THE JUDAS ANGEL
(Revised December 10, 2007)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Timothy Hustler
Seymour Best Friend
Agnes Transgendered
Chance Friend
Judas Messenger

SYNOPSIS

Four friends are at a Judas’s grave complaining about his suicide.

This is an excerpt from the book: The Judas Angel.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE – GRAVEYARD – AFTERNOON

The sound of flapping wings, the roar of a lion, the cry of a man and a strong wind is heard as the lights slowly come up on Timothy, Seymour, Agnes and Chance standing over the body of Judas. Seymour and Chance gives Timothy dirty looks. Agnes is wiping tears from her eyes.

TIMOTHY
You all look at me like it’s my fault.

SEYMOUR
Trash. Fucking trash. He never did like taking out the trash.

AGNES
People like you foul the air and then others have to clean up your shit.

TIMOTHY
He got what he asked for. We all get what we ask for.

CHANCE
He didn’t ask for this.

TIMOTHY
I didn’t kick dirt over his face.

CHANCE
You gave him the mud to play with.

TIMOTHY
At least I was real about what I am. Poor little rich boy. Rich only in attitude and a sagging ass stuck in designer pants.

SEYMOUR
Guys like you, we tried to keep him away from.

TIMOTHY
Maybe that’s his fucking problem. He didn’t want to be a Mister Goody Two Shoes. You frustrated bitches always want to stick someone’s ass on a stake and make your life so fucking sanctimonious.

SEYMOUR
You shouldn’t be here.

TIMOTHY
I have a trick waiting for me. I don’t want to be here.

AGNES
I kept telling him sweep out the trash.

CHANCE
He’s not supposed to be dead.

TIMOTHY
And I’m not suppose to be standing here listening to whiny queens.

AGNES
What did he see in you?

TIMOTHY
Maybe he likes it sweaty and nasty.

CHANCE
Oh please.

TIMOTHY
Oh please what? You want some of what he tasted.

SEYMOUR
You’re not the poison that changes poison.

TIMOTHY
Look, he didn’t like himself; I liked him for what I could get. He’s dead. He’s better off. It’s what he wanted. So all of you; get over yourself.

CHANCE
You don’t know the events you set in motion.

TIMOTHY
I’m in a fucking nightmare. I need to wake up. I have a trick coming.

AGNES
Sex has made us and destroyed us.

CHANCE
I should have seen this coming.

TIMOTHY
Who really listens?

AGNES
All you hear is the sound of silver coins hitting the floor.

TIMOTHY
I heard his pain. I gave him the pain, the pleasure he needs.

SEYMOUR
You are an addiction.

TIMOTHY
You want to get high off me.

SEYMOUR
Why is he here?

CHANCE
This grave should not exist. This space should not exist. This time should not exist.

TIMOTHY
You all remind me of a good dump I need to take.

CHANCE
He’s still alive.

TIMOTHY
Dead okay. We are standing at his grave.

SEYMOUR
You’re the one who should be dead.

AGNES
(Touches grave) He’s not dead. He just shed an old skin.

SEYMOUR
He’s dead. And it’s this asshole’s fault.

TIMOTHY
At least my ass makes money. I don’t need hand out and fast food religions to feed my stilted ego.

AGNES
Among the ruins there is always life.

TIMOTHY
And you’re wearing too much make up to see truth.

CHANCE
I could feel his pain.

SEYMOUR
Who couldn’t?

AGNES
We did nothing.

TIMOTHY
We all have our own shit to deal with. Can’t go rescue every nut job out of their own personal insane asylum.

SEYMOUR
But you love making money off them.

TIMOTHY
He wouldn’t give me space. A night was all he gave me. He wouldn’t give me space. There was no room for people like me. He got what he deserved. I’m tired of being homeless. I offered him love, a chance to have comfort.

SEYMOUR
You’re a whore, with the street value of three dollars.

TIMOTHY
I had a run of bad luck and the world keeps punishing me.

AGNES
You’re punishing yourself and you think everyone should suffer.

TIMOTHY
I gave him what he needed.

AGNES
He ate your sins. Your darkness became his darkness. You were so self-indulgent on the world you didn’t hear him.

TIMOTHY
Go take a flying leap on a short pier.

SEYMOUR
You’re a disgusting piece of shit.

CHANCE
Stop it! We should be paying our last respect, not arguing.

SEYMOUR
He shouldn’t be here.

AGNES
None of us should be here.

TIMOTHY
I liked him. But I didn’t want to like him. I don’t like guys. But they pay more money. I let them blow me, I’ll fuck them but I don’t flip, and I don’t give blow jobs. He wouldn’t let me touch him. Said I could not see him, so I couldn’t feel him.

SEYMOUR
I hate missing my mother. He was like that for me a mother. But I knew, every time I wasn’t in his presence, it was like I buried my mother again.

AGNES
You all saw him as you needed to see him. And now, you don’t see him.

TIMOTHY
The character speaks. You are even a joke to yourself. No one takes you seriously.

CHANCE
Let’s just get this over with. I don’t want to be here.

TIMOTHY
We are not on a pleasure cruise.

Judas wakes up. But no one realizes this but Agnes. He stands and goes to her; but no one else realizes or can hear the exchanges between them.

CHANCE
Well I think one of us should say something.

SEYMOUR
We never think about how we affect someone’s life. I know this is weird but I could hear him calling me when this was happening. I felt someone touching my shoulder. I knew it was him. But I was in the middle of watching my favorite TV show and it wasn’t a commercial. I figure, that third glass of wine and a joint had me jumpy.

CHANCE
He always wanted to talk about things I didn’t want to hear. He always said he was tired. I told him to stop walking alleys like some whore in heat, keep his ass at home. But he said the world was still in pain. I told him he brought misery on himself, hanging out with losers. Not everything in a shiny package has good intentions.

TIMOTHY
I begged him for space to stay. Make room in your heart, I’d be there. I’d be anyone you want me to be. I didn’t want to be in the world. But I had no where else to go. He was my ticket out of my life, but he wouldn’t let me come aboard for the ride.

AGNES
Eating darkness isn’t easy.

CHANCE
Even after we had sex like two tricks, we still became friends. I think he wanted to stay in his head too much. I kept telling you need to land somewhere and make some sense. This bullshit about looking at everything from so many different perspectives is for god only and the insane. He was good for a laugh. Sometimes I thought he’d be a good lover but he never could be in one place at one time. I felt like I was talking to a crowd. But every now and then he made sense, and it scared me. I liked him when he was drinking. He was always good for a laugh. But he didn’t’ know joy. I don’t want to be around a joyless person. I don’t want to know at the end of the day I wasted my time with a loser. He was not going anywhere but into his imagination. Who the fuck can make a life, a living staying in your imagination? He needed to accept the hard cold facts about life. And this attraction to low life people was disgusting. They are losers. They are going no where. At least having him around for a friend said I was open minded, I was liberal, and he was a good joke to have around. He never embraced life, so maybe being dead is good for him.

JUDAS
Sometimes you must know death to know life.

CHANCE
We should go, I just felt a chill.

AGNES
You should have called me.

JUDAS
It happened fast.

AGNES
There was time.

JUDAS
No one listened.

AGNES
I would have.

JUDAS
And you would have judge me to keep me the way you think I should be.

AGNES
Obviously, no one listened.

JUDAS
And now, you see.

CHANCE
Hate when people mumble to themselves, at least be a man and say what you got to say.

TIMOTHY
She failed in the man department.

CHANCE
Let’s do this okay. We all have somewhere else to be.

AGNES
Four friends, four directions, four animals.

JUDAS
And now we are five.

AGNES
I gave a good performance all my life though I had to carry around my own spotlight. I got tired of the dog shit being thrown at me.

SEYMOUR
Okay, I’ll start. Judas was a good person. Judas was eccentric. He heard and listened to the voices in his head instead of his friends but we loved him anyway. Judas was born in Harvest Town in Illinois. He was the fifth child. He also thought of himself as the white sheep in the family, never fitting in. I remember he told me felt like a new version of the Invisible Man. We saw him. We saw him through ups and downs and we were always there for each other. We saw the kindness in his heart, we saw the sadness in his eyes but we loved his laughter.

AGNES
How much money did you spend on that bitch?

JUDAS
It’s okay.

AGNES
You attracted the cream of the crop.

JUDAS
I experienced.

AGNES
You came and you left…too soon.

JUDAS
I was tired.

AGNES
You should try walking around in these heels and looking fabulous twenty four hours.

SEYMOUR
Judas and I use to be an item but you know items sometimes break and sometimes the seams come a loose.

CHANCE
Here he goes about the sacrifices he made to be with you.

SEYMOUR
Shut up, you’ll have your turn.

TIMOTHY
I still wish someone would tell me why I have to be here, it’s not like we had a real connection.

AGNES
I can see why eating shadows can give you indigestion. This one is a piece of work.

JUDAS
My qualities have returned.

AGNES
You left no note; no warning, you just up and died. Suicide is not something that is just solely about you. It affects others.

CHANCE
I remember the last time Judas and I talked.

AGNES
I feel like we defeated you.

JUDAS
I strayed off the path.

CHANCE
Judas, you know wanted to see the world from different perspectives instead of the ones that were financially productive.

Timothy and Judas are remembering.

TIMOTHY
(Remembering) Look, I just need a place to stay. A place to shower. Okay I’ll have sex with you if that’s what you want.

JUDAS
You don’t need me; you just need a place to stay.

TIMOTHY
I thought you had a heart.

JUDAS
I’m tired of carrying broken pieces. I’m tired of being the everyday toilet bowel for people’s problems. You decided to be a hustler. Take the responsibility and deal with it.

TIMOTHY
I don’t want to do this shit anymore. But I can’t get out of it. No one will give me a chance.

JUDAS
Well, I’m not a rescue worker.

TIMOTHY
I lied to you about not liking guys. I was just doing that macho thing. I like guys.

JUDAS
I’m convenient. Well, I’m not feeling like a welcome wagon.

TIMOTHY
Okay, we can have sex if that is what you want. Let me sleep on the floor, I’ll clean your house, I’ll do anything but I’m going to lose my mind if I stay on the street. The streets are killing me.

JUDAS
You choose this life.

TIMOTHY
And you can give me a new life.

Judas and Chance are remembering.

CHANCE
So Judas, having sex with you is like being with a corpse. You’re not there.

JUDAS
You have gotten so good at your technique, didn’t think you noticed.

CHANCE
Look if you don’t like me just say so.

JUDAS
I don’t like you making me feel like I need to explain myself, justify myself. Nothing is good enough for you. Everyone has to be corrected, changed to meet your approval.

CHANCE
You’ve always settled for less. I expect more and that’s how it is if you’re going to be with me.

JUDAS
So being true to me is an embarrassment?

CHANCE
You don’t know how to be a normal day-to-day person; you talk about things that don’t matter.

JUDAS
And you’d suck an old wrinkled dick for success.

CHANCE
I tolerated you.

JUDAS
I opened a few doors for you but your ego slammed them shut.

CHANCE
I love you.

JUDAS
You don’t love me; you needed what I could bring to the table. Everything is a business proposition.

CHANCE
Look, I think you are missing a great opportunity. I know you. I know what you need. Did it ever occur to you, I’m tired of tasting your bitterness, I’m tired of eating your anger, and I’m tired of you being tired. You don’t laugh enough, you don’t smile enough, and you are always standing in shadows. You’d be better off being worm food because you’re not bringing life to anyone.

Present moment with Agnes and Judas.

AGNES
Sometimes we stay too long at the dance.

JUDAS
I know.

AGNES
Sometimes we need to hurt the other person to get them to move on.

JUDAS
Shedding skin is painful.

AGNES
You should have called.

JUDAS
Everybody has to let go.

AGNES
Your light is still needed in the world.

JUDAS
Look at this grave, the books have gathered. A new light comes.

AGNES
Will I still be young and beautiful?

Back to present moment with everyone else.

TIMOTHY
No one trusts me anymore. I can’t score. I haven’t showered in three days. I haven’t had a decent meal. People look at me as if they wanted to wish me away.

CHANCE
I can’t give anymore. I’m empty. I need to make space in my heart for someone new.

SEYMOUR
All he did was attract dead things. Well, I don’t need dead things in my life.

AGNES
Funny how mirrors talk to us and we don’t listen.

TIMOTHY
And I wish this tired bitch stop mumbling to him self. Speak up if you got something to say.

AGNES
Will they ever see you?

JUDAS
They are not ready.

AGNES
How much time do we have?

JUDAS
You will have as much time and as many forms as you will need.

AGNES
I thought we’d get it right this time.

JUDAS
You will.

AGNES
They think you committed suicide. They see what they want to see and not what they need to see. Why did you die consciously?

JUDAS
The shadow died. I carried so much darkness the body couldn’t take it anymore. This new body is the new work.

AGNES
I was there for you.

JUDAS
Even the light loses its way sometimes.

AGNES
Will you be back?

JUDAS
I never left; just will be seen in a different way.

They all take notice of Agnes talking to Judas. They do not see Judas; but a stranger.

CHANCE
Who’s that?

SEYMOUR
Where did you come from?

TIMOTHY
Probably some trick of Agnes’.

AGNES
This is a new friend of mine who came to pay his respects.

CHANCE
Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.

TIMOTHY
How do you know Judas?

CHANCE
You seem familiar.

SEYMOUR
I know Judas’ friends and I don’t remember you.

JUDAS
You will know me when you know your selves.

TIMOTHY
Another cryptic bitch. Let’s end this.

CHANCE
So, I guess this is good-bye.

SEYMOUR
Well, I’ll pray for you. People like you who commit suicide usually wander around not realizing their dead; and haunting familiar places. I read that in a book okay. So do me a favor, do not haunt my place. Love you but you are dead and gone. And also, I’ll pray for your lost soul. You took your life you stupid piece of shit and left us alone.

AGNES
You can feel the love here.

JUDAS
It’s okay.

AGNES
Sorry we didn’t listen. Sorry we didn’t understand. Sorry we didn’t know the trials and tribulations of a sin eater. But in the end, we are lucky, because you choose to take our darkness and bring it into the light.

TIMOTHY
(Exiting) There she goes mumbling again and her friend took off quick. Probably another loser missing a meal ticket.

CHANCE
(Exiting) I didn’t hear a thing she said.

SEYMOUR
(Exiting) You know women like to mumble when they get into that let’s be about feelings and intuition.

AGNES
You will not be recognized, will you?

Agnes and Judas hug. Agnes walks away without looking back.

JUDAS
Tried to kill myself today
So I could make space
For a new me to be born
I am being strangled to long
By a world that is not a world
But a dream that is a program
That is caught in a loop
So a coffee cup of pills and soda
Made space and I did not mourn
For the passing of this self
I shed this skin that had grown dark
From the many touches,
Midnight kisses, dark alleys in minds
Where I have been a homeless beggar
Shedding the temptation of apples
That strangers have offered
And I don’t want the Sleeping Beauty life
And no more apples will I sample
As I make space, as death comes and
Takes what belongs to death and

JUDAS (CONTINUED)
Leave the space for what must come…the Life.

There is the sound of thunder and lighting.

JUDAS
(Laughs) There is still life among the ruined!

Lights fade quickly.

BLACKOUT

THE END

MAKING WINGS

My ghost mother whispers,
“Stop playing with dead things.”

Empty eyes, ravenous mouths,
plagued filled penises, cesspool vaginas
minds like caverns filled with sleeping vampire bats;
and the smell of thoughts
move inside homeless from reality
and fragmented strangers attempt
to seduce you into their delusions;

and the smell of their thoughts
are burning the flesh you are wearing
that becomes like a crawling landscape.

So you gather your darkness
to make wings to fly into yourself
to own your darkness

that is pregnant with your light.

And not be the chess piece
in the madness of roaches
who use to have human touch.

THE BUFFALO AND ME

I swallowed a buffalo.
Okay, it was a buffalo nickel
once revered before it was catalogued
for extinction.

I swallowed the nickel
to protect its value.
Okay, I was playing
with it in my mouth
like it was going to be
candy with a surprised filling.
I was five and still rode
imagination like a dragon
with my fairy wings
before my eyes were shutdown
into a shoebox mentality.

But strangers, like roaches,
came to conquer, colonize
control, cultivate;
and a jazz note
makes me a slave
with a freedom song;

And this jazz note
becomes a midnight addiction
for strangers with neon eyes
and broken flutes with poison notes.

I am intoxicated into the color,
so I must live in the gray
tattooed on my flesh by conquerors
who distorted my high note
that is now a premature ejaculation;

and the wound is made a mouth
that hides the pain etched inside
like cave drawings and this wailing
is a high note borrowed from indigenous traditions.

The buffalo and me
are no longer a gift.

CORRECTING MY DEFICIENCY

I am still wandering in my outside selves

to correct my deficiency,
by planting myself
in places that will not receive me,

gazing into eyes, the windows
where inhabitants shun me,

put on the clothes of those
who will hang my words on trees.

My moisture becomes poison;

and my watery hidden consciousness
makes creatures from my fears

and all who gaze upon this homeless creature,
want to build rooms, worlds, prisons
to keep me from
seeking warmth from the heart.

And I, The Nothing
is waiting
to no longer keep falling into my deficiencies
and thinking
they are a place to rest my head.

And I will lift my skirt
to the One
and illuminate The Gate
so I no longer
wear the mind of my Deficiencies.

BACKSTAGE REALITY

Backstage reality
is like a long corridor
where actors are rehearsing lines.

Their skin is being adjusted
like costumes that need to be fitted.

Incoherent whisperings
attempt to read lines with you.

Curtains parting
are like an eye opening.
An entrance is made
by actors who play family members
or
lovers erupting a slumbering heart
or
friends with demonic intentions.

A buzzing sound is cascading
into a corridor; yet it has a spider web effect;

but you walk the corridors
as if you are blood in someone’s vein.

and eventually, I am standing still
not knowing
if I am a beginning
or the intermission

or the end of a drama

whose names escape me.

I am a backstage reality waiting for an audience.

Curtain rises in fifteen minutes.

ACCURSED MIND

Such a cruel mixture: This mud….cursed by the Ones
who have not known the Earth.
Shall this one remain a fragment
tethered to the tit of these Unknown Things?
Shall this cursed poet exist still
as an unborn technological tree
harboring light and dark in its vision.
This flower of phenomenological darkness
is made of thirty-two pages conceived at night
while in a derange union with madness
to impregnate the mud
with symbols and no orgasm, so the mud
can hold the wailings
the laments, the broken voices
of Things so they can make themselves
as human
and look for antennas
to catch the wave
channeled through the hand;

and the world breaths into the mud
so it would be exalted
from duality.

I am asleep in a penis
dripping me into its own
vagina nightmares.
My voice becomes
black ink on white paper.
This accursed mud rises
as scissor fingers cutting me out of clouds;

and the workings
of this cursed mud
is made into shapes and forms
for inhabitants
who are shadows
in the corner of my eyes
that cannot bring a still birth.
This mud was once
ashes of a poet’s work;
the howling of the wolf.

Ah, this cruel beastly mud rises.

DON’T MAKE KISSES BIOGRAPHICAL

Don’t make this kiss biographical
-just fuck me
and leave me
before I want your name
inside me
and not just
eating the emotion
of the orgasm expressed on your face
because
it is a phallic gesture.
Love
is not there
but the beast
rises
howls
thinking I am a moon;
and
I love without having a name
no memoir
etched on my body.
So many doors are slamming;
and I am something
that oozes into other doors
when strangers sleep
so I can take
their night drippings
and make strangers
who want my name
as this Lilith eats the emotions
rising from their face
that has only mouths without eyes.

SHIT COLLECTOR

I flush him down the toilet.
I hope the toilet doesn’t back up.
When strangers conversation
bore me which is usual
than
I am finished;
and I flush these unfamiliar feces down the toilet.
Don’t need
to hear shit
being philosophical
with self destructive tendencies
thinking I am a cavern, their personal male mother
to house them in some matrix game format;
or treat me like an experimental drug.
I am bored with these posing vomit personalities.
They have done nothing for me;
and the sound
of a toilet being flushed
reminds me
I don’t have to
listen to things I don’t like.
Sometimes I can change channels
in my mind
but when I can’t find the remote,
I just start flushing.
Sometimes I pull a knife
out my heart and slash
the stranger into pieces
and make those pieces scrap paper
for poems to be carved on;
but it’s better to flush
after every use;
that way I don’t have to look
at the shit again.
And you know everyone wants to talk shit.
And I’ve said this before again and again,
I am not a shit collector.

A NIGHT WHEN A POET CAN’T GET IMAGINATION UP

Porn images flickered on his skin.
The half empty beer bottle was snoring.
Blank eyes had roaches looking out of them.
His ashy fingers were cracking.
The pencil in his hand was impotent.
The sound of a neighbor throwing a trick against the wall
sounded like opportunity knocking.
He didn’t answer the knock.
Who ever was pulling the strings tonight wasn’t tugging much.
There was nothing original swimming in his mind.
He couldn’t afford bait; rent was due.
His mouth was dry; no one had sat inside for awhile.
And he didn’t even pull himself out the pants
to conjure a youthful memory.
And his mind pretends the sound of the refrigerator
was a train ride to somewhere else
because nothing special will happen tonight.

I MADE HIM

I made him
out of old clothes,
discarded memories,
wishes I conjured
when an interesting stranger
crossed my path.

I made him
from parts I imagined
I have taken from lovers
who left me stillborn
with their kisses
clinging to me like aborted fetuses.

I made him
from the sweetness
of a man’s smell,
from the bad taste
left on bed sheets,
from the hairs
that I’ve woven onto
my bald head
from pulling the roots
that were screaming for
moisture to root into
so that a part of them
would crown me.

I made him
from the bitter salvia,
from dried semen
that I imagine as snowflakes,
from the anger
surfacing as cancer,
from diseases conjured
from pictures of fears
from my demon side.

And I made him.
My lover and we lie together
in the in-between.

I made him…my grave.

PIGS IN THE ALLEY

He is an acolyte to materialism.
He dissected me.
He had to make me an animal - a prey.
He wanted me to be the hunted.
I was to be measured.
“Slide one in me. There is no space for emotional entanglement.”
“If I can talk with my mouth full ‘you’re not the one.’”
“All I want to hear is yessir as you bend over and please.”

I was to be analyzed.
“I can’t give you happiness but you’ll enjoy your face kissing the ground.”
“No one cares for you so open that mouth to receive your blessing.”
“There is sin when you can’t own your darkness. And I am a sin eater.”

I was to be dissected into bodies
for him to rule with materialism.
“I am a nine inch slut pig.”
“Fuck me and leave – no heart is required.”
“If your face isn’t to be seen in public why talk to me?”

So strangers, my roaches, place me in restricted categories.

I become a dog in their machine
as roaches break me into fragments
that are cruising parks, alleys, on line porn sites
looking for the hand, the dick, the mouth, the ass
that will resurrect us;
but until then,
we are animals
motivated by control responses;

and become no more than pigs in the alley.

PROLOGUE
The Angel became the Demon.
The Demon became the Angel.
They both made the Mud
so they could dominate the other.
And the Mud made the Worlds.
And the Mud made
them both something better
when the One
has no allegiance to perspectives.

“My brother has always been the distant one,” Solomon said. “Michael always seemed to be some where else when you talk with him. He was always the person you wanted him to be but you still didn’t know him.”

“The cards are saying something strange.” Tina lays down two more cards. The World Card and the Lovers card over the Death card. “Something old has awakened,” Tina replied. Her voice started taking on an otherworldly quality. She wasn’t looking at the cards anymore; as she was looking inside her self.

“What does it mean,” Solomon asked with concern.? Partially it was for his brother, Michael and for his wife, Tina. Lately she had been changing when she did tarot reading. Sometimes he felt a presence overshadow her.

“My guides are telling me to look at the sun and the moon.”

“Tina, you’re voice is changing. Okay, you’re scaring me. I don’t like it when you begin to channel. We talked about this not being a good thing. I’m worried that you might get so far out there you might not come back. How can we be sure of whose is coming through? Remember what happened before.”

She ignored his concerns. “My guides said we must prepare for his arrival.”

“Tina, stay with me. Don’t do this. I think this is going too far.”

Tina took a deep breath. “My guides have not come through like this before. I mean, it is always subtle but I feel like something important is going to happen.”

Solomon got a strange look on his face. “I don’t know why I want to say this but I have this weird feeling, a thought, a saying.”

“What is it,” Tina asked worried. The temperature in the room dropped. Their breath made ice clouds. The lights flickered. They both heard a buzzing sound like thousands of insect wings. Solomon was worried. It was all starting again. “We’ll be okay.” Everything became silent.

“Death will be Michael’s beginning.”

“He was a god but he raped me.”

That was the first line that created time and space.

Zoe knew that after the rape his consciousness fragmented into wounds that took on personalities and he sent them into exile. These wounds manifested on different levels as spinning caves, then as eyes existing in the in-between spaces, and eventually as graves he would called bodies; and some of these ancient wounds manifested as astral parasites attaching themselves to people’s essences to feed off their life force so they could become self aware. These wounds made stories for his soul to live in and these stories were designed to not give him happy endings but feed off his guilt, his pain, and his primordial fears.

These wounds became architects to manifest demons of the mind and human angels with crippled wings; and strangers’ excrements made second skin for his fragmented selves to live in.

So Zoe buried the memory of the first rape and the first death deep into the subconscious of his multi-dimensional bodies that were like his sarcophagus that eventually served as sexual game pieces for the Unseen.

Zoe is sitting at a small wooded table wearing a grayish robe with a hood. There are no other pieces of furniture. The walls are not seen. The only light comes from an oil lamp on the table that made a circle which he and the desk sat in. He never moved from the desk; nor felt like he wanted to; nor had he written himself out of the stories. There were too many stories vying to be written. The pencil never ran out of lead. As he finished a page; a blank page would appear under the pen and the page written would then appear on a stack of papers that were lined on his desk in a neat row. There were six stacks of paper that were piled higher than he could see over. He continued writing. This room was in a place that was between realties. Zoe believed one day he could write himself out of this room.

“How much longer must I be your shadow,” Lazarus asked as he stepped out of the shadows looking at Michael longingly?

Zoe does not want to acknowledge his presence. Even here, he could not escape the shadows. Shadows had starved him for eons. But when they visited him in this place, they call him by the name they knew him in the life they shared. No matter what pieces of himself he had broken off to create another life, another reality to escape his ancient wounds, his architects who were like wardens, found a way of anchoring into that life and slowly began eating away at him until he brought death into existence in that world. There was a part of him that knew death was not supposed to exist but his first death gave it blood to manifest as an entity who rooted in all his shadows to feed off his many lives.

For Lazarus, he was Michael. Zoe shifts into the Michael persona and looks up momentarily from his writings and looks at Lazarus as a tear flows down Michael’s cheek.
“I am not your caged bird,” Lazarus said angrily.

He brushes away the tear and goes back to his writing. Lazarus, with a look of sadness, steps back into the shadows.

He was not my god but he raped me.
Now I stand as a tree
weeping with others hiding
from the Archons
who poured themselves into me
as if I was a jar
holding leftovers, collecting debris
earth, wind, fire, water
from my exiled selves
who no longer hear
the voice of my heart.
All parts of me that have forgotten me
will weep outside this tree.
My sixteen fathers were gods;
and they raped me
and gave me two names
so that I became the sky and the underworld.

Michael lays down his pencil. Lazarus steps once again out of the shadows. He looks at Lazarus with a blank expression. Michael’s skin no longer vibrates with exuberant life; he now exudes the fragrance of a grave; he was becoming a hollow shell of life; his fingers were barely covered with flesh. Each word he wrote was taking a heart beat from him. The air inside him was being emptied. This room existed in the in-between realities and it was slowly fading out of existence. He still had not found a story to strengthen him. This dying space he had sequestered himself into was like a node on a web; a crossroad on a game board.

Lazarus. “I need to be somewhere else in my life. Is that so wrong?”

He glanced at Lazarus; in this imaging, Lazarus had that youthful look, shoulder length brown hair, small nose, soft thin lips, high cheek bones, brown Earth tone eyes, a disarming smile, and the smell of a morning before the sun drank the dew away and his body was average with a hint of baby fat. Michael wanted to be the waters that Lazarus swam in but now he felt contaminated; filled with waste; poisoned with schizophrenic emotions that were like oil spills.

“I still remember your lame valentine card that said you would love me forever.”

“Those were pre-printed words. You heard what you wanted to hear,” Lazarus replied. He didn’t want to look at Michael. He didn’t want to drink in the diminishing appearance that was consuming him. He knew death was embedded into him, into the stories.
“If you got any colder, I’d need an electric blanket,” Michael said continuing his writing.
“We had good times between us. Let’s just leave it at that. Besides, you’re writing is more important to you then me. You needed sex; I needed to have sexual experiences. And it was interesting dating someone black; but I needed more experiences. You need to let go…find a story and write me out of your life.”

“I thought we had forever,” he said in a childlike feminine voice.

“Your love exists only in poetry not in your touch. Sex for you is like a prison sentence. You got noticed because of me; who else was going to look at you. You know the value I brought to you. Everyone thought you had something when they saw you with me. They knew someone like me just wouldn’t be with anyone.”

“Then I guess the caged bird still needs to sing; I don’t like the song I’m hearing.”

“I always knew you had the potential to be a cold heartless manipulating bitch when you don’t get your way. Everything is always supposed to be about you. Well, you’re not that important in everybody’s life. You want to be and that’s your problem. You are so afraid of being no one; you are always looking for a face to masquerade in. There is no spotlight for you; there is no audience; you are stuck in your own illusions and I’m not. I fucked you; I didn’t love you. I thought for a moment there was love but for me, you were about swimming in the mud. I found someone else to fuck that gave me a better train ride. You don’t like being alone; so you settle, I didn’t settle, I took what I could take until there was nothing left to take and then I dismiss. So enjoy your madness; but I’m not giving you power over me; you can keep me here; but I will never want you again, I will never love you again, I will see you in Hell with the rest of your co-horts.”

“Remember when you sang, “I would die for U.”

“You only have a piece of me remember. I’m only a fragment of Lazarus. You were never man enough to have all of him.”

Michael exhales and releases a dark cloud from his mouth that spirals into two Men In Black. Lazarus wants to speak but his voice is silenced. They take him by the arm and lead him out of the room through the walls.

Michael’s conscious is falling.

Solomon who is Michael’s brother is clutching his beer like he is holding back emotions that he didn’t want to name. “Michael always was his own drummer.”

“How am I to rescue him,” Tina asked feel perplexed and overwhelm for her tiny thin frame? She didn’t want to acknowledge her delving into the occult was putting burden on her body.

“Your spirit guides said he was in trouble, you must find away,” Solomon said anxiously. He looked at his wife of five years; Tina was slightly taller than Solomon; thin and had a birdlike quality to her demeanor, from dove to vulture; there marriage was not approved by either family; she was white; he was black; they belong to a paranormal group that would make the hairs on their family’s back stand, crack and jump off. They both had been working with a new tarot deck that Tina had made; and while exploring; an image of Michael in anguish appeared in Tina’s mind. The frightening look on Tina’s face had given Solomon a chill that lasted a week. Solomon was average height but muscular, and most people would him find intimidating if he chose that stature. His voice was strong; his hands rough from working at the bottle factory; and though they both made an odd pair; they felt they were each other’s soul mate.

“My guides tell me we must prepare; he’s coming and there is a great darkness that follows him. Something old, something I cannot name is like a storm riding behind him.”

“He is my brother. We must help him.”

Tina laid another card on the table. “I don’t know why I want to say this but Michael is not your brother.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know he’s your brother but my guides are telling me he is not your brother. The cards are saying; the thing this town is built on is having a restless sleep.”

“We’re not ready. Michael’s not ready.”

Tina pulls another card. She sighs with relief. “It’s not awake yet but it senses Michael.”

Solomon started pacing the floor. “Michael is still human.”

Tina’s face faded away and another face appeared. Solomon dropped his beer bottle.

“Tina, no! I told you this was dangerous.”

“He must gather his wings of darkness to become the Light.”

“Tina, come back!”

Tina’s face shimmered back into place. “What happened?”

“You went out to far again.”

Michael’s consciousness is falling.

In another room, perhaps one would say a memory; Michael rises up from a pool of blood and semen that once was in the hand of an Unseen that breathed life on these human releases.

Michael kneels next to the phone and then leans forward to touch his head to the floor. The phone is ringing. The answering machine picks up.

“This is Michael. You know the routine. So do it after the beep. Beep.”

“Michael, I know you’re there. This is your mother. Michael pick up. I know something is wrong. Michael pick up. Whatever is going on, it doesn’t matter. We want you to come home. I will send you an airline ticket. Come home where you belong.”

She hangs up. A moment later the phone rings again and the answering machine picks up again.

“This is Michael. I’m out of beeps so just start talking when you’re ready.”

“This is your grandmother Michael. I want you to know we love you. Come home. We know something is wrong. No matter what has happened, you can come home. You have to go back to the beginning to stop this Michael.”

The phone hangs up. Michael looks up slowly. His face is completely feline as he sits in a sphinx position.

The phone rings again. “You have reached a person who is no longer connected and therefore, cannot receive the signal.”

“Michael, this is your father. There is no room you can exist in that I cannot find. Your mothers will not protect you. You are mine; and you will always be mine.”

His consciousness was spiraling, it seemed many arms were reaching outward breaking windows and reaching in and drop a part of his conscious into these rooms.

Michael’s consciousness awakened in a room as Horus.

Set’s reptilian tongue made darting gestures of affections toward Horus. He wiped away Set’s ceremonial gestures of affections.

“You seem distracted from my affections nephew,” Set said leaning back on the futon; it squeaked from the boards splitting from the wear and tear. He pushed back the quilt so the coldness of the room swept over him like an evening tide coming in.” He was tall, skin a light golden brown, his long curly black hair seemed to halo his face; his chest was hairless and seemed sculpture by an artist’s eye; strong fingers, but his piercing jet black slanted eyes were like a backdrop for heavenly stars. His human features wavered between human and reptilian; it depended on the tone of his voice which caused his face to shift. Even his hard masculine features which seemed chiseled at times would sometimes take on a androgynous tone; sometimes it was roughly edged with wounds of a gladiator as if from a battle of swords, primal war cries and then again reptilian.

“Many lips have received me but the effects of your lips are different; sometimes possessive, sometimes parasitic; sometimes consuming; sometimes submissive; sometimes dominating. Yet, all mouths want to own my treasures and speak me into their madness.”

Set laughed while tossing back his hair that seemed now to snake around like crackling electricity. “You enjoy being mad. Always on a mad stroll through other people’s life. But it leads back to me.” He reaches out to touch Horus who pulls back. They both smile weakly and Horus decides to get out of the bed. “When you come back to me, you don’t feel so disappointed when one of your life ventures fail and have you dancing in the mud. I have always been your favorite mud dancer; either way the first and last dance will be mine.”

“You always assumed too much with me,” Horus said. “You crossed a line with me uncle.”

“But you didn’t cross back.” Set smiles at him. “And you still don’t want to cross back.”

“We are so into each other now; it’s difficult to separate from each other; but you know we can’t stay together; nothing survives my maddening,” said Horus.

“Has my ways become so foreign, so distasteful that you disdain them easily in your mind walking.”

Horus was naked, walked over and looked out a window that appeared in the wall; and he saw the lives he has had dancing around with Set. The first physical encounter occurred during a battle with his uncle to avenge the abuse he had directed toward his mother and the revenge for killing and dismembering his father into sixteen pieces. Was it the steam rising from muscles taunt with pain from hours of battling; the primal cry of warriors that neither one had extinguished; the sweat that dripped into his mouth; the sweat that dripped into his eyes stinging him? He shuddered and the visions passed and the window faded. He turned and looked at Set who was still lying in bed, skin still moist with sweat on his skin, and his nakedness revealed his manhood still throbbing. “You give yourself too much credit for my displeasure. You are not the architect of my emotions only a passenger in its movements. I just don’t like reminders when you kiss me like that. I feel like it’s one of those small greenish yellow-stripped lizards that I chased as a kid in another life into one of those Popsicle cages we constructed. Images of those lizards running across my face makes me want to swat at them. Then I open my eyes and it’s your tongue.”

“Your gestures of flattery will go unnoticed,” Set said sarcastically.

“I think it’s time to put up a “No Trespassing” sign with these sexual interludes. I am still abandoned in your embrace once your passion has subsided; the hunt has claimed its animal and I am denied sanctuary in my own inner chamber. You have taken what was sacred to me Set.”

“Here I don’t feel like a desert.”

“It’s always a dance for our eyes only. Let’s just say I am making time and space so I can write you out of my life.”

“You know we cannot take each other as first companions. So we have to keep it in the dark.”

“I gave into a lust; but the lust is diluting. It’s time to let go,” said Horus.

“I have and I will take on many forms and personas to have you.”

“I prefer when we war with each other. With you, I always have to live in small rooms. I will not be tamed in your embrace,” Horus said turning away.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“War between us will always exist.”

“You took from me what I want. You dismembered my father.”

“Well, brother, we will be with each other one way or another. There is no form that I will not have pleasure from.” Set laughed. Horus found himself fading out of the room.

Michael’s memories are still falling.

The force of the psi bolt threw Michael against the bed. A trickle of blood wept from the corner of his mouth. Tears mourned in his eyes. He attempted to stand when he was struck again. He felt like his skin was burning.

An observer would think that he was having a spasm. Only those with the sight could see the psychic onslaught coming from the TV.

One of his ancient lovers, Cain was attacking him by riding the frequency of the white noise emanating from the television to invade Michael’s reality. Cain had not been able to manifest a physical body or found one to download because the gatekeepers had been able to stop his manifestation. But Michael not knowing he was a gatekeeper, had opened a portal to a dark dimension when he was experimenting with ancient magic when he opened his mind during a sexual encounter with a nameless stranger who had astral parasites attached to him that was feeding off of misplaced sexual energy and this had given Cain the energy to ride into some one’s consciousness and possess them momentarily to break the seal on the portal that kept him from entering Michael’s reality.

Michael spoke an ancient language not even he consciously remembered to form a shield around him.

He was struck again with another psi bolt.

This time the psi shield with stood the blast and protected him.

Clever he thought that Cain was using the television as a window to the world.

He was barely able to stand up since he was maintaining focus on hold the shield’s strength. The concentration was sending rippling pains through his head; it was worst that a migraine, deeper and it was like a hook was being ripped through his mind. But he held fast. Somehow he had to alter the frequency that Cain’s attack was riding if he was going to survive this attack.

Another psi bolt struck the shield. He felt as if he was collapsing inside.

“I will not let you come into this world,” he said in a loud whisper.

“You were supposed to stay dead inside of me; in me is where you belong; then I know where you are; and we will always be together,” he heard Cain’s voice reply from the static of the television set.

“I am not your source and neither are you mine.”

Dropping his mystical shield, Michael struck the television with a barrage of psi bolts. It was the effect of being overloaded with electric force. The air about him crackled with electricity.

I don’t have enough power in this form he thought. I have to shift this to another reality. With a sound he uttered though pain racked his body the room shimmered and he shifted the attack to another reality.

Michael was standing in a desert. Cain was several feet in front of him. He was how he remembered him before Earth was formed and they took on Earth names. His long dark tresses snaked about him, his skin was copper color, his eyes were like a black flame; he exuded a strong sensual nature that was intoxicating until you felt you were drowning. He was tall, muscular, dressed in ancient attire, loincloth wrapped around his lower body; his six wings seemed as if they were on fire, his hands strong were crackling with electricity. His lips thin, firm brought memories of kisses that seemed to last for eons but Michael would not rest in those memories. And yet, Michael was still in his human form; not the form Cain knew him in.

“Ah, my ancient brother, my lover returns.”

“My brother, you still think we are in a womb.”

“You should have stayed there. You would have been safe.”

“I will not be owned or possessed.”

“I can’t live without you.”

“I can live without you.”

“Then your friends will die if you do not stay with me.”

“No.”

“You loved me before.”

“And your jealous sacrificed me.”

“Your human form is not amusing; shed this persona and let me see you as you truly are; you torment me with this masquerade.”

“I will not live in your past.”

“We both are a prisoner of the times we made; memories have stagnated us both; and we need each other to be free.”

“You still want to live in a moment that barely had legs to stand on.” Michael looked around. There was nothing but sand and one dead tree reaching out like an old person with severe arthritis. He smiled at the symbolism. Their love was dead; not even a memory or tear would bring a flow to this dead tree. Michael no longer felt rooted in this memory or their love. “And you think this desert is a great romantic setting. You were always one for dramatics.

“Without your moisture in my life, all about me is desert.”

“You’re going to make me throw up.”

“You always did like the chase.”

“And you thinking entering my world we can be architects again.”

“You love the power and what it brought you.”

“My death was a beginning of having many classroom existences. If I remember correctly, you orchestrated my death.”

“You were favored above me, remember.”

“Your jealousy has always made you blind and ignorant to truth.”

“Enough. Your precious Lazarus, Byron and Matthew will die if you don’t stay here.”

“You live in a desert.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“There is no reality that you can dream up where we will be lovers again.”

Cain’s attack began. He lashed out with a psi bolt. Michael leaped into the air and a circular flip and landed on his feet.

“You’re still not that conscious of your abilities.”

“And you think I’m really asleep or just toying with a mouse,” Michael replied.

Cain’s eyes began to flash a black light that seemed to reach out as if their tentacles. Cain struck again. Michael jumped to his left. He was scorched on his heel by the tentacle like energy from Cain’s eyes. Cain raised his hand above his head and mumbled words that Michael couldn’t decipher. Cain’s spell caused a rain of psi bolts to strike Michael from all direction from the sky. Michael breathed a short breath on the sand, causing it to swirl about him and rush at Cain like a flood temporarily blinding him. As he attempted to recover from the barrage of psi bolts and Michael dropped to the ground on his knees and placing his hand on the ground to gathered energy from the ground which gave him enough strength to form a telekinetic shield. Cain’s onslaught had weakened him. If only he could hold the shield and gain some focus.

“You never did like to be the fighter when you are in this form. You always were the submissive one.”

“I was quiet but never one to lie under any man and play dead.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Michael realized this battle would take place in time. He would not survive this round if he stayed on this plane of existence. He was still thinking too human and did not fully know their whole story together; therefore, he didn’t know what buttons to push.

“You loved me; you always loved me. Why are you playing this game? Haven’t I suffered enough with the space you put between us,” Cain cried out?”

“You are nothing to me. You are just an imagination gone astray; a demon with psychotic dreams.”

“Your little light bubble can’t hold me back forever.”

“But it will suffice for what I need to do.”

Michael looked Cain in the eyes. Cain stopped his attack. The space around them shimmered. Michael was standing in his room again.

A psi bolt struck him.

But he knew at this moment, as the attack increased in intensity that maybe his life was about this moment. Maybe it was about surrendering to someone greater than him. Maybe just maybe this was the moment he would anchor light into the world. And maybe that was all he was supposed to do. No one would know. They would think he had a nervous breakdown and died in insanity. No one will know and perhaps it is just as well. He loved and he would do anything to protect those he loved. He always knew what to die for and now he understood what to live for; and as the tears streamed down his face, he knew what he must do. As he was taught eons ago, on many other worlds and recently by the Voice, he let go. As he felt the psi bolt cracking his shield, he dropped it as he was struck several times with full force. This time he did not cry out in anguish; this time he only smiled, tears were streaming down his face and he let go.
He knew Cain didn’t want to kill him again; only subdue him; weaken him and once again make him a dark lord of the underworld.

But Michael had another design in mind. He died.

He had surrendered. That’s all he knew. The pain was quick. It felt more like a jolt, like being shoved out of a window. He felt himself falling. He had no sense of wanting to grab anything. He was conscious. He was alive; not sure how or why but he was alive. His body felt light; different but he couldn’t explain it or fathom it yet. He was falling.

It was the usual Friday night card game. The Virgin laid down the winning card. Everyone grumbled as she picked up her winnings.

“Heard this great story about a Virgin,” the Virgin stated. “It seems she felt sorry for the humans trapped in Hell because God considered them unfit for harvesting. So the Virgin asked God if she could help those humans that were lost, crippled and crazy. This meant she would no longer be a consort. Therefore, he gave her a condition that she had to remain a Virgin on the human plane. She was not to be touched by a human, but be praised as a divine mediator; yes, but not to know human physical affection. She took the job but after so many eons, she felt progress was not being made. So she stepped off her pedestal and became human to see what all the fuss was about. Last I heard, this particular Virgin is still wandering around to understand the human condition. She has been so many different women and men in human history to know love.”

“Not a bad story. Guess it’s time to get to work,” said the Architect.

Angel. “I have money to win back.”

“I like this time between day and night,” said the Virgin.

The Devil spoke up, “At least, we will be free of human dramas for awhile.”

“They need new scriptwriters,” said the Angel.

“And a better director,” the Architect added.

The Devil to the Angel. “You should stop by sometime for a drink. Been awhile since you and I compared notes and had a good laugh.”

“Drinking ain’t nuthun but the work of the devil who is holding parts of me. Even butter has not been spread out this much,” said the waiter standing there holding a tray of beverages for them.

Excerpt from an unfinished short story, “Death of a Goddess”

Vanessa is lying in bed. She is not asleep and has a worried look on her face. Her husband, Donald is lying next to her snoring. She hears a voice.

“Momma, help me!”

“Michael?”

“Help me momma. I’m afraid. I’m afraid.”

“Michael.”

Donald wakes up. “What’s wrong?”

Michael’s in trouble.

“Are you sure?”

“I have a bad feeling.”

“Oh, its women’s intuition time, huh?

“Just go on back to sleep.”

“Call him if it’ll make you feel better.”

Donald lies back down. Vanessa stares off into space for a moment; her eyes glow as her features become feline. “I’m not ready to give up my human life.”

Falling.

He feels dizzy like he was dropped into a box. He finds himself standing on stage on a pedestal wearing a tattered wedding gown and holding a torch.

“I walk among you and you do not see me. Eh…line..okay…wait…I remember…Give me the tired, the hungry, the wanderers…oh fuck it. My fire is out. I’m not in my zone. I feel like a revolving door. The dead have been coming to me for light.” He yells out as he drops the torch to the floor, “I am not a battery. I am only human. I tried to master crossing into the realm of the dead; then back to the land of the living, but I’m afraid. And yet, somehow in ways I don’t understand, the dead can enter my body and something inside of me carries them to a place of safety, a place of light.”

”Cut,” yells the Director. “Yadda yadda, let me wipe away a fucking tear of sympathy.”

Backstage moments later. Michael still wearing a ripped, soiled wedding gown is getting notes from the Director.

Director. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t feel I have your commitment to this production. Your expressions are like broken vessels.”

“Maybe you need to impress upon me I have steering capabilities in this quagmire I’m traveling through,” Michael replied in a disinterested tone.

“Dark mood swings don’t appeal to me, but your face does. It harbors dark sexual interest which I want to exploit in your performance. But with this, what you call a performance, I thought you were having gas pains, makes your face evasive, diluted and fractured,” said the Director.

“I suppose you’re the glue stick that can put it all together.”

“I have a vision on how to interpret your work.”

“And your holding my umbilical cord,” said Michael.

“I don’t know a thing about birthing babies but I do know piss poor acting.”

“My life is an epic not a scale down, low budget production. This bare bone production is meager in its attempt to convey the depths of my life.”

“You give me crumbs not a loaf of bread. Just do the role as written. So nice to have these heart to heart chats,” said the Director.

“But I’m the writer asshole, I can change things. Am I not also the star of the production? So if I’m inspired, or even have a hair up my ass, I will change the script. You hear me, I still have some voice. I’m not finished.”

The Director stops and turns and looks at him slyly. Hissing the words, “Oh but you are.”

There is a reality for everything. You live in a world that is multi-dimensional. You are multi-dimensional but are not conscious of your other lives.

All things have their own reality.

If you want to heal yourself, you must fine the reality where you are in good health and bring that reality into your life.

Every choice has probabilities and those probabilities can become realities that you can tune into and create another timeline for yourself.

Everything has its own reality and there are realities that build realities.

Now, how are you being controlled?

We are One. It’s been awhile since Madam Monkeyfoot downloaded into your reality but the Madam has been walking the crossroads. And there is a lot of wanderers walking in the in-between spaces. Let’s talk about darkness. There are many types of darkness. There is a darkness in the in-between spaces and many things can occur there as well as within yourself. Understand that nothing just happens, it is all manifested through thought; whether you do it consciously, in ignorance or being manipulated to manifest your own prison system to keep your consciousness fenced in.

Now, the many types of darkness are about choice. My favorite is the pregnant darkness or as some would like to call it the primal darkness. It is a darkness that births possibility.

There is the ignorant darkness which clouds ones clarity and allows one to be manipulated and give their power to some one else. And you allow other energies to masquerade in this darkness and become your gods and goddesses and religions and other authoritative figures.

There is the demonic darkness. There is evil, there are demonic forces that you have created in your journey of awareness. Every time you discard a part of yourself, or you are in denial, a part of you goes someone where. Some of it becomes an adversarial energy. In truth it becomes a mirror, it becomes your personal demon, it becomes a space that becomes your hell. This demonic darkness also becomes a part of something else that feeds it and provides an entry way into your reality and into your consciousness because what you deny is still apart of you and will always be a part of you regardless of distance, time and what particular life you are inhabiting.

The darkness is back. The darkness is the spaces between realities. It is up to you how you will choose to use this darkness, whether it will be a pregnant darkness, whether it will be a blind darkness, whether it will be a demonic darkness.

Ask yourself this, what is dark? Who is dark? Why is there dark? You think everything must be light and that is it and the dark is a bad thing. Children, you must learn that the creator is in all things. It is about perception. Sometimes angels become demons just to remind you who and what you are.

But you are bringing a darkness to your life, to your world because most of you refuse to take responsibility for your life and would rather turn the keys of your mind over to other people. That is why the Children of the Light are coming. They are bringing a new dawn to consciousness. The dark and the light are creating a new reality where they will merge together and no longer be adversarial. The war of the light and I am referring to dark and light is played out in many areas, gender, religion, science. You have made many prisons systems to separate your mind. And in this separation, the spaces in-between carry such a power.

What darkness are you? When was the last time you embraced your darkness?

What you have cast away from you is returning. The darkness is here. The darkness has always been here. And it will embrace you. Will you embrace it or will you name it and continue to create separation, create enemies, create isolation and make a dark god, a dark thoughtform to feed off your mind.

What darkness are you?

THE NEED TO BE

Sometimes it is easy to stick our head in the sand and not pay attention to our heart and be beaten down by opinions of others. When you fear opinions, you are giving your authority over to someone else. Listen to what the person is saying because in most cases people are reacting to pre-program responses and fearing to be individualistic in their day-to-day life. When you choose to be an individual, your own authority, you will find you are walking alone. Trust, you are not actually alone but it is about perception. The reality you occupy is about transition from a prison cell mentality where there is some authority figure regulating your life so you don’t look within and know who you truly are. It is easier to let people’s opinions keep you blind and off the path of your heart. It is always easier to think someone knows more than you. You know what you need to know when you are ready. The need to be is inherent within all but somewhere along the line, you believed someone told you that you can be only what they think you should be and only can advance based on their opinions and piece of paper. Knowledge is within; the wisdom is how you choose to use that knowledge. When you avoid being yourself, you lose your voice; you become diminish and become a game board for others to move you around their dramas as they please. It is time to see the world for what it is; it is a classroom and it is not the end all and be all; once you come to realize that, you are no longer chained to anyone’s opinion but become the dancer from the dance.