The True Story of Yu Fen: I am Falun Gong by Erik Wennermark

Author:Erik Wennermark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Religion, China, Falun Dafa, Cult, Politics, Media
Publisher: ibew
Published: 2017-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

In her fifth or seventh week in the country, the girl felt lost. More lost than even during her few visits to Beijing, the last visit notwithstanding—she was not from the great city—where at least she could understand to speak and listen. And the weather and the air and the faces and the smells here were not like home. But this was home. Now. She had been saved from the men-soldiers and the fate of her parents and guessed she should be grateful but being alone was no better, despite her sisters and the niece, with whom she slept. The niece was scared too, here, unfamiliar, but she was so much younger and able to deal with such changes with far more ease than the girl, who was older.

Each morning the sisters would wake, and mothers and aunts too. Not Father though, Father was far away, Father lived in America, in a place called New Jersey. The girl’s father was dead, tortured, imprisoned, killed. The Father was in New Jersey. She had not met Him, Father, and did not speak of Him as the other girls did, with reverence; she did not speak of Him at all—to their dismay, admittedly. Each morning the sisters would wake and they would exercise and pray. They would wake and wash and stretch and engender the energy which rotated within their bodies as a result of their adherence to The Way. The niece did so like the other sisters, but the girl could not help but to remain skeptical of the movements and His promises of The Way, despite her deliverance from the men-soldiers. She missed her mother, her real mother not Maman; the other girls did not know her mother, did not know that prayer would never bring her back. It is true that the girl experienced the Remote Gifts her mother delivered from the other side and this made the girl believe something but from what she had seen it seemed to her that the other side was only a urine-smelling jail cell in which her mother was slowly raped and tortured to death. This did not seem to her a worthwhile belief: that of the same jail where the girl was beaten and abused and her mother the same and killed by the same soldiers with broken bottles jammed into her breasts and face.

Did her father know this? Did her father die from the shame and shock and grief as his daughter and wife were defiled and tortured by the same slovenly group of men-soldiers, or did he die from the blood that streamed from his groin after his testicles were removed with a knife by other men? Or were they the same men? His eyes forced open and chili powder rubbed in his open eyes as the dark blood streamed from his groin. The girl’s mother had not shown her this sight in Remote Dreams, it came unbidden in the day between prayer and exercise rotating energy within her body.

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