Big and Shaggy, Delayed aBig and Shaggy, Delayed aToddler Triggered PsychicToddler Triggered Psychic

DissonanceDissonance

Spring of 1995 As people in drove strolled by a pair of swung back doors, in far daylight retrieve I approached the ancient heavy wood sentinels, with my little girl seated on an arm. Entering, her wide devouring eyes witnessed through the hall entrance, the clearing cathedral bluestone interior. Winding up crying, while I felt the stone chill, and instinctive edged our way right and away from the leading middle aisle, in defiance of every resolute hewn gray stone echoing the immense walls despite in height pointing

You are My Sunshine

pools of light.

In admiration of a child's mind, like a rainbowafter a downpour, her crying suited me just fine,moving at a pace in diagonal from the rear.Defiant of the scene arousing a dark wrath atheart. Our rearing objective ignored topollution the most beautiful gift of existence,like a refracting flawless diamond rock insunlight, a child's free mind from adultmakeshifts. A cult Martine dissociated,disdained her brother Jephte, who despiseswhat his mother stands for. I imagined thedistant front rows of wooden benchesgathering invitees on both sides of the aisle, asan evanescent ceremony to unroll beforearriving there.

Down the wing aisle I inched our approach as anapparent accomplice to an crying infant. As mylittle girl's crying outlasted my imagination, acowardice crowd relent from turning eye andpointing the culprit. Tolerant, to my apparentincapable soothing the dry tears of mydaughter, their patience reigned, an exuberant annoyance of a virtual dragnet, under thesquints of a wondering octogenarian priest wemoving in along the altar. My gaze falling on theclose family dignities, in despise of themoment, I seated on benches placed at right angle. In a show of ingrained culture, on thefacing leg occupied by Marie-France Blumbaum assigned as godmother. I seated on the vacant protruding end in the prolongation of Jephte seated and designated to be her godfather.

At the faces of a proud and bowed down ceremonious achievement to the available timeand date prerequisite of the priest. The man's face melted a distinct relieve of rustling nerves beneath his white cloak. Misreading a father's goodwill, in the hands bringing back the little girl to sit on his lap.

Afraid my monkeying little girl might tumble over, while under the scrutiny of the priest in fixation by sight on the cry child. No sooner she stands up. She climbs time and again over my shoulder fearing nothing about physics. Crying the unrelenting evil reigning souls hovering in the midst of a fortress of stone wall and like a thunderstorm of mischief spirits bewitching infidels.

You are My Sunshine

In vain the priest in error didn't find his place, struck dumbfound as master of the ceremony with restless shifty eyes. at headlocks with an unexpected force, he turns away from a little girl's entertaining act. Proceeds in the deed of an ancient ritual, borrowed from river cleansing contemporary showering the body. Mops up after the storm, and in the rite wrings my heart and soul. I cowardly faced a disdaining society toward the force of volition finding home in a new born, the purity by an infant mere evolutive birth. Feeling I didn't fulfill as guardian of my child, the exploits of the adult man's initiation polluting from the tenebrous ages like a new mop, wiping up dirty rainwater off the sarcophagus, impregnating every fiber and claiming a spiritual rebirth, leaving in the wake dead matter clean toward the past.

By the torch of horrors Sibylle thwarts off the inflicting throes of her extra-sensory perception. With the little crowd standing up, I turn around and held back my pace. Less susceptible than a child, by a mature eye on the world. I annihilated, like an eyelids squinting to bright light, home to a virtual bubble that know no matter, in which I found recluse. In the abstract following a real world in a dimmed interior light, left outside and closed off to the ceremony from behind that two way mirror the perception of my mind. However, in relief, I stepped in the wake of the drove leaving toward the distant daylight.My daughter emerged from the contained atmosphere, and ceased crying at the touch of daylight. that growing child of the earliest scribbled crayons on paper. Over the years of development her drawn posters plastering the walls, picturing the story of her silent evolving mind. I held her at arms, and paused together contemplating from the height ofthe perron stone balusters people in a rush scattering to fetch their cars.

Confluent, form the parking lot, people entered Hasselt's Holiday Inn. In the hall, renewing with Martine their family relationship, then she strolled off with our daughter. Left behind with strangers, I roamed about, until seated and waiting in the lounge with strangers freely giving away that they hadn't had contact with Martine's mother during avirtual life span. These family members in a little crowd were called away, with them I proceeded toward the dining hall. Stepped on through the middle aisle of tables dressedin white and placed in a virtual heavenly warning chevron. Seated for the meal, when between dishes, far across the way, against the opposite wall, Martine's old woman stood up, and Antoinette Delire as gift from bearing a deceased man's name, addressed the whole family of her first defunct husband. In vain express her gnawing despise, which extended to Mariette Somers of a ruptured love between the two husbands right down the path to my mother and onto me, for having been let down by them. In spite of her granddaughter, pronounced her fatal farewell speech, to sit back tired and let her reception wound down. With people trickling off and Martine waiting for the last guest to leave, we emerged at dusk fetching the car to drive off, on our way home to Brussels.

You are My Sunshine

Winter 1996From my desk in a skylight lead glass filtered daylight, where from the corner Martine some six months earlier had picked up the receiver, and over the line, she listened compassionated, hung up and turned to me with a lost regard, like seeing a wound after healing to the sore opening again. She said in a concern tone of voice, This was my mother.

In a life long struggle to nestle her much needed love, Martine found in her mother's plea a heed for a missing soul. Over the next few weeks, Martine stood by my side, at thelength of aphone wire. Thephone receiverjinx elusive voice, Ieavesdropped the echo twodecades spreadan ocean wideseparation. Iread Martine'smind indissonance toher wordssaying, Mymother want tomeet Paul Shewants me tofind him forher.

Martine's old woman emerge from the tenebrous catholic middle-age shadowing her personae existence into our humble family life. Antoinette's voice over the phone said, 'Make up with your brother! She slotted the godly appeasing pill of an unwanted gift, which over time will leave me sitting like a lone soldier to glance back at the rubble of her destructive force. As each phone call instills in her daughter the hieratic fear of the flames at stake, which left Martine a little weaker and submissive.

On that day, the street door resounded abrupt. the lobby marble stairs agitated. The air lock door to the landing to a swift air movement, and the transom fruit basket trailing ivy rustled the lead glass panes, giving way to Martine in a sprightly sweep, ending her

You are My Sunshine

outing at the drop a thought. In a makeshift too short a lapse of time, to imagine as it emerged that the prodigious son's last whereabout is on the American continent. Martine's pride for a fair response, flashed to mind a plausible phone call to Mieke and onto Hilda, like bitches in heat, and the male in me too intrusive. She said in vain, His family lives on the outskirts of a town in Wallonia. Time spoke for me about the shortcut on that day and meeting one of the woman, like a big sister from her brother's past relationships.

Spring 1996Mieke's seven-year-old daughter free as home, passes from Alexandre's room upstairs the night hall door. Behind the gloom of lead glass, Martine in a time-fixation slept her morning away. She springs to life, catching up lost time, Emerges in the floor-through light, where the children kept busy. Along the way, whiff from the bookshelf, bringing into artificial lighting a buff bundled up old Hawaiian skirt. Her hand spreads the silk floating paper sheets on a corner of the dining table. Curious little girls' eyes after nimble fingers wrapping gifts, pulling entangled strands of hissing dried grass, and tying up corners with a butterfly knot. Martine picks up her daughter and drops a, wrap up thought of the large raw artistic flimsy packets That's it it shall do , and said to herself and the girls, lets get dressed!

While feeling the affair ridicule, I pick up our toddler and stepped in the herding force of Martine's will out the apartment behind the children. along the street curb, fateful as a dog, the Audi stood ready in a noon daylight. Each instant counting, sharing door and climb in. Martine having her imagination on alloy wheel spokes propelling the optic illusion of a reverse spin, holding back on time. In the rear, I heaved my little girl toward the middle armrest, with the clown of the car child seat raised, giving her a view on the road. crawled out backward from buckling her up, over the little blond Steffy behind the passenger seat with a glance at her seat belt, and Martine's eleven-year-old lackadaisical boy slipped in comfort behind the driver's seat. Closed the door, distraught in mind, glanced in the passing by the rear window, sparing a thought on the child-latch into the past engaged the position, moving on to ease myself in the driver's seat. Picked the ignition lock, turned the key and pulled off for the journey.

The highway continuing reinventing itself through the countryside, running afield through rocky walls, an imaginary trail through the ages with migrant Angels from Germany call the region rock settled in Brittan. Expulsed tracked back the route of their ancestors to a preventive cul-de-sac called the region wall spreading like packs of wolvesinto forests bandits through these rocky regions of the Ardenne. Short of these deep forests, we left from the Walloon-Flanders straight for the off ramp. Martine's finger in a midair drawing short of the windshield, and weaved our way by the given instructions.

The moral story of symbols, aren't evident at the instance of a leading artery breaking the suburban street. Each gesture cannot be resolved, left to believe relevant. Martine

You are My Sunshine

attempted to knot together the ends, of a mind faded wrangle, apart the pigheaded stand between a mother and son. Martine studied in detail the instructions, seeking an alternative, we pulled back up the road to a wayside bush clearing. We pulled off into a farm road to arrive in an afternoon daylight swerving into a front lawn spiting driveway. Eased up a contemporary villa in front of the garage doors. Left, a sturdy stranger emerging from the entrance. Hesitant at reconciling the past. Joined by a slim woman with a child at arms. A pace behind, and abreast engaged the leading foot path, when emerged petite and in the image of her mother another child.

As the couple approached, I threw a glance, pulling up in the car. Stepped out with a head nod and moved on around the car trunk. Crossing Martine and the open rear door. I dived for the interior, to my little girl attempting to catch up by sight through the cycloramic windows the hustle and bustle just outside. Unbuckling her, stretched out my fingers for her to grab. Extricating myself on a knee, as she raised forward and with a body twist slipped from the clown's lap. She stepped on and along the rear seat, to descend treading the threshold, and lead step onto the paving.

The peers mingled by the rear of the car, while Steffy and Alexandre had slipped from the encumbering upcoming adult's legs, meeting up with the girl in the background. The parents gathering by the car trunk, convenient for the loner Tiger in the year of the Chinese calendar, symbiotic hunter in a camouflaged pelt Martine precipitated a winding down, as Paul and his wife Elaine-Marie encircled her, moving back chatting through an amalgam of thoughts. at a pace to my toddling little girl, we followed a virtual evanescent trio in their preoccupation. Clearing the entrance, there, unveiled an interior in an apparent interruption of their daughter's first birthday party.

Seated around the party leftover table, after my little girl let go of my hand and toddled off, which in itself said, I'm a big girl now. a while later, the distance sound of children at their games rose from underneath the table, like out of a kennel, and caller to look out for her. My mental beacon of sight, flashing, and failed to locate her, until she appeared alone from around the notch of a dividing wall on my right.

A shaggy mass entered my field of sight, calling to squint over right on loose afloat hairs by its clumsy gait, which stirs my fear of animal hair. Captured the giant massive ball of fluff, like a duster sweeping off the corner the snacks scattered on the tabletop. Pawing the floor, the beast preoccupied me, moving by the rear vacant alternating chairs, from seated adult lost in talking, in occurrence seeking to join the playing children.

You are My Sunshine

Her Chinese birth year in the Dog, these ancestral wolf characters of the wild for their organic attraction at living in packs, was the scene of her eye fixation, and peering sign to the outside of my field of sight, making our entry earlier. Her elucidating the brandingof dogs bysight,recurrent inyears to comein publicplaces. , while Ithought, Whyare peoplegoing out, inneed of such abeast in thehouse?Noticing likeout of a dreamour little girlmastering anunderlyingfright, thecamouflagedstrength ofmind, at beingwith free goingchildren,trusting theanimals to itsvirtualnonexistence.

In mind appeared the layout, and in stealth I mapped the little girl's round about way through the rear kitchen, which ought to succinct as a sign. She came around and alone in a strange house finding her way back through the living room. The massive dog a whilelater, distinctive high and sniffling far behind in the wake of our toddling daughter, picking up the scent of her trail. I reasoned and curbed my fright of animal hair, while I saw no arm in the placid animal. Nor did I spare a moment to a little girl for having left the children game. She took recourse at an open door, escaping the massive stalker, turning in circle.

Independent in the passage of timeDistinctive from outgrowing her fears, I grew vigilant of her indicative curious admirable

You are My Sunshine

eyes attracting hounds onto herself automated will power to annihilation Clam up, and sustains a ball of nerves which ceases her whole being on the spot. She will grow walking alleyways of wooded parks. Succinct inadvertent hand clamps. The squeezed, of virtual monkey fingers, claw strong, climbing up my arm. Redirecting my eyesight searching the distant pathway. Like a blind man cane end hover from side to side the beaten track the black dog up front sniffling the ground and crisscrossing wayside scents in the roughs blindly up and coming. Astounded by my girl's involuntary reaction, the wrath at pleading the hair lynching strangers, of her near fatal incident raising from my tripe.

Back home, on the sofa, I had well to shown, that my expressive mock attack, grimacing with an all out arms and body twisting wrangle without touching a hair of her body. Throwing her into wild giggles and body crumples up. The show didn't suffice, as I repeated to her, It's all in your mind.

That day, extenuated, I stopped by the dog owner. The woman behind held her step wondering, It a nice dog he loves children he will do no arm. While I kept on explaining, My daughter has a fear of dogs. Hurt to surprise the man, replicating in a rising anger voice, It's a park! Dumbfounded, I raised the point, Dogs are not allowed without a leash in the public park, and left. the time to nail in mind an effective tool. Reassured of the sign at the entrance, with my daughter we pursued th epeople in our earlier tracks. To my regret, the aggressive dog people had vanished. Sibylle grew independent into her teens, when no less alone the lens of my phone captured an egocentric family, and showing the images, placed their conscious in a virtual court of law on trial.

Spring of 1995Winter 1996Spring 1996Independent in the passage of time