Lost and found
Fair day.
I recently joined the team at the Lair. For the past two weeks I've been busy familiarizing myself with the multifaceted personalities of those who come and go, here. Not only is there a strong kinship among the team members, the services the team goes out of its way to provide those in need is truly awesome. I was invited to join them for the fact of my special talents; gifts. But first, let me give you a bit of my background and history.
I was raised by loving parents; ordinary folks, with a middle-class background. As far back as I can remember I always felt 'different' amidst extended family. The feeling wasn't something I could actually put into words, just a difference that kept me slightly off kilter. As I grew toward adolescence I begen to feel as though I didn't belong with my family, or my friends. I began to withdraw and keep more to myself. I kept busy with schoolwork and my first love for which I had a true talent, art. My parents put my withdrawal down to shyness and encouraged my artwork, whole-heartedly.
Around the age of eleven I began to recognize certain abilities for which I had no point of reference and by the age of fifteen I felt so much alone in my uncertainty of what was growing inside me, by leaps and bounds. I continued to immerse myself in my artwork; drawing and painting what often manifested in my dreams; day and night. My parents considered me a dreamer and were awed by my talent for drawing and painting beautiful things they considered subjects of fantasy and myth. But deep in my secret self I knew what I put on canvas was of real origins.
At the age of seventeen I learned, by accident, the truth of my origins. I was digging through an old suitcase in the attic, looking for some old family photographs for my art when I stumbled upon what would forever change my life. I found an adoption certificate that proved I wasn't my parents biological child. I was devestated, not because I was adopted, but because they hadn't told me from the beginning. Too, I became obsessed with learning who my natural parents were and why I'd been adopted.
When I confronted them, my adoptive parents told me they had no idea who my natural parents were. Unable to have children of their own, they had wanted a child so badly and had been contacted by an attorney who handled all the details of the adoption. I looked for him only to learn he had passed away not long after the adoption took place. None of his relatives had any information for me, as all of his files had eventually been destroyed. From there, I didn't know where to turn for information.
Graduating high-school, I went on to University to major in Art. My adoptive parents were killed in an accident my Freshman year. I drifted apart from their extended family; cut ties, when I moved away to attend another University my Senior year. My artwork was already selling well for me and by graduation I was fairly well established. I had saved enough money to realize another dream. I opened a small shop of my own where, with my artwork featured, I also sell beautiful creations made of other mediums, such as crystal and porcelain.
I believe everything has purpose and comes about in its own time. Within eighteen months of opening my own shop, a new client entered into the picture that would gradually unfold to reveal my true origins. The moment he walked into my place of business I had the strange sense that I should know the stranger. My artisit's eyes began feeding information to my brain, age, mid-forties; height, six feet four or five inches; physique, near-perfect male specimen; olive complection which was the perfect foil for the most amazingly beautiful green eyes the color of a shadowed spring forest.... Well, to say the least, my hands itched to grab paints and canvas and set right to work capturing all of that mysterious masculinity.
What transpired was the sale of two of my treasured paintings I'd never intended selling. The sale had nothing to do with the exhorbitant sum of money I attached to them to deter anyone wanting to buy them, and everything to do with his carefully persuasive tone that filled me with a further sense of 'connection' to the man. Within months of the sale I would learn that the man had been searching for me for years, since 1978; my birth year.
The long and short of my tale is that the man was a blood relative, my uncle. His brother, deceased since my fifth year, was my biological father. My father had had a secret relationship with my mother, then married to a wealthy man. Her and her husband had a tumulteous relationship which he wouldn't allow her to leave. My mother met my father quite by accident and from there their feelings for one another grew. She became pregnant with me and fearing the wrath of her husband, didn't tell my father of her pregnancy. She severed ties with him and at my birth her husband learned I wasn't his biological child. He was a powerful man and with his wealth behind him he divorced my mother and left her penniless, gained full custody of me then secretly adopted me out.
My father learned of me a year or so following my birth from my mother, who was dying of cancer and told him the truth on her deathbed. Also a wealthy man, he began the search for me. My stepfather had gone to great lengths to keep what he'd done with me secret so that my biological father had great difficulty unraveling the secret.
To add more to the mystery, my father was a true Witch but he'd never told my mother of his origins. He employed all he had at his disposal to search for me and eventually revealed the information to his brother; a powerful Warlock. It was because of who he was that my father died; in a vicious war between Covens. My uncle took up the search for his brother, vowing to find me and bring me into the family fold. And, at long last, found me.
Needless to say, the man who used me against my mother for his own sense of revenge, is no longer the wealthy man that he was. In fact, he is penniless; a vagrant on the streets, for many years now. My uncle saw to it that he got his just dues. I now know why I always felt different and couldn't belong, elsewhere. The blood of the Witch runs through my veins and I am finally at peace with myself.
The biological family that welcomed me home with open arms is quite large. I am now where I truly belong and over the years my 'gifts' have made themselves known and my family has helped me nurture them to the fullest. I am 28 years old, as yet unattached but looking forward to the day when I will meet my true life-partner and begin a family of my own. I reside with my uncle, a fine man who gives me a sense of purpose, and who continues to teach me of my heritage.
My uncle is the man who introduced me to Dream Teller; his close friend and ally, and now mine as well. I am happy to be a member of this team and looking forward to my first assignment. Blessed May You Be, Jocelyn.
I recently joined the team at the Lair. For the past two weeks I've been busy familiarizing myself with the multifaceted personalities of those who come and go, here. Not only is there a strong kinship among the team members, the services the team goes out of its way to provide those in need is truly awesome. I was invited to join them for the fact of my special talents; gifts. But first, let me give you a bit of my background and history.
I was raised by loving parents; ordinary folks, with a middle-class background. As far back as I can remember I always felt 'different' amidst extended family. The feeling wasn't something I could actually put into words, just a difference that kept me slightly off kilter. As I grew toward adolescence I begen to feel as though I didn't belong with my family, or my friends. I began to withdraw and keep more to myself. I kept busy with schoolwork and my first love for which I had a true talent, art. My parents put my withdrawal down to shyness and encouraged my artwork, whole-heartedly.
Around the age of eleven I began to recognize certain abilities for which I had no point of reference and by the age of fifteen I felt so much alone in my uncertainty of what was growing inside me, by leaps and bounds. I continued to immerse myself in my artwork; drawing and painting what often manifested in my dreams; day and night. My parents considered me a dreamer and were awed by my talent for drawing and painting beautiful things they considered subjects of fantasy and myth. But deep in my secret self I knew what I put on canvas was of real origins.
At the age of seventeen I learned, by accident, the truth of my origins. I was digging through an old suitcase in the attic, looking for some old family photographs for my art when I stumbled upon what would forever change my life. I found an adoption certificate that proved I wasn't my parents biological child. I was devestated, not because I was adopted, but because they hadn't told me from the beginning. Too, I became obsessed with learning who my natural parents were and why I'd been adopted.
When I confronted them, my adoptive parents told me they had no idea who my natural parents were. Unable to have children of their own, they had wanted a child so badly and had been contacted by an attorney who handled all the details of the adoption. I looked for him only to learn he had passed away not long after the adoption took place. None of his relatives had any information for me, as all of his files had eventually been destroyed. From there, I didn't know where to turn for information.
Graduating high-school, I went on to University to major in Art. My adoptive parents were killed in an accident my Freshman year. I drifted apart from their extended family; cut ties, when I moved away to attend another University my Senior year. My artwork was already selling well for me and by graduation I was fairly well established. I had saved enough money to realize another dream. I opened a small shop of my own where, with my artwork featured, I also sell beautiful creations made of other mediums, such as crystal and porcelain.
I believe everything has purpose and comes about in its own time. Within eighteen months of opening my own shop, a new client entered into the picture that would gradually unfold to reveal my true origins. The moment he walked into my place of business I had the strange sense that I should know the stranger. My artisit's eyes began feeding information to my brain, age, mid-forties; height, six feet four or five inches; physique, near-perfect male specimen; olive complection which was the perfect foil for the most amazingly beautiful green eyes the color of a shadowed spring forest.... Well, to say the least, my hands itched to grab paints and canvas and set right to work capturing all of that mysterious masculinity.
What transpired was the sale of two of my treasured paintings I'd never intended selling. The sale had nothing to do with the exhorbitant sum of money I attached to them to deter anyone wanting to buy them, and everything to do with his carefully persuasive tone that filled me with a further sense of 'connection' to the man. Within months of the sale I would learn that the man had been searching for me for years, since 1978; my birth year.
The long and short of my tale is that the man was a blood relative, my uncle. His brother, deceased since my fifth year, was my biological father. My father had had a secret relationship with my mother, then married to a wealthy man. Her and her husband had a tumulteous relationship which he wouldn't allow her to leave. My mother met my father quite by accident and from there their feelings for one another grew. She became pregnant with me and fearing the wrath of her husband, didn't tell my father of her pregnancy. She severed ties with him and at my birth her husband learned I wasn't his biological child. He was a powerful man and with his wealth behind him he divorced my mother and left her penniless, gained full custody of me then secretly adopted me out.
My father learned of me a year or so following my birth from my mother, who was dying of cancer and told him the truth on her deathbed. Also a wealthy man, he began the search for me. My stepfather had gone to great lengths to keep what he'd done with me secret so that my biological father had great difficulty unraveling the secret.
To add more to the mystery, my father was a true Witch but he'd never told my mother of his origins. He employed all he had at his disposal to search for me and eventually revealed the information to his brother; a powerful Warlock. It was because of who he was that my father died; in a vicious war between Covens. My uncle took up the search for his brother, vowing to find me and bring me into the family fold. And, at long last, found me.
Needless to say, the man who used me against my mother for his own sense of revenge, is no longer the wealthy man that he was. In fact, he is penniless; a vagrant on the streets, for many years now. My uncle saw to it that he got his just dues. I now know why I always felt different and couldn't belong, elsewhere. The blood of the Witch runs through my veins and I am finally at peace with myself.
The biological family that welcomed me home with open arms is quite large. I am now where I truly belong and over the years my 'gifts' have made themselves known and my family has helped me nurture them to the fullest. I am 28 years old, as yet unattached but looking forward to the day when I will meet my true life-partner and begin a family of my own. I reside with my uncle, a fine man who gives me a sense of purpose, and who continues to teach me of my heritage.
My uncle is the man who introduced me to Dream Teller; his close friend and ally, and now mine as well. I am happy to be a member of this team and looking forward to my first assignment. Blessed May You Be, Jocelyn.
posted by Dreamteller at
4:47 AM
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