09-26-2012, 11:38 PM
I rarely find my spirit treading on this side of the dark waters anymore. Too easy do I find it to believe my head is above water while my soul is going under. I would like to first and foremost thank Don Elkins, Carla Rueckert, and Jim McCarty as well as anyone else involved with the Ra material. In 2004, when I first read it, it shifted my personal paradigm, challenged my perception of reality, and lead to a much needed upheaval of my personal belief system. Perhaps initiating one for the first time.
Of course, I was 23 then, an age where I believed that "truth" had finality. Where there would be an "end" to critical thinking and deductive reasoning. An end that could be shared with others through unquestionable profound insight. I look back and see the pride, ego, and selfish ambition that I would have peddled under the label “service to others”. All, not most, of the knowledge I had to share was the intellectual property of some other person or entity. Paraphrased and plagiarized were all great philosophers, sages, and poets.
I was a sponge on a quest for knowledge and I acted as most children would, I emulated. I read this and I wonder if I am a wanderer, I read something else and perhaps I’m an indigo child. I have no proof either way. At one point I read the Book of Revelations twisted it with a dilution of grandeur and pondered, if even for the briefest of moments, if I could be the great antagonist of which it spoke.
To my great relief, there was no ill intent within my heart, though solicited or not if I was presented with an opportunity to bequeath advice I would most certainly oblige. My fear of “not knowing” was greater than my fear of “misguiding” and I can put more than 20 years of my life into that statement. This single understanding has become the litmus test I use to gauge the spiritual evolution of the individuals and society that surrounds me, hence the applicable feelings of isolation and frustration.
Admittedly, I shunned the cogs of religion and although my personal one has perhaps been just as dangerous it has been far more private. I err on the side of caution, on rare occasion do I offer direct advice outside of the situations that present immediate mortal danger, and instead share my personal experiences so that ownership of the perspective, though I know it to be distorted by the limitations of my interpretation, that is in turn limited by how I define reality, is mine and mine alone be it to bare or to burden.
Along the way I have always felt driven by and guided toward the truth as it rings within my spirit when I hear it. It resonates with a resounding “yes, yes, yes!” as a new ideal is tested and retested, checked and rechecked within the construct of my beliefs. What has changed? I no longer arrive at destinations; there is no end in sight. Instead I smile and appreciate the occasion of growth. There will be valleys I will have to trudge my way out of, plateaus that will test my patience and force contemplation, and glass ceilings that must be shattered to carry me beyond the “point of no return”.
It wasn’t my initial intention to write an epilogue to open my story of awakening to the reality of spiritual evolution. I just recognize the type of person that will be reading my story here in this forum. It is the rare individual that has questioned everything over and over again. Summited intellectual monoliths of reason and torn away the façade, thus rising from the ashes and debris to stare in awe at one more piece of the puzzle. Because in the end, what good is all of the knowledge in the universe if it conceals but one lie.
As it is, I don’t wish for people to be beyond me or below me but rather beside me on this journey. I’m going to write my story exactly as I remember it. I’m not going to condone my actions as I now define honesty as the ability to tell the truth and still be wrong. Here is to hoping that as little as possible gets “lost in translation”. With that said, let’s begin…..
It was the fall of 1999. I was an airman in the US Air Force stationed in Italy. I learned that a girl I had been seeing for a few weeks was pregnant. I was 19 and terrified of being a father, more terrified of being my father. Wine was cheaper than water and perhaps I was born with a genetic predisposition towards addiction but even if it was nature I most certainly nurtured it. It was in this time that I made the transition from “pleasure seeking” to “self-medicating”. A threshold that can only be crossed once.
I just wanted to escape, run away and hide or wake up freed from the consequences of my actions. I lacked any resemblance of coping skills. My emotions were under developed due to traumatic events that happened to me as a child that no child should ever have to endure. Molestation brought about numbness and numbness was soleus. I couldn’t have heard God’s console even if I had wanted to. And I did not want to hear Him anyway.
My childhood was just something I wanted to survive. I took the path of least resistance and settled for the long term damage that it caused. I stayed quiet about what happened to me. It was easy. I was the epitome of appeasement. Classic over-achiever, magnet school for “gifted and talented” students, playing chess at Sam Houston State University when I was in the second grade, accolades, achievements, awards, the list goes on. Everyone saw exactly what I showed them, what they wanted to see, everyone except me.
This went on until I learned I was going to be a father. Life had found a way to present me with a situation that I could not influence, manipulate, or control. Until now I had carved my own path without impediment. The cork was pulled and everything was starting to bubble to the surface. It seemed no amount of alcohol could drown me enough to repair the fissure.
My fear was so great that I wouldn’t have had the words to convey what kind of help I even needed. Trust had never even been an option, least of all now, at my most vulnerable. So I went within and I went without. Self-destruction was inevitable. Youthful, naive, alone; self-destruction was the only sufficient catalyst for change that I had. However, I did not define it as surrender, I defined it as defeat. Pride was trumping a humility that I wasn’t even aware existed.
I worked in the jet fuel laboratory. A cabinet filled with brown glass jars labeled “petroleum grade ether”. I knew what ether was, its usefulness and the effects of inhalation. I also knew that ether in a water bottle just looks like water. Simple plan... Two roads diverged, and I took the one that has made all the difference.
To be clear, I do not support the recreational use of any mind altering substances. One, it may not take you where you want to go; and two, it may not let you come back to where you’re at. I equate it now to “Chinese finger cuffs”. Some things can offer a temporary glimpse into the 4th dimension but its unnatural, often opening up the more negative side of the spiritual plane and ultimately slowing true spiritual evolution. Attempting to “force” enlightenment…… best case scenario…….gravely dangerous.
Of course, at this time, I wasn’t seeking to expand my mind. I just wanted to escape. I lived in the dorms. Two to a room though at this time I did not have a roommate. The room was a mirror image. Each side had a bed, desk, dresser, nightstand, lamp and chair. On one end I had pushed the dressers side by side to make a stand for my TV and on the other end I had the chairs side by side with their backs against the wall with the nightstands acting as end tables. It was the most efficient layout for the room.
Sitting in my chair, to the right was the large brown metal front door and to the left was the washroom and shower. It was quiet. The TV and radio were both off. Both lamps were off. The only light was the overhead light that flooded the room to a degree that was usually too great for me to stand. Outside the door was a world of silence. The footsteps on the sidewalk of other airmen coming home wasn’t there, the Italian neighborhood that surrounded us laid still, no traffic and no dogs barking.
Sitting in my chair, I removed the cap to my water bottle and began to inhale the vapors. There was burning in my throat and in my lungs. Slow and easy. Inhale. Exhale. It began first with electronic static. Every noise sounding like it was being run through a synthesizer. But where were the noises coming from? It was probably the sounds that brain cells make as they die. It was the standard experience with inhalants that I had remembered as a young teenager. Then everything changed.
Sitting in my chair, with my back against the wall, I hear a voice speak from just behind me, “Can I have one of those cigarettes?” It was clear as day. It felt like I had said it but it wasn’t my voice. It was inside my mind but not from my mind, which was at the time swimming in ether. I pulled a smoke from my pack of Marlboro Lights and preceded to hand it to the guy behind me. I, of course, hit the wall and the cigarette broke. I looked down at my hand paper and tobacco everywhere and thought, “Well that was strange” as I couldn’t control the smile on my face.
This was something completely new to me. As easy as it would be to believe this was a drug induced hallucination I simply knew that it wasn’t. I’ve passed out on inhalants and had the weird little dreams that seem to have lasted forever but in reality only a few seconds. LSD, mushrooms, peyote, Jimson weed, ecstasy, DMT, the gambit has been run through. This was apart from any experience those provide. This was not a hallucination. Verification soon followed.
As an experimenter I had to recreate the results of what had just happened. It was so amazing, so foreign but more than that I seemed fixated on the idea that there was more there and for what had happened I knew that my intellectual mind could rationalize away its validation within a few days. I retook my seat and away I went again.
The same as before happened, except this time when the voice became clear I jumped up and stood in the middle of the room. Now not only could I hear but I could see as well. There were two men standing just inside my door. One black, one white, both in their mid-thirties, wearing matching clothes and caps in an opposite red and white color scheme. Also a girl, in her twenties, laying on her stomach on the bed that would be my roommates, white blouse top and dark plaid skirt.
Those three never said a word but never took their eyes off of me. I could never determine if one of the men standing by the door was the one that had asked me for the cigarette but my intuition tells me that it wasn’t. The voice didn’t match either one of their features. The last man that I saw was older and carried a wisdom that extended beyond him. He sat on my desk across from the others, further away. As I looked at him it was as though I was looking through the heat of invisible flames that blurred my vision.
He spoke without words. It was pure telepathy, completely unlike any way that I would ever have chosen to describe the word. It was a language of emotion. It transcended any spoken word in its purity. If ever I had wondered how people from different backgrounds and cultures or even worlds could communicate, this was how. If mathematics was the language of the universe then emotion was the voice, more effective, more efficient. This also led me to the realization that if I had chosen a life of numbness then I had chosen a life deaf of means to become a vessel and devoid of meaning.
Also I didn’t have to translate the message he was conveying to me into English in order to understand it. In fact it took longer to translate than it did to understand. A natural reaction that he realized I was suffering from. “You do understand what I am saying. There is no need for you to think about it, just understand it.” It became much easier for me to receive his telepathic messages and respond to him after I accepted this fact.
“Come closer to me.” As I did I could make out the white hair, shoulder length, and dark clothing but nothing more. I only managed to make it half way when the event happened. Standing squarely in the center of the room my attention was drawn toward my TV sitting atop the two dressers. A vortex began to open. It was swirling, like a galaxy without stars, in a counter-clockwise rotation with deep purples giving way to an infinite blackness at its center. The entirety of what I saw before me was contained within my room, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, though the depth that seemed to exist within it was not represented behind it. It was like looking at a three dimensional object, in a two dimensional form, while standing in the fourth dimension.
I felt very pulled toward its center but not in the gravitational sense. I was being drawn toward it by all I can describe as a sense of duty. Beyond the void I could see before me there was something being released from within, pure sorrow. It was sadness without form and it was absolute. I instantly felt an emotional drain, but I never contemplated giving up or giving in. I could still feel the connection to the old man sitting just to the left of the portal.
“What is that place?” I asked him telepathically, all the while standing my ground as best I could against the sorrow. “That’s where people go when they give up.” Of all of my interpretations and translations of what the old man conveyed to me, that one was the clearest. This was a place of absolute despair and whatever or whoever was inside was there because they refused forgiveness, from others, from God, but most importantly from themselves. It was as far away from any love or any light that anything could ever be.
I responded to the old man without hesitation, “Then we have to help them!” The threshold to the vortex was only five or six feet away from me, a mere few steps. The first step met instant intensification of the feelings of sadness and sorrow, like a defense mechanism in a person but to an infinite degree. My decision was final once I had made it though and all that was left was action and consequence. The second step toward the event horizon was exponentially more difficult. Time itself was slowing, or my ability to think and process information suddenly developed beyond measure. I lean toward the theory of time because whatever was happening, it was in direct proximity to the portal that it was occurring. The closer I got, the more I felt the bearing of time was losing its grasp on the situation.
I looked to the left to see the old man and he was sitting in suspended animation. How do I know this? At some core root of human subconscious there is an intuition of movement and vibration intrinsic to all things, be it animate or inanimate, seen or unseen. As I peered back through the veil, nothing was moving, neither matter or light. But I could see beyond that, down to the atoms and photons frozen in time and beyond that, to the psychic energy interwoven into fabric of space and time itself. It too was stuck in a state of stasis. Beyond that, I could not see.
By the third step I had discontinued to process information. It was taking too long and increasingly irrelevant. As my mind stopped, so did my memory of what was happening. I don’t know if I crossed over. That’s as close as I can take you. Part of me wishes I knew and another part of me is glad I don’t. The part of me that wished I knew wants to know if I did cross over and if so what was there. The part of me that is glad I don’t feels very strongly that knowledge of such a place means I would never be able to come back. I have imagined what was there but I don’t want to intertwine fact with fiction.
I do know my reentry into consciousness was abrupt. I had been turned around 180 degrees and was now facing my room. The vortex was no more than six inches behind me. I remember my first thought being, “How long have I been gone?” and although everything looked exactly the same as I had left it something was different. It was a shift so minute that it all but fails to register within me. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it but I felt out of place. It’s a feeling that has remained with me every day for the past 13 years.
There was no more sorrow being emitted from the vortex, no thoughts or emotions, or psychic energy of any kind that I could detect. It seemed a void, a vacuum, as though oblivion was right behind me. I felt like I was standing just on this side of the edge of the known universe and gone was my desire to explore the unknown. It wasn’t drawing me in or pushing me away. Its station was far more benign and mine was far more benevolent.
Time had resumed normal function upon my return. The old man was directly to my right now. I’ve never been able to fully understand or comprehend what he said next and most of the self-imposed limitations that I have placed on myself psychically hinged on what he conveyed to me in his next message. “(How/Why) did you do that?!” His message was intense. If it was the first then I did something right, if it was the latter then I did something wrong.
Now please keep in mind that my ability to send and receive telepathic messages is no more than sixty seconds old when he said this to me but even now 13 years later I cannot differentiate telepathically between the two words how and why. Believe me, I’ve tried. I have drawn the conclusion that there is no difference. That, spiritually speaking, if it is known how, then it is known why and vice versa. I’m merely a novice and I would equate the comprehending of such a concept to graduate level spiritual evolution. This is only my opinion.
Regardless, of what he was asking I was ready to defend my actions and although what I had done was most certainly foolhardy at best, I did what my heart was telling me was the right thing to do. I have never once waivered from that belief. Yes, I was willing to make the ultimate choice of self-sacrifice. I still am. That’s a decision that I’ve already made and it only took me a nanosecond to make it. If I had it to do over again or if I face the same situation in the future I would not hesitate to make that choice.
I never got a chance to defend myself though. What happened next has had one hundred times the impact on my psyche than anything previous because it deals with what followed me out of the vortex. It began with a feeling of violation, not physical violation but psychic and spiritual. There was a large presence I felt just behind my left shoulder. The level of discomfort was unbearable but everything was happening so fast I never had time to react.
It came over my shoulder and across my chest toward the floor. When it reached the old man the old man just vanished, gone. There was no trace that he was ever there. The entity moved with such a single fluid motion and so, so fast. It hugged the wall as it made its way around the room in one outstretched blur of movement. If you could imagine watching an athlete running through a downpour of raindrops that were standing still and seeing a path carved through the rain that’s what it was like. Just replace the raindrops with photons of light and replace the athlete with whatever it was that I was looking at. That’s how fast I’m talking about.
The two men by the door and the girl on the bed vanished just as quickly as the old man. I’ve never known what happened to any of the four of them. They were all just gone and as quickly as it began it was over, in an instant. The entity was exactly where it was before, just behind me and to the left, very much in violation of my personal space. Everything had happened so fast that I didn’t even have a chance to feel fear yet. That was about to change.
Six words were all he had to speak. I could feel him getting closer, bending down, his mouth right next to my ear as he whispered, “How do you like being dead?” I looked up and across the room saw my body sitting in the chair, head slumped over, water bottle leaning to the side in my hand on my lap. The ramifications of his statement landed on me like a ton of bricks. Within seconds what was real became concrete and what was concrete became permanent. I sank.
How could I have not seen my body over there before? I guess I couldn’t see what I wasn’t ready to see. Up until that very moment I had no idea I was dead. I would have never even questioned it. Being dead didn’t make me dead. Believing him and accepting it when he told me I was is what made me dead. I don’t know why I believed him so quickly. Maybe there just wasn’t enough time not to.
The word “dead” fit the fear I was feeling but really my fear was not being able to go back. All I wanted was to get away from him and get back into my body. But I couldn’t formulate a plan and he wasn’t letting go. His words were so venomous, like a neurotoxin that paralyzed me as I tried to move. I was spiritually catatonic. All I could do was turn to look at his face.
What caught my attention first were his eyes, large, and twice the size of a human, bright golden-yellow and a slit-like iris like a cat. His skin was thick and scaly like a crocodile with very deep dark greens for color. The nose was very flat, almost not there if not for the small nostrils. No ears, but ear canals were present. He was bi-pedal, humanoid, with opposable digits on his hands. A taller stature, maybe seven feet. No clothes. But what I remember most was his mouth, more specifically the smile on his face, much wider than a human and the white razor sharp teeth that filled it.
The smile is what haunts me most. It was so smug. I feel nauseous when I think of his grin. He truly enjoyed my terror. He was empowered by my fear and there wasn’t a sliver of doubt in my mind or his mind that he was far wiser than I. Regardless of what world or realm or plane of existence that he may have hailed from to me it was a demon. I can’t justly explain and I hope you never truly experience the degree of fear I felt at that very moment.
I lost my footing and found myself floating on my back about four feet off the ground. As I looked down the length of my body I saw him. He grabbed my legs and began to come toward me as though I was nothing more than a ladder. First digging his fingers into my thighs, then my stomach, then my chest. We were face to face and still he had his proud grin displayed for me to see. I wish I could have closed my eyes but I couldn’t. I leaned my head back and looked at my ceiling.
“Please help me!” was all I could seem to conjure up and I don’t know if I said it aloud or just thought it intently. Either way, I meant it. He lunged forward and we were eye to eye, maybe no more than an inch from my face. The smile was gone and I could feel such an anger and rage within him. He looked back toward the wall and as he did I did as well. The portal was gone. There was nothing there but he was still looking. I tried to see what he was looking at but I could see nothing.
His grip tightened and he turned back to look at me. The grin returned to his face as he leaned in to get closer. Then he let go. Vanished in a flash though the wall beside the door where the two men had been standing. Before I even had a chance to be confused about what just happened I found my attention drawn to the wall beside my TV, above the dressers.
An orb of light came through the wall. It was sky blue, the size of a softball and so incredibly luminescent though it didn’t hurt my eyes to look at it. It was moving somewhat slowly and as it passed through the wall there was an aura of spectral colors that seemed to wash across the wall like a wave from a stone dropped in a pond. Immediately I felt a sense of peace, grace, and serenity engulf me and vanished were the feelings of fear, danger, or despair. From the worst terror I had ever known to absolute and unconditional love in less than ten seconds.
Never, as far as I could send my imagination in any direction could have returned with a love so perfect and so pure. There are no words sufficient enough in the English language to describe it and its comforting warmth coursed through every part of my being. If I had but one wish it would be that everyone could know what that infinite compassion feels like. An eternal empathy, my words fall so short of what it is.
As the orb approached me it got larger and it appeared as though layers were beginning to peel off like a flower in bloom. The sky blue pedals got larger and larger and more layers were coming. The room was half full of them still connected at the center they flowed through the air with such grace and poise. The effect however was not like something moving through the air but more closely resembled the movement of a bed sheet under water, slow and gentle. The edges of every layer were especially bright with light not unlike the silver lining of a cloud.
Once I had been surrounded by the layers a face seemed to be revealed. The hair first, long and brown rolled into large locks and as she raised her head I could definitely recognize a woman of exquisite beauty and elegance before me. Her skin had a fair completion and her eyes were wide and light brown in color. Her smile was innocent and her words were soft.
“What do you want?” those four little words spoken with such finesse. It was as though I had never heard those words spoken before. The question was neither a demand nor a request, it was more rhetorical and I knew the answer applied would remind me of what I had known all along, my true purpose and reason for being. It still amazes me to this day how something so little could amount to so much as those four syllables have.
My response could have been no more and no less than what it was. “I want to go back and help people.” I said to her as she framed my face so gently with her hands. I was still floating on my back and she was hovering above me. She guided both of our spirits back toward my body and sat me inside. The reintegration into my body was seamless. She looked down into my mind and into my spirit sweetly kissed me on the forehead and as she was drifting away she gifted me one last smile. I opened my eyes to see her but couldn’t. For a few moments I could still feel her presence in the room but after that she was gone from my knowing.
I often wonder what that last smile she gave me meant because it had had a bit of a smirk within it. I humor myself with thinking that her sly gesture was saying, “here is your body and here is your ego.” Because the very first thing that I did having been given such a remarkable gift as a recycled life was jump to my feet, look around for just a second and say, “I’m going to be famous.” Forgive me for that. I was nineteen, arrogant, lacked moral fiber and had just been through a lot.
I ran to my bathroom and looked in the mirror at my face. I guess I needed more proof that I was real, alive and still a human. I was doing a thorough inspection but found something strange to be happening within my iris. If you were to go look in the mirror right now, no matter what color your iris is, you would almost certainly see a deep blue ring around the radius of the iris where it meets the whites of your eyes. That is not what I saw, instead that ring around my eyes was purple, not a deep or dark purple but a very bright a vibrant purple that also covered the green in my eyes, leaving only a bit of brown and the pupil untouched in the middle.
I thought to myself, “I’ve got to get out of this place.” So I ran outside and down the street to the one place I knew human life would be if it still existed, the bar. There were military police at the gate and that greatly reassured me that I was back and real.
I’m going to stop my story here. Though this is just the beginning of what was to come and believe it or not I haven’t even gotten to the most exciting part of the story in the spring of 2004. Because after I got sober and found and read the Message of Ra online things really started to get strange in my life. The things I’ve seen in the places I’ve been baffle me with amazement. If it seems like people are interested in hearing more then I will share. I’m grateful to you for the time you’ve spent taking this journey with me.
---------------------------------PART 2----------------------------------
I had slowed my frantic run to a brisk walk. The sidewalk around the air base that led to the bar was guarded on one side by a tall concrete wall and on the other side by merciless Italian traffic. My destination was the California Bar. Italian owned, aptly named. It was around ten o’clock and a weeknight so the “Cal Bar” was full of patrons but not packed. I ordered a half pint of Oberdorfer Weissbier at the bar and made my way to an empty corner booth. Passing a mirror along the way a quick glance at my eyes relieved me that my recently brilliant violet irises had returned to a flat green familiarity.
I sat down and stared at the carbonation rising in the glass but I wasn’t there to get drunk. I just wanted to take the edge off, process what had happened, disprove it, and move on with my life but more than anything, I absolutely, positively did not want to be alone. An hour passed, then another, half the beer remained in my glass. Over and over, Lou Bega’s Mambo #5 seemed to be the only song playing and in no way fit my mood but life was going to continue on, with or without me. I was not a god. Most importantly, I was no longer the center of the universe.
My table had filled with airmen but no one seemed to notice me and I was fine with that. It was a fair mix of guys and girls but I was paying about as much attention to their conversation as they were to me. My focus was placed more on the ebb and flow of the entire establishment. My awareness of the patterns and roles people were performing was much more heightened than it had ever been before. The first of my gifts, or curses, was beginning to emerge. I could effortlessly sense what people were feeling like an acute intuition of their emotional baggage.
This was different than simply being able to “read people” by observing body language and analyzing the context of conversation that I had honed in my youth to be able to appease people. It wasn’t thinking with my mind to enact a passive form of manipulation. This was a genuine ability to be an empath, from the heart, not the head. Not only could I see the emotional baggage people had but I “knew” exactly where it came from in their past. A paradox had arisen in my mind through the fact that that I had reached a point where, when it came to others, there was no longer a mystery of the hardships they had endured but also not an explanation of how I obtained said knowledge.
Back at the bar I found myself the subject of an inquisition. A beautiful girl and her friend had at some point sat down across from me and taken notice of my withdrawn demeanor. “You don’t say much huh?” Without intent to engage or deflect I replied with the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t need to.” Her physical beauty made her the center of attention for the entire table as the guys wanted to be with a woman like that and the girls wanted her confidence and the power she had over the guys. She was a smart girl and was perplexed at my apparent lack of interest. “So what are you thinking about?”
I could have run in a thousand directions with that question given what I had just been though but I somehow felt more centered and in the moment than I ever had in my life. “I’m just watching people, just looking at what they’re thinking about.” Were my ego present at the moment there would have an internal memo that read: Did I really just say that? But no such filter was with me to hit the panic button and inject a redaction.
“Really?!” I already knew what was coming next. “So, what do you see when you look at me?” My disposition was one of indifference as I could clearly see that hers was of a competitive nature. “Do you really want to know what I think?” which, as we all know, should be strongly considered to mean, “you might not like what I have to say.” But has anyone ever said “no” to that question? I doubt it and she was no exception. “Yeah, sure, why not.”
“When I first look at you I see an incredibly beautiful woman. You’re not in the Air Force, you’re a dependent. Not a child dependent but a spouse. Your husband is not here but he’s not on deployment. You feel like he is really far away from you. You feel like you’re really alone and you’re scared. You’re doing everything you can to not face that fact because you have gotten everything you’ve ever wanted in life from your parents, your friends, your boyfriends. You were happy, life was easy, now you’re confused and you feel like you don’t deserve this. You want to be happy but you don’t know how so you’re mad. You treat your best friend right here like trash because it makes you feel better to have that control over her. She’s a dependent too but happy and in love with her husband. You’ve been here longer so she looks up to you. She puts up with everything you put her through because she feels like she can handle it. She can see that you’re hurting and she just wants to be your friend but every little comment about how she’s dressed or how she looks hurts her so much. As to why you’re here, you’re exactly like the rest of us. We are all here…..alone…..together.”
The table was a silent microcosm for a moment and everyone at that table connected to one another on a level that was so far away from the atmosphere of the bar. Everything else seemed so distant; the music, the yelling, the laughter, the slamming of challenge coins followed by the slamming of empty beer mugs. She was looking straight at me but had no expression whatsoever on her face. Her friend on the other hand had a huge smile.
“Do you want to know what I think?” were her words that broke through the silence. “Yeah, sure.” I too was no exception to walking right in front of that loaded question and she couldn’t wait to pull the trigger. “I think you watch people too much.” I would concede to that a withdrawing, “maybe.”
About half an hour later I had made my way to the dart board being that they didn’t have a pool table and her friend approached me. “I just wanted to say thank you.” ”No problem.” “You know, everything you said to her was absolutely true.” “I know.” I wasn’t trying to be conceded. “How did you know all that? Her husband and her family?” I wasn’t doing well at darts, concentration seemed to be an issue so I stopped and looked at her. “I don’t know. But as I look around at the people the stories may be different but almost everyone in here is feeling the exact same things deep down.” “Oh……OK……cool. Well, thanks.” She went back to her friend and that was the first and last time and as close as I ever came to sharing a “reading”.
Months were going by and I was facing a conundrum. When I had believed that I was alone, on my own, master of the universe, I never really felt alone. But when I learned that this was just the beginning and I was not alone but had no one to share that incredible insight with, is when I actually started to feel alone. It was the first in a long line that eventually encompassed the fact that everything felt backwards.
I knew. I knew I knew and there was no unknowing. As an empath the gift was being able to help people, the curse was that most people didn’t want to be helped and so when peoples deepest, darkest fears came flooding in I was left with such a sense of helplessness. Depression and alcoholism began their own symbiotic relationship virtually independent of my control.
Without a manual of instructions on how to control the input or knowledge of when, where, or who from that I would tune into, my empathy sent my energy into entropy. Deterioration was happening systemically; mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, and spiritually and was leading me down a dark road toward my first suicide attempt.
I had moved off base to a nearby town on the front steps of the Dolomites mountain range in Italy with some good friends. Living in Europe, I was going to leave the world in a 1982, pea green with tan interior, Alpha Romeo Giulietta. It was a spur of the moment decision on my part. Had it been premeditated I would have logically talked myself out of it. Once I knew there was more to life than death, that death was merely an occasion and not a destination the parameters of the word “suicide” took on a new meaning. Change was a choice, escape was not.
I knew what kind of negativity would be in store for me. I was scared, tired and underprepared for the onslaught of, what seemed to be never ending, emotional updates from people’s souls. The brevity of my spiritual experience and the assistance of others helped me to make it back into my body before, but here, in the physical world, time ticks and never stops. It was requiring endurance from every part of my being that I couldn’t muster up. So I hit the wall.
It was 7:30 in the morning and I was on my way home. Accelerator floored in fourth gear and going downhill I managed to get to 100kph, a little over 60mph. I just wanted to go a little faster. I just wanted to go a little further. Maybe see just a little more of the “other side”, a quick glimpse to ask for directions. The thought came out of nowhere. “Where are you going to go?” There was no relief in sight. I put both of my feet on the brake pedal, pushed it through the floor and let go of the wheel.
The road was still wet from an early morning rain and the car had no ABS. when the car began spinning it was in slow-motion like gliding across glass. I knew the wheels had locked and drifting sideways across the lane was so smooth and fluid, never losing speed. The spinning was to the left and that tiny car dropped into the bar ditch with no less precision than a professional snowboarder would a half-pipe. The vehicle completed it 360 degree rotation violently throwing mud and tufts of grass in all directions covering the car and the road.
I don’t know how fast I was still going when I hit the concrete culvert but the impact was enough to compress the front of the car by over a foot.
I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and had slammed into the steering wheel and windshield. I don’t know if I lost consciousness. I was very disoriented for a few minutes but as I regained my bearings I tried to open the door and soon realized it was wedged closed by the quarter panel. I managed to crawl out the window and lay on my back in the grass. I thought about going to sleep there for a minute but imagined I might have a concussion so I brought myself to my feet and made my way to the front of the smoking car. From the looks of things the old girl had been killed on impact.
I forced the hood open to a wave of steam and smoke, fluids were everywhere. I jiggled the battery cable as though I were just doing routine preventative maintenance. Walked back to the driver’s side door, reached in, turned the key and to my utter amazement she started. I climbed back inside and drove out of the ditch. The engine screamed and the front tires grinded against the wheel wells as she wobbled down the road. She only made it about 200 yards down the road to the intersection before she gave out and her final resting place was a large abandoned lot.
The walk home was surprisingly peaceful three mile journey and although I was grateful no one stopped to check on me I often wonder what peoples thoughts were as they saw a man covered in blood and battery acid walking alongside the road. “Honey look at that man. Should we help him?” “It looks like an American. He seems to be walking fine and that may not be his blood.” Italians were rather kind people, we were the crazy ones. I assume that applies everywhere for most of the time.
Our place was great. I believe it may have been built before the turn of the millennium, the first one. One of my roommates was on deployment to the dessert and the other was at work. I didn’t even shower or change clothes I just went to sleep wondering what kind of a mess had I gotten myself into now, how was I going to get out of it and why couldn’t things just go back to the way they were.
Soon I would have a visit in a very profound dream while I was sleeping. I was walking along a dirt road in the pitch black of night. The old growth oaks draped in Spanish moss were even cloaking the light from the moon and stars. As I walked I heard the sounds of the leaves in the wind as limbs brushed one another, the hundreds of cicada playing their songs from the trees and the pulverizing of caliche sand and gravel beneath my shoes. An old farm house was just ahead to the right, in a clearing.
White peeling paint left the wood open to exposure and the wilderness was reclaiming what was hers. Collapsed steps and all but a couple of unbroken window panes gave the impression that this home had been abandoned long ago. The yard was overgrown but free of the obstructions and saplings I would have expected to see there. The car path, though it all but disappeared beneath my feet, was leading me around to the back of the house. I followed but with an eerie sense that something was not quite right.
As I turned the corner revealing the back of the property there sat a full size U-Haul truck facing me. I heard a woman’s blood curdling scream and the sound of a chainsaw starting up. I quickly began to circle around the truck, keeping a safe radial distance of 30 feet until I could see what was happening. The scene was horrific to say the least. There was a woman chained with her hands above her head, her tattered white gown stained red with her own blood. The walls, ceiling and floors were dripping with it. The circle of men in the cargo area with her were engaged in a ritual surrounding their sacrifice. They turned to look at me and then jumped from the truck surrounding me on all sides but keeping their distance.
Their hearts seemed so dark and cold to me, containing no guilt, no shame and no remorse. I grabbed one of the men as he came toward me and held him in the classic hostage position. “Get back!” I yelled at them as I pulled a razor sharp #2 pencil from my pocket and held it to the man’s throat. I would fight until the end and if my fate was to be the same as the woman in the truck I was going to take as many of them with me as I could.
“Just do it” my newly acquired hostage said to me in the calmest voice as he turned his head to look at me with a smirk on his face. I recognized his smile instantly, for I had seen it once before, in another world. As I looked around all the men had the same grin on their faces and none were moving. Like statues on guard they stood, patiently waiting.
I pushed the man away from me and dropped the pencil. The epiphany hit me. They wanted me to kill that man. They wanted me to fill my heart with rage and fight back, defending my life. However many of them were lost in the process was inconsequential. What was important was for me to think like them, act like they did, and feel what they felt. They needed me to become them. The threat of danger was a rouse.
I wouldn’t become like them. I would never choose their path, I would carve my own. I walked out of the circle and back around to the front of the house. Hastily walking away from the situation, I should have never looked back because there they were, matching me step for step. “Where are you going to go?” I heard my former captive yell to me just as clearly as I had heard those words spoken in my car.
I hit the road and made a break for it. I ran as fast as I could but they were all right there behind me and it felt like they were just getting started. One thing was for sure, if I stayed on this path then I could never escape. It was a road, a single road with no forks and no detours, so if they knew where I was then they knew where I was going to be. I left the road and went into the creek bed. It had very little running water but it was clean and fresh. The large mossy rocks made it difficult to navigate but I had to keep going. Along the high banks of the creek I could hear my pursuers’ footsteps crashing through the leaves and brush.
They would never get tired and how far could I really keep running? I could have run forever and they would have still been there with me, watching and waiting. Telepathically bombarding me with the ideals of their egocentric pride. I was not changing the course of my destiny, I was delaying it. It was the destiny that was going to be changing me. What’s worse was that what I was delaying was their chosen path for my fate, it was not my own.
I took one more step and stopped. What was the point? I couldn’t fight and I couldn’t run, my instincts were of no use to me. The solution eluded me so I just sat on large rock in the middle of the creek and ran my fingers through the crystal clear water. My would be assailants made their way down into the creek and again formed a circle around me finding stones of their own to perch on. We all sat there for a while as they were watching me and I was watching the flow of the water. Their ambassador, the same one as before, approached me, “Are you ready to do this?” I looked at him and until that very moment I had not made a choice.
“I surrender.” They could do as they wished but I could not run and I would not fight. On the crest of the bank of the creek behind me a young boy, no more than 10, walked out of the side door of a small whitewashed shack that was barely standing due to the sedimentary erosion of its foundation. The boy was wearing a white chef’s coat, matching pants and black shoes. He made his way down the steep embankment and into the stream bed where he seemed to go unnoticed by the others as he took his time navigating to where I was. He walked up behind me, gave me the gentlest smile and simply said, “You are the one.”
With his index finger outstretched he touched me on my back and I felt an energy of grace explode inside me, pulling me together into a singularity. I started to rise as I had graduated my earthly body. As a being of light there was no fear as there was nothing to lose. I was no longer a slave to myself, my ego or my agenda. By choice, I was a servant of the Creator, a vessel of light and an instrument of love. It was beyond aligning my will with the Creator, there was no “my will”, only the Creator.
There was one more truth that I knew without question and it was about the soldiers of darkness. The fallacy of the single greatest dilution being used to propagate their agenda was so simple and so obvious. None of these people could have ever “sold their souls” because their souls where never theirs to own. What they had given away was their self-control.
I first approached the ambassador with an invitation of embrace and channeled the offering of absolution. This was not my enemy, he was never my enemy. This was my brother; he had always been and would always be my brother. He shed his dilution and his human body and was restored to his proper station. He moved as a vessel to his fallen brother and offered absolution and two were free. This continued as two became four became eight became sixteen and so on.
As I was ascending above the horizon so far as I could easily see the curvature of the Earth. I could see the darkness of the planet and from that perspective what I saw was a growing spider web of divine light with clearly visible transmission lines of loving energy. Once a critical mass was reached epicenters of light began to originate all around the world with the same spider web effect.
But I noticed below me that there was one soul that remained dark so I returned to the planet and approached him. What I found was an old, old man. As I looked at him I realized who it was. It was the little boy who had freed me. I had forgotten to turn and thank him and what had only been moments for me had been a lifetime of pain and resentment for him. He felt so lonely and abandoned now but still had one more lesson to teach me.
By the will of the Creator I embraced him and offered absolution but he made the choice not to accept. In return he forced shame, sorrow and desperation into me. The energies collided and drained us both we were locked in a stalemate where neither of us could win. We had both expended so much energy on one another that the connection had to be severed. In the end the one soul that was left behind was the one that had set us all free.
I woke up feeling both enlightened and torn, simultaneously restored and broken. The blood on my face had dried and my shirt and blue jeans were disintegrating in patches where the battery acid had eaten through leaving red spots on my skin from the irritation of the acid. I took a shower that lasted most of the rest of the day. This was still just the beginning of what was to come over the course of the next decade.
Ok. I’m going to stop here again. Thank you so much for continuing on with me through this. I want to deeply apologize that I still haven’t gotten to the Ra material. I just didn’t expect that recollecting these memories in such detail would render such a feeling of wonder and amazement in me. I can relive all of these, moment for moment and I want you to be able to visualize what I am seeing as accurately as possible. I really hope you’re getting something good out of this and thank you again for being with me. Love and Light
Of course, I was 23 then, an age where I believed that "truth" had finality. Where there would be an "end" to critical thinking and deductive reasoning. An end that could be shared with others through unquestionable profound insight. I look back and see the pride, ego, and selfish ambition that I would have peddled under the label “service to others”. All, not most, of the knowledge I had to share was the intellectual property of some other person or entity. Paraphrased and plagiarized were all great philosophers, sages, and poets.
I was a sponge on a quest for knowledge and I acted as most children would, I emulated. I read this and I wonder if I am a wanderer, I read something else and perhaps I’m an indigo child. I have no proof either way. At one point I read the Book of Revelations twisted it with a dilution of grandeur and pondered, if even for the briefest of moments, if I could be the great antagonist of which it spoke.
To my great relief, there was no ill intent within my heart, though solicited or not if I was presented with an opportunity to bequeath advice I would most certainly oblige. My fear of “not knowing” was greater than my fear of “misguiding” and I can put more than 20 years of my life into that statement. This single understanding has become the litmus test I use to gauge the spiritual evolution of the individuals and society that surrounds me, hence the applicable feelings of isolation and frustration.
Admittedly, I shunned the cogs of religion and although my personal one has perhaps been just as dangerous it has been far more private. I err on the side of caution, on rare occasion do I offer direct advice outside of the situations that present immediate mortal danger, and instead share my personal experiences so that ownership of the perspective, though I know it to be distorted by the limitations of my interpretation, that is in turn limited by how I define reality, is mine and mine alone be it to bare or to burden.
Along the way I have always felt driven by and guided toward the truth as it rings within my spirit when I hear it. It resonates with a resounding “yes, yes, yes!” as a new ideal is tested and retested, checked and rechecked within the construct of my beliefs. What has changed? I no longer arrive at destinations; there is no end in sight. Instead I smile and appreciate the occasion of growth. There will be valleys I will have to trudge my way out of, plateaus that will test my patience and force contemplation, and glass ceilings that must be shattered to carry me beyond the “point of no return”.
It wasn’t my initial intention to write an epilogue to open my story of awakening to the reality of spiritual evolution. I just recognize the type of person that will be reading my story here in this forum. It is the rare individual that has questioned everything over and over again. Summited intellectual monoliths of reason and torn away the façade, thus rising from the ashes and debris to stare in awe at one more piece of the puzzle. Because in the end, what good is all of the knowledge in the universe if it conceals but one lie.
As it is, I don’t wish for people to be beyond me or below me but rather beside me on this journey. I’m going to write my story exactly as I remember it. I’m not going to condone my actions as I now define honesty as the ability to tell the truth and still be wrong. Here is to hoping that as little as possible gets “lost in translation”. With that said, let’s begin…..
It was the fall of 1999. I was an airman in the US Air Force stationed in Italy. I learned that a girl I had been seeing for a few weeks was pregnant. I was 19 and terrified of being a father, more terrified of being my father. Wine was cheaper than water and perhaps I was born with a genetic predisposition towards addiction but even if it was nature I most certainly nurtured it. It was in this time that I made the transition from “pleasure seeking” to “self-medicating”. A threshold that can only be crossed once.
I just wanted to escape, run away and hide or wake up freed from the consequences of my actions. I lacked any resemblance of coping skills. My emotions were under developed due to traumatic events that happened to me as a child that no child should ever have to endure. Molestation brought about numbness and numbness was soleus. I couldn’t have heard God’s console even if I had wanted to. And I did not want to hear Him anyway.
My childhood was just something I wanted to survive. I took the path of least resistance and settled for the long term damage that it caused. I stayed quiet about what happened to me. It was easy. I was the epitome of appeasement. Classic over-achiever, magnet school for “gifted and talented” students, playing chess at Sam Houston State University when I was in the second grade, accolades, achievements, awards, the list goes on. Everyone saw exactly what I showed them, what they wanted to see, everyone except me.
This went on until I learned I was going to be a father. Life had found a way to present me with a situation that I could not influence, manipulate, or control. Until now I had carved my own path without impediment. The cork was pulled and everything was starting to bubble to the surface. It seemed no amount of alcohol could drown me enough to repair the fissure.
My fear was so great that I wouldn’t have had the words to convey what kind of help I even needed. Trust had never even been an option, least of all now, at my most vulnerable. So I went within and I went without. Self-destruction was inevitable. Youthful, naive, alone; self-destruction was the only sufficient catalyst for change that I had. However, I did not define it as surrender, I defined it as defeat. Pride was trumping a humility that I wasn’t even aware existed.
I worked in the jet fuel laboratory. A cabinet filled with brown glass jars labeled “petroleum grade ether”. I knew what ether was, its usefulness and the effects of inhalation. I also knew that ether in a water bottle just looks like water. Simple plan... Two roads diverged, and I took the one that has made all the difference.
To be clear, I do not support the recreational use of any mind altering substances. One, it may not take you where you want to go; and two, it may not let you come back to where you’re at. I equate it now to “Chinese finger cuffs”. Some things can offer a temporary glimpse into the 4th dimension but its unnatural, often opening up the more negative side of the spiritual plane and ultimately slowing true spiritual evolution. Attempting to “force” enlightenment…… best case scenario…….gravely dangerous.
Of course, at this time, I wasn’t seeking to expand my mind. I just wanted to escape. I lived in the dorms. Two to a room though at this time I did not have a roommate. The room was a mirror image. Each side had a bed, desk, dresser, nightstand, lamp and chair. On one end I had pushed the dressers side by side to make a stand for my TV and on the other end I had the chairs side by side with their backs against the wall with the nightstands acting as end tables. It was the most efficient layout for the room.
Sitting in my chair, to the right was the large brown metal front door and to the left was the washroom and shower. It was quiet. The TV and radio were both off. Both lamps were off. The only light was the overhead light that flooded the room to a degree that was usually too great for me to stand. Outside the door was a world of silence. The footsteps on the sidewalk of other airmen coming home wasn’t there, the Italian neighborhood that surrounded us laid still, no traffic and no dogs barking.
Sitting in my chair, I removed the cap to my water bottle and began to inhale the vapors. There was burning in my throat and in my lungs. Slow and easy. Inhale. Exhale. It began first with electronic static. Every noise sounding like it was being run through a synthesizer. But where were the noises coming from? It was probably the sounds that brain cells make as they die. It was the standard experience with inhalants that I had remembered as a young teenager. Then everything changed.
Sitting in my chair, with my back against the wall, I hear a voice speak from just behind me, “Can I have one of those cigarettes?” It was clear as day. It felt like I had said it but it wasn’t my voice. It was inside my mind but not from my mind, which was at the time swimming in ether. I pulled a smoke from my pack of Marlboro Lights and preceded to hand it to the guy behind me. I, of course, hit the wall and the cigarette broke. I looked down at my hand paper and tobacco everywhere and thought, “Well that was strange” as I couldn’t control the smile on my face.
This was something completely new to me. As easy as it would be to believe this was a drug induced hallucination I simply knew that it wasn’t. I’ve passed out on inhalants and had the weird little dreams that seem to have lasted forever but in reality only a few seconds. LSD, mushrooms, peyote, Jimson weed, ecstasy, DMT, the gambit has been run through. This was apart from any experience those provide. This was not a hallucination. Verification soon followed.
As an experimenter I had to recreate the results of what had just happened. It was so amazing, so foreign but more than that I seemed fixated on the idea that there was more there and for what had happened I knew that my intellectual mind could rationalize away its validation within a few days. I retook my seat and away I went again.
The same as before happened, except this time when the voice became clear I jumped up and stood in the middle of the room. Now not only could I hear but I could see as well. There were two men standing just inside my door. One black, one white, both in their mid-thirties, wearing matching clothes and caps in an opposite red and white color scheme. Also a girl, in her twenties, laying on her stomach on the bed that would be my roommates, white blouse top and dark plaid skirt.
Those three never said a word but never took their eyes off of me. I could never determine if one of the men standing by the door was the one that had asked me for the cigarette but my intuition tells me that it wasn’t. The voice didn’t match either one of their features. The last man that I saw was older and carried a wisdom that extended beyond him. He sat on my desk across from the others, further away. As I looked at him it was as though I was looking through the heat of invisible flames that blurred my vision.
He spoke without words. It was pure telepathy, completely unlike any way that I would ever have chosen to describe the word. It was a language of emotion. It transcended any spoken word in its purity. If ever I had wondered how people from different backgrounds and cultures or even worlds could communicate, this was how. If mathematics was the language of the universe then emotion was the voice, more effective, more efficient. This also led me to the realization that if I had chosen a life of numbness then I had chosen a life deaf of means to become a vessel and devoid of meaning.
Also I didn’t have to translate the message he was conveying to me into English in order to understand it. In fact it took longer to translate than it did to understand. A natural reaction that he realized I was suffering from. “You do understand what I am saying. There is no need for you to think about it, just understand it.” It became much easier for me to receive his telepathic messages and respond to him after I accepted this fact.
“Come closer to me.” As I did I could make out the white hair, shoulder length, and dark clothing but nothing more. I only managed to make it half way when the event happened. Standing squarely in the center of the room my attention was drawn toward my TV sitting atop the two dressers. A vortex began to open. It was swirling, like a galaxy without stars, in a counter-clockwise rotation with deep purples giving way to an infinite blackness at its center. The entirety of what I saw before me was contained within my room, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, though the depth that seemed to exist within it was not represented behind it. It was like looking at a three dimensional object, in a two dimensional form, while standing in the fourth dimension.
I felt very pulled toward its center but not in the gravitational sense. I was being drawn toward it by all I can describe as a sense of duty. Beyond the void I could see before me there was something being released from within, pure sorrow. It was sadness without form and it was absolute. I instantly felt an emotional drain, but I never contemplated giving up or giving in. I could still feel the connection to the old man sitting just to the left of the portal.
“What is that place?” I asked him telepathically, all the while standing my ground as best I could against the sorrow. “That’s where people go when they give up.” Of all of my interpretations and translations of what the old man conveyed to me, that one was the clearest. This was a place of absolute despair and whatever or whoever was inside was there because they refused forgiveness, from others, from God, but most importantly from themselves. It was as far away from any love or any light that anything could ever be.
I responded to the old man without hesitation, “Then we have to help them!” The threshold to the vortex was only five or six feet away from me, a mere few steps. The first step met instant intensification of the feelings of sadness and sorrow, like a defense mechanism in a person but to an infinite degree. My decision was final once I had made it though and all that was left was action and consequence. The second step toward the event horizon was exponentially more difficult. Time itself was slowing, or my ability to think and process information suddenly developed beyond measure. I lean toward the theory of time because whatever was happening, it was in direct proximity to the portal that it was occurring. The closer I got, the more I felt the bearing of time was losing its grasp on the situation.
I looked to the left to see the old man and he was sitting in suspended animation. How do I know this? At some core root of human subconscious there is an intuition of movement and vibration intrinsic to all things, be it animate or inanimate, seen or unseen. As I peered back through the veil, nothing was moving, neither matter or light. But I could see beyond that, down to the atoms and photons frozen in time and beyond that, to the psychic energy interwoven into fabric of space and time itself. It too was stuck in a state of stasis. Beyond that, I could not see.
By the third step I had discontinued to process information. It was taking too long and increasingly irrelevant. As my mind stopped, so did my memory of what was happening. I don’t know if I crossed over. That’s as close as I can take you. Part of me wishes I knew and another part of me is glad I don’t. The part of me that wished I knew wants to know if I did cross over and if so what was there. The part of me that is glad I don’t feels very strongly that knowledge of such a place means I would never be able to come back. I have imagined what was there but I don’t want to intertwine fact with fiction.
I do know my reentry into consciousness was abrupt. I had been turned around 180 degrees and was now facing my room. The vortex was no more than six inches behind me. I remember my first thought being, “How long have I been gone?” and although everything looked exactly the same as I had left it something was different. It was a shift so minute that it all but fails to register within me. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it but I felt out of place. It’s a feeling that has remained with me every day for the past 13 years.
There was no more sorrow being emitted from the vortex, no thoughts or emotions, or psychic energy of any kind that I could detect. It seemed a void, a vacuum, as though oblivion was right behind me. I felt like I was standing just on this side of the edge of the known universe and gone was my desire to explore the unknown. It wasn’t drawing me in or pushing me away. Its station was far more benign and mine was far more benevolent.
Time had resumed normal function upon my return. The old man was directly to my right now. I’ve never been able to fully understand or comprehend what he said next and most of the self-imposed limitations that I have placed on myself psychically hinged on what he conveyed to me in his next message. “(How/Why) did you do that?!” His message was intense. If it was the first then I did something right, if it was the latter then I did something wrong.
Now please keep in mind that my ability to send and receive telepathic messages is no more than sixty seconds old when he said this to me but even now 13 years later I cannot differentiate telepathically between the two words how and why. Believe me, I’ve tried. I have drawn the conclusion that there is no difference. That, spiritually speaking, if it is known how, then it is known why and vice versa. I’m merely a novice and I would equate the comprehending of such a concept to graduate level spiritual evolution. This is only my opinion.
Regardless, of what he was asking I was ready to defend my actions and although what I had done was most certainly foolhardy at best, I did what my heart was telling me was the right thing to do. I have never once waivered from that belief. Yes, I was willing to make the ultimate choice of self-sacrifice. I still am. That’s a decision that I’ve already made and it only took me a nanosecond to make it. If I had it to do over again or if I face the same situation in the future I would not hesitate to make that choice.
I never got a chance to defend myself though. What happened next has had one hundred times the impact on my psyche than anything previous because it deals with what followed me out of the vortex. It began with a feeling of violation, not physical violation but psychic and spiritual. There was a large presence I felt just behind my left shoulder. The level of discomfort was unbearable but everything was happening so fast I never had time to react.
It came over my shoulder and across my chest toward the floor. When it reached the old man the old man just vanished, gone. There was no trace that he was ever there. The entity moved with such a single fluid motion and so, so fast. It hugged the wall as it made its way around the room in one outstretched blur of movement. If you could imagine watching an athlete running through a downpour of raindrops that were standing still and seeing a path carved through the rain that’s what it was like. Just replace the raindrops with photons of light and replace the athlete with whatever it was that I was looking at. That’s how fast I’m talking about.
The two men by the door and the girl on the bed vanished just as quickly as the old man. I’ve never known what happened to any of the four of them. They were all just gone and as quickly as it began it was over, in an instant. The entity was exactly where it was before, just behind me and to the left, very much in violation of my personal space. Everything had happened so fast that I didn’t even have a chance to feel fear yet. That was about to change.
Six words were all he had to speak. I could feel him getting closer, bending down, his mouth right next to my ear as he whispered, “How do you like being dead?” I looked up and across the room saw my body sitting in the chair, head slumped over, water bottle leaning to the side in my hand on my lap. The ramifications of his statement landed on me like a ton of bricks. Within seconds what was real became concrete and what was concrete became permanent. I sank.
How could I have not seen my body over there before? I guess I couldn’t see what I wasn’t ready to see. Up until that very moment I had no idea I was dead. I would have never even questioned it. Being dead didn’t make me dead. Believing him and accepting it when he told me I was is what made me dead. I don’t know why I believed him so quickly. Maybe there just wasn’t enough time not to.
The word “dead” fit the fear I was feeling but really my fear was not being able to go back. All I wanted was to get away from him and get back into my body. But I couldn’t formulate a plan and he wasn’t letting go. His words were so venomous, like a neurotoxin that paralyzed me as I tried to move. I was spiritually catatonic. All I could do was turn to look at his face.
What caught my attention first were his eyes, large, and twice the size of a human, bright golden-yellow and a slit-like iris like a cat. His skin was thick and scaly like a crocodile with very deep dark greens for color. The nose was very flat, almost not there if not for the small nostrils. No ears, but ear canals were present. He was bi-pedal, humanoid, with opposable digits on his hands. A taller stature, maybe seven feet. No clothes. But what I remember most was his mouth, more specifically the smile on his face, much wider than a human and the white razor sharp teeth that filled it.
The smile is what haunts me most. It was so smug. I feel nauseous when I think of his grin. He truly enjoyed my terror. He was empowered by my fear and there wasn’t a sliver of doubt in my mind or his mind that he was far wiser than I. Regardless of what world or realm or plane of existence that he may have hailed from to me it was a demon. I can’t justly explain and I hope you never truly experience the degree of fear I felt at that very moment.
I lost my footing and found myself floating on my back about four feet off the ground. As I looked down the length of my body I saw him. He grabbed my legs and began to come toward me as though I was nothing more than a ladder. First digging his fingers into my thighs, then my stomach, then my chest. We were face to face and still he had his proud grin displayed for me to see. I wish I could have closed my eyes but I couldn’t. I leaned my head back and looked at my ceiling.
“Please help me!” was all I could seem to conjure up and I don’t know if I said it aloud or just thought it intently. Either way, I meant it. He lunged forward and we were eye to eye, maybe no more than an inch from my face. The smile was gone and I could feel such an anger and rage within him. He looked back toward the wall and as he did I did as well. The portal was gone. There was nothing there but he was still looking. I tried to see what he was looking at but I could see nothing.
His grip tightened and he turned back to look at me. The grin returned to his face as he leaned in to get closer. Then he let go. Vanished in a flash though the wall beside the door where the two men had been standing. Before I even had a chance to be confused about what just happened I found my attention drawn to the wall beside my TV, above the dressers.
An orb of light came through the wall. It was sky blue, the size of a softball and so incredibly luminescent though it didn’t hurt my eyes to look at it. It was moving somewhat slowly and as it passed through the wall there was an aura of spectral colors that seemed to wash across the wall like a wave from a stone dropped in a pond. Immediately I felt a sense of peace, grace, and serenity engulf me and vanished were the feelings of fear, danger, or despair. From the worst terror I had ever known to absolute and unconditional love in less than ten seconds.
Never, as far as I could send my imagination in any direction could have returned with a love so perfect and so pure. There are no words sufficient enough in the English language to describe it and its comforting warmth coursed through every part of my being. If I had but one wish it would be that everyone could know what that infinite compassion feels like. An eternal empathy, my words fall so short of what it is.
As the orb approached me it got larger and it appeared as though layers were beginning to peel off like a flower in bloom. The sky blue pedals got larger and larger and more layers were coming. The room was half full of them still connected at the center they flowed through the air with such grace and poise. The effect however was not like something moving through the air but more closely resembled the movement of a bed sheet under water, slow and gentle. The edges of every layer were especially bright with light not unlike the silver lining of a cloud.
Once I had been surrounded by the layers a face seemed to be revealed. The hair first, long and brown rolled into large locks and as she raised her head I could definitely recognize a woman of exquisite beauty and elegance before me. Her skin had a fair completion and her eyes were wide and light brown in color. Her smile was innocent and her words were soft.
“What do you want?” those four little words spoken with such finesse. It was as though I had never heard those words spoken before. The question was neither a demand nor a request, it was more rhetorical and I knew the answer applied would remind me of what I had known all along, my true purpose and reason for being. It still amazes me to this day how something so little could amount to so much as those four syllables have.
My response could have been no more and no less than what it was. “I want to go back and help people.” I said to her as she framed my face so gently with her hands. I was still floating on my back and she was hovering above me. She guided both of our spirits back toward my body and sat me inside. The reintegration into my body was seamless. She looked down into my mind and into my spirit sweetly kissed me on the forehead and as she was drifting away she gifted me one last smile. I opened my eyes to see her but couldn’t. For a few moments I could still feel her presence in the room but after that she was gone from my knowing.
I often wonder what that last smile she gave me meant because it had had a bit of a smirk within it. I humor myself with thinking that her sly gesture was saying, “here is your body and here is your ego.” Because the very first thing that I did having been given such a remarkable gift as a recycled life was jump to my feet, look around for just a second and say, “I’m going to be famous.” Forgive me for that. I was nineteen, arrogant, lacked moral fiber and had just been through a lot.
I ran to my bathroom and looked in the mirror at my face. I guess I needed more proof that I was real, alive and still a human. I was doing a thorough inspection but found something strange to be happening within my iris. If you were to go look in the mirror right now, no matter what color your iris is, you would almost certainly see a deep blue ring around the radius of the iris where it meets the whites of your eyes. That is not what I saw, instead that ring around my eyes was purple, not a deep or dark purple but a very bright a vibrant purple that also covered the green in my eyes, leaving only a bit of brown and the pupil untouched in the middle.
I thought to myself, “I’ve got to get out of this place.” So I ran outside and down the street to the one place I knew human life would be if it still existed, the bar. There were military police at the gate and that greatly reassured me that I was back and real.
I’m going to stop my story here. Though this is just the beginning of what was to come and believe it or not I haven’t even gotten to the most exciting part of the story in the spring of 2004. Because after I got sober and found and read the Message of Ra online things really started to get strange in my life. The things I’ve seen in the places I’ve been baffle me with amazement. If it seems like people are interested in hearing more then I will share. I’m grateful to you for the time you’ve spent taking this journey with me.
---------------------------------PART 2----------------------------------
I had slowed my frantic run to a brisk walk. The sidewalk around the air base that led to the bar was guarded on one side by a tall concrete wall and on the other side by merciless Italian traffic. My destination was the California Bar. Italian owned, aptly named. It was around ten o’clock and a weeknight so the “Cal Bar” was full of patrons but not packed. I ordered a half pint of Oberdorfer Weissbier at the bar and made my way to an empty corner booth. Passing a mirror along the way a quick glance at my eyes relieved me that my recently brilliant violet irises had returned to a flat green familiarity.
I sat down and stared at the carbonation rising in the glass but I wasn’t there to get drunk. I just wanted to take the edge off, process what had happened, disprove it, and move on with my life but more than anything, I absolutely, positively did not want to be alone. An hour passed, then another, half the beer remained in my glass. Over and over, Lou Bega’s Mambo #5 seemed to be the only song playing and in no way fit my mood but life was going to continue on, with or without me. I was not a god. Most importantly, I was no longer the center of the universe.
My table had filled with airmen but no one seemed to notice me and I was fine with that. It was a fair mix of guys and girls but I was paying about as much attention to their conversation as they were to me. My focus was placed more on the ebb and flow of the entire establishment. My awareness of the patterns and roles people were performing was much more heightened than it had ever been before. The first of my gifts, or curses, was beginning to emerge. I could effortlessly sense what people were feeling like an acute intuition of their emotional baggage.
This was different than simply being able to “read people” by observing body language and analyzing the context of conversation that I had honed in my youth to be able to appease people. It wasn’t thinking with my mind to enact a passive form of manipulation. This was a genuine ability to be an empath, from the heart, not the head. Not only could I see the emotional baggage people had but I “knew” exactly where it came from in their past. A paradox had arisen in my mind through the fact that that I had reached a point where, when it came to others, there was no longer a mystery of the hardships they had endured but also not an explanation of how I obtained said knowledge.
Back at the bar I found myself the subject of an inquisition. A beautiful girl and her friend had at some point sat down across from me and taken notice of my withdrawn demeanor. “You don’t say much huh?” Without intent to engage or deflect I replied with the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t need to.” Her physical beauty made her the center of attention for the entire table as the guys wanted to be with a woman like that and the girls wanted her confidence and the power she had over the guys. She was a smart girl and was perplexed at my apparent lack of interest. “So what are you thinking about?”
I could have run in a thousand directions with that question given what I had just been though but I somehow felt more centered and in the moment than I ever had in my life. “I’m just watching people, just looking at what they’re thinking about.” Were my ego present at the moment there would have an internal memo that read: Did I really just say that? But no such filter was with me to hit the panic button and inject a redaction.
“Really?!” I already knew what was coming next. “So, what do you see when you look at me?” My disposition was one of indifference as I could clearly see that hers was of a competitive nature. “Do you really want to know what I think?” which, as we all know, should be strongly considered to mean, “you might not like what I have to say.” But has anyone ever said “no” to that question? I doubt it and she was no exception. “Yeah, sure, why not.”
“When I first look at you I see an incredibly beautiful woman. You’re not in the Air Force, you’re a dependent. Not a child dependent but a spouse. Your husband is not here but he’s not on deployment. You feel like he is really far away from you. You feel like you’re really alone and you’re scared. You’re doing everything you can to not face that fact because you have gotten everything you’ve ever wanted in life from your parents, your friends, your boyfriends. You were happy, life was easy, now you’re confused and you feel like you don’t deserve this. You want to be happy but you don’t know how so you’re mad. You treat your best friend right here like trash because it makes you feel better to have that control over her. She’s a dependent too but happy and in love with her husband. You’ve been here longer so she looks up to you. She puts up with everything you put her through because she feels like she can handle it. She can see that you’re hurting and she just wants to be your friend but every little comment about how she’s dressed or how she looks hurts her so much. As to why you’re here, you’re exactly like the rest of us. We are all here…..alone…..together.”
The table was a silent microcosm for a moment and everyone at that table connected to one another on a level that was so far away from the atmosphere of the bar. Everything else seemed so distant; the music, the yelling, the laughter, the slamming of challenge coins followed by the slamming of empty beer mugs. She was looking straight at me but had no expression whatsoever on her face. Her friend on the other hand had a huge smile.
“Do you want to know what I think?” were her words that broke through the silence. “Yeah, sure.” I too was no exception to walking right in front of that loaded question and she couldn’t wait to pull the trigger. “I think you watch people too much.” I would concede to that a withdrawing, “maybe.”
About half an hour later I had made my way to the dart board being that they didn’t have a pool table and her friend approached me. “I just wanted to say thank you.” ”No problem.” “You know, everything you said to her was absolutely true.” “I know.” I wasn’t trying to be conceded. “How did you know all that? Her husband and her family?” I wasn’t doing well at darts, concentration seemed to be an issue so I stopped and looked at her. “I don’t know. But as I look around at the people the stories may be different but almost everyone in here is feeling the exact same things deep down.” “Oh……OK……cool. Well, thanks.” She went back to her friend and that was the first and last time and as close as I ever came to sharing a “reading”.
Months were going by and I was facing a conundrum. When I had believed that I was alone, on my own, master of the universe, I never really felt alone. But when I learned that this was just the beginning and I was not alone but had no one to share that incredible insight with, is when I actually started to feel alone. It was the first in a long line that eventually encompassed the fact that everything felt backwards.
I knew. I knew I knew and there was no unknowing. As an empath the gift was being able to help people, the curse was that most people didn’t want to be helped and so when peoples deepest, darkest fears came flooding in I was left with such a sense of helplessness. Depression and alcoholism began their own symbiotic relationship virtually independent of my control.
Without a manual of instructions on how to control the input or knowledge of when, where, or who from that I would tune into, my empathy sent my energy into entropy. Deterioration was happening systemically; mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, and spiritually and was leading me down a dark road toward my first suicide attempt.
I had moved off base to a nearby town on the front steps of the Dolomites mountain range in Italy with some good friends. Living in Europe, I was going to leave the world in a 1982, pea green with tan interior, Alpha Romeo Giulietta. It was a spur of the moment decision on my part. Had it been premeditated I would have logically talked myself out of it. Once I knew there was more to life than death, that death was merely an occasion and not a destination the parameters of the word “suicide” took on a new meaning. Change was a choice, escape was not.
I knew what kind of negativity would be in store for me. I was scared, tired and underprepared for the onslaught of, what seemed to be never ending, emotional updates from people’s souls. The brevity of my spiritual experience and the assistance of others helped me to make it back into my body before, but here, in the physical world, time ticks and never stops. It was requiring endurance from every part of my being that I couldn’t muster up. So I hit the wall.
It was 7:30 in the morning and I was on my way home. Accelerator floored in fourth gear and going downhill I managed to get to 100kph, a little over 60mph. I just wanted to go a little faster. I just wanted to go a little further. Maybe see just a little more of the “other side”, a quick glimpse to ask for directions. The thought came out of nowhere. “Where are you going to go?” There was no relief in sight. I put both of my feet on the brake pedal, pushed it through the floor and let go of the wheel.
The road was still wet from an early morning rain and the car had no ABS. when the car began spinning it was in slow-motion like gliding across glass. I knew the wheels had locked and drifting sideways across the lane was so smooth and fluid, never losing speed. The spinning was to the left and that tiny car dropped into the bar ditch with no less precision than a professional snowboarder would a half-pipe. The vehicle completed it 360 degree rotation violently throwing mud and tufts of grass in all directions covering the car and the road.
I don’t know how fast I was still going when I hit the concrete culvert but the impact was enough to compress the front of the car by over a foot.
I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and had slammed into the steering wheel and windshield. I don’t know if I lost consciousness. I was very disoriented for a few minutes but as I regained my bearings I tried to open the door and soon realized it was wedged closed by the quarter panel. I managed to crawl out the window and lay on my back in the grass. I thought about going to sleep there for a minute but imagined I might have a concussion so I brought myself to my feet and made my way to the front of the smoking car. From the looks of things the old girl had been killed on impact.
I forced the hood open to a wave of steam and smoke, fluids were everywhere. I jiggled the battery cable as though I were just doing routine preventative maintenance. Walked back to the driver’s side door, reached in, turned the key and to my utter amazement she started. I climbed back inside and drove out of the ditch. The engine screamed and the front tires grinded against the wheel wells as she wobbled down the road. She only made it about 200 yards down the road to the intersection before she gave out and her final resting place was a large abandoned lot.
The walk home was surprisingly peaceful three mile journey and although I was grateful no one stopped to check on me I often wonder what peoples thoughts were as they saw a man covered in blood and battery acid walking alongside the road. “Honey look at that man. Should we help him?” “It looks like an American. He seems to be walking fine and that may not be his blood.” Italians were rather kind people, we were the crazy ones. I assume that applies everywhere for most of the time.
Our place was great. I believe it may have been built before the turn of the millennium, the first one. One of my roommates was on deployment to the dessert and the other was at work. I didn’t even shower or change clothes I just went to sleep wondering what kind of a mess had I gotten myself into now, how was I going to get out of it and why couldn’t things just go back to the way they were.
Soon I would have a visit in a very profound dream while I was sleeping. I was walking along a dirt road in the pitch black of night. The old growth oaks draped in Spanish moss were even cloaking the light from the moon and stars. As I walked I heard the sounds of the leaves in the wind as limbs brushed one another, the hundreds of cicada playing their songs from the trees and the pulverizing of caliche sand and gravel beneath my shoes. An old farm house was just ahead to the right, in a clearing.
White peeling paint left the wood open to exposure and the wilderness was reclaiming what was hers. Collapsed steps and all but a couple of unbroken window panes gave the impression that this home had been abandoned long ago. The yard was overgrown but free of the obstructions and saplings I would have expected to see there. The car path, though it all but disappeared beneath my feet, was leading me around to the back of the house. I followed but with an eerie sense that something was not quite right.
As I turned the corner revealing the back of the property there sat a full size U-Haul truck facing me. I heard a woman’s blood curdling scream and the sound of a chainsaw starting up. I quickly began to circle around the truck, keeping a safe radial distance of 30 feet until I could see what was happening. The scene was horrific to say the least. There was a woman chained with her hands above her head, her tattered white gown stained red with her own blood. The walls, ceiling and floors were dripping with it. The circle of men in the cargo area with her were engaged in a ritual surrounding their sacrifice. They turned to look at me and then jumped from the truck surrounding me on all sides but keeping their distance.
Their hearts seemed so dark and cold to me, containing no guilt, no shame and no remorse. I grabbed one of the men as he came toward me and held him in the classic hostage position. “Get back!” I yelled at them as I pulled a razor sharp #2 pencil from my pocket and held it to the man’s throat. I would fight until the end and if my fate was to be the same as the woman in the truck I was going to take as many of them with me as I could.
“Just do it” my newly acquired hostage said to me in the calmest voice as he turned his head to look at me with a smirk on his face. I recognized his smile instantly, for I had seen it once before, in another world. As I looked around all the men had the same grin on their faces and none were moving. Like statues on guard they stood, patiently waiting.
I pushed the man away from me and dropped the pencil. The epiphany hit me. They wanted me to kill that man. They wanted me to fill my heart with rage and fight back, defending my life. However many of them were lost in the process was inconsequential. What was important was for me to think like them, act like they did, and feel what they felt. They needed me to become them. The threat of danger was a rouse.
I wouldn’t become like them. I would never choose their path, I would carve my own. I walked out of the circle and back around to the front of the house. Hastily walking away from the situation, I should have never looked back because there they were, matching me step for step. “Where are you going to go?” I heard my former captive yell to me just as clearly as I had heard those words spoken in my car.
I hit the road and made a break for it. I ran as fast as I could but they were all right there behind me and it felt like they were just getting started. One thing was for sure, if I stayed on this path then I could never escape. It was a road, a single road with no forks and no detours, so if they knew where I was then they knew where I was going to be. I left the road and went into the creek bed. It had very little running water but it was clean and fresh. The large mossy rocks made it difficult to navigate but I had to keep going. Along the high banks of the creek I could hear my pursuers’ footsteps crashing through the leaves and brush.
They would never get tired and how far could I really keep running? I could have run forever and they would have still been there with me, watching and waiting. Telepathically bombarding me with the ideals of their egocentric pride. I was not changing the course of my destiny, I was delaying it. It was the destiny that was going to be changing me. What’s worse was that what I was delaying was their chosen path for my fate, it was not my own.
I took one more step and stopped. What was the point? I couldn’t fight and I couldn’t run, my instincts were of no use to me. The solution eluded me so I just sat on large rock in the middle of the creek and ran my fingers through the crystal clear water. My would be assailants made their way down into the creek and again formed a circle around me finding stones of their own to perch on. We all sat there for a while as they were watching me and I was watching the flow of the water. Their ambassador, the same one as before, approached me, “Are you ready to do this?” I looked at him and until that very moment I had not made a choice.
“I surrender.” They could do as they wished but I could not run and I would not fight. On the crest of the bank of the creek behind me a young boy, no more than 10, walked out of the side door of a small whitewashed shack that was barely standing due to the sedimentary erosion of its foundation. The boy was wearing a white chef’s coat, matching pants and black shoes. He made his way down the steep embankment and into the stream bed where he seemed to go unnoticed by the others as he took his time navigating to where I was. He walked up behind me, gave me the gentlest smile and simply said, “You are the one.”
With his index finger outstretched he touched me on my back and I felt an energy of grace explode inside me, pulling me together into a singularity. I started to rise as I had graduated my earthly body. As a being of light there was no fear as there was nothing to lose. I was no longer a slave to myself, my ego or my agenda. By choice, I was a servant of the Creator, a vessel of light and an instrument of love. It was beyond aligning my will with the Creator, there was no “my will”, only the Creator.
There was one more truth that I knew without question and it was about the soldiers of darkness. The fallacy of the single greatest dilution being used to propagate their agenda was so simple and so obvious. None of these people could have ever “sold their souls” because their souls where never theirs to own. What they had given away was their self-control.
I first approached the ambassador with an invitation of embrace and channeled the offering of absolution. This was not my enemy, he was never my enemy. This was my brother; he had always been and would always be my brother. He shed his dilution and his human body and was restored to his proper station. He moved as a vessel to his fallen brother and offered absolution and two were free. This continued as two became four became eight became sixteen and so on.
As I was ascending above the horizon so far as I could easily see the curvature of the Earth. I could see the darkness of the planet and from that perspective what I saw was a growing spider web of divine light with clearly visible transmission lines of loving energy. Once a critical mass was reached epicenters of light began to originate all around the world with the same spider web effect.
But I noticed below me that there was one soul that remained dark so I returned to the planet and approached him. What I found was an old, old man. As I looked at him I realized who it was. It was the little boy who had freed me. I had forgotten to turn and thank him and what had only been moments for me had been a lifetime of pain and resentment for him. He felt so lonely and abandoned now but still had one more lesson to teach me.
By the will of the Creator I embraced him and offered absolution but he made the choice not to accept. In return he forced shame, sorrow and desperation into me. The energies collided and drained us both we were locked in a stalemate where neither of us could win. We had both expended so much energy on one another that the connection had to be severed. In the end the one soul that was left behind was the one that had set us all free.
I woke up feeling both enlightened and torn, simultaneously restored and broken. The blood on my face had dried and my shirt and blue jeans were disintegrating in patches where the battery acid had eaten through leaving red spots on my skin from the irritation of the acid. I took a shower that lasted most of the rest of the day. This was still just the beginning of what was to come over the course of the next decade.
Ok. I’m going to stop here again. Thank you so much for continuing on with me through this. I want to deeply apologize that I still haven’t gotten to the Ra material. I just didn’t expect that recollecting these memories in such detail would render such a feeling of wonder and amazement in me. I can relive all of these, moment for moment and I want you to be able to visualize what I am seeing as accurately as possible. I really hope you’re getting something good out of this and thank you again for being with me. Love and Light
![[Image: moar_.jpeg]](http://lachroniquefaciledumercredi.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/moar_.jpeg)
