About

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Bio of Stephany Spencer 


~ Stephany Spencer is a retired teacher on her endless summer, a “creative” and poet. 
Born in Chihuahua, Mexico of American parents, she spent most of her life in the Western U.S., married young and was widowed at twenty-one.

Left with a three-year daughter, she raised her while putting herself through College. She graduated from East LA College in 1970 with an AA in Music; University of California at Los Angeles/UCLA in 1973 with a BA in Sociology; and did Post-graduate work in Liberal Arts at California State University, Northridge, obtaining a Teaching Credential in 1976.

A born teacher, Stephany Spencer taught Elementary School for thirty years, specializing in Bilingual Education and Music, then took Early Retirement in 2001 to pursue other creative interests.

Multi-talented, a multi-instrumentalist in music, the “Multies” multiplied, to where they’re now crying, “Which interest is on ‘first’?!” Because in 2006 Ms. Muse kindly led Stephany to the California Writers Club where she was Programs Chair and also helped with Hospitality for over a year while testing her “wannabe” possibilities as a published author, this having been one of her dreams since age ten.

She is presently working on three different books: A book of poetry, aphorisms, and maxims; a children’s novel — And a memoir.

She is a proud direct descendent of such as Dr. Francis Le Baron, MD. (See: “The Nameless Nobleman,” by Jane G. Austin,” a cousin). And is also related to poets like Samuel Johnson, Edmund Spenser, Sir Francis Bacon, Joel Johnson, and Winston Spencer Churchill, a third cousin. Thus she is also related to Princess Diana Spencer, the Bush Dynasty, and more.

Though fascinated with her heritage, she knew none of them personally and was not born to privilege, other than having inherited a bit of their giftedness for such as writing verse, for better or worse. This is her double-edged sword: A gift and a curse. But Life goes on, comes and is gone …

“Sail On,” says the emblem of her California Writers Club. Now if you look closely you may see her sailing on, “writing” on a song “write” now!

Dwell in possibilities,” said Emily Dickinson. And these possibilities are all that keep Stephany from falling off!

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Stephany Spencer/ AKA: Beulah Spencer Tucker de LeBaron

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My Memoirs: Bright Childhood a Blessing
me in box, 2
I, Stephany Spencer de LeBaron, am a boxed-in baby!

 

My Memoir Prologue: My House of Cards

 





newborn-baby-on-an-arm




The Cards of Life

Life dealt me cards — I played my hand
With confidence — I had it planned …
When, later, life revealed the score
It shook me to my very core!
I wondered then — still wonder now:
Could I have changed my life somehow?
And — if life dealt this hand again —
Would I repeat my life of pain?
Or would my hand, ignoring me,
Repeat this life and destiny?
Hiding in a Cave of Trunks
By Ester Benjamin Shifren
2012

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I learned that even when
life deals you a bad hand,
you can still have a happy life
if you are willing to take a chance
and put the past behind you.”
Illegitimate
Brian Mackert
2008

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                        Intro
I was born some time ago,
Away out in the sticks,
In a valley of old Mexico,
In nineteen forty-six.

By the time I was eleven,
We were a family of twelve;
For everything I ever got,
I had to dig and delve.
by Beulah Stephany Spencer
1959, age 13

(*See my other four or five Blogs/ poems on this topic — to see/ read the rest of this Memoir poem. These poems usually begin with “Bio in Verse,” or some such rapacious title. I wrote a number of renditions — take-offs from the above two stanzas.)

 



Chapter 1                         My House of Cards                                 12/6/2016

My troubles all started when I was born … Actually, while I was being born. It seems from the moment I entered the “tunnel/canal” that leads to this world, I began suffering pain. And gave my mother a lot of undue pain, tears, and stitches, too — leaving her with scars, both figuratively and physically:

For I was born a “breach” baby. That is, I came butt first, “bass-ackwards, and upside down.” One could only wonder what would come next, then, in the cards for me — what next “breach” of contract or unexpected event I would bring with me — or life had in store for me.

One didn’t have to wonder long — The cards continued to be dealt. When the midwife found I was coming breach, she worriedly and hurriedly sent for the town’s noted obstetrician, Dr. Hector Reyes Tirada. By the time he arrived, there wasn’t a minute left to wait, for Mother had begun to fully dilate. Therefore, expediency was of the essence:

Once any part of a baby’s body has been in touch with oxygen more than twenty-five minutes, it begins to breathe. It would strangle to death if not delivered in time. Therefore, after sterilizing his hands, and though twenty-five-year-old Mother screamed — out of her mind with excruciating pain as he tore her — Dr. Reyes rapidly and urgently forced his huge expert hand up into Mother’s small birth canal. (You see, he had to quickly turn me around in her womb so he could gather me up by my feet and pull me out safely without breaking my neck.)

The miracle is he succeeded. That was a good card! He didn’t have to pull me apart to get me out — which actually sometimes happens in such “breach” home deliveries. But Mother didn’t fare so well. I’m not sure you want me to go into the details, so I won’t. Other than to tell you that she was in bed with phlebitis/”milk leg” for the next six months, due to complications from this birth.

Needless to say, breach births create a very painful and dangerous delivery — especially for the mother! But to add to our pain, the doctor was holding me upside down by the feet, slapping my tiny bare bottom, and crying loudly, in his accented English, “Breathe!! Breathe!!!”

Having just been pulled through a too-tight tunnel into a world of hell, I didn’t want to breathe. But it wasn’t just that trauma. The minute it was announced I was a girl, suddenly I heard a boomeranging, ill-tempered male voice taking the Lord’s name in vain as he vehemently cursed, “ God dammit!! Another girl!!  Breathe!! Dammit, breathe!!”  

NOTE: See my Blog and poem posted October 2016, “I Entered the World Foot First,” for more of the details concerning this part of my story. But for my present purposes, the above paragraph stands as my first example of how Mormon fundamentalist fanatics often preach one thing while doing another.

For example, they claim to totally want and value all the many babies they have, —“all those little spirit children up in heaven just waiting to come to good Mormon fundamentalist homes.” That is their ideal — their ideology. But in reality, they aren’t as righteous and forthright as they let on they are — or convince themselves they are.

Add to this that from the day I was born, I never was a favorite in my father’s eyes, and it wasn’t just because I was not a boy: I was literally and vociferously “cursed,” you might say, right from the start! (I’ve always kind of thought so … or wondered … sometimes. But all my cards haven’t been bad, by any means. So that leaves me to wonder some more. Hmmmmm!

You shall hear what I mean, in my upcoming blogs, when I tell some of my earliest memories of being raised a “Saint” — just more contradictions and ironies to come, that is, wherein my seemingly pious parents said one thing while doing another. E.g., Daddy commonly used profanity; i.e., He broke the commandment that says,”Thou shalt not take the Lord, thy God’s name in vain.”

But in his/their self-righteousness, he/they did not see nor acknowledge their contradictions … nor have the integrity nor strength to even admit it to themselves, often — all the while claiming to be Saints when they were really just humans. 

The hypocrisy was palpable! And their shadow-self hidden even from themselves. They were taught that they were God’s chosen people; therefore, were better than others — especially if they lived God’s highest laws: Plural marriage and not practicing birth control. They were going to “the highest degree of glory” for sure then!

Mormons believe Heaven consists of three degrees of glory, and each of these is broken down into three more degrees of glory — the highest degree being called the “Celestial Kingdom.” The middle degree is called the “Terrestrial Kingdom,” and Hell is called the “Telestial Kingdom.”

I was taught we Mormon fundamentalists were fore-ordained to return to heaven — that only all those people “out in the wicked world” — those who didn’t convert to Mormon fundamentalism and live God’s highest laws — would be excluded from heaven … due to their wickedness.

It was a double bind because at the same time my parents and our leaders taught this, I, for one, was constantly excoriated to the point I felt I was born to go to hell. Such inconsistencies in the belief system’s practices versus their teachings were and are problematic in themselves.

My parents and other Mormon fundamentalists were unable to understand or accept their shadow side. They have no idea they even had a shadow side. Such a concept certainly didn’t fit the beliefs handed down to them by their prophets. So they tried to hide their downsides, slip-ups, and sins. They were ashamed and afraid of their “shadow“/ their dark side.” But did bad things anyway … and covered them up by projecting their faults onto others, while pretending to be perfect themselves; i.e., Saints.

They fooled most people. But hindsight shows me the people who pretended to be most righteous were actually living the most sinful secret lives — all the more sinful because they pretended to be perfect saints living the Gospel.

Heavy religious social pressures within a sect, as they demand perfection of their conscientious members, may elicit this two-facedness — for the members’ survival, if nothing else.

But social misfits and imposters also use this guise of perfection within a  group to get away with things like rape, pedophilia, and you name it. You shall hear what I mean as my story unfolds in future blogs.

* To be Continued in “My Memoir Backstory” blogs. 

PS: It has come to my attention that some people think they can only get to my website through one of my social media sites such as Facebook. So let me give you my URL. That way you may access my Website directly: https://StephanySpencer.com — Stephany with a “y.”

If you click on my “Follow” button and leave me your e-mail address, each time a new blog is posted, you will get an e-mail alerting you. My cell phone number, in case you would like to call me, is 818-624-8522.

I would love feedback from my readers. Your comments, “Like’s,” etc., help guide and motivate what I, a writer, will write next. I would really appreciate it, also, if you would let me know, through comments or calls, if you find any spelling or grammatical errors, or ANY other errors in my writing. 

I have nobody editing nor are critiquing what I write before I post it. So your feedback is important. Thank you in advance for the time you take to let me know these vital things. And know you are much appreciated.

Now, till next time, thank you for visiting my Website — And for reading my blogs that tell you what my Website’s intentions are. And thank you for just being you.

Cheers,
Stephany Spencer/AKA: Beulah Spencer Tucker de LeBaron

My Memoir Introduction: I Was Born a “Saint”

 

My Memoir Introduction: I Was Born a “Saint”



shack-with-fence-and-windmills

I was born some time ago,
Way out in the sticks,
In a valley of old Mexico,
In 1946.
(So begins my saga.)

*A note to my readers: Today I have decided to officially begin blogging about my memoirs in earnest — blogs to be later turned into a book. I will still continue to post poems and other such. But as for now, I am putting my story, my memoirs, first and foremost. 



     

I am conscious that my narrative
savers of incredibility:

The fault is in the subject,
not in the narrator.”
~The City of the Saints,
By Richard F. Burton,
1861
*(quote borrowed from Irving Wallace’s
outstanding biography,

The Twenty-Seventh Wife”)
1961

************



  The Cards of Life

Life dealt me cards — I played my hand
With confidence — I had it planned …
When, later, life revealed the score
It shook me to my very core!
I wondered then — still wonder now:
Could I have changed my life somehow?
And — if life dealt this hand again —
Would I repeat my life of pain?
Or would my hand, ignoring me,
Repeat this life and destiny?
~Hiding in a Cave of Trunks
By Ester Benjamin Shifren
2012

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I learned that even when life deals you a bad hand,
you can still have a happy life if you are willing
to take a chance and put the past behind you.”
~Illegitimate
Brian Mackert
2008




 

Dedication:

My Blog-Book is dedicated to the escapees and would-be escapees of Mormon orthodoxy, as well as to all those with inquiring minds who wish to know what it’s like to be raised in a Mormon Fundamentalist cult, be married off as a child bride, and to then eventually escape this barbaric lifestyle, and live to write about it.               



*An apology, and a protection for the innocent — mainly myself: I have changed the names in various cases, or haven’t used a name at all. (I’m more interested in telling what was done; not who did it.) Also, bear in mind the dialogue employed is paraphrased to the best of my ability and memory.


PREFACE:       December 10, 2016

In four months I will turn 71, and it will be the 50th anniversary of my 1967 escape from living “The Principle” in a bizarre, backward, and dangerous Mormon fundamentalist LeBaron cult headquartered in Colonia LeBaron, Galeana, Chihuahua, Mexico.*

I was born and raised a fourth-generation Mormon polygamist. My great-great grandfather, Benjamin F. Johnson, a bright and gifted writer, was one of the self-proclaimed Prophet Joseph Smith’s personal Scribes, starting at the tender age of 18. Joseph Smith also sealed him to himself as a son! So in a roundabout way, that makes Joseph Smith my Great-grandfather, three places removed! Hmmmm!

That’s the most prestigious bloodline one can come by … if one is Mormon. And I used to be. As I grew up, Mother didn’t mince beans about letting me and my thirteen siblings know we were “part of the royal blood” — and she held her head high as she proclaimed we were of this enviable hierarchy.

Actually, we came by way of “Royal Bloodlines” in more ways than one: We Spencers are also related, through my father, to Princess Diana Spencer, Winston Spencer Churchhill, the two Pres. Bush families — and other such.

We could even have been children of the self-proclaimed prophet, the late Rulon Jeff’s: While Mother was single, in the early 1940s, and living in Utah, she dated polygamist Rulon Jeffs, father of the now incarcerated, infamous FLDS leader, Warren Jeffs!! Yuck!

As my youngest sister Lenora (born on my wedding day!) likes to facetiously say,”Warren Jeffs could’ve been another brother by another mother!” And I like to retort, “We also could’ve been his sister by a different Mister!” (Heaven forbid!)

Even more ironic than ever, when you consider how “royal” our blood is, is that Mother’s brother and my once beloved Uncle Ervil is the now-deceased infamous criminal known to the world as the “Mormon Manson,” or “Evil Ervil” LeBaron — or the past “Mormon Mafiosoand Malevolent Dictator of the now-extinct Lebaron Crime Family.

Uncle Ervil was, at one time, the all-powerful, priestcraft-working, cult-creating Uncle whom I had been taught, as a kid and member of the cult, stood as “The Second Grand Head” — next only to my Uncle Joel, the self-proclaimed prophet of “The Church of the First Born.”

I had known, loved, feared, and revered Uncle Ervil — before his scandalous schizophrenic psychosis and sociopathic psychopathy worsened, leading him completely and hopelessly off the deep end.

Another unusual coincidence is that my Aunt Irene LeBaron Spencer, best-selling author of the Memoir, “Shattered Dreams,” used as her second book’s cover (“Cult Insanity“– A book about Uncle Ervil, et Al, and the LeBaron cults) a photograph I took of Uncle Ervil holding my daughter when she was eight years old — before I knew he was a paranoid schizophrenic and psychopath.

(You can view this photograph that’s now on her book cover. See Aunt Irene’s book, “Cult Insanity,”  in my Menu under “Media on Some of My Extended Family.”)

Uncle Ervil’s then right-hand man, my brother-in-law Dan Jordan, is also in the picture. I took it of these guys in 1972 when I was still a student at UCLA. The two had come to my home “on a mission.”

It was before I had any idea they were plotting the murder of people such as my  Uncle Joel LeBaron, Ervil’s own brother and self- proclaimed “Prophet” of their backward and isolated Colonia LeBaron, Chihuahuan-Desert cult I had escaped five years before.

I consider myself lucky these two sociopaths/ psychopaths (my brother-in-law Dan Jordan and Uncle Ervil LeBaron) didn’t kill me during that visit — I being a “daughter of perdition” for having abandoned their so-called church.

But Uncle Ervil held a fantasy that I was going to actually go to all the trouble to get my Bachelor’s Degree and Teaching Credential  (After having escaped the LeBaron cult three years earlier!) then return to their cult to teach “the Saints,” … for free. Well, thanks but no thanks!

Within six months after I’d escaped the LeBaron cult, I’d miraculously entered a Junior College in Los Angeles. I was twenty-one, at that time, penniless, and had only a country school’s 8th-grade graduation certificate.

I’d started teaching in the LeBaron colony at age fourteen, shortly after my family repatriated to Mexico in 1960 to live in LeBaron. But that didn’t mean I was ever going to get stuck barefoot and pregnant doing that again — like I had before. But Uncle Ervil didn’t know what was going on in my mind. That may be why I lived to tell about it!

Going back to where I was before I digressed, the reason Uncle Ervil, bringing along with him his sidekick Dan Jordan, had come to LA was to testify before Officials at the US Immigration Office that I was indeed an American citizen — born in Mexico of American parents.

Uncle Ervil thus helped me get my Citizenship papers in order so I could obtain my Teaching Credential … so I would be able to teach in the US. It was a God-send he did this for me, given that I was considered in his eyes an “apostate.” Apostates were/are generally left to die by family, relatives, and the rest of the cult. For it is said they have left “the truth.”

Leaving “the truth” /i.e., being an apostate, was synonymous with turning my back on God and His all-important “Church,” to join hands with the devil’s work. Such people are/ were considered in their eyes to be “the biggest dangers to ‘the Lord’s work’ because they had once known the truth and turned their back on it.”

Now I know I have to take statements, such as that “glittering generality” above and re-word them. For example, they cloaked all their illegal activities under the guise of “We are doing the Lord’s work.

Another favorite “cloak” they used to cover their secret activities (especially from children or outsiders) was,” We’re doing missionary work,” or “We’re going on a mission,” or “We’re preaching the gospel to these people.”

For example, when I was a kid, my mother used those terms from time to time, as she locked us out of the house, or such, so she could do “missionary work” (in the missionary position?! LOL!) with some man she was attracted to — and vice versa.

It worked really well because we kids were so indoctrinated as to the perfection of our parents, and the importance of “spreading the gospel, being Saints, and doing what was right,” that it would never have entered our minds that they were doing what was wrong, rather than what was right; i.e., they were not actually preaching the gospel, etc., like they pretended to be doing.

It was years before I realised such statements as “Apostates are the biggest threat to the Lord’s work and the building up of the kingdom of God” were really but cover-ups, smokescreens, and understatement for their real fears; i.e., underhanded people and cults greatly fear people who leave their “Church” because they know too much. They know about at least some of the illegal activities done and justified in the name of “bleeding the beast,” for example.

Yes, people like me who leave such a cult “know too much.” And I definitely did “know too much,” though I didn’t realize it at the time. If I’m brave and want to take my life in my own hands, I may explain to you later what I mean by “knowing too much.” Meanwhile, you can read between the lines.

But going back to my family’s being related to the “royal bloodlines,” that Mother was so proud to be related to, to be sure, Uncle Ervil (along with his fourteen wives and sixty-something children — This includes his step-children; i.e., children wives he married already had) was also related to these “royal bloodlines” and very proud of it — as were all his wives, children, and posterity.

Quite an irony, yes? You might say I’m getting it from both ends! But as one of Uncle Ervil’s children told me recently, “You can’t choose your Family, relatives, nor bloodline.”

Everybody I have told my story to over the past fifty years has said to me,”Your story would make a good movie. You must write a book! If you do, I will buy it. Let me know when it is published.”

But I have not written it, until now, because it was not safe for me to tell the truth I wished to write. Only if I could tell the whole truth, did I wish to write my story. It’s still not safe, and I still can’t tell the whole story without compromising my safety and lifestyle.

But at long last, I have begun getting this book out that has been building and simmering on my back burners since 1967 when I escaped the Mormon fundamentalist religion/cult I was raised in.

Another reason I have not written my book until now is that for the first fifty years after fleeing the extremist Mormon fundamentalist sect, and thus all my family, friends and foundation there, it was too painful to dwell for long on my past life in that “Church.”

It depressed me so much that I couldn’t write a book on my past even if I had felt my present status and security wouldn’t be compromised by publishing my truth about that past.

I have journaled regularly, though, from age nine till the present day -– Did an awful lot of stream-of-consciousness writing. Therapists say that is what kept me from “going under” all these years.

But some may beg to differ. They will tell you that I am crazy/odd/unique/strange/ weird! To such comments, I say, “If only all my writing, reading self-help books, and talking to the occasional therapist could’ve saved me even more from the ravages of my despotic, cultic upbringing! And if only my life could’ve been normal!”

People have enough to deal with and overcome in life without all the deprivations, devastations, and privations that are added to it by being raised in a backward, isolated, cult background.

For starters, it’s very discouraging and humiliating to be seen by others as odd, weird, crazy, different, backward, naïve, gullible, unsophisticated, a country bumpkin, poorly educated, a Plyg — and so on and so forth.

One vain person even jeered as he told me, “You can take the girl out of the mountain, but you can’t take the mountain out of the girl.” All this and more I have had to endure over the years — Even people making fun of my Tex-mex drawl.

But there is a bully born every moment. When I take a good look at the people grinding me under, I find their words tell more about them than about me — in every case. And this is so in life.

But as for writing my Memoirs, all I’m sure of is, given a choice of leisure-time activities, writing was and still is likely my first choice, despite how time-consuming and how much work it is. I enjoy writing. I like the creative aspect of it, especially.

Through writing, I find company when my isolation and loneliness is otherwise unbearable. And there I unwind from the anxiety, tiredness, and tensions of the day; gain insight, and find answers through the inspiration that comes from my “writing meditation” — my deep thinking.

There I cathart (thought fart!), find solace, am my own best friend … There I unravel the pains and mysteries of my past as well as my present journey towards self-actualization and individuation. And there I grow and develop as I ponder each breakthrough and step of my awakening into my “brave new world.”

While journaling, I also compare my new insights and experiences with the drama, trauma, and brainwashing of my past. And in my writing, I celebrate and come to better understand each epiphany and step I encounter in my exciting adventure as I look through my new window — my new “looking glass” on the world.

Actually, like Alice in Wonderland, when I was seventeen and still in the cult, I too, looked through a “looking glass; “i.e., a “different window.” That’s when I saw a new window on the world. And was almost as quickly catapulted through it and out of the tunnel vision; i.e., tunnel I had been raised in.

Yes, I fell right through that new and open window into this new and present world I have been progressively making my way up through ever since.

In my first few years in this new world, I questioned whether I had done the right thing — whether I had indeed been turned over to the buffetings of Satan and his wicked world. But the longer I was away from the cult and the more I took a good view of what was happening there, the more I could rest assured I had made the right decision when in 1967 I fled “God’s only true church,” as the cult called it.

Many of my past life’s experiences and the brainwashing of growing up in a cult had blocked my feelings and thoughts. Writing helped and is still helping me unblock these feelings and the mind control, thus allowing me to gradually move ahead in my life’s journey, free and unencumbered.

It is through my journaling — and now this blogging and book-writing too — that I assimilate all. Like taking notes in a college course, I compare each new idea, feeling, and insight with the dogma and experiences of my past -– the craziness of the cult I was finally able to escape –- escape from in person, at least.

But try as I may, I have not been able to thoroughly escape from its bind on my subconscious, my persona, and my life — Though to completely escape my cult-created backwardness, damage, wrong teachings, and other wrongs is one of my fervent goals.

At least It gives me something to live for when all else seems hapless, helpless, and hopeless. And old age threatens to devour me before I’ve even half-fulfilled my hopes, dreams, and goals.

As an aside, I understand the ACLU requests we don’t call the extremist sect I escaped from a “cult.” Also that we don’t say “I escaped,” and was “brainwashed,” for fear we may offend those who belong to what I managed to finally escape!

But my opinion is that such words as “cult” are the truth it takes to jolt -– to help awaken the mind-controlled, brainwashed, true-believing people continuing to be born into and bound by the grips of these Mormon-Fundamentalist doomsday cults. If we can’t use some social pressure, what hope have we to stop this vice vehemently invading our quite-unaware world?

The “political correctness” protectionism of being unable to call it a cult, etc., only helps to reinforce and propagate the captivity of the many born into bondage and White slavery in Mormon fundamentalist religious organizations — that, by the way, are growing by leaps and bounds as I speak, due to polygamy, child bride marriages, mind control measures, and not practicing birth control.

Of course, those embondaged by Mormon fundamentalism are the ones least likely to read what I write. Therefore, I mainly write for those who have managed to get out and are looking for backup material to further assure them they did the right thing by leaving.

And I write for people who want to learn and become more aware. But I especially write for escapees of Mormon fundamentalist groups who are looking for more understanding as to what happened to them in their cult, and why.

I write, as well, for all Mormon fundamentalist sects who are looking for more information on how they can better make it in this “foreign land:” The United States of America; i.e., the normal world they have found themselves in. I hope reading my story of success and redemption, upon having escaped radical Mormonism, will help Mormon fundamentalist cult escapees better make it in their own new existence.

It took me years of University courses, other reading, counseling with therapists, and simply living free from Mormon Fundamentalism before I could stand back and realize what I had grown up in was nothing but a cult. It helped me immensely to understand that! Because then I could better see that I had done the right thing, at age twenty-one, to get out while I could.

And it helped me to know that I had definitely made the right choice — despite being warned that I’d be damned and turned over to the “buffetings of Satan” if I even dared question the words of the prophet, let alone dared  leave “the truth/the church;” i.e., The Church of the First Born of the Fullness of Times, and Mormon Fundamentalism.

The Sociological definition of “cult” is: “A body of religious rites and practices associated with the worship or propitiation of a particular divinity or group of supernatural beings.”

Also: A religious group and way of life that secludes its members from the world so much so that they are unable to fit into normal society. 

The American Heritage Dictionary describes “Cult” as being a religion or religious sect generally considered to be extremist or false, with its followers often living communally under an authoritarian, charismatic leader.

That said, I believe that if it looks like, feels like, and rattles like a snake, it is a Diamond Back/ a “cult”! Who are we kidding?! Why call it by any other name? Besides, where is my right to freedom of speech?

And how do we warn or make aware those who could benefit from our observations and experience if we can only cover up for and placate the vice that the Mormon Fundamentalists have already been too adept at perpetrating? To pretend they are not a cult is doing just that: It’s helping to perpetuate the many evils of the Mormon fundamentalist sects.

For example, Mormon fundamentalist sects perpetrate and perpetuate: Lawlessness, being laws onto themselves, Pedophilia, Polygamy, White slavery, Welfare Fraud, Child Labor, Child Abuse, Child Trafficking, Racketeering — and much more, all in the guise of “An alternative lifestyle full of Saints just trying to live God’s laws under the freedom protections of the US government” –- a government they bleed daily, and regularly pray for the destruction of!

Also, note that at the same time the adults in these cults demand for themselves “freedom of religion;” i.e., protection from the US government, they, themselves, in the name of religion, take away all the rights and protection of the children born into their cult!

Yes, they refuse to accept thatOne person’s “Rights” ends where another person’s “Rights” begins!”

As my years in freedom roll on, since having fled the Mormon fundamentalist “underground” slave trade, barbarism, and bondage I was born and raised in, I continue to become more deprogrammed and surer of what a wayward, warping, diabolical Church/ cult/ monster I was born into and my life ruined by, in the name of religion.

The more I continue to think, question, read books, and listen to educational documentaries and interviews done by Rebecca Kimbel, Doris Hanson, Ed Kociela, Kristen Decker, and others on YouTube, C-SPAN II, and other such, the more aware I become that many of the main tenets I was taught (in the cult) to most revere and embrace were and are complete rubbish; i.e., the total opposite of what is good and righteous.

Therefore, in my Memoir/ blogs, I make it a point to unravel untruths and cover-ups, so as to show the world what I mean by “The total opposite of what is good and righteous.” This way I may better dispel what “the snake;” i.e., “the Diamondback” would have us see as “God’s Plan,” rather than the devil’s!

This is a Memoir as opposed to an Autobiography, because of the leeway given me thus. In other words, though I have, from age nine, kept journals –- They reach from the floor to the ceiling by now — I would never get this history written if I were to go back and uproot every piece of Info in my journals to make sure of the exact day, etc.

So where it is not necessary, I don’t worry about petty details. It’s the big picture that is important. This said, I’ll leave off here to continue my story in “My Memoirs Prologue: My House of Cards.” (*See my Menu on my homepage to locate this and other blogs.”)

PS: It has come to my attention that some people think they can only get to my Website through one of my social media sites such as Facebook. So let me give you my URL. That way you may access my Website directly: https://StephanySpencer.com — Stephany with a “y.”

If you click on my “Follow” button and leave me your e-mail address, each time a new blog is posted, you will get an e-mail alerting you. My cell phone number, in case you would like to call me, is 818-624-8522.

I would love feedback from my readers. Your comments, “Like’s,” etc., help guide and motivate what I, a writer, will write next. I would really appreciate it, also, if you would let me know, through comments or calls, if you find any spelling and grammatical errors — or ANY other errors in my writing. 

I have nobody editing or critiquing what I write before I post it. So your feedback is important. Thank you in advance for the time you take to let me know these vital things. Know you are much appreciated!

Now, till next time, thank you for visiting my Website — And for reading especially my blogs that tell you what my Memoir’s intentions are. And thank you for just being you.

Cheers,
Stephany Spencer/AKA: Beulah Spencer Tucker de LeBaron



 

Original Quotes, Notes, ‘n’ Anecdotes on Writing ‘n’ Creativity
me-waitress-1
Stephany Spencer taken off guard, age 20

Hi! I am Stephany Spencer, Poet, Lyricist, Memoirist, and Musician — a professional Jackalinof-many-trades. And a retired teacher on her endless summer. Welcome to my own little corner of the world-wide web! 

As we speak, my rather new Website continues to grow and I continue to develop the skills of being a first-time Webmaster and Blogger/Photoblogger:
 It’s work so fun, I doubt it’ll ever be done!
I do love the creative process —
The “one-on-one.”
I’m thrilled to share it with you on my very own little block of the globe:
My  valuable virtual acre of Internet real estate! 

I’m looking forward to connecting with you. Till then, feel free to click around and scroll down on this blog site, and also on my Menu Bar, to become acquainted with my Website. It was lovely chatting with you. If you are a follower of my blogs, that’s even lovelier!

Till next time, then, be well and cheers!
Your Host,
Stephany Spencer

PS: Please note:
Ever a Creative, the world is my oyster and I a pearl forming within.
Life is my canvas on which I purposely paint and spin
With gusto, all the while it takes me along in
a new dimension —
Then hopefully on to the “pearly” gates and within!

 I have learned: “If you rest, you rust” — You either live or die.
Bob Dylan so aptly reminds us of this in his lyric line
borrowed from the late great singer-songwriter, Woodie Guthrie:
 “If you aren’t busy livin’, you’re busy dyin’.”

And So here’s to life!
I’m tryin,’ yes, I am —
And though I ain’t thru cryin’,
“L’ Chaim,” and cheers, 
~Stephany Spencer

PS: On another note, I am the proud progeny of a long list of writers and poets:
I’ve inherited a bit of their giftedness for writing verse, for better or worse.
This is my double-edged sword: A gift and a curse.

But Life goes on, comes and is gone …
Sail On,” says my California Writers Club emblem.
 Now if you look closely, you may see me sailing on,

“Writing” “write” now on a song!
So “write on”!
Dwell in possibilities,” said Emily Dickinson.
These possibilities are all that keep me from falling off
As I get along!

Stephany Spencer





writing-man-with-pen-etc

  Ode to The California Writers Club

The California Writers Club is our oyster, 
And we writers the pearls being polished within her.

Stephany Spencer  2016 

pearl in oyster

 2016 marked the 30th anniversary of CWC-SFV,
Wherein the California Writers Club has been our oyster,

 And we members pearls growing within her;
 Daily being polished till we sparkle and glitter,
With illustrious word pearls that glimmer ‘n’ shimmer.

Stephany Spencer 2016



Advice for Creatives: Dare to fail or fail to dare!
 That is, take it on a dare — Dare to fail to do well.
For you must first dare to fail,
 or you’ll never discover
if you can do anything well!

Stephany Spencer 2017




floral-background-vintage

Advice for Creatives: To do Well, First Dare to Fail —
or Fail to Dare Do Anything!

Bouyed when Pressfield encouraged creative works,
My own creativity now no longer shirks;
I’ve ceased hiding my light beneath lampshades;
Because today I dare call spades spades;
I’m beginning to finally face my muse
And my own creative juices use.

‘Tis said one must “paint badly” to paint well;
Or dare to “write badly” to tell a tale;
Where our creative works will lead,
If we but follow our beckoning heed,
We never can know nor can we tell;
All we can do is dare to fail,
In order to find out if we can do well.

In other words, we must start somewhere
Our powers of creativity to share and wield —
Resist resistance,” stresses Steven Pressfield,
In his inspired work, The War of Art;
If we don’t dare fail, we’ll never start,
Never write the book of our heart;
Never let genius do its part.

So dare to break through the blocks:
Whenever your amazing muse knocks,
Win your inner creative battles
By daring to fail to ever do well;
The final outcome time only can tell.
But it’s worth the effort to give your gifts,
For you discover and fulfill yourself as well,
When you create art and tell your tale.

Stephany Spencer 2016






       dog-on-computer

1-  “Point Blank:”  The point at which all thought leaves the frontal lobe and one comes face to face with writer’s block.
(Author unknown — Dan Pointer?)




2-  “Point Blank:”   The point at which one’s pen comes face to face with an empty frontal lobe shot by the bullet of writers’ block.
(Stephany Spencer)





Most creatives who’ve achieved fame
First had to master their dynamic domain.

Stephany Spencer






writing-pad-and-desk

~  I was sixty before my dormant creativity
Picked itself up from the doormat
Where it pretty much played a passive act …
For forty years, to be exact.
( Stephany Spencer)






spiderweb-in-blue

~  I was sixty before my dormant creativity
Picked herself up from the doormat,
Dusted herself off, and began to shine —
After having lain there forty years
Collecting the dusty cobwebs of time.
Hallelujah!! Now I no longer need an X-Ray her to find !
( Stephany Spencer)





nice-spiderweb


~  My creativity lay hibernating thirty years
In the dusty cobwebs of time,
Before it picked itself up and came back out
Into the light of day to shine;
Now I no longer need a flashlight it to find!
( Stephany Spencer)






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“Think in terms of possibilities.”
(Emily Dickinson)





This quote I wrote — I wrote this quote:

Yesterday’s sorrow is the humor of tomorrow;
In other words: Today’s sorrow is grist 
For the humor mills of tomorrow.

Please Note: I wrote each quote; 
Though the concept has been around a long time,
‘Twas moi who put it to rhythm and rhyme.

 (Stephany Spencer)




               %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Innovation
The difficulty lies not so much in developing new ideas

as in escaping from old ones.

~ J M Keynes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



 feet-and-sandals

“Long Fellows”

I’m a poet and I know it,
But my feet don’t show it:
They’re not “Longfellow’s;”
They’re “short fellows“!

(Stephany Spencer 2002)


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My Memoirs: I Entered the World Foot First — My Rebirthing Experience

 

 

feeding-baby

In 1986, I learned it was possible to be hypnotized and taken back to the moment I was born. Being a curious person, I hired a female therapist who specialized in doing “Rebirthings.” Through her hypnosis session, she guided me back to the moment of my birth!

That’s when I became certain about two things:
1- Everything is stored in our memory from birth.
2- There were even things in my memory that took place before I was born. So now I also know we are present in spirit, watching what goes on before we’re born. 

For example, I wasn’t born yet but I saw Daddy come rushing anxiously into the house with a lantern and rope. Being a creative person, he quickly attached the rope to the ceiling and the gas lantern to the rope. He lit the lantern and exhaled a sigh of relief when it began to glow brightly. He was preparing the room for my birth!

As an aside, World War II had just ended, taking with it many of the adversities of the Great Depression. But there was still no electricity in the little townsite where my parents lived in Old Mexico. The coal oil lamps they usually frugally used didn’t provide enough light for my at-home emergency delivery. That’s why Daddy had brought in and hung the gas lantern.

Now back to the birth scene: The town’s noted Doctor and Obstetrician, Dr. Reyes, was there — sent for by the Midwife when she saw I was coming breach. After much ado and good lighting, the amazing physician succeeded in delivering me alive — as well as saving my mother’s life! It is not unusual in breach deliveries for both the mother and the baby to die when delivered at home without surgery and other hospital procedures.

But through luck, supernatural intervention, and the experienced obstetrician’s expertise, I survived being born at home breach, at 4 AM, Thursday, April 18, 1946, in the little town with a big name: El Valle de San Buenaventura, Chihuahua, Mexico.

I was the second child of my Mormon fundamentalist parents, Floyd Otto and Esther LeBaron Spencer. They so wanted seven boys in a row, because Mother grew up in the middle of seven brothers and loved it. They got seven girls in a row, instead. How’s that for karmic justice?

The rest is “Her-story and a Mystery.” You shall hear how I fared in Mexico, down past the Rio Grande. And we can begin with the following poem that describes much of what I saw and relived during my rebirthing session:

My Rebirthing Experience

In a little adobe hut, down past the Rio Grande,
Hung a brightly lit lantern near a bed stand,
I also hung … upside down in Doc’s hand,
While he slapped me on the butt with the other;
And everybody was screaming, “Breathe!!
Even exhausted, pain-ridden Mother!

But I refused to breathe,
For I had just been delivered from near death,
By way of a small canal in a difficult breach birth,
When Daddy hollered, “God dammit! Another girl!!”
So I wasn’t sure I wanted to remain in this world.
Besides, there was a man’s hand walloping me,
Alongside loud noises ‘n’ lantern glaring brightly.

But the spanking was more than a new baby can stand,
So I took my first breath and now here I am;
Thus began my life down past the Rio Grande.
But though I inhaled the breath of life,
In actuality, I couldn’t bear the strife!

So I let out a scream and started to cry,
As began ups ’n’ downs “till death do I die“–
First upside down in great big Doc’s hand;
Then nestled up close in Motherland,
Caressed by Mommie’s loving hand,
In Mexico, down past the Rio Grande.

Yes, that’s how life’s behaved for me on earth:
From womb to the tomb, it’s been gloom ‘n’ mirth!
First down suffering in a painful breach birth;
Then up at Mom’s bosom being taught to nurse.
But things could be worse, so I’ve decided to stay —
Ups, downs, and all — till this very day!

My Website in Metamorphosis

My Website in Metamorphosis


blue-butterfly

  Hi, everybody! It’s now August 6, 2017. You have probably noticed my Website and postings continue to undergo a metamorphosis … In other words, they change as I experiment to see what speaks to me and you — what works best now that I have been at this Photoblogging since June 27, 2016.

As of this month, I’ve decided to concentrate on writing my Memoir, rather than spend time editing and typing my loads of handwritten poetry, prose, quotes, and anecdotes. This project must be put off. There’s simply too little time for the “Jackalynn-of-many-trades” that I am.

I would love to be able to do everything all at once; ie, type up my poems at the same time I’m writing a book and keeping up my new Website and all else.

But creating a Website and Photoblogging takes time and is something one builds gradually. The same goes for getting my poems and my books out there.

Though Rome wasn’t built in a day, a part of me wants to build my Website and blog site that way — or at least by the end of this month! 

 Websites can be a static thing — Set them up and leave them be, depending on what you use your Website for. But blog sites are a different species, an ongoing process. And the whole experience entails a huge learning curve.

So bear with me as I continue to turn that bend. And as I curb the time spent writing blogs and publishing poetry so as to concentrate on getting my Memoir written and published. I hope to see you at the end of the “curve” … or bend!

Ciao and cheers!
Your host Stephany

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My Memoirs: An Apology As to Name Changes, etc.

 

 

 

img_3348-1
Beulah Stephany Spencer de LeBaron

Dear readers, please note: I have changed names in my Memoirs, in various cases, to protect the innocent — mainly myself!

I also acknowledge that in writing my memoir blogs, I know I can’t avoid hurting my family, relatives and past friends I grew up with. Anything I say at all against their church, or their religion, for example, hurts them.

In fact, just my leaving their religion I grew up in hurt them, as did other choices I needed to make for myself — such as dropping all contact with my family for many years during “the Ervil scare.” I decided back then that if my choices had to do with the safety and well-being of myself and daughter, I had to do what I had to do, even if it hurt them.

But when it comes to things I do that violate their rights or ability to consent, that’s where I try (and sometimes fail) to draw the line. If I need to say something bad about my family because it’s also part of my experience, I’ll try to be vague, keep their names out of it, and not demonize them. I’ll try to keep them humanized.

I was fortunate to have a fairly good family who simply made mistakes. I see any mistakes they made as coming from ignorance and misinformation. We all make mistakes. We wouldn’t be in this world if we were perfect.

None the less, I like what Anne Lamott said, You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”  

I am hoping that by “telling my stories,” I will be helping to make a better world through further enlightening and thus alleviating some of the world’s ignorance and misinformation. In so doing, I can’t help but enlighten myself in the process too — And isn’t that why we’re here: Enlightenment?

 

 

About
IMG_3642
Beulah Stephany Spencer de LeBaron, an iPhone Selfie I took at age 69

Hello and Welcome to my Photoblog site — My own little corner of the World Wide Web!

My name is Stephany Spencer/AKA Beulah Spencer (Tucker) de LeBaron.

My goal is to share personal stories, essays, prose, poetry, artwork, and other creative works and opinion — in hopes you will not only give me your feedback but may also gain insight, inspiration, and enlightenment to help you in your own journey through life. If you are creative and curious, then this blog is for you.

I plan to post at least once per week — especially on Fridays — And don’t intend for this to be a monolog but a dialog. I want you to give me your feedback in the “Comments” section. I will read every comment and respond as I’m able.

*If you want me to address, please leave a comment below. I am looking forward to connecting with you.



 

Moi at ages 2, 8, 26, 38, and 57 years old, consecutively.

~ Stephany Spencer is a retired teacher on her endless summer — and a Creative: An artist, lyricist, poet, performer, and musician. Born in Chihuahua, Mexico of American parents, she spent most of her life in the Western U.S., married young and was widowed at twenty-one.

Left with a three-year daughter, she raised her while putting herself through the University, graduating from East LA College in 1970 with an AA in Music, UCLA in 1973 with a BA in Sociology; did Post-graduate work in Liberal Arts at California State University, Northridge, obtaining a Teaching Credential in 1976.

A born teacher, Stephany Spencer taught Elementary School for thirty years, specializing in Bilingual Education and Music. Then took Early Retirement in 2001 to pursue other creative interests.

Multi-talented, a multi-instrumentalist in music, the “Multies” multiplied, to where they’re now crying, “Which interest is on ‘first’?!” Because in 2006 the Muse kindly led Stephany to the California Writers Club where she was Programs Chair and also helped with Hospitality for over a year while testing her “wannabe” possibilities of becoming a published author, this having been one of her dreams since age ten.

She is presently working on three different books: A book of poetry, aphorisms, and maxims; a children’s novel — And a Memoir, being a proud direct descendent of such as Dr. Francis Le Baron, MD. (See: “The Nameless Nobleman,” by Jane G. Austin,” a cousin). And is also related to poets like Samuel Johnson, Edmund Spenser, Sir Francis Bacon, Joel Johnson, and Winston Spencer Churchill, a third cousin. Thus she is also related to Princess Diana Spencer and the Bush Dynasty and more:

Though fascinated with her heritage,
she knew none of them personally
and was not born to privilege,
other than having inherited a bit
of their giftedness for such as writing verse,
for better or worse.
This is her double-edged sword:
A gift and a curse.
But Life goes on,
comes and is gone …
Sail On,”
says the emblem of her
California Writers Club.
Now if you look closely
you may see her sailing on,
writing” on a song “write” now!

Dwell in possibilities,”
said Emily Dickinson.
And these possibilities are all
that keep Stephany from falling off!



 

monarch-butterfly

When it comes to what I have posted on my website so far, many of my best quotes, poetry, and other compositions unfortunately still lie in stacks of notebooks where I have recorded my creative writing over the many years. All that’s now lacking is time to edit and record these many compositions herein. Hopefully, that will be soon. But editing, rewriting, and typing up my pieces, requires a lot of work and time.

I would love to be able to do everything all at once. But creating a web and blog site is something one builds gradually. Though Rome wasn’t built in a day, a part of me wants to build my whole web and blog site that way — or at least by the end of this month.

Web sites can be a static thing — Set them up and leave them be, depending on what you use your Website for. But blog sites are a different species — an ongoing process. And the whole experience entails a learning curve. So bear with me as I turn the bend.

I am a born writer and creative. Wrote my first music when I was six years old, my first poem when I was about eight years old — my first song when I was eleven. And I have been journaling since age nine. By now I have stacks of notebooks full of poems and other writings — all in longhand.

I’ve only barely begun to record all these compositions herein. It’s work but fun because one of my favorite games is playing with words and thoughts — moving them around to see what gives.

Now I’m also enjoying the creative process of building this Photoblog site. I’m new at it, as of July 2016. So you can expect a lot of growth and improvement when you visit my website and read my blogs as time goes by  — given that I’ve had everything to learn when it comes to being a Webmaster.

I’m soooooo still in metamorphosis, really … an emerging self … But enjoying the creative process from conception … to cocoon … to caterpillar … and eventually to a beautiful  Monarch. The sky’s the limit. So come sip the sweet nectar and fly with me!



 


blue-butterfly

  Hi,  everybody! It’s now March 13, 2017. You have probably noticed that my Website is undergoing a metamorphosis … In other words, it is changing daily. As I grow, it grows. I’ve changed the theme and header a number of times as I experiment to see what speaks to me — what works best for me now that I have been at this trial-and-error-fledgling Webmaster experience and Photoblogging since June 27, 2016.

I have a few hundred poems yet to edit and post on my website. Many of my best poems and other compositions I’ve written over the years — in fact, since I was eight years old — still lie waiting to be edited and posted — or saved for submission to publishers for gain, or such. Now all that is lacking is time to edit and record these many words herein or elsewhere. Hopefully, that will be soon.

However, I now realize I really need to be concentrating on writing my memoirs, not spending my time editing and typing my loads of handwritten poetry, prose,   quotes, and anecdotes. That probably should be put off again — for it hasn’t been a priority up until now, sad to say. I’ve had too many other irons on the fire, and too little time for a “Jackalynn-of-many-trades” like myself.

Yes, I probably should write my memoirs and other such, first … to see if I really am going to get serious about writing a book … or a few books. If I find I’m not going to get serious about such, then I’ll go back to editing and publishing my poems and my life’s story on my Website.

I recently learned that whatever I publish on my Website is considered Published, period! Therefore, if I ever want to publish my poems, memoirs, and other writings anywhere else, I’ll have to find magazines and book publishers who will accept that I’ve already published my material online. Most editors and book publishing companies only accept work that has never been published.

That has given me pause to think; i.e., rather than spend so much time on my Website and Photoblogging and publishing my work online, wouldn’t I be better off spending more time entering poetry contests, and submitting my poems to magazines for publishing and financial remuneration ? You get the idea.

So now I’m rethinking my whole premise. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, other than be more careful what I publish on my Website. If I publish my best work here –- my best poems, etc.–- I may not be able to sell them to most poetry magazines or even have them printed in my writing club’s Anthologies.

Therefore, I am going to curb what I publish on my Website right now. That includes not putting my memoir material on my site. With a little more time, I will have made a decision as to whether all I want to do is put my Life Story online for people to read for free. Or whether I want to get serious about submitting it to a publishing company, or self-publishing it — for remuneration and a much wider audience.

I would love to be able to do everything all at once; ie, type up all my poems at the same time I’m writing a book and keeping up my new Website, home, and all else. But creating a Website and Photoblog site is something one builds upon gradually. The same goes for getting my poems and my books out there. Though Rome wasn’t built in a day, a part of me now wants to build my Website, and blog site that way — or at least by the end of this month! 

 Websites can be a static thing — Set them up and leave them be, depending on what you use your Website for. But blog sites are a different species, an ongoing process. And the whole experience entails a huge learning curve.

So bear with me as I turn that bend. And as I curb the time spent writing blogs and publishing poetry so as to concentrate on getting my Memoirs written. And I hope too see you at the end of the “curve” — or bend!

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AN APOLOGY

 Dear readers, please note: I have changed names in my Memoirs, in various cases, to protect the innocent — mainly myself!

And I acknowledge my Memoir blogs tell mostly only about how my life was and how I feel about that life and past when I grew up in Mormon fundamentalist cults. I have not exactly kept up on how things have changed in those cults and colonies since I escaped that lifestyle in 1967.

I also acknowledge that in writing my Memoir blogs, I know I can’t avoid hurting my family, relatives and past friends I grew up with. Anything I say at all against their church, or their religion, for example, hurts them.

In fact, just my leaving their religion I grew up in hurt them, as did other choices I needed to make for myself — such as dropping all contact with my family for many years during “the Ervil scare.” I decided back then that if my choices had to do with the safety and well-being of myself, daughter, grandchildren, and friends, I had to do what I had to do, even if it hurt them.

But when it comes to things I do that violate their rights or ability to consent, that’s where I try (and sometimes fail) to draw the line. If I need to say something bad about my family because it’s also part of my experience, I’ll try to be vague, keep their names out of it, and not demonize them. I’ll try to keep them humanized.

I was fortunate to have a fairly good family who simply made mistakes. I see any mistakes they made as coming from ignorance and misinformation. We all make mistakes. We wouldn’t be in this world if we were perfect.

None the less, I like what Anne Lamott said, You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”  

I am hoping that by “telling my stories,” I will be helping to make a better world through further enlightening and thus alleviating some of the world’s ignorance and misinformation. In so doing, I can’t help but enlighten myself in the process too — And isn’t that what we are here for: Enlightenment?


PROLOGUE


newborn-baby-on-an-arm




The Cards of Life

Life dealt me cards — I played my hand
With confidence — I had it planned …
When, later, life revealed the score
It shook me to my very core!
I wondered then — still wonder now:
Could I have changed my life somehow?
And — if life dealt this hand again —
Would I repeat my life of pain?
Or would my hand, ignoring me,
Repeat this life and destiny?
“Hiding in a Cave of Trunks”
By Ester Benjamin Shifren
2012

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I learned that even when
life deals you a bad hand,
you can still have a happy life
if you are willing to take a chance
and put the past behind you.”
Illegitimate
Brian Mackert
2008

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Intro
I was born some time ago,
Away out in the sticks,
In a valley of old Mexico,
In nineteen forty-six.

By the time I was eleven,
We were a family of twelve;
For everything I ever got,
I had to dig and delve.
by Beulah Stephany Spencer
1959, age 13

(*See my other four or five Blogs/ poems on this topic — to see/ read the rest of this Memoir poem. These poems usually begin with “Bio in Verse,” or some such rapacious title. I wrote a number of renditions — take-offs from the above two stanzas.)



Chapter 1                         My House of Cards                                 12/6/2016

My troubles all started when I was born … Actually, while I was being born. It seems from the moment I entered the “tunnel/canal” that leads to this world, I began suffering pain. And gave my mother a lot of undue pain, tears, and stitches, too — leaving her with scars, both figuratively and physically:

For I was born a “breach” baby. That is, I came butt first, “bass-ackwards, and upside down.” One could only wonder what would come next, then, in the cards for me — what next “breach” of contract or unexpected event would I bring with me — or had Life in store for me?

One didn’t have to wonder long — The cards continued to be dealt. When the midwife found I was coming breach, she hurriedly and worriedly sent for the town’s noted obstetrician, Dr. Hector Reyes Tirdada. By the time he arrived, it wasn’t a minute too soon for Mother was almost fully dilated. Expediency was of the essence:

Once any part of a baby’s body has been in touch with oxygen more than twenty-five minutes, it begins to breathe. It would strangle to death if not delivered in time. Therefore, after sterilizing his hands, he tried not to listen to twenty-five-year-old Mother’s screams of unendurable pain as he entered her vaginal canal with his big hand.

Though out of her mind with excruciating pain as he tore her, Dr. Reyes rapidly and urgently forced his huge expert fist further up into Mother’s small birth canal, and past the cervix. You see, he had to quickly turn me around in her womb so he could gather me up by my feet and pull me out safely without breaking my neck.

The miracle is he succeeded. That was a good card! He didn’t have to pull me apart to get me out — which actually sometimes happens in such “breach” home deliveries. But Mother didn’t fare so well. I’m not sure you want me to go into the details, so I won’t. Other than to tell you that she was in bed with phlebitis/”milk leg” for the next six months, due to complications from this birth.

Needless to say, breach births create a very painful and dangerous delivery — especially for the mother! But to add to our pain, the doctor was holding me upside down by the feet, slapping my tiny bare bottom, and crying loudly, in his accented English, “Breathe!! Breathe!!!”

Having just been pulled through a too-tight tunnel into a world of hell, I didn’t want to breathe. But it wasn’t just that trauma. The minute it was announced I was a girl, suddenly I heard a boomeranging, ill-tempered male voice taking the Lord’s name in vain as he vehemently cursed, “ God dammit!! Another girl!!  Breathe!! Dammit, breathe!!”  

NOTE: See my Blog and poem posted October 2016, “I Entered the World Foot First,” for more of the details concerning this part of my story. But for my present purposes, the above paragraph stands as my first example of how Mormon fundamentalist fanatics often preach one thing while doing another.

That is, they claim to totally want and value all the many babies they have, —“all those little spirit children up in heaven just waiting to come to good Mormon fundamentalist homes.” That is their ideal — their ideology. But in reality, they aren’t as righteous and forthright as they let on they are — or convince themselves they are.

Add to this that from the day I was born, I never was a favorite in my father’s eyes, and it wasn’t just because I was not a boy: I was literally and vociferously “cursed,” you might say, right from the start! (I’ve always kind of thought so … or wondered … sometimes. But all my cards haven’t been bad, by any means. So that leaves me to wonder some more. Hmmmmm!

You shall hear what I mean, in my upcoming blogs, when I tell some of my earliest memories of being raised a “Saint” — just more contradictions and ironies to come, that is, wherein my seemingly pious parents said one thing while doing another. E.g., Daddy commonly used profanity; i.e., He broke the commandment that says,”Thou shalt not take the Lord, thy God’s name in vain.”

But in his/their self-righteousness, he/they did not see nor acknowledge their contradictions … nor have the integrity nor strength to even admit it to themselves, often — all the while claiming to be Saints when they were really just humans. 

The hypocrisy was palpable! And their shadow-self hidden even from themselves. They were taught that they were God’s chosen people; therefore, were better than others — especially if they lived God’s highest laws: Plural marriage and not practicing birth control. They were going to “the highest degree of glory” for sure then!

Mormons believe Heaven consists of three degrees of glory, and each of these is broken down into three more degrees of glory — the highest degree being called the “Celestial Kingdom.” The middle degree is called the “Terrestrial Kingdom,” and Hell is called the “Telestial Kingdom.”

I was taught we Mormon fundamentalists were fore-ordained to return to heaven — that only all those people “out in the wicked world” — those who didn’t convert to Mormon fundamentalism and live God’s highest laws — would be excluded from heaven … due to their wickedness.

It was a double bind because at the same time my parents and our leaders taught this, I, for one, was constantly excoriated to the point I felt I was born to go to hell. Such inconsistencies in the belief system’s practices versus their teachings were and are problematic in themselves.

My parents and other Mormon fundamentalists were/are unable to understand or accept their shadow side. They had/have no idea they even had/have a shadow side. Such a concept certainly didn’t fit the beliefs handed down to them by their prophets. So they tried to hide their downsides, slip-ups, and sins. They were ashamed and afraid of their “shadow“/ their dark side.” But did bad things anyway … and covered them up by projecting their faults onto others, while pretending to be perfect themselves; i.e., Saints.

They fooled most people. But hindsight shows me the people who pretended to be most righteous were actually living the most sinful secret lives — all the more sinful because they pretended to be perfect saints living the Gospel.

Heavy religious social pressures within a sect, as they demand perfection of their conscientious members, may elicit this two-faced-ness — for the members’ survival, if nothing else.

But social misfits and imposters also use this guise of perfection within a  group/cult to get away with things like rape, pedophilia, and you name it. You shall hear what I mean as my story unfolds in future blogs.

* To be Continued in “My Memoir Backstory” blogs. 

PS: It has come to my attention that some people think they can only get to my website through one of my social media sites such as Facebook. So let me give you my URL. That way you may access my Website directly: https://StephanySpencer.com — Stephany with a “y.”

If you click on my “Follow” button and leave me your e-mail address, each time a new blog is posted, you will get an e-mail alerting you. My cell phone number, in case you would like to call me, is 818-624-8522.

I would love feedback from my readers. Your comments, “Like’s,” etc., help guide and motivate what I, a writer, will write next. I would really appreciate it, also, if you would let me know, through comments or calls, if you find any spelling or grammatical errors, or ANY other errors in my writing. 

I have nobody editing nor are critiquing what I write before I post it. So your feedback is important. Thank you in advance for the time you take to let me know these vital things. And know you are much appreciated.

Now, till next time, thank you for visiting my website — And for reading especially my blogs that tell you what my memoir’s intentions are. And thank you for just being you.

Cheers,
Stephany Spencer/AKA: Beulah Spencer Tucker



 INTRODUCTION TO MY PHOTOBLOGSITE

shack-with-fence-and-windmills

I was born some time ago,
Way out in the sticks,
In a valley of old Mexico,
In 1946.
(So begins my saga.)

*A note to my readers: Today I have decided to officially begin blogging about my Memoirs in earnest — blogs to be later, most likely, turned into a book. I will still continue to post poems and other such. But as for now, I am putting my story, my Memoirs, first and foremost. 



     

I am conscious that my narrative
savers of incredibility:

The fault is in the subject,
not in the narrator.”
~The City of the Saints,
By Richard F. Burton,
1861
*(quote borrowed from Irving Wallace’s
outstanding biography,

The Twenty-Seventh Wife”)
1961



  The Cards of Life

Life dealt me cards — I played my hand
With confidence — I had it planned …
When, later, life revealed the score
It shook me to my very core!
I wondered then — still wonder now:
Could I have changed my life somehow?
And — if life dealt this hand again —
Would I repeat my life of pain?
Or would my hand, ignoring me,
Repeat this life and destiny?
~Hiding in a Cave of Trunks
By Ester Benjamin Shifren
2012

@@@@@@




I learned that even when life deals you a bad hand,
you can still have a happy life if you are willing
to take a chance and put the past behind you.”
~Illegitimate
Brian Mackert
2008




Dedication:

My Blog-Book is dedicated to the escapees and would-be escapees of Mormon orthodoxy, as well as to all those with inquiring minds who wish to know what it’s like to be raised in a Mormon Fundamentalist cult, be married off as a child bride, and to then eventually escape this barbaric lifestyle, and live to write about it.               



*An apology, and a protection for the innocent — mainly myself: I have changed the names in various cases, or haven’t used a name at all. (I’m more interested in telling what was done; not who did it.) Also, bear in mind the dialogue employed is paraphrased to the best of my ability and memory.


PREFACE:                                                                               December 10, 2016

In four months I will turn 71, and it will be the 50th anniversary of my 1967 escape from living “The Principle;” i.e., Polygamy, in the bizarre, backward, and dangerous Mormon fundamentalist LeBaron cult that was headquartered in Colonia LeBaron, Galeana, Chihuahua, Mexico.

I was born and raised a fourth-generation Mormon polygamist. My great-great grandfather, Benjamin F. Johnson, a bright and gifted writer, was one of the self-proclaimed Prophet Joseph Smith’s personal Scribes, starting at the tender age of eighteen. Joseph Smith also sealed him to himself as a son! So in a roundabout way, that makes Joseph Smith my Great-grandfather, three places removed! Hmmmm!

That’s the most prestigious bloodline one can come by … if one is Mormon. And I used to be. As I grew up, Mother didn’t mince beans about letting me and my thirteen siblings know we were “part of the royal blood” — and she held her head high as she proclaimed we were of this enviable hierarchy.

Actually, we came by way of “Royal Bloodlines” in more ways than one: We Spencers are also related, through my father, to Princess Diana Spencer, Winston Spencer Churchhill, the two Pres. Bush families — and other such.

We could even have been children of the self-proclaimed prophet, the late Rulon Jeff’s: While Mother was single, in the early 1940s, and living in Utah, she dated polygamist Rulon Jeffs, father of the now incarcerated, infamous FLDS leader, Warren Jeffs!! Yuck!

As my youngest sister Lenora (born on my wedding day!) likes to facetiously say,”Warren Jeffs could’ve been another brother by another mother!” And I like to retort, “We also could’ve been his sister by a different Mister!” 

Even more ironic than ever, when you consider how “royal” our blood is, is that Mother’s brother and my once beloved Uncle Ervil is the now-deceased infamous criminal known to the world as the “Mormon Manson,” or “Evil Ervil” LeBaron — or the past “Mormon Mafiosoand Malevolent Dictator of the now-extinct Lebaron Crime Family.

Uncle Ervil was, at one time, the all-powerful, priestcraft-working, cult-creating Uncle whom I had been taught, as a kid and member of the cult, stood as “The Second Grand Head” — next only to my Uncle Joel, the self-proclaimed prophet of “The Church of the First Born.”

I had known, loved, feared, revered, and respected Uncle Ervil — before his scandalous schizophrenic psychosis and sociopathic psychopathy worsened, leading him completely and hopelessly off the deep end.

Another unusual coincidence is that my Aunt Irene LeBaron Spencer, best-selling author of the Memoir, “Shattered Dreams,” used as her second book’s cover (“Cult Insanity“– A book about Uncle Ervil, et Al, and the LeBaron cults) a photograph I took of Uncle Ervil holding my daughter when she was eight years old — before I knew he was a paranoid schizophrenic and psychopath. (You can view this photograph that’s now on her book cover. See Aunt Irene’s book, “Cult Insanity,”  in my Menu under “Media on Some of My Extended Family, Friends, and Mormon Fundamentalist Cults.”)

Uncle Ervil’s then right-hand man, my brother-in-law Dan Jordan, is also in the picture. I took it of these guys in 1972 when I was still a student at UCLA. The two had come to my home “on a mission.” It was before I had any idea they were plotting the murder of people such as my Uncle Joel LeBaron, Ervil’s own brother and self- proclaimed “Prophet” of their backward and isolated Colonia LeBaron, Chihuahuan-Desert cult I had escaped five years before.

I consider myself lucky these two sociopaths/ psychopaths (my brother-in-law Dan Jordan and Uncle Ervil LeBaron) didn’t kill me during that visit — I being a “daughter of perdition” for having abandoned their so-called church.

But Uncle Ervil held a fantasy that I was going to actually go to all the trouble to get my Bachelor’s Degree and Teaching Credential  (After having escaped the LeBaron cult three years earlier!) then return to their cult to teach “the Saints,” some more for free. Well, thanks but no thanks! Been there, done that, I never want to go there again!

Within six months after I’d escaped the LeBaron cult, I’d miraculously entered a Junior College in Los Angeles. I was twenty-one, at that time, penniless, and had only a country school’s 8th-grade graduation certificate.

I’d started teaching in the LeBaron colony at age fourteen, shortly after my family repatriated to Mexico in 1960 to live in LeBaron. But that didn’t mean I was ever going to get stuck barefoot and pregnant doing that again — like I had before. But Uncle Ervil didn’t know what was going on in my mind. That may be why I lived to tell about it!

Going back to where I was before I digressed, the reason Uncle Ervil, bringing along with him his sidekick/ “wife,” Dan Jordan, had come to LA was to testify before Officials at the US Immigration Office that I was indeed an American citizen — born in Mexico of American parents.

Uncle Ervil thus helped me get my Citizenship papers in order so I could obtain my Teaching Credential … so I would be able to teach in the US. It was a God-send he did this for me, given that I was considered in his eyes an “apostate.” Apostates were/are generally left to die by family, relatives, and the rest of the cult. For it is said they have left “the truth.”

Leaving “the truth” /i.e., being an apostate, was synonymous with turning my back on God and His all-important “Church,” to join hands with the devil’s work. Such people are/ were considered in their eyes to be “the biggest dangers to ‘the Lord’s work’ because they had once known the truth and turned their back on it.”

Now I know I have to take statements, such as that above glittering generality, “the truth,” and re-word them. For example, they cloaked all their illegal activities under the guise of “We are doing the Lord’s work.” Another glittering generality.

Other favorite “cloaks”/ glittering generalities they used to cover their secret activities (especially from children or outsiders) were, “We’re doing missionary work,” or “We’re going on a mission,” or “We’re preaching the gospel to these people.”

For example, when I was a kid, my mother used those terms from time to time, as she locked us out of the house, or such so she could do “missionary work” (in the missionary position?! LOL!) with some man she was attracted to — and vice versa.

It worked really well because we kids were so indoctrinated as to the perfection of our parents, and the importance of “spreading the gospel, being Saints, and doing what was right,” that it would never have entered our minds that they were doing what was wrong, rather than what was right; i.e., they were not actually preaching the gospel, etc., like they pretended to be doing.

It was years before I realised such statements as “Apostates are the biggest threat to the Lord’s work and the building up of the kingdom of God” were really but cover-ups, smokescreens, and understatement for their real fears; i.e., underhanded people and cults greatly fear people who leave their “Church” because they know too much. They know about at least some of the illegal activities done and justified in the name of “bleeding the beast,” for example.

Yes, people like me who leave such a cult “know too much.” And I definitely did “know too much,” though I didn’t realize it at the time. If I’m brave and want to basically take my life by my own hands, I may explain to you later what I mean by “knowing too much.” Meanwhile, you can read between the lines.

But going back to my family’s being related to the “royal bloodlines,” that Mother was so proud to be related to, to be sure, Uncle Ervil (along with his fourteen wives and sixty-something children) was also related to these “royal bloodlines” and very proud of it — as were all his wives, children, and posterity. Quite an irony, yes? You might say I’m getting it from both ends! But as one of Uncle Ervil’s down-to-earth children told me recently, “You can’t choose your Family, relatives, nor bloodline.”

Everybody I have told my story to over the past fifty years has said to me, “Your story would make a good movie. You must write a book! If you do, I will buy it. Let me know when it is published.”

But I have not written it, until now, because it was not safe for me to tell the truth I wished to write. Only if I could tell the whole truth, did I wish to write my story. It’s still not safe, and I still can’t tell the whole story without compromising my safety and lifestyle. But at long last, I have begun getting this book out out of me that has been building and simmering on my back burners since before 1967 when I escaped the Mormon fundamentalist religion/cult I was raised in.

Another reason I have not written my book until now is that for the first fifty years after fleeing the extremist Mormon fundamentalist sect, and thus all my family, friends, home, and foundation, it was too painful to dwell for long on my past life in that “Church.” It depressed me so much that I couldn’t write a book on my past even if I had felt my present status and security wouldn’t be compromised by publishing my truth about that past.

I have journaled regularly, though, from age nine till the present day -– Did an awful lot of stream-of-consciousness writing. Therapists say that is what kept me from “going under” all these years.

But some may beg to differ. They will tell you that I am crazy, odd, unique, strange, and weird! To such comments, I say, “If only all my writing, reading self-help books, and talking to the occasional therapist could’ve saved me even more from the ravages of my despotic, cultic upbringing! And if only my life could’ve been normal!”

People have enough to deal with and overcome in life without all the deprivations, devastations, and privations that are added to it by being raised in a backward, isolated, cult background. Being raised in a poor and deprived background is bad enough, without being raised in a secluded cult background.

For starters, it’s very discouraging and humiliating to be seen by others (though I’m well-educated, now — at least, as much as I could be, given my poor educational start in life) as odd, weird, strange, crazy, different, backward, naïve, gullible, unsophisticated, a country bumpkin, poorly educated, a Plyg — and so on and so forth.

But despite my efforts to get educated and work my way out of the backward lifestyle I was raised in, one can never make up for the lost education of their childhood and young adulthood, including being raised in a backward environment. For your environment, when you are growing up, is also an important part of your education and acclimation to life.

In other words, to people of well-educated, advantaged middle classes, upper classes, and wealthy classes (who had every opportunity to read, study, get special training, as a child, in their fields of interest, and so on) I can’t help but look unsophisticated and backward in some of my knowledge, awareness, and abilities, etc., in comparison to these advantaged classes.

Sure, I am far more educated now than most people. And am considered why most people to be well-spoken, intelligent, very talented, enviable, and so on — and some people even mistake me for an Aristocrat. But I still can’t begin to compete with other people of my same intelligence and natural talents who came from homes where their parents did everything possible to give them a good start in life and to help them to be successful — families who worked  toward equality, not quantity.

For example, the parents of these middle and upper classes chose to live in an area where their children could attend the best possible schools. And they earned and saved money so as to put their children through the best or at least a good University.

But my parents did just the opposite — the exact opposite of anything that could have helped me be successful in this world. For they were living for the hereafter, and believed the end of the earth was imminent — so there was no point in anything except to be a righteous person, bring all the spirits possible into this world and good Mormon families, and otherwise serve God.

For they believed fervently that within a matter of days or years the world  would end, the resurrection and millennium would begin, and all this other “worldly stuff” was superfluous and even an evil pursuit. They couldn’t have been more wrong. But they couldn’t see through their wrongs enough to do what was right. They didn’t understand that fanaticism leads to no good end — only hell on earth.

So, after escaping the cult, though I got an AA degree, a Bachelors degree, a Teachers Credential, and did Postgraduate work toward a Masters degree, etc., and have made every effort to overcome the lack of a good education, I am still disadvantaged when it comes to advantaged people with my same gifts and intelligence.

How could I possibly compete with those whose parents gave them the very best chances in life, while my parents gave me no Preschool, no Kindergarten, no 9th, 10th, 11th, or 12th grades; i.e., NO High — And I missed part of 1st, 3rd, and 4th grades — and even the Elementary School education I got was not in the best of neighborhoods. In my teaching career, I’ve seen him much better education offered children than I generally got.

But, though I stick out like a sore thumb in classy locales, even when I was in the backward Mormon fundamentalist cult, one vain person, Bruce Wakeham, a member of the cult I had been subjected to, jeered at me, as he told me (in front of my husband, Bill Tucker, and his first wife, Marilyn (who only agreed with Bruce and laughed), “You can take the girl out of the mountain but you can’t take the mountain out of the girl! Ha, ha!!

But get this: A few years after I fled my Uncle Joel LeBaron’s cult, Bruce Wakeham was just one more fundamentalist Mormon and one more French missionary who claimed to be “The One Mighty and Strong.” And started a cult of his own! LOL!

Three out of the four French missionaries who had joined Joel and Ervil’s cults went on to start a cult of their own, claiming to be “The One Mighty and Strong:” Stephen Silver, Daniel Jordan, and Bruce Wakeham! How ludicrous can that be?

Bill Tucker died (at barely age thirty-one) before he could do anything too ludicrous, I suppose, other than join Ayn Rand’s cult after he left Joel and Ervil’s cult in 1966 … Which cult had followed after he joined the LDS Mormon cult/ Church at age fifteen or sixteen. (And before that, he had been the leader of a chain gang in southern California where he grew up!)

But when it comes to my disadvantages, over the years I’ve even had to endure having the advantaged and “esteemed” Bruce Wakeham denigrate and belittle me and my background!

This and more I have had to endure over the years — Even people making fun of my Tex-Mex drawl. I guess I was a fish out of water. But there is a bully born every moment. When I take a good look at the people grinding me under, I find their words tell more about them than about me — in every case. And this is so in life.

But as for writing my Memoirs, all I’m sure of is, given a choice of leisure-time activities, writing was and still is likely my first choice, despite how time-consuming and how much work it is. I enjoy writing. I like the creative aspect of it, especially.

Through writing, I find company when my isolation and loneliness is otherwise unbearable. And there I unwind from the anxiety, tiredness, and tensions of the day; gain insight, and find answers through the inspiration that comes from my “writing meditation” — my deep thinking.

There I cathart (thought fart!), find solace, am my own best friend … There I unravel the pains and mysteries of my past as well as my present journey towards self-actualization and individuation. And there I grow and develop as I ponder each breakthrough and step of my awakening into my “brave new world.”

While journaling, I also compare my new insights and experiences with the drama, trauma, and brainwashing of my past. And in my writing, I celebrate and come to better understand each epiphany and step I encounter in my exciting adventure as I look through my new window — my new “looking glass” on the world.

Actually, like Alice in Wonderland, when I was seventeen and still in the cult, I too, looked through a “looking glass; “i.e., a “different window.” When I saw this new window on the world, I was almost as quickly catapulted through it and out of the tunnel vision; i.e., tunnel I had been raised in. Yes, I fell right through that new and open window into this present world view I have been progressively making my way up through ever since.

In my first few years in this new world, I questioned whether I had done the right thing — whether I had indeed been turned over to the buffetings of Satan and his wicked world.

But the longer I was away from the cult and the more I took a good view of what was happening there, the more I rested assured I had made the right decision when in 1967 I fled “God’s only true church,” as the cult calls it.

Many of my past life’s experiences and the brainwashing of growing up in a cult had blocked my feelings and thoughts. Writing helped and is still helping me unblock these feelings and the mind control, thus allowing me to gradually move ahead in my life’s journey, free and unencumbered.

It is through my journaling — and now this blogging and book-writing too — that I assimilate all. Like taking notes in a college course, I compare each new idea, feeling, and insight with the dogma and experiences of my past -– the craziness of the cult I was finally able to escape –- escape from in person, at least.

But try as I may, I have not been able to thoroughly escape from its bind on my subconscious, my persona, and my life — Though to completely escape my cult-created backwardness, damage, wrong teachings, and other wrongs is one of my fervent goals I daily make progress toward.

At least It gives me something to live for when all else seems hapless, helpless, and hopeless. And old age threatens to devour me before I’ve even half-fulfilled my hopes, dreams, goals, and giving back to the world.

As an aside, I understand the ACLU requests we don’t call the extremist sect I escaped from a “cult.” Also that we don’t say “I escaped,” and was “brainwashed,” for fear we may offend those who belong to what I managed to finally escape!

But my opinion is that such words as “cult” are the truth it takes to jolt -– to help awaken the mind-controlled, brainwashed, true-believing people continuing to be born into and bound by the grips of these Mormon-Fundamentalist doomsday cults. If we can’t use some social pressure, what hope have we to stop this vice vehemently invading our quite-unaware world?

The “political correctness” protectionism of being unable to call it a cult, etc., only helps to reinforce and propagate the captivity of the many born into bondage and White slavery in Mormon fundamentalist religious organizations — that, by the way, are growing by leaps and bounds as I speak, due to polygamy, child bride marriages, mind control measures, and not practicing birth control.

Of course, those embondaged by Mormon fundamentalism are the ones least likely to read what I write. Therefore, I mainly write for those who have managed to get out and are looking for backup material to further assure them they did the right thing by leaving.

And I write for people who want to learn and become more aware. But I especially write for escapees of Mormon fundamentalist groups who are looking for more understanding as to what happened to them in their cult, and why.

I write, as well, for all Mormon fundamentalist sects who are looking for more information on how they can better make it in this “foreign land:” The United States of America; i.e., the normal world they have found themselves in.

I hope reading my story of success and redemption, upon having escaped radical Mormonism, will help Mormon fundamentalist cult escapees better make it in their own new existence.

It took me years of University courses, other reading, counseling with therapists, and simply living free from Mormon Fundamentalism before I could stand back and realize what I had grown up in was nothing but a cult. It helped me immensely to understand that! Because then I could better see that I had done the right thing, at age twenty-one, to get out while I could.

And it helped me to know that I had definitely made the right choice — despite being warned that I’d be damned and turned over to the “buffetings of Satan” if I even dared question the words of the prophet, let alone dared  leave “the truth/the church;” i.e., The Church of the First Born of the Fullness of Times, and Mormon Fundamentalism.

The Sociological definition of “cult” is: “A body of religious rites and practices associated with the worship or propitiation of a particular divinity or group of supernatural beings.”

Also: A religious group and way of life that secludes its members from the world so much so that they are unable to fit into normal society. 

The American Heritage Dictionary describes “Cult” as being a religion or religious sect generally considered to be extremist or false, with its followers often living communally under an authoritarian, charismatic leader.

That said, I believe that if it looks like, feels like, and rattles like a snake, it is a Diamond Back/ a “cult”! Who are we kidding?! Why call it by any other name? Besides, where is my right to freedom of speech?

And how do we warn or make aware those who could benefit from our observations and experience if we can only cover up for and placate the vice that the Mormon Fundamentalists have already been too adept at perpetrating? To pretend they are not a cult is doing just that: It’s helping to perpetuate the many evils of the Mormon fundamentalist sects.

For example, Mormon fundamentalist sects perpetrate and perpetuate: Lawlessness, being laws onto themselves, Pedophilia, Polygamy, White slavery, Welfare Fraud, Child Labor, Child Abuse, Child Trafficking, Racketeering — and much more, all in the guise of “An alternative lifestyle full of Saints just trying to live God’s laws under the freedom protections of the US government” –- a government they bleed daily, and regularly pray for the destruction of!

Also, note that at the same time the adults in these cults demand for themselves “freedom of religion;” i.e.,protection from the US government, they, themselves, in the name of religion, take away all the rights and protection of the children born into their cult! Yes, they refuse to accept that “One person’s “Rights” ends where another person’s “Rights” begins!”

As my years in freedom roll on, since having fled the Mormon fundamentalist “underground” slave trade, barbarism, and bondage I was born and raised in, I continue to become more deprogrammed and surer of what a wayward, warping, diabolical Church/ cult/ monster I was born into and my life ruined by, in the name of religion.

The more I continue to think, question, read books, and listen to educational documentaries and interviews done by Rebecca Kimbel, Doris Hanson, Ed Kociela, Kristen Decker, and others on YouTube, C-SPAN II, and other such, the more aware I become that many of the main tenets I was taught (in the cult) to most revere and embrace were and are complete rubbish; i.e., the total opposite of what is good and righteous.

Therefore, in my Memoir/ blogs, I make it a point to unravel untruths and cover-ups, so as to show the world what I mean by “The total opposite of what is good and righteous.” This way I may better dispel what “the snake;” i.e., “the Diamondback” would have us see as “God’s Plan,” rather than the devil’s!

This is a Memoir as opposed to an Autobiography, because of the leeway given me thus. In other words, though I have, from age nine, kept journals –- They reach from the floor to the ceiling by now — I would never get this history written if I were to go back and uproot every piece of Info in my journals to make sure of the exact day, etc.

So where it is not necessary, I don’t worry about petty details. It’s the big picture that is important. This said, I’ll leave off here to continue my story in “My Memoirs Prologue: My House of Cards.” (*See my Menu on my homepage to locate this and other blogs.”)

PS: It has come to my attention that some people think they can only get to my Website through one of my social media sites such as Facebook. So let me give you my URL. That way you may access my Website directly: https://StephanySpencer.com — Stephany with a “y.”

If you click on my “Follow” button and leave me your e-mail address, each time a new blog is posted, you will get an e-mail alerting you. My cell phone number, in case you would like to call me, is 818-624-8522.

I would love feedback from my readers. Your comments, “Like’s,” etc., help guide and motivate what I, a writer, will write next. I would really appreciate it, also, if you would let me know, through comments or calls, if you find any spelling and grammatical errors — or ANY other errors in my writing. 

I have nobody editing or critiquing what I write before I post it. So your feedback is important. Thank you in advance for the time you take to let me know these vital things. Know you are much appreciated!

Now, till next time, thank you for visiting my Website — And for reading especially my blogs that tell you what my Memoir’s intentions are. And thank you for just being you.

Cheers,
Stephany Spencer/AKA: Beulah Spencer Tucker de LeBaron