Month: January 2014

John Raymond – The TV and the Angels

The second story about a boy I met in the crisis stabilization unit during my first break. Later, I learned to call him, “John Raymond.”

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Here I am, sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair as I flip through the TV channels with the remote. All the usual: news, weather, cartoons, soap operas. I settle for the weather, as I know I haven’t been outside for the past several days nor will I be outside soon. I’m on lock down. I lean back and try to relax just this once.

Then he comes in, that boy, as darkness and pestilence trickles over my inner being and seeps in. I suffer silently and try to ignore him but I can’t keep him out. I look him in his unusually dark eyes as he stands behind me in the corner of the small room. The TV feels different and the sound cuts out. I look back and the caption feature turns on. A black subtitle box appears, filling almost the entire screen with obscene text images scrolling across the TV from right to left. I check for the remote and it’s in my hand. I hadn’t pushed anything and the caption button doesn’t work.

The boy starts laughing hysterically. He pierces me in the eyes with his look and thoughts appear in the forefront in my mind: “Give up! Follow me, and you will have great powers. Denounce Him! You are better than Him!” With all my will and calling upon Christ, the thoughts stop. Not a word is spoken between us.

The TV then switches to the news and the subtitle box shrinks to normal size with normal captions. I don’t feel relief at all, as sure enough the words then begin hailing Satan for the atrocities in the Middle East, the topic of the news special. They then transition into some sort of evil-sounding speech as I tried to pronounce it in my head, with scattered symbols here and there that seem like white noise interference. I sense the army of darkness present everywhere as I recite the evil speech internally: here in this god-forsaken w/e unit it is (not even a hospital), and in every part of the world.

The channel changes to cartoons. More white random symbols appear in the caption box and I look at the boy. He’s staring very intently at me with his body in a contorted posture. I draw my attention to the TV and right before my eyes, there is a story appearing in the captions in front of me: a combination of the visuals in the cartoon, my thoughts, and my deepest fears and darkest secrets, all in a seamless,  flowing story of a most obscene nature. Then it describes how and when I die, relating to the cartoon visuals and elaborates on the mess I make after I slit my wrists up the middle in the bathroom.

I clench the remote and try everything I can: turning off captions, changing channel, turning off the TV, all to no prevail. I remind myself that God never gives me more than I can handle. I can do this!

I push the power button on the TV, but it snaps right back on… once, twice, three times. I pull the plug and the image disappears, the remote in my hands the entire time. The boy then makes a fantastic feat with his body in a most unusual contortion and grins. His faded eyes roll back in his head as he begins a deep, dark seance.

The unplugged TV turns on to white noise with evil sounds coming out of it getting progressively louder. I look up a the monitor and an image of a creature begins to appear that I recognize as demonic from an encounter I had previously. I shriek. This is about to make me do something stupid, and look at the new staff member I’d never seen before and mouth, “help!” as I didn’t want to appear crazy and start yelling.

She glances over her shoulder at the boy and he topples over. She yells, “That’s enough!” and the TV shuts off. Darkness and pestilence morph into shalom in a dovetail heartbeat. I never saw that worker again, and wonder to this day if she was an angel.

John Raymond – Card Tricks

During my first break in the crisis stabilization unit, I met a young boy who was what I believed at the time to be demonically disturbed. He had the ability to look at me and incite torment, along with putting his body in grotesque postures while channeling negative energy where he pleased. I have a few stories about him, and this is one of them.

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The care provider orders me to go into HIS room, the young boy’s room, and she slams the door after I get in. I hear a commotion outside and I see my roommate through the window as he flies by on a wheeled stretcher, going into shock.

Must have been that bag of white powder he snuck in upon arrival, which I retorted to him, “That must not be powdered sugar.”

“No.”

Fortunately, the boy is sleeping. However, as time passes, I feel a different presence take part of this boy. He is covered in scars from I don’t know what. I feel peace now, instead of torment and agony, and he wakes up. He and I are on the same wavelength.

He grins at me and picks up a fresh deck of cards. The boy must be only 12 or 13 at most. We start to play Indian poker, and I notice that he is winning every time. I ask him how he’s cheating! He explains to me that he is not, and I know that something was going on. Somehow, he knows what his card is – at which point he says, “You have that power, too.”

Next, he does a card trick. The simple – pick a card, any card and I’ll find it for you. This time, I hold the deck, shuffle it, and I pick a card. I look at it, and place it in the deck and shuffle a few times. He then takes the cards from me, feels the cards and pulls out my card every time. “How is that possible?” He does this to every card I choose, no matter how thoroughly I hide it in the deck. He tells me to pick another card, but the moment I look at it he tells me what card it is. I check for mirrors, inspect the deck for sliders and marks; nothing! He says to me, “You have that power, too.”

I felt a tug of war inside of me, one side explaining that I’m crazy and this is all nonsense, while the other explains that I do have faith and all of this is real in its own way. One side explains to me that this is the devil’s trickery, while the other says that I have God’s blessing to listen to this boy. After enduring his hell placed upon me, I’m in the light. Listen.

He looks me in the eyes, takes a deep breath, and closes them. “Know the card,” he says. I shuffle the deck thoroughly. I feel as though I’m letting him into my thoughts a little and I pick up a card. The moment I see it, he tells me what it is, and again. “Don’t look at it! That makes it too easy for me!” He then recites several cards to me without anyone looking at them, every time, then faster than I can pick them up – all correct. Somehow, I am on the same wavelength and I understand. I just have to use the same impulse what I call “faith” and know what card it is.

He starts me with Indian poker. I place the card on my forehead, and struggle to convince myself that I know what the card is without getting anywhere. The boy says, “You’re doing it wrong – have faith.” Ok, so I can’t know, but I can have faith that I know. I feel as though a new muscle in my mind twitches and the card is what it is.

I am able to know what each card is in Indian poker, and the card trick as well.

Then I arrive at the point where the boy shuffles the deck, and pulls up one card at at a time. I start slowly, but recite as though saying a sentence all of the cards he pulls up till I’m looking at him and he’s not looking at the cards. The rest of the cards follow in a stream of faces and suits and I recite the remainder in the order of the deck.

The boy is laughing and grinning very big at this point. “Now,” he says, “Keep shuffling till you know you stop.” I shuffled several times, cutting it, and shuffling, until something felt very much in order. I rearrange a few cards blindly. “Done,” I inform him. “Deal us in.” Queen, Ten, King, Jack, and Ace of spades for me. Full house for him.

The boy, exhausted, climbs back into bed. He looks me in the eye and I see visions of ancient people invade my thoughts, and he informs me, “Call me John Raymond. My mom calls me that,” then falls asleep.

When he wakes up, I call him “John Raymond,” and he snaps into a perfectly normal, sweet young boy: not a demon or a prophet.

Where Is My Inner Joy?

Where is my inner joy? This question posed strongly at the end of my meditation this morning, and I felt the strong need to reflect and gather my thoughts on that question. I feel too dependent on other people and on material things to give me joy. It scares me. What I am wondering, is how I generate my inner joy on my own? Where do I turn?

Other material things? This is not an option because they are a dead end. I’ve relied on material things and it’s just another addiction process.

What about religion? Even when I was at the height of my Christian self, I still was not finding inner joy. It was more like anesthesia for the pain in my soul I had. Not until I went through my first break and was cut off from God for a long time was I able to effectively begin to find myself, and my inner joy. However, God came back and fixed my heart in my second break. That was a beautiful experience that is a strong rope holding me to my Christian beliefs and principles somewhat. I recognize a higher power, but not within the confines of traditional religion.

What about pursuing knowledge and wisdom? Doing just this is important, but does not bring inner joy to the surface by itself.

Romantic love? This is a double edged sword. I’m a romantic, to the max. But this is not the inner joy I seek, even though it’s a very big part of it. Never rely on one person to make you happy.

Jesus? I know I mentioned religion. I mean him in a spiritual sense. There is power in his name, the reference to his blood, and to the cross. Jesus was in touch with what kind of world this is, and he was in touch with whatever is out there. He did what he had to do to fulfill whatever purpose he had, and his spirit is present everywhere now. Is Jesus a source of joy in the strictly religious sense? For me, no. But he is in a spiritual sense.

All things considered, something tells me there is no joy without the presence or memories of other people and things. Everything helps with finding inner joy, as long as you don’t overdo anything. Everything must be pursued in moderation, with balance. We are wired like our Maker, and the universe; we can’t be alone with nothing, or there is no inner joy to be had.

I live in finding my purpose and living it in love with other people, in all things big and small. That is my true inner joy.