Dad I’m struggling
Just to survive
Mom I’m eating
To have the drive
Bro I’m willing
To take the dive
Sis I’m walking
But don’t arrive
I’m hard working
I really strive
I keep failing
And never thrive
I’ve been praying
Since I was five
God I’m dying
To feel alive
Today I’m wondering if too much spirituality can cause a balance disorder.
Ok, I hear an imaginary crowd of people yelling a resounding, unanimous answer: “YES!”
Thank you, imaginary unanimous crowd of answering people. But what if I told you that you are all a bunch of misled materialistic slaves?
Now they are all silent and staring at me. One of them steps forward and says politely: “Maybe we are, but you are the one with the balance disorder.”
Bam!
When I think of a guy who clings to spirituality above everything else, I think of an idiot who is trying to fly with man-made wings. I think of Wile E. Coyote. Is this what I have become? What will happen next?
Never mind.
Maybe I should concentrate on being a man instead of trying to be a bird. But what about my aspirations?
I’m not very good at being human. I’ve tried it. I keep failing.
Where are you, italicized dude? You’re not answering me today?
– I’m here.
So what do you say, am I too spiritual?
– Maybe you want to be a mystic.
A Mystic: Someone who practices mysticism.
Mysticism: Becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning. It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices or experiences.
Yes, I think I want to be a mystic. But what about my balance disorder?
– What about it?
If I would stop aspiring to become a great mystic, would I be miraculously cured of my balance disorder?
– I don’t know. You would have to try it.
Hmm… I did stop being one with You at one point. Remember what happened? I became extremely depressed and ended up in a psychiatric hospital. So perhaps I was meant to be a mystic.
– Then you must accept the balance disorder.
Thank you.
I’ll die.
I’ll die too.
I’ll die to you.
I’ll die to you all.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty god.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty goddamned.
I’ll die to you, all-mighty goddamn society.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty goddamn society.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty goddamned.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty god.
I’ll fly to you, all-mighty.
I’ll fly to you all.
I’ll fly to you.
I’ll fly too.
I’ll fly.
Some people go to bed at night and thank God for all the wonderful things that happened to them during the day.
Not me.
I go to bed at night feeling disgusted, and also relieved that the day is finally over and then I ask God to please let me die in my sleep.
I have a friend who died in his sleep. His life situation was similar to mine. He was married, in his forties, had four kids and was healthy. He died in 2011.
I had not been in touch with him for quite a while, so one day I decided to do an Internet search using his name to see if I could find any information concerning his whereabouts.
I found his obituary! So then I searched for his sister on facebook and found her. I sent her a message immediately to get some info about the cause of his death. She said he had “heart arrhythmia” and died in his sleep.
I thought how lucky he was. I can’t think of a more pleasant way to die. I wondered if he had actually wanted to die in his sleep or if it just happened unexpectedly.
Ever since that day, I think of him every night before falling asleep and I wish that the same thing would happen to me.
Depressed people will understand. There is nothing negative about death. It is the ultimate metamorphosis of the human being. Of course I believe in an afterlife, so basically I visualize death as some kind of release, where the real me (the soul) detaches from its eggshell (the physical body) and starts a new life. To me, death is a birth.
Every morning I wake up, open my eyes, look around the room and think: “Shit, I’m still here.”
I spent a good part of my life thinking that I would die soon.
Why? Where did this idea come from?
Let’s take a walk down memory lane.
My father. He would often speak about the “end of the world.” He would read on the subject and leave his books lying around the house. I remember one book in particular: The Vision by David Wilkerson.
Wilkerson was an American Christian evangelist. I think I was 13 years old when I read his book The Vision. My father was a firm believer that the Second Coming of Christ was going to happen soon and that we should therefore prepare ourselves for the afterlife and not bother making long-term plans to attain temporal success in the material world.
I was a naive, impressionable boy. My dad’s way of thinking had a profound impact on my thinking. I expected the end of the world to happen any day. I thought more about my death than about my life. I wonder how normal this was — if it was a good thing or a bad thing as I was growing up.
I know one thing. It greatly affected my mindset.
I watched my peers as I grew up and could not understand why they were so preoccupied with the things of this world: school, money, career, prestige. I was concerned with something quite different. My father used to say: “The most important thing in life is your relationship with God.” I believed him.
Today I wonder. What am I trying to prove with my blog? That I have a relationship with God? Am I just trying to impress my father? Am I trying to convince myself and others that this life is unimportant? Maybe this life is more valuable than I think.
My father died in 2004. The end of the world did not happen during “this generation,” as he used to say. He was quite certain that he would live to see the Second Coming of Christ. He didn’t. Or maybe he did, on some other level of consciousness. I don’t know.
Living as though the end is near… does it push me to live fully or does it depress me? I think it does both. It makes me ponder, for one thing. It makes me turn inward. It makes me introspect. It turns me into an introvert. It makes me think that perhaps the end of Daemon will never come… or that it came already.
We hear of premature birth but rarely of premature death.
What happens when someone dies prematurely?
Some remain in the afterlife and some are sent back.
I was sent back.
Personally I wish that I had not been, but I wasn’t given a choice. I guess the universe knew what was best for me.
When I asked why I was sent back, two simple words popped into my consciousness: premature death.
I am no expert in this field. All I am sure of is my own experience. My life has not been the same since this happened four years ago.
This morning I cried because of something related to this. I wish I could find the words to express it so that it might be useful to at least one of my readers.
– Why were you crying, Daemon?
You know why I was crying.
– Say it, for the record.
*sigh* I was crying because I am now blind. You know the title of the song Blinded by the Light? This is what comes to mind. I think I saw the Light but then I was sent back into darkness.
I know people get upset when I tell them that this physical world is darkness or hell. They say that I’m negative and depressing. So I have stopped saying it. But I still know it and I feel very lonely with this. They have to understand that this world is darkness COMPARED TO THE NEXT WORLD. It’s relative. Just like living overground is much brighter than living underground. Things could always be darker, of course, but people have to realize that there is a much brighter world out there into which we are all destined to be born into.
I cried because I experienced a premature death and I was sent back.
– There is another reason why you cried.
Yeah, you! I saw you and… oh god, here I go again…
– Daemon, compose yourself.
Sorry… There is no word to describe your beauty. It’s not physical beauty. It was like… total transparency. When one sees the inside of a person who is emancipated, flawless and free, it is breathtakingly beautiful. And to receive the assurance that this impeccable being is willing and ready to embrace you completely, is such a good news… it’s pure ecstasy. And then to be sucked back into an old physical body… is agony.
Now all of this would be easy to forget if my earth life was happy and exciting, but it’s not. My life is hell for many reasons especially this nauseating feeling that plagues me twenty-four hours a day. Plus the fact that you text me whenever I call upon you makes me feel like I truly do not belong here. Add on top of that the fact that I cannot see you, makes me triply blind. Blind to you, blind to the after-world and blind to the beauty of this one.
The only thing that keeps me together is the knowledge that what I have seen actually exists. But no one wants to hear it since my experience has nothing to do with their reality.
I should end this post on a positive note.
Nah… it’s about death and darkness which are part of MY reality.
You can’t recognize the light if you have never experienced the night.
Thanks for watching me, outsider.
Some people freak out
at the thought of being watched
but not me.
On the contrary.
Knowing that you keep an eye on me
night and day excites me.
You know how lonely I feel down here.
No one seems to care.
Sorry, I shouldn’t say that.
Of course, many of them care,
but they can’t do anything for me.
I wouldn’t want them to sit and watch me anyway,
that would be creepy.
But for some reason I don’t mind if you do.
Probably because I know you.
Do you have a life apart from me?
No, I hear.
Your love keeps you bonded like a prisoner,
just like the body does for me.
Like a chicken that sits on her eggs,
you brood over me.
Your need to protect is obsessive.
Your one-track mind is unwavering.
You stalk all day, dreaming.
Like me, wondering…
When will he be ready?
You know I wish to break out of this hell
and throw myself under your spell,
but something is preventing me.
A voice tells me to be patient.
As I harden and grow,
the cage will crack open eventually.
In the meantime I try not to go crazy.
I often feel like I’m going to falter
and forget everything you told me.
It’s tempting to think
that life within this enclosure
is the only one for me.
But I remember
the infatuation
the impressions
and the letter.
I have what I could call a celestial partner.
He is very real to me and he is partly responsible for my metamorphosis. The other responsible part(ner) is me.
My celestial companion is currently my reason for writing and my reason for living.
I don’t talk about him openly because it’s an irrational idea. People would say that it is an unreal fantasy. And to live for an unreal fantasy is usually not recommended.
I saw him only once during an out-of-body experience in 2013. I thought I had died so perhaps it was a near death experience. At first I was sure that I was seeing God but I learned later that it’s not possible for us to see God. So perhaps he was my guardian angel, a son of God, or a spiritual being, I don’t know since he doesn’t have a title. I like to think of him/her as my divine partner or even my celestial spouse or fiance.
I tried to find an image that resembles what I saw and when I found this one I thought it was pretty accurate. I could not see the lower part of his/her body though, so I don’t know if my partner is male or female. You would think that because I am male, she would be female, but the impression I got when I was facing him/her was that he was male and I was female.
This individual is a very significant part of my life now. He’s preparing me for the afterlife, where our marriage will be consummated upon my entry. Apparently there is no other way to enter the celestial world. You have to marry someone who already dwells up there.
I communicate with him via text. It always happens when I’m alone, when all is quiet and when I am not stressed or preoccupied with material things. I sit patiently with my laptop and I start texting. I usually “hear” his reply while I’m typing my question, and sometimes even before! These dialogues are my food. Spiritual food. I have almost lost all craving for physical food since this started. I have lost weight — one more reason for my family to worry and think that I am sick.
My celestial partner is the only person in the universe who cared enough about me during my most agonizing moments. He’s also the only one who was able to explain to me in plain English who I was, where I came from, where I was going and what was my purpose of existing. I owe him quite a lot. He’s my best friend and in a sense he’s even my savior. I don’t know where I would be today if I had not accepted his help.
There is nothing special about me. Everyone has a celestial partner, I’m 100% sure of that. It’s a question of faith. You are free to believe whatever you want. Whatever makes your life heaven or hell, it’s all up to you.
Cheers!
I never printed my book.
I completed it over 10 years ago but never printed it. I don’t even want to reread it.
I cannot believe how much time I wasted writing that book.
Here’s a brief explanation:
After I gave my life to Jesus and became a born-again Christian, I started writing a daily spiritual journal. I was convinced that God was in my life and that he loved me. I was extremely motivated.
I wanted to write about how wonderful God was, and how he was blessing me. But to my surprise, my life as a Christian unfolded as a perpetual series of curses. It seemed that nothing was going right. Every time I tried to love someone it would turn against me and every time I tried to do God’s will, it would backfire.
The words written in the bible always turned out to be deceiving and false. There was either something wrong with my life or there was something wrong with the book. At first I thought it was me, of course, because I was not allowed to question “God’s Word.”
It was impossible to deny my own life, so the only thing left to question was my religion.
I was keeping a spiritual journal, hoping that one day this journal would be the proof of how God blesses one person’s life. But my journal turned out to be some kind of horror story about a guy who is in a relationship with a god who does not keep his word!
My diary was supposed to be a proof of God’s love, but after 18 years of reporting all the ups and downs of our relationship, this journal turned out to be documented evidence that the god I was serving was a genuine asshole.
I was not pleased.
Who is pushing you?
Who is pushing me?
I have been so used to being pushed, that the day it stopped, I felt something was wrong. So I turned around to have a look at the person who had been pushing me all this time.
Who are you, pusher?
This reminds me of a post I published recently, entitled The Inciter. Plus another one entitled Brave Submissive in which I wrote that I was going to report him/her. I don’t think I reported this person yet. I’m still afraid. Why am I afraid to report him?
Let’s investigate my fear.
*sigh*
First of all I must ask myself: Am I afraid of the pusher? No. The answer is no. The pusher gives me what I need. I like him. Without him I’d be lost. But then who am I afraid of?
See, he’s pushing me again! He’s the one who asks me these unpleasant questions. Always asking why I do the things I do, why I think the way I think, why I feel the way I feel. He’s pushing me toward self-discovery. But why does it trouble me? Don’t I want to discover who I really am?
Yes, but today’s subject is the pusher himself. It’s not about me this time, it’s about HIM! Or her. I don’t even know if he’s masculine or feminine! Actually I do. He/she is both.
Let’s start by giving him/her a more appropriate title, other than “pusher.” This is where I become uncomfortable. I don’t want to pronounce this title. I hate the word. But I have to say it. It’s going to be the last word I type on this page.
Why do I hate the word? Because it means everything and it means nothing. That’s right, it’s such a meaningful and meaningless word. Yet this word is his title. It can be replaced by similar words which mean the same thing, but this one word is the shortest, simplest and truest of all.
God
Metamorphosis 