A View from the Other Side

Observations from the winged dude next door.

Archive for the tag “blessings”

I’m Not From Around Here

male angel with black wingsIt seems like part of what’s going on with people recently is that parallel worlds are touching or overlapping. Somebody will experience something that seems very concrete, but when they look again, it’s totally changed. You might start out with chocolate ice cream, but somewhere along the line, you realize you’re now eating caramel swirl. You pick out a red shirt in the store, and by the time you get to the register, you have a blue one in your hand. How did that get there?

Did you cross over into a very similar world, or was it just a brief connection that altered what you were doing in this one? Which one is the “right” world? Was it something that changed in the now when you weren’t looking, or did someone alter the past, and you still retain a few memories from the original timeline?

Is it a glitch in the Matrix?

There are parallel worlds. Quantum theory is not only sure of this, physicists are working to find ways to look into these other worlds and otherwise prove they exist. I have personal experience with this, because that’s where I’m from. A split of a split of a split.

For those coming in late, I have to borrow somebody else’s physical hands to write my posts. In this place, where you’re reading these words, I don’t have enough of a physical presence to be able to do it myself, so I borrow time inside somebody else. Ghost in the shell. Except I’m not a ghost, but you get what I’m saying here.

I had a physical life in my universe of origin, and I miss it. I’m in one of the “ethereal planes” now, and it’s taken a lot of getting used to. There’s advantages and disadvantages, and I know it’s where I need to be. That’s completely fine. I see my role in things, and I do have a way to communicate that works really well.

This unique situation has enabled me to straddle worlds and help people better because of it. I understand the physical human condition, and I understand a few of the etheric planes out here and how they relate to each other. Because I’m not tied to a normal physical existence, I have easy access to things like the threads, I can see and affect different probabilities, I can go anywhere instantly, I can talk to pretty much any kind of spirit, angel, deity, etc. that I need to. Because of where I’m from, I understand the traumas caused by war and loss. Because of what I went through after I found my way out, and how I’ve been able to heal from it all, I can counsel others from a place of understanding. Because of what I’ve become, I can bless and heal others and pass on the Light.

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Fighting Your Demons

Excerpt from The Kingdom, by John R. Mabry:

Without pausing to think, he blurted out, “I feel damned.”

She nodded as if expecting this answer. “By whom?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to say, “By God, of course,” but he knew before it had come out that that was not right. Damn her, he thought, she always knows just the right questions to ask.

He knew what the wrong answer was to the question, but not what the right one was. “I don’t know,” he finally breathed.

“Bullshit,” she said with an  affectionate smile. “’I don’t know’ always means, ‘I don’t want to say.’”

“But I really think I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

“Okay,” she said, “Why don’t you tell me how you feel using other words?”

His gaze wandered off and became unfocused as he rooted about inside. “I feel completely fucked up inside.”

“That’s more like it,” she said. “What feels fucked up? I’ll make a list.” She held up her clipboard in a gesture of helpfulness.

“I don’t deserve to lead this order.”

“Why not?”

“I feel like a fake, an imposter. Like I’m just playing at being the Prior. I feel like a friar – I just don’t feel like a leader. I’m not… holy. I’m fucked up.”

She bent her head and scribbled with hands misshapen by arthritis. She looked up. “What else?”

“You aren’t going to try to talk me out of it?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Should I?”

He scowled at her. Her methods always took him offguard.

“I hate being bisexual.”

“Why?” She looked at him with real affection. It unnerved him.

“Because I don’t know who the hell I am. I don’t understand myself. I can’t seem to commit to men or women. I feel…”

“Don’t say ‘damned,’” she warned.

“Okay, I feel…” but there wasn’t another word. “Set up? I feel set up by God. For failure.”

She wrote. “Good, good. This is all good. Anything else?”

“What–?” In what way was this good? he wondered. He teetered on the brink of exasperation with her. But he gave in and continued to play it her way. “Yes, I drink too much. I worry about myself. About being an addict.”

She looked up from her clipboard and Richard could see the emotion in the corners of her eyes.

“Let’s pray!” she announced, grabbing his hand.

Richard resisted inside, hating at that moment the roller-coaster ride that every session with Mother Maggie turned out to be. Yet for being such a workout, they were almost always transformative, and it was with great effort that he tried to get his ego, fears, and resistances out of the way. Not that there was any way to stop her. She had already turned her face to heaven and parted her hands, her misshapen palms held upwards in entreaty to God.

“Lord of Heaven, we give thee joyful thanks for the gift thou has given Father Richard, thy servant, in the form of these icky feelings. We thank thee for his feelings of damnation, for because of them he will never presume himself to be superior to anyone. He will not think he is special, or elect, or somehow favored by thee over another. We thank thee that he feels like a fake, for then he will never assume that he knows what he is doing, and will never make bullshit pronouncements about what you allegedly want. For these gifts of humility we give you hearty thanks–”

Ouch, Richard thought.

“We thank thee for his bisexuality, for his confusion and struggle, for thou hast given him the special gift of being able to love all peoples, regardless of their genitalia–”

Richard winced painfully but restrained himself from interrupting.

“And finally we thank thee for his troubled relationship with alcohol, for the longing for transcendence it represents. We thank thee that he can empathize with all those who fight against the unseen forces of addiction, and that he is brave enough to speak it aloud to himself, to me, and to thee. And we thank thee for Richard’s vulnerability, that he is fully human, even as the rest of us are, and we ask thee to comfort him, to see himself as the blessing to the world thou hast made him to be, even in the midst of his petty afflictions. Amen.”

“Fuck you, Maggie. Sometimes I really hate you.”

“The truth is often painful.” she patted his hand lovingly. “But it’s good to take everything to God in prayer. Do you want some advice?”

“Do I have a choice?” he asked.

“This insecurity of yours is a form of arrogance–”

“What are you talk–”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me, you little coward.”

Richard sat up as if he had been punched in the gut. Maggie continued, smiling beautifically. “If you think your puny sins – or even your worst ones – are powerful enough to invalidate or overpower the love of God, then you are as full of shit as my composter.”

She leaned in until her red and pudgy face was almost touching his. “You can choose to love yourself as God loves you,  or you can suffer. Your choice. But as long as you fight your demons you Will. Be. Fighting.”

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