Below is the letter I sent Rena Easton, and the letter I was about to send. Then, I got a call from Dan Wayland saying Rena had filed a Stalking report against me.
The two letters Rena and I sent one another were reconstucted from memory and shown to the Sheriff of Gallentin County. I made this offer in the second letter;
“Rena, if you and your husband are wondering if there is money to be made from my story that makes you a central character, than wonder aloud. I needed an ending to this story. If that ending has you and your husband riding off into the sunset with the cows, the dogs, ad the cats, then I am all for it! If, that is how you, my dear and honest friend, want your story to go, then I am behind it a hundred percent.”
Since I got that call from Dan, my mind has been coming to this conclusion: I have been severely abused by abused women who were afraid to attack the men who abused them, for fear they would own this truth – they don’t give a rat’s ass!
I cared very much, thus, these women practiced on me. They hurt me in order to get the reaction they wanted from their abusers. This beautiful innocent artist and poet REACTED, and these wounded women applied cruel and heartless torture. This is how my autobiography will go. I will reveal the imprisoning abuse – and come away – a Free Man!
About ten this evening I put on my slippers and went to get my mail. I pulled a bundle out and noticed your letter nestled in a packet. On the walk back to my apartment I took a peek and noticed the beautiful handwriting, and the name “Rosemond”. There was this energy pouring from the envelope and flowing up my arm. When I opened it and saw the name “Bozeman” I began to cry. For several minutes I sobbed, let go tears of great relief as if you were my child who had been kidnapped, or lost, for all these years. And, now…..you are found.
In the history of letter writing, and receiving, I don’t think anyone was ever so moved. Then, I opened the envelope and read; “Here I am”.
If these were the only words this letter contained, then I had way more then enough to read for the rest of my days. My cup runneth over.
Before I discuss the content, I found something when I read your letter the second time. In the white-out on page one there was the faintest speck of green glitter. It sparkled at me like a distant star. It was the essence of you to go with “Here I am!” It went with the date the letter was written – Christmas Eve. I saw the star making its way from your tree, to the snow in your poem, and then to me. It was so full of life. It was the promise of a completely happy life that has eluded you and I since we can remember.
I too was held prisoner. Both my parents were violent and insane alcoholics that played evil games with their four children till the day they day – and after.
Over a year ago I began a painting of you. One night after I lie down to go to sleep, you lie down next to me. You were seventeen again. I jumped out of bed. For a month you appear by my side as I walked. When I went to a movie, I was not quite alone. I told my friends I have a very friendly – and beautiful ghost.
“Do you think she is dead?” a friend dare ask.
I began a psychic search for you, to feel where you were. What had become of you? I wondered if you were held a prisoner of a abusive and crazy man who had to have you all to himself. I saw that you were in a very dark dungeon. I wanted to free you. I was heart broken when I could not. I have never known such emotions. I don’t know if anyone ever has. I had to stop working on your portrait.
I told my childhood sweetheart about your visits. We concluded you had a very abusive childhood, and were a prisoner of that abuse. Marilyn was abused by her father and we have helped each other break the bars to our cells.
To read that you were abused and scarred for life is a hand and a voice that comes across the chasm, and I embrace these dark truths with all my heart and soul. For, it is said we recognize each other from across the room. And this is how we met! When you saw me walking on the pier you sent out that angel abused children own, to test the waters, to see if I was the one you could trust – when you really need someone to trust. Our damaged trust is like the tiny speck of green, so full of hope that is not diminished, but only in retreat. You were so brave to ask your question; “Can I walk with you?”
“I was expecting you!” I answered.
“What do you mean?
I walked with you tonight, my dear Rena, in the field of your forever fears, you fearing the wolves rather then the rapists. Is this you preparing me for the truth you are not that stunning beautiful for of perfection, anymore, and just a redneck meal on the way t the outhouse?
I heard you debate for the last six months, you wondering whether I would judge you because the man you love is a cowboy, and you his cowgirl. I heard you arguments, and you read mine? Have you been peeking at my Rosemond blog. Do you recall my plan to move to Lincoln and rent an old barn that would be my studio. I mean, I was willing to come on over, and buy me a chicken or two?
“You won’t like it here.” You said. “There’s nothing here!”
“You’re here!” Was my reply. And you could hear the sound of the tumbling tumble weeds way off in the distance.
“Here I am!” You could not have began you letter a better way. I guess you changed your mind? LOL!
I come from real Redneck stock, and of late I have admitted I always wanted to be a cowboy. And you were my land-loven archetype who feared the sea. That you lived on the Isle of Wight with a Sailor man – blows my mind. Did Ian get you in his boat – and out to sea!
For you, my dear, I will kiss the first redneck I see. For you, I will overcome my fear of them. If he don’t break my neck, I’ll let you know how it go.
However, folks in Springfield (Springtucky) think I’m a lovable Redneck because I drive ‘The Truck’ a 1972 Ford four wheel drive with a great shell folks try to buy from me. It’s Oregon law that some guy with Grey hair has to drive ‘The Truck’. that I named ‘Big Blue’. In the bed I got a antique gas can, ice chest, a water cooler, and a real hemp rope. My grandfather, who I never met, was raised in Montana. He was a real cowboy.
I am so glad you love to work, and you are a janitor. I was afraid you had fallen in with the Lords and Ladies of the European Jet set. You must write about that crowd some time, and tell me about your life with Ian. I love this man because he loved you and you born his children. I was so concerned you would grow old, childless. Did Ian buy you a fine evening dress?
Sometimes when I got ‘Big Blue’ out on the highway I make a left turn in my mind, and come to Nebraska to get you. And then we head to Alaska where we build our cabin. Have you ever wanted to build a house from scratch? Do you wear blue overalls?
Since your visitations ended, I began to design a house for you to dwell in. It’s a hobby of mine to turn on the T.V. And work on floor plans. You have been placed in a home with only 670 square feet, to a castle with 6,000. When I learned you married a Commander, I built stone estates with seven gables around you, so you would always have a place to dwell in this cruel word. I did consider a trailer. I did! Yes, Rena wants to live here, I said; And alas you said…………
“Here I am!”
Oh, sweety. You were not cruel and mean yo me. I guess you read in my blog where I made you so. I did this because I got no reply after I found you. I was having trouble with my sexual identity. When we met. Both my parent were sexually abusive to their children. Abused children have intimacy problems and are very inventive, even magical in their attempt to over come them. This was us – is us! I don’t think we knew how beautiful we were, together, in our bravest attempt to own what others have, so easily. Our little fist-fight on the Dodge were blows aimed at our true betrayers who still create great distances between the one we love, the one we deserve. If we can be that to one another, then, we can love anyone, let each other go, let the darkness go, to be loved in all the majesty. We’ve paid our dues! We are home free! Dont you know I embraced the darkness in you? Don’t you know I was in love – with even your shadow?
Here I am, Rena. Your dear brilliant friend who alas knows he met and fell in love with a brilliant woman. You are a Poet. How wonderful. We can meet here, in our poetry. There is such a refinement in you. Where did it come from? I know you wonder about it – every day!
In our meeting again, we can do anything. We can be perfect. We can own that idea of perfection that has eluded us for most of our life. We will forever be Adult-Children of Alcoholics, but, this time we get to choose our play-mates -without fear. We get to be happy – forever. We are special siblings. We will never be rejected again. We get to behold that tiny green star at the end of our lives and know;
“Alls well, that end well!”
It has been such an honor to know you.
P.S. Rena, I thought I spent Christmas alone. My family let their abusive back ground take them to the dark side. My sixteen year old daughter came into my life in 2000. She bonded with a abusive drinker, and he wants my seven year old grandson to only bond with him. I was in such grief over this as I made my way to the mailbox. I did not get one Christmas card this year. Never was I ore convinced there was nothing in the mailbox for me.
Then I beheld the date on the letter. Your words came to me in my loneliest night from faraway as you wrote them. This is beyond romantic! There is justice in the world, There is love in the world. I will never be that alone again. You brought me a glimmer of great hope. You freed me of something that I can not describe. What a gift you have always been, and, a inspiration. My family took everything from me, but, they didn’t get you! They didn’t get you!
You found me again, in my greatest need to be found. And you free me from my dark dungeon.
I have no Muse Hall of Fame. I do have a dear friend in the world. Sing Hallelujah!
P.S.S. Rena, I can’t sleep. I am so excited! We were in our tent and I was telling you I was a great dancer when I was when I was 13 to seventeen years old. I used to dance in front of a big mirror a half hour before I went to school, and a half hour when I came home. I choreographed my own moves. I invented dancing without a partner at Oakland High School in 1962, when I was sixteen. Fifty of my schoolmates would surround me and my partner as I did a solo ten feet away from her. I would go into a trance. When Marilyn turned sixteen, I danced the Bolero for her with my shirt off. Lucky girl!
When I heard you had become a dancer, I was thrilled out of my whits because, this proves you were ‘The One’. You see, I have been jealous of the world since I met you. – before I met you, I was utterly jealous that we never got to dance together, that the world got to see you dance – on your beautiful stage. When did you get into dancing, and why?
When I was young, and before we met, I had a dream about you almost every day. You were my invisible dance partner. Was that our destiny that we missed? Was that the big chance of our lifetime? What a dance team we would have made. They would know us at the ‘The Kiss of Eternal Fire’, or ‘The Fiery Kiss of Eternity’
“They loved each other better afar, than near. And when they came together, they did the Fandango!”
We are playing with fire, Aries woman. Playing with fire! Right here – and so very far away!
I mean, my God, I read about your hip replacement, and we are in a movie, based upon a book, that I am writing, and……are we really going to spend the last days of our life together wondering how many eggs the chickens laid today!
I will take care of you when the needs arises.
And as for our dance – may I take your hand and lead you to the floor?
Enclosed is my story ‘The Birth of Venus’ that I wrote in one day in 1989. I then spliced Eny’s music into it, the next day. Since then I have approached a couple of dancers about making this story come alive on stage. None cared to listen. When I read Kathleen loved Celtic music, I wondered if Enya was her favorite. Of course I wonder about the child we never made. But, she is born in this story. She is reborn with the vision of a sculptor, to dance once more, she a fair maiden, always with a song in her heart.
Play this while lying on the floor with a quilt and a candle – and no interruptions.
After reading your letter for the fourth time, I am saying this out loud, to myself, with joy!
“You, lucky, lucky, man! You lucky, lucky, man!”
This is what I mean………..
1. You got to love one of the most beautiful women in the world.
2. This beautiful woman loved you
3. This beautiful woman may still love you
4. You still love this beautiful woman
5. This beautiful woman might be one of the most honest women in the world
6. Because of her honesty she is more beautiful on the inside then she ever was on the outside.
7. This honest woman gives you the golden opportuity to be an honest man.
8. You got to save this honest and beautiful woman
9. This woman……….saved you!
Does ths sum it my dear friend? Can you see anything I left out. Is there room for improvement?
I came to own a couple of pictures after reading your letter the second time.
1. I see your father’s big hand grabbing your tan seven year old arm and dragging you into the house. You are so angry because he isviolating your space and humiating you in front of your friends. I can nosw see the fury in your eyes.
2. I see my hand grabbing your tan seventeen year old arm, and your hand slappig mt hand. I behold the fury in your eyes.
3. There is a crazed look in your eyes after you came back to bed after talking to your ex-boyfriend. You made a tent over us. You are saying this; “I hate him so much. Save me!”
4. I look at with utter sadness, and say this before I turn my back to you and try to go back to sleep; “Oh Rena. I love you so much. I don’t want to play anymore.”
After attending Adult Children of Alcoholics, AA, Incest Survivors meetings, and studying Co-Dependancy, I learned that when you run all the terrible abuse thrugh many sifts, this word is what you get – every time!
Here is the main reason I am such a lucky, lucky man……….
10. A very beuatiulf and honest woman has let you know she has not ABANDONED you, after all these years. And, you get to tell her, you have not ABANDONED her – and never will!
Here I am!
“Greg, I want yu to know & listen!”
I am here.
Rena, you and I were homeless together. Thousands of abused and abanded children end of homeless. Your grandmother offered you sanctuary in your home, and she wanted youto coe home because sh feared for yoursafety, but, you NEEDED to act out your abandoment with your dear friend, Greg your rescuer, your savior.
Chrstine acted out all her abandoment issues with me, and on me. Your brother Steve was co-abused. Did you ever make a blanket ten with him in your need to feel safe, in yiur want of Sanctuary? Your btoehr abandned you, got mentally ill, and left you all alone in the world. What about your sisters? On Christmas Day you realised they were not there for you, your family, the ones yu make Matching Picture with so you may recall who you are. So, you write a letter to your Artist who is doing a portrait of you.
I own the earliest memories of you, don’t I?
When I came on the train to visit you, you saw me as a father figure. You took an extra long time to dress up for me. You showed e how creative your boyfriend, and because he was an artist, you knew I would approve of him. You needed me to appove of him, see that you are capable of making good choices. You then took me to the museum to show me how much you had learned at college. When we sat on the steps that you lay down upon, you put your head I my lap and embrased my legs.
“Don’t go. Dont leave me!”
Here I am!
I wept for joy before I opened you letter because I knew what was inside.
“Here I am! I have not abandoed you!”
Remember when Christine was looking deeply inside you and in the morning you said;
“I don’t think your sister likes me!”
You wanted an explination. I told you she is a seer and was seeing something I you. She was seeing herself, her wol abandoment. You were her Muse. I was her teacher. When I left with you, she felt abandoended. She had to get me back, get me away from you. Christne becae her own model. She needed my approval, needed to make sure I would never leaver he again. She took my art accroding to my therapist. What a trip…..the three of us!
And there you are, up in some modern office building, the most honest unknown woman in the world, reciting poems you know by heart as you vacuum the rug. Alas, you are uncorruptable. You are the epitone of humitly. Here is Helen, the beauty that launched a thousads ship, hidden away from the world in a little trailor surrounded by live stock and other animal like CHRIST in the manger.
Did you read what I called you, using the meanings of your name SERENE CHRIST.
Chrstine died withut confronting her abusve father. She paid ten of thousands of dollar to three therapist (one she had an affair with) trying to convicne them I was the once responsible for her mental illness for her life not turbing ut the way it should.
My fvery dangerous and vilent father was given one year to live, and this he attmpeted to be an honest man before he died. His granddaguther accuse hin of raping her. He confessed he has suxaul realtins with shannon when they drank together, but, she came on to him. Her version he came on to her and when she retrueated to her room and lock the door, he kicked it down. Shannon was the adut heir of Rosamond’s artistic legacy, and my family went aftr he and took away her credibilty. I am hard pressed to find anyhing HONEST about Christime’s success. Then there is you! They didnt get you because no one could find even me, and how my honesty has been tested. Am I being an homest man? Are my motives pure?
Vic told me he took Chrstie out to the car and molested her when she was about 31/2, but, my mother suggested he do this. Not for a second did my father realize how this information would ABANDON me – and my beautful sister!
Rena, I want you to know & listen……..
When I was lseventeen and living in New York, my dear best friend called me and asked;
“Are you an honest man?”
“What is a man. Bill?” I replied.
“I knew you were going to say that. You don’t know it rght now, but you helped me very much.”
Six months later, Bill drive on the railroad tracks in Ogden Utah, and killed himself
I worked very hard in the Big Apple. I loved to work. It made me feel free of the abuse. I hitchiked there after I stopped my mother fromn pulling more fisful of hair out of Christne head. She three me out of the house. When I met Christine at the side of the house, she said this with tears;
“Don’t leve me along with the monster!”
Rena Bill was a beautiful artist, poets, and playright. He killed himsef on my eighteenth birthday beause my mother had seduced him, and, he broke our oath….to tell each other the truth no matter what, because it was our ambition to be HONEST MEN!
My dear childhood friend ABANDONED me. He was so beautiful. He was my gift God put in the world to accomopy my gifts. We were beautiful artists walking side by with our pallet and brush, taking on the world that needed some improvement, that needed our beaufitul vision.
Everybodies gone, but you. And, I am not talkig about Rena the beautiful Muse, I am talking about Rena the Honest Woman, who may have lost her exquistie beauty, but, she had gained the world.
In your plea for me to won some mercy on you redenck ways, and I must assume the redneck you love dearly, I don’t think you realize the very honest and humble person you are revealing. You are the Alpha and Omega of THIS STORY. There are two books and two screenplays out ther about Christine. Not one is being bought. No one buys it, THEIR STORY, because they dont have you!
Because they don’t have you, they dont have a honest woman in Christines story, because, she was not only a dishonest woman, she was a dishonest artist! How could she be true to herself? She could not do what we have done. Even in the end, she could not identity her REAL abuser. It had to be me. It just had to. Why, because…….there is you!
You inspired me. And you inspired Christne! Christine, didn’t have a clue who she was.
If this was a movie, this is how it would begin
Night scene, Bozeman Montana. A light on in a office building downtown. A woman is reading a poem. Sound of vacumm cleaner. The camera comes in the winodw, The words get louder. The vacuuming stops. The woman janitor wraps the cord up, and the………..the camera zooms in for a close up. This women about sixty years of ager is looking far off. She is taking a breather. Her face begins to get younger and younger. Suddenly she is ont beach at Venus. She is glaring at the tanned ones the LA bathing beauties who are gettig attention. Why isn’t she getting any attention? The dude that is with the goddes is wonedring the same thing. They drove all the way from Nebraska to get the attenion of the beautiful people.
This dude is this young beauties promoter, her Svengali. All the beautiful people deduced that the second they stepped on the boardwlak. They had seen his kind before. This is what they due, study other beautiful people all day. When this goddess steppe on to the sand in her amazing bikini that hung on her, just right, they knew she was a contender. They knew she was a ten, even a twelve. This is why she was ignored, beccause all eyes were on her. She had everyones attention, but, they learned how not to show it. They were experts at it. If she had known the rules then she would not own that incredible searing glare that made her sexy beyond belief. But, they pretended not see as their hearts pounded. They moved over to where the muscle guys are workig out.
The promoter is besise himself.
“Hey you dudes! Don’t you see ths stunning beauty standing here. Why are you not looking at her, What are you, a bunch of fags?”
Rena, I began a autbiogrpahy two years befoe Christine died in hope she and my other siblings would get away from their abusvie alcoholic parents ad get into recovery. I had gone into therapy in order to find a way for Christine and I to end the break in our once beautiful bond. My therpists speicalized in Artists. She had paintings of Phoenix Brids one the wall that past client gave her.
My plan was to see Christine’s and my renditions of Hope Rising From the Ashes of Dispair. This is all I wanted. This would be OUR Twelfth Step that would help other Adult Children of Alcoholics and Incest Surivors Heal. Unfortunately, my beloved sister – DIED! My family told many lies about how she died. I have impeached their credibility, and they mine. What about your credibility, my dear friend. Are your motives pure? Are you an honest woman?
I want to know what you want. I want to know what your husband wants. I want you to know what I want. There is a beautiful and great story here, even a great miracle. I want your honest opinion about what you think I should do. I have considered ABANDONING my book – many times. There is a saying in Recovery;
“Dont throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Allow me to read, or, guess between the lines.
a. You love your husband bery much and would like to save the farm.
b. There is money to be made from biogrpahys and movie scripts
c.You and your husband are getting old and my not be able to work any more
d You two stand to lose everything, even the dog and cats
Rena, if you and your husband are wondering if there is money to be made from my story that makes you a central character, than wonder aloud. I needed an ending to this story. If that ending has you and your husband riding off into the sunset with the cows, the dogs, ad the cats, then I am all for it! If, that is how you, my dear and honest friend, want your story to go, then I am behind it a hundred perccent.
You don’t have to get dow on yyr knees to ask me to show some kindness to rednecks, ecause they are only human. I love you Rena, ad would do anything for you because you are my friend. I want you to consider all apsects of this offer. I will help you make an HONEST CHOICE. I know the many ptifalls and can guide you around them, but, you have to be coplelely candid. You have to be as overt as you know how to be. No covert thoughts or agendas.
Rena, you have got to be honest with yourself about your beauty. You were way beyond “pretty”. In those bars near the peir was an ongoing Amateru Beauty Pageant. Dudes from all over LA brought teir hot babes there and paraded them around. I had seen the show several times. None of them coud hold a candle to you. When you came out of that dark doorway – the Winner ermerged!
The reason folks werent looking at you because your beauty was overpowering! I had to avert my eyes. I could not breath. I felt faint. You had reduced me to a stammering puddle of low self-esteem. I almost gave my attempt to speak to you. I felt so unworthy. You made everyone at the beach feel unworthy – even the Muscle Guys. You had a perfect body. You semetry was perfect. I have never seen your equal The semetry of your face – was perfect. But, it was what was going on inside you that put you over the top and in a league of your own. That energy that was pure fire went with your Animal Magnatism. You were an Animal. Not only did you coe to Venise to take home the trophy ou came to kick the ass of tht Losers! You were behynd BAD-ASS. You came to – DESTROY!
The last thing I am going to recall on my death bed, with a smile is this;
“I stood up to her. I had a answer to her question.”
“Can I walk with you?”
“Sure. I was expecting you!”
“What do yu mean by that?” said the She-wolf Vampire. And she dare her prey to look into her eyes.
I see these movies about beautful and loving bloodsucking vampires. Christine saw you that way. You are such a Archetype. So many producers and artist have tried to capture you. Your beauty is evolving as the perdomient beauty. Can you let me now something about your genes. Are the Christensens Swedish or Danish. I want to do your genealogy. I think it is a good idea we talk on the phone.
Rena, if we do something with OUR STORY then I want you to be as honest as you can be about how you believe you abused me, and, others. We would have to take a walk on the really dark and wild side. Our story could reaally be an extraordinary one. It would be a shame not to try and tell it. I dont know if we can cast the acrtress to play you. But if she is out there. What a movie. I would love to yiu and I walking into that Safeway I Guernville, and see the faces on wome who thougt they were beautiful. I would turn and watch the devistation yu left in your wake.
You have never mentioned your mother. Why? I can speculate, but I would like to here why from you?
And what about your sisters? I thought you said all they were models. This suggests your mother was very beautiful. Where did you get your almond shaped eyes? Am I correct in saying you had gold eyes?
Then there is our first kiss. There is a thing called Tantra and Kundalingi Yoga. I had increbile visons when you got on top of me. What was that kiss doing to you? Maybe we should not go there? Let us dance the Bolero instead.
Yes! Yes! That is my priice for forgiving the whole Redneck Nation. I will come to Bozeman to watch you dance Bejat’s Bolero Ballet on stage. Then after the incredible applause dies down, I will get on stage and read my proclomation
Enlosed is some of my grndfather histoy in Montana. He knew