When my weird little worlds collide, recognizing the extreme outliers in life, and knowing when to tap out.

There’s a house near here that intrigued me from the moment I laid eyes upon it. I saw it shortly after my husband and I bought our blessed little acre near the Pacific here in Costa Rica. Our house, though much larger, is staid and dull compared to this one. You see it is an almost perfect pyramid, outlined in stucco and beautiful decorated tiles. I’d show you a photo if I’d ever thought to take one.

Here, look at this instead, a recent painting of mine involving a storm rolling over Playa Grande. I loved this one because it breaks all the rules of painting an ocean scene with the darkened horizon. When painting open waters the rule is the closer to the water the lighter you need to paint your sky. Storming all rules go out the window.

Back to the Pyramid house. I’ll have to take a photo and do a painting as it’s a fascinating place! As with everything in my strange little corner of paradise eventually we did befriend the owner, guy named Jackson about the same age as my husband. I got to tour the place, but sadly the inside could not live up to the grandeur and just plain old weirdness of the outside. It seems that Jackson was something of a hoarder, his home filled with the flotsam and jetsam of life as many years being an expat. Hey, if that works for him great! I’d have a nervous breakdown in that mess.

Because my husband Jim is the most gentle and accepting person in the world he has forged a friendship with Jackson. I, however, have not. The answer is complex. It has two parts. First, with having mastocytosis I tend to stay away from those that provoke my asthma by being simply in the same room with them. He smells like he bathes in a vast vat of cigarette ashes! Reason numero dos is due to the fact that there was an episode of him showing up and peeing on my couch. That’s right, peeing on my sofa while drunk and criticizing me for not hanging my laundry outside among other things. He had no idea while he was peeing that he was peeing. Sitting there like he was king of the sofa with pee dribbling down his leg, onto the cushions, and down on the floor. It was a fridge too far for me! Washed the cushions but eventually had to replace them. Friends move in and out of your life here like drunken cursing busboys peeing on your sofa.

This week I’ve been reluctantly revisiting other people in my life that while they haven’t peed the sofa are just as strange little weird outliers. The world of one Steven Anderson, a man so unable to handle the criticism and control of others that he had to invent a new religion that crowns him higher on the scale than Jesus. Yeah, that guy!

When I stopped writing for No Longer Quivering in November 2020 I thought I was done. I never had to think about this guy and his fanboys again. Little did I know. Earlier this year people were sending me links to the interviews given by the adult children by Dead Domain and I just did not want to know. I’m happily here in Costa Rica in a beautiful manor with my tiny bit of land. I go to the beach, I paint, I travel, I do nothing sometimes like this week where I am battling a mrsa infection and cross contamination from the turkey dinner at the club on Thanksgiving. Squirreled up in my comfy bed, and bedroom.

But, then, like now, I found myself watching their interviews and realized as much I wouldn’t like to let Jackson sit on my couch again that if he needed to, if he had reasons, I’d let him. Even if it meant cleaning the sofa professionally or replacing those cushions. So just like that I was sucked back in. The last six or eight weeks has been so very eye opening with the allegations, the worst things in the world are sometimes justified by belief. All I can say about those things is that I hope and pray that the adult children heal and recover and that those children still in the house are removed from the situation, and placed in healthier environments.

Here’s where I am, I believe that the time for Steven Anderson, and by extension his wife Zsuzsanna, has long passed for them to step down. Every week we see more and more of his rabid fan boys excusing more extreme words and actions. Every week brings the most outlandish sermons straying so far from the words of Christ. It’s exhausting to watch this narcissistic cult leader try to stay on his slippery thin perch. All the threats, insanity, abuse, all of it is about like Jackson pissing on my couch. A solid nope.

Yesterday evening while I was shivering my freezing rear end under my faux Chinchilla fur blanket while baked on narcotics I saw that one of Anderson’s biggest and nuttiest supporters was interviewing one of the adult children. I watched for a little bit and saw all the usual suspects saying all the usual things they say. I was pretty done with the live stream pretty quickly. There aren’t drugs enough to tempt me to watch, although one of the adult kids and I have very similar sarcasm mindsets. He always makes me laugh, so we’re going to stay friends. I didn’t expect that when this was all exposed.

All these wandering words to say I am done! I’m blaming it on the heavy duty pain meds I am on right now. At this point I think I need to just be done with writing about Anderson unless something big breaks again.

Ironic that many call Anderson “The Pissing Pastor” when a local who pissed on my sofa reminds me of him.