Holy Schizo

 

I hardly give a damn what condition this reaches you in today – ha, only jesting. Hope all well. I’ve just been to church to cleanse my soul. I usually go to a youth church, a concert kind of gig, where they pour out Jesus Bangers with keyboards and guitars, but today I went to a Church of England bash with coffee and cake afterwards. So instead of young Afrikaans galdem (a collection of girls), it was white elderly ladies. I thought I’d mix it up a bit.

          There are three things to doing something new for me. One is crossing the threshold and entering. Two is staying the distance. Three is not dashing off at the end. Hanging around at the end of any event I find the most challenging part, if I make it to the end. Today I did. For coffee and cake.

          It was my local parish church, steeped in history. I’ve walked past it every day for over a decade yet never ventured in for a Sunday service. All in all, I’ve been in to say a quick prayer about three or four times (I had a look around in the crypt the other day). It’s magnificent inside, all gold and ornate and all that.

          Having coffee and cake with the elderly, newlyweds, and a few Chinese, felt like it could have been a taste of paradise. That awkward upheaval from your comfort zone, where you have to be, alongside everybody else, prim and proper and gentle and gracious. Like meeting the in-laws for the first time. The reverend was called Debbie.

I once slept with a Jezebel Demon called Debbie who laid her yoke down my gob and polluted me, but that’s a different story. More on that at a later date, maybe. I can’t believe I would ever let a bitch ejaculate down my throat.

Totally true, I have slept with demons (and swallowed their seed) – but I’ve also been to Heaven. I don’t know whether to write a non-fiction account of it or put it in a novel or tell it here. It was coming on for nearly two years ago now. I was in the grip of a taut psychosis in the wilderness of the non-local woods, lying face-down in a frozen startled rabbit-like posture, waiting to get my head cut off by a couple of hate-campaigners who had isolated me with impossible fear. I’d been followed down the railway tracks all night.

Just as I thought it was over, Heaven (or a distant green planet just like Heaven) opened up before me. I could see for miles and miles. It was inconceivably high. I felt like an angel. In my wonder, I even had a rat (real) sitting on my arm, but did not flinch a muscle. I could also see a bull and another angel behind me (questionable).

I could see grand noble boardwalks flanked by waterfalls and epic splendid promenades and alien canyons stretching far beyond what my eye could see. IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE AND JOY!!!

I’ve never written about it until now, and I’m being careful here because I want to save it. For what though? It’s for sharing. I’ll always be in faith ever since that happened and it made me now for certain believe in a loving God, whereas for all my previous life I’ve been a sceptic. I now have five angels around me at all times (yet another story), and plenty more going on too as well.

I know how that sounds, but I cause the authorities grave concern for dressing eccentrically, so imagine if I told them all this as well. They’d have a field day. The most I’ve ever told the authorities was just last week. I told my head nurse that schizophrenia was a problem characterized by attention from bad spirits. I am growing a fondness of respect for him, because he is good at his job, and he identified with me, rather than fobbing my beliefs off.

What do you think about the illness being a myth for bad spirits to run amok? Or do you fall into the ‘chemical imbalance’ clan?

My ex-girlfriend’s nurse once told her to be a good girl and neck her pill because she had a chemical imbalance. It felt like an insult. If someone ever slapped me with that label I’d certainly have a counter-argument or two.

When the doctors are giving me what I often typify as a shallow opinion I no longer find it hard to bite my tongue. I simply listen with lots of love. They ARE trying to help. I don’t believe they are calculating and callous. They just don’t know what it’s like to be surrounded by God knows how many bad spirits in their bedroom late at hours on a Sunday night, that’s all.

And I don’t know textbooks, or what it’s like not to know. But yet I do. Because this has never always happened. Well it must have done, since childhood, but I never got massive symptoms until my mid-thirties. Before then, I used to laugh my arse off at anything supernatural. I thought it was a joke. No more, Bob. Now, I’m scared. Well, not quite scared anymore, more bothered and annoyed and upset, but for the last ten years I’ve been running away in the dark from boogeymen and hitmen and ghosts and badmen and creepies and ghoulies and meanies and beasties. Now I sit right there with them and say if I’m going to die, I’m not going to die away from my sofa, tired. So thanks for calling, pass the mustard, and merry-f**kin’-Christmas.

That’s a wrap. See ya soon brothers and sisters x