Rosamond Press

I did not post on this blog yesterday because I had to stop a bad man from hurting and kidnapping a woman.

I had just finished my research when around 7:200 A.M. I heard a woman cry out – repeatedly;

“Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

Looking out my wind ow I saw two figures in my driveway. A man had hold of woman by her wrist and was bending it in order to steer her to his car that was parked a hundred feet away. Everytime she struggled to free herself, he applied more pressure to her wrist. I wondered if this man knew Marshall arts. He was dressed in a black jogging suit. He was a black man about 6 foot 2 and well built. He looked around 40 years of age. She was a white woman who refused to get into his car. This bad man then made a gesture of winding up – and hitting her in the face as hard as he could. I picked up my phone and called 911. They told me they were changing shifts and it would be awhile. The bad man walked away after warning the woman she better stay there. He was coming back. She was afraid to move. I wondered if he had a gun.

I was going to post ‘Emerging From Rosamond’s Labyrinth’. What do I emerge with?

I have a replica of King Arthur’s sword hanging on my wall. Hromund wrestles the Draugr and captures his sword, ‘Mistletoe’. Hromund may be the source of the name Hrosmund, which means “famous protection”. The sword Mistletoe was indeed a famous protection for an Icelandic Viking who went roving in France where he entered the berms of Frankish Kings – that were said to live forever! The Franks were the first converts to Christianity. They were buried with their worldly treasure so they would not want in the afterlife.

I studied the woman in peril intently as she shielded her eyes against the rising sun, she terrified her tormentor would return. I studied the idea that I might be forced to take Excalibur off my wall and come to her defence. If this was the case, then this bad man would see a white haired man coming down the driveway with a large blade in his hand reflecting the rising sun blinding him. Where is his gun?

“Go ahead, punk……Make my day!”

Wen I was twelve I ran into the kitchen on San Sebastian, got a big butcher knife, and held it on my father who had come into the home of his four children, and ordered Vicki to pack a bag because he was going to drive her a hundred miles to Grandma’s house. A judge in Oakland put a restraining order on Vic, he not allowed to see his children or get a hundred yards from our home. Vic brutalized our mother, twisted her arm, grabbed her hair, ripped off all her clothes chased her, hit her, ad mentally tortured her – using her children.

Vic was weaving around our house, bumping into the furniture.

“You can’t take Vicki. Rosemary gave us strict order to not let you take her anywhere!” I bravely said, and he gave me the look. I saw murder in my father’s eyes. I ran for the knight, and came back into the living room and shouted;

“Get out! Get out of our House!”

* * *

When Vicki called me last year to make peace, and bury our Viking axe, we talked for hours about growing up in the Presco home. We had a falling out in 1994 because I love the truth, people were telling untruths in regards to Christine’sdeath. Because WE all suffer from PTSD, it makes me crazy to hear any lie attached to our dear departed sister because that;s all we heard from Vic, and Rosemary, when it came to who damaged us, who made us four children – insane! I thought all these lies would stop when one of us died, when one of us really got hurt, and, there was no longer the denial we all got hurt. Our beloved Christine was dead. She struggled to live. There were bruises all over he body as she was thrown against rocks by wind-whipped waves. All her fingernails were torn off as she tried to haul herself out of the water on to steep slipper rocks. Her struggle to live went on for nearly an hour. Finally her muscles exploded due to hyperthermia, and she let go. She drifted out to sea. Finally,the helicopter arrived and plucked her from the cold Pacific. She was still alive when they put Christine Rosamond Benton in the ambulance.

What my surving little sister told me was so moving, so real – so true – that it needs to be told. The vultures that are circling over our famous tragedy need to go away.

“The reason why I was normal, less crazy then my sibling, was………….you protected me! Vic and Rosemary’s insanity did not affect me like it did you, because I thought their fights were normal. I looked to my siblings for sense of well-being. You three loved me – un-conditionally. You had caring and loving vibrations. You took the brunt of the fighting. You took the blows. You shielded me.”

In the photo above you can see that my little sister tells the truth. Rosemary is hurling daggers out her eyes and her husband, who can do nothing right. Of course I have taken my father;s side, we all did, in order to make it stop, the fighting. Vicki is oblivious to this fighting. These parents are not her role models. What Vicki felt that made her feel so wonderful, was the prayers she heard from Christine, Mark, and myself, as we lay in our beds, trying to go to sleep, so we could not hear the screeching ugly terror going on down stairs. First came the growing words of deep hatred, and………

“Stop Vic. You’re hurting me! Please! Let me go!”

We prayed, and we prayed, and we prayed. then one night…. an angel came to us. Ths angel came to make bonds with us, so we would no longer be afraid. I fear no bad man – to this very day!

Another note Vicki and I compared together (now that they are dead) was the time Vic came at us to do us bodily harm – as adults. After my near-death experience, I formed a bond with my father – for the first time. This was part of my spiritual work which I will speak of later on. unfortunately, this gave a signal to my sisters, who always needed a real father, and they began to see him.

When Vicki came into some money, Vic went after it. When Vicki told Vic to back off he came at her with clenched fists, the boxer. I told Vicki when he did the same to me, I stood my ground, and when he got three feet from me, a force spun hims completely around, he fighting to keep his balance. My father looked at me with shock on his face. My look said; “I didn’t lay a finger on you!”

This is when Captain victims went for his gun. He ran to his desk, threw open the top drawer, put his hand in, and I shouted this, in a very loud voice that was not of this world……..

“GROW UP!”

Vic was frozen in time. He told me he suffered for the want of a father all his life, his father abandoning him when he was three.

“Daddies home!”

When I lie dead on McClure’s Beach I saw many of our kindred who had passed before me. Before I died, I saw an angel hovering over me. She is my guardian, my shield, my Hrosmund.

Jon Presco

Capturing Beauty

Copyright 2012