My thoughts aren't totally clear on this matter, but I grow tiresome of our current government. No, it isn't Bush's fault. It's a conglomerate of all of them. Working together yet not accomplishing anything. I don't mean that by "working together" they are being bipartisan. No, I mean they're all scheming together and rubbing each others backs, while fighting face to face and drawing imaginary lines.
My whole point revolves around something in the Eighties. Back then, I remember talk of the federal deficit, then looming around 4 trillion dollars. It's more than twice that now. But the point is that back then, they were talking about how they needed to end it and not "pass it onto our children" - or something to that effect. Well, here I am, +20 years later, and we've mortgaged huge swaths of our land to other countries to pay our debts. That $150 billion dollar stimulus check we all got a part of a few months ago? From China. Which, as you've all heard, weakened our dollar substantially and caused inflation to surge. Sure, the dollar is recovering, but the trends aren't.
Ed McMahon is in the poor house right now, and Donald Trump is helping him pay his mortgage, or should I say, bought Ed's house and allows him to lease it now. It's a nice publicity for The Hair and Ed retains some dignity. From the reliable radio, I heard that Ed's wife was able to spend $300,000 in one month. Where is the fiscal responsibility? Well, I parry that question to our government. Which leads me to the title topic; We The People, need to sue our government.
Call it a divorce, or whatever. But the fact of the matter is this; these people in our government are not looking out for us, and in turn, have created a culture that unfortunately 90% of US citizens are partaking in: living beyond our means. I'm not blameless, I have debt beyond a mortgage and car payments, and it makes my right eye twitch whenever I dwell on it. But does it bother them at all? Have you heard much about the federal deficit this election year?
Some people are blind to this topic, even though this year we've hit an all-time high, around $700 billion (stimulus check included) in deficit to be added to the overall ~$9.6 trillion, which has been growing for several decades. Next year, thankfully, it'll be under $500 billion to be tacked on top of that by most estiamtes. Sure, the Iraq war is one cost, but it's about 15% of the yearly debt, if even. The real cost is a lack of self-sufficiency. It's an agenda, pushing towards socialism even though we're not. We have so many federal programs, that we don't tax enough to support them.
But, I'm not about to cause a civil war or instigate a revolution or rally for socialism. I think there is much to be salvaged, yet need not to shed our own blood over it. So I suggest the civilized and current American way of life; we sue. Everyone can relate to this method. When I worked at the law firm, a common fact tossed around is that every US citizen gets sued at least 4 times in their life. I've got two done, my wife has one, so we're not half-way there yet, unfortunately. Meh, side tangent. Sorry.
The point is this; we already have the Supreme court justices who have no qualms putting aside public majorities to make asinine laws. This lawsuit against our fiscally irresponsible legislators, even if dismissed, at least sends a message that we are tired of this facade of "all is well." Debtors will want money, and if not money, then our lands. Kinda parallels the whole oil subject, rely on others and their pricing, or drill our own and be self sufficient?
On the frank side of things, I am not sure what "winning" means. If it meant that those of us who agreed with the lawsuit could now abstain from paying federal taxes until fiscal responsibility was met, then I would be pleased (as I could pay off my own debt...). But if it meant we fired the current legislators, well, that may not be a bad thing either. Lord knows some of them need a good sense of humility since they're supposed to be "public" servants.
The fact that lawsuits are up is another good indicator of our times. We're desperate as individuals to make ends meet that we'll go to court over a paint-transfer on a bumper collision. Yet, that may be the means by which we absolve our international debts; "don't collect on this money or we'll annihilate your country. Yes, you technically own Montana and most of Mississippi, but my finger is on the big red scary button, and I've got a headache..."
Let's sue! Because the alternative is to do nothing, which hasn't worked thus far. And don't tell me Obama is the cure. He's rhetoric; they all are.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
7 minutes to eternity
I have heard numerous times, that after you officially drown, you live an additional 7 minutes before your brain shuts down. I can only imagine what goes on during those seven precious minutes. It is a long time, actually. Go ahead and sit there, 7 minutes, immobile, just you and your brain without interruptions.
What brings me to this is a chain of thoughts? This morning I had a dream that a large black shark bit off my left foot. It bleed a lot, but I was not panicky. Well, that is until some local told me the black shark was also poisonous, which, so far as my understanding of sharks, is not possible. Nonetheless, I became concerned at that point despite not feeling like I was poisoned. Since then I have recovered and please refer to me as "stumpy" from now on. Stupid dream.
I have a love-hate relationship with the sea. I love it. I love vast open water, sailing ships, naval vessels and eating fish. On the other side of the spectrum, it also killed my biological father and even swept me out to sea once. Not to mention all the times its beat the crap out of me while body surfing or boogie boarding. So my conclusion is that it hates me, hence the love-hate relationship.
Still, moving the chain of thought from shark bite, to seafaring, to drowned father, to final thoughts, I have to consider the following; what are those final thoughts. Does the proverbial "life flash before your eyes" transpire? Again, seven minutes is a long time, perhaps too long for a "flash", but then, you probably aren't going to live and tell about it either. Bearing in mind that your body has already given up the fight, now it's just your brain mentally tying up loose ends. You're probably sinking, or peacefully resting on the bed of a body of water. Technically, you already look dead.
I would like to think that perhaps my father's last seven minutes were, in part, reflected upon me and hoping for my posterity. In reality, it matters very little and could, on my part, seem selfish. But from my own perspective, that of a husband and father, my worries would be of great magnitude, and then remorse for a million little things that may be trivial or not. I'd be disappointed at the fact that I never conquered the world, metaphorical or literally, with emphasis on the latter. And then the eternal perspective, the great question answered - what happens after death?
It is interesting to note that a former employer of mine has a spouse who was swept out to sea. She was missing for about an hour before she washed up a mile down the beach just as an off-duty EMT was running along, found her, and promptly started CPR. The EMT sent someone to get help, who, by coincidence, flagged down an ambulance returning from a hospital. Everything was in play, and soon she was life-flighted to a hospital, and surprisingly, had a full recovery. Accordingly she holds some miraculous record for being revived after being drowned for an hour. I still talk to her every now-and-then.
Of course, your brain probably isn't as lucid as expected. It's shutting down too. All your motor-skills are gone already. Just you and your thoughts. 7 seven minutes to dwell upon whatever it is you held dear in your finite lifetime. Looking back, will there be a sense of dread - time wasted - as you lose everything. Hmm, on second thought, I'd like to not drown, please. I'll take my chances with the big, black, poison shark, who, unfortunately, has a nasty habit of ankle biting.
What brings me to this is a chain of thoughts? This morning I had a dream that a large black shark bit off my left foot. It bleed a lot, but I was not panicky. Well, that is until some local told me the black shark was also poisonous, which, so far as my understanding of sharks, is not possible. Nonetheless, I became concerned at that point despite not feeling like I was poisoned. Since then I have recovered and please refer to me as "stumpy" from now on. Stupid dream.
I have a love-hate relationship with the sea. I love it. I love vast open water, sailing ships, naval vessels and eating fish. On the other side of the spectrum, it also killed my biological father and even swept me out to sea once. Not to mention all the times its beat the crap out of me while body surfing or boogie boarding. So my conclusion is that it hates me, hence the love-hate relationship.
Still, moving the chain of thought from shark bite, to seafaring, to drowned father, to final thoughts, I have to consider the following; what are those final thoughts. Does the proverbial "life flash before your eyes" transpire? Again, seven minutes is a long time, perhaps too long for a "flash", but then, you probably aren't going to live and tell about it either. Bearing in mind that your body has already given up the fight, now it's just your brain mentally tying up loose ends. You're probably sinking, or peacefully resting on the bed of a body of water. Technically, you already look dead.
I would like to think that perhaps my father's last seven minutes were, in part, reflected upon me and hoping for my posterity. In reality, it matters very little and could, on my part, seem selfish. But from my own perspective, that of a husband and father, my worries would be of great magnitude, and then remorse for a million little things that may be trivial or not. I'd be disappointed at the fact that I never conquered the world, metaphorical or literally, with emphasis on the latter. And then the eternal perspective, the great question answered - what happens after death?
It is interesting to note that a former employer of mine has a spouse who was swept out to sea. She was missing for about an hour before she washed up a mile down the beach just as an off-duty EMT was running along, found her, and promptly started CPR. The EMT sent someone to get help, who, by coincidence, flagged down an ambulance returning from a hospital. Everything was in play, and soon she was life-flighted to a hospital, and surprisingly, had a full recovery. Accordingly she holds some miraculous record for being revived after being drowned for an hour. I still talk to her every now-and-then.
Of course, your brain probably isn't as lucid as expected. It's shutting down too. All your motor-skills are gone already. Just you and your thoughts. 7 seven minutes to dwell upon whatever it is you held dear in your finite lifetime. Looking back, will there be a sense of dread - time wasted - as you lose everything. Hmm, on second thought, I'd like to not drown, please. I'll take my chances with the big, black, poison shark, who, unfortunately, has a nasty habit of ankle biting.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
About this blog
The title was not my first choice. Nor my second or third. Coincidently, not my fourteenth or twenty-second. I think it fell somewhere between 38th and 101st. It matterth not, quite frankly. But it is highly probable that I will think up something a little more cunning in the near future. Still, it took almost an hour before this title was found, and by then, I was perturbed just enough to accept it so I could write the first post at 3:30am.
As for my name, The Hero, well, naturally that has a story behind it. I'm not that presumptuous ... yet.
I think it was 1993 -- yeah, pretty sure of it. I'd actually have to check my journal for a more definitive date, but I don't know where it is and also, I am lazy. But, trusting upon my trusty brain, 1993 it is. It centers around two points of history, not far apart in time.
A good but long gone friend of mine, who was my Order of the Arrow adviser as well as excellent cook had some property where we would fire off various weapons. Having been influenced by Lethal Weapon movies and Die Hard mentalities, I attempted to do a roll-and-shoot. Basically, if I could imbue a sense of stupidity into any who reads; you go from a stand, to your belly, and then roll towards the right while firing the hand gun (in this case, an old .38 service revolver). Bullets where flying everywhere. It was immediately recognized as being "stupid" and as soon as I got up, I received quick criticism, with the last retort being, "... way to be the hero."
So, it started out as a rebuttal nickname, of sorts. However, as circumstances would have it, the same adviser would be on a rafting trip with us (which in and of itself is another story). As it turned out, said adviser would wind up getting pinned under water, drowning, and I was able to save him with the help of another scout. From that point, "Hero" changed definitions. I rarely hear this nickname anymore, save for those that were there, either day.
Anyway, there you have a basis of understanding for this blog. Concepts and Judgments was just another way to say "opinions" more or less. Opinions are based on your concept of things, and your judgment on the matter. Of course, some of us are more right than others, right? Sure...
As for my name, The Hero, well, naturally that has a story behind it. I'm not that presumptuous ... yet.
I think it was 1993 -- yeah, pretty sure of it. I'd actually have to check my journal for a more definitive date, but I don't know where it is and also, I am lazy. But, trusting upon my trusty brain, 1993 it is. It centers around two points of history, not far apart in time.
A good but long gone friend of mine, who was my Order of the Arrow adviser as well as excellent cook had some property where we would fire off various weapons. Having been influenced by Lethal Weapon movies and Die Hard mentalities, I attempted to do a roll-and-shoot. Basically, if I could imbue a sense of stupidity into any who reads; you go from a stand, to your belly, and then roll towards the right while firing the hand gun (in this case, an old .38 service revolver). Bullets where flying everywhere. It was immediately recognized as being "stupid" and as soon as I got up, I received quick criticism, with the last retort being, "... way to be the hero."
So, it started out as a rebuttal nickname, of sorts. However, as circumstances would have it, the same adviser would be on a rafting trip with us (which in and of itself is another story). As it turned out, said adviser would wind up getting pinned under water, drowning, and I was able to save him with the help of another scout. From that point, "Hero" changed definitions. I rarely hear this nickname anymore, save for those that were there, either day.
Anyway, there you have a basis of understanding for this blog. Concepts and Judgments was just another way to say "opinions" more or less. Opinions are based on your concept of things, and your judgment on the matter. Of course, some of us are more right than others, right? Sure...
Cheater Genius
Call Mensa. I recently took this online IQ test, and I got a 147. To qualify for Mensa, the elite society of geniuses, you need a minimum of 145 so you can join the ranks of Stephen Hawkins or Lisa Simpson.
In the Spring Break of `97, a few of us were down in LA, walking around the Hollywood stars and happened upon an Ann Rynd store who were doing personality & IQ tests. At that point, my buddy Roy scored a 142, and I got a 132 or so. It was the low 130s. Good, but not Mensa quality. I wasn't too surprised from my score, I new I was some-what smart, but there was a reason. We opted not to buy the books they were selling there...
Going further back, in my high school, we had The Quiz Bowl. It was an annual event where the top 10 smartest kids in your class participated in a competitive smart-off or what have you. The first year I didn't make it. But last three years I did. I still have some T-shirts from those events. The point of the matter is this; all 4 years, they never changed their pre-qualification questions. Thus I was able to answer three years in a row, correctly, what a periorbital hematoma was (black eye). And if there is something unique about my brain, it feasts on random facts. Just put all that crap in my head, and I'll flush it into a safe place, using it later to impress those who don't flush often. Or something. (Metaphors and analogies aren't my forte.)
So, the next three years I made it onto the Quiz bowl team, then, placed in front of the school during a 2 hour assembly, we battled wits. Well, I didn't. I sat there, immutable, watching my team mates answer. I attempted one question only, "Kentucky is bordered by 7 seven states, name five of them." I missed it by adding North Carolina. Coincidently, I have since had a overt interest in maps and geography. Making up for that loss I suppose, even though we won overall.
Which brings me back to my supposed 147 IQ. Yeah, I've taken that same IQ test thrice over the past few years. I'm getting better every time. Is that cheating? Maybe. Or maybe they should change their material. Either way, doesn't hurt the ol' ego. And Lord knows I don't need any more maps. I probably don't need Mensa either.
Interestingly, as we were leaving the Ann Rynd store, I was told that my personality was best suited for acting. Funny, in that actors think their pretty smart too...
In the Spring Break of `97, a few of us were down in LA, walking around the Hollywood stars and happened upon an Ann Rynd store who were doing personality & IQ tests. At that point, my buddy Roy scored a 142, and I got a 132 or so. It was the low 130s. Good, but not Mensa quality. I wasn't too surprised from my score, I new I was some-what smart, but there was a reason. We opted not to buy the books they were selling there...
Going further back, in my high school, we had The Quiz Bowl. It was an annual event where the top 10 smartest kids in your class participated in a competitive smart-off or what have you. The first year I didn't make it. But last three years I did. I still have some T-shirts from those events. The point of the matter is this; all 4 years, they never changed their pre-qualification questions. Thus I was able to answer three years in a row, correctly, what a periorbital hematoma was (black eye). And if there is something unique about my brain, it feasts on random facts. Just put all that crap in my head, and I'll flush it into a safe place, using it later to impress those who don't flush often. Or something. (Metaphors and analogies aren't my forte.)
So, the next three years I made it onto the Quiz bowl team, then, placed in front of the school during a 2 hour assembly, we battled wits. Well, I didn't. I sat there, immutable, watching my team mates answer. I attempted one question only, "Kentucky is bordered by 7 seven states, name five of them." I missed it by adding North Carolina. Coincidently, I have since had a overt interest in maps and geography. Making up for that loss I suppose, even though we won overall.
Which brings me back to my supposed 147 IQ. Yeah, I've taken that same IQ test thrice over the past few years. I'm getting better every time. Is that cheating? Maybe. Or maybe they should change their material. Either way, doesn't hurt the ol' ego. And Lord knows I don't need any more maps. I probably don't need Mensa either.
Interestingly, as we were leaving the Ann Rynd store, I was told that my personality was best suited for acting. Funny, in that actors think their pretty smart too...
Monday, August 18, 2008
Excellence in Mediocrity
I work for "The State" which means a lot of things to many people. Coincidently, there is a lot of truism in the maxim "good enough for government work" although it technically does not apply to my area as funding is highly associated with accuracy.
Nonetheless, I was obligated to attend an awards ceremony earlier. When you add food to the agenda, you don't even need to ask me to attend. I'll be there. Free food is a driving force in my life. Interestingly, so is diarrhea. There could be a correlation, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
As the awards moved on, there were some that I could endorse -- 30 years working for The State, etc. Towards the bottom of the barrel, the awards struggled to be good. Two categories that caught my attention were 'an award for having your computer turned on the most at 8am exactly; an award for taking the most punctual lunch break consecutively.' How do you applaud that sort of an award? Like this, the slow meaningful clap, nodding appropriately while holding a contrite face as if you narrowly lost it, but it couldn't have gone to a better contender.
Sure, these may be pet awards so that everyone is a winner. Or worse -- it could be what I am striving to achieve myself. I hope not, because I don't want them. If I ever did win it, then I'd consider myself a drone. And that leads into my next issue; a calm sea of blandness.
At The State, it seems that personality, character, or anything that would differentiate you from the cubicle sheep is a no-no, despite "celebrating diversity" (another issue for another day). No one stands out really. No one dares to and I am sure I'll learn why as well. Until then, it's to the assimilation blocks.
It should be noted that I do appreciate my job, but at the same time, I never feel like I should suggest much of anything because someone will feel you are usurping their position or even appearing like you could get a position they want. Someone complained when I stated the Nazi's were stupid. Apparently my opinion didn't fly with someone who didn't think the Nazi's were stupid. So now I am rather unassuming, blending neatly into an ocean of blandness. Some day I'll get the dream job within The State, but by then, I'll be gazing the same grass as my fellow peers. Happy, bland sheep in a sea of 5 foot cubicles.
Nonetheless, I was obligated to attend an awards ceremony earlier. When you add food to the agenda, you don't even need to ask me to attend. I'll be there. Free food is a driving force in my life. Interestingly, so is diarrhea. There could be a correlation, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
As the awards moved on, there were some that I could endorse -- 30 years working for The State, etc. Towards the bottom of the barrel, the awards struggled to be good. Two categories that caught my attention were 'an award for having your computer turned on the most at 8am exactly; an award for taking the most punctual lunch break consecutively.' How do you applaud that sort of an award? Like this, the slow meaningful clap, nodding appropriately while holding a contrite face as if you narrowly lost it, but it couldn't have gone to a better contender.
Sure, these may be pet awards so that everyone is a winner. Or worse -- it could be what I am striving to achieve myself. I hope not, because I don't want them. If I ever did win it, then I'd consider myself a drone. And that leads into my next issue; a calm sea of blandness.
At The State, it seems that personality, character, or anything that would differentiate you from the cubicle sheep is a no-no, despite "celebrating diversity" (another issue for another day). No one stands out really. No one dares to and I am sure I'll learn why as well. Until then, it's to the assimilation blocks.
It should be noted that I do appreciate my job, but at the same time, I never feel like I should suggest much of anything because someone will feel you are usurping their position or even appearing like you could get a position they want. Someone complained when I stated the Nazi's were stupid. Apparently my opinion didn't fly with someone who didn't think the Nazi's were stupid. So now I am rather unassuming, blending neatly into an ocean of blandness. Some day I'll get the dream job within The State, but by then, I'll be gazing the same grass as my fellow peers. Happy, bland sheep in a sea of 5 foot cubicles.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Recurring Nightmare
I couldn't sleep. Not at first, anyway. And in retrospect, it was my fault because I took a nap earlier in the afternoon. I am totally against naps; for if I take one, then I know the consequences later on, the same one I faced this night when I tried to fall asleep.
Anyway, that's not the point.
I have a nightmare, and it isn't like normal ones people have. People dream of being chased or falling, or whatever. Those don't bother me. I have an acute ability to control many aspects of my dreams. I even have a journal specifically kept for recording dreams, although it isn't as up-to-date as I used to keep it. Still, it's there, detailed in many regards, and seemingly interesting to many people who happen to read it (it's not that personal to me). Yet this dream from an hour ago, is one of a few that I normally would not record. But, I think it is time I started.
I was at an old house, classic white paint on the outside, expected farm house decor inside. The interesting thing about this house is that it had a courtyard in the backyard, with these extending arms of the house encompassing the area. And it was large, very large, with the arms of the house coming together at a point that made a smaller building which I think was an old carriage or maybe laundry spot from older times. Maybe even a deluxe outhouse. The point is that you could walk on these covered wings around the courtyard and make a big circle.
Now, dreams by nature are very cloudy, so I have to be careful at times and not 'fill in the blanks' where no details really are. So, I cannot say why I was there, or why, in reflection, I opted to stay the night there, or specifically, why we decided to sleep in the courtyard save for the fact it was a bright starry night. As for the general setting, it was out in the countryside, but there were neighbors not too far off in the distance.
As for who was there, obviously me, some 6-7 year old little girl named "Kelli" and then another adult female who may or may not have been my wife. And again, we decided to sleep outside in the courtyard, although I remember not having a sleeping bag -- just a bunch of thing blankets and a pillow. Though, that didn't seem to bother me and we were giddy about the whole ordeal.
I should mention that this farm house is abandoned. Yeah, I know, that makes a huge difference. The paint is chipping, the wood is rotting, and we're sleeping next to an old fire pit that transients had created some time ago. We didn't light it, but naturally you gravitate towards such areas for camping. And the there are large swaths of dead grass areas around and near the fire pit.
Sleep comes, sorta. For the adult woman, she has no trouble sleeping and is out soon. But Kelli and I don't get to sleep. Actually, we feel weird. She and I are closest to each other while the other person is below next to our feet. (As a matter of reference, the woman is closer to the extra building and we're more towards the house.) This weirdness is something of uneasy feeling, kind of hard to describe, but eventually we hear words, slowly, a murmur, hoping it is something it is not, and then it is clear; "A woman was murdered here. Help me!"
Kelli and I are instantly whispering to each other. But it feels like we can't speak very loudly as we couldn't roust the other woman at all. Still, the same phrase keeps getting repeated and Kelli is in a state of shock, barely making audible noises. At least once I get up to survey the area -- just to make sure this isn't a hoax. But it isn't, and I knew it wasn't. I did, however, establish a point of origin. Next to the fire pit, closer to us two, is a dead patch of grass that looks as though oil had been spilled over it. Standing in that area caused me to be very nauseous and hear the words clearly, "...murdered and burnt here..."
At the same time, I felt very trapped when I got back into my bedding. Why did I get back into the bedding, I know not. But I was pinned in it. And I couldn't speak well. And so many other things occupying my mind, cluttering it from sensible thinking. I was still trying to communicate with Kelli, but felt powerless at the same time. But what else, the woman, or as I concluded, ghost, had ceased to speak, but some power was still over me.
The night ended, morning came, and camp was adjourned. Only Kelli and I had noticed (or experienced) the incident. Yet somehow, this tall guy whom I instantly distrusted with thinning hair and a shirt he was swimming in, somehow, talked us into staying another night, but not only that, staying outside. Was he going to do it? No. Just us three, and by that I mean us two since the woman adult would be asleep, probably. Maybe he was a Realtor, ya never know.
I kind of expedited that last paragraph, but the details for that part are seemingly non consequential. But here is what happened...
She fell asleep, immediately. No surprise there. And as the night edged on, the whispering leached from the ground. Inaudible at first, but slowly, carefully, repeated precisely the same message as before. Again Kelli and I confirmed our ears. Kelli hid under her blankets and wept quietly. I was looking all over for a glimpse or something. But she stopped speakingly suddenly. And for a second, my thoughts were collected, I could breathe and we were getting out of there.
Until the real issue of my nightmare began. These are the things that I dare not write before, but I know them to be accurate. It is at this time of my dream that real power takes control of my capacity. Real, unmitigated raw power. It ceased me by the neck, held me down and squeezed violently. I knew what it was.
My first experience of knowing there were unseeable evil forces out there was 10 years ago, while I was living in Monmouth. I was a hedonistic fellow of sorts, not having too much care in the world. Not sure where I was going one particular afternoon, but I happened to walk by a TV that was on in the living. No one else was home, but then, there were 3-6 guys living in the house at any given time. It was an big, old TV, connected to a satellite dish that got only 6 channels or so, still, it was free. One of them was MTV2, before MTV ruined it. Back then, all they did was play music videos and the only commercials were for the channel itself, "Watch MTV2!" Done deal.
On that after afternoon, I was walking by when the video of Aphex Twins, "Come to Daddy" played. I watched it because, I thought, it was intriguing. A bunch of sadistic little children, all wearing a quasi-demonic face, going around beating up old people. Then they all come running home to this demon with the exact same face who yells full force into this old lady's face. It was ... something else.
People talk about the "still, small voice" of the Holy Ghost/Spirit. I can't claim much of the same, but I can tell you this; when that music video came to an end, there was a voice, clear as bell ringing, which said, "That could be your power..." And I knew from that point that evil is very real. I wasn't sure what that power exactly was -- leading children astray, but I do know that I was alone, and those words were inches from my ear.
So I have dreams of people I know being possessed right before my eyes. It's Emily Rose all over the place. And the first thing I do is rebuke them in God's name. It used to work like lightening, but over the years, as I've learned to quickly recognize these in my dreams, something else has begun to happen: they immediately use their power to cease my throat and choke off my words before I can say it. I didn't even perceive it this time, however.
Thus my dream continues, with my airflow surrendered to an unseen force, pinned down in my blankets, with no one to aide me as my life gets pushed under. So as I lay there without options, one finally did occur; to pray. And as soon as that lucid thought entered my mind, I woke up. It was all gone. Just another epiphany to my testament of good versus evil. And it is scary. It's after 4am, I'm not sleepy. Concerned. That battle is up a notch and I've got to find a new tactic.
Of course, I prayed. Said a long one. Then I listened to the floorboards creep upstairs, and then some rabid raccoon gutted a squirrel next door. Thing sounded maniacal, greedily eviscerating the other animal midst painful screams. Didn't help at all. But I don't fear those sorts of things, that's why there are guns, if needed. But what do I do for something that has taken a more strategic tactic? I guess I pray...
In an attempt to understand my dream, I recognize the following; spirits yield to higher powers, so that ghost probably wanted attention, specifically, an acceptable ending to a traumatic end. But I suspect she was sacrificed and her body of evidence burned away. Still, she was also an invitation to something worse, which ceased upon me -- a first for me.
Oh, that video is on youtube, not that I'll watch it again, and not that you'll get the same experience, but for matter of reference you know where to go.
Anyway, that's not the point.
I have a nightmare, and it isn't like normal ones people have. People dream of being chased or falling, or whatever. Those don't bother me. I have an acute ability to control many aspects of my dreams. I even have a journal specifically kept for recording dreams, although it isn't as up-to-date as I used to keep it. Still, it's there, detailed in many regards, and seemingly interesting to many people who happen to read it (it's not that personal to me). Yet this dream from an hour ago, is one of a few that I normally would not record. But, I think it is time I started.
I was at an old house, classic white paint on the outside, expected farm house decor inside. The interesting thing about this house is that it had a courtyard in the backyard, with these extending arms of the house encompassing the area. And it was large, very large, with the arms of the house coming together at a point that made a smaller building which I think was an old carriage or maybe laundry spot from older times. Maybe even a deluxe outhouse. The point is that you could walk on these covered wings around the courtyard and make a big circle.
Now, dreams by nature are very cloudy, so I have to be careful at times and not 'fill in the blanks' where no details really are. So, I cannot say why I was there, or why, in reflection, I opted to stay the night there, or specifically, why we decided to sleep in the courtyard save for the fact it was a bright starry night. As for the general setting, it was out in the countryside, but there were neighbors not too far off in the distance.
As for who was there, obviously me, some 6-7 year old little girl named "Kelli" and then another adult female who may or may not have been my wife. And again, we decided to sleep outside in the courtyard, although I remember not having a sleeping bag -- just a bunch of thing blankets and a pillow. Though, that didn't seem to bother me and we were giddy about the whole ordeal.
I should mention that this farm house is abandoned. Yeah, I know, that makes a huge difference. The paint is chipping, the wood is rotting, and we're sleeping next to an old fire pit that transients had created some time ago. We didn't light it, but naturally you gravitate towards such areas for camping. And the there are large swaths of dead grass areas around and near the fire pit.
Sleep comes, sorta. For the adult woman, she has no trouble sleeping and is out soon. But Kelli and I don't get to sleep. Actually, we feel weird. She and I are closest to each other while the other person is below next to our feet. (As a matter of reference, the woman is closer to the extra building and we're more towards the house.) This weirdness is something of uneasy feeling, kind of hard to describe, but eventually we hear words, slowly, a murmur, hoping it is something it is not, and then it is clear; "A woman was murdered here. Help me!"
Kelli and I are instantly whispering to each other. But it feels like we can't speak very loudly as we couldn't roust the other woman at all. Still, the same phrase keeps getting repeated and Kelli is in a state of shock, barely making audible noises. At least once I get up to survey the area -- just to make sure this isn't a hoax. But it isn't, and I knew it wasn't. I did, however, establish a point of origin. Next to the fire pit, closer to us two, is a dead patch of grass that looks as though oil had been spilled over it. Standing in that area caused me to be very nauseous and hear the words clearly, "...murdered and burnt here..."
At the same time, I felt very trapped when I got back into my bedding. Why did I get back into the bedding, I know not. But I was pinned in it. And I couldn't speak well. And so many other things occupying my mind, cluttering it from sensible thinking. I was still trying to communicate with Kelli, but felt powerless at the same time. But what else, the woman, or as I concluded, ghost, had ceased to speak, but some power was still over me.
The night ended, morning came, and camp was adjourned. Only Kelli and I had noticed (or experienced) the incident. Yet somehow, this tall guy whom I instantly distrusted with thinning hair and a shirt he was swimming in, somehow, talked us into staying another night, but not only that, staying outside. Was he going to do it? No. Just us three, and by that I mean us two since the woman adult would be asleep, probably. Maybe he was a Realtor, ya never know.
I kind of expedited that last paragraph, but the details for that part are seemingly non consequential. But here is what happened...
She fell asleep, immediately. No surprise there. And as the night edged on, the whispering leached from the ground. Inaudible at first, but slowly, carefully, repeated precisely the same message as before. Again Kelli and I confirmed our ears. Kelli hid under her blankets and wept quietly. I was looking all over for a glimpse or something. But she stopped speakingly suddenly. And for a second, my thoughts were collected, I could breathe and we were getting out of there.
Until the real issue of my nightmare began. These are the things that I dare not write before, but I know them to be accurate. It is at this time of my dream that real power takes control of my capacity. Real, unmitigated raw power. It ceased me by the neck, held me down and squeezed violently. I knew what it was.
My first experience of knowing there were unseeable evil forces out there was 10 years ago, while I was living in Monmouth. I was a hedonistic fellow of sorts, not having too much care in the world. Not sure where I was going one particular afternoon, but I happened to walk by a TV that was on in the living. No one else was home, but then, there were 3-6 guys living in the house at any given time. It was an big, old TV, connected to a satellite dish that got only 6 channels or so, still, it was free. One of them was MTV2, before MTV ruined it. Back then, all they did was play music videos and the only commercials were for the channel itself, "Watch MTV2!" Done deal.
On that after afternoon, I was walking by when the video of Aphex Twins, "Come to Daddy" played. I watched it because, I thought, it was intriguing. A bunch of sadistic little children, all wearing a quasi-demonic face, going around beating up old people. Then they all come running home to this demon with the exact same face who yells full force into this old lady's face. It was ... something else.
People talk about the "still, small voice" of the Holy Ghost/Spirit. I can't claim much of the same, but I can tell you this; when that music video came to an end, there was a voice, clear as bell ringing, which said, "That could be your power..." And I knew from that point that evil is very real. I wasn't sure what that power exactly was -- leading children astray, but I do know that I was alone, and those words were inches from my ear.
So I have dreams of people I know being possessed right before my eyes. It's Emily Rose all over the place. And the first thing I do is rebuke them in God's name. It used to work like lightening, but over the years, as I've learned to quickly recognize these in my dreams, something else has begun to happen: they immediately use their power to cease my throat and choke off my words before I can say it. I didn't even perceive it this time, however.
Thus my dream continues, with my airflow surrendered to an unseen force, pinned down in my blankets, with no one to aide me as my life gets pushed under. So as I lay there without options, one finally did occur; to pray. And as soon as that lucid thought entered my mind, I woke up. It was all gone. Just another epiphany to my testament of good versus evil. And it is scary. It's after 4am, I'm not sleepy. Concerned. That battle is up a notch and I've got to find a new tactic.
Of course, I prayed. Said a long one. Then I listened to the floorboards creep upstairs, and then some rabid raccoon gutted a squirrel next door. Thing sounded maniacal, greedily eviscerating the other animal midst painful screams. Didn't help at all. But I don't fear those sorts of things, that's why there are guns, if needed. But what do I do for something that has taken a more strategic tactic? I guess I pray...
In an attempt to understand my dream, I recognize the following; spirits yield to higher powers, so that ghost probably wanted attention, specifically, an acceptable ending to a traumatic end. But I suspect she was sacrificed and her body of evidence burned away. Still, she was also an invitation to something worse, which ceased upon me -- a first for me.
Oh, that video is on youtube, not that I'll watch it again, and not that you'll get the same experience, but for matter of reference you know where to go.
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