First came God. Then came Nintendo.

Elisabet Kedziora
Aug 24, 2017 · 9 min read

The year of 1984. George Orwell predicted a dystopian future were an illuminated government held knowledge about the human psychology and consciousness and therefore kept humankind as slaves to keep people from realizing their own powers. A monitoring society is pictured in the classic book and Orwell portrayed a fascism based on surveillance and monetary slavery. I was quite young when I read the book. I think I read it mostly because 1984 was the year I was born and I thought it was cool that a well known book held the titel of my birth year. When I read it I was blown away. It was like reading a divination from the past and it opened up another level of my sight, as if I could see that my own feeling of misplacement in society was of a greater understanding then my own disbelief in what I saw had been folded out in front of me. Because I truly carried a disbelief from deep within since my first living years during the 8 pixel 80's.

I was born into catholicism.
And I truly believed in God.

Baba, my grandmother, was what I would call a fanatic catholic today, and she was my best friend. Baba was born i Poland and a six years old girl when WWII broke out. Her story is another one, but from her extracted a victimized woman torn by war and chaos and when the war ended she was twelve years old and psychotic in that sense I suppose every person end up being after living through a war. How can sanity spring out of insanity?

She turned to her God. And to Jesus. To the church. To hope and faith and a belief in another world and another humanity and another possibility. She turned to hope. And fled into stories of purple coated heavens where no evil or harm existed, where God was love and love was all there would ever be felt. Fables of how life in flesh was sinful short breaths that was just to live through as harmless as one could before resurrection and fairness would come as a reward of death. An easy escape out of inhumanity.

She got married to a car mechanic. This mechanic had not fled into fables but into nothing else than the bottle. He beat her. He raped her. He beat her sons. He came and took of as he liked. But Baba had her God and her belief, and her fables that told her to bend down and accept what was happening, to kneel in front of God and men. Especially the man she was sworn by an oath to. So Baba prayed and took pain killers pills not to be very much aware when she fists repeatedly left brooms all over her body, and she sang loud psalms in churches and kneeled and kneeled and kneeled and kneeled and stuffed all of it inside her heart whilst she cried out to Jesus to have mercy.

Her sons got married. And grandchildren were born. One of them was me. The year was 1984 and I swallowed God as God was served to me. My highest wish was to become a nun. I wanted to give my whole life to God and to save the light and love. I wanted to keep myself in a constant spiritual state and always live within the higher frequencies of spirit by devoting my whole being. How easy would not my life had been if I had not been a child of my own time, and actually gone forth with my childhood dream. Hiding in a monastery with little to do with ego and it’s hold on soul by everyday life, blessings and temptations.

Every Saturday evening I slept over at Babas place and we spent the evening baking cookies for next days’ church. Sleeping over at Babas place ment licking cookie dough and eating newly baked muffins served with hot milk and rosary prayers by the bed. I remember I loved to pray. I loved the conversations between myself and God where I always felt loved and held by the angels I prayed to, I used to pray for hours and sing psalms to myself imagining I was the solo singer in the church-choir. I even composed my own psalms that I hymned for myself in my room with a closed door. Jesus was my friend, Holy Mother Mary was my mother and God… Oh God… well God I was afraid of. God punished. God pointed fingers. God was unfair. God was rude. In front of God I felt like the smallest most insignificant creature ever made, with no saying in the world, but to follow the fingers that was pointing me in directions I had to turn.

I was six when I got my first Nintendo 8 bit. I won some money on the bank account I held as a kid. Mother and father put in my weekly allowance in that account, to teach me how to save my money and how to be responsible with what I owned. Annually the bank drew a winner that won some money and the year I turned six they drew my name. I got a treasure. And what does a six years old kid do with a treasure? Of course she buys this new cool thing called Nintendo, some games and a pink hackysack to sit in. That was the birth of the future for me, and entering these 8 pixel worlds with synth sounds for every move one made or coin or kill one collected, was like stepping into a graphical escape. Saturdays at Babas place I mostly longed home to my pink hackysack and the world of Mario Bros, and some Saturday nights I even called Baba to tell he I’d stay home that night, but meet her up in church following Sunday morning. These Saturdayschoices turned from occasionally to average, and although I still believed in God and forced my younger cousins to listen to me as I preached to them when I played preast, I also really really loved that Nintendo.

I was seven when I got in touch with karate. My best friend as a child was Gina. Her father owned the karate club in the small town I was born in, and the two of us got to start out training at the age of seven instead of having to wait till we were ten, and karate from then on became my life. I became a junior champion that advanced with such a level that I, at the age of fourteen, was a threetime champion in my league, I had a personal trainer and a diet to follow before and after tournaments. As an adult I understand what practicing discipline at such young age did to me. I got trained in kneeling also for a human master who held more knowledge and experience then me, to follow his least wink and to push my self, my body, my mind further and further to progress and expand. I learned to listen, to devote myself to an art of a thousand year old fightingtechnique and practiced mindfulness while I ran several kilometers in the woods around my childhood town. This, of coarse, stood as an oppose to Babas victimizing teachings. In karate I took my own charge and stared my opponent in the eyes. I stared my fears into it’s eyes. In church I sat passively by and prayed for a higher power to help me.

Of course I also got smarter as I grew older. And the more I learned the more I questioned.

When I was fourteen I got my black belt. I did my confirmation not because I truly believed in the God I had once kneeled in front of any longer, but to get confirmationgifts and mostly to please my Baba. I had already had diskussions for years with her about the demonic spirits that had taken a hold out of me and turned me away from her and from God. I had heard over and over again of how Satans’ hold of me had to be healed by being prayed for, and how I had turned to the dark side. “I pray for you Elisabet, everyday, I pray for you, for the angels to again whisper louder in your ears than the demons, for you to step back into the right path.”. I had heard this so many times that it no longer made me shiver the way it had done the first times.
Instead, I started to get really fucking upset with God.
I actually started to get really fucking upset with it all.

I was fifteen. Practicing karate in a dojo with maybe another four girls and then the rest of the students were boys. I was better then all of them boys but still they were the ones telling me to follow their lead and to carry their bags to tournaments and pick up their trash from the clubs minivan. I was smarter than most of my classmates, but mainly my but and what kind of underwear I carried was of more interest. I had at that time never really gotten into feminism and can’t say I had a lot of strong women around me casting new light over my family old heritage. I actually had non. All women in all generations within my family carried the same spiral of victimizing themselves as Baba did, they where all living their lives with crocked backs, bowed for their superior men and Gods. As if all of them had sprung directly from the old, very old, frequency of Abraham and kept his stories of the father in the sky within their bloodlines, with nothing else to judge themselves by then a holy virgin and a hoe. I felt utterly alone in my discomfort and it partly felt as if I was fighting against an thousand years old army with a billion soldiers all preaching monotonically the fables of past times. Me, alone, fought that army. This loneliness left me stranded on an island within my soul, and I was lost, I was lost for years to come… but at least I had black belt in karate…
I was trained, since my seventh year, to stare my fears into it’s eyes.

I was twenty-two when I read Simone de Beauvoir. And that was that. Somewhere a lonely girl on an inner island saw the flash of a lighthouse on the horizon. Ancestral knowledge was discovered and I dived into phrases, knowledge, theories and thesis that gave me the answers, and mostly, the hope I was crying for. I was saved…
And I had found safe land to step on to.

I opened window after window in the observatory I was living in, and for ever opened hatch I saw a greater picture of the universal sky. Of God. It had all started with that french existentialist and here I was, peeling of filter after filter. By that time someone put Orwells book in my lap. “Here, Elisabet, read this…”, so I did. And other questions got answers and I opened a new hatch over my head.

I am thirty-three and I did become a nun.

I did give my life to God. I believe. I did not become a nun out of any religious context but I have sure been devoting my whole life to the spirit of it all. Everyday I pray to the force that flows though me and every day I lay my life in the hands of that force and know that I am being guided. I meditate and put my faith and my hopes and my wishes into an abstraction. I know of frequencies and entities and quantum physics and existentialism and philosophy. I know of DMT and reptilians and Anubis and old myths and fables, older than the oldest ones. I know of solar eclipses and multiverses, of super dimensional shifts and the astral feeling of my healing hands. I know of poisoning companies that owns companies that owned companies that owned us. I know of propaganda and how I am constantly put under it. I know of the Gaian mind. I know of sex and how my orgasms can make me explode over and over and over again…

I know what words does to myself. And to everything i put them out to. So I pray. And yes… sometimes I still go down to my knees. I donut actually know what I’m kneeling in front of. Maybe it’s just the feeling of doing something sacred, something devoting. So I kneel. I put my hand together… and I out “Dear Goddess…”, and then I start my self talk.

)
Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade