Hello to Me


New Journal Entry #1

So I’ve been doing this psychic healer thing for a while. I’ve believed in it but not fully- I was living it but like, it was something that was happening to me, not me living it. I’ve never been normal, there isn’t a time that I could chose to go back to and go yeah that’s the good old days when I wasn’t like this. When I wasn’t different. I thought different was bad, that it meant I thought I was better than everyone, that I was better than everyone else, that different things didn’t belong with normal things. If I was going to be different, I couldn’t be with the collective. Fucked up, but history confirms it with all the greats. Different was horrible, all the greats were different, and eventually being great would not end well, but would benefit everyone else. Well if that’s the case, I think I’ll pass. I did pass, for over 20 years I was aware of this. As a child I was aware of this. I never fully acknowledged myself. If I did I’d have to acknowledge that I was great. By no way in a conceited fashion but shit, the parts I didn’t acknowledge are pretty damn great. I now have to accept the rest of that. That I might be exiled in some way. Irony is that I’ve been exiled before in school. I survived that. What does that look like in adulthood? I don’t think that I was ever really fucked up, not like how I thought I was. I’ve had cruel things done to me in my life. What’s more cruel than choosing to only be half yourself, if that much. The ignored gifted child. I’m sorry to myself for that. That was my fault, no one else’s. I neglected myself in ways that I didn’t deserve. Withheld love from myself. I thought I was protecting it. I protected it as well and shoving a plant in a box to keep bugs out, when all you really do is keep out the sunlight and rain it so very much needed. It’s my fault for that. You can’t expect a kid to know that? I knew it, some part of me know it. I don’t hate that part. I don’t want to hate any part of me. I want to trust that part of myself. That if I let it breathe and be fully integrated with myself that it can survive, even if it’s faced with criticism. I’ve only opened the box and said oh there you are, I’m sorry. Which is a start. I’m really sorry, so guilt. Forgiving myself is at the top of the list. I’ve learned just in time so I think it’ll be alright. I’ve got some great shit to do ya know?


I Wish She Would’ve Cried

“How do I learn to unconditionally love?” my client asked. My answer was suffering. It’s easier to love something or someone when everything is okay, when they fulfill most of our expectations. In fact, the more of our expectations that are filled the happier we are with the person or circumstance. We take our expectations further and figure unconditional love belongs to our lovers and family. Our judgement from our expectation is that the world does not deserve our love – not unconditionally. I never understood this growing up. We are born into this world, not knowing how to hate, we have our first loves, our parents. I lost my first love in the physical world, before I could even remember his presence, my father. I never saw anyone grieving, no one cried for him or rather, I didn’t see anyone else cry for him.


I wish she would’ve cried…

I don’t have conscious memory of my father, and no one acted like anyone was gone. There were parties, gatherings, family barbeques and birthday parties. I remember being in elementary school and the teacher announcing, “Today we are going to make Father’s Day cards”. I watched everyone excitedly write “Dad” and how much they loved him. As I wrote the words, I spoke to the teacher “but Ms.…. I don’t have a ‘dad’”. I don’t entirely remember her response. I vaguely remember something along the lines of “well you can make one anyway and give it to your mom”. I felt that was weird but sure why not? I felt empty making the card, because who was I making this for? Upon giving it to my mom, she didn’t show much emotion, she took it and said that’s nice and everything else continued as usual.

I saw his pictures around the house, especially the one with my sisters, him and my mother (I wasn’t born yet) and asked my mother, “where is dad?”. She simply would reply “he died”. My sisters didn’t cry, my family didn’t cry, my mother didn’t cry. I saw my mother laughing, my sisters playing and then I didn’t see my mother at all. My sisters, well older than me, were into their own lives. I didn’t know, but my mother would grieve in the next decade behind a door that remained shut more and more each day, until I hardly saw her at all. I never knew why. I’d slide notes under her door asking her to come love me and there would be no reply. The smell of cigarettes and sounds of cards shuffling as she’d play solitaire came out of the room the most.

I was digging through old stuff, exploring like I do around the house and then came across a news paper clipping of what happened to my father. 32 year old male shot dead in the back of the head during robbery. I saw my father’s face. I saw his name “Paul” and I felt like I was suspended in time. I never knew what happened before that day. Showing it to my mom, she nonchalantly looked at the article and told me the story exactly the way the article said. He was being robbed, beat up one of the guys, the other guy comes and shoots him as he was walking away. She said it so casually. I figured it wasn’t real. She to know more. He was a marine, maybe he was on a secret government mission and they faked his death.

There were days that I would sit on the chair near the front window of my home and imagine him coming home through the front gate. I’d run out and say “I knew it!”. It wasn’t until I had my first psychic experience of seeing my father’s spirit that I realized…he was indeed dead. He came to me clear as day, clear as anyone one sitting in this room with me. My father was gone and his soul was in front of me. Not only could I see dead people, I saw the one person I didn’t want to believe was dead.

I sat in my mother’s red car nervously kicking my feet as she prepared to drive. I said “I saw dad, and he said he loves you”. Pausing for a moment with her hand on the car radio, my mother’s eyes were still and her expression made me turn away. She asked me “what else did he say?” and I replied words that I don’t remember. I teared up but looking back up at her calm face, I felt crying was wrong and pushed them down and away.

Still, no one acted like it, like he was physically here and then not. No one visibly grieved. I heard short little stories from his brother how great he was, but the stories felt foreign to me. I had no person to connect them to. I had no father to connect me to. Who is this man, and should I grieve over someone I have no memory of? No matter how much they say I look and act like him, I couldn’t recall this stranger that I was so much like. I didn’t know if I was feeling loss, how could I when there was nothing in the physical to experience? What is loss? What is death?

Our first loves are our parents and I physically lost one, and emotionally lost the other. Each half of my whole heart broken. By the time my mother’s presence emotionally reemerged in my life, I was already too heartbroken to forgive her or anyone, for a long time. It’s important to appear human. I have clients say, “I don’t want my child to see me broken or sad”, and I reply then how will they have the visual that it’s possible to recover when they are sad and broken. Let your child see you fall, and then let them watch you get back up! I never saw my mother fall, and so I never knew she did, until I was older and we communicated. We hide our emotions as if they are something shameful or weapons that can be used against us. We hide how human we are, when the one thing we are to show the little ones is how to be human because that is what they are now.  I’d never seen my mother cry about missing my father until I was well into my 20’s. I wish she would’ve, I wish my sisters and all of my family would have. I would have know his death was real, that “falling” happens and most importantly I would’ve known that it was okay to grieve, that it was okay he was not physically with us.



Through my early years I’d go on to experience: verbal and sometimes physically abusive relationships very young, questionable uncles, abused aunts-dying at the hands of their abusers, diseases/cancer/sickness in my family, severe bullying and more. I was broken into more pieces than I could count before I had the chance to figure out why I was broken to begin with, before I had a chance to know who I was as a whole person to begin with. I hated the world, including myself and my love for anything had no leg to stand on. Counseling sessions always seemed to be with someone with whom I couldn’t connect. They were doing what the books taught them how to do, which was great for diagnosing my anxiety and mental cycles, but I couldn’t connect in a way that felt safe to open up. My family was emotionally worlds apart. I hated God for what had been done to me, because why bring me here to suffer with what felt like the curse of a gift to add. One night, while in pain from all the hate in body, I prayed for it to be taken away, because if it were to stay I would certainly die. The next morning the hate seemed to have disappeared, but I knew from that point, that much work was ahead of me and little to my knowledge, I’d die anyway. Many times.



You know how to put a puzzle together by deciphering what’s on each piece and how it relates to the other pieces. Pieces with flowers go with other ones, and buildings with buildings. We may pick up a piece that seems insignificant such as the sky or an odd shaped one, but we know at some point every piece will have its place and you keep it instead of throwing it away as meaningless. Once we connect pieces we admire what we’ve done and keep putting pieces together, sometimes going back to rearranged how we looked at the picture on the piece. What we thought was sky, turns out to be water. If we’ve taken our time and committed to each piece, we don’t have to go back as often, perhaps only maybe to admire the picture it’s created thus far. Well, the same is for our pieces in our lives.

These moments, down to our “insignificant phases” are all pieces. Some people dump out the box of their pieces for the first time and feel overwhelmed, they think “where do I start?” Typically you find a piece that you like, and decide to start there, because you want to see that pretty part of the picture. You may have to sort through and connect other pieces along the way. You may have to put together aspects of the picture that you don’t care for before getting to the “good part”. The difference here from real life is, God has the box and we only got to look at it once before we arrived here.Sometimes we see bits of the picture in our hearts, that comes with understanding. We have an idea of the full picture but upon first looking, we realized we don’t have all the pieces at once. You’re puzzle isn’t complete until you are physically finished here in life, though along the way, each time you renew yourself, another few pieces drop in front of you. There may be times you need to take a break, there may be times you get frustrated and flip your puzzle off the table, only to have to pick the pieces up off the floor. There are pieces connecting that I didn’t even think were a part of my puzzle that I thought someone else put there, but nope all mine.

I’ve come to see how the pieces have fit together thus far but committing to myself, by choosing myself and wanting to contribute something to the direction of society, while I’m here. I think the most astounding view I’ve had of these “life puzzles” is how all of ours connect at some point or another. I’d like the pieces that I contribute to be most beautiful and other times I hope they are not, so that someone can learn to love – love – that part of their puzzle anyway.

It’s not our hearts fault…

So how do you learn to love unconditionally? You do by loving when it hurts the most. By loving when it feels like you just want to close your heart the most. Those moments when it’s “back to my old ways” or “I’m going to be cold to the world and only love my peoples”, love harder than you ever have. It hurts to love with a broken heart because healing is painful sometimes. It’s not our hearts fault. Love seriously hurts because our mind interprets what has happened as deceit, violation, disappointment, “heartbreak”. The truth is it’s the breaking of our expectations. “I loved you so well and you don’t love me back”, “How dare you I’m your mother”, and many, many more. It’s not our hearts that are broke, it’s the expectation from social norms derived in an insecure culture that has broken your hearts. We don’t know how to love, we know how to appease each others insecurities by creating a criteria of expectations that say this is how you won’t get hurt, and we’ve created them for all of our relationships! Unconditional love isn’t hard at all we do it naturally. That’s why we say “I know they did wrong but I still love them and it hurts”. You expected a relationship where a,b,c doesn’t happen and it did. You built your mind and mental picture of your life around someone else who has their own autonomy. Did you think that you’d lock your partner in? Love is not a prison. Love is  healing, flowing, embracing, accepting -like God, the source from which it flows. So, I didn’t overcome my circumstances, I didn’t defeat my trials, I accepted them. I let them change me, not to make me colder – in the long run, rather to make me softer and understand those who have similar experiences. I no longer need an emotional safety net just in case my mental expectations don’t play out. I have hope, faith- a positive outlook, and when things are out of my control because they don’t happen as I want I stopped throwing emotional fits where I was handing my peace away, like a spoiled brat. The mind games had to end and be overcome, I had to learn to see the blessing in everything that ever hurt me and how I could use it to make me better- what it was teaching me, so that I could expand my heart instead of closing it to preserve my egoistical expectations. Judging when someone deserves your love, and who deserves your well wishes. You love (feeling) who you love (acting love). I realized unconditional love is a matter of perspective. Healing is a matter of perspective. You don’t need to change your heart to heal or even your natural human emotions, you only just have to change your mind that tells you if it was ever right or wrong.34321897_10100446114804874_2739337494372810752_n

Swing Set

When I heard the squeaking of a rusty work desk beneath my elbow as I leaned on it, I suddenly heard the sounds of swings.  I remembered the feeling of kicking my feet up as high as I could into an air- clear of any expectations. I remembered the breeze blowing my hair from behind my ear, to in front of and then past my ear, when going backwards was fun. I remembered tucking my feet so that I wouldn’t hurt myself when they touched the pavement I beat everyday. Leaning forward without fear to push myself back. Holding onto the cold chains that instead of keeping me captive seemed to set me free. The sun hot on my face as I smiled in the momentum. And then a pause. That slow stop. That moment you prepared to go forward. The instant full of fear, excitement, wonder and awe – if you were high enough already. Then the thought “what if I go over” which now only resonated with your bank account. But what if I go too high? I’m here now and I am already in the momentum, and you kick your feet forward as hard as you can because if you go out you’ll go out having the time of your life- you will make playground history. The pressure is one you’re at your lowest point and you smile under the pressure, that’s how you know how fast you are going. You’re going to be launched so high. Then you get there. Everyone is beneath your feet. You look out on the horizon, because you are in the sky, looking as far as your eyes can see. Everything you’ve ever done was for that moment. That peek height, that top momentum, you’ve self propelled yourself to. Here you are. Finally. Then you hear a voice call you. Kris…it’s time to go. Oh.

Peanut Butter & Songs

I say I wasn’t supposed to be like this, but deep down I knew where this was going. I know because internally I resisted all along the way. Now here I am, christian radio stations deep into what I call trickery but it was my destiny I think all along. Fuck.

If I was going to be anything, it was a demon turned good but not so good that I would be those preachy, “have you accepted Christ as your savior” people. That wasn’t my jam. Not my song. Next thing I knew I somehow knew verses and was quoting them during my psychic readings with people. Praying over my food, and before bed. Prophesying with all the others around the world about the “end times”. What happened to the little rebel who took no shit. Well, I still don’t and I’m still rebellious. I still don’t believe the mainstream because from what I’ve seen that mainstream is wrong. God has been around longer than religion and spirituality. Religion is someones interpretation, no matter how wide spread it’s still an interpretation. I’ve met so many people that turn away from God based on how other people are interpreting it. Has anyone realized how much of other people’s stuff we chose to consume? We are told how to do and what to do about everything. The basics are good such as don’t touch fire, and take a shower, but others are outrageous to me. Even this is my interpretation.

At some point we made it more about religion than God. We got so fixated on our previous interpretations that we have stopped seeking God beyond those limits imposed but religion. God’s word is forever but our interpretations are very finite, just look how it’s changed over our lives here. I always felt like God couldn’t be fit into a box, a standard, a single concept. Were we not told repeatedly to not lean to our own understanding, yet it’s our own understand as a collective we have leaned on or other people’s understanding. Honestly, looks as if we aren’t to lean to any understanding. Young children don’t and we are to be like children. Young children trust their parents (aside from unhealthy situations). Children believe that when they ask for a peanut butter sandwich, they will get one, not if mommy and daddy have to run to the store. Children don’t know that their parents have to work to purchase the peanut butter and bread, the knife to cut the corners just how they like them. They ask, blindly believing that they will receive, not even caring how, as long as they get what they’ve asked for. So much so that they cry because it’s in that moment they are aware of the absence of what they’ve asked for. Suddenly they don’t understand and say “why?”. As a parent your response will either be because I said so, you will explain that the peanut butter is out, or that they must clean up their toys first. As parents, you feel in a position to know better than the child, and for their own development, safety, and happiness you make decisions for them most of the time. Your child still has free will but ultimately you get the final say.

Young children have an inner love and affection for their parents, partly because they do all the awesome things they want for them and partly because it’s simply a built in, natural comfort to be close to those who birthed you. It feels safe, familiar, and no matter where you are in the world with your family, still in your mothers bosoms, or in your fathers arms, that is home. That is comfort without understanding what is going on outside of them.

I never expected to be this way. I never expected to write what I wrote just now. I was going for a totally different angle. Leave it to God to gently change my steps and bring me to this point of understanding. My heart hard to faith I myself have trouble being like a child and just trusting that God isn’t a dictator, God is my parent, that’s who I come from, that’s who cares for me even when I lack the ability to care for myself at times (and still try to do it myself). Patiently God waits for me to be done trying to tie my own shoe, so that God can not only do it for me, He will also show me how to do it myself when I’m old enough.



Whose idea was this? Our lives up to this point, and everything that we understand about them is a stone cold lie. They say, they say, who is “They” anyway? Love isn’t anything like I or you, thought it was. The love I knew was a lie.

No matter how we are raised we all still grow up with this idea that if we are loved, it’s for a reason. If someone loves you, it’s not real until they can list it in bullet points. It’s definitely not love if looks come anywhere near the first part of that list. Someone has to be smart, treat you well, respect you and do nice things or be a nice person? Sure. Because history doesn’t show that – let’s face it, we all love assholes. Assholes are actually scientifically proven to get a promotion before your nice ass, let me just point out. Someone loves not nice people. I digressed but I had to set the stage because society makes it so easy to believe that you aren’t lovable until someone can make a list on your ass about what’s socially acceptable as lovable. I’m in love. How do I know? I just do. I don’t have a fucking list but I am. Note, I am not referring to abusive relationships or something purely unhealthy here, I refuse to outline what those standards are because frankly, this is not the Hallmark Channel.

Religion contradicts this only slightly. That God loves us because of who God is, not because we’ve done anything to deserve that love. Well, I’m glad God loves our sorry asses? Again, someone loves an asshole, right? However, despite all that love we must still accept God to be close to God and live on- happily mind you, after death. Okay, I can roll with that. We can love someone and not accept them, usually though until we have a list we think makes sense. We’ve seen all the romantic movies, the guy goes on a whole rant about how the girl makes silly faces when she sneezes, eats cereal walking backwards, and dances in her underwear at 11 pm to get ready for bed. That’s unfortunate, what if she changed all of that? You’re telling me when she sneezes normally that’s just the fuck it, huh? Love.

I’m in love with someone and no idea why. Sure, I’m very physically attracted but that’s not what I feel when I look at him- enough of the time. He’s got a silly ass smile that isn’t a Ken doll but gawd does it make me blush at the thought of it. Those things aren’t why I love him though. Those are things that I like. Quite different. I adore every inch of him, even this birthmark he has on his leg he’s tried to cover several times, I don’t give a fuck about it though. Some people say you’re in love because of how the person makes you feel. Meh. I don’t get butterflies, my legs don’t go weak – not every time I see him. I can count those times. People say, I feel comfortable with them, I can be myself. I applaud you, but that’s not it either. Those things I like, I don’t LOVE. I just love him. Can I shrug for my wedding vows? I’ve researched the twin flame thing and yeah he’s my twin. How do I know, I just do. Not everyone gets one. I got one. So the shit was going to be equally special and difficult from the jump. It’s just love. I’m eating a dish and have no fucking idea what’s in it, I don’t care just love what I’m eating. Hilarious because I’m vegan, but you get the point. He could be an entirely different person tomorrow and my love will still be the same. There is this invisible glue I’ve seen that just makes it so we can only go but so far apart, yet I’m not attached- I don’t feel those yuckies of attachment. So what is it? It’s love. Oh but if it were love there would be more of this imaginary societal foundation for it. Hmm not really. He doesn’t have to be anything more or less. Those things are null. They would be nice and probably helpful to a healthy sustaining relationship but they don’t make me love him any more or less. So again, can I shrug for marriage vows? They are going to be really short. I just love. That’s love I think. No lists, no basis in this physical that is always ever changing. That’s truly unconditional.  There are numerous things that we like about people, love though, really doesn’t have a reason, just is. Love is and comes from God. Source, source for all, including love. Love is not an act, one can act out of love, love itself is – it seems to me a state of existence? A state of energy. As we all know, energy is neither created or destroyed, it is transmuted.

People get afraid, “oh, one day you might wake up and that feeling is gone. How do you know it’s real?” Well, dear those people, love transcends time, and space, including the physical and emotional. If your love is in those finite things, how do you know you’re love is real? Mine sits in a place where it isn’t likely to change because nothing is there to change it, nothing can touch it. Things touch your heart everyday, someone can steal that, too. Where my love for this person resides has always been there, like a candle someone came along with a flame to light it. Except the candle never melts and the flame gently burns for all of time and beyond. Hard to imagine? Yeah, so is unconditional love. I’d try to describe it again for you, I don’t think that’s truly possible though. When and if the day comes, I will tell him, because he has no flippin idea. If someone says they love you, you’ll probably go “cool, why?”. I don’t have an answer for him and never will. He’s an asshole on the outside, I doubt that will fly. Love is beautiful and certainly not anything we think it is, in the least bit, what-so-ever. Love is love, no explanation required. If someone says they love you and they don’t give an explanation why and they are clearly searching their mind for the words, give it a minute and enjoy the cuteness, then stop them right there. I think that’s how love at first sight works. You just know. Except I had to see this person several times in numerous situations and throw in some subtle denial. Then one day I was like shit, I’m in love. No, not in love, I just love. I love this person- this human right here, him. Why? Aura shrug, mental shrug, emotional shrug and God smiled. Yeah, I know, play along okay? These are representations people. Ever since then, life has been the same. I’d say it hasn’t been normal but let’s be honest, when has my life ever been normal or close to? No, my life just got a bit more magical. What that experience is like, well that’s up to your interpretation now isn’t it? Is it cliche to end with a question?

Transmission Issues & Banana Peels

I felt alone and all he did was laugh at me. Jesus told me to keep my eyes on him if I look anywhere else, I would see the devil. I’m channeling so much energy right now. I can see the energy of this tidal wave building on the horizon and it’s a lonely human life in my skin sometimes. All those that can channel- truly, will see it and my God is it amazing what’s coming to us. Even as I write this my eyes are watering from the sheer power of God. I can’t focus on anything else right now.

The voices in your head don’t usually tell you you’re crazy, that’s not normal, no. But a man with nice hair in a black suit, well he says all kinds of shit doesn’t he? While my sister spoke to me- cut my off by every 3rd word meaning well, he stood next to her laughing. Said no one would believe me about him, that I was crazy. Seeing people? Well that’s just crazy. I turned my eye to God and Jesus. I know what I felt, what I feel, what I see, what I hear. I will never let Luci call me crazy ever again.

Light workers from the divine operate in areas, arenas, or departments for better reference. I replied to my sister you don’t see him because it’s not your department. I am – “a soldier” my mom intuitively interrupted. Yes, I am. I fight fucking demons and darkness. All while training others to use their abilities and/or fight as well. I always thought I was just a healer. Well, promotions happen on the other side too I suppose. Maybe that was my purpose all along and I’m just not like ohhh, wait now I get it. So yeah, light workers have areas that they are put in. Some jobs are more local, and some are far reaching.

Sometimes the messages come through in a way that make me feel like a malfunctioning robot. Mental stutter, incomplete words, imagine a cd skipping – for those of you who somehow are reading my blog and don’t know what a cd is imagine a radio station you can’t quite pick up – mixed with video game lag. Yah, it’s like that. It’s not fun. Every time I get a message having trouble coming through, I get sick to my stomach, until it comes out of my mouth as words. When I’m less subconsciously resistant, I should hope it flows better. I’m fairly certain that at the moment, I am still currently all over the place, like the worst possible car to pick in Mario Cart with little control left when you make the turns- on the Rainbow board. Is that a regular life issue? Banana peel! Anyways..

I use to hate grounding when I was younger, now I take dat shit like ibuprofen. I actually stopped taking ibuprofen but for example sake I’m using it. It’s your best bet to get through what you’re going through spiritually. Get in your damn body. Sometimes you’ll bring in symptoms of energy channeling in with you. The shakes, chills, headaches (close that crown chakra), aches and pains. I’m no doctor so don’t read this, have a real problem and think that you can ignore it. I’m saying if you’ve never really had these issues and suddenly this is happening for you without any other logical reason, it’s spiritual. Here’s your bill. Good night folks!

Tangible Constantine pt 1

Seeing is believing for most people but what happens when you see and still don’t believe? How do you fix that? We seem to think that we just get thrown into life and things get thrown at us from every direction until we die, thee end. I don’t think that’s quite how it works.

My friend told me to watch Constantine. She’s my human diary for my life and has a pretty grounded outside perspective of my situation. So I painfully watch it. Not because the movie was bad, (it was good) the energy pressure coming out of that thing (and when you are super aware and energy sensitive) could have you passed out on the floor. I kept my palo santo and holy oil handy. Keanu is my husband in another life- beside the point. John Constantine and I had a very similar attitude in our approach to kicking dark evil asses. We do what we do out of some teenage sense of responsibility. Working for the man because we have to, not because we wanted to. I see this shit every day of my damn life but parts of me still felt like I should be evaluated, and I have been- perfectly sane, go fig. I never told the therapists this stuff though. I didn’t tell them that when they spoke to me as a child I saw dark entities behind them in the room. Constantine represents what many people went, are and will be going through, denial. Society does a pretty damn good job of breeding Christian Atheists. Makes people do, not believing in what it is they are doing. All spirituality/religions are guilty of that. In my experience it takes a personal experience to truly have a real core belief, people out here are still “worshiping” out of some level of fear instead of actually  believing, be it family pressure or God sending them to Hell. It’s unfortunate that instead of finding their own way to a spirituality, people are being led, and lets be honest no human on Earth really deserves the full on title of leader. The captain of a sinking ship is still a human on a sinking ship, and it’s simply a consensus that he knows what’s best for those who are also on the sinking ship.

Constantine, like me, was aware of his gifts at a young age. He did what most would do (and I have done). Called it a curse, convince ourselves it wasn’t real, that shit like this doesn’t happen in “real life”. It’s fucked up ya know. Lucifer does something fucked up to us and then gas lights us to believe that we’re crazy for believing it was him. He does it so much, we learn to do it for him to ourselves. Sure, it’s not real, I mean insanity is more believable in today’s world than being spiritually gifted, right? Insanity somehow is more tangible, more “fixable” and in many ways more acceptable in society. A man kills a man, gets insanity plea and suddenly he isn’t as accountable for his actions (not saying that he should or shouldn’t be). Like someone punching you in the back of the head, you can’t prove that it was them but you felt it, it hurt and it wasn’t likely the person next to them. Without solid proof, we just look like babbling idiots screaming on about dark forces. People do attempt suicide, they drink excessively, indulge in sex, or anything else that can take their human mind away from their spiritual mind, because lets face it, who feels like being immersed in this shit all day, right? I had to remember something to get myself back together again (the part two to this, keep an eye out for it). Because when you separate yourself from yourself for so long, they begin to become independent or a part of you becomes dormant, much worse it seemingly dies. Hence adults that vote for- I kid, I kid.

There are going to be many more people waking up to this whole “gift” thing (abilities). It’s only unfortunate because they will have almost no idea where they come from or why they have them. People think it’s “new age” blowing up. No, it’s mass realizations about what being human really is. Guess what though, just like any other skill, like painting or football, some are better at some skills than others. That should be a whole other fun ball game when that phase comes into play. Pokemon battles, psychic spirit kinds though. I surely hope not. It’s not a curse to be this way, I had to ultimately realize. It’s a gift, a talent and a very purposeful one even if it doesn’t always feel that way. Denying it is like denying your right foot because it’s not as coordinated with the rest of you. Yeah, imagine how that looks and works out. Religion didn’t teach me that bit unfortunately, not the way that I needed to hear it anyway. It’s human to do these things. Some can and some can’t but that’s no different than dancing. Some can better than others. Some cut a rug, some simply trip over it.

Constantine eventually realized using his gifts to serve wasn’t enough, he had to willing want to do it, like out of the kindness of his heart. Instead of hating your existence, abilities, and purpose how about you realize that this is not a talent given to anyone, and it wasn’t thrown at you, you chose it, whether you remember it or not you did, every light worker did. So here we are…then the Devil told me to crash my car.


Mom’s Food Tastes Better

People read about the disciples, who actually relates? No I’m not talking about the Devil spilling your cereal this morning. Fuck that. I mean who can really freaking relate? Disciple mumbo jumbo, I get that shit.

I’ve always related to Moses. Here’s a guy like before he’s even years old gets sent up shits creek because his family is trying to keep him from getting whacked by the pharaoh. Then ironically gets adopted into the very family that wanted to whack em. Fast forward he kills a guy (that escalated quickly) and then says fuck it I’m out after finding out the whole truth. He gets lost in the sauce, finds a way to live his life then whammo a fucking bush talks to him. I was just tryna find a lost sheep God, not have my first acid trip today. Bush is like not my problem dude, I got some shit I need to tell you to do. Moses trippin out like nah I’m good, I’m alright. That bush said have a fucking seat, it’s God you freakin idiot, like I made you and you just gone try to skip off. You gon learn today. So like forever later they go back and Moses is asked to do all this shit he doesn’t even personally understand, it’s just gotta get done. God is like, I got you, I just need you to be the vessel. Moses was not fully down with that at first, his brother was in charge now, they all happy to see him, and Moses has to tell him oh yeah so your empire is bullshit – God’s words not mine- and this all needs to fall and end because you’re bullshit for trying to be God – I’m just the messenger- and if you don’t do it, some pretty bad shit is going to happen – again just relaying a message dude.

We all know the story. I relate to this story. I’ve been asked to do things that’s like- can you get someone else to tell this person this message, I’m really not sure if I’m the best one to deliver it? Funny thing is you learn pretty quickly that God is like a parent. Is a parent, actually. You may have the choice to say no to something your mother asks you to do, but is it really a choice? That “no” is a choice synonymous to “will not end well at all”, and then you end up doing it anyway- the hard way.

I’ve had the voice like thunder. You feel it like you are hearing with your entire body- brings you to your knees, and then you cry because of the pure power, not even just what is being spoken to you. Electricity, pure and true like the very fabric of existence just intercepted your whole reality matrix. The disciples were very human. I totally get all those weird ass examples of Holy encounters, because how else do you explain it? You cannot, hence passages that are weird as fuck because if I don’t have the words in year 2018 (I have an extensive vocabulary) how could they? Then, they not only had these experiences, they were told to tell others, which just cracks me up. I’d have to ask for like a format template or something, can I get some spark notes to start from before I write this experience God? No? Well I tried…”Suddenly a sound like a mighty rushing wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. 3They saw tongues like flames of a fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. 4And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them.…” Act 2:3. That’s how you end up with these kinds of descriptions. I’ve written an essay thus far in this post and still at a loss of how to portray the experience and I am a creative writer people.

Before I complain why me? I know it’s a lot for a vessel to take. I hold very large and vast amounts of energy in my body and still God’s voice throws off all my frequencies for hours. It’s not for everybody. This is the voice that makes mountains shake. The power behind it could easily have people believe God’s a man, but in comparison of “properties” God’s voice is like water. Colorless, gender-less, sexless, it just is, in the purest form of being. It’s a blessing to hear God, but does anyone understand what that entails? Do you know how difficult it is being a human and having these experiences? I was at work the last time this happened to me, because trivial stuff like our little societal rules does not matter to God they way it matters to us. It does not. It’s like watching kids playing house, and you interrupt to tell one to wash the dishes or pick up their clothes. Authority has overruled all of where ever you were in life, in your pretend life (another story). I get it Moses. I’m like you, it’s a hard love, a hard road, and a hard life to do these things. You are being asked by the very fiber maker of your existence to do something for them and you look around like- so you just gon to ignore these billions of other options and ask me- equivalent to your mom asking you and not your sibling to get the remote off the table for them- that they could easily get themselves mind you, but you gotta get it. Plot twist though, then your mom turns to a channel where your favorite movie is just beginning, and she asks you to sit next to her on the couch, have half her sandwich and you get to drink some of her pop (mamas stuff always taste better). In those moments, you’re so happy and so loved you could cry because you were chosen. While getting the remote seemed to suck at the time you were first asked, deep down you know, you’d have it no other way. Thanks for asking me.