Oh No, Not Again...

I shared something deep and meaningful in apology the other day. The topic was raised by something someone said before me, something about not wanting to be here. JOB 10:19 If only I had never come into being.

I’ve known about this bible verse since school. It has always resonated. I ask myself the question, baring this in mind: Would I like to live my same life again? Exactly the same life.

Totting up the pros and the cons, the answer would have to be no. There’s been loads of magic, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times outweigh the good ones, I feel. I couldn’t bear to go thru all this agony again. Granted, it’s made me the person who I am today, and today I feel fine, great even, a warrior like, but the process to becoming one involves some rare stunts dude! Involving sharing a bed with rats and tarantulas sometimes! Could it get any more painful? And that was the easy part of the trials and tribulations which have made me…

I’m torn if I’m honest, because saying that I wouldn’t live this life again makes me feel like a pessimist who’s had a boring experience. The psychosis in later years takes the boring part away. I was too busy thinking on my wits to be bored, or depressed. I’ve probably been more mad than I have been sad. These days I tend to be more morose than lively, as I’ve calmed down all my anger and don’t do hatred. What I’m left with is indescribable joy and a peace beyond all human understanding, which are both under constant threat from the modern world, the flesh and the devil. It’s super difficult keeping hold of certain commodities once you understand how priceless they are.

Love. Hope. Joy. Peace.

They don’t teach you about these at school. Or university for that matter. I had to virtually lose and recover them myself to discover their true worth. It was harder than a death in the family when I embarked on my pilgrimage to reclaim my love and hope towards the end of last summer. The experience left me emotionally drained, depleted almost, I dropped everything including alcohol and nicotine and was left physically hobbled in a state of sober, irrational humour, laughing breathlessly at things I had never previously found funny. Most of this was nerves.

The situation of me laughing at nothing was starting to grab people’s attention and they began ringing the police, saying I was responding to unseen stimuli, in a vain attempt to get me hospitalised. My laughter is a dangerous game in pubic, it is commonly hated by the bitter snitches who can’t handle it.

In my more paranoid days, I believed that the sound of laughter released secret spy creatures from weaponised cameras to investigate the origin of the sound. Just as laughter occurred, I would see little beings appearing in my peripheral vision on cue. Seriously, just as screams of anguish affect us enlightened ones, our ripples of jovial happiness affect the dark side.

But don’t let that stop you giggling! x

Slightly Touching Upon A Regressive Past Life

Hello there Comrade, how are things? I hope that the universe is treating you fairly, with dollops of karma and justice, which is what the radiant inner light of your essence deserves. I’ve always said that there is more to life than criminal harassment. It’s such a bore, being bound up in the negative. Being targeted for suffering by the government sucks to high Heaven. At times it seems like there is no way out, no escape, no hope. Upon more than half a dozen occasions I’ve abandoned my domicile in a hurry, leaving the door wide open behind me, eager to seek shelter from the outside world, scared stiff of the creatures which Black Operatives plant in my cupboards. What I usually encounter is a mean and hostile planet which stops at nothing to make me suffer just a little bit more. I had to get over my fear and trepidation to get through the depths of the dark nightfall. If I could just fall to sleep, maybe I would have a restorative pleasant dream. I sooo believe in the healing power of dreams.

I say the shady government, but there is more to being a Targeted Individual than being pestered by them alone. All the doctors believe that there is no such thing as a TI, they think that we are all deluded. It’s taken me years to understand that it is they who are the truly deluded ones. To believe that a chemical imbalance of schizophrenia can explain the horrible terrors that we CHOSEN go thru makes no sense to me. Now that I am off my meds, and away from their detestable big pharma chemicals, which do nothing but make you sleepy and fat, I can better reason with my addle-free brain. Apologies if you are still on them.

There are high principalities of wickedness residing in the uppermost realms. There are lowly street theatre mobs. There are things out there not of God. The list of my enemies is long and enduring. But I don’t want to whinge about it.

My most recent trauma will take a while to process. I’m still currently dealing with the ins and outs of it. I’ve not sat here in the public library and conferred with you for two weeks. I’m sick of talking about drugs and the Devil though. My struggles go deeper than that. They taper beyond the frightening consternations of my hellish apartment to the larger and more grotesque actualities of intergalactic tyrannies, which play with the reality of humankind. I had a revelation on Easter Sunday. I kinda realised that I’ve been here before. I have suspected a rigidity of truth in the Buddhist Wheel Of Ka since roughly 2008. Aside from being a Christian, my faith in it remains souring on. The Holy Bible spoke to me like it has never spoken to me before. If you are battling with difficulties which are beyond words, then rest assured that you are not alone.

If you feel that you cannot cope, read the Book Of Job in the Bible. His lamentations pierce the soul, and it reminds you that somebody else has been through what you are presently going through. I feel protected when I read God’s Word, but I tend to only do so when I sense an imposing sense of glumness about me. I wish I could do it all the time, although it is far over humanoid understanding’s head and tends to leave one ear via the other quite often sometimes.

Aside from His Word, I believe in my Own Word. My voices tell me that I am crap at writing, and can’t spell, and that only they are reading my blog to mock and jeer at it. I know I might never be viral, but I hope beyond hope that you are there. You must certainly know who you are by now. Someone who doesn’t see this as a fictitious rambling born of a squandered, confused, perplexed and muddled mind, but as the serious truth of a testifying individual. Now maintain your Peacing Out Soldier x