Ultra Awakenings (5)

My little hellfire soon got underway without any hindrances. I plopped back on a deck chair with a non-alcoholic beveragino to enjoy proceedings. I was dressed in my slippers and my nightgown, all snug, nobody to impress, relaxed without a point to prove now that the nearest threat to my downfall was now being destroyed. I was worried about the fumes getting all the neighbours stoned. I was worried about a fire engine spoiling the party. Between these concerns, and the medley of horrible faces emanating from the smoke, I couldn’t relax like I wanted to. I was fidgety, nervous, and on edge.

One of the faces wafted over to me on the breeze and took a bite at my shoulder. It looked like a mixture of several ugly people I used to know. The ill will was plain in its features, nothing but bitter foulness transparent there. I didn’t flinch. Whatever evil forces lurked over me in this world, I didn’t think much of them. The only thing that scared me was my own sense of reckless abandonment. Everything was a bluff to my knowledge, based on something else, with some unclear ulterior motive, there was nothing genuine, noble, honourable or true anymore. Apart from me and my angelico. Who was all smiles and pleasantry. Which was what all evil pretended to be, in my experience, happy. When they looked like bulldogs chewing on wasps.

My education, my two-faced friends, back-stabbers and gossipers, the state…even the powerful evil cabals at the top of the tree, who were supposed to be fearsome leaders and formidable rulers, were nothing but shitbag perverts who were addicted to other people’s children. At least in my opinion, if you believed that kind of thing. Nothing but a bunch of fearmongers the lot of them, into depression, oppression, and suppression. Trust me, I knew about it. I’d taken a lot of shit over the years, from my vulnerable perch, all from pieces of nothing who were nowhere near my equal, hiding in the shadows while administering cruel cowardly punishment. And now look at them, wanting me back in the world of drugs, probably overdosed or on the streets after a week or two, who knows, in the gutter somewhere, that’s for sure, no low was low enough for my abusive handlers.

I had another deckchair set out for my angelico, next to me on the porch. To my surprise she was a tiny winged fairy hovering with a magic wand underneath the roof beams, in the corner of my eye. I know what you are thinking, that this might be a brain projection from someone, but I trusted in the Holy Spirit and I had faith in the purpose of my own suffering. I was not a lost cause who needed something external to govern his own happiness, like a bully picking on a victim, or a stalker obsessed with his prey, I had my own internal core and my strict set of hopes and aspirations and my shining too, or my giftings, as you like. My giftings carried me in the light and caste me as a survivor all these years. It was just the way I saw the world. My perception made me a very valued individual. So much so that I had to be studied all my life in a limited scope of base invasiveness, by tyrants who didn’t have the decency or courage to show their own faces from time to time. My cuts and bruises were vast but I saw it all as the biggest of compliments, and despite my extensive trials and tribulations, I am pleased to announce that I never turned to devil worshipping. At least. I am not. A devil worshipper. Praise the Lord for that one.

And on that note, with my lively sprightly angelico, who bounds me up in heaven with forgiveness for sins and makes me feel indebted with never-failing love, I declare that my life is an insincere hoax but I myself am the real deal, with a rosy future free in Christ full of freedom and liberation.

So there, Ultra. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. 

_∟,m~k^{┐.⸎ↈU..🧠💫}

smile with the gift of living well