Chapter Two

Chapter Two

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Ten Commandments


The only commandment from the big ten that has a promise is that if you honor your mother and father you will have a long life. Anyone who knows me personally knows that I am probably going to live forever in some sense because my admiration for my parents goes beyond hero worship. My Father and I were the best of friends and he left this mortal coil while in my arms; giving me his final breath with a message and a mission which in short came out as “Son, don’t panic! Nothing can stop you and you cannot fail.” A message I received more readily than any message from a book or pulpit. All of those were second hand; what I experienced the day my Father shifted over was something far more intimate. Neither priest nor pope can ever take that away from me. In regards to my Mother I can say this; she and I have literally been to Hell and back together. From the moment I came forth out of her womb it seems that our fates have been so intertwined that there is no way to separate the two.




She is probably the strongest human being I have ever known if not the strongest human being that has ever lived. Her greatest fear was cancer and yet when it popped up twice in her life she punched it in the face and said “You aint takin’ me muthafucka!” and beat it right out in the open for the entire world to see. Looking back I think her fear of cancer derived from her own father’s passing. I was very young when this happened but it made an incredible impression upon me.


He came to live (or die rather) with us while we lived in South Carolina. Hospice had set up a bed in our living room and that room was the central hub of the house. There was nowhere you could go without having to confront the inevitability of death. As a young child this was subtly traumatic for me, but I found an escape in books and fiction. I didn’t get to know my grandfather much, but there is one story that always stood out to me.


In the small hours of the night I sat beside him and held his hand. He asked me what I wanted to do with my life, what my dream was in life. I responded “I want to be a writer, grand-daddy. I want to tell stories and inspire people.”

Grand-daddy smiled and patted my hand. He then proceeded to tell me something I will never forget. He said:

“Listen here boy, keep your dream. Live that dream. When I was your age I remember walking home on a dirt road and I saw this man plowing his field with a tractor. Back in my day only rich folks had tractors. But I swore to myself that day I was going to have me one when I got older.” Then Grand-daddy started to laugh and clenched my hand in his ever so tight.

“I got four back at the house.” He grinned.


That was probably the only intimate moment I had with my grandfather before he crossed over, but to tell you the truth it was the only one I needed. I think it was the only one he needed too.


The day he passed my mom was in the back room resting. She was oblivious as he passed and when she came into the room she had a stack of clean towels in her hand, asking her siblings if he needed fresh bed clothes. When her siblings looked back at her in silent stares she knew her dad had left his body. I remember as a child that she started to collapse in despair and out of nowhere my father grabbed her before she hit the floor. I remember seeing him lift her up and wrap his arms around her without word. That moment has been burned into my mind since I saw it. That is the definition of Love. Catching the other at their worst and weakest. Even at that age I knew that whatever it was that my mother and father had; that was exactly what I wanted in my life.


Shortly thereafter all my siblings flew the coup and my Father was called back to Georgia for work. For many months it was only me and my mom in that house; alone with the darkness and the death. We both went into the darkness of cold loneliness and many a night we simply clutched onto each other just to make it through the next day. I withdrew myself from peers and found peace in books within the library. I really didn’t want to talk about any of it to my so called friends because I knew deep down they really wouldn’t get it anyway. I simply read my books and snuggled with my mom in the cold of the night and together our despair turned to love and that love ultimately carried us through.


Though it was a sad ordeal, I do not regret it one bit. During that time my mother and I established a relationship unlike any other established by a mother and a child. We were more than that; we had become each other’s anchor in the storm of the seas. Such as our lives have been ever since. Looking back I now see why she was with me in my first vision of the apocalypse…as well as the second.


Around the time of my second vision I was dating who would later become my wife, or rather the wife of the body in which I now possess. I was in my early 20’s and didn’t really know what the hell I was going to do with my life. Most people around me said that being a writer was a pipe dream and though I didn’t want to let it go; the overwhelming pressure did put me under a depression of which I really felt I was. Do I live my dream or go out and get a nine to five? My girlfriend at the time was very much of the mindset that dreams don’t really come true and it would be best if a secure trade was sought after that offered a 401k and all the other bullshit. So I suppose I started that journey when out of the blue I was slammed with another download into my third eye.


I had intended to nap for a while, but once my head touched the pillow I quickly fell back into the vision. This time, my father and a few siblings were there. We were in a city landscape. The same thunderclap came from the skies, yet this time something was different. The sky did turn red, the sun did start running numbers or characters or what have you; but this time my dad was in the vision. He was on a cell phone (which at the time were far and few between) and he looked at me as if he knew he would not make it. He looked at me as if he was depending on me to take up where he left off. I remember grabbing my mother’s hand and running past him and my siblings as tiny particles of dust drifted down like smoke. Everyone who breathed in the smoke turned to pillars of ash. As I lead my mother around the buildings I watched my father turn to a pillar of ash and then looked up at the sun. Again there was the lettering running at awesome speeds, ending with what I thought was the number 3.


I pulled my mom down a utility stairwell behind the building as all around us people turned to ash. The feeling was more horrific than I can describe here. As we tried to escape I felt her hand crumble within mine and as I looked to her I watched as she too turned to ash. In despair I wailed out only to feel my own feet, calfs, knees and body buckle as it too turned to ash. I shot up from my place of rest and screamed as I did the first time. Cold sweat all over my body, trembling from head to toe. The only difference was that as I came to my girlfriend and one day wife was coming through the door at that exact moment.


Now the relationship I had with my then girlfriend\soon to be wife had many a strange coincidences surrounding it, I don’t think that should be the focus. I think what should be the focus is that 13 years later that then girlfriend\soon to be wife would stab me to death with a butcher knife in my own kitchen. If this happened by her own volition or the programming of certain secret societies I suppose we will never know. What we do know is that it happened. Ultimately my spiritual journey would lead me to the doors of death itself in order to realize that death doesn’t exist. Nevertheless my visions and insights lead me to a point in time where the woman whose finger I put a ring on did the very best she could to make sure my dead body would not get up. This was after the publication of my novel of course and ironically the divorce papers say she gets half of all royalties from the book that she marketed. Aint that some bullshit?


At this point I think it is appropriate to express to you the reader that I am in no way trying to settle scores; karma does that for me. What I do intend to do is take you on a journey of my life through my eyes. My eyes are a perspective as are everyone else’s. You are free to believe whatever you wish to believe; good or bad. I can say that what I have written is the honest account from my point of view. However, it is my point of view. Others are entitled to theirs. Regardless however is the specifics of the tale, more important are the implications of the tale. The two visions I received were only the beginning of what was to come. The places I went shortly before being stabbed to death by my wife…or rather the wife of the body I possess…is really the point of the story. How often does a man get to see Hell and Heaven and come back to report on it?




Click here to continue to Chapter Three

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