I'm not a fan.
One of the best things about the internet is that everyone can have a voice. One of the worst things about the internet is the same thing. But, as the saying goes, there is an ass for every seat. Maybe there is a set of ears for every voice. I guess I will discover this as the weeks wander onward. Most times when I talk about my reality, people back away slowly, laugh nervously, or inconspicuously search for their taser in their handbag.
The other part of this endevour is that I am charging headlong into a barrage of old, old programming installed by a "shock and awe" Catholic mother and an abusive father who was the son of a Baptist deacon. One thing that was grounded / guilted into me was that you do not brag about yourself. People who talk about themselves are weak-minded and look for their self worth through the opinions of others. When your 6'3" father, angry because of his own demons, is wrapping the buckle of the belt around his palm as he advances upon you, you agree with him...period. At least in your outside voice once you discover your inside voice is yelling back 'fuck you'. So, imagine the intensity of the response I received when I wanted to tell the world I talk to dead people and that they are really very much happier where they are.
Essentially, I was told if I spoke about my experiences, I would be thrown away.
When your 6'3" father, angry because of his own demons, is wrapping the buckle of the belt around his palm as he advances upon you, you agree with him...period.
But, I kept my promise as best I could. Like a dented pressure cooker, every once in awhile, I vented some extraordinary event to the wrong person and it had to get written off. So, I became the "creative" one. Between not wanting to suffer my father's wrath or my mother's rejection, I just STFU - for a while.
It is curious, and I have no vertical proof, but the more I tried to suppress my peculiarity, the more others tried to surface. And life has a funny way of putting temptations in your path no matter how good you are trying to be. While I do believe in Free Will, I also believe that in a pre-corporeal state, I agreed to try out some crazy shit while here in this playground called Earth. Conversations with deceased relatives became astral projection, astral projection lead to Reiki, Reiki led to psychic self-defense, practicing psychic self-defense led to past life regression.
And if that wasn't enough to put a skidmark on the Haines highway, I had a NDE (near death experience) where I met with a supreme entity who decided I needed to see George Carlin. Yes, THAT George Carlin. I was given a tour of the Universe, the codes within sacred geometry, the purpose for the 'human experiment, chilled with the heavenly host, became music and sang with the angels who then claimed me for their own.
(I see you reaching for the taser so I'll wrap this up.)
In this dimension (dementia?), and in others, familiar entities keep telling me to tell my story. I may or may not discuss these other realities because if I see torches and pitchforks, I'm breezing this place like a fart in the wind. No burning at the stake this time please. If I can choose, I prefer to die as a 90 year old man who gets shot by a jealous 45 year old husband.
If I can choose, I prefer to die as a 90 year old man who gets shot by a jealous 45 year old husband.
If you are on this site, you will see a link to The Alchemist's Heir. I started this book after 9/11 but finished it, published it and marketed it in 2012 after my mother's suicide. My dad was already dead so I thought that I was now released from my promise. My family disagreed. Oh well, their loss.
The result - a large venting of metaphysical steam - is a novel where the protagonist is a 14 year old boy, bullied in high school, and sent to live with his grandpa for the summer. He learns things - metaphysical, Transpersonal, emotional - and begins to practice those behaviors some would recognize as "seventh generation" mindfulness.
In 2013, I didn't want to be "that guy". The formula for the NDEr guy seems to be to have a NDE, come back, write about it, talk about it for a year or two, and then fade back into your new normal. I am NOT that guy. Thank you, Dad, for that lesson. That desire would become Elemental Alchemy.
So I combined my nursing wound care knowledge, my Reiki skill set, and my pharma research background and created a topical cream. I was inspired by discovering that there are many, many nasty things in make up. I had applied that makeup on my patient's faces as they were being discharged home. I was so pissed off. I admit there was an altruistic component to this process but knowing I was shoving back against an industry that uses the public as disposable petri dishes r-e-a-l-l-y satisfied an aspect of my Scorpio personality.
Finally, I let my ya-yas hang low and in the breeze by writing Guitars, Cigars and Tiki Bars. All that steam? Yeah...I ripped the lid off the pressure cooker, drove over that shit with my truck, set it on fire and took a steaming dump on it that could have qualified it as a Superfund clean up site. (BTW - Erin Brockovich is flippin awesome!)
I talked about damn near everything in this book that I had not been able to speak of for nearly 30 years. Ok...Alright... I did hold a few things back. Here's a test. I astral project back to my former meatsuit, introduce myself, apply Reiki to them as they are dying, and assist them in their transition so that our soul is able to hold a higher vibrational rate in this meatsuit.
For many, this hurts their brain.
I'll hold onto the parts of conversing with multi-dimensional beings, projecting off world, and peeking into associated parallel realities.