The first “Syncblast,” the blog name indicating that the content fits on all of my websites, dates back to June 5, 2023. Fast forward to the updated Constantia story.
In 2023, an unexpected turn of events occurred when my special acquaintances Stan and Lana ended up in a Spanish prison for about a month. As the only one who had extensively written about Stan, a few journalists from major newspapers approached me. In July and August 2023, I reestablished contact first with Lana and then with Stan, leading to my St. Anna blog on August 23, 2023, the Joran van der Sloot phone conversations on August 31, 2023, and the Joran van der Sloot files on September 12, 2023. I perceive Stan as a mythical figure, someone of biblical proportions, epic. A heavenly gift and a devilish ordeal that few will endure. On October 18, 2023, the long-awaited trial of Joran van der Sloot took place, during which Joran once again escaped with a tremendous lie about Natalee Holloway. Van der Sloot’s story about a cinder block and dumping Natalee’s body at sea, which all experts agreed could not be true, was rewarded by the Alabama court with a very favorable plea deal for Joran. This disappointing trial made it clear to me: Stan did not want to meet with the FBI before Joran’s trial to sign his St. Anna statement in person. He only brought this up on October 27, 2023, through a WhatsApp message to me. He also expressed indignation about Joran’s new lies and said he now wanted to meet the FBI. I never gave up hope that Natalee would be found at the St. Anna Cemetery in Aruba, and I shared Stan’s commitment with my Instagram followers. I didn’t reply because I was angry. It then became suspiciously quiet on Stan’s side again. He did not follow through on his commitment to meet with the FBI man. In early 2024, Stan suddenly emailed me with unprecedented harsh and accusatory words about my silence, only to backtrack in a later email. To be continued, undoubtedly.
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My parents, who in my opinion, given their own unresolved traumas, would have been better off not having children, fell severely short in the physical, mental, and emotional guidance of their offspring. Through the mysterious pathways of the cosmos, Rob Nanninga came to me after his passing in 2014, and an unprecedented loving soulmate bond emerged, in which both of us experienced tremendous growth. Those who cannot fathom this need not believe it. In the currents of Rob’s presence, I discovered aspects of myself that had previously remained unexplored. As a teenager, I urgently needed braces and speech therapy (due to extremely rapid speech), but neither my mother nor my father ever suggested anything of the sort. Consequently, crucial mental and physical matters were neglected, leaving me without the self-confidence that I undoubtedly would have had with a childhood rooted in a solid foundation. In an extremely dysfunctional family of divorces, daily quarrels, and a horror house overrun by mice, I felt like the lowest rung on the ladder as the youngest child, a teenager, and still, as an adult, an outlaw. As best I could, I transitioned into student and work life thereafter. Despite enjoying interacting with students, there was always an unrecognized urge in my mind to not remain long with an employer in formal employment. My Sagittarian nature’s desire for freedom, combined with my upbringing in a completely dysfunctional and shattered “family,” proved to be a combustible combination. Writing books about out-of-body experiences in the 1990s and 2000s, and everything that came with those experiences, proved to be a guaranteed trouble magnet for me as a teacher. I gained publicity, fell out of favor with a few school administrators and parents of students at the private schools where I taught. I was never fired, but chose to leave on my own accord. I stumbled from school to school. Even a few relationships with direct ties to school intersected with my career. My “princess-and-the-pea” body was equally adept at attracting problems. Various allergies, hypersensitive airways, and now my increasingly troubled eyes do not make me an ideal employee. If there is no fresh, clean air somewhere, I immediately get a headache. I can no longer type quickly, and I constantly make mistakes because my eyes are increasingly failing to coordinate. From around 2007 to 2013, I attempted entrepreneurship, which unfortunately yielded no financial gain. From around my 45th year of life in 2013, I essentially ceased paid work altogether. Driving for Uber and Lyft in 2017 and selling trinkets on eBay for years are also unsuccessful ventures I erase from my CV. In the great book of the cosmos, beside my name it reads: ☑️ Work-challenged individual.
I got married on January 6, 2005, and officially divorced on April 8, 2018. My ex did not fulfill his promise to remain friends; I wanted to, but he did not. He is still recovering from a very serious airplane-jump accident in July 2022. On his social media, I read that he is engaged, and I wish him and his fiancée all the happiness in the world. I will always love him. It was probably a karmic thing that we were together for such a long time in this life. Fortunately, he did honor his alimony obligation, which ends at the end of April 2024. Lately, I have been trying to find new roommates, but it seems it’s not meant to be? or not anymore. I recently realized how much everything I use, such as clothing, food, shelter, technology, is provided by fellow human beings, and that humbles me. I don’t know how I will financially make it. From May 2024, I will solely rely on the crypto pot I have accumulated and carefully managed. I have often asked the Cosmos: what do you want from me if I am not successful in any career aspect? The only answer that keeps coming up is that I need to learn to trust, my only major life lesson, in terms of karma and destiny.
The Cosmos seems far from forgetting about me, quite the opposite. On Friday, January 5, 2024, after grocery shopping and a walk in Folsom Park in the early evening, I drove home. Driving in the dark on Highway 50, plagued by road constructions, proved to be no success formula. Suddenly, a white 2018 Nissan in front of me began braking forcefully, and I felt myself pressing hard on the brake pedal. Startled, with wide eyes, I saw myself collide with the Nissan with tremendous impact. All I thought was, “Oh no, my car, total loss.” No fear of death or pain (which wasn’t there). Immediately, the airbag deployed, and I emerged with my head positioned correctly. It was softer than expected. A warm, “angry” electric burning smell pierced my nostrils. For a week, I had some innocent neck muscle pain. There were four vehicles involved, and the front one, a truck driver, simply drove off. There was only material damage. Perhaps my brakes failed due to the soft feeling of my boots or a slippery road surface; I simply don’t know. I can’t think of anything else but fate. The car was a luxury that unnecessarily burdened me with costs. The ten-year-old Honda Civic was suddenly taken off my shoulders without any further ado. The State Farm claim number 55-61K9-08R made a cosmic “Beep-beep!” sound to me: the 55 from Rob’s birth year and the 8R from infinite R(ob). My liability was only $500 deductible. What mattered to State Farm was my very low mileage, between 58K and 59K miles, and not the three previous serious damages incurred beyond our fault. With the typically huge American payout, I paid off debts and invested the remaining amount in crypto. Due to my car being towed by Tow Express, and not by State Farm, I unexpectedly saw my car again and even found, once again as a sign from the Cosmos, my brand-new Oakley sunglasses. The Tow Express man suddenly asked if I wanted to dine with him in Davis. I hadn’t seen that coming, and with a surprised smile and a thank you, I declined.
Later, I suddenly remembered what Rob’s Skepsis colleague Jan Willem Nienhuys wrote to me about Rob in 2016: “He certainly didn’t have a car. Maybe he once had a driver’s license. His father died when he was 26. He used to drive a 2CV in Groningen city traffic and was crushed by a truck that braked too late. Since then, I don’t think Rob ever drove a car again.” Now I regularly do groceries with my bike bags during or after cycling, which makes it more enjoyable and mindful. Maybe I’ll rent a car sometime to drive, for example, to South Lake Tahoe. It sounds strange, but I’m happy with this outcome.
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Then about my body. Both old, lifelong, and constant factors play a role, as well as silent revolutions. As I age, already 56!, I increasingly feel the slowness and heaviness of the earth. I haven’t written books about life as a spirit for nothing. I often look with envy at people who peak or die relatively young. Due to increasing nighttime stomach pain, I’ve stopped the daily and lifelong use of paracetamol. At night, there is often an unpleasant, painful, electric sensation around my stomach area, and as a layman, I describe it to myself as a leak in my stomach area. But as a result of that cessation, an old phenomenon has returned: unrest in my left temple, which translates into a disturbing pulsating sound that I hear in my left ear at night when I wake up after an intense dream or when I startle from something. I suspect I have a predisposition to blood clots and narrowed vessels. I still consider my account of my experience in my first book “Through the Window” about the “Operation by the Unknown Being” on June 1, 1996, in which I was relieved of a threatening blood clot in my left temple, to be true. Sometimes when I can’t sleep (a lifelong problem for me), I drink whiskey with an alcohol percentage of a startling 50%, in the middle of the night or in the early morning. I had to learn to drink this extremely strong whiskey, and I automatically thought it must be bad. When I looked it up, I immediately ended up on a website that praised all the benefits of whiskey! I have no tendency towards alcoholism. I believe that 50% whiskey on an empty stomach is actually good, despite it being a bit scary. After emptying my special iron flask in the early morning, I often wonder, “Will I fall asleep now?” At that moment, it often doesn’t feel that way. But yes, every time. Suddenly I’m completely gone, usually for 4-6 hours, my consciousness extinguished, almost like a death that many believe there is nothing more to. My body has gained some weight now that it’s no longer deceived by cannabis, but with self-control and intermittent fasting, I try not to revert to the heavy weight I had during my marriage and the three years after. Cycling and walking help with that, but I do it because I still think it’s great.
On December 7, 2023, I wrote my will, appointing a roommate I had in Davis as the heir to everything that belongs to Constantia Oomen. Don’t worry, heiress, I’ve been extremely condensing and tidying up the house. I explicitly stated on my websites that my family will not inherit any authority or estate. Of course, there are families who are real families, as they were once intended by God, but my family has never been part of that. I long for a life with my soulmate Rob Nanninga, where he and I, and hopefully as a real family, can show how it can be done differently. And yes, I think I can, and I’m 100% sure about Rob! Fingers crossed that he still wants that (still?! We remain skeptical). I do. I do. Sometimes it even feels like he’s physically close. Hopefully, he is. Rob and I don’t form a closed-off house, so we are open to beautiful encounters.
(Courtesy various images unknown, please let me know if you would like to be named as a rights holder)
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In the dance of souls, bound by fundamentals,
I embrace my beloved, partly in unseen realms.
Yet, open to entangled connections,
With honesty as light,
Our love, timeless, never to end.
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Rob, the Lions, and I are ending this blog with luxuriously decorated multiverse cakes and a new Rob Nanninga inner crew Lion named Surprise. Through my Instagram, a latent interest has been aroused, and I think Rob is also interested. I always imagine him as my personal chef, to whom I mentally ask while cycling if he is already making the Huttlefluffs, Hammerdabbits, and Bakerdoodles. The variation of fantasy words is endless, and we have the greatest fun with it. Once, Rob said to me telepathically that he had already made the Flippityflakes (I don’t remember the word anymore, it’s not important), and they were highly haute cuisine, colorful, artistically decorated cookies. Rob showed me with a conspiratorial look that if you broke these cookies in half, you literally saw whole worlds and galaxies. Now, that’s what I call next-level cookies!
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For the new, increasingly difficult to find, Rob inner crew lion, I had to go to Ali Express, which still has a seller who sells them. I eagerly awaited the shipment directly from China, and one day, unsuspectingly, I looked in my mailbasket and saw a compact round ball wrapped in plastic. Confused, I thought, “Huh, did I order clothes? I don’t remember.” The next moment, it dawned on me with a shock: “Could it be the lion?” With a cry of horror about its shipping fate, I let the lion come into the world by carefully cutting open the intensely tight plastic with scissors. Like the previous lions, he emerged from plastic, and the analogy with childbirth was always apt. Despite being somewhat crumpled, he came out miraculously with minimal damage. I brushed him, did everything to make him beautiful again, and succeeded! He is extremely soft, with probing eyes and a filled neck and back, pleasantly solid, and fits perfectly in my embrace.
To be continued.
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