the world wrecked upon her Son. Could there be any sorrow like hers? And we kneel before Jesus in her arms, our hearts ripped out of our chests…
And my mom brought me here to introduce me to Jesus’ mom. What do you think I think of my mom? Can I verbalize it? Words fail me. Did Jesus love His mom? Could He, the Word Incarnate, Verbum Incarnatum, verbalize that?
I’ll just light a candle, you know, something about the Light of the Nations, the Light shining in the darkness, and then say a prayer… Hail Mary… even for the CIA evaluator *ass*et guy, and all the rest of the CIA. After all:
But a Hail Mary for my “Shadow” and my mom too, and dad.