When I met the USA

September 1973, Chile.

I was 10 years old and 2 months when the USA govt radically attacked and destroyed my life. I didn't know for sure it was them, but I heard it was. It was the first time I heard the name and what they were doing to the whole of the country I was born in. From the perspective of a child what they did was lived very personally. My elders were unquiet for weeks before then and certain preparations were made well before the key event which changed our lives. I noticed there were more food deliveries, and in our home vegetables and fruit were made into conserves even though we were heading out of winter into spring. Sugar and tea and coffee and many tins of powdered and condensed milk were placed in the pantry. A couple of very big bags of flour were delivered in a cart pulled by a horse, fresh from the mill. Then one morning there was a padlock on the pantry door, I found only our mother and her house assistant knew where the key was kept. In the wood room, there were sacks pf potatoes and rice and a barrel of apples. The medicine cabinet expanded by a lot. My grandfather was a pharmacist. I watched my mother checking what had been sent, when my father got home from the city. That's when I began to worry. Worry and ask questions and listen in to every grown-up conversation. There were no answers. But they sat around the fireplace talking in low voices till late.

One morning early my mother set to washing every item of clothing we had. This went on for two days. Then everything was divided in different piles in one of the spare rooms. It was like just before the summer holidays, when all our things were ready to go to the seaside or the countryside for a few weeks. But there was no festive feeling in the house, and so much silence whenever me or my brothers stepped into the room.

One evening I heard my parents have an argument, it was about Argentina our neighbour. Other places were mentioned, but I had never heard them before, I thought, we have never gone outside Chile for holidays, I didn't understand where we were going and why argue, anywhere would be wonderful.

Another evening my father lit the fireplace early, still daylight and somewhat a mild evening. I was surprised because it was a waste of wood to begin so early. That was when I knew our life was changing. My father took many books from a special bookshelf dedicated to Quimantu Press and put them next to the fireplace. My mother just watched, then suddenly got up and began to carry books too. At one point they hugged then my father went into his office. He began to bring out big stacks of files and to burn them. My mother began throwing books. I was sitting on the last step of the staircase; they didn't see me. But then my mother started crying. I hadn't seen her cry often and I ran to her. They had to explain to me that bad things were going to happen very soon and they had to burn the books so no police could be angry and hurt us all. I didn't really understand but I began to help. We were so sad burning books for hours. I hadn't realized we had so many books. Some of my parents kept. They stayed up when I went to bed.

The next day we found out there had been a military coup. Schools were closed, no one was allowed on the streets except for the Police. The President was dead. So, I went to the front garden where the flagpole was and I put it at half-mast. A couple of hours later a Police Sergeant came to the door asking for my father. I knew him, he was friendly with my dad, who was the engineer in charge of the electricity and water service of our little town. They had been classmates in primary school. They spoke in my dad's office while his men stood around our sitting room and I stared at them till our nanny took me away.

My father went outside with the sergeant and the other policemen. When he came back inside, he asked me, why did you take down the flag? and I said, because the President died, dad, and we have to show respect. I remember his look, with those dark intense eyes. He just told me not to do it again. Later I heard him tell my mother he had just avoided being detained because of the flag.

Next morning, I woke before anyone else. I went into the front garden, still in my nightdress. I saw our little neighbour sitting on his doorstep, with only a pyjama top and a nappy. He must have been three years old maybe, or younger. I called out to him but he didn't move or look at me. So, I went to get my mother, who woke our nanny and told her to look out for any people coming down the road. She ran across so quickly and picked him up and ran back to our house. Then she ran again into the house opposite and went in, closing the door. When she came home, she told us there was no one left in the house. It was totally empty but something bad had happened there. My father waited for nightfall and took the child in a company vehicle with an emergency crew, to a relative's house outside town. So, he was saved. We never knew anything about him again. A neighbour said a truck had come in the night and taken the whole family away. A truck with many other people. That's when I knew my world would never be the same again. I remember thinking, I can't say just anything and everything anymore, I have to learn quickly how to be silent. Or someone can come for us and it will be my fault. I felt very guilty about the flag and nearly losing my father.

Lose him we did, for months to come. Because the Police came again and took him away. My mother put on her best clothes and marched to the Police Station where she convinced the Police Captain to release him. He said, we had better not find him at home again, because we have orders to take him to Temuco (the province capital) and hand him in at the garrison, and there's no coming back from there. That night we left the town and soon after my parents left the country via the Andes. I was left with my paternal grandparents and my little brothers with my mother's mother. No one quite remembers how long we were apart, I just remember we were given a joint passport to travel with, and a dear family friend and my aunt took us to the capital and gave us over to airline staff. We didn't know where we were going, just that it was for the holidays. Nor did we know we would meet our parents. It was all very scary and confusing. My little brother hung onto me for dear life. In my other hand was a case with my grandfather's chess set, he had just died and he was the dearest person in my world. My two other brothers hung onto each other and each carried a toy. I thought, looking at them, one suitcase between us four, I think we have become poor now. And so it was, for the rest of our childhoods. But eventually I came to understand we lost so much more than material things, we lost culture and respect and dignity and so many people that we could not bear to cry for them because we would never stop. This is how we became child refugees. I became 11 two months after arriving in Durham. The youngest of my brothers was 5. He lost everything, has no memories of his years in Chile at all.

How very patient you are being, reading so much of what happened long ago and far away! personal events engendered by global events and by tyranny and the power of weapons.

It would be fair enough that I write this simply to share more of myself with other devotees. There is another intention, that of helping you understand why I do the work that I do, my special incentive. Because if you have read this far, I think you must have an interest in what I do and who I am.

Now, let's move to about 11 October 2023. I was in my sanctuary meditating and also moving things about, just making tidy the space. I hadn't invoked Hekate. Suddenly I became aware of a huge presence. It was the lady herself, no messenger. I can't remember all her sentences. I had been thinking about how matters in occupied Palestine would develop after the recent events at the time of the festival. Hekate told me I was right to worry and that yes, children had died and humans always considered it sad when one of our species died early on. But that there were worse things than a quick death and that not dying could be much, much worse. I'm good at just listening, but I became puzzled about where this message was leading. I did my best to concentrate on listening accurately. Being a medium and trance oracle, one of my fears is not hearing messages correctly and so dishonouring what are, to me, holy connections. I sat and composed myself. I heard Hekate say loud and clear as if she were talking aloud, you cry for the dead children but so much worse is to come, so many more children. I made and projected an image of one hundred children. No, Andrea, more. So, I made an image of about two hundred children. That image became peopled by hundreds more, then thousands more, then more than I could calculate. I had been projecting teenagers and a few a little younger. Hekate made me see individual children, toddlers, babies, and then foetuses inside their mothers' wombs. I saw some standing and looking at me with the wide and dark eyes of tragic ghosts, many were on the floor and there was so much blood. It was like a bi-colour world, red and black, hardly tinges of white. I had this huge urge to lift and cradle a little child near me. Hekate told me, your embrace is huge but there are too many and this will continue for so long, you won't believe me how long. But this is a huge mission ahead, to help me with the dying and the dead. Day and night without stop souls must be taken to their appointed places, not minding where those places are, nor the religions of the dead. THIS IS THE AXIS MUNDIS through me they go; I am their portal. There are other portals but so many will die that all help is accepted and we will help. Tell my priestesses, my priests. They will do this task in my name and it will be terrible. It will be heart breaking for you all. I will show you how.

I stayed seeing the many children and seeing the blood that changed the colour of the earth itself. I saw the olive tree out in the garden, planted in Hekate's name.

I only told four people in the CoH the visit and the vision that Hekate gave me. I was made to understand it would be alarming to make it public. I understood the reasons and I stayed silent. I worked though, in what ways were available to me. Not many and certainly not enough. Every day that I was only somewhat ill, 2 hrs. finding information and posting it for other people to find and perhaps do what they could also, making donations for food projects, praying, finding specific people whose survival in Gaza was very important because of their work with others and feeding them energy and contributing with magic to keep them safe. The need was huge, what I have been doing a mere drop.I'm stubborn though and I have kept on. I watch others also do similar things and more active things, go to rallies, attend vigils and such. Make fund raisers and lately travel to Egypt not to posh "goddess" trips, but to be part of the many taking food and water, and trying to break the blockade. People being the hands of service - everyday people and also activists. Solidarity in action.

But I did not follow Hekate's instructions, ever hoping this event, that event, would lead to a cease fire very soon. Over 170 days have passed, as she said, far more than I could ever imagine.

The other day I had a waking vision; I was sitting quietly just where I am now and it was late at night after a hot day. I saw myself drink a glass of water and thought of Gaza and the elderly who are alone after so many deaths. Then I saw the glass being refilled by a transparent figure. I went to take the glass, and a female voice told me "No, don't drink, only watch". The water overfilled the glass and as it did so, became liquid fire which grew and grew, and another voice said, "The spiritual fire, priestess, which is the soul itself lifting out of its vessel and rising ever higher to its holy source. The body feels pain and the soul exults in the freedom and the rising to greater glory."

I knew this wasn't Hekate, it was like a visitation from another sphere of existence, perhaps even some Muslim teaching that was being given me, It brought me some relief A reminder beyond words of known processes and a needed one, with so much death.

At the same time -and perhaps this is a little of the refugee child alive in me still, speaking for myself and all the ghosts of my murdered and tortured family members- death by violence has no excuse and cannot be condoned nor ignored, it is not something you can walk by while going to collect tonight's dinner, in any case. It is never far enough away not to know what is happening, or to look away from because being positive is important. Because ignoring what is happening is to collaborate and in so doing, losing a portion of our own humanity.

An entirely personal opinion and entirely personal experience of Hekate. Not one iota less true or less important, even so.

---

Editor's note:

This narrative is based on personal experiences and reflects the author's time and story. If this story evokes emotions or concerns, take a moment for self-reflection. If this is not your journey, allow room for voices that may differ from yours. Embrace diversity, engage in thoughtful dialogue, and communicate with kindness.