I recall it was 2000 or early 2001. I was driving in my slick new silver Chevy Malibu with fancy gold detail on the tire rims. (I didn’t know it then, but this leased vehicle would be repossessed in the dark of night in about two months.) A talk-radio station was on and they were running the news. “A five-month-old German Shepherd puppy was dragged behind a pickup truck on a Toronto highway yesterday. The owner, who tied the dog behind the vehicle, says that he was angry at the puppy for chewing his shoes. Other motorists saw the incident and numerous calls were placed to authorities. The puppy suffered severe injuries and the county Humane Society is considering the option for a two-leg amputation, yet sources report that, due to the extent of the wounds, euthanasia is most likely. Per Ontario law, no criminal charges have been filed against the owner, although he has been given a $500 fine,” the news voice said, before moving to the next story. I pulled over to the grassy shoulder of the road, turned off my car, and cried.
Some time later, a petition was circulated by the Society for Cruelty to Animals and the laws were strengthened to provide Ontario judges with increased maximum penalties for the crime of “Cruelty to Animals” that equated to a ten-thousand dollar fine and up to ten years in prison. (Though, still today, this is just an upper limit option that is rarely handed down.) I participated in the petition, gathered signatures, and searched the depths of my soul to try to understand why anyone would want to hurt an innocent animal. What could be done to deter them from doing it again in the future? I knew that a stronger penalty was not the real fix and it wouldn’t stop someone if they were inclined to abuse. I soon got a personal education on abuse, and I think that I got my answer in the end.
I had been dating a guy named Brad whom I loved more than he loved me. (Or more accurately, more than he was able to.) I desperately wanted him to love me back and I made excuses for much of his bad behavior. He was adopted and he feared rejection from women—a wound of which he reminded me each time I threatened to break up with him. But I didn’t want to lose him; all I really wanted was to love the brokenness right out of him—that is, until I found him in bed with his nineteen-year-old neighbor. Yes, I actually walked into his house and caught them in the act. I ended it with him on the spot. This time I had no choice.
Over the next two months, Brad drunkenly broke into my ground-floor apartment three times, with his violence escalating each time. It was that second time, however, that I managed to dial 911 while Brad had my phone cord wrapped around my neck, choking the breath from me. “Were you with another guy tonight? Who dropped you off? Do you think I’m stupid?” He yelled in my ear with the force of a lion. “If the police come, you’ll be sorry, Penny.”
The police did come, and I was sorry.
A few days later, Brad broke into my apartment again, this time through my bedroom window while I was sleeping. (He easily bent open the window bars that my dad had installed after the last incident.) I woke up to a real-life nightmare. In a blink I was on the hall floor and Brad had a fist full of my hair from the back of my head. He forced my left cheek against the tile and held me down with the weight of his chest on my back. I looked around for something to grab. I could feel the winter air barreling through the open bedroom window and I could see my sweet cat Sabrina watching with her frightened doe look. She’s a cat that doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. I had rescued her from a life on the streets and she too had been abused. I called for her to run. She did.
My next-door neighbor, Glen, called the police that night. He was my landlord; a heavyset fifty-something man who spent most of his adult life in a wheelchair because he was paralyzed from the waist down as the result of a gang fight when he was young. The day before, he told me, “If that son-of-a—” He paused and ground his teeth. “If that piece of work comes back, I’ll crack him over the head myself with my baseball bat.” Properly matched with his cheese-grater trucker cap, Glen carried that bat everywhere. It was always tucked into the arm of his wheelchair, with the handgrip resting across his limp right knee.
After that night, I spent the better part of a month interned in a psychiatric hospital. Yep, it was the “depths of despair,” a line that had always resonated with me from the 1987 movie The Princess Bride. Though hospitalization didn’t cure my depression, it gave me a break from months of trauma. It was a solitary experience; patients mostly kept to themselves and blankly stared as though their spirits were traversing some other land. Maybe they were replaying their memories, or maybe they were just thoroughly dosed with Diazepam, Zoloft, and Paxil so they couldn’t think at all. (After all, I guess that’s the whole point.) For me, it was like a good long meditation. I wanted to know why some people hurt others. What kind of person would harm an animal? What benefit did Brad get from asserting his force over me? I believed with every cell of my body that there was more to it than what the psych ward doctors had explained to me. I could see it in their eyes, too; they knew that they didn’t have the answers. I wrote my thoughts in my journal and I sketched out ideas where an energetically depleted person sucks energy from a less physically powerful being. A cycle was emerging and it had everything to do with viral energy.
To reference my milkshake analogy, a kink in a person’s energy-straw will leave them starving to be energetically filled up. Some people are pinched off from life’s magical force due to massive energy interference like their fears or a past hurt. Their unconscious self is a monster, an energy-empty monster, and it wants to survive. To do this it needs to find energy outside of itself. It becomes a predator and it finds vulnerable and easy targets. The monster is on level with the lower energies and this tends to affirm more of the same. They thirst for personal power and they want yours.
Remember, you can’t live without personal power; none of us can. It’s your energetic-presence. This is the vibrational level in which your being’s energy resonates. It’s the stratum of your personal energy and therefore the presence that you bring to your life and the life around you. It’s part of the human experience to struggle for this energy source—that is, at this stage in our evolution. We are on the threshold of the era of our spiritual evolution. We are awakening to viral energy, and will ultimately be reunited with our sponsoring light energy, the mother of all light.
The pitfall for individuals like Brad and the man in Toronto with the puppy tied to the back of his pickup truck, is that the abuser has not learned a better way to gain light energy.
For them, accessing low and heavy viral energy is learned and habitual.
And so, for many people, a chronic depletion of power will manifest in animal abuse, then child and spousal abuse, or the abuse of power over a population. We’ve heard the pattern before but maybe we’ve never understood it from a spiritual truth. It’s humanity’s great thirst for power. We see it in our world leaders, religious establishments, industries, on Wall Street, in the slums, in the suburbs, and at our kitchen tables. It is the Energy-Thirsty Cycle of Abuse (ETCA). It’s not to be confused with the standard cycle of abuse, which is: tensions build, incident happens, followed by reconciliation, calm, and it starts again—a cycle that moves in a circle. ETCA is different.
In the Energy-Thirsty Cycle of Abuse, individuals who are depleted of highly vibrating light energy will suck energy from targets around them by way of physical, emotional, verbal, or mental abuse. However, because this source can’t and never will keep up the energy-empty’s power source, they escalate their abuse over time in order to attempt bigger or lasting power rushes. Yet, no matter what they do, they cannot be satisfied or fulfilled because they are in flow with one of the lowest energy strata of “Indifference,” “Ignorance,” or “Hell.” This cycle moves in downward devolution, inverting the transfer of power to a lower level. If caught up here, you are actually handing over power to the mother of all darkness.
Energy-empty people often abuse others not to take their power, but because they have an urge to get their frustrations out on them—they want to purge what feels so bad, essentially wanting to give it away. But this will never work. The thing is, you can’t give away your energy vibration. By sharing it, you spread it virally, yet you do not “get it out.” In fact, you get more of whatever energy vibration you share.
Be aware of the energy-empty. Through your awareness, you can break their power over you—it’s both simple and magical. To put an end to abuse and negativity, we need to understand and put the phenomenon of viral energy to good use. Our Higher-Selves do not hurt each other, harm animals, cause war, or create discord with nature of any kind. It’s time to find another way to get fueled. It’s time to lift the curtain between wanting and awareness.
The Science Of Living Viral Energy (SOLVE) Institute offers online courses and in-person interactive talks on self-help; the journey to true happiness; utilizing the magic of viral energy for the life of your dreams; becoming a Viral Energy Teachings Coach; plus understanding viral energy masses on-scale in communities, created through the actions of industries and widespread practices and attitudes—all impacting the Earth energetically.
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