“And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions: And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit. And I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and the terrible day of the LORD come. And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be delivered: for in mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be deliverance, as the LORD hath said, and in the remnant whom the LORD shall call.” The Book of Joel.
It is said that when one changes their name they also change their fate. As a matter of fact, any spiritual school or religion I am familiar with, there has always been an emphasis on one’s name being changed when they either begin a spiritual journey or have an encounter with the Divine. From the Koran, Bible, or Book of Mormon there is always an initiation of name change from that given without consent to one either chosen or bestowed by Spirit. I suppose this is some allegorical way of signifying an initiate to the spiritual path is being reborn in some way with an identity they choose, rather than provided with by a system that has no clue what the nature of one’s character will be. So as with prophets of old, I too took part in this ritual and at the young age of 14 or so I was given a new name. This was especially nifty because the name I was given at birth never really seemed to fit with who I felt I was on the inside. In the receiving of my true and new name I felt at home, after all Daniel means “God is my only Judge” which is a motto I consistently live. I don’t concern myself with other’s opinions of me so long as the only Judge I have is content with my dealings. However what I didn’t expect was the added benefits (or burdens) of the name I agreed to adopt. Daniel in the Old Testament was the interpreter of dreams, a prophet, a man easy to receive visions through dreams or otherwise. Perhaps in my case I should have just dropped some acid had I known what I was in store for after becoming Daniel Louis Crumpton.
It is a rather slippery thing to talk about having visions or being taken to other realms (rather in the body or out of the body, I know not) because you are likely destined to be taken to the funny farm if you speak about it in the wrong company. When I say wrong company I mean fundamentalists of any school of thought or in laws. Thankfully I am a writer which means anything I write can reasonably be filed under “art” rather than “testimony”…so suck it in laws and fundamentalists!
That being said this person that I am now has indeed had visions from a very young age and from that very young age until now it has taken a great deal of contemplation to understand such visions and quite honestly after all these years I don’t know if I have the firmest of grips on the things I have seen or the places I have been. My life since the changing of names has been an enigma to me and in perhaps writing it out I will gain some sort of insight to such flicker shows from higher dimensions downloaded straight to the eye in the middle of my head. Perhaps someone reading has additional pieces to the puzzle for all I know, and perhaps that is my hope, because quite honestly being a visionary is exhausting work and any bit of help is a great amount of help for someone like me.
It wasn’t too long after becoming Daniel Louis Crumpton when I had my first vision. Now let me preface this by saying I was not religious per say, but raised in a culture where I was told God is this voyeuristic guy who watches you all the time and never lets you have any privacy so all the bad shit you did was recorded for the Great Tattle Teller in the sky. I was also indoctrinated to believe that because I stole that chocolate football from the Kwikie Mart (that my bat shit crazy sister told me was free), God demanded justice for theft. I was told that in order to balance the scales of Divine justice, God had to send me to a place called Hell when I died and once there I would be tortured in flames for all eternity. As a six year old who had simply placed a chocolate in his pocket this was quite traumatic. It wasn’t even like I intended to steal at all. I simply didn’t understand economics and my bat shit crazy sister was using me to steal crap on her behalf; nevertheless I did the deed. So as a six year old I was confronted with the notion that for that one ignorant act I was going to be tortured by demons for all eternity.
I suppose thankfully, later in life I was provided an out. God had provided a loophole, or so I was told. I was told that I could get away with my bad deeds if I believed on a man named Jesus Christ. When questioning this loophole I was told that he was God’s only Son; though God wasn’t married nor did he have a female counterpart/co-equal or anything; nevertheless Jesus was not a bastard or an anomaly of the Universe as a whole. This male deity just produced a Son without any assistance from a female at all and I had better not question that further or …well…Hell again.
Either way, when confronted with the notion of Hell, the idea of a loophole is very appealing. So I asked the obvious question; “What must I do?” only in six year old language. From that point I was told that I had to believe that an all caring, all loving God demanded a human sacrifice (which is absolutely nothing like any pagan god) and it so happened to be his only Son. According to the sales pitch, Jesus Christ, God’s only Son volunteered to become a man, live for 33 years, and then be falsely accused, tortured and nailed to a cross. If I believed that then his blood would cover my sin that was committed by stealing a chocolate football from the Kwickie Mart. Even at six years old this seemed a little screwy. But who wants to burn in Hell, right? So sure, I’ll take that. The first picture I ever drew was a stick man being crucified on a cross. Looking back now, I can see why religion is the plague of the human race. What kind of world has a six year old drawing pictures of an execution or of human sacrifice?
As I evolved through my teenage years these concepts came into question and an individual path of spirituality began to evolve. The more I read of the Bible, the more I understood that if there is one thing God appreciates; it’s being questioned. One cannot read the Bible and neglect to see that God, as God is lonely being the only God and what not. In my readings it is apparent that he respects mere mortals demanding equal footing with him in realms spiritual and intellectual. After all He bent his will to the negotiations of Abraham and other prophets that demanded their will of Spirit be heard. True, this is not something taught in seminary or any church I have attended, but nevertheless it seems to me that God, whatever God is, enjoys a sort of arrogance in his most treasured followers. Maybe it’s because in arrogance he sees himself. After all, if anyone has the right to be arrogant wouldn’t it be God? This train of thought says much about the character of the Devil or Lucifer but let us save that for another day.
My first real vision was quite alarming to me. I am one of the biggest skeptics you will ever meet. I don’t take tales of the paranormal or supernatural lightly. I want facts, I want evidence. I want to have an explanation that matches with science. That being said, when I report my own paranormal events I suppose I am cutting my nose off to spite my face because I indeed have no empirical evidence outside of my own senses. I know, it’s kind of a catch 22 but it is what it is. So the visions I have had, you can either accept or deny and that is up to you. I make no demands on your process of thought because I would not allow your demands on mine. Take it for what it is and if it works it works, if it doesn’t then it simply doesn’t.
As a young poet and writer kicking around middle Georgia, gaining the experiences I would need as an up and coming writer; I once had the privilege of discussing philosophy and poetry with a long lost cousin named Sonny over a bottle of cheap whiskey for hours on end one fateful night. I had never really been close to him growing up, but as a teenager things change and so too do relationships. I had the opportunity to read some of his prose which he had intended to turn into music one day and I remember finding his words brilliant. Not because they were oh so intellectually enthralling, rather because they were raw emotion from his own life struggle. Typically I am a rough critic when it comes to other writers (we writers are a contentious bunch) however I recall being very much uplifted and enlightened with the scribblings in his notebook. Most of the lines were in regards to his ex-girlfriend and the child they had together; the lyrics were of the pain from having a broken family and the yearning to have it put back together again. These were struggles I didn’t know at the time, but the emotion rang very true for me. Those honest hours had created a bond between he and me that very few find. An understanding on a soul level of pain and strife and what it’s like to live with that day in and day out. By the time of our parting we agreed to meet the next weekend to speak again or perhaps write some poetry together; integrate our expressions one with the other. Unfortunately it was a meeting that would never take place.
This brings me to the first vision I received. It was the day before the intended meeting and I was sound at rest in the basement, which is where I tended to dwell. There are dreams, which I describe as VHS; however visions are like Blu Ray. To this day I can still recall every scene in picture perfect clarity. I can still smell the scents, feel the fear, and hear the horror of it. It was a rather apocalyptic vision with me and my mother at a public park. Surrounded with smiling faces, children laughing, people cooking at the bar b que pits and what not. Then a thunderous boom shattered the contentment and all of us were forced to our knees. I recall having my mother’s hand in mine and feeling the exact amount of terror she was feeling. The sky went from blue to burning red and the sun itself began exhibiting strange lettering I did not know. It almost resembled binary or what I had imagined Hebrew looked like. It ran across the surface of the sun like a countdown of sorts. After a few moments it stopped and the number 3 stayed fixed and turned to black; at least at the time I thought it was the number 3. Shortly thereafter the typical image of Jesus Christ appeared…and he looked pissed. That was the last thing I saw before springing up in a cold sweat and screams coming from the bottom of my lungs.
After such an experience it took me a while to get my bearings, but once I did I tried to shake it off and tell myself it was just a dream. I had a cup of coffee and walked outside only to be informed that my cousin Sonny had been shot to death by the police after an altercation with his ex-girlfriend regarding the child. I believe it was ruled a suicide. Even with my young, teenage mind the synchronicity could not be ignored. What were the odds that I would have a vision of the apocalypse the day my cousin was killed? To ignore such significance is the epitome of religious thinking I believe.
There was much for me to think on after that. Much for me to reexamine as far as my spiritual beliefs were concerned. I knew what a dream was, I was quite fond of having them but what I had experienced was certainly not a dream. But who would believe me? Who would give me the benefit of the doubt if I were to say I had a vision just like those recorded in the Bible? After all, those who believe in the Bible the most are the least to believe you if you claim such similar experiences. They have an automatic response that anything supernatural is of the Devil because those sorts of things don’t happen now a day. For the longest time I simply kept it to myself but it was something that never left me. Little did I know, a few short years later I would get the second half of the vision; which is when my life, or rather the life of whose body I possess now, would get ever so cray.
A SONG TO PLAY US OUT…