I am a warrior of light who communicates with Heaven daily. This is who I am and who I was when I was born. Somewhere along the way I became sidetracked and travelled down rocky, tumultuous roads searching for a way out. Having an overwhelming knowledge about all things involving love, I knew that my life quest would surround this all encompassing powerful word. Love was never taught to me growing up. It was implanted in me long before I was conscious of it. Coming to be in this lifetime with this knowledge was a natural familiarity. I knew what it was like to be a higher spirit experiencing no anger, hurt or pain. I knew what it was like to have no ego or judgment, but profound joy. This love is what the spirit world is like when you are operating purely from this space. This is what functioning from your Higher Self is.
When I was five years old I saw the beauty in everything around me. My wide smile bestowed upon me at birth was full of 100% pure bliss. We are all like that as children before the lower selves in adults grab a hold of us. At that age, I was always expressing affection to those that crossed my path. It was beyond infectious, drawing others around me who sensed this bright light. That little boy was astonishingly overflowing with charm. I’d love to meet him again before everything went wrong and the hardening took place. Isn’t that how it is though? We are all perfect souls of God and somewhere around ages five to ten we begin turning. We become what others have done to us and suddenly forget why we are here and what it is all about. This is the key statement: “What others have done to us.” Which later becomes: “What we are doing to us.” All of this unnecessary harm to our souls started somewhere with your caregivers, society and the media. It is a scary thought to know that our souls in a human body are easily influenced by the naïve sources around us. Centuries of evolution have passed and yet we are still innately primal in our instincts.
I grew up in a violent household full of emotional, verbal and physical abuse. Any confidence, joy and love I was born with was destroyed before I was seven. This process caused me to instinctually split off into various selves. I fragmented into these selves without realizing it as a protection device. I was born to a working class dad and middle class mom. In those days, there was no Internet and people met via snail mail. When my mom was seventeen she used to buy magazines geared towards her age demographic called Tiger Beat. She put an ad in the pen pals section in search of someone to correspond with. My dad was nineteen when he found her ad and wrote back to her. This kicked off their letter writing correspondence with one another. They both eventually decided to meet and get married. By the time my mom was twenty years old, she was pregnant with me.
She commented that my dad felt her belly and said, “It feels like you have the devil growing inside you.” He was absent when my mom’s water broke. Instead she called a cab to take her to the hospital. There were no complications during the birth, but we did have to hang around the hospital for a few days before we were released.
When I was a month old my mom’s milk ran out. Concerned she brought me to the hospital to see the doctor. He said, “He’s crying because he’s hungry.” He had her put me on a formula since she wasn’t producing enough milk. We were both undernourished in those poverty stricken days.
I was born March 5, 1973 at 6:28pm in Arcadia, California for all you astrologers out there. Throughout the 1970’s, we lived in a two-bedroom apartment building in Arcadia. My dad was working in the adult film industry before he made a move into lighting concert stages and television shows for more respectable entertainment faire. Having porn all over the house when I was five was not unusual. In this apartment building lived a French woman. I will refer to her as, “French woman”. She was in her early 20’s like my Dad. She had two kids roughly my age. One day her husband hopped into his Cadillac and drove out of the apartment complex and never returned. My dad started an affair with this woman while married to my mom. I was about five or six years old at the time when he began this long term affair.
Every day when my dad arrived home from work, he would take my sister and I out with him. We would meet up with this woman and her kids at an undisclosed location. My mom was working nights and therefore not around to catch this. A neighbor friend of hers told my mom what was going on. When my mom confronted him, they broke out into a huge fist fight. This is the first one I remember and certainly was not the last. My dad insisted that nothing was going on and told us kids not to speak a word about it to my mom. This affair would carry on for ten years. The French woman became the surrogate wicked stepmom by default and through association, not marriage. She was the perfect depiction of the wicked stepmom you imagine from the Cinderella fables. She had huge resentment and jealousy over his attention towards his own kids. This bitterness was heightened even more when it came to me and she never attempted to hide it. He was no different never expressing a kind word or exuding of love in those days unless it benefitted him for the purpose of egotistical gain.
My mom and her neighbor friend confronted the French woman in the apartment building since my dad was not about to admit to infidelity. They showed up at the French woman’s door and went into a physical altercation with her. In those days, hitting and punching seemed to be the norm around me. It was gangster-like the way they ripped her shirt off in a fury. It became the talk throughout the complex. My dad knew he wouldn’t be able to continue to keep this up and hidden. He moved the French woman and her kids to a home rental duplex in another part of Arcadia. He then moved us to a house rental in the same area. Far enough, yet close enough and convenient to go back in forth when needed.
Everyday after school my dad would pick us kids up and take us to the French woman’s house where we would have no choice but to interact with her and her kids. They were dumb white trash, but French. We’d leave them between 9:00p and 11:00p almost every night, but we wouldn’t really leave. My dad would drive around the block, then park in the driveway. We’d sit in his car for several hours late at night while he spied on her. He wanted to see how she spent her time alone after he left. This was also to make sure she was being honest in their affair with him. As if honesty can be applied to an extramarital affair to begin with. If we were lucky, we would be home by Midnight and have our homework done for school the next day. This was highly unlikely to happen and it rarely did. We were not allowed to say anything to anyone, especially my mom or he would have us killed. Those were his words.
My views on relationships today border Conservative and Traditional. Adultery is a big no-no and my outlook on loyalty took on a mafia style ethic that has been subconsciously woven into my life, relationships and my books. Growing up was all about survival, staying out of the way and remaining invisible. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t get near anyone, and don’t get too close to anyone. It will only end badly since they can’t be trusted. This is a great way to seal a second date.
I was not bullied at school, but at home. I was harassed, tormented, intimidated, threatened and assaulted at home for breathing. I quickly came to expect it as a regular occurrence. It was severe, greatly against the law, and ultimately semi-permanently damaged me. I say ‘semi’ because what had grown to be a permanently damaged individual was soon reversed with the intervention of my Spirit team who had always been there. They worked with me to undo what was done to my psyche. To get to that point its essential to know that anyone can do it. I never went to therapy because I had the best therapists in the Universe and they reside in Heaven.
As an adult, you are often oblivious as to where your current neurosis was born out of. My dad had a mental illness that some might describe as bi-polar. He refused therapy or help, as he did not believe in it. I have found that those who do not believe in therapy or getting help are the ones who need it more than anybody. Others are in therapy to work out the stuff that someone else inflicted upon them.
My dad’s outbreaks of abuse were over trivial and insignificant reasons. It could be something as simple as the fridge was moved to the left by half an inch. The violence would come down upon our heads, but mostly mine. Cases of child abuse leading to death regularly plague the news. A seven year old was beaten to death by his parents for failing to read the Bible and do his homework. His medical report showed severe bruising and massive brain swelling. He had also suffered from strokes as a result and had bruises on his arms, abdomen, back, legs, thighs and buttocks likely from being whipped to death.
Another young boy in Indiana died at aged thirteen after spending the last year of his life locked in a three-foot high cage with little food and drink. He was too weak to keep his food down. The rare occasions that he would be allowed to leave the cage resulted in a savage beating from his dad. The final beating continued until his body grew into unconsciousness. He remained locked up until his sister found him the next day dead. A letter he wrote was found describing his situation. It said that he wanted to be dead.
These stories are countless and endless as child abuse cases are discovered when it’s too late. I connect with all of these kids and think, “Well at least I sort of had food on a good day.” I would’ve traded the abuse I endured for death any day. I was one of those battered animals whose owner’s torture and abuse them and yet the animal sticks around. Eventually the animal starts biting back and viciously as if it were attacked by rabies. Some say that the parent is disciplining their child to teach them right from wrong. There is a huge difference between discipline and full on abuse to the point where the child lives their life in indefinite fear. Those that have gone through any childhood traumas will be the first to raise their hand and attest to this.
My home life was violent, disruptive and dysfunctional. It was not only targeted to me because anyone my dad came into contact with would experience his control issues. He would start a fight with my mom when he would come home from work. He was always verbally abusive and condescending. He would say something to her like, “You have no body or brains. As soon as the kids are grown I’m going to dump you like a bucket.” There were days my parents wrestled and fought in the front lawn. My mom attempted to go to the police and lawyers several times, but they said they couldn’t do anything. They said if she pressed charges they could throw him in jail. She couldn’t do that because she was only making $8 an hour working for a bank. She couldn’t raise the kids alone with no money. When they’d fight he would take us kids in the car to this other woman’s house to piss her off. My mom eventually started messing around with big, tough black men on motorcycles to likely compensate for getting into a loveless, abusive marriage.
The abuse grew to be unbearably worse. There was only one moment the French woman intervened about seven years in. She told him, “If you keep abusing your kids, they are going to hate you.” This somehow instilled the fear of God in him. He stopped with the physical violence, although the emotional and verbal abuse continued. Everyone saw him as a Saint, because that was the face he put on when they were around. When everyone was gone, the real face appeared and it was pure evil. We separated into others to protect us. When I was seven, we referred to him as the Devil. “The Devil is home.” By saying, “we”, I’m referring to the many that reside within me.
The childhood trauma left a scar that was later seen inside my body. My past was visible during a visit to the Doctor as an adult for a sore shoulder ligament issue. The Doctor explained that it was more likely from weight lifting, rather than sleeping on it. He wanted to rule out anything more severe like a damaged disc so he had X-rays done. The X-rays were taken of the left shoulder and left arm area and up throughout the neck and head. The Doctor walked me through the details of what he looks at in an X-ray. He was ecstatic to find the shoulder bones and area looked impeccable. All looked great around the area where I was experiencing pain. He went as far as to say that the shape of the bones in that area is perfectly formed where the muscles are. He had never seen anything quite like it with another patient. I said, “So whatever I’m doing keep at it?” He added, “Well, yeah, but also you’ve likely always had this or were born with it.” Baseball players especially tend to do all kinds of things to their shoulders messing it up, so even the most primed athlete has some bone formation issue seen in X-rays. This diminished any worse case scenario theory with my initial shoulder pain. It was a torn ligament that would heal over time.
What he did hone in on was the area around the neck vertebrae. It was nothing to be alarmed about, but he said that he could tell just by looking at it that something traumatic happened to me when I was a child. He looks at the x-rays and can see someone’s history. There were noticeable bones that were slightly in another direction that could only be caused by force, specifically at the hands of someone else. It was nothing to be alarmed about and won’t cause any future problems, but it was something that popped out to him. He could tell that it happened as a child just by looking at the X-ray. It happened way back in time and not as an adult. It was something I had no recollection of or identified myself with and it was right in front of me. It’s inside me and visible in an X-ray. I’m carrying it around all day long everyday without having been aware of it. Not all of the scars heal. I’m forever branded and stuck with it until my soul exits this body for transmutation.
My tolerance threshold for violence, pain, negativity, anger, abuse, bullying – even the kind that exists on the internet today, comment boards – any demeaning or degrading behavior towards another is strictly not tolerated and as I later learned, nor is it by Heaven. I fight back and I hit harder. I joined up with an army carrying big guns. They are the hundreds of lights around me that include those that passed on, spirit teachers in the spirit world and angels. Above them, the angels that are equivalent to the strongest and most ferocious defense force in the Universe –the Archangels.
This constant suppressing of fear put me in survival mode. Heaven’s messages that were attempting to come through for me grew dim. I was too young to know they could help as I was absolved in anger and panic. I figured if they could help, then they would have. I did not know you had to ask them for help. Instead I suffered every second my eyes were open. I was ten years old and had no idea that the angels would assist in me breaking down the walls, and the dismantling of all my ideals I’ve placed on my back, that only caused further pain and burden. If only they could give us all a handbook that’s waiting for us when we arrive here. This way we know and understand why we are here. It would save us all time and unnecessary anguish.
I started smoking cigarettes at fifteen which was no surprise considering what I was enduring at the time. My nerves trembled and shot off the charts. I lived in irrational dread that seemed irreparable. This fear morphed into chronic social anxiety and other panic disorders that would be carried long into adulthood. I figured I would be smoking for the rest of my life, as it was the only thing that temporarily calmed me down. There was no one to help and no one to turn to. I was too addicted and these addictions would later grow into stronger more dangerous territory. There was no love, affection or physical contact growing up. Any contact that occurred was typically violent. This is where my hardcore view on relationships was born out of. It is where my insatiable craving for love came from. I craved more attention and love from my peers to make up for what was lacking at home. This became a lifelong quest to find love from other outlets. When you endure hardships or traumatic events as a child, then it carries on into adulthood. You split off and disassociate parts of yourselves for protection. There is no doubt that if it did not happen that I would be a different person. I would have been less afraid of reaching my full potential earlier in life.
You must reach a point in your life where you do what Archangel Jeremiel calls a Life Review. This can be as simple as a good hard look at your issues and neurosis that are blocking you from achieving your desires. Go back into time to see where these irrational fears started. Why do you flee when someone who has good intentions wants to ask you out on date? Those who do not trust others were not born this way. You assumed that all was good and that there are no monsters. There are monsters and they are in each and every one of us. Some of the monsters are raising other kids as I’m a child born into this lifetime from one. For me to talk about my accomplishments that are threaded in this book is not to brag or to stroke my ego, but instead is done to show that I did not let my past stop me. I overcame it and grew stronger.
There were many selves living in me by the time I was a teenager. Some of them had names while others chose not to introduce themselves. Despite this, I was a fully functional and capable human being. This was because the other selves and parts of me that exuded that trait took over. One of them was the guy that was going to do something with his life and no one was going to stop him. It is quite common for a child to split into many different people during stress, abuse or trauma. All of these people live within you. You are not typically aware of each of these selves. Some of them come forward to perform specific actions as needed. When a particular self specializes in a given area, then that self rules the show.
Heaven was able to work with me on ridding some of the more destructive selves as I grew older. They assisted in removing those parts of me that had been stuck in the crevices of the cells of my soul. Social anxiety became the most difficult one to manage. The other symptoms subsided to manageable degrees or diminished completely with the assistance of the angels. I turned around some of the negative symptoms, but other issues would prove to be more challenging to undo.
Some of the additional symptoms that formed out of the abuse were severe mood swings, depression, guilt and volatile emotions that would be carried on my back like huge boulders for decades to come. Having several selves allowed me to keep them tempered and under control in situations where I needed to accomplish something important.
If someone stood in my way or crossed the line, then the moods and emotions would aggressively erupt. I became ruthlessly rebellious and did anything and everything to piss everybody off. I was strong, but beyond hostile and I hit back harder. The birth of ADD/ADHD symptoms took place where an impatient nature exploded over anything that wasn’t moving quick enough. It also caused issues with certain people where they would discover I wasn’t listening to them. This likely contributed to the failings of past relationships. It was one of many traits I had little control over. One minute they have my undivided attention as if the sun was shining all over them. The next minute I was cold, distant and their words were significantly removed from my consciousness. They would have to repeat what they just said to me. In a close romantic partnership, I knew I’d have to choose carefully. This poor soul who links up with me would have to put up with quite a bit that is beyond my control. They’d have to lovingly repeat themselves without taking offense, but knowing that it is the result of ADD/ADHD.
Suffering from physical and psychological mistreatment created more of a dissociation from my other selves. I often had no control over what the other self was doing or how it was behaving. To say I grew up a mess is an understatement. I managed to maintain an active social life. This is the benefit to splitting off and separating. This was counterbalanced by periods of radical isolation and withdrawal from life. I’d get the occasional common message from a friend, “Did you die? Where are you?” I didn’t know. There were periods where I could not be sociable and did not want to be around anybody. My responses and emotions would turn apathetic and then cold. I would move from periods of depression, to insignificance, to hyperactivity, in a span of twenty-four hours.
There was only one way to stop that drama and so I turned to other forms of substance abuse. This is another assemblage of indicators that erupt out of a disturbing childhood. This was the closest thing to self-harm I inflicted upon myself. This was on top of the negative thoughts of inferiority that dominated one of my selves. The phobias that resulted turned into one long list that included being distressed easily. The anxiety led to a sleeping disorder that carried indefinitely into adulthood.
Promiscuity also took form out of that at the super early age of eight. My craving for love turned into more of a sense of being dirty to complete apathy. It was another erratic emotional range that would all occur within the course of an hour. There was something inside me that was aware of the greatness to come. I felt a tugging in my loins to be productive and nothing and no one was going to stop me from going after what I wanted. These jolts come from the Divine to wake you up and face you in the right direction. I was born a creative being since I was a child. In those days I was interested in artistic projects and architecture. I would build houses in the backyard with my cousin made out of hundreds of cardboard boxes. I constructed castles out of construction paper. I wanted to build a foundation that was full of wonder and security. It gave me comfort to know that I was safe even if it was only a house made out of paper.
As I grew into my teens I started writing stories in a ragged old notebook. I would make stuff up and add dialogue, then have the neighborhood kids gather around and act my crap out on the front lawn. “You stand here and then you over there should come in after he says the line about heading to the river, but don’t wait too long to do it though.” I was a perfectionist when it came to the rhythms of sounds and dialogues. It was a way for me to express myself through the varying channels of creativity that existed: Music. Art. Film. Books.
I was physically and sexually active beyond what was probably considered typical. It reminded me of the stereotype about how certain women who were abused or sexually abused as girls grew up to become a stripper or porn star. I never headed in that direction, but I may as well have. I didn’t only channel my feelings through writing, which offered healing, but I had primal urges that pushed me to work my body out in some form of exercise by the time I was fourteen. Part of it was my natural knowingness that we have to take care of our bodies while we are here in this Earthly life. The other motivation to exercise then was that I had to keep moving, because if I stopped I would feel something. The only thing existing at that time was the pain of being trapped in eternal hell that was my home life.
School was a different story and became the gratifying escape from having to be at home. I was a therapist of sorts attracting in every student from a variety of diverse cliques needing advice or counseling. I was the go to person for all of their issues and problems. This was where they had not felt they could go to anybody else with. I would get things like, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but I feel like I can trust you. You always know just what to say that helps.” I did not know where this information to help them came from. All I knew was that I simply just “knew” the answer when they would tell me what was going on with them. I’d get the nerds, or the smart crew, the cheerleaders, the gothic dark bunch, the jocks and even the some of the teachers. I have been hearing the words, “You’re an old soul”, since I was a kid.
At this point my dad had one of those little single cots pushed up against one corner of the wall in the living room. He would sleep on it while my mom slept in the bedroom. It was odd that was the sleeping arrangement prompting me to wonder if they were ever in love. I had no clue that they were legally divorced for years at that point. How could you be with someone if you are not in love with them or at least working at it? I don’t believe I ever saw them speak to each other unless they were fighting or being eerily polite. I was reminded that I seemed to know when something was going to happen before it did. This could be good or bad, and in those days it was mostly bad. I never felt safe and lived immersed in unnerving phobias.
I preferred a new kind of death and not to myself, but to the rest of them. Torn between several of my selves acting up at once who were experiencing heightened turmoil. It was the strong ones within me who were wholly focused, connected and aligned with Heaven. My Spirit team showed me someone who was happy and playful and immensely loved up ahead. This is what kept me going. It is the optimism that many have thanked me for embodying through the course of my life. It is where hope lives and where love resides.
The Reaching for the Warrior Within is an autobiography based on true accounts that show the fall and rise of a warrior of light. Available in paperback and e-book wherever books are sold
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