Smorgasborg from the cuckoo’s nest
Tuesday, November 30th, 2010
To Coconut Telegraph readers, bigpinekey.com:
On yesterday’s CT comment about looking through the mirror to learn about self and schizophrenia occuring in 1 out of every 100 people . . .
Looking at, not through, the mirror is where the angels started me out when they abducted me in early 1987, after I prayed for help and offered my life to human service. “Hypocrite, fist take the beam out of your own eye” became my mantra for many years, ruthlessly applied to me by the angels whom I often accused of selecting the worst piece of shit they could find, to see if they could do something with it; if so, perhaps they would have more success with less worse pieces of shit. You do not want me to tell you the ways the angels showed me what a huge piece of shit I was, and they still get on me when I do something to stir their ire.
Given willingness and a great deal of courage in the author of yesterday’s comment, and three or four hours to do it in a setting where we would not be interrupted by telephones, visitors, and so forth, with some help from the angels, I could introduce the author to his/her own schizophrenia. Schizophrenia is in all people, but it only manifests visibly in the way psychiatry views it in perhaps 1 in 100 people. The demonic twin also is in all people, but there is no classification for that in psychiatry, although religion sometimes comes close to giving the twin its due. Even Jesus had a demonic twin, which was the point of the report of the three temptations in the wilderness. If he had been taken into what his mother had done to him, which his pejorative speaking to and of her in the Gospels gives away, he would have come face to face with his own schizophrenia.
What you who keep pecking at me like a body being ravaged by turkey vultures might wish try is to look through me to what I write. Try to ignore me, try to sit with what is on the page and let it speak to you through your thoughts, feelings, etc. Then try to stop thinking like a human. Try to start being a radar dish, which receives information useful to you. If you keep pecking at me, you will never get there.
You can see today’s “Smorgashborg from the cuckoo’s nest” post by clicking on the link: goodmorningfloridakeys.com. Bon apertif
What you who keep pecking at me like a body being ravaged by turkey vultures might wish try is to look through me to what I write. Try to ignore me, try to sit with what is on the page and let it speak to you through your thoughts, feelings, etc. Then try to stop thinking like a human. Try to start being a radar dish, which receives information useful to you. If you keep pecking at me, you will never get there.
You can see today’s “Smorgashborg from the cuckoo’s nest” post by clicking on the link: goodmorningfloridakeys.com. Bon apertif
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Today’s lovely image kindly furnished yesterday by Sancho Panza, along with his cryptic comments, and my equally cryptic replies.
Here is an MRI image of your brain…….. a thousand words isn’t it! Sancho
Now this hear imagine, Sancho, would definitely fuck up a MRI technician and attending physician, wouldn’t it? Er, this here image.
Somone I knew years ago in Birmingham, who used to babysit my daughters, wrote back that her MRI scan came back EMPTY. Maybe she has a real human brain, instead of the mutated variety, and the MRI didn’t pick it up because it was used to looking for something else? I suppose that weak joke pre-supposes MRI device with AI.
Don Q.
Here is an MRI image of your brain…….. a thousand words isn’t it! Sancho
Now this hear imagine, Sancho, would definitely fuck up a MRI technician and attending physician, wouldn’t it? Er, this here image.
Somone I knew years ago in Birmingham, who used to babysit my daughters, wrote back that her MRI scan came back EMPTY. Maybe she has a real human brain, instead of the mutated variety, and the MRI didn’t pick it up because it was used to looking for something else? I suppose that weak joke pre-supposes MRI device with AI.
Don Q.
Maybe your baby sitter was only using her “other” brain, at the time, so no electrical activity was detected in the frontal lobes by Magnetic Resonance Imaging!
Did you know that the other brain I am referring to is not located in the head?! I am not shitting you… this is no left/right hemisphere BS! Demonic Possession can be easily explained this way… and the ancient traditions were right when they call the “Demon”… legions! If I am right, your angels will tell you to stay the hell away from me(from the knowledge I just revealed). If I am right, you will do as they say by letting this slip by as if it had never happened!
Both your brains are quite amazing… and Sloan is actually a very good conduit for expressing what your other BRAIN “thinks”…Yes, the one you call “The Spirit”!
Both your brains are quite amazing… and Sloan is actually a very good conduit for expressing what your other BRAIN “thinks”…Yes, the one you call “The Spirit”!
No, I am not speaking metaphorically!
Sancho
G.I. Gurdjeff, in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson (Gurgjieff’s alter ego talking to his reader’s alter ego), describes human beings as “three-brain beings.” A brain in the skull, a brain in the heart, a brain in the solar plexus. He meant it literally, although I seriously doubt a MRI would pick up anything in the lower two brains that looks anything like the resonance coming off the brain in the skull.
Demonic possession is a spirit event, it is as real as the planet upon which we ignorant, stupid humans walk.
When possesseds are used as mediums to for, say, an exorcist priest to talk with the demonic force, the latter refers to itself as Legion because its number is legion in the exponential sense, and it apparently operates in hive fashion with a central HQ and lots of layers/levels of spirit entities radiating out of it. Not all that unlike how I understand God presents, albeit not in the same “tone” and “tenor” and “hue” and so forth.
Some of your remarks seemed addressed to me, some seemed addressed to something else. Did you slip up and admit spirit intelligence exists? That there is a bit more on earth and in heaven, Horatio, than your or any human brain can begin to get a grip on? Certainly, I am quick to admit a lot of what comes to me to say, write, I assign to something other than myself. To take credit would be a bit megalomaniac and, I imagine, a bit of a risk to me.
Don Q.
Reply to yesterday’s “MRI Sloan’s brain?” post, from a doctor I used to represent as his lawyer in Birmingham. He now calls Key West home, has a state of the art surgery center there.
I HAVE A MRI IN KW, GETTING ONE DONE WOULD NOT BE BENEFICIAL IN WHAT YOU SEEK. PEOPLE THINK I AM WEIRD AND MY SCANS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN NORMAL. A PET SCAN CAN AT TIMES TRACK HUMAN BRAIN ACTIVITY SUCH AS EMOTIONS STC,,,,,,BUT ARE VERY EXPENSIVE AND NO SOLID DATA HAS YET TO REPORTED…FRANK
More email jabber with Lori Moore, investigative journalist, Dothan, Alabama, triggered by yesterday’s “MRI Sloan’s brain?” post. She currently is researching for an article on multiple perrsonality disorder.
MRI? Doctors? No……you don’t have a medical condition Sloan. I view what you have as a gift. I know you may disagree with that when the Angels are tough on you and put you through hell at times. But I believe you were chosen for a reason. At times, I know I am lead by something…………..something lead me to look further into the death of Major and then to you. MPD affects many people, but you are not one of them. Usually MPD is a result of childhood tragedy, where alters are formed to handle with those difficult emotions. Many of those with MPD don’t remember events when their alters take control……….they have periods that they don’t really know what happened. A doctor can’t help you. You were chosen and that is your life. Be yourself…….you can’t change it. I enjoyed reading your words about me in your post the other day. One day, I want to meet you face to face my friend. You are truly a unique and amazing fellow. Hugz~
Sancho
G.I. Gurdjeff, in Beelzebub’s Tales to his Grandson (Gurgjieff’s alter ego talking to his reader’s alter ego), describes human beings as “three-brain beings.” A brain in the skull, a brain in the heart, a brain in the solar plexus. He meant it literally, although I seriously doubt a MRI would pick up anything in the lower two brains that looks anything like the resonance coming off the brain in the skull.
Demonic possession is a spirit event, it is as real as the planet upon which we ignorant, stupid humans walk.
When possesseds are used as mediums to for, say, an exorcist priest to talk with the demonic force, the latter refers to itself as Legion because its number is legion in the exponential sense, and it apparently operates in hive fashion with a central HQ and lots of layers/levels of spirit entities radiating out of it. Not all that unlike how I understand God presents, albeit not in the same “tone” and “tenor” and “hue” and so forth.
Some of your remarks seemed addressed to me, some seemed addressed to something else. Did you slip up and admit spirit intelligence exists? That there is a bit more on earth and in heaven, Horatio, than your or any human brain can begin to get a grip on? Certainly, I am quick to admit a lot of what comes to me to say, write, I assign to something other than myself. To take credit would be a bit megalomaniac and, I imagine, a bit of a risk to me.
Don Q.
Reply to yesterday’s “MRI Sloan’s brain?” post, from a doctor I used to represent as his lawyer in Birmingham. He now calls Key West home, has a state of the art surgery center there.
I HAVE A MRI IN KW, GETTING ONE DONE WOULD NOT BE BENEFICIAL IN WHAT YOU SEEK. PEOPLE THINK I AM WEIRD AND MY SCANS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN NORMAL. A PET SCAN CAN AT TIMES TRACK HUMAN BRAIN ACTIVITY SUCH AS EMOTIONS STC,,,,,,BUT ARE VERY EXPENSIVE AND NO SOLID DATA HAS YET TO REPORTED…FRANK
More email jabber with Lori Moore, investigative journalist, Dothan, Alabama, triggered by yesterday’s “MRI Sloan’s brain?” post. She currently is researching for an article on multiple perrsonality disorder.
MRI? Doctors? No……you don’t have a medical condition Sloan. I view what you have as a gift. I know you may disagree with that when the Angels are tough on you and put you through hell at times. But I believe you were chosen for a reason. At times, I know I am lead by something…………..something lead me to look further into the death of Major and then to you. MPD affects many people, but you are not one of them. Usually MPD is a result of childhood tragedy, where alters are formed to handle with those difficult emotions. Many of those with MPD don’t remember events when their alters take control……….they have periods that they don’t really know what happened. A doctor can’t help you. You were chosen and that is your life. Be yourself…….you can’t change it. I enjoyed reading your words about me in your post the other day. One day, I want to meet you face to face my friend. You are truly a unique and amazing fellow. Hugz~
Hi, Lori. Thanks.
I never was accused of, nor was it ever suggested that I had multiple personality disorder. What was accused/suggested by lay people when I was in the horrific black night of the soul, 1997 and 1998, was I was psychotic. Some people attached schizophrenia to the accusation. Others also attached demonic possession. A psychiatrist and his psychologist partner, who treated me during the black night, labeled me schizoaffective disorder, which is something they come up with when they can’t say someone is definitely schizophrenic or bipolar, but it might be some of both, more or less. If I leaned toward anything, it was bipolar. My father’s mother had it.
When she eventually tried to divorce her husband, he got his lawyers to commit her to a private facility in Georgia, where she was given electroshock until she forgot she wanted to divorce him. She then lived out her days fairly docile, perhaps because of some brain function loss. However, she refused to write her will the way he wanted her to write it. After he died and she was close to passing on, his lawyer came to her with witnesses and a new will for her to execute, which she did, by then not knowing what she was doing. This was done pursuant to her deceased husband’s deathbed instructions to his lawyer, thus from the grave he got his way with her again. No psychiatric label would I put on him. He thought he was God. Evil fit him pretty good.
After my psychiatrist went off somewhere for a weekend to learn about electroshock therapy, he suggested I try it. I said I didn’t want him practicing on me what he’d learned in two days. Soon after that, he started pushing me to go to the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas. He had grown near this world-famous psychiatric facility, where his father was a psychiatrist on Menninger’s staff. After doing his own medical training and a psychiatric residence, my future psychiatrist followed in his father’s footsteps and headed up Menninger’s indigent clinic. So he knew the place well and was very high on it. After he talked with my father and his wife and my wife about it, and they said anything to try to help me, he pushed me even harder to go there. Then, the most intriguing thing happened.
I had a very close friend, who for years had had dreams that were for me. He had been one of my father’s most valued employees at Golden Flake. When Aubrey asked me what I was going to do about Menninger?, I said I was going to wait to see if God had another offer. I had quit dreaming during the hell hole dark night, but Aubrey had had two dreams for me during that time, which let me know I had not been totally abandoned by God.
Imagine no dreams for nearly 18 months, after dreaming relentlessly for all of my life. Imagine feeling for nearly 18 months like part of my brain had died, maybe what a frontal lobotomy sort of feels like. Imagine spending four crazed hours every morning planning how to kill yourself the next day, then when the plan is arrived at, you are able to relax and live out the rest of the day somewhat in peace, knowing it will be your last. Imagine arriving at the same suicide plan every morning, and it taking four crazed hours to do it. Imagine having night terrors and being afraid of going to sleep. I imagine having huge white-hot herpes-like sores in your mouth and throat. Imagine depending on people who view you as incureably psychotic, even as you know this is something God has done to you, because of a dream you had going into it, showing it was coming. And, about half way into it, in your sleep, the voice you have heard quite a few times before tells you, “The reason you are having this experience is because you were Judas.” Imagine feeling God has abandoned you and never is coming back. That was me for almost 18 months. Perhaps I digressed.
I faced going to Menninger on my father’s dime, even though he would not receive me. When once I passed him on the street in his Cadillac, where he had stopped to let me through the cross-walk headed for an appointment with my psychiatrist, he never looked at me and had his head and eys turned down, his face in a scowl. My psychiatrist had told me early on in our relationship of meeting with my father and his wife. When she asked him why I had not killed myself?, he said he never asked patients that question. After reporting all of that to me, he said, “She wants you dead.” Now all of them wanted me at Menninger, in a distant state, being treated in much the same way that had nearly killed me in Birmingham. Yeah, I wanted to see if God had another plan.
A few days later, Aubry called to say he’d had a dream, in which he and I went to Menninger together to check it out. Outside, from the parking area, it was magnificent. We went inside, the reception area was magnificent. The people were wonderful. Aubrey snuck through a door into the interior, leaving me in the reception area. After a while he came back into the reception area and told me all he had found in the back were padded cells and dungeons. If I stayed there, I would never leave the place. When later I shared that dream with my psychiatrist, he seemed not to have any response at all. How could he not have any response at all? How could he not have been freaked out? Even in my seriously impaired state, I knew God did not want me to go to Menninger, and my psychiatrist darn well ought to have known it after hearing of Aubrey’s dream.
I did not tell my psychiatrist, whom I now trusted about as far as I could throw the planet Earth, what a Christian Intercessor amiga some years my senior had told me when I had shared Aubrey’s dream with her. She said she was hearing from the Spirit that if I went to Menninger, I would stay there until my father quit paying for it. Then I would be sent to the state mental hospital, where I would live out my days. Under pressure from his wife, who wanted me dead, my father very well might have quit paying for me to be at Menninger after it became clear I was not improving. I would have gotten worse there. My having no place to go, they would have sent me to a state mental hosptial in Kansas.
Not long after that, I left that wife and went to live with a friend, who some months before had offered me safe harbor in his home. An Episcopalian, he was fascinated by my mystical experiences, which he himself had never once had but he had studied the lives of many saints. After moving in with him, I sensed it was time to begin reducing the Zyprexa dosage by 1/4 each week. I stopped the Zoloft dosage cold turkey. Two weeks into that, I saw my psychiatrist and asked for a weaning schedule for Zyprexa. He gave me the same weaning schedule I was already on. That’s when I told him goodbye and he said for me to leave the door open for psychiatry, which nearly had killed me.
Between him and other psychiatrists I met during those 18 horrible months, and many of their patients I got to know, I did a field residency in psychiatry and came away firmly convinced no doctor should be allowed to practice psychiatry, who has not taken the full course in all medicines psychiatrists prescribe, and who has not done six months on a locked psychiatric ward. How could any doctor know psychiatry, who has not done that? No doctor could know, is the answer.
My psychiatrist had undergone psychoanalysis as part of his own training, yet he had never heard of the dark night of the soul. Catholic, he had never heard of St. John of the Cross, considered the straight-arrow of all saints in Christendom. My psychiatrist was totally ignorant of mystical workings, and yet when we first met and I told him I was a mystic in trouble, he said I could trust him. I wept, not knowing he took that as a sign of mental illness, which he later told me was how he took it. I wept, believing I was in safe hands, finally. You don’t want to know what had happened during the three weeks before he was engaged by my then wife to pry me out of a one-flew-over-the-cuckoos-nest hell hole run by psychiatrists.
I got myself into that Georgia state mental hospital by listening to the advice of my wife and the pathologist husband of Major’s second wife, Gayle, instead of paying better attention to a horrible dream I’d had the night before, telling me to get the hell away from that wife. I didn’t understand the dream in that way until about two weeks ago. Back then, early 1997, I took the dream to mean I had seriously fucked up. Instead of running for my life, like lamb to slaughter, I went into the heart of darkness not seeing where I was going until it was too late to undo it. Once confined in a psychiatriac facility, there was no way to get back out on the street without being all doped up with their drugs. I went in sober, came out an addict.
Would I have gone into that terrible dark night anyway? Maybe. Maybe probably. It descended about ten days after I got out of the last hospital. But maybe I didn’t need to include the extra hell psychiatry provided. Yet if I had not done it that way, I wouldn’t know ding squat about psychiatry and the disorders it claims to treat. I would not be able to meet psychiatrists on their turf, or have a chance to nudge them onto new turf. Perhaps mission impossible, but hopeless for sure, if I had not gone through psychiatric training for which no medical diploma is awarded. A training that greatly enhanced my ability to discern the difference between psychosis and spiritual awakening, and between demonic possession and psychosis and/or spiritual awakening – including all of the aformentioned in psychiatrists, psychologists, and any other kind of mental health worker.
Sometimes madness, spiritual awakening and demonic possession get mixed together. The most dangerous combo is demonic possession that does not present as psychosis and/or spiritual awakening. Such people either know or they don’t know they are possessed. The ones who know and do not seek help are beyond reach altogether. Working with wife #6 in 1999, we watched in horror as one of her women clients knowingly chose demonic possession over healing, because she said the dark side was giving her relief she was not getting any other way. Frequently have I seen people unknowingly make that same choice. It’s heart-breaking, but over the years I have come to expect it, and it doesn’t surprise and upset me like it did back in those days.
God-healing taught to me comes through the Christ and the Holy Spirit. This is the cleansing of the Lord described somewhat in the Letter to the Hebrews in the New Testament. I became aware of that “baptism” in early 1999, when I was in the throes of yet another deep purge following my being pulled out of the horrendous black night, before I would meet wife #6 later that same year. I received a phone call one morning from a fellow under the care of three or four different psychiatrists, each prescribing medication, none knowing from him of the other doctors or their medication. He said during his prayer time that morning, God had told him to tell Sloan he needed to read the Letter to the Hebrews. I pulled out my Bible and read it. Voila! I understood what I was being taken through and that I turned away at my soul’s peril. I also understood I was being initiated into the Prieshood Melchizedek. I got sort of pumped up about it. The angels went to work on that, so I wouldn’t start thinking I was hot shit.
From time to time thereafter, I was told in dreams and other spirit ways that I was a member of that Priesthood, specializing in exorcism. Not the method the Catholic church uses, but the method demostrated in almost everything I write. One step at a time, doing what the angels arrange for us to do, are we delivered from Evil. In being delivered, we are asked to try to help others coming in behind us. It’s not a popular endeavor and there don’t seem to be many takers. Once healing begins, spirual awakening commences, it is very easy to get egotistical, and from there it is very easy to move into psychosis or demonic possession, or both. The risk here cannot be over-stated. We must be ever on guard against succumbing to our own evil side, our demonic twin, which every human being has. Even Jesus had a demonic twin, which was the point of his three temptations in the wilderness.
I had a very close friend, who for years had had dreams that were for me. He had been one of my father’s most valued employees at Golden Flake. When Aubrey asked me what I was going to do about Menninger?, I said I was going to wait to see if God had another offer. I had quit dreaming during the hell hole dark night, but Aubrey had had two dreams for me during that time, which let me know I had not been totally abandoned by God.
Imagine no dreams for nearly 18 months, after dreaming relentlessly for all of my life. Imagine feeling for nearly 18 months like part of my brain had died, maybe what a frontal lobotomy sort of feels like. Imagine spending four crazed hours every morning planning how to kill yourself the next day, then when the plan is arrived at, you are able to relax and live out the rest of the day somewhat in peace, knowing it will be your last. Imagine arriving at the same suicide plan every morning, and it taking four crazed hours to do it. Imagine having night terrors and being afraid of going to sleep. I imagine having huge white-hot herpes-like sores in your mouth and throat. Imagine depending on people who view you as incureably psychotic, even as you know this is something God has done to you, because of a dream you had going into it, showing it was coming. And, about half way into it, in your sleep, the voice you have heard quite a few times before tells you, “The reason you are having this experience is because you were Judas.” Imagine feeling God has abandoned you and never is coming back. That was me for almost 18 months. Perhaps I digressed.
I faced going to Menninger on my father’s dime, even though he would not receive me. When once I passed him on the street in his Cadillac, where he had stopped to let me through the cross-walk headed for an appointment with my psychiatrist, he never looked at me and had his head and eys turned down, his face in a scowl. My psychiatrist had told me early on in our relationship of meeting with my father and his wife. When she asked him why I had not killed myself?, he said he never asked patients that question. After reporting all of that to me, he said, “She wants you dead.” Now all of them wanted me at Menninger, in a distant state, being treated in much the same way that had nearly killed me in Birmingham. Yeah, I wanted to see if God had another plan.
A few days later, Aubry called to say he’d had a dream, in which he and I went to Menninger together to check it out. Outside, from the parking area, it was magnificent. We went inside, the reception area was magnificent. The people were wonderful. Aubrey snuck through a door into the interior, leaving me in the reception area. After a while he came back into the reception area and told me all he had found in the back were padded cells and dungeons. If I stayed there, I would never leave the place. When later I shared that dream with my psychiatrist, he seemed not to have any response at all. How could he not have any response at all? How could he not have been freaked out? Even in my seriously impaired state, I knew God did not want me to go to Menninger, and my psychiatrist darn well ought to have known it after hearing of Aubrey’s dream.
I did not tell my psychiatrist, whom I now trusted about as far as I could throw the planet Earth, what a Christian Intercessor amiga some years my senior had told me when I had shared Aubrey’s dream with her. She said she was hearing from the Spirit that if I went to Menninger, I would stay there until my father quit paying for it. Then I would be sent to the state mental hospital, where I would live out my days. Under pressure from his wife, who wanted me dead, my father very well might have quit paying for me to be at Menninger after it became clear I was not improving. I would have gotten worse there. My having no place to go, they would have sent me to a state mental hosptial in Kansas.
Not long after that, I left that wife and went to live with a friend, who some months before had offered me safe harbor in his home. An Episcopalian, he was fascinated by my mystical experiences, which he himself had never once had but he had studied the lives of many saints. After moving in with him, I sensed it was time to begin reducing the Zyprexa dosage by 1/4 each week. I stopped the Zoloft dosage cold turkey. Two weeks into that, I saw my psychiatrist and asked for a weaning schedule for Zyprexa. He gave me the same weaning schedule I was already on. That’s when I told him goodbye and he said for me to leave the door open for psychiatry, which nearly had killed me.
Between him and other psychiatrists I met during those 18 horrible months, and many of their patients I got to know, I did a field residency in psychiatry and came away firmly convinced no doctor should be allowed to practice psychiatry, who has not taken the full course in all medicines psychiatrists prescribe, and who has not done six months on a locked psychiatric ward. How could any doctor know psychiatry, who has not done that? No doctor could know, is the answer.
My psychiatrist had undergone psychoanalysis as part of his own training, yet he had never heard of the dark night of the soul. Catholic, he had never heard of St. John of the Cross, considered the straight-arrow of all saints in Christendom. My psychiatrist was totally ignorant of mystical workings, and yet when we first met and I told him I was a mystic in trouble, he said I could trust him. I wept, not knowing he took that as a sign of mental illness, which he later told me was how he took it. I wept, believing I was in safe hands, finally. You don’t want to know what had happened during the three weeks before he was engaged by my then wife to pry me out of a one-flew-over-the-cuckoos-nest hell hole run by psychiatrists.
I got myself into that Georgia state mental hospital by listening to the advice of my wife and the pathologist husband of Major’s second wife, Gayle, instead of paying better attention to a horrible dream I’d had the night before, telling me to get the hell away from that wife. I didn’t understand the dream in that way until about two weeks ago. Back then, early 1997, I took the dream to mean I had seriously fucked up. Instead of running for my life, like lamb to slaughter, I went into the heart of darkness not seeing where I was going until it was too late to undo it. Once confined in a psychiatriac facility, there was no way to get back out on the street without being all doped up with their drugs. I went in sober, came out an addict.
Would I have gone into that terrible dark night anyway? Maybe. Maybe probably. It descended about ten days after I got out of the last hospital. But maybe I didn’t need to include the extra hell psychiatry provided. Yet if I had not done it that way, I wouldn’t know ding squat about psychiatry and the disorders it claims to treat. I would not be able to meet psychiatrists on their turf, or have a chance to nudge them onto new turf. Perhaps mission impossible, but hopeless for sure, if I had not gone through psychiatric training for which no medical diploma is awarded. A training that greatly enhanced my ability to discern the difference between psychosis and spiritual awakening, and between demonic possession and psychosis and/or spiritual awakening – including all of the aformentioned in psychiatrists, psychologists, and any other kind of mental health worker.
Sometimes madness, spiritual awakening and demonic possession get mixed together. The most dangerous combo is demonic possession that does not present as psychosis and/or spiritual awakening. Such people either know or they don’t know they are possessed. The ones who know and do not seek help are beyond reach altogether. Working with wife #6 in 1999, we watched in horror as one of her women clients knowingly chose demonic possession over healing, because she said the dark side was giving her relief she was not getting any other way. Frequently have I seen people unknowingly make that same choice. It’s heart-breaking, but over the years I have come to expect it, and it doesn’t surprise and upset me like it did back in those days.
God-healing taught to me comes through the Christ and the Holy Spirit. This is the cleansing of the Lord described somewhat in the Letter to the Hebrews in the New Testament. I became aware of that “baptism” in early 1999, when I was in the throes of yet another deep purge following my being pulled out of the horrendous black night, before I would meet wife #6 later that same year. I received a phone call one morning from a fellow under the care of three or four different psychiatrists, each prescribing medication, none knowing from him of the other doctors or their medication. He said during his prayer time that morning, God had told him to tell Sloan he needed to read the Letter to the Hebrews. I pulled out my Bible and read it. Voila! I understood what I was being taken through and that I turned away at my soul’s peril. I also understood I was being initiated into the Prieshood Melchizedek. I got sort of pumped up about it. The angels went to work on that, so I wouldn’t start thinking I was hot shit.
From time to time thereafter, I was told in dreams and other spirit ways that I was a member of that Priesthood, specializing in exorcism. Not the method the Catholic church uses, but the method demostrated in almost everything I write. One step at a time, doing what the angels arrange for us to do, are we delivered from Evil. In being delivered, we are asked to try to help others coming in behind us. It’s not a popular endeavor and there don’t seem to be many takers. Once healing begins, spirual awakening commences, it is very easy to get egotistical, and from there it is very easy to move into psychosis or demonic possession, or both. The risk here cannot be over-stated. We must be ever on guard against succumbing to our own evil side, our demonic twin, which every human being has. Even Jesus had a demonic twin, which was the point of his three temptations in the wilderness.
This is pretty deep shit I’m being taken through right now, and I’m having to pay extra close attention to my dreams, which are being used by the angels, along with other of their signals I have come to recognize, to stay on the safe side of this truly tricky, dangerous road.
Sloan
Postscript:
I wrote all of the above yesterday wondering if it actually would be published. In my last dream before dawn this a.m., Barbara Jameston, an Alabama woman originally, former minister of the Unitarian Universalist church in Key West, came to me all dressed up and prim, wearing mucho bright red lipstick. Back in 2006, I was told by the angels to try to persuade Barbara not to leave that church and Key West, to take a higher-paying and perhaps more permanent job at a UU church in New England. As a result of my effort, UU Key West, led by Barbara, formed a committee against permanent insanity, which banned me from UU for life. In one of my dreams during that fracas, they were compared to the Luftwaffe, the angels’ way of telling me I was dealing with Nazis. They circled the wagons around their own insanity and demonic possession, which they later would unleash on some of their other members. When their new minister finally showed up, he reviewed what the committee and Barbara had done and approved it, and thus joined them inside the circled wagons. I don’t expect anyone to believe a word of this. To expect that would mean I myself am insane and demonically possessed. I frequented UU Key West for close to two years before I was given that assignment. I already had sized up the leadership before Barbara got there, but knew not where it was headed. Attend UU Key West at your own risk. What lies behind those circled wagons is contagious. You can bet your life and your soul on it. I bet my life and my soul when I wrote this. I bet my life and my soul on everthing I publish. Are you willing to bet your life and your soul that I am mistaken? Your call.
Sloan Bashinsky
keysmyhome@hotmail.com
goodmorningfloridakeys.com, goodmorningkeywest.com
