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
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