Mindwalker Diaries (Vols 1-12)

 

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Cover designs by Abraham Celaya (abcdesign69@gmail.com)

Raped by Memories (Novel Excerpt)

Raped by Memories  I died so I could become my Mother; not my human mother. Hope this is the last death, the last rape, and the primal wound is sealed with a Beloved’s kiss. I am a sun of the Mother.
As Awareness grew, I understood that human existence is an experiment within the journey of a Prime Creator. There are parts of Prime Creator that do not get along with its other selves. Some parts are in conflict manifesting as shadow entities, as diseases, as demons or even as the possessed or psychopaths in a world that is like an asylum.
In a journey of awareness, the light falls away and is sometimes lost in forms created from its confusion and belief of separation and the fears became Archons, puppet masters who created system to keep the light disassembled.
As a Prime Creator explores it selves…it reaches a “Now” where it will create a convergence point, an event that will gather all its selves into a union.
There are so many selves to know and heal so Prime Creator can continue to evolve. So the inner conflicts, the inner challenges are manifested as dramas in human lives.

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Will I make a new world out of the bodies of my children?
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He trembles for my blackness. He brings a visual dismemberment. This cultural scavenger wants to colonize, enslave and keep me primitive in his embrace as he impregnates with his fears and superstitions because he cannot walk through the sea of images and not be masked as the Other. He needs to displace my authenticity so he can enslave consciousness. I will not be his feeding ground or an Earth to desecrate. I will come with my Father’s face; and there shall be no peace in this land of the dead. I will breach the boundaries.
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“We are gathered here today to talk about the love of a man. There are some of you out there who will love anything with three legs and some of us will try and cripple two of them. We all run from the snake but we keep walking in the tall grass just knowing he’s a bite away. Can I get a witness?
Yessir, a man will lay you till he’s bone dry, tell you he loves you and already be crawling into another hole with him still on your lips. He’s a dog and we know how a dog likes to bark. And he will chase anything that smells like it got a hole. He doesn’t care where he puts it anymore. Can I get witness!
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re saying to yourself, how can one as fine as me know about love. Sisters, loving a man will make you sit up longs hour, count the seconds on the clock, wonder where his hands are feeling up tonight. I know about the last drink hoping to wash the taste of him off your lips. How many dildos have you compared to the man you love to see if they reached the bottom of your ocean? I’ve had a lot of men diving in the swimming hole but they all drowned before they reached the bottom. Can I get witness?
Men, where are they? We look long and hard for a man. Can’t find them in the yellow pages, stores don’t keep ‘em in stock, and I don’t like to plug in anything with batteries. And when you find one, everybody wants some till your supply runs out.
I don’t want a man. I don’t want that long-legged wonder that wraps me tight till I drown in his sweat. When it gets real good, a chill runs up and down your body like children at play. That man I come home to every night, spreads me wide, climbs inside, and I say, “Drive me home James, and don’t spare the gas.”
I’ve raised a man to heights he’s never been and swore he was on the wings of a dove. I’ve launched many men from my hips.
I’ve dried his tears and become the sun he rose to. I’ve been the valley he came to rest in, the mountain he scaled when he felt a challenge.
I’ve been the night that covered him and made him whole. A little more, just a little more and I know he’ll take me.
Take me home!
Can I get a witness!
Somewhere out there somebody knows about the love of a man!
Tell me my sisters and brothers, didn’t he turn your head last night as those sighs raced across your pillow and your hands pulled the stars from the sky and massaged his back.
Didn’t you melt across satin seas until the salt of your love laid upon the shore of an island you two had formed?
Can I get a witness?
I need a witness.
Tell me there is a witness about the love of a man.
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When this monologue performance ends, so does this world.

Fall of the Mind (Novel Excerpt)

Fall of the Mind JOURNAL EXCERPT #24
The Dead come to me asking for light. The lost souls sometimes walk with me asking about the Light. Even the fallen gods want to ascend.
“I am no one’s savior,” I yell at them. Yet, the Dead say I am like a tree in a graveyard speaking to the Dead; telling them about the journey of the Soul through light and darkness; their journey that they forgot they were participating in.
The Lost, the Dead, the Alien, the Fallen Ones, the Old Ones all want me to be this trinitized being who will take them to the light. But I kept saying who am I? Some say I am the path; some say I am the corridor, some say I am a whore of the Heaven. All I know is everything in creation wanted a piece of me and there is just so much of me to go around. My mind feels like this taffy pull in omni-direction.
There are dark forces at work that have been using the human mind as their personal playground. So there is a war between dark forces for the human mind. It is the War in the Heavens.
In my quest, I have opened doorways that could possess other consciousness or become a pathway to help bring conscious into the light.
I am no one’s savior.
In my ignorance, I consumed worlds within myself. For not going fully into the light, the mysteries of the lower worlds were placed into me until I could accept my fallen creations.
So now the Dead walk through me for light. Aliens call to me to bring a child of light into their world. I am fighting demons who play sexual games with the flesh. I remember fragments of lives where I existed not like this, not human?
My eyes are still human but when the aliens download into me they make me weep. They want the light or to own my mind. They think my mind is a board game and I have forgotten the rules.
Yet, I am more than the barriers of this flesh. I am a sacred vessel; a sacred space. I am here but every where. I must have ecstatic remembrances. I want to believe it happened, this dark night of the soul but then again, I wanted to believe it didn’t happen. Where will I be if I said, yes, it happened and I just didn’t have a psychotic breakdown? Some days I can accept everything. Some days I can’t. When I don’t know where my next crust of bread is coming from, it makes me afraid and makes me believe in the limitations of the flesh. But Faith-Wisdom is the key; but that is something I still must learn.
How can I accept that I am not fully human and must become one. I am the living light having a human experiences but I wonder will these experiences make me human in time so I can be come an Uthra.
But I must understand the imprinting. I must face the being known as Mindset who manifested the Adversary who has tracked me through time and space.
My shamanic journeys have take me the netherworlds; places so dark, air thick like molasses one can barely breathe to retrieve my denial fragments; journey into worlds where I must take on non-human forms to anchor light, retrieve soul fragments; to remember the parts of me that have been dismembered and bring them back to become a whole being.
Will I succeed?

Footprints in a Shoebox Reality (2 poems)

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Footprints in a Shoebox Reality

LIVING IN THE CITY FACE
Buildings are like faces
we got to live in them
as property
from 9 to 5
in this city of face
people gather in buildings
thoughts spilling from wound
all these wounds gather
and make themselves into a parasite
that gives the building a face
and we occupy a face
that is etching itself on our face
than we exit
from the mouth of this face
and go into another face
looking out its eyes
we are tenants
in this face
that slowly disenfranchise our mind
forgetting
we need our own face to face time
and we inherit
the illness of these buildings
because we live in their face
and their face becomes a mask
and this is what people wee
do you really see the person in front of you
are just see a mask reflected.

ABEL
I am the commitment of my brother’s dark journey.
I am the high in the lower.
I am the darker brother
I am the other side of the tree.
I am the other side of the coin.
I am the first spilled blood.
I am the wanderer under the world.I am the womb companion, a coiled splendor
who sits in the shadows
not wanting to be born
so I am a hieroglyphics whispering from the walls
until an Old One pulls me into the world of my brother.
I am a chaotic swirling mass darting in and out sight.
I am my brother’s shroud and unrefined
as I am howling at my brother’s black moon
that will bring me forth as a Morning.
I am unholy in the dark places
that brings the Black Sun.I walk amongst you and you do not see me.
I am a slumbering nightmare.
I am a frightening redeemer.
I am a crowned serpent.
I am the darker brother, a brother’s first kill.
I am the dark serpentine brother slithering
through crevices, cracks, caves where
even angels will not look.

Whore of the Heavens (Novel Excerpt)

Whore of the HeavensWe are R’azel. We are a collective consciousness.
We are a Mothership.
R’azel could be viewed as a city of consciousness, a higher frequency thought-form. We are a collective of entities who have formed a uni-mind that hovers near your planet as a transducer of energies coming into Earth as well as those leaving Earth.
There are Motherships above your world that are here to help with the ascension of your world and the universe.
These collective consciousness, sometimes serve as a transducer for interdimensional energies, also serve as a marker for interdimensional travel and they can enter various time zones. Usually Mother Ships are a feminine consciousness, wrapped around other various types of energies. Motherships can exist on various levels simultaneously and also can be used as “warships”. They are viewed as “angelic vehicles” that can enter the Heavens. Some Motherships represent sections of creation that have returned to their source when they have reached completion of their evolutions, these ships can be viewed as expressions of goddess in the realities of time and space.
Tonight we will talk about the powers that are sleeping within you. You are awakening to being multi-dimensional beings that are trapped in limitations. These multi-dimensional beings are you; they are your powers. Before you incarnated on Earth, you are and were light workers from other realities. You were manipulated by other selves, who changed your DNA, who stopped you from accessing powers that are expressing themselves in other forms. These other selves became like gatekeepers preventing you from accessing your multi-dimensional self. They wanted to be the forbears of creation and manipulate it to their desires. They do not understand; they exist within another entity that exists within another entity. The connection has been severed; no one can ascend as a whole being to a higher vibration. The part that is disconnected is quarantined while other portions of the entity can move into a higher vibration but at some point the entity must return all of its portions to itself before it goes beyond what you can imagine.
It is time for you to send out a call and return the powers that have become self aware and that have been blocked from you to access them because of these interlopers. In a sense, you are your own enemy. Part of the darkness you fear and must confront is a convergence of your denial fragments. You are a part of a vast program; an experiment that is coming to completion.
Think of yourself as an eye not in the traditional sense of the human eye; the true Eye is omni-directional; it is multi-dimensional; it is not linear.
The Eye is more powerful than fire. It sees from the Unknown water; it discerns; it does not judge but brings forth all that was before it, into what is present. It brings existence from Images. It is The Beginning and The End.

The Icarus Poet (Poem Excerpt)

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The Icarus Poet

NEED A BLACK MAN
Some white youths
needed a black man
to beat; to hate
to beat; to hate
so they would
not beat; not hate
themselves.

And they beat
the flesh
with hands
with thoughts
that made a torturer’s hand
and voices
like inquisitors
ride their shoulders
because the voices
are addicted to their hate
and they need a black man
to take their poison.

They need to be the demon
riding their shoulders
into the flesh of another
but the beaten flesh
fuels the voices of hate
clouding the light in their eyes.

The white youths needed
a black man to beat
and they hate the black voice
rising above the noises of the world
because it is no longer ‘the help’
no longer nursing black babies;
no longer wanting to be ‘the boy’









yet, white youth love head bopping
niggas when they are dancing
to the music that make women ‘ho’s’
and white youth need to beat
a black man
since the black man
no longer visibly beats himself

black men camouflage their hate
in bling bling
subjecting women to administering
their dicks
and they need a white man
to beat them

because they need someone
to carry the hate
they cannot heal within
and project
on to their women and children
and graveyards called ghettos
house black bodies empty of souls;
dead who still haunt

and white youth need a black man
to beat
and black men ask for white youth
to beat
them
when they forget who they are
and allow destructive images
to empty them of soul.

white youth need a black man to beat
hate is being chased by fear
and we all run from fear
if we cannot make someone
the object of that fear.

white youth need to hate a black man
as black man hates the black man
as white man hate the man of color
as colors hate the white color
that wants to make them slaves
and the plantation system thrives
in the mind of white that want “help.”