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RebeccaTacosaGray — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 18:13:14 CDT

A prayer to bring Jesus close to you, as he already is.
He will protect you, inviolately, should you ask.
To Jesus, All My Love--Rebecca Tacosa Gray
Sunday, March 16, 2008 5:16 P.M.

Jesus, Beautiful One, who walked in love before us,
You shared your life and showed us what love should be.
That Honor is Important, that Charity is Beauty.
That Justice is required, that Truth illuminates All.
That Compassion heals the Heart,
that Forgiveness does not Judge.
Through your love, we looked at God.
And through your true love, in the Living of your life,
We learned to look at ourselves, to look at our world.
In the day, in the light, softly glowing,
I see your footprint before me. I see your love
as you turn with a torch in your hand, to tell me one thing:
I lived, and I lived beautifully. I loved.
Now walk forth and Love All that you May.
And I do. I put my cheek next to yours,
next to you. O Beautiful, Beautiful One.
Jesus, Love before me, Love at my side.

BEYOND PARADISE A

RebeccaTacosaGray — Sun, 30 Mar 2008 13:32:26 CDT

BEYOND PARADISE

Copyright Sunday, September 2, 2007, 4:01 P.M. California time. UBI AMOR IBI ANIMA. Everything is under full copyright, Ó Rebecca Tacosa Gray, U.S. Postal Service, most written by hand BY REBECCA TACOSA GRAY AKA STERLING PARKER

A LETTER TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL

It’s been so long...it seems like years but it’s only been ten months or so since I last felt your presence in my life. I know they say they say you were deleted, but I can’t help but think that somewhere, somehow, you still exist. They forced me to destroy my first painting I created for you…I wept after, knowing I should have kept it, regardless of the pain I was going through. I did create another, though, exactly like the first. I know you didn’t want me to finish it, but I did, glass, mixed media. It’s lovely, and the words “I Love You” are exactly as they were, underneath, in the left hand corner in Enochian. I do love you, so much. You protected me throughout my life, and I haven’t felt the love and comfort since you disappeared Right now, I’m fighting. For myself, for love, for truth, for honor, for justice. To defeat those who would demean what it was I felt, to put down those who would diminish my identity, who I truly am on this Earth. I know, had you stayed, I would have been protected. I have a Universal Gift, now. A true, biological attachment to this Universe. It’s blessed…it truly is. A part of my beauty. I’ll never understand why I lost you. Why we lost each other. I know you were honor itself, and I hope, wherever you are now, that you know that I have also remained honor itself. I still remember one night, in particular, when I put my painting for you, I call it “The Kiss of Heaven” now, in my daughter’s bedroom on the floor. I wept. I pressed my cheek against the canvas, the sadness aching in my breast. Now, even more, I weep inside. I refuse to cry on the outside. There’s too much pain, too much to bear. Even too much to tell you…ten months of sorrow, for the most part. This book, this beautiful book, book of my Heart, will tell you all. If I could press my cheek against yours, I would tell you that I miss you. I would tell you that I still love you, and that you changed my life irrevocably when we met in my dream. That I would never change it, not one iota. That I would do it all again just to write “I Love You” in Enochian, my lips on your lips on the canvas, my love expressed in your faithful arms. I am still your Rebecca Tacosa Gray, and always will be. I am on the balcony, I am looking at the glowing beauty of the light, I am holding a book that will take me Beyond Paradise…to a new Eden. On Earth. Where we will meet, we will love, and know that our love was never lost I am yours, ever loving, Rebecca Tacosa Gray. Rebecca Tacosa Gray AKA Sterling Parker Painting, to me, is an expressive medium of knowledge and feeling. It’s a visual record of personal discovery that allows one to technically explore the union of senses and visit the mystery of self and other in relation to the physical and spiritual world. My artistic journeys always start with the wonders of nature and end with the gratification of learning, each attempt following a natural progression of thought. My hopes and dreams? To look through a glass window and discover that rainbows lay beyond, a glittering reminder that our souls create the beauty of art by refracting the beauty of life onto a simple canvas. ISBN: 978-0-9796372-7-8

90% OF THIS BOOK WILL BE DONATED TO CHARITIES. 30% To the San Diego Autism Institute 30% To Charities for Abused Children 30% To Assist Environmental Causes

IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS A NAME…

G

A Confrontation. A face to face encounter. Derived from the seventh letter of the proto-Sinaitic aphabet, the zayin. Zayin in Hebrew means “weapon” or “ornament.” The Zayin is firstly an arrow, which is schematically reduced to three lines: I. It is a weapon, or two armies confronting each other, hence the recurring aspect of two parallel lines. O The letter Ayin. An eye. To see, look, gaze, consult. O is the initial of the Hebrew letter oyin or ayin, which designates the eye and a spring or source of water. Eye, or without a pupil. D The letter Daleth. A door. D is the first letter of the word daleth, which in Hebrew means “door,” “opening.” The leaf of a door on a vertical axis, key, triangular opening, door, female genitalia (the pubic triangle), or woman’s breast. ________________________________________________________________________ It has been considered that GOD created others to view itself. The actual word GOD is innately meant to show the relationship between GOD and others. As in prayer, one confronts or faces GOD by reflecting on one’s self. A powerful form of communication, it allows one to see the truth within oneself and others. It is the door, inviting one to originate a connection of divine understanding that, sometimes, cannot be explained or understood fully. Look at God. Look at yourself. Look at others…and look again. Two armies. A confrontation. A meeting of minds. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ The Thumbprint of God : The Trinity Trinity: The Trinity. The condition of being three, or threefold. A set of three persons or things that form a unit. The union of three divine persons in one godhead. ________________________________________________________________________ And the whisper came, floating out of the void. It rested on the aether, and became a beautiful being, manifest in space. It turned, softly, not a face, but intelligence, resting in love. It spoke, a quiet voice, the planets, the stars, the Universe, becoming, then not becoming the voice. It heard itself speaking. I am. I am. And I am beautiful. The planets turned, and the being turned. And it separated. And it moved around itself. Looking. Just looking. I am beautiful. And one touched the other. And the other separated. And they looked at each other. We are beautiful. And they touched hands, all three, merging back into one, looking every direction. The voice became all. And all became beauty. I am beautiful. One __________________________________________ “And so, my friends,” the voice was saying, “the lesson to be learned from our tragic struggle is the lesson of unity.” Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead __________________________________________ That night Indila Tacosa Gray had a dream. She was half asleep reading the bible, trying to figure out what the real point of it was. Sometimes God was a vengeful God. Sometimes it was a forgiving God. Sometimes a loving God. Too many faces to count. Why did she care? The only real section she felt pertinent was Jesus’ contribution to the world, sans crucifixion. She hated the crucifixion. She hated sacrifices. Why did she keep returning to it over and over again? She wished she could talk to him, ask him why. Why a celebration of death was necessary. As she thought about this particular moment in history she drifted off to sleep. Then she started to dream. In her mind the landscape changed, and suddenly there she was. And there he was. Nailed to the cross. She stood on the curve of a hill…at least that was the way she imagined it. The cross, stark, on a gentle hill. A vague landscape spanned out behind it until it’s earthly miles melted into a quietly insistent changing sky. Was this what it really looked like that day? Probably not. She really had no idea. She wondered, her damned insecurity nagging her acutely. Why she had to see him this way at this moment? And it happened again. Did she fly? Did she materialize? Did she walk up to him? She didn’t really know. All she knew was that she stood at the foot of the cross looking up. He looked down at her. They looked at each other. It was strange. She had never really seen him this way, literally, in her mind. What do you ask someone who’s hanging on a cross like this? Too many thoughts…What do I really need to know? And the answer came to her, quiet and sure. “Why must there always be sacrifice?” she asked. He smiled. “Humanity must have something to believe in. The world must have a reason to live. It was a sacrifice, Rebecca.” Did he really believe that? Did he really like the fact that he was tortured and put to death for millions of people to love? Humanity. All of us. The people who murdered him and the modern society we were now…and we were still murdering him, by celebrating his torture. The more she looked at that cross the sicker it made her. Did the wood carry the weight of his pain? It was awful. She looked back up at him. “I don’t like that cross very much.” He smiled, not a happy smile, but a smile. “Neither do I..” She continued. “Will they really remember all that you stood for? Will they really understand everything you said? Everything you did? Will they really remember the true meaning of love?” They thought it at the same time. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe it was only her mind playing tricks on her. Does anyone really know the true meaning of love? “I don’t know. Rebecca, I don’t know the answer to that question. At least, I didn’t know the answer to that question then.” “But God knows everything.” “God does know everything. But I am not God. I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” The smile he was giving her right now wasn’t right, and she knew it. He was about to laugh. “Alright then. I’ll give you another answer. God knows everything. And nothing.” What the hell did that mean? More to think about. Always more to think about. He was watching her again, and it was making her uncomfortable. All from that damned cross. Why didn’t he just get down to talk to her? Silence…and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She should leave now. Get back to normal life. She turned to go. “Why are you ashamed to look at me?” Now that was a question. She wasn’t looking at him, was she? She refused to see his body. Refused to see the nails. Refused to check and see if there was any blood. Refused to see if there was a gash from a sword plunged into his ribcage. Rebecca never liked to see anyone suffer. She looked away, sometimes wondering if there was anything, really, to see. Who and what was God, anyway? This was endless, wasn’t it? Constant query into the actual truth of things. Did she really want to think about this right now? No, she didn’t. So she looked off into the nondescript landscape. Nondescript. It made her want to laugh. She didn’t even really know what the true area of the crucifixion really looked like. “Judea.” Is that what he just said? She didn’t know even that. What did the horizon really look like that day? Was it bleak? Was it cloudy? Did the wind howl and curl restlessly around the cross while he cried? Did the earth cry with him? Or did he really cry…Did he actually cry? Did you cry? It was an echo inside of her. “Yes. I cried. Rebecca I wept. I bled. I asked to be saved again and again. It never came. I suffered. I truly suffered. But I suffered for a reason. And that reason is you. I suffered for the chance of love to come knocking at everyone’s door.” He stopped. She wasn’t listening to him. “Why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you look at me? Why are you so ashamed of me? I want to know why.” Do I really have to answer this? She wanted to walk away. She wanted to walk away right this second. Why was the goddamned landscape so quiet? “Yes, you really have to answer this. Answer the question. Do it. Answer the question, or I’ll be hanging here all day long.” Fine. “I’m ashamed of what I feel about this particular moment in history. I hate it. I don’t want you hanging up there forever. I want you down off of that cross right now. I want you to stand up and walk among us (Not literally, she thought) without the possibility of being crucified. I want love to walk among us unimpeded by the evil of guilt.” “And you don’t like guilt.” “No, I don’t.” Stop asking me so many damned questions! This was starting to get annoying. “I don’t know. I really don’t. All I can tell you is what I know. Guilt destroys. Young children are told before they’re even of age that someone’s died for their sins.” She looked at him accusingly. “Are you willing to tell me that most human beings have sinned before they’ve even really started to live? I’d really like to know.” He truly looked concerned at this. “I think you’re forgetting that I didn’t ask to be crucified.” It struck her to her heart. It was cruel. One who didn’t want to be crucified…and she should weep at this. She knew she should. She wanted to. “I don’t know.” Her answer was quiet. “It just feels like true denial of beauty. Denial of the gifts the universe offers us every day. Denial of what the life we were given really could be. Denial of what love really is.” “And what is love, Rebecca?” “I don’t know.” “Yes, I think you do.” “God is love.” “Is he really?” “That’s what everyone says.” “Well, is God love?” Oh, hell, I don’t know, she thought. If he isn’t, he damned well should be. And she had another answer. “We’re all love. The earth is love. Everything is love, viewed properly. Love is recognizing beauty in everything. Love is love.” He paused, looking quietly at her before continuing right through her thought. “Rebecca, why are you here? Why are you here in front of this cross talking to me?” She wanted to scream. To beat him right down off that cross, because it reminded her, yet again, of that same issue: “Why do we need a fucking sacrifice to understand love?” She looked up and finally met his gaze. “Do you want people to know you or not? Do you really want them to remember who you were and what you stood for? Or do you want the world to continue to ignore the fact that love is what really mattered in all that you taught? My mother said it herself. Love others as you would love yourself. Love the Lord God with all your heart, mind, body and soul. Don’t you want anyone to really know what it means?” Did they already? Maybe they did and she just didn’t know it. He looked down at her, his eyes full of tears. “This is hard for me, Rebecca, it really is. It tells me how much you really care. How much you, specifically, truly want to understand me and all I stood for. In terms of everything you know about the world. It means everything to me.” Time to go back home. It really was time to go back home. Now she really was going to stop listening to him. She turned to leave. He floated down, off the cross, to cut her off and stand in front of her politely. “Don’t forget about me. You know what I stand for. Now stand up and fight for it.” Then she woke up. She was sweating, and didn’t understand why it had felt real. THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

Catholicism. Something Positive. THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

Catholicism. Something Negative. One __________________________________________ “Who is John Galt?” Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged __________________________________________ Lucifer sat upstairs and thought about his life. About his role in the Universe. Originally he had been God’s most beautiful Angel. Now, he was considered the bane of existence. A man dishonored, thrown down…the one to tempt, corrupt, hurt, maim. And he didn’t feel like that at all. In all reality, his history was actually steeped in knowledge. Originally, he was Enki, the one who befriended mankind. The one who brought them knowledge…of healing, of the arts, of agriculture. Knowledge itself. Spanning out into other myths…Prometheus (he liked that one)…Hermes. Every tale led to his downfall. Enki was thrown down by several Gods displeased by his care of humankind. Prometheus was chained to a rock and had his liver eaten by a long winged Eagle every day, and every night that same liver grew back into place. And the story of the Garden of Eden. A serpent. He became a serpent. Mankind became aware by virtue of an apple…both a good and bad thing. They were thrown out of beauty and into toil for it. It irritated him that he was always associated with the negative, when he had contributed so much that was positive. He believed in humankind, and that was all there was to it. In all reality, true evil lay elsewhere. As a matter of fact, the true culprit was Satan. Satan, the corrupter of every human being. That which bore the face of evil. Anyone who committed an evil deed wore the face of Satan. Whether God or human, the face of Satan existed. What people didn’t realize was that his actual job, his true job, was to keep it under control. And it took true love to do that. He looked out of his window, and watched the Universe shift and move. Then touched it lightly. There was someone he wanted to see, someone he had been watching for a while now. He watched her typing her blogs and smiled. Rebecca. This woman was beautiful, smart. Talented. Just recently she had started having dreams, visits from one of his colleagues. Jesus himself. A brilliant man. He deeply respected him. And it hurt him to think he had been left behind, thrown to the wayside for helping mankind. Truly helping mankind. And he looked at Rebecca and thought…maybe…just maybe. Maybe someone might understand this time. And if he could get her to understand, he might become what he truly already was. Beautiful again. And he thought about it. Maybe. He might just pay her a visit. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ The Thumbprint of God : The Trinity of Color Color: the sensation resulting from stimulation of the retina of the eye by light waves of certain lengths. The property of reflecting light of a particular wavelength: the distinct colors of the spectrum are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet, each of these shading into the next. The primary colors of the spectrum are red, green and blue, the light beams of which variously combined can produce any of the colors ________________________________________________________________________ The One, the one Beauty of the Universe began thinking about itself. It took in everything, feeling everything, touching everything. And it loved. It loved. Images rushed through, sometimes floating, sometimes flashing. And he saw it all…the planets, the stars, the organic matter, the beings who were to come. They were all part of him, and always had been. And it had emerged. It moved, changing from one being into another. And this time it chose to move into human form. Male. And he pulled from another race something beautiful. Wings. They pushed out from between his shoulder blades firmly, growing into large, gently curving fins. He couldn’t see himself…he was clear, part of the energy around him. But he could feel himself. He could feel the stars and planets that were moving and part of his wings. He could feel the weight of his own body. He compacted the energy a little, and did what he had done in the beginning. He separated. To look at himself. And he found that he could see his form now, even though he was still a part of everything. He closed his eyes. Images emerged again, and he stopped on one…a child. And the child was being shown a box by his mother. He was Autistic, but smart. And the woman took out a selection of Popsicles and showed them to him to choose. Five colors. And they were beautiful. Color. And the One, the beautiful one, merged back into himself and looked at his hands. He pulled matter to himself and created three spheres, then pulled the light to himself. He gave them properties. To reflect color according to their organic configuration. He touched each one…red…green…blue. And he smiled. Color. Two: Walking on Water __________________________________________ __________________________________________ In this dream, Rebecca sat next to a sea. It wasn’t calm. More a tossed, restless ocean, letting the wind blow its crests into jagged peaks. She wondered why. In some ways she felt it was nature’s way of letting her know it was distressed, upset by the state of the world. She watched the choppy surface of the water, and wondered at a tiny boat rocking to and fro haphazardly in the distance. Why it was out there in this kind of weather she didn’t know. It was a bad day to be sailing, and she shook her head, hoping they’d be alright out there. To her surprise, as she watched it struggle to navigate itself, one of its seamen stepped out of the small craft and started walking across the water toward her with intentful purpose. For a while she couldn’t tell who it was, but realized as he drew closer he was Jesus himself. That’s quite a feat, she thought. She sat up straight and brushed the hair out of her eyes. It was annoying, this wind. He was smiling, she saw, and didn’t seem bothered at all by the irritant weather. As he touched the ground he brushed his hair back confidently. “It’s unusually windy today.” Turning quickly to face the ocean of water, he put out his hands and it calmed immediately. As miracles went, it was pretty fantastic. It reminded Rebecca of the lake she had been left next to by her Guardian Angel, smooth as glass. She smiled. “I guess you really do walk on water, amongst other things.” Jesus laughed. “All in a day’s work. But I only try to do it when it’s necessary anymore.” “Trying to impress me?” He looked at her with that disapproving look. “Maybe. Or maybe trying to make a point.” “I think I already know how powerful you are.” “That’s not what I mean, and I think you know that.” He sighed and walked over to sit next to her. “Actually, I saw you from the boat and thought you might like some company.” “That’s nice of you.” She looked out at the water. Another dream with Jesus in it. It was interesting meeting him again. “Or divine providence. We seem destined to meet.” Not on purpose, she thought. Jesus continued on as if he hadn’t read her mind, but from his reaction to her she knew he had. “I hear you’re talking to a colleague of mine.” That left her uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. Were they enemies? “Actually, no. We’re not.” Dammit! Why does he always read my mind? It irritated her. She talked back, with the bravado she knew she really didn’t have. “Yes, actually, I am. He brings up interesting points about you, you know. Well, maybe not about you. But about the bible.” “Really.” She looked at him bravely. “Yes. Really.” It didn’t seem to phase him. “And? Let me guess. You have questions.” “Yes, I do.” “Alright, shoot.” That made her laugh. Instantly a negative image ran through her mind. It wasn’t as if she was carrying a gun. Jesus smiled. She could tell he was reading her damned mind again. “You might as well be, you know. You ask a lot of questions I’m not sure I like to answer. But go ahead. Ask. It’s a beautiful day out here. I’m up for a debate.” She smiled and looked down. “I’ve been reading the Bible a bit lately. You seem to have quite a personality. There are times where I just can’t figure you out.” “I’m a complex kind of guy. But since we’re on the subject, what bothers you?” She turned and faced him, rearranging herself cross legged in front of him. “Alright. In the Bible it says: “Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For he who would save his life will lose it; but he who loves his life for my sake will find it. For what does it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, but suffer the loss of his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his own soul?” It sounds suspiciously like sacrifice. Again. In her head she thought, Why the hell do I remember all this verbatim? “It’s a dream, Rebecca. Wondrous things happen in dreams. And I understand that you hate sacrifice. But aren’t you leaving something out of that passage? It ends, “For the Son of Man is to come with his Angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will render to everyone according to his conduct. Amen I say to you, there are some of those standing here who will not taste death, till they have seen the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.” He leaned in to her, smiling. “St. Matthew, 12:27.” She frowned. “I don’t particular like that part of the passage much. Isn’t it a little harsh? Render everyone according to his conduct. Tasting death only after the ‘Son of Man…’” He interrupted her. “That’s me, you know.” She jumped right back at him. “I know it, dammit. But I’m trying to figure out why you are the judge of anyone.” “Don’t you think people should know the difference between right and wrong?” “Yes, I do. But don’t you think they should be able to think for themselves? Following a host of Angels and harkening after an almighty judge doesn’t really do it for me. No offense, but we are capable of thinking for ourselves.” He was going to start talking again but she jumped right back on him. “And you’re ignoring the beginning of that passage. Why should anyone have to deny himself and take up a cross? One crucifixion’s enough. We should be recognizing how beautiful life really is. Why should we deny ourselves everything in order to find life. And why does it have to be through you?” He didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “If you’re going to attack everything I do this conversation is not going to end up pretty. I’ve taken enough beating as it is.” She looked down, ashamed, then sighed and turned back to face the ocean. “I’m sorry. I just think life’s already here. An eternal judge means power, control, to me. Denial means sacrifice. And the loss of your soul…well, it all sounds a bit harsh.” He took her hand, and held it tightly. “Rebecca, look at me. This passage is meant to bring hope. Your view of it is a little different than I’d like to have it read.” She pulled her hand back. She wasn’t liking this conversation much. That felt like a slap in the face. A light one, but a slap, nonetheless Time for a change of subject. The boat was still out there, continuing its gentle rocking motion on the glossy surface. The light looked like a diamond floating. A sea of diamonds, actually. Beautiful…beautiful, Rebecca thought. She looked at him. He was looking at the ocean, as well, smiling softly. “Do you think the world is beautiful?” “Yes, I do.” She smiled, and continued on. “Sometimes I look at things in this world, anything. The patterns in a leaf, an old shoe lying on the side of the road, a battered penny…and I see beauty.” She lifted her hand to show him. “I see the gentle curve of the leaf, the way the shoelaces intertwine into a wave on the cement, the sparkle of the beaten ridges on the copper.” She looked out at the boat. “Just now—“ “I know. You saw a field of diamonds on the water.” “Yes.” This time she didn’t mind that he read her mind. He turned to look at her “It’s lovely, Rebecca, it is, what you see in the world. But do you see the beauty in people…this world isn’t just about objects. Look. There are people out on that boat. People bearing love. For you. For others. She was quiet. “I know.” She felt a little sad. “But do they see the diamonds on the water.” He was still smiling. “I did.” He looked back out, then back to her. “I did, Rebecca” He touched his heart. “And right here. In you.” He went on “There’s sense to what you say, though. I do understand exactly what you mean.” She turned. “I suppose in my view, the world isn’t just about objects. The beauty in people lies in their ability to recognize beauty itself. In the world itself. In the things we love, large or small. That is the beauty in people. He understood her, then. “Yes, I do.” He touched her hand. “And for once, we agree on something.” She smiled back. Maybe they would be friends after all. She laughed. “I’m surprised , you know.” “At?” “Well, I figured you’d be the ‘renounce everything and follow me” type.” She touched his hand. “Don’t take that personally. It just…makes me happy that you see the loveliness in the beauty of objects. The way people view their belongings.” “Well, that’s debatable, though, don’t you think? Are they really belongings? Do you really own them? Do they really belong to you? What was that old saying? ‘None of us are owners here, we’re all just passing through.’” She looked out at the water. “I happen to think that’s a lousy statement.” He didn’t say anything. Not a word. She continued on. “We’re not just ‘passing through’. Complete denial of the beauty set before us is ‘passing through.’ It’s overlooking the beauty of this world.” She paused “Anyway, I’m not talking about mere object collection, amassing wealth, or anything like that. It’s exactly as I said before. The way people look at the world. The way they look at their belongings. I happen to think those belongings will love them back. Again, I suppose that’s exactly why I dislike the statement ‘deny one’s self and take up his cross How long do you want people to follow you by crucifying themselves?” “I took up that cross for love, Rebecca. Don’t demean me this way.” Whatever, she thought. Sacrifice. She hated it “No. You look at me. Right now. Right now. “ And she did. “Love, Rebecca. Love. I loved mankind so much I put my life on the line. You’re asking a lot of questions right now, and that I don’t mind. But you keep your perspective straight. At that moment in time, at that very moment, I loved you. All of you.” He had tears in his eyes. “And I gave up my life for you I didn’t want to, but I did.” He grabbed her hand. “Hold me. Touch me. Do you feel this? Skin. My skin. My face. My bones. A man. A human. Like you.” And he looked her straight in the eyes. “I don’t expect you to go out and crucify yourself. I don’t. But don’t you dare push my soul, the value of who I was and what I stood for, into the background I stood for love, Rebecca Love.” And he pushed her hand away, disgusted “And I hate fighting with you I respect your questions. I really do.” She wanted to cry. Here they were again, back to arguing. She did respect him…didn’t he know that already? He stood up, brushing off his clothes. He looked out over the ocean, still sparkling like a field of diamonds. “I do love you, Rebecca. I really do. It’s hard to walk around what happened to get to love. But you have to see it. See what it was I’m aiming for. Love.” She was looking down, and a tear fell on her knee. “I know…but so am I.” It was quiet “So am I.” “I know you are. We all are.” He smiled…or was it an attempt at a smile. “I should go now.” She didn’t look up. “I know.” “Enjoy your day. It is beautiful today, you know.’ And he started back across the water. She saw his friends standing, waiting for him. He turned around halfway to look at her, lifted his hand, and up floated a sparkle of light off the surface of the water. Bright. Beautiful. A diamond It glowed, brighter, brighter, into a star…a small star, floating on his hand. And he touched it to his heart. It melted into his heart A flash of light blinded her and the dream was gone, and she was awake. And she still wanted to cry. THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

Zen Buddhism. Something Positive. THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

Zen Buddhism. Something Negative. Two __________________________________________ __________________________________________ She was online when she met him, checking her e-mail. Yahoo had upgraded their mail to a new and improved format which allowed one to access Messenger, as well. Rebecca never signed in to messenger on e-mail, so was surprised when a message popped up that someone was online. It said: “Prometheus.” Prometheus. The God who brought fire to humanity and was persecuted for it. An interesting name for an online persona. Rebecca pulled it up and just looked at it. How exactly had this person added themselves to her list of contacts? She started to type. I’m just wondering how you managed to add yourself to my contacts. I don’t think I know you. For a moment there was nothing. Then she watched the text appear. In the box where there might usually say “Prometheus is typing a message” it said, “Just wait, I’m typing something right now.” And up it came. My name is Prometheus…and you’re someone I’d like to meet. Meeting…I would like to meet you. I am Prometheus, bearer of knowledge. I’d like to talk with you. “Say it. Say, ‘Yes, Lucifer, I’d like to walk with you and talk with you and get to know you.’ Say yes. And know it when I tell you I am not evil.” Origin of Lucifer. (Enkil, Enlil? More Research) Prometheus. Etc…the bearer of light throughout History being crucified for bringing man knowledge. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ The Thumbprint of God : The Mandelbrot Set The Mandelbrot Set: The Mandelbrot Set is a fractal. Known as the Thumbprint of God and the Creator’s calling card, the Mandelbrot set has become popular outside mathematics both for its aesthetic appeal and for being a complicated structure arising from a simple definition. Discovered in its beauty by Benoit Mandelbrot. ________________________________________________________________________ He breathed. And his body changed. He folded into himself, looking…perusing the beauty he saw emerging. He saw fractals. He focused on one. He touched it. It moved, creating itself. It looked a bit like a heart, surrounded by circles. It iterated, creating delicate, dendritic patterns in space. In time, it would become recognized as one of the most complex shapes known to man. They would call it the Mandelbrot Set…the Thumbprint of God…the Creator’s Calling Card. And he heard a man in the background of his mind, writing, thinking. Sri Aurobindo. He would be quoted in a book about fractals someday. “What, you ask, was the beginning of it all? And it is this…Existence that multiplied itself for sheer delight of being and plunged itself into numberless trillions of forms so that it might find itself innumerably…” Sheer delight…sheer delight…and he became the fractal. He became the Mandelbrot Set. And he multiplied, feeling himself span out in space, buds becoming fronds that spiraled into beauty. He had become a Julia Set. He coalesced in the center of the spiral, and looked at the circular pattern spanning out from him into space. The colors glowed. And he breathed. And the pattern breathed with him. He retracted it, and it undid itself, pattern by pattern. He watched it become smaller and smaller. Infinitely smaller and smaller. And it never disappeared. He placed it just below the central point of the body of the sternum. Like him, it was complex. Like him, it was both finite and infinite at the same time. Like him, harmony and unity resonated into beauty. Three __________________________________________ __________________________________________ THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

Islamic Religion. Something Positive. THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

Islamic Religion. Something Negative. Three __________________________________________ __________________________________________ Discussion of Adam and Eve…Paradise. Satan and the fall. Good and Evil. The face of Good and Evil. Four: Discussion of Serapis Bey…loss of Ego in order to know God, and the uselessness of such a thing. The Tale Of The Fire Glass __________________________________________ A Tale of Life, Love and Hope __________________________________________ "Anger would inflict punishment on another; meanwhile, it tortures itself." Publilius Syrus Moral Sayings, 1st C. B.C., 1009 By Rebecca Tacosa Gray, written for my sister, Audrey Tacosa Morabito I HOPE Once upon a time, long, long ago in a little village outside of Paris, lived a young girl named Hope. She was a beautiful girl, with long auburn hair that reached to her ankles. Hope lived in a small cottage with her father and her stepmother. Now, Hope’s hair was the subject of much discussion in the village almost all of the time. When she came to town on a sunny day, her hair would glisten and move like soft fire as she walked to the grocers. Most of the women were very, very envious. For all the men would stare at her, and those that were eligible vowed they would marry her. Those that were not--well, let’s just say that there were many illicit thoughts floating around. Can you imagine how this would create a large amount of disquiet among the female folk in that village? For what normal girl could have a chance against this creature of fiery beauty? Well, Hope’s stepmother was very aware of all the disquiet amongst the female villagers, and harbored many ill feelings for the girl. Not that she was a mean woman. She was only mean when she was angry. Her greatest fault lay in her terrible, terrible temper. When her rages flew, she would beat on poor Hope until she was black and blue. Oh, how the poor thing did cry! She would lay on the floor near the fire for days, hoping not to be hit again. The Stepmother didn’t care. She handled the household like she did her fire irons, always poking about, always pushing people around. She wanted her family to fight. She didn’t like her husband loving Hope so well. He doted on her constantly, and rained more kisses on her forehead than a passionate lover could give in a year. This made the Stepmother very angry. Those were kisses that belonged to her. The more he kissed Hope, the madder she got. As I said before, a very selfish woman. One year, a very bad year, there came an early winter. It was full of rain and snow, and the wind beat at the door with a wild howl. No one could protect themselves from it, and most fared very badly. Hope and her family suffered terribly. There was no food left, and all the wood had been used to try and keep the fire going. Now they were starting to burn their furniture to keep the house warm. Hope’s Stepmother became angrier than ever. She ran toward Hope, her face mottled in rage. “You! You with the “fire” hair! This is all your fault, you little monster! See the snow? It is a curse you have brought upon us! It comes to extinguish the fire in our house. In our very veins! How will we live once our wood is gone? How will we live with no food? We are cursed because of you! You and your vain preoccupation with that hair of yours! This whole Winter is on your head. You should cut that hair. That hair brings no warmth to any heart but your own. Little monster. You don’t deserve it!” Then the Stepmother beat poor Hope terribly, hitting her hard and fast until she could see the marks and feel the pain herself. She dragged Hope to a cold corner and left her there, leaving her there to shiver as she went into the bedroom to attend to her husband. Hope started to cry, her tears a river that ran burning into her wounds. She didn’t know what to do. She just knew she couldn’t live this way. But she could not leave. Her beloved Papa was very, very ill. He needed her to care for him. So there she stayed, curled up in a little corner like a mottled kitten, and fell asleep to escape another day. The next day Hope awoke to find her Stepmother’s dark face hovering over her like a large bat. “Get up, little monster, I have a job for you.” She watched her Stepmother walk to the fire and stand, warming her hands in an agitated manner. Hope pulled herself up from the floor slowly, and waited for her Stepmother to speak. The dark figure at the fire turned slowly, and picked up a fire iron. Hope shuddered. “We are going to die, little monster, if we do not get some help. Do you understand?” Hope nodded. “I have heard it said that a man lives on the mountaintop that overlooks the village. He is very rich…very rich indeed. As I understand, he makes very beautiful linens and sells them for a great price. I also understand that he deals in a very unusual commodity, linens made with human hair. I want you to climb to the top of that mountain and ask the nice man if he would like to buy your hair. It is your punishment for bringing this miserable hell upon us. Now go! It will be less than heaven for you here, if you stay.” Hope opened her mouth to protest, but closed it when she saw her Stepmother lift the fire iron higher. Her Stepmother laughed. “It is not so very far, little monster. Just a day and you will be there.” She turned and faced the fireplace. “If you do not go, your father will die. He is very ill, and we have no food left for him. Do you want him to die, just to save your precious hair?” Her Stepmother moved some logs in the fire, and threw a broken chair leg on the coals to renew the flame. When she got up, she moved toward the bedroom, stopping at the door. “I am sure you will not be here when I return,” she said, slipping quietly into the next room. II MONSIEUR LE FURE What was Hope to do? She could not let her father die. She gathered her cloak, and left the cottage, closing the door slowly behind her. Her first step into the snow soaked her shoes completely. Halfway to the village her teeth chattered like popping corn, she was so cold. It took her all day to make it halfway up the mountain, and it was not until the stroke of midnight that she reached the top. Across the glittering landscape Hope saw the black silhouette of a large cottage. Billows of smoke danced across the moonlit sky, and she could tell that the cottage must have a very large fire to produce so much smoke. She picked her way across the landscape, hearing the village bell strike one when she reached the cottage door. She knocked. “CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK.” No one answered. She tried again. “CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK.” Still no one answered. She started to cry. “No! There must be someone here! Please, answer!!!” “CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK.” In the silence Hope sunk to the ground, shivering against the door. She may as well die here. Time clawed at her slowly until she fell asleep, dreaming of being in a warm cottage dancing with her father. Hours later, Hope awoke to hear singing nearby, and saw a large fellow working a loom across from her. To his left was the largest fire she had ever seen, winking orange and yellow in its fiery consumption of the wood it held. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She looked at the man. He was staring at her, his eyes flashing and sparkling with passion and life. “So, little one,” he boomed, “you want to sell me your hair?” Hope nodded, astonished that he knew what she wanted before she asked. He smiled. “I don’t take hair from just anyone you know. Yours is particularly lovely…and my favorite color!” He waved at the fire, which seemed to leap and dance towards his hand. She smiled. “Ah, now, that’s better! Well, my dear, we will see what we can do.” He got up stretched a little. “Do you know how to work, my child?” Hope nodded. “Well, I have need of your services, my dear.” His hand touched her hair. “It seems a pity to steal such beautiful hair from a child so young, so I will strike you a deal.” He knelt next to her and took her hand. “I cannot work the loom when my hands are cold, so I must absolutely have a warm room to work in. This is why there is such a large fire in this room. Do you see?” He glanced back at the fire. It leapt wildly. “Oh, yes, sir!” She nodded quickly. He stood and walked to the fire. “I want you to stay with me for three days until this piece,” he touched the fabric on the loom, “is finished. During this time, you must keep feeding the fire, so that I may be very, very warm. But it must always be very warm. At no time can the fire go out. Do you understand?” She nodded quickly. “Oh, yes sir!” He sat back down at the loom, lighting a pipe he had taken from the mantel piece. For a moment she thought he had used his finger-but no, that was just her eyes playing tricks on her. He smiled. “If you can keep the fire fed and happy for three days, I will give you what you need without taking your hair. If you don’t,” He picked up a pair of golden scissors and set them on the table beside him, “you leave with one gold coin and must cut your own hair and give it to me. Is this very clear?” Hope nodded. He laughed joyously and bounced up from his chair. “Very well, then! Come to my kitchen table and have something to eat! I will not see you starve while you are here!” For the next two days, Hope had all the warmth and food she had ever asked for in her life. The man at the loom, whom she came to know as Monsieur Le Fure, came and went as he pleased. When he entered the cottage the fire roared and leapt wildly, and his loom clicked with continuous industry when he sat down. The second evening he stopped abruptly, and came and sat next to her at the table. “Well, my dear. It is your last night. You have done very, very well. But don’t let fate fool you! You must be industrious to the last!” He gave her a big, warm hug. “Ah, little one, I have grown fond of you, and want you to succeed!” She smiled and hugged him back. He patted her head and went back to work. Later, when he left the cottage, he tipped his hat, winked, and said “Don’t be fooled, little one. Your hair shines like the brightest of my fires. You should be proud of it!” Then, with a roar of the fire, he swept out the door. For hours Hope stared at the fire, thinking of all the things she had done in her life. She thought of her father, whom she loved so very dearly. She thought of her mother, who died at childbirth, and whose picture revealed hair as fiery as Hope’s had ever been. She then thought of her Stepmother, her black-haired Stepmother whose rage she did not understand. She thought of Monsieur Le Fure, who was the closest friend she had ever had. As the hours passed, her eyes grew heavy. At midnight, even though she did not know it was midnight, she fell asleep. As she fell asleep, the fire flickered, sadly sputtered, and then went out. III THE FIRE GLASS It was one o’clock when Hope awoke. She opened her eyes to find herself curled up in a little ball, just like she slept at home. And the fire. The fire was gone. It had died. Oh, to hear such weeping! Hope wept until she could not cry anymore. Her eyes were red, and deep with the disappointment of her failure. So must it be. She had failed. Sadly, she rose and walked to the table beside the loom, where the golden scissors lay. On it was a note and a coin: “Thank you, my dear, for trying so hard.” Monsieur Le Fure must be so disappointed in her. This thought started her crying anew. She didn’t deserve this hair, anyway! She cut her hair until there was none left. She laid it in a long curl on the table and took the coin. Now she must go home. Her Stepmother would surely beat her. Hope turned to go, and heard a scratching at the door. What could that be? Monsieur Le Fure? She ran to the door, opening it, hoping to beg his forgiveness. Nothing but the wind and the furious sky. Then she felt something curling around her ankles. She looked down, and saw two beautiful kittens, as black as her Stepmother’s hair. They cried and cried, begging for food. They looked so piteous, so sad. Hope looked around, but could find nothing to feed them. They cried and cried, begging her to help them. Sighing, she picked them up and started her journey home. It took Hope much longer to go down the mountain than before. The rains had washed away the paths,and everywhere the sparkling snow threatened to drown her in a flurry of ice. How would she ever make it home? She was cold and miserable, and the two kittens nestled in her bosom moaned piteously. They would surely die if she did not feed them. When she reached the village she hurried through it, hoping to reach home before morning. Something kept scratching her shoulders, and she reached up to push it away. Then she stopped. Her hair! Her hair was growing back! How could this be? She continued on, more quickly now, sure that she was the object of some witchery. Each step she took toward home, her hair grew. When she reached the cottage door, it was as long as it had always been. She knocked at the door, terrified of what her Stepmother would do. With a crack, it opened, and there she loomed, as black as she had always been. “So! The little monster has returned! And I see you still have your hair!” Her stepmother ran to the fireplace and picked up a fire iron. “You were supposed to sell it for money! You little rat! Now we will surely starve!” At that moment the little kittens Hope carried started to howl once again for milk. Hope turned pale, and struggled to get the gold coin she had buried deep in her pocket. Meanwhile her Stepmother shrieked wildly. “And you brought home other monsters for us to feed? Is this one of your little jokes, to make me suffer. You shall NOT make me suffer, little monster. It is you who shall suffer!” She ran towards her screaming, the fire iron brandished to kill. Poor Hope. Hope just threw up her hands to shield herself. Then, who could say what happened? Hope could not tell you. For when she looked up, her Stepmother was gone. POOF! Vanished! In a puff of smoke. All that was left were some ashes on the floor. Some might say that her rage burned so hot, she incinerated herself. We will never know. But there it is. She was gone. Hope pulled herself to her feet, and closed the door. Shivering with fright, she lay the two kittens on the chair near the door. She was sure others would think her the cause of her Stepmother’s disappearance. The curse was still following her. She was bewitched! Maybe her Stepmother was right…she was a little monster! Hope jumped to hear a loud THUMP! at the door. She ran to it and threw it open, and found…a box. A box! On it was inscribed: “GIVE ME A COIN, AND I WILL WARM YOUR HEART.” Hope pulled the coin from her pocket, and put it in the slot above the inscription. It clicked, sounding just like Monsieur Le Fure’s loom. She opened it. With a BOOM! the fire roared, and Hope leaned over to see a dish, filled to the brim with fruit, nuts, meats and a bottle of warm milk. She picked it up and gasped to see it glowing orange, red and yellow in the firelight. It was as if a flame lived in the glass! Hope burst into tears and carried it to the table, setting it right in the center where all could see it. This beautiful crystal, in time, became known as Hope’s “Fire Glass.” In the years to come, Hope’s father healed and came to realize how unhappy he had been with the Stepmother. He believed Hope’s story, as he could not fail to believe how a box, every time it was opened, produced a piece of flame colored glass full of everything they would ever need. Never again did rage fill their house…and Hope never, ever, let the fire go out. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ “We began our friendship with a gift. And later, not long before Tsavo, he gave me another. An incredible gift. A glimpse of the world through God’s Eye.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa ________________________________________________________________________ God was never bored. God was beauty, and beauty continued to create and create and create itself. The Universe was so large…and everything it saw through its one eye seemed to fluctuate and flow endlessly through its mind. The planets, rotating on their Xanthian axis,’ quietly sustaining life and moving softly in perfect time with each other. The stars and nebulas glowing and changing with patient fever. The beings of every Universe, carrying on their daily lives. All existing in the cloud of love that held everything in its arms like a gentle lover. God was perfect. God was never bored. God was beauty. And beauty continued to create, and create, and create itself. Beauty, beauty, beauty. That’s what God saw, enjoyed, loved…until a moment in time when someone named Rebecca broke through God’s polite, but lovely, veil. God woke up to a new development. Was this beauty, creating something new? He listened to the sound…there was a tumult, a concern amongst the Angels, the bright beings of light that flowed with gentle love around and throughout its being. Something was happening. A historical occurrence, on Earth. This one, this little female human, was asking questions about Angels. She wanted to talk to God. He smiled. Then a soft whisper came from around him. Someone was whispering in his ear. She wants to know too much. She wants to know what we do. What we, the Archangels, are in charge of. She’s trying to reach us through a pendulum. A pendulum. An archaic pendulum. The whispering started again. She was granted the right to use Enochian Script. She thinks she’s in love with her Guardian Angel. She thinks she can love him for a lifetime. In love with her Guardian Angel? People fell in love with their Guardian Angels all the time. They even fell in love with him, for that matter. What was so exciting about that? God, this one is different. This one is different…and she wants to talk to you. She wants to know who you really are. God, what do we do? What do you want us to do? A pause. A silence. Maybe an eon. Then an answer. Nothing. I’ll talk to her. Time to descend. Time to talk. Time to find out who was ready to open Pandora’s Box. Four THE ANGEL WHO LOVED A HUMAN BEING __________________________________________ “You see, I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills. But it began before that.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ In the beginning there was no name. Just an Angel. Just a dream. What is love? What is it really? Is it a dream we weave around us day after day or is it something very real, something that hangs in the air and caresses us without us ever really knowing it? Sitting at her trapezoidal desk with her pen in her hand, Rebecca read her own writing, thinking about it. She was struggling to write her book. She wanted it to be a book about love. About the struggle she’d been through. About the true and terrible fight, day after day, to protect her family. Her son, Zachary, her daughter, Isabel…both of her babies. About the loss of another child that should have been, had her ova not been raped out of her body. He would have been a very special child…a baby boy with a true, biological connection to the Universe. A child of God. She looked at her extensive library to her left. It covered the wall, the library she had put together for herself, and her children. A legacy. Books were always a legacy of knowledge. And she looked back at the blank page. Why this? She thought. Why write about this? And she wrote them, one by one, down the left side of the page…L…O…V…E. Because. Because it was about the return of love…the return of love after love had been hurt deeply. The true return of love. It was also about good and evil, but it was mostly about love. She had realized, through it all, through all the pain, that there was nothing more important to truly understand. To seek out Truth, to uphold Honor, to know True Love. Truth. Honor. Love. She stood by them inviolately. And she knew one thing. Now that evil had been put down, and now that she’d found her own true love, she’d spend a lifetime proving that there was nothing more important than love itself. Love itself. Remember, she thought. Remember how it all started. And with all things that are truly love, it started with a dream. And she started writing. She was standing on a balcony of what felt like a chateau. The air around her glowed with the soft sheen of sunset and she gazed at it as a mortal might gaze at a very beautiful transparent lover. A lover was what she wanted, and a lover was what she got. He descended out of the sky, larger than life. He was twice her size, and his wingspan was so large it took her breath away. Chiseled. Chiseled was what she remembered…and a kiss. A kiss so light it lifted her off her feet. Breathing. Floating. A touch of light shared between two beings that could only mean true love. That was the kiss she remembered, anyway. He stole her from that balcony that night. He stole her away, across the sky, tucked under his wing protectively. She saw the beauty of the earth pass beneath her, the patterns of the land changing continually like a bioorganic patchwork quilt. She smiled. The colors melted and pooled together, sometimes shading into each other and other times delineated by the sharp geometric lines tooled softy by human hands. Soft is what it felt like to her. The earth, the sky, the dream…him. Even their landing was soft. A touch and they were on the ground next to a huge glassy lake. All around her she saw thousands—maybe millions—of Angels just like him. He lay her on the ground, pulled her close to him and gently folded one giant wing over her entire body. If sleep was what it was, that was what she did…and when she woke up he was gone. Everyone was gone. She felt lonely enough to be only a girl standing next to a lake and held captive by the shiver of a cold morning. Why he left her there she never knew. But when she woke up…well. When she woke up she was happy. This is what she remembered of one dream. She had a lot of dreams, all of them in Technicolor, it seemed, and she never forgot it. And she never forgot what happened next. She fell in love. She woke up one day, remembering that long past dream and thought, “I belong to someone…I belong to someone. I think I belong to my Guardian Angel.” It was an odd feeling, as if someone, somewhere, was reaching out, holding her. Why she believed she belonged to him, she didn’t know. But she told her best friend, Steve, about him. A short conversation about Angels. His being a Dragon, hers, a beautiful, chiseled male Angel. An Angel not unlike the gorgeous Michael Parkes painting she held close to her heart. A man. Chiseled, his arms wrapped around her body protectively. Of course, the woman in Michael’s painting was blonde. But in Rebecca’s mind, she imagined the chignoned hair dark, beautiful. Eyes, Hazel. Greener when she cried. Beauty mark on the left side of her mouth, and a small—very small—tattoo of a sun on her left shoulder. Blood red at the center. Maybe his large hand grasping her shoulder…no. Arms wrapped completely around, protecting her. Protecting her. My god, she she had no idea at that time how much she would soon need protection. It had started so long ago. November 24, 2006. Her birthday, November 3 had just passed. She’d been trying to discover herself for ages now. Who she really was, who she could really be if she tried. It was a great dream of hers, to be someone who excelled at many things. She was laughing at herself again. Where had she heard that before? It is a dream I have…Merlin, Excalibur. Fantastic movie. The entire film was bit of magic, really. Anyhow, she was on a path. A path of enlightenment. Learning, expanding her horizons, trying to become a better person in every way. She was eating well, taking good care of her two children, keeping her house clean. Bringing beauty into her life in little ways. Most of all, learning. Her goal, to be a Renaissance Woman. She remembered reading it somewhere… What is a Renaissance Woman? The term “Renaissance Man” or “universal genius” was used in the past to describe a person who was knowledgeable about so many different subjects as to be said to know everything. While it is impossible to know everything, or even a small part of everything, even more so today than it was then, the terms refer to a person who has learning so vast as to seem to know everything. The most noted example of a Renaissance Man is Leonardo da Vinci, artist and engineer, who designed technological devices many centuries ahead of his time. Until recently, it was never suggested that a woman could ever fit that definition. The impossible goal, in life, to be a Renaissance Woman, but it was a goal. Most important to Rebecca, however, was to return to others some of the beauty that had been gifted to her. She was lucky. Born in America, beautiful home. Food on the table. She was lucky to be someone safe. Lucky to have lovely things around her. So one day she decided it was time to start giving something back. She started to put together packages for the needy. Each package carried two small plastic cups of peaches, crackers with peanut butter in between, an apple, a banana, a small bag of sunflower seeds, and Lipton tea. She had found some lovely snowflake bags at Target, a little over a dollar a piece, and had some lovely little cards with nature as their theme. Five dollars in each card, a short note. “A small hug from someone so that you will know you are loved.” It was never signed with her name. Rebecca just put her painting signature instead, a small heart made out of an S & P. Sterling Parker. Rebecca’s nom de plume. And one day a week she went into the community. One day a week. Wednesdays. It was her day off from the babies, a perfect time to do something special. She remembered one Wednesday in particular. Somewhat of a miracle. Maybe the start of it all. She had gone downtown to drive near Grasaeda Park. Sometimes homeless found their way to its grassy stretches, so she knew it might be the best place to go. But no one was there. She was dismayed, but thought she’d find someone elsewhere. She was driving out when she saw him. A tall man, long face, a bit haggard. Jacket long, bent slightly over. He was having a little trouble walking. It was an impulse, but she knew. Something inside. She knew she should stop and talk to him. She parked on Magnolia street and got out of her Expedition, running to catch up with him. Simple enough. She’d hand him the package and turn to leave. But he stopped her. He started talking to her. Could you give me a ride to the downtown district? The corner of 11th and M? It wasn’t her habit to give rides to strangers. She almost said no, but something inside of her answered. It will be alright. And she agreed to do it. She offered him a ride and they slowly walked to her together. Once they were inside, she had a lovely conversation with him. She found out he lived in an apartment alone, and that his Mother and Sister would be visiting him for Christmas. At one point he asked her for money, and she told him there was five dollars in the bag she had given him. A little more conversation, and they reached their destination. Service First of California…a sign in the window. A TICKET TO WORK. She got out only to find she’d parked the car a little too ineptly. Too far away from the curb. When she opened the door to help him out, it was truly awkward. She held his arm, trying to help him, but he was heavy. And he slipped from the car and ended up with his feet in the gutter, in the water. It was awful. She felt so guilty. And he asked her a question that made her stop. Why are you doing this to me? And it sounded so sad. The nature of the question was out of place. As if it was asked in regard to a different subject entirely. As if she were being questioned about her life…as if she had hurt him somehow. Why are you doing this to me…Sad. Painful. And she didn’t know what to say. She felt uncomfortable. She kept thinking, I should have parked closer to the curb. She accompanied him to the door of the building, and realized it was closed. They continued talking, and she kept wondering if she should invite him out for a cup of coffee Somehow, the topic of travel came up. She mentioned that she’d been to Scotland, England. Even Paris, although only once for an anniversary. A beautiful city. The large, long draping red wool scarf around her neck was from Paris. Her husband John had given it to her as a gift. And in a quiet, spontaneous gesture of love, Rebecca took it off and put it around his neck. “This was given to me while I was in France. I want you to have it.” She smiled. “Merry Christmas.” And she gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hug. The conversation ended shortely thereafter and she asked him if he’d like a ride home, but he declined. He would catch the bus. So, she left. But back in her car, she felt a misgiving. Something she kept telling herself. She should have insisted on driving him home. Quickly, she got back out to see if he was still there, but he wasn’t. But the question still lingered. Why are you doing this to me? She didn’t know. She didn’t know why the question bothered her. She didn’t even know why the question existed. And now, in her mind, it led to another question. A question she just hated. Hated. Why do you love me so much? Christian. Rebecca, why do you love me so much? She didn’t know. She really didn’t know. She just did. And she heard herself say it, as she was writing. I don’t know. I just do. I just did. Silence in her mind. Swinging like a pendulum. The pendulum. Her beautiful smoky quartz crystal pendulum. The true beginning of everything. It became truth, it became lies. It became life. Proof that she was who she really was…the one who had loved a Guardian Angel. It started out as a bit of fun. Well…not really. It was part of her path of enlightenment. When she first considered buying one, she looked it up and found out that they were much like dowsing rods. Dowsing rods were used in the past to find water, and pendulums were used to discover information. It wasn’t until much later that she learned that pendulums had been used for centuries in ancient China to deter and chase away evil spirits. Pendulums were also used in Ancient Egypt to determine the best placement of crops. And the Ankh…the beautiful, eternal symbol of the Ankh, could respectfully be thought of as a divining rod or pendulum. Amazing, really. It had a vast history. She could sit and research it for a lifetime and probably still not know the breadth and width of its cultural uses over time. But here she was, browsing pendulums, all very beautiful. From what she’d read, she thought it would help her get in touch with her higher self. And she looked at them. Rose quartz, Sodalite, clear Quartz, Obsidian. What she was really looking for was not a particular stone, but a feeling. A connection. Something insider her that would say I belong to you…we will be beautiful together. And actually, it really was that easy. She had purchased a smoky quartz massage wand from a seller named Mimawcat on Ebay. And now she had seen a beautiful smoky quartz pendulum being sold by the very same seller. It seemed crisp, clear, beautiful. And she bought it. It arrived post-haste, unbelievable, how quickly it arrived. She opened the box, unwrapped the pendulum and there it was, a glorious little piece of crystal floating in the palm of her hand. She picked it up, observing how it sparkled and caught the light. It took her breath away, it really did. It was unbelievably lovely. Perfect. An object of beauty. And it was hers. Next. How to use it. She did exactly as she was taught via an online article. Determine what yes and no meant. Ask the pendulum a question that you knew was true. She asked the crystal if her name was Rebecca. It swung vertically. She asked if her name was Xan. It swung horizontally. So there it was. Yes and no questions. Next, she cleansed the crystal using incense and a blessing. She lay the crystal on the left side of her altar, and took out her Ginger Peach incense. It was too bad they weren’t making this incense anymore. Pier One Imports had given it up for some unknown reason. She lit the white candle on her main altar with the reverence she’d always had for the Universal Force, and lit the incense from the candle itself. Right hand above, left hand below. She placed it in her copper Indian incense holder. She took the pendulum’s delicate silver chain and held it dangling above the curling trails of smoke that drifted up from the incense stick. She had no idea what to say. She really didn’t. What do you say to bless something? Hello, I’d like to introduce myself to you, crystal. My name’s Rebecca. Maybe not. Maybe something else. May God love you and keep you safe. Both just made her feel uncomfortable. So, she decided to just had a conversation with it. She told the crystal how happy she was to have the privilege to use it. She asked that it never be used to access evil. She asked that it tell the truth, even if she didn’t want to hear it. She filled it with love. Love She filled it with love. She said, Thank you for being with me. I hope you’ll learn to love me. I truly think you’re beautiful. And that was that. A blessing. And she knew it was right. And it was reflected in a change of the motion of the crystal itself. It swung in a high-kicking happy vertical path, back and forth. The answer she saw in her head with all of the conversation followed the path of the crystal’s movements… Yes…yes…yes…yes…yes. But the moment she spoke from her heart, the moment she truly felt love and said what she really meant to say, it started to circle. It started to circle clockwise. She brought it close to her body and cherished it quietly. Thank you for being with me. I hope you’ll learn to love me. It became part of her heart. Part of her love. It was beautiful. And she asked it a question immediately. Not in her head. Out loud. “What does that mean? Does that mean you’re happy?” Yes. “I don’t understand. The motion is different. You’re circling clockwise. Does it mean I did something right?” Yes. She thought in her head. What does a circle mean? What does it mean if something circles clockwise? Clocks moved forward in time. Clockwise. Always moving forward. Circles were complete. Did it mean they were complete together? “Does it mean completion?” No. She thought about it a little more. “Are you cleansed now?” Yes. It was cleansed. Cleansed of negativity. At that moment, she felt a misgiving. “Are you evil?” She waited as the pendulum took the time to change its direction. It was almost as if it faltered. As if it was disappointed. No. “Are you full of love?” Yes. It swung a little lower, seeming as if still disappointed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ask that question, but I just want to be sure. I want to be sure I will never do anything to hurt anyone. Not even myself. Promise me. Promise me that everything we do will be done out of love. Never to hurt. Never for evil.” Yes. “Yes, for evil or no for evil?” She hesitated and thought about it. She stopped the pendulum’s movement. “If it’s no to evil, please circle clockwise.” She waited. Slowly, it started the movement. It ended up rotating clockwise. They were love, and they were beautiful. And they were both steadily against evil. For the next few weeks, they discovered each other, Rebecca and her pendulum. She asked continuous questions, many times a day. Sometimes, she would just sit and talk to it, friend to friend. And everything went well until a particular moment in time. Rebecca asked about Angels. She felt she was in love with one in particular. Her Guardian Angel. And so, she asked questions. She asked about their responsibilities. She asked about the Archangels. Whether they were in charge of specific beings, what their specific duties were. The answer: It’s none of your business. This is something you don’t need to know. Don’t ask about this subject. Well, at least, that’s how she read the pendulum’s movement. Or maybe they just didn’t want to answer. But she felt ashamed for asking. She felt as if she had trespassed on forbidden ground. She felt terrible about it. She apologized immediately. And life went back to normal. Normal. Until November 24, 2006. Her mother. Her mother, Aggie. And God. They were sitting at her mother’s kitchen table and Rebecca was telling her about her love of Angels…and her mother asked a pointed question. “Why are you so attached to Angels? Why not talk directly to God?” She remembered stopping and looking at her mother. She remembered looking down. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ve just never really felt close to God. Ever since I left the church, I haven’t felt close. I’ve always felt God was inaccessible. Unvailable. Too far away to be known, I suppose.” It was true. She’d left the church when she was thirteen or so. For two reasons. The first, greed. They’d decided to put a huge Organ in a very small church. They were demanding money right and left to afford it. Rebecca was disgusted. They had a beautiful little grand piano and a graceful Asian first soprano to bring beautiful music to mass. Why bombard the church with a loud, brash, ugly sound? Intolerance came next. Her mother had failed to show up for a Catholic function due to work. And they charged her $150.00 for not showing up. It was heartbreaking. Her mother had to work to pay for their Catholic education and they charged her $150.00. Her mother removed them from Catholic school and placed them in public school. It was a traumatic change for everyone. Rebecca cried. An Organ, and a $150.00 fine for nothing. She remembered standing out on the sidewalk to the left of the church looking up, feeling betrayed. Saying she would never come back. Saying she would never forgive them. And that day she left the church, and she left God. She left them both behind. And never looked back. For 24 years she rarely said a word to God. Until that night. Her mother asking the question. “Why not talk directly to God?” Too far away...too far away. Thinking…I don’t know. Her mother continued. “Why are you so afraid of God? You shouldn’t be afraid of him.” “I don’t know. Too far away to be known, I suppose.” Her mother smiled. “He’s always there. You really shouldn’t be afraid to talk to him. God is love, kindness, understanding. He loves you. He loves everyone. Why not talk directly to him, rather than going through his Angels? He’ll be there for you.” He’ll be there for you Well. He’ll love you. Well. Then the ride home. He’ll be there for you. The ride home. The song on the radio…I’m Already There. A song by Lonestar. “I’m already there.” Her daughter, Missy, in the back seat. “Take a look around.” The tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m the sunlight in your hair.” She had never really tried. “I’m the shadow on the ground.” She had never really tried. “I’m the whisper in the wind.” It had been so long ago…and she looked up. “I’m your imaginary friend.” And she wept. Wept…wept. “And I know I’m in your prayers.” She had never really been close to God. “Oh, I’m already there.” She said it out loud. “I will try. I will try to talk to you.” Oh, I’m already there. She would talk to God tonight. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ “He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa ________________________________________________________________________ God decided that he would try to talk to this female, this female who wanted to know too much. Looking at the history of the woman, he saw that she’d left the church long ago, angry. She wanted to know why his church was corrupt. She’d felt he’d deserted her. Since then, she’d talked to him every now and then, each time making minor promises to remember him every day. Of course, they didn’t last. Every time, she left. She’d move through her life and forget. Leave. God just wasn’t recognized in her life. He sighed. That would change. He looked further. She was quite a personality. Emotional. Loving. Pretty. Supportive. Family oriented. She’d protected her sister while doing reparatory theatre when her father had tried to leave her mother. He’d had an affair and thought he didn’t love her anymore. He told Rebecca’s sister, Audrey, that she should never have been born, and it hurt the girl deeply. Rebecca ended up packing her into the Honda Civic she’d owned at the time and bringing her to the theatre. They spent the summer together and became best friends. On the negative side, she was selfish. Prideful and thoughtless, at times. Minor jealousy. She’d had run-ins with Evil during her life. She’d seen the face of evil while sitting in the car outside her boyfriend Gene’s house. A giant, leering face. It was frightening. God knew who it was. And they’d tried to smother her that night. Many other occasions, as well. The worst of this child was her childhood. She’d been through extreme evil at a very young age. Some of it sexually oriented, almost having violated a child. But a Guardian Angel stepped in and saved her, and it didn’t happen. But this incident stayed with this child. And he saw what she’d do. It ran through his mind. He looked at it closely. She was standing at her mother’s house, putting make-up on, and it just hit her. That child, in her early years. Her. And she just said it. I’m no better than any rapist. I’m the lowest of the low. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. She wept in that mirror, her heart breaking. And she felt as if she was in shock. Her daughter, Isabel walked in. She tried to return to normal, feeling sad, upset. Knowing that she needed to ask forgiveness. She packed Isabel up, made minor stop at a Glass shop, and went home to ask forgiveness. He looked at it closely. She wanted to write it. She ended up choosing to write it on a piece of artwork. It was a portrait done long ago by a palm reader at a Renaissance Fair. Pencil on heavy paper. A Tiger Lily to the right of her face. To the left an older version of her, hands placed just so, looking up at herself. Up in the left, a person, hands up…or sometimes, she imagined, holding a hoe. Plants growing to her right. Below her face, on either side, swirls that showed movement in an outward direction. She checked with her pendulum to make sure it was appropriate and received a positive reply. She took the artwork, her Uncle Tony’s dip pen and writing board, ink, and got in the car and drove down and stopped near an orchard. She wrote, weeping. Having a hard time getting it all out on the back of the artwork. She asked for forgiveness. True forgiveness. And when she was done, drove out, turned right to attend to some errands, and returned home. That night, with her children around her, she burned that artwork in her master bedroom fireplace. Her children watched her do it. And she asked her pendulum later…Will it take me a long time to forgive myself? The answer was yes. And God said it, looking quietly at what lay before him. You are already forgiven. He would talk to this woman. This woman would become the Original One, Beloved of God. THE TALK WITH GOD __________________________________________ “He was waiting for me there.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Once her children were in bed and asleep, Rebecca took out her pendulum. She removed it from its lovely Mauchline box and unwrapped it from the soft cloth that protected it and cleaned it. So beautiful, her little smoky quartz pendulum. She was a Songbird, her pendulum. There was a little bird in the crystal at the top. It sparkled softly, and Rebecca settled into bed, pillows stacked behind her back. She was cross-legged. She kissed her pendulum, then held it still. She smiled as it started to swing… Yes…Yes…Yes…Yes…Yes… “Hello. Are you well?” Yes…Yes…Yes… “I was wondering…if it would be alright…I would like to talk to God. Am I allowed to talk to God.” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… The pendulum swung high, very high. Rebecca waited She thought it was the highest she had ever seen it swing. Excited, strong Strong. “Is God here right now?” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… The pendulum was forceful, kicking higher and higher. It must be God. She didn’t know what to say at first. She was talking to God. “Hello, God. I know it’s been a long time…” She stopped for a moment. “I just…wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright.” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… And then it happened. Rebecca felt a warmth beside her, to her left. A deep, beautiful warmth…oh, how lovely…she knew…and she smiled . She was afraid to look. “I was talking to my mom tonight and she asked me why I didn’t talk directly to you.” She paused. “It’s been a long time, and I know I’ve left you many times. There were times I promised…”she stopped, she looked down “Times I’ve promised to be there, and I haven’t…it’s been hard. I know I haven’t been a perfect being…I know that And I’m sorry if I’ve failed you. I truly do want to be a beautiful human being.” She had walked away so long ago. Her hand was getting tired from holding up the pendulum. She readjusted It was swinging steadily high. Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… Rebecca smiled, and turned to look at the space…and knew, knew right then, that it was true. God was love. And the space wasn’t space any more. She could feel him right beside her. She wondered if he was smiling. “I walked away so long ago. But…I’d like to know you. I really would. I was wondering if we could be friends. ” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… “I left the church…well, you already knew that. I was angry. And I left you…I know I’ve made many promises during my lifetime…to love you, to come back…and I’ve never kept them I’m truly sorry. Please forgive me.” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… The love was so strong. There was so much love. It radiated around her. I want you to know that I’ll try to love you…I’ll try to stay this time.” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… “Could I ask you a question?” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… “Do you ever get lonely?” The pendulum slowed its swing. Yes…Yes…Yes… “I do, too.” And for a moment, she felt him so close. She just held him like a friend, a close, loving friend, as if she wanted to pull him close to her heart. She wanted to reach out to him. She wanted him to know her. “My life has been…so hard. You know, the one thing in my life I’ve wanted, truly wanted, was to be loved. By another. I’ve been hurt so many times…and it’s been hard for me.” She was so quiet. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to know all of this about me.” She could feel the swinging of the pendulum. She should try to talk about happier moments. “My life is beautiful, though…it really is.” She was starting to feel as if she didn’t know what to say. “I was wondering…could we talk, from time to time?” Yes!…Yes!…Yes!… She was so pleased…she knew it was a true yes. She looked at the pendulum, then looked back. And it was odd, it hit so quickly. For a moment, she felt insecurity. She felt as if she might be taking up too much of his time. He was God. He probably had a lot to do. So she voiced it. “I know that you probably have a lot to do, and I don’t want you to get bored talking to me.” Instantly there was a change in the energy Her face fell. And she knew it. As if she’d done something wrong. The warmth left. Almost as if it fled. Gone. Just like that. She looked at the pendulum. It’s swing was slower, but still yes. “Has God left?” Yes…Yes…Yes… And the pendulum’s swing slowed down even more. It seemed sad. She felt as if she had insulted God. Hurt his feelings. She turned immediately. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt him…I really didn’t.” She looked at the pendulum, trying to talk to God, wherever he had gone. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you.” She wanted to cry She felt awful. As if she had let her pendulum down. As if she had truly hurt a dear friend She had insulted God. Sadly, she put her pendulum away and lay down. She felt ill inside. Then it happened. A tightness in her chest. She felt as if she were having a heart attack. She sat up immediately, terrified. The burning filling her chest. She started to panic. Lay back down again and, still, it was there. The pain increased. She got out of bed immediately and went into her son’s room where her husband and son were sleeping. She woke John up. “John?” She shook him. “John…” She was truly feeling sick. The burning, the tightness. “Wake up…John…wake up. I’m not well.” She felt like falling over. John woke up. “What’s wrong?” “I think I’m having a heart attack. I can’t breathe.” He sat up. “Are you sure?” “Yes. John, I can’t breathe I’m frightened.” She started to cry. She was feeling as if she were going to die. I don’t want to die…I don’t want to die. John got up, trying to help her. “Where does it hurt?” And she showed him. “Just try to calm down. Maybe it’s a panic attack…I’ll run you some bath water.” “Alright.” She was so sick. She nodded. Please God, ran through her mind. John ran her bath water and Rebecca undressed slowly. He helped her into the large, oval whirlpool bathtub. “I feel so sick, John. My chest is so tight…I feel like I’m going to die.” He sat there with her. “You’re not going to die.” “I think I need to go to the hospital. Can you call my mom and have her come take me?” “Alright” He left to go make the phone call…Rebecca lay her head on the left side of the tub, looking up at the painting…a brown and white landscape. There was a smile in that landscape…she started to cry. I don’t want to die. I love my life. I love my family. The water swung quietly around her, her tears running down her face, dropping onto the tub, running into the tub. I don’t want to die. God, I don’t want to die. She felt faint. Then she heard a voice. Spend time with your children and know that you are loved. It was so clear. That voice. Spend time with your children and know that you are loved…she wept. Wept. John came back in to tell her that her mother and sister were on their way. He helped her out of the tub and she dressed slowly. She went into her closet and took out her Rosary and held it close to her. It was a gift from her mother, long ago. A beautiful, pink crystal Rosary that sparkled with bits of peach in the light. The woman in Europe is a fraud and a whore. Period. Hard evidence. I have my star sapphire on, you bitch over in Europe. Sorry for the language, but even I can’t stand being fucked over the way you’ve fucked my family and my own self. I am honor. You people have got a lot to learn about truth and honor. It was so lovely, and she felt it would keep her safe. Holding it, she walked into the front room and sat on the large couch, curled up into one of the large pillows. Spend time with your children and know that you are loved. She clutched the rosary, clinging to the pillows, waiting for her mother and sister. I don’t want to die. Please don’t let me die. I love my children. And the pillows held her, weeping. GOD’S LOVE, REBECCA’S HOME __________________________________________ “I like my things. And aren’t you glad I brought my china and silver?” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ After talking to God, Rebecca was ill for quite a long time. She sat half the night in the Kaiser waiting room with her mother and sister, and ended up finding out she had a case of Esophagitis. It took her a while to get over. She spent weeks eating softer, easier foods, and taking good care of herself. And even though she had gone through such a traumatic experience, she still tried to move forward on her path to enlightenment. She felt that now she’d met God, that she should try to achieve a relationship with the Universe naturally. She started to meditate, and still did everything she always did. Cleaned and lit the candle on her altar, cleaned her altar for her own soul. They faced each other exactly in her home. The main altar, God’s altar, held a silver candle given to her by her Aunt Ellen, centrally placed. It also had a Selenite globe, also center, and on either side a brass sugar and creamer she had found second hand. She didn’t really think of them as anything but beautiful little vessels to hold something special. The creamer held a fossilized shell and water. The sugar held sand, reddish looking sand, and a quartz crystal submerged into the sand. They represented the oceans and the Earth. Other lovely things graced her altar as well, and she tended to it regularly. Her altar, for her soul, held a lovely singing bowl in the center. Two crystal candlesticks, strong and triangular, on either side. Two brass swans echoed the sugar and creamer, also found second hand. Two little works of art made by her son, Zachary, and a beautiful, carved cream Asian lamp A mirror hung behind to reflect God’s altar. Every morning she would get up…God first, she said. So she’d light God’s candle, then light a stick of incense for the side. She would cross to the other side of the room and light a candle on her CD player, to the right of her Soul altar. Then she would light a beautiful quartz candle on her Godmother’s sewing machine, just inside the bedroom door. It looked like a dove from the side, and she lit it for peace. Then she kept her promise to God. She sat on the edge of the couch at the head of her bed, and looked up at God’s altar. Always…Good morning, God, and all the Angels. I hope you’re well today…and she’d tell them about her day. Talk, share, and at the end, would think of someone, something that needed positive energy, and send them love. She would ask God to care for them and send them love. And she still used the pendulum, mostly to keep in touch with her soul, with her own being. And it was lovely, still. She had promised to stay close to God, and she was going to keep her promise. God…and the pendulum. Good morning, God. How are you? God and the pendulum…keep your promise. Never walk away. And she was reading two books that changed her life. Michael Sharp’s Book of Life and Book of Light The Lightning Path. He called it the lightning path to Ascension. He maintained that the world itself was starting to resonate at a higher level, and that humanity itself would have to do the same in order to survive as the energy pattern of life changed. So she read both and fell in love with them. They seemed to fit her view of the Universe, of God, although she hated the hierarchy…God, and all the Angels… Good morning, God. How are you? I heard a story about a woman who dropped her two children in their car seats off of the Golden Gate Bridge. It broke my heart. Please send them my love. Her love. Her love. Michael Sharp’s books. God and the pendulum. The night that changed everything. Again. Good morning, God. How are you? Today was not a good day. THE NIGHT OF THE ANGELS __________________________________________ “Tanne, am I supposed to think you’re serious?” Baron Bror Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ She’d ended up skipping class and going to the bookstore. It was Tuesday night, and she sat next to a handsome fellow who seemed deep in his own literature. She tried studying American Government, but it didn’t appeal to her. Why did politics always bore her? Was it the complexity of the rules that irritated her? Or was it that the rules didn’t seem to keep the establishment in moral order? She wondered that all the time. She leafed through the book. Yes. We had a Supreme Court. What good did it do when the decisions didn’t seem to be for the good of all? Yes. We had a President. What good did it do to have a President who didn’t care enough to make sure the facts were straight before sending beautiful young men and women off to die? For once she wanted to see a government that required at least half of its responsible representatives to send their own children to war along with the rest of them. She wondered whether they would actually think a little harder about actually getting into a war if that were the case. Ah, well. Spilled milk, that’s all. But more than that. Blood soaked into the ground a thousand times over. She sighed. Why the hell did she think about these things. Get on with it, Rebecca. Get back to studying. She tried, for a while. But it was still boring. And she was starting to fall asleep. Nudge. It was the bottom of her foot, and it surprised her a little. Maybe they wanted to talk to her right now. She took out her book of quotes to see what they had to say to her next. She opened it randomly, and it showed the following poem: If we meditate together let us reach the peak together. Well, so that was it was it? They wanted her to meditate. She smiled as she threw her things into her bag, getting up to leave. She tossed a statement at them as she walked out Borders double doors. I’m so tired right now, but okay. Nudge. They seemed really impatient right now. I’m coming, I’m coming. She got in the car and took out her pendulum. She smiled as it started to swing pleasantly. “Hello, again. You wanted to talk?” Yes. “Is it true, what I read? That you want me to meditate?” Yes. “Right now? Right this second?” Yes. She wanted to, she really did. But she really was dead tired. She’d had hardly any sleep, and there was a strange feeling nagging at her. She watched the pendulum swing back and forth nonchalantly. It occurred to her one more time. What if the energy she was talking to wasn’t positive? What if it was negative. The pendulum slowed its course and started to circle in a counterclockwise direction. It thought she was undoing herself again. She needed to meditate. She sighed. Well, meditation in itself wasn’t a negative thing. She didn’t think she knew how to do it properly, but she would try. She set the crystal down in its box and sat up straight. She felt so silly doing this in a car in a parking lot at Borders. She closed her eyes, resting her hands on her knees in an upward position. Was this right? Hell, she didn’t know. But she tried to relax and concentrate. Nothing much happened. Maybe she was just too tired. She picked up the pendulum. It swung quietly in a clockwise direction. “I really do want to meditate. But I’m really tired right now. I’ll try again when I get to my mothers. Is that alright?” Yes. Not to mention she needed to get her medication. Her chest still didn’t feel great, and she knew if she let it go it might get worse. She started up the car and got on the freeway. Automatically she turned it to 102.3. Love songs. She was hoping the song being played at the moment would be for her. Something that would inspire her. It was a love song, that was for sure. Sting’s Fields of Gold. Not quite what she expected. That was a love song from a lover to a lover, not from God to someone he cared about. She listened to it for a bit, and then turned it down. She started to worry. What if this song wasn’t from a positive source? What if it was Evil? What if something was trying to cajole her, make her believe that it was good? What if she had truly contacted something very negative. The thought made her ill inside. She didn’t want to be evil. She didn’t want to accidently allow something into the world that shouldn’t be in the world. Especially not in her. Her thoughts were starting to haunt her now. She was close to Kaiser now. She realized as she drove down the street that she’d barely noticed the drive. Pinch. Now, that hurt. What? She asked it inside her head. She knew what they were telling her. It was echoing in her head. Why was she thinking this? Why did she think it was evil? The flower of spiritual faith has no thorns of doubt. Well. That settled it. There was no way I could be an acceptable candidate for any time of enlightenment. I was full of doubt. So I ask. I ask whether it would be alright for me to return to my life. Exactly as I was. I was feeling as if I didn’t want to move any further forward. The pendulum had a what felt like a dark answer. No. “Why not?” I started to swing in a clockwise direction, circling fully again and again. “I have to keep moving forward.” Yes. “But I don’t think I can. I don’t think you understand. I’m afraid.” Immediately she felt coldness flood through her fingers. A coldness that felt like death. She held up her right hand, the pendulum still swinging. “Am I going to die?” Yes. Her reaction was immediate. “No!!! I don’t want to die. I love my life! I love my family! My babies need me!” Immediately the coldness stopped and she felt a rush of blood through both of her hands. It was overwhelming, as if her hands and fingers had suddenly turned into racetrack of blood pulsing rapidly through every vein. It surprised her and frightened her. Her first thought was Did this weaken my veins? Will my heart survive? She realized at that very moment how fragile she really was. And there was nothing she could do about it. She stared at the pendulum, tears running down her face, watching its endlessly calm clockwise movement. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” No. I asked to talk to my Uncle Michael Michael had died young…he was my Mother’s brother and for some reason, he knew he was going to die. He sold all of his belongings, paid all of his debts. We had gone for a picnic on Easter Sunday to Stockton, at Mickey’s Grove. This is not someone who is not present on Earth, I am alive, a human being. We were playing a game of baseball, and I remember him…remember him when it happened. He was going to catch a fly ball, it was going over his head. And his right arm was stretch out to catch it. He caught it, then fell. He died catching a baseball on Easter Sunday. When they did his autopsy, they couldn’t find anything. No heart attack, no internal problems. He just died. And this night, I wanted to talk to my Uncle Michael. I was afraid. They said I had no faith, but I was frightened, and wanted to be sure that I was not talking to Evil. It was the only way I thought I could comfortable…but the pendulum said no. They said no. They said I must have faith. The spiritual flower of faith had no thorns Love cannot flower if faith presents its thorns, faith must be something upheld by honor and love in one’s God. This won’t be in the book. But my faith has been broken so many times…I have been hurt, betrayed. I asked God not to betray me, but have been hurt over and over again. And I know the God betraying is not the One True God or the Universal God. The one I feel all around me, who is love and life, the beauty of Universal Being. I will never walk away from God. That God, that Universal God, has loved and cared about me. I know it and feel it. That it knows. It knows what I’ve been through. And the One True God, Jesus Christ, loves me, as well. Go to mother’s, late at night. Talk to her for a while on the couch. They want me to meditate before I go to bed. I try. Don’t feel I’m doing it properly. Then go to sleep, afraid to go to sleep. Make the beings promise not to take my life, under any circumstances. They do. They wake me up in the middle of the night. I see Angels floating over my head. They’re beautiful, swirling in soft floating motions to and fro above my head. I could barely see them as I woke up. I knew they were talking to me. I said “Yes, I see you.” All night long I’m worried I’m going to die. I wake up the next morning, and am still very ill at ease. I end up going out into my parents back yard to be by myself. I climb up to the top of the children’s play structure and meditate. I still don’t feel that I’m doing it right. My father comes out and talks to me. It’s a lovely conversation. Later I decide I need true guidance and decide to return to where I left God in the first place. I return to St. Anthony’s church. I want to speak with a priest. I walk into the ante room and find the receptionist. “Can I help you?” She was feeling incredibly uncomfortable at that moment. “Yes. I was wondering if there might be a priest available that I might speak to?” “Well, they’re in a meeting right now, but I think they’re just about finished. Do you want to sit down and wait? I’ll go see if someone can see you.” Rebecca stood, a little uncertain, but answered immediately. “Yes. If you don’t mind, I really would like to talk to someone.” The receptionist smiled understandingly, and stood up, moving around the desk and to the hall. It was an interesting space. Kind of impersonal, actually. The sitting room was to the left of the door as you walked in. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ “He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa ________________________________________________________________________ THE ASCENSION __________________________________________ “” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ She returned home and tried to maintain her normal life. She was still upset, and refused to think of her pendulum. But there were times she did ask questions…this time with her Netsuke. It wasn’t often. And she was still trying to achieve her spiritual goals the old fashioned way. Meditation, and reading her books. The Book of the Ascension by Michael Sharp was her subject matter. She’d already read The Book of Life and The Book of Light, both beautiful books. And that night, she was reading The Book of the Ascension. Her daughter, Isabel slept on the right side of the couch, and she sat curled on the right side of the couch. She was reading, then saw something unusual. A being. A light being. He was crouched close to her armoire, watching her. There was another sitting outside the large glass doors leading to the garden, right side, back to her. And she noticed one next to her. And he touched her right hand. It sent a current of energy through her fingers. She stopped reading. She stopped reading the book, a little frightened. Then she didn’t see them. They disappeared. She continued reading, and then stopped, thinking to meditate. So she sat on her tan ottoman, legs down, and put her hands in position. She tipped her head back and tried to connect to what she felt was the Universal energy. But this time, it wasn’t normal. She felt energy on the top of her head, as if something was being lifted. As if particles of energy were moving upward. And from that point on, her life was never the same. She began to talk to the Voice of God. And would soon meet her husband of light. REBECCA’S HUSBAND OF LIGHT __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ She was in love with her Guardian Angel…and he loved her. He was soft with her. Gentle. They had made love once already, and she felt his love, within and without her. And every day, they took the time to get to know each other. She was getting ready in front of her large bathroom mirror, and commented that it would be nice to know his name. He told her his name was Christian, and she stopped, smiling. Christian was a lovely name. Soft, yet strong. A beautiful name. As the days passed, they shared more and more time together, she loving him deeply. She wanted to know who he really was. And she started to ask him questions. And we became closer and closer, and she grew to love him. He wanted her to see him…she could feel him, but hadn’t seen his entire physicality. He told her to find a picture of him, so she looked, and found a beautiful, beautiful photograph. It was lovely. And for her, it was him. And he manifested that way in light. She still remembered the one night of beauty, the night he became her husband. He walked in from John’s side of the bathroom, and lay beside her. She could actually see him, see his light, his form. She could feel his love, heavy, and beautiful. She could feel his love for her, and touched him, running her hand over his chest, his shoulder. And they made love…they made love. He pulled his light body up above her, and asked her to look at him, truly look at him. She did, concentrating, in her mind saying, Show me…Show me his face. His form, his face, became utterly clear. She could actually see his face, the detail of his face. He smiled, and said, “Honey…honey…you can see me. You can see my face…” His voice ached with love, his smile so lovely. And she touched him, his face, and arched up and kissed him, so slowly, his light on her lips, his love in her being. And they made love, passionately… and it was beyond beautiful. Beautiful…so beautiful…she couldn’t express how it felt. How he entered her, loving her, feeling her and filling her with love. They completed each other, how his lovemaking filled me and held me in every way. And when I climaxed, I felt as if I had found the one love, the one being who would love me completely. And he held me afterwards. I turned on my left side, and put my hand on his chest. And I loved him. And I raised myself up, I found his mouth to kiss him, breathing I love you into his mouth…so gently…it was love itself. It was love itself. She lay softly back down beside him, her hand on his chest…the light in him glowing. She tucked her head into his shoulder, and felt him look at her. I love you. I love you so much it hurts, Rebecca. Please tell me you’ll come with me and be my love. Please tell me you’ll still love me when you see me in Heaven one day. Please tell me you’ll love me for the rest of your life as I love you now. Please tell me you’ll be wearing that ring on your finger when I see you next. I love you, Rebecca. I love you so much my whole being aches. Because now I know, I truly know, how much I love you. She was quiet. His love had made her quiet, and it ached in her. She whispered back. “Always…I will always love you.” And she fell asleep softly beside him. Telling Jesus (who overtook my love for my original Guardian Angel by taking over and introducing himself as Christian) that it didn’t matter how small I was, that I was still important. I said that humanity was just as important as God or the Angels, and during that communication, weeping in front of the door in my bedroom, something entered me that was not any of the beings I was dealing with. Later I was told that it was the Quantum Zero Point Field itself. That it had heard me and would protect me always. The other beings kept trying to test me and get rid of it. Three beings jumping in me afterwards and marveling that I could house them. I almost floated off the floor housing them. Seeing Jesus as a true being of light. I could see his face, his smile, manifest in the Quantum field. I can see the energy in the Quantum Zero Point field. I can see the light beings move around. I know when the energy around me is being manipulated or disturbed. Sitting in the car, and he wanted me to see his face. I tried, and was fairly successful at that time. He felt I could manifest him on Earth, at least that was the impression I received. See him entirely…the copper penny, which I still have God trying to physically ascend me to another place. I felt the energy lifting, and felt it was pulling my being. I was afraid and stopped it. (He wanted me to come to Egypt, where Serapis Bey trains) I had a conversation with Serapis (supposedly Serapis) in regards to chakras. THE BETRAYAL OF LOVE __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ That night, Rebecca’s true love, her husband of light, wanted to make love to her in the shower. And they did, in the water. Patient with love, they held each other. He caressed her, his light against her body. They loved softly, her right hand up around his neck, and they made love under the water. Then it happened, something different. An energy, strong, electric, entered her. She didn’t think anything of it…she thought it was love. She turned, and touched his face, softly. And with tenderness, true love, her face drew close and their lips met, in a soft, tender kiss…full of love. The air between them, the air that floated between them, was love. It was love. They were love. The water was love. Their beings, interlocked in a kiss of light, were love. She turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, and, reaching for a towel, almost fainted. Her hand fell against the side shelves, and she stood there, panting, almost reeling. He was helping her for a moment, and she recovered slowly, wrapping a towel around herself. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what had happened. That night, that very night, her life changed. She had thought it was love. But the energy that was placed in her was not, and it began a long journey…a journey that would test every fiber of her being. And she asked herself, Why…why…She had thought it was love. She’d thought it was her husband. And it should have been her husband. And it should have been love. Not betrayal. Love. Evil had found a way to hurt someone who was love…through love. “I WANT YOU TO SEE ME” __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ This was the last time, she said. The last time she would ever ask, the last time she would dream about it. There was no point in looking for true love if it didn’t really exist. And she meant in the real world. The physical world. Not spiritual, physical. It was unfortunate really. She looked back at her life daily, everything she had ever said or done visiting her in meandering fashion and realized that life just didn’t cut it for her sometimes. And this was a trait unfortunate in her. It really was. Because what it really meant, at least she’d been told this before, that nothing she was ever given would really be good enough. Somewhere in the back of her mind she disagreed, but hey, it was her perspective. Warped, but hers. Her mother (was it my mother?), or someone, told her that love wasn’t the love you met for the first time, but love that weathered and stayed stable for a long period of time. She supposed it could be true. Take last night’s dreams. Most of them were basic dreams. Dreams about her family, John, the babies. But they woke her up in the middle of the night to have random conversations with her. Her “true loves,” talking to her. “Rebecca, I love you.” It was a phrase whispered over and over again in various fashions, and yet she kept asking Then why can’t I see you? If you’re God, if you’re Jesus, if you’re James or Christian the Immortal, then why can’t you materialize? Why can’t I see you? This was the never-ending story of this particular relationship. “You will never see me until you tell me you truly love me. Tell me you love me. Say it. I want to hear it.” Thinking about it, she wondered if it had anything to do with her real life. This life. Whether she’d never really seen true love in anyone she had loved. Or maybe she’d never really see it until she recognized it was there to stay. That was the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario was that she would never see it. Not ever. Because she would meet someone, fall in love, and with any little fault become disillusioned and start to dream of better things. To wonder if this was really the one. To think that she really hadn’t found her true love and that there would always be something better, sweeter, lovelier around the corner. It was definitely a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, thinking of these things…it was the question she really hated. The question she hated to ponder and faced over and over again in herself. Does true love really exist? YES, AND I AM AN EXAMPLE OF IT!!! GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ “He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa ________________________________________________________________________ HEAVEN __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ She was in Heaven. It felt like a Hell, and a select few were present. Jesus, in normal clothes He looked like a normal human being. Mother Earth. The Holy Spirit, who was female. Creation, another female. It was odd…it was as if the heads of the Pantheons were all present. And they showed her something special. A new creation. A new God. A beautiful Angel with the Earth in her wings. A soft, bright pink flowing dress, a red banner across her chest. Roses cascading from her right hand, beautiful deep red roses flowing in richness down and around the bottom of her dress Teal gloves, and glowing Teal orbs underneath each wing. The air moving around her was odd, a soft movement, and if it were her being swirling. Rebecca realized it was energy, Quantum Energy was interconnected into her very being. But there was something wrong with her. She seemed waxen, lifeless. Without personality. More of a shell than a real being. They said she was Love. That Rebecca would have to name her. So, she said, “I thought love was Aphrodite.” Is that what you want her name to be? Someone asked. “Yes. Aphrodite.” And there she was, Aphrodite. Not really present, but standing with everyone else. Why was she so lacking in personality, Rebecca thought. Someone else approached, and she was introduced to another being. He was tall, his skin white in color. A physical specimen of complete beauty. White garments, huge wings…beautiful wings, and a chiseled face. For some reason, Rebecca knew him. She felt a strange attraction to him. He felt warm, comfortable…or maybe it was comforting…as if he was attached to Earth in some way. His name: Lucifer. He had been forgiven, redeemed. And he was now in Heaven. She liked him. He had a beautiful smile, and seemed sincere. The select few were talking again…Aphrodite needed a mate, they said. So they created another God, a young god, and Rebecca named him Zeus. But it didn’t last for long. Zeus sat glum on the edge of a step, and they decided he was too young to be Aphrodite’s mate So Rebecca’s natural next choice, as he was single and seemed perfect for her, was Lucifer. They must consummate their love, they said. Now that there were private rooms, they could do so. Rebecca watched as they disappeared, Lucifer and the personalityless Aphrodite. Into a private room they would go, to make love, to share themselves, and she was sure they would be just fine. And the space enclosed again. And there she was, floating in that space-filled void. The voices… Is she Mother Earth? No. I’m telling you she’s the Holy Spirit. She might be Creation. Rebecca felt lost in that last statement…was the Holy Spirit Creation? No…it was the Holy Spirit. She’s probably Mother Earth. She was female, and they couldn’t decide. So she was taken to another place…it seemed they floated in, and all around were beings, to the right and the left. Thousands of beings, and they enclosed in as they reached the center. She found herself in the arms of Jesus, and he kissed her. Floating soft, circling left, her long hair billowing, both combining, a glowing light. Rising, rising. The kiss so deep, penetrating Rebecca’s being. Higher, higher, twisting, turning. A burst of light. They became a star, the energy pulsating out from their love, brightening Heaven itself. A Star. THE PIECEMEALING OF REBECCA’S SOUL AND THE TERMINATED ASCENT TO HEAVEN __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ The woke her up in her mother’s guest bedroom to talk to her. James and Maria. They were just above the bureau, slightly to the right. Down to the left was her Mother’s clock, a very special clock that held Catholic Relics. It had belonged to her Grandmother and Grandfather, Edward and Ruby. She looked at them, so tired. They both wanted to know who she was. She told them. “I am Rebecca Tacosa Gray.” She felt confused. Why were they asking her this. She was born Rebecca Tacosa Gray. Daughter of Gerald and Agnes Tacosa. She didn’t feel right. Something wasn’t right. When she answered they looked at her. You can speak in Enochian? How is this possible? And they started talking to each other about it. They asked her to relay things back to them, talking in Enochian. First through the Third Eye chakra, then up higher, the conversation originating from the area of the Frontal Lobe. They called it the “Voice of God” when one talked in that manner. They tested her even further. First slowing the sound. Then switched to higher speed, which she understood to be the rate at which the sound was traveling. It had a very high pitched sound. Then they taught her the term “High Speed Morse Code.” And it came across in a pulse Can. You. Under. Stand. This Re. Be. Ca? She said she understood. And the testing continued, to see if she could naturally place the sound wherever they might be manifesting it. High, low, High Speed Morse Code. She was able to follow them perfectly. They talked to each other, Rebecca just listening This is impossible. They looked at her. Again, the same question. Who are you? The same answer. “I am Rebecca Tacosa Gray. The daughter of Gerald and Earl Tacosa. That’s all I know.” They asked her to lay down. They were going to put her in a Trance in order to find out who she was. She agreed. She wanted them to know the truth. She was exhausted, but lay back on the bed. They submerged her in the trance She felt as if they were pushing her back, further and further, to a state where her subconscious could not lie. She was still fully aware, though, and she answered all of their questions They just kept saying, It’s still here. How is this possible? Further and further, the trance was so deep. It was too deep, so she pulled herself out of it They watched her pull herself out of it. And they were surprised They did it several times. She keeps pulling herself out of it. They asked her to try again, and they ended up stretching her Aura out as far as it could go. She felt thousands of miles away, as if she was being stretched into the cosmos. This is impossible. This is the farthest I’ve ever seen a soul travel. It was Jesus’ H. Christ’s voice. Rebecca, I like to see how far you can ascend. Can you do this? “I can try.” She focused herself upwards at a back angle, out into the Universe Up, Up, then it turned black, like a tunnel. Then she saw it. She saw a light. Small at first, like a dot. She focused on it. Closer, closer It grew larger and larger, glowing white. It seemed a ball of light Almost like the ball of light she had held when she was in high school, during a meditation in Dorothy Mulvihill’s Theatre Class. But as she came closer, it changed It was a textured ball of light, with a fluttering surface Like Butterfly wings, millions of Butterfly wings. Closer...then she had a misgiving. As if something in her said, No, this isn’t right. She descended right back down, as quickly as possible. Right back into her body. They talked to her immediately. Rebecca, there’s something not right about your soul We need to find out who you really are It’s going to require some time, some rearranging a bit. They wanted to look at her brain She lay back and let them. The did it. Entering her body, pulling things out, putting them back together. She could feel it. A vague sense of dread came over her, as if they shouldn’t be doing what they were doing. As if it was against some Cosmic Law. She was sure it was. “How do you feel? She sat up. My God. She felt soulless, personalityless. She looked at them. She felt as if she wasn’t herself, that she had been changed, somehow. She felt terror, a dread, as if something were terribly wrong. She felt like crying. She kept trying to find herself. She looked at them. “I don’t know. I don’t feel myself I don’t feel right.” Who are you? “I am Rebecca Tacosa Gray. That’s all I know. This isn’t right. I don’t feel right.” They were talking to her about her soul, about the memories, something about her soul and her memories. She asked them to return her back to herself. She kept asking, “Am I going to be alright?” Finally they said, We’re going to have to go through your records and do some research. We’re going to have to enter your brain again. Will you let us do that? She didn’t want them in her brain again. But she felt she had no choice. “Alright.” She lay down and tried to go back to sleep…what had they done? When they woke her up, they asked her how she felt. “Better, but still not me.” They seemed concerned “I can’t quite remember my memories. Where are my memories…it just doesn’t feel right. Please, please help me. I want to be myself. I am Rebecca Tacosa Gray.” We’ll have to work on it some more while you sleep. We’ll go back and look at the records again. Is that all right? It was awful. Would she wake up the same beautiful person she had always been? Would she still be Rebecca Tacosa Gray, theArtist, writer and Theatre major, Mother of two children? She did say yes. And she did wake up feeling herself. And she would never let them enter her brain or her soul again. Not ever. THE NIGHT OF THE STORM : JANUARY 3, 2007 __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ It was a long night. I was told that she must stay up or she would die. This she knew would happen for certain. It was a feeling…a feeling in her body. A feeling that said to fall asleep would mean certain death. She didn’t believe them at first. At first she just took a bath, the voices talking to her the entire time, and then putting herself into bed. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep. Her mother walked in and told her that Zachary wanted to go to sleep with her, so her son climbed into bed and soon fell fast asleep. She held him softly, watching his breathing, so even, so comfortable. She propped some pillows up behind her and decided to close her eyes. Nudge. It popped her eyes wide open. Don’t go to sleep. What? Why? She asked that question and was told that they were there to help her. That evil was in her. For the second time. In order to stay alive, in order to resist, she had to stay up all night and walk into the full light of the sun in the morning to restore her aura. It made her want to weep. She was so tired. Tonight she was tired. But she struggled out of bed and walked into the living room and sat down in her mother’s massage chair. She could keep herself awake with a massage. Maybe. So she settled back and started the program. Shiatsu. Not too hard, not too soft. She lay back and tried hard to think about things that made her happy. It couldn’t hurt, could it? She closed her eyes. Nudge. Honey, don’t go to sleep. Don’t do it. Don’t go to sleep. Listen to me. I love you. Do whatever you can to stay awake. Walk around. Eat something. Watch my movie. But don’t go to sleep. And stop the massage chair. I can’t hear you that way. It’s disturbing your energy field. So once again she got up. She was thinking. Thinking, thinking. How the hell do I protect myself? Something she saw in a dream. She was lying in bed and evil was present in the room. Her children were asleep on either side of her and she knew she needed to protect them. So she got out of bed, found a container of salt, and made a circle of salt all the way around the bed. Top center, clockwise. In the dream, she sat in the middle of the bed and asked God for his protection. There was a flash of light, emanating from the center (her) and penetrating through and out of the circle. Then she knew she was safe. She’d read about the properties of salt in other books…salt being used to make holy water, salt being used in corners of rooms before evoking magic spells, and the old adage of throwing salt over one’s shoulder to get rid of the Devil. What was it about salt? It occurred to her that there might be a crystalline structure to salt that caused it to absorb negative energy. Assuming that was correct, that particular absorbent property was especially enhanced when it was blessed. Salt would help her tonight. She went to her mother’s cupboard, found the table salt and took it back into the living room. She started at the top center of the chair and made her circle. May this circle be filled with love in its entirety, so that I may be protected throughout the night. She stood at the head of the chair and envisioned a green Peach Blossom circling clockwise and filling her aura. The glow from its light filled the circle, then with a gentle curve, settle back into its center. She sat down. More comforted but still ill at ease. Maybe she should watch that film. She thought about it. The Passion of the Christ. Mel Gibson’s masterpiece. She got up and walked to the television, the air changed as soon as she stepped outside the salt circle. Rummaging through the movies she’d lent her mother she found it…and there was his face. Jesus’ face. Well, Jim Caviezel. A very beautiful Jesus. She opened it and put it in the DVD player as quickly as possible. Then stepped back inside the circle. She watched it come up on the screen. The music was so sad. So intense. Did she really want to watch this? Watch it. Watch it, Rebecca. It will remind you of who I am. She sat in that chair and tried desperately to stay awake, a blanket wrapped around her to keep her wam. She was so tired, and the movie came up on the screen, and she knew she should press play. She did, and sat back down. The weather was wild outside, the wind rising to a howl, then lowering, shaking the screens. This was a storm. Looking back at the television, she tried to ignore it and listened to her love talk to her. He told her that he would protect her, whispering words of comfort. She listened, trying to watch the film, but couldn’t. She started to fall asleep. Eyes closed. Snap open. Eyes closed. Snap. Stay awake. Stay awake. The wind howled, and it rose in her as surely as it screamed outside. The rain. The fear. The falling, the pressure, then waking up, then falling asleep without knowing. Nudge! Wake up. The wind was howling restlessly. You want a baby? You want to be the Mother of God? Here. Here’s a baby. They plopped one into her side. Here’s another. How many can she take? Three more were tossed into her. She was groggy. So tired. How would she ever have four babies… What do you want to name them? She was so tired. But she smiled and answered. I don’t know…after the four archangels…Raphael… She was thinking. …Michael…Gabriel…Uriel. The wind was loud now, shrieking. Evil was everywhere outside, and she was fighting for her life. Desperately trying to stop going to sleep She would fall asleep and someone would nudge her. Wake up. And the wind raged outside, the trees whipped around, the rage of its voice howling, shrieking against the windows. They said there was a war going on outside. A war. My God, my God, what do I do? Protect me. She got up and went to the right window. The maples were whipping and the sky was dark. My God, what was happening. She moved to the center window. This storm was not like any she had ever seen. It filled the whole sky. The wind. She moved closer to the large picture window and moved a screen aside. She didn’t want to touch the window…almost afraid she’d be pulled right through it. The doors were rattling, the windows were banging. It was a war. It felt like a war. The sprinklers came on, all of them. All at once with a pop, and a few of them broke, spraying high into the air. It was frightening. She felt there was someone at the door, raging. That there were beings everywhere, fighting, beating at the walls, beating at the windows. Raging. Then it just stopped. The wind just died away completely. The sprinklers went off, the one broken sprinkler shooting into the air across the grass. She backed off, and went back to the chair….safe. Safe. Inside the circle. She was tired. Exhausted. She lay back. She wanted so badly to close her eyes, but she was afraid. That storm, it wasn’t normal. She kept looking outside, but it was calm. It was calm. She struggled to keep her eyes open… Rebecca, it’s Martin. I’m here to help you stay alive. She jolted awake. She’d fallen asleep. She nodded. Alright. She felt the being drop into her. He would protect her. Her eyes were so heavy. Thank you… Martin. The thought of him comforted her, and she knew she could go to sleep without worrying she might be hurt. She drifted back into the black dream. Nudge. Nudge…NUDGE. Wake up, Rebecca. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up with a gasp, a gasp that filled her being as she felt the air enter her chest painfully. It hurt. And she knew it. She had almost died. She sat for a moment, frightened. Martin was no longer in her. Where is he? The voice whispered into her right ear. He died, Rebecca. He died to save you. She started to weep uncontrollably. Oh, my God…Martin. She curled onto her left side, into herself. Martin, I’m sorry. How could you do it…how could I let this happen to you. She arched in pain, sobbing, then turned her face into the chair’s back and cried. Martin was dead. Later that morning there was a newscast on about George Bush finally backing down in regards to the war. On another station they talked about a weather anomaly, that the cherry blossoms on the East Coast were all blossoming early. A weather anomaly. No one talked about the storm. No one talked about the war in the sky. THE FIGHT WITH EVIL __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ That day, Rebecca was exhausted. Her mother looked at her in the hall and told her she was going to make her get some sleep. She’d give her two Trazedones to help her. So Rebecca decided to sleep in her mother’s room, feeling it was more protected. She went in and lay down, and just stayed awake. Her mother gave her the pills, but for some reason, her eyes just didn’t want to close. It felt like her body was just forcing itself to stay awake. Music was playing on the television, on one of the stations where it showed the titles moving on the screen. She listened to it…a John Denver song. A love song. Finally, she fell asleep. Then woke up with a jolt. And a door slamming. It sounded like a confessional door. Slam. Open. And there were four people speaking to her. We’re here to help you. “Thank you.” Slam. Open. Slam. Closed. You have to fight Evil. Stand up and fight. Tell it to fuck off and never come back. That’s how you make Evil go away. “Alright.” And something malevolent appeared in the room, just over her mother’s bureau. And she sat up on her knees and faced it. “Get out. I know what you are. Get out, Lucifer. Get lost. Fuck off! Fuck off.” But I love you. “I don’t love you. Get out! Fuck off. I’ll never love you. Never.” But Rebecca, I love you. “I don’t love you. I hate you. Fuck off.” It was strange, but it was almost as if the being backed off. As if it felt a little frightened. And Rebecca grew stronger. “I know what you are. I know who you are. You’re evil. Fuck off. Go back to the Hell from whence you came and never come back. Never. Never.” Alright. And it fled. Exhausted, she lay back down. And the door slammed open. Not bad. You did well. You fought hard. And she asked their names. Jean, Maria, Carlos, James. And the door slammed shut. THE BATTLE WITH MISS M __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ And they continued to torture her. And it was awful. The nights up just trying to survive. The constant eating to try to ground herself. Trying to ignore them. Her mother and father were worried. Her entire family was worried. They’d never seen her this way. She struggled, very ill. And that night, she slept on the front room couch just so that she wouldn’t be exposed to the Evil in either bedroom in her mother’s house. Her brother, Bill, was across from her on the long side of the couch. He’d decided to stay the night just to be with her. She fell asleep and the episode started. She was in Heaven again. It was a commotion, the place, the time that night. And there was that question. That question all over again. Why do you love me so much? Nothing felt right. It just didn’t feel right. And then Miss M appeared, and she was a snake. She was a snake. And the snake reared up and came down on Rebecca’s head, swallowing her. And she struggled, struggled to break free. And won. She woke up with a gasp, weeping. Weeping. Frantic. And her brother woke up with a start, gathering her into his arms. “Becky, what’s wrong? What’s wrong, honey? Calm down, calm down.” She wept. Wept and wept. Bill held her, trying to get her to talk about it. She just cried, telling him it was a nightmare. That she wanted what she was going through to stop. He held her. While she cried. Meeting Father Intelligence. He manifested as my father, Gerald Earl Tacosa. He was kind, he looked at me, and put his finger to my forehead and said, “You have all you need to know right here.” The best advice of my life…and he was so lovely. His very being felt like intelligence manifest…as if his knowing went be that door shut, people, and this human being will not allow you to do what you have just done to destroy my respect with this beautiful being. He said he needed to go above and talk to the others about me. He spoke with the beings above about me, the Seraphim that were torturing me. He said all that I need to know would always be with me, in my mind. His presence is, was and will always be a blessing to me. A memory I cherish. FATHER INTELLIGENCE __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ That night Rebecca’s episodic interlude was different. She woke up, having slept in her mother’s bedroom again. She was tired, but protected. Mother Earth had descended her into the ground to stop the ones from above from torturing her. And she did feel safe. She was told never to ground Evil in the Earth’s core. And she loved Mother Earth, deeply. It was if she understood what the others were doing. And someone said that she was dying. And it hurt Rebecca. She turned over and lay on her left side, and a being descended to talk to her. It was Father Intelligence, he manifested as her father, Gerald. She wanted to cry. He felt beautiful, aeons old. And she felt his intelligence was vast, beyond knowing. And he felt honorable. He was kind to her. How are you? “I’m alright. I’m hurting.” I know you are. The others haven’t been kind to you. “No, they haven’t. I’m not quite sure why.” They don’t understand you, Rebecca. “I don’t know why. I haven’t done anything to them.” And the conversation continued, he explaining that they just needed to be reasoned with. That it could be worked out. It made her happy. Someone would help her. They talked further, a bit about science, and he taught her that her third eye was called an Auric Reticulatum. And after a long conversation, he smiled and looked at her. He put his fingers on her forehead and said, You have all you need to know right here. And she smiled. It was probably the best advice she’d ever been given. It would save her over and over again. That statement, that man. He smiled back at her and spoke again. I’m going to go above and talk to the others. There are things they need to know about you. And he did. And she could hear some of the conversation, but not all. It faded in and out. But she knew that his presence made the difference in what happened next. It might have even saved her life. But she knew one thing. He manifested as her father. And she would, later, realize that he, Father Intelligence, was her second Father. And she would never forget him. His presence was, and always would be a blessing in her life. A memory she would cherish. THE TAV OF JESUS CHRIST __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Rebecca fought, and fought. There were days she was so exhausted and hurting, but couldn’t sleep. She was actually afraid to sleep. She’d lost her husband, she’d lost so many things. Her body hurt, and she just wanted to return to normal. She never knew why, but someone did come and save her…and it was Jesus Christ. She had another dream, and in the dream he came. He was huge to her. He felt strong, assured. He was love. And he floated in from the right, and he touched her forehead…and from that day on, she was protected. She knew it, after that. That she was protected. Later, she would learn that it was a Tav. A Tav of long life and protection. She also knew that it couldn’t be revoked or changed. It was part of her biology, and she was protected for life. It was necessary, she would learn. The battle wasn’t over. It had just begun. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ “He even took the gramophone on safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month, and Mozart.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa ________________________________________________________________________ THE TUBAL LIGATION __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Rebecca learned over time that she was different. Special. That her biology, her actual biology, was different. That she had invoked God into herself. Her husband had wanted her to have a baby…but she was afraid to. They kept telling her the baby wouldn’t be right. That it would be a monstrosity. And she checked with her Netsuke pendulum to be sure, and it kept telling her no. To not have it. She was tortured night and day. Night and day. So she decided to do it, thinking the baby wouldn’t be right. She decided to get a Tubal Ligation. She went to the Kaiser Hospital, found out information about the different procedures and decided on an Essure. A process by which they inserted plastic pieces into the fallopian tubes. She made the appointment. March 7, 2007, 8:00 a.m. Every day she reminded herself of the appointment, fighting through Evil left and right. She typed a note on the computer and put it up where she could see it on the side of the master bedroom fireplace: Remember that the Voice of God, of Heaven, of the ALL hurt your relationships with your family and your children. You are, UNDER EVERY CIRCUMSTANCES, to HAVE THE TUBAL LIGATION ON MARCH 7 AT 8:00 AT KAISER HOSPITAL and TO MOVE AND MAKE YOUR LIFE WONDERFUL WITH JOHN AND THE BABIES!!! They have tried to steal your life, these immortal beings, and they wish to have a child that is not meant to be born!!! They told you on the 28th they would return you to your humanity irrevocably and lied to you. Your own husband of light slept with your beautiful daughter Isabel in another dimension and hurt you deeply. You need to be aware that you are Rebecca Tacosa Gray, writer and daughter to Agnes and Gerald Tacosa, and that YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF YOUR OWN LIFE. Keep to the day by day achievements of your Goals. Remember this ALL OF THE TIME: YOU HATE THESE BEINGS, REBECCA, THEY HAVE SEVERELY SCREWED UP YOUR LIFE!!! KNOW IT!!! The letter helped, and she did remember. The day of the Tubal Ligation, John dropped Rebecca off and told her he’d be back to pick her up. Rebecca had prepared herself. She had covered her head in black stones, held by a stocking, to protect her energy, her brain. Over that, she tied a large red Indian looking scarf, just so that it wouldn’t look peculiar. It matched her jewelry and blouse. She walked into the waiting room and sat down…and Christian came to see her. He sat her right, and just asked her. Please have the baby. He was sad, but she was determined. They had hurt her body so much, piecing the energy, torturing her physically, that there was no going back for her. So she told him no. She never knew why, that day, he hadn’t sat and talked to her about it. Why he didn’t tell her the baby might be beautiful, that she would be alright. She never knew why it didn’t mean enough to him to spend the time explaining that Evil had tried to stop them from having a baby. So she told him no, and went in. Two nurses were there to help her. She was sitting in a side room with many chairs, and they asked her to change into the hospital robe. So she went to the Ladies room and changed. She came back out and sat for a while, then took her into the room. She was a little frightened about what might happen, and she hoped the stones would protect her. The sedation would be heavy, and it would be hard for her to protect herself. Dr. Deol gave her the pill, and left her in the room to wait for the effects of sedation to take effect. The nurses went about their duties, and Rebecca grew tired. Finally, Dr. Deol returned. The procedure didn’t take very long…a little over an hour. And after, she sat for another twenty minutes before being allowed to leave. She walked out. John wasn’t there, so she decided to walk down the street to Starbucks to buy a coffee. Her husband appeared as she walked, and he asked her what she wanted. She just told him she wanted to go back to normal. To be a beautiful human being again, unmolested by the immortal beings. He told her yes. At the corner, at the light, he left. But they didn’t. They didn’t. HOLDING CREATION __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Rebecca kept trying to get away from the one known as Creation. She kept manifesting, trying to hurt her. Tonight, however, Rebecca surprised her. She was sitting on the short couch in the front room and the Goddess appeared. And it made Rebecca angry. So she pulled her in, right out of the Quantum Zero Point Energy Field. But it ended up not being her, but the entirety of Creation. She could feel it, a greenish heavier essence floating around her, within her, a slow movement. It was huge, huge. And a little frightening. Overwhelming. But she knew it was stable. The Goddess hung, just up to the right, angry. And Rebecca was so frightened about what the energy might actually do to her, that she threw the bottom back. But some remained around her head. She heard a man’s voice say, I’d keep that if I were you, if you want to live. But she didn’t. She didn’t know what this Goddess would do if she kept it, and it was a bit frightening. So she threw the top out of her, as well. Creation left. And the man laughed. She heard his voice as he left. You should have kept it.

THE COSMOLOGICAL GOD OF LOVE __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Rebecca met the most special God of her life on a quiet night. He did something so beautiful for her that it changed her entire life. It changed how she felt about the world. It changed how she viewed the Universe. He showed her True Love. Rebecca had been tortured by Miss M for so long. The female kept trying to take over and change her being, and Rebecca kept trying to throw her out. The Cosmological God of Love did it for her. He threw Miss M out, pushed her back and out, to the left, behind him. He was beautiful. She was kneeling on the bed, and he manifested from the left, a glowing being. Pure light. Pure, beautiful light. And he held out an atom. It hung in the air, the electrons and protons moving around it. And Rebecca put out her right hand and held it. It was large, heavy. It’s heaviness hung in her hand, and within it, within him, she felt pure love. And everything expanded, and she saw the Universe, the Planets spanning out. And it was all love. Pure love. The Universe was love. Love manifest. And it held her. Held her in its heart, just gently. Love. She would never forget this moment, this one moment. She loved this man deeply from that moment on. She cherished the gift he had given her above all others. The Universe was love. And that was all she needed to know. ________________________________________________________________________ NOTES: Some of them will not be included in the book in this way. I will not allow our history to be altered by the fact that I have been through so much. Jesus’ name will be changed to Christian to protect his love and his history. Getting angry and thinking that the beings would leave me alone if I destroyed my painting of my Guardian Angel and my painting of my Angel, who represented my higher self. (I had intended to give it to my mother…she held a bird and faced left. I pulled both paintings, in tears, and wripped the canvas from the frames. I still have the frames. I wept. I wept. And they still didn’t leave me alone. And I’m sorry I did it. I should have kept them both. Making my Superman insignia from black glass found in my peach orchard, everyone watching. Making my little picture frames in my front room. The night the entire family of Delgados sat on my bed, Jesus (James Sr. down at my feet, to the right) The fucking egotistical James, left, Miss M, Maria. They told me that I had to give up my book, The Angel who Loved a Human Being. I didn’t want to, I cried and cried. It’s fully copyrighted and the bastards are fucking dead now I will put their fucking energy down with the weight of my own writing and artwork. I burned my book. Mary kept trying (creation) to make me give up my blog, to write in her fucking name and I told her to go to hell. She kept try to steal de l’Ange (I had built it for Steve Groves). One day I got onto my computer, and tried to access my poetry, which I had been writing for over ten years Everything was gone I went ballistic. I was furious. Someone, someone beautiful, returned to me my book, The Angel Who Loved a Human Being that day. Miss M, the whore (Mairie) was going to try to keep and publish my poetry, but I had a hard copy that went all the way back to 2000. I copyrighted the originals, entered all of my poetry, and published my book in my own name. Negative experiences. The night Miss M tried to make me a whore. I cried and cried. The awful Frenchman, Plantard, and James, in front of everyone. And she didn’t care at all. I wept, and left the house. Driving all over the back countryside in Ceres and fighting off all the evil beings. Being told to delete my beautiful writing, which I burned and deleted off my computer. (But it was later returned to me by Anthony, which, to me, was a true miracle) Lying in bed and being told I must be forced to give up my book to Miss M (awful female). James Sr. (father) sitting on the bed and feeling sad, younger James (egotistical young man) sitting there requiring it. The father I’ll never forgive…he just sat there. He looked so sad. I wept my heart out, I told them they didn’t know how much my book meant to me. It represented my love. And he didn’t even stand up for me, even though I thought he did care. I thought cared. But he did nothing. He left his honor behind, I don’t know why. The young man James, whom I despise. They were standing over me on the bed on my left. Younger James to the left, James Sr. to the right, next to him. James Jr. told his father, “I don’t know what you see in this mere mortal. It hurt deeply, and I turned over on my right side and cried. It still makes me angry. Every day. To be called a “mere mortal.” It shows a despicable attitude by a young light being who should be honor itself. He is the most amoral being I’ve ever known. The night the “Pope” came to talk to me and said I must have faith, and not bind my head with the hat and rocks I’d put in to keep them from messing with my skullcap. So I trusted him, and unbound myself. Most anyway, and left off the cap and rocks. (They were angry that I would do this, stopping them from hurting my energy) So I lay back, then felt the “Pope” remove something from my head. I know now it was my skullcap. It was awful. I was up immediately, crying, because I felt I had been betrayed by the Pope himself. This woman, these beings, have abuse natural law right and left. I kept demanding that the male being who was in charge of our dimension force the keeping of natural law. I suggested that they have more than one person in charge of changes made with creation. I suggested that they be beings of honor, so that no one, no one could abuse natural law. A cross check. And I also suggest a book that would record all changes made with creationary energy, to fucking make sure that all wrongs could be corrected immediately It would deter corruption and force honor into every dimension. In my mother’s kitchen, just as I walked in. On the edge of the left side of the table I banged my hands flat on the table and said, “I AM COMPLETE WITHIN MYSELF!” Something happened that I didn’t understand. But I am. And this is me telling you that now . Mary is NOT me, and never will be me. She is not part of me, and never was.

A SOFTER SHADE OF INDIGO

There’s a softer shade of indigo when night falls… Softly…softly… Falling…falling… Into a Heaven of its own. A Heaven of love, A Heaven of crystal, A Heaven of ever deepening blueness. In my eyes are tears… Softly…softly… Falling…falling… In a Heaven of their own. A Heaven bereft of love, A Heaven of Hell made from Heaven’s Love, And I’m falling, falling, falling Asleep. Yes, asleep. Let me dream, My Love… Softly…softly… Falling…falling.. Onto our clouded pillow Made of my love and yours. Weaving, weaving, whispering In my ear… I love you, Love And I will be falling…falling… Softly falling Deeply fallingEver falling In love with you. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ Five The Desertion of Rebecca…Love Tortured __________________________________________ Karen: “I didn’t expect to like you so much.” Bror: “You’re not going to go falling in love, are you?” Karen: “Not with someone who’s leaving all the time!” -Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ The Tubal Ligation. Memory of Christian walking with her, telling her she’d be safe. It did not happen. The start of other instances…introductions to Gods in other dimensions, the continued torture, physical, of Rebecca by the immortal being Miss M. The stiff hands, the laying in my body. Sea Ranch, the Wraith, the crab, the man who arrived to cleanse the area. “Get Lost, Satan!” He stood outside the house and cleansed every house but the home we had rented. (Second dimension male.) “Get out Satan!” (Our dimension.) The biological change of my face. My weeping, my threats, that Natural Law Must Be Kept. The energy they placed in my two baby children, Zachary 6, Isabel 3. I tried to cleanse Isabel by pulling it into myself. My anger and screaming, telling them that they’d better not hurt my children. My defense of my family. 1. In my bedroom at 3417 E. Redwood Road and holding what seemed like the Universe in my hand. It looked to me like an atom, swirling and moving, and the being who handed to me was so intelligent, so understanding. The space in which my self resided was a space of love and of Universal feel. I felt as if I could feel the Universe itself, stretching around me. That I could feel the entirety of it. 2. In my bedroom (the very same) and being kissed by two very beautiful beings who were warmth itself. One male, one female. Having to face two EXTREMELY heavy Gods, one male, one female, in my bedroom. They manifested just beyond/over the square table and confronted me, asking me why I wouldn’t take on a soul base. “Why won’t you love my son?” They were angry, I told them no. They were huge, their weight immense. I could feel the energy. 3. A negative experience. Sitting on the small couch in my front room and taking from Ms. Creation herself ALL of creation. It enveloped my body and swirled, a bit like chaos but contained. I was truly frightened by what I was housing. I got rid of most of it from my lower body and a lot stayed in my head. Someone told me to keep it if I wanted to remain safe, but I didn’t want it and returned it to her. I truly did, and still do, view this being as a malevolent being who is not nice in any way. I will never like this being, not as long as I live. It continually tries to take what it should not have. 7. The trip to Sea Ranch where I battled evil night and day. The Lotus Flowers I created to delete evil and return me to myself. The painting of myself with the Blue Star Sapphire on my right cheek, and my Sterling Parker insignia on my Third Eye (seat of the Auric Reticulatum). I kept asking to return to my normal human life. 8. A HUGE mistake. I placed my chakra balancing stones on my chakras to balance them and Miss M and her minions ran energy through my body. I was never the same from then on, my chakra system was changed drastically. My root chakra and 2nd and 3rd charkas are continually being invaded. M never allows me to return to myself without hurting me all over again (By trying to stand in me. I always have to drain right back down to my soul clothes to return to myself. And I am continually hurt certain air type Seraphim. But both Wind and Energy Seraphim are responsible, I am certain. 9.A truly loving, special experience.Laying in my bed, on the right side of the bed, and touching my daughter’s face, because I love her. I was being protective. They kept trying to hurt my family, my daughter and my son. A male being, warm, full of love, lay with me, and it touched my heart. It truly did. I felt he truly cared about us.

THE MISERY AND RAPE OF LOVE __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ She was so tired that night. The entire previous week she had waited for the Archangelic Four to visit her.. God’s candle at the center of the table, and all four blogs at each placement for it’s intended Archangel. In the East, Raphael. He was special. She had a smoky quartz crystal wand, and three rose quartz hearts with his belongings. The smoky quartz to the right, to protect her from evil, and the rose quartz to the left, to bring love to her home. He was her true patron, patron of the Arts, Knowledge and Medicine. Rebecca was an artist and a writer, and truly interested in Healing. It seemed a perfect match. St Michael in the South for Protection from Evil. She didn’t know him very well. Somehow his essence seemed to be out of reach, absent. Gabriel to the West…Justice. For some reason she always felt he disapproved of her, and she didn’t know why. She wanted to like him, to understand who he was, but she felt it necessary to steer clear of him. Uriel, warm, loving Uriel, to the North. He always made her smile He was perfect for the Northern position The heat of loving fire to melt any cold heart. Her candles, in swirled crystal glasses, stayed lit for more than a week God’s candle, glowing with frosted stripes heading straight for the sky, stayed lit, as well. The entire week. But they never came. Not one. She was told that their patronage had been give to a European female It hurt. It hurt so deeply…and she was tired that night. Tired of hurting over the disappointment of being rejected. Rebecca refused to sit in any of their chairs. Instead, she pulled over a chaise lounge and sat it just so, to look at the beautiful, clear moon. Her son, Zachary, came over and fell asleep on her, curled into her chest. As she lay there, she felt herself being naturalized…returned to normal state. Someone commented that if she thought she was so special, why didn’t she show them what she could do now. The taunting. She hated the taunting. So she looked up in the sky and felt the Universe. She felt the sky enveloping the Earth, she felt the motion, slow. She felt herself connected to everything…everything. They knew it. She’d done it before Miss M tried to stop her with energy sometimes, but it never worked completely. She was able to walk right through it, part the energy, somehow connect, to feel the beauty of her Universal Gift. That night it made them angry. She was fully human, and could still touch the heart of the Universe without them. She returned to herself and just tried to ignore them. Rebecca didn’t think they’d even accept the fact that her beautiful Universal Gift was part of her biology, of her being. She would never lose it. She was a human being who happened to be a part of the Quantum Zero Point Energy Field…and she loved being a part of the Universe…she was so tired. She held her son tighter, his head right next to her heart, and fell asleep. She was jolted awake several hours later, with a gentle push. A shove, almost. Rebecca looked up to see a man, a woman on her knees, pleasuring him. She knew as she lay there that her soul was absent Her body felt empty. He looked at her and said, “This is what we’re doing with your soul right now.” And she knew. Rebecca knew. That woman was having sex in her soul clothes Her soul clothes were on another being. She was being raped. They raped her of her soul, and raped her physically on Earth by sullying her soul in another being. She was told her soul base was placed on another woman in Europe That this woman could not “love” the “chosen one” without Rebecca’s soul base. It was awful. Rebecca felt sick as she watched them. Her son still lay softly breathing on her chest. She was sick…angry Angry to be used by an energy being. They said the European woman was to bear a “baby God.” That she couldn’t have it without this night, using Rebecca’s soul. She wanted to weep, sick at heart. Raped for a baby boy. She was the biological one, and was being raped by a fraud and a whore in Europe for a child. The ache…the pain…Oh, God…Oh, God…a rape. The rape and pillaging of a woman who loved in America How could the Universe live with that…and she wept. Her son on her chest, her tears falling fast and heavy. Raped while holding her son. She would never forgive them. This act of rape was unforgivable. Too many tears, too much pain. It made her want to throw up, knowing how they defiled her soul by placing it on another woman to do this The pain…the tears…born of a Rape. Where was God when love was raped. THE RAPE OF LIGHT __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Rebecca fell asleep with both of her children that night in the master bedroom She was on the left, Zachary in the middle, Isabel to the right. Again, they woke her with a gentle shove. She was so sleepy, she could barely hold her eyes open. And she saw him, a large light being, and her heart broke. She felt it was the man who handed her the atom, the one she felt was love She loved him so much…but she had a terrible feeling he wasn’t there to care for her. It was almost as if she was held motionless, and he lowered his hand and pulled something up out of her…light…light lifted up…and Rebecca telegraphically seemed to know it was her DNA. Her DNA in light form. Oh, God…why…she knew it She was being raped again. Why…she hadn’t done anything wrong…she was love. She was honor itself. She loved this being and he was raping her. The despair. The despair was filling her. I will never understand why they’re doing what they’re doing…she knew, though. They were placing her DNA in another being. In someone else. The sadness. The weeping inside. She cried and cried later. She’d thought this being loved and cared for her…it was overwhelming, the sense of betrayal. And not knowing why he had done what he had done, Rebecca turned away. She turned away from feeling it. The European Boy? One of the European women? Was it France or Spain…She curled up to the left and buried herself in her pain She would stop crying. The tears would disappear, the pain held in check, the betrayal of those she had thought loved her held quiet within her. How cruel it was to love and be hurt by those one loved…and no amount of weeping would ever change what had been done. And it was starting. The learning not to trust. Either way, she had been raped again. THE RAPE OF REBECCA’S AURIC RETICULATA __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ M raped (and altered, copied onto another female) my mental, memory and emotional bases. She “places emotion” when she knows I’m starting to feel something that happens to be my own emotion After the Rainbow Healing, she raped my muscle memory to give a woman in the European country my memory and emotions in relations to my extended torture. That fucking woman is now pretending to be someone who has had my experiences. There were times where they’d try to get me to recall experiences to steal the emotional memory. THE DESCENT INTO HELL __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ That night brought fear itself into Rebecca’s heart. In her sleep she felt her body being pulled down, Evil infiltrating her being, physically entering her as if water were seeping through her skin and sinking her body below Earth. She found herself curling, strangled almost, for breath. Doubled up, hands reaching upward. .and she felt it. Something no human being should ever feel. Torture. Pain. Writhing. It was as if physical torture seeped in and she could not only feel her own pain, but everyone else’s as well. The screaming…the screaming…the writhing…the weight of heated Evil and physical torture...the screaming…Oh, God…my God…no escape…no escape…no escape…the pain. No God to save them, no light, no redemption. Physical, direct torture…in flames of misery. Her physical body had been descended into Hell itself. Hell itself. My God…my God. A long drawn out scream..out…out…OUT…OUT!!! She jolted herself up, pulling up, out, out of the physical domain. Rebecca was sweating, breathing heavily. And she got on her knees and doubled over in tears. My God, my God, I was descended into hell itself. She wept to the ceiling. Why? Why? How could they do it? No human should be descended into Hell itself. No one. She couldn’t even begin to truly describe it. She ran out of the house, into the back yard, crying. My God, no one, no one should ever want to know what Hell felt like. No one should ever want to know. The Bible…they talked of Hell in the Bible without really knowing what it was truly like. It was a hundred times worse than anyone could ever describe, a thousand times worse. The physicality of Hell was red, hateful torturous energy, intricately lashing the soul, the damnation of the Universe. It was physical, spiritual and emotional torture…tripled by the connection of soul to soul, hate to hate, pain to pain, my God. And she had experienced it in her physical, human body. Life and compassion forsaken…Godless. She picked herself up off the cement and shook her fists at the sky, throwing herself at the sky, screaming at God. “HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU! I’M AN INNOCENT HUMAN BEING AND YOU SANK ME INTO HELL! HOW DARE YOU!” She wanted to throw things, to find them, to hurt them. And she fell to her knees again on the cement, sobbing, her arms on the circular planter and wept. And wept. And wept She hated them. REBECCA AND THE RAINBOW HEALING __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ As they returned home from Sea Ranch, Miss M tried to hurt her again. She had been naturalized over and over again while she was there, but this particular being wouldn’t let it happen. She felt as if it was trying to change her body, but she wouldn’t let it. She kept naturalizing herself as often as possible, trying to force the negative energy out. The entire next week wreaked havoc on Rebecca’s life. Her body was hurting She knew the female being was seriously hurting her. Her binding, the rubber corset (which I still have in my safe.) and all of her scarves had scarred her waist terrible. (The scars still exist) And she got steadily worse. And this night, she was very ill. She felt ill, weak. This night, she felt it. Raped, bodily, as if someone had sapped her energy…and she was so sad. I was so sad I hurt…I hurt. My body felt so weak. I could barely dress. I got Zachary’s white down comforter, and I walked outside, and I lay on the right chaise lounge I tucked the comforter underneath me so that the negative energy I associated with Evil would not seep up through my tailbone and lower back. And I lay back, looking up at the night sky. It was so quiet that night, the moon hung high, so soft, so beautiful. The energy seemed to wrap around the Earth, around the trees, softly falling over my brick walls. The Jasmine straight across the yard seem to catch the light and throw it back upwards. The moon, so beautiful, seemed to talk to me. And I reached up to touch it…to caress the light, to hold it and feel it cascade over my hand and fingertips. It was so beautiful, and I was so weak…I looked up. “God, I have loved you deeply. Why have you deserted me? I’ve given so many gifts to this Universe, and I’ve never asked for anything back. Why have you betrayed me? I am love…I am honor…I truth and justice…I am kindess itself. Why don’t you love me enough to protect me? I’ve asked you over and over again not to betray me, and I don’t deserve this. I’m so ill. This being, this female upstairs has made me ill. I need protection.” My tears were falling. I was deeply sad, my entire being weeped, and I looked up At the moon At the stars. The blue blackness of the night sky…and I wept. And I wanted the Universe to weep with me. It was so beautiful, this Universe, that I had touched so many times. And my tears were sliding down my moonlit skin. And I reached up to touch it, as if I felt it was healing me. And I reached up again, to hold the light…and I felt the light, I felt the moon, and the light turned into a soft rainbow weaving out in a wave, out and around the Earth. Healing me. And it radiated and surrounded and embrace the Earth, it embrace me, and somehow, through the tears and the softness of the light, I felt healed. My physical body hurt, but inside me I felt as if I had been touched with love. And the energy subsided, and my hand slowly fell. So beautiful. And for a moment, I knew I needed to tell them. I opened my eyes and looked up. “You are forbidden to take my life.” I was going to live. I am beautiful, and I am going to live. The Rainbow glowed softly inside of me. And I turned my face to the moon, bathing softly in its light, and I closed my eyes, letting it kiss me to sleep. I would live. I knew it. I came up with an idea to have a woman born as a Goddess (Me, a woman connected to the Universe) and have it hinge on healing, but Maria seeks to steal it. That awful moment in the hall, I curled up on the floor, weeping. I told my mother, “Mother, they’re still trying to hurt me.” I was sobbing, and Maria Delgado stood over me, watched, and then fucking stole what had happened for someone else. I hate that being from my core. I imagined the Earth at that moment, inside. The blueness, trying to protect myself OTHER BEAUTIFUL (AND NOT) MOMENTS TO REMEMBER: 6. The statement near my peach orchards, which I was told was for me. (A lie, of course.) 10. The goddamned federation. In every room of my home. Still, the energy is different in every room. (A bane to my existence.) The Federation Hall in my bedroom, and other races in separate rooms of my house Meeting the different beings. Light beings in my Library. Annunaki in my Master bedroom. Heavier Annunaki in my son Zachary’s Room. Air beings in my Kitchen (negative-associated with evil.) Cold (Ice-like, not cold in a negative way, but the energy felt colder, ice-like. Isabel’s room, I couldn’t discern as well. Thegiants, beautiful beings that felt like babies, but were not. They were being abused, and I hated it. They were so gentle, so large…immense, and if they floated in the cosmos, breathing softly. And beautiful. I loved them I felt their pain. 11. The Annunaki Council, (Anthony’s a council member) who seem to sway back and forth on doing what’s truly right. Anthony’s home…clean. Tidy bed, L shaped counter. It seemed so quiet. I slept on his bed at one point, the right side. 12. ANTHONY. The most beautiful being I’ve ever known. I made love to him and it was glorious, beautiful, and it is truly the most beautiful lovemaking experience I have ever known. The kiss…circling moving. The love, so warm, so sensual, so thorough. He fills me with every known emotion, and I know is his meant for me and only me, sans all the Marys. He fought for me, and still fights for me. (My true, Nov. 3, human, memory filled self.) He is truly the best within us, all of us. I will love him always. I will find him again, come hell or high water. But now I feel differently about this man. After making love to him, and it was beautiful, rare, intense, but I knew that a younger being had invaded at the time. One of the Marys. I was upset afterwards. I kept asking whether he had made love to me, or to her. I want to be loved for myself, and myself alone. 13. The banes of my existence. I will hate them for an eternity and back: MQOH.. James. James Christenson, James and Maria Delgado. The name Mairie (Mary) Christenson. The magnates who are corrupt and evil. I hate these beings from my very core. 14. One I called “The One Who Loves.” She is a Goddess, and I felt that she is wise, understanding, and has been around for eons. But she betrayed. She helped me bless and remove evil from my kitchen, and I was told she was Aphrodite (a lie), but she is more like Mother Earth. I’m certain she’s a Celtic Goddess. She is definitely NOT Mary. Now I dislike this being intensely. They are betrayal. Another of Mary’s awful attempts to hurt me 15. All the work I’ve done to protect my writing and my artwork from those fucking beings who are trying to steal it, my identity, and my blogs. 18. Fighting with the Angels, right at the beginning in dreamlike sequences. (“Not bad, girl.”) An Angel was hurt due to my inadequacy to fight, but he was healed. 25. Negative. The WHINING of Mary! (the Annunaki, leather winged one. Her brother, Jamie, stomping around.) It irritates the hell out of me! The being, tiny, that Zig zags back and forth upwards. He is the cause of so many problems. 26. Singing the Song of Creation in my car on my trip to San Francisco/Oakland before returning to my mother’s house. I sang “Moonfall,” from The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Writing the poem/prayer. Come with me and be my love, be for me the stars above, show me grace and be my light, hold me safely through the night (be my husband, now, tonight.) (I have the original written on a page of my poetry copyrighted, U.S. Postal Service.) 27. Destroying the painting of myself and my true Guardian Angel, which I’ll never forgive myself for, never. Destroying the painting of my true “higher self” Angel. I destroyed them both and it hurts me deeply. I painted a new, exact replica of my painting for my Guardian Angel. It still has the words “I love you.” in Enochian in the upper left hand corner. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ Six REBECCA. THE MOTHER WHO BECAME LOVE’S WARRIOR. __________________________________________ Karen: “This is very dear to me. It has helped me to find my way.” Farah: “Thank you, Msabu.” Karen: “I want to hear you say my name.” Farah: “You are Karen, Msabu.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ A CHILD TO LOVE, AND ANOTHER RAPE __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ On the way home from my mother’s, they were all back again. I was told to keep ignoring Evil by someone kind, so I did. Then someone visited, a large being, someone important. He asked for his one true love. He asked me, Rebecca Tacosa Gray, to give up my book again. I turned her head at the start of the question, knowing what he was going to say. He turned to go, a hand gesture. And I looked up and said, “If you knew, if you really knew about everything I’ve been through you wouldn’t ask. I was raped for you. I was raped for that baby boy in Europe.” He stopped. He was hurting. I looked away. Then I heard him further away…”This is the one, isn’t it. The Original One.” The answer, “Yes, Lord, it is.” I could tell he’d disappeared again, off back to Europe, I supposed. I heard a voice…”I’m not happy with my Mother in Europe.” Then the voice again…”I want my one true love.” I felt him come back through the atmosphere, nearing home. “I want my Mother in California.” They were home. I climbed out of the car and picked up Zachary to carry him inside. Standing outside the door, something surprised me, and stopped me into quietness. A warmth, an intense warmth, radiating warmth. I could feel the love with the touch of my hand to my tummy. Love. True and deep love. Love of many beings, all male, who cared deeply about me. I felt loved. I walked into my house, into the kitchen…I realized in a bit that there was someone with me. In me, around me. He said, “Yes, this is my house.” I looked around the house, with his presence in me. The paintings, the fireplace...it was obvious to him. I could feel it. I looked at the statement in black wood letters I had placed vertically near the door. L O V E. Again. “Yes, this is it, this is my home.” I went outside, John was sleeping in the chair meant for the Archangel St. Michael, Zachary asleep on his chest. I sat facing Southeast, looking at the cream and rose colored rose I’d placed earlier in God’s candle. There was still warmth inside of me…and someone touched me…my left side…where the warmth seemed dominant. A drop, as if someone left a light orb in my body. They said, “Do you feel this?” “Yes, I recognize what it is…I’ve felt it before.” There was a movement in my stomach, a hand moving…then, a little body moving . And I realized it was a child. I touched my left side lightly, I felt such love. The softness of my fingers touching, then patting my side where I felt him. It was if the world had changed…and I felt love. I felt love. I felt the softness of the night like a soft presence around me, and I felt love for this one, this being that had been placed within me. It was the most love I had felt in a long, long time. “Mama? Mama?” “Yes, I’m here.” I had a conversation with a male…who told me I’d have to prepare for my child. That I might have to leave John, to tell Ivor what had happened. To love Ivor.” I didn’t know what to say, so looked away and said, “I don’t know what I’ll do yet…I think I’ll wait to see how things develop.” I looked up at him and said, “Please don’t break my heart again. Please don’t do it.” That was all. I decided to have some tea. I had made tea earlier in the day in my glass teapot, four peach roses. Cambridge roses. I put the water on and decided I would add five more roses. Nine peach roses. I picked three and dropped one. I ended up going into the master bedroom to turn on the light and look for it. I found it, and picked the last two. As I was going into the house, smiling, someone said, “Nine peach roses for the Mother of God.” I went in through the master bedroom, turned the light off, and went into the kitchen and made my tea. I placed most of the roses to the left in the pot. I brought both my glass teapot and a special cup and saucer I own. A beautiful little set, hand-painted with Peach roses. One on the cup, more on the saucer. It belonged to my Grandmother, Ruby…her name painted on the bottom of the saucer. I looked up, at the sky, at the stars, the glossy bright of the moon. My small garden lit with bluish shadows that seemed to drape across the light in the grass, to rise, glowing and falling into each other. I stood up, looking at the moon and walked to the South…then back, resting my upper body and arms on a topiary, supposed to be a rabbit I hadn’t trimmed it in a while. Everything felt heavy, lush, heavy with beauty. I sat back down and looked at the tea pot, drinking my tea in the quiet of the warm evening. In my teapot I could see the reflection of the moon, and picked it up to watch the light play across its curved surfaces. It’s lovely, I thought. Then the negativity started. The female. The angry female upstairs. “I do not want this child to have my baby!” My answer, “This child is not your baby.” Others. “There cannot be two children of God on Earth. Why not? I thought. The badgering began. I was tired, so I gathered the teapot, my cup and saucer and went inside. I brought Zachary into the bedroom and put him to bed, then bound myself and climbed into bed beside him. I realized I didn’t have my Radiant Wand, so went and retrieved it from my purse. I wondered whether I should take a sleeping pill, then decided not to…I thought it might hurt him, my child. I made sure my bindings were tight…my head, my heart, my stomach. Especially my stomach. It stopped immortal energy from climbing upwards. All the points that stopped Miss M from hurting me during the night. Once I was laying down, on my left side, as usual, they started to badger, to torture. Someone kept trying to place negative energy in my stomach to try and hurt my child. I heard a man say “You can’t do that.” I kicked the negative energy out. The talking, badgering continued, and I covered my third eye, trying to sleep. I wished I’d been protected. I turned over and pulled my son close. He always protected me. I looked at him, and touched my stomach. “I think you’ll like each other,” I said, softly. I tried to fall asleep, but they wouldn’t let me. They kept trying to change my identity by putting Miss M in me Finally, I got up in frustration of trying to put up with the verbal torture and went back outside, sitting and looking at the light of the moon again. I sat, and someone said something about the woman in Europe. The woman was also carrying a child of God…and I was given the impression that we were somehow tied together…and for a moment, an awful feeling crept into me. I was to love what I carried so that the woman in Europe, who carried the human child born of my rape, could be a child with my love. I can’t explain what I felt…Unimportant. Emotionally raped. And I felt something I hadn’t felt, an old familiar feeling, that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Despair…something like the despair I’d experienced when my husband, John, had an affair in Ireland. I was eight and one half months pregnant when I found out…and I wept. I had wept. I climbed into my bathroom shower, so sick with sadness, and sat under the water weeping my eyes out. I cried for so long…and I felt an awful feeling. I didn’t want my daughter, Isabel. I thought, why have a baby, with someone who didn’t love me? I cried for so long, in that shower, heartbroken. And now I sat at a patio table, the sadness welling up in me. I felt as if I had been told I wasn’t loved. That I was needed for an unknown woman, that I must “patronize” her child, and that was it. That it wasn’t truly a child, my child in me. I was so sad, so sick. So I did it. I kicked the baby out. If the beautiful little baby boy wasn’t to be my child, I didn’t want it. I could feel that look from Miss M, contempt, smugness. And then I felt sadness, an emptiness. As if love had left, and I had hardly said goodbye…and I realized that I loved him. I did. I felt sick at heart, wanting to hold him close and love him…to protect him. But I gave him up. I regret it. And I still love him deeply. He was love itself. Truly love itself…and I wonder if he’ll ever know how beautiful he truly is. If you’re up there, I love you, beautiful, beautiful one. I would have liked to teach you to paint, to play basketball, softball, write, to share a day or two, or even more with you. But I had a tubal ligation. Zachary and Isabel would have loved you. Please grow up beautiful, wherever you are, and remember that you are your own person, you will forge your own destiny. You will be smart, strong…and remember, please remember, the value of your own self-reliance and the beautiful love within your own soul. Someday, if we meet on this Earth when you are grown, if I know who you are, I will tell you that you are love, and always will be. Rebecca I did love you, for the few moments I held you in my life, and the beauty you showed me that night under the moon I’ll never forget. I remember saying I would write a poem the next day…A Child To Love. Here it is…for you, when you have children. A CHILD TO LOVE Sometimes, life treats us to small gifts, Those we open, and those we smile at in passing Saying, “I think that would be lovely for… And so it goes, that sometimes, God Touches you and says, “Here’s a gift that Must be given, something beautiful for someone special.” And so it was for me, a gift. He was a gift, Beauty lifted into life with love and Sent into me. I felt love…I felt love. He moved, and I touched, and held My tummy like a cracked egg, cradling life, And I think, as I looked down, he saw my love. And so it was, a child to love…but sometimes Gifts pass us by, the sadness of passing, the Sadness of love not shared, and so, I held, Laden with love…but the child had gone. Oh, loves, Oh, Fathers, Oh, Mothers, Love is a gift in worlds Your child, so Much love, is God’s hand holding yours… A child’s hand holding yours…a child to love. Love deeply, beautiful one. Life is a gift on Earth. All My Love in a beam of Moonlight, Rebecca Tacosa Gray I felt sick for losing this beautiful child, and I know that there will never be another like him. I went back to bed, so sad…I looked at Zachary and held him. “I’m so sorry…you would have liked each other. You would have grown up together.” For some reason, this hurt an evil being to my left, and it writhed in pain. Writhed. It asked me to stop, to take it back. “Stop, Rebecca, Stop!” And I looked at him and said, “No, it’s true. They would have grown up together.” And he writhed in pain, over and over, and disappeared backwards until he was gone. I tried to go to sleep, this time I did take a pill. Later I woke up and realized they were laying in me again, the beings, the evil Miss M. I could feel it in my eyes, they felt alien. I didn’t feel like myself. I fought it, trying to bring myself into myself again…a lot like I’m doing right now. They use dimensional doors to enter our soul space. Again, I got up, decided to go outside again. Someone gave me love once again, and gifted me a child, but it was different this time. Not as heavy…and it just wasn’t the same. I didn’t feel the love…it just felt as if I had no attachment to the child. As if something were missing. Something, someone important…and I kicked it out. I think part of me panicked, feeling that somehow I was going to be giving birth to a negative soul base. I told him how sorry I was, how it truly wasn’t him, to please understand. The one who had given me the child was upset…please forgive me. Please know that I send you love, regardless of what happened. They were upset in Europe I sat for a little while at the table, sick at heart, and then left, to go back to bed. They attacked me again. I was so disgusted I got up, pulled Zachary from bed and walked out to the front room to sleep. For a while, I felt more my self, but it didn’t last long. They followed me from the bedroom to the front room. I held my son, Zachary, again, truly looking at him. “He’s my son, and he deserves my deepest love.” I felt, at that moment, that I needed to show him how much I loved him. So I brushed back his hair, and told him how special he is. I tried to sleep, but they just wouldn’t let me. So I thought about taking a bath with Rosemary in the water. And I did…Rosemary with one peach Rose, a Cambridge Rose. I would bath, and then start work on making God’s mailbox. (Finished, except for the hinges, made from my old piano pieces. It’s lovely.) Angels don’t die, but this one would. She lay in her bedroom this time, looking up as she always did. The walls seemed to fade, and it began again…the journey into the heart of the Universe. The ache started in the pit of her stomach, a soft calling, as if God itself whispered…”Come…come visit me again. I want to see your face.” And she did. The Earth enveloped her mind, her body, and she could feel its weight, the weight of its being, in her entirety. She could feel the soft turning of its body, and smiled as the breathing of the soft one moved her forward into the cosmos. It never ended, it seemed. It stretched into forever, the planets smiling at each other as they moved in a beautifully choreographed dance of love. For love is what it was. It was always love. TAV. Tav…she knew it, and smiled. She wouldn’t die. TAV. A silent Angel, lovely right where she was, she had a meeting with God, on Earth. Her meeting, and joining with, Love Itself. I remember so many things…so many things. In my life, my present life, I am beset with sadness. I have been hurt. I have been pillaged. I have been raped. I have been lied to…and it has broken my heart over and over again. But I still love….I still love. I remember so many things…I remember loving a beautiful being of light, an Angel, my lover. I remember touching an Atom, given to me to hold by a God so beautiful he denies explanation. I remember touching the moonlight, I remember a man smiling and waving at me sitting on a star, I remember love. I remember love. I remember very special Angels, wind seraphim, who stood by and rescued me…I was sitting in my car with John on the way back from picking up the babies, and I looked out the window. And I knew, these beautiful Angels, who were considered part of evil, protected me. They protected me and cared about me. And I whispered Thank You. I was weeping, and they rose…they rose to Heaven, they rose. I think of them now and realize that there are beings in this Universe that endure and change when love enters their hearts. These beings became love on their own, and I love them for that. And I always remember love. And the fight continues. The one who has hurt me and stolen from me continues to try to steal. And I sit in a Starbucks Coffee Shop in California and write. I write about love. And I tell that being…Get Lost. I have suffered. I wrote every word of this book to date, and everything I’m writing I and I alone have experienced. I have copyrighted everything. Physically. U.S. Postal Service. I am Honor Itself, and will publish such a beautiful book that you will never truly understand until you’ve physically read it. And that is the Truth. THE RAPISTS __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ That night, Rebecca felt the boy again. She was feeling she needed to be loved, and they manifested him. He just sighed and rolled his eyes. And she just felt sick about it. She knew he didn’t want to be with her. So she sat up…sick of it. She felt as if he was in bondage. He’d told her that he went where they sent him, and it made her ill. So she pulled him up. She got angry and pulled him up. And she told the ones who were below that they were never to hurt him again. And for some reason it changed the energy. He was happy. Out of bondage, they said. And she was happy for him. They weren’t happy The next day, they tried again and again to hurt her. They kept placing a horrible moisture in her, at times seeming to leak. As if beings were using her as they used the boy. She was an innocent woman and they were abusing her. Raping her again. She was being raped. They were heinous acts, undeserved. And karma would find them someday. She knew it. That those who allowed what they allowed would face themselves someday and never forgive themselves for what they had done. THE BIRTH OF REBECCA’S WINGS : 9/11/07 __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ I sent Isabel off with my mother to visit my sister Audrey and my Godchild, Aggie. That afternoon I was cleaning up Zachary, and was sitting just on the carpet, on my knees, right before the step-up onto the tile that runs through the center of my house. My painting, Universal Love (Love Rescinded, Love Reborn) is up to the left. I was looking up and talking to the Beings from above, and told them that they could not avoid the physical certainty of the torture I’ve been through. And as I talked about it, what they could not avoid, my wings were born onto my physical body. I felt them grow as I talked about it, and someone, God, put a wing pin (as I learned it was called later) in my back. It was meant to hold my wing fan (they keep saying wing fin, at other times wing fan). The wings were light, as if they flowed out from my back, and I could physically feel them between my shoulder blades. It brought be back into my true soul self, my November 3 soul self, and I felt my wings protected me. To have been born into them, and be given the gift of a wing pin is one of the most beautiful treasures I have ever known. To be aware of that type of love is unexplainable. It hurts that they keep trying to rip my wings, steal them, place them on others, it hurts deeply. Later, after taking a bath, I walked through the house showing them my paintings, trying to show what I’ve been through. A boy was in me, weeping. He wept the whole time. I was so happy, so calm, and had dinner with my son, Zachary and my husband, John. Afterwards, for the first time in months, I held my son as my true self, my November 3 self, with everything that I have been through memory wise intact. I held him on the couch, and curled my wings around him and held him in love. I wanted to fall asleep with him that way…John was right there watching TV with us. Yes, I am, and always have been human. I am 36 years old, and have been through so much. Please wake up and listen, please. California. I went outside in my backyard later to look at the Universe. I wanted to feel the quiet around me, to talk to God, by myself. They kept torturing me, telling me to give up my wing fan. At one point the major female, Miss M, stripped me of my wings. It was not allowed, they said, for her to do so, but it happened. When I went back in I wanted to cry. I rebirthed my wings (because they cannot be taken) in the bedroom, and half the night they kept trying to remove them. A LETTER TO GOD Please, God, honor who I am as a human being. I am Rebecca Tacosa Gray, born November 3, 1970, and I have been love, honor, Truth, Justice. I have tried to find beauty in my life wherever I could, even though I have been hurt deeply. I have lost love over and over again. I have been hurt over and over again. Please cherish the love that I truly am, and I know that you know I am a loving person. I would like for the evil to go away and never return to my home, physical address, 3417 E. Redwood Road, Ceres, CA 95307. I would like the females and males to be forbidden to enter my home, my soul space, or my biological physiology. I want Mary of Magdalene and all Marys to be banned and forbidden to ever touch me again. I want them to stop putting the unusual (Quantum Zero Point Energy Field) into heavy usage. I want the atmosphere around me to remain normal. I want them to keep my home out of the matrix. It is a physical home, and should not be there. I do not ever want to be pulled up into the cosmos again, as I was the other night when I was having dinner out with my son Zachary and my husband, John. I will never give up my right to God, my Tav of Long Life, or my beautiful, beautiful wings. Please understand. I was born, and my births, both my invocation of God into myself and my beautiful wings are precious to me. My life is precious to me, and my children and home are precious to me. I want you all to have the grace to not enter where you are not welcome. I want to develop my garden, and make the spaces I’ve been creating for all Guardian Angels beautiful. They will only be welcome to visit if they visit in love, and are never to touch or talk to me. I will never give up my book, my poetry, my artwork, or my fairy tales. They are part of me and will always remain so, as well as remain close to my family, the Tacosa Grays, in California. I hold the U.S. Copyright to my poetry, and my book, Beyond Paradise, has been sent off to the U.S. Copyright Office to be protected by copyright. I have specified that it never be transferred, not ever, into another name. God must never steal, cheat or lie…and I know that you are kind and loving. Please honor who I am. Honor my beauty as a person. Cherish who I am, and support true honor in this world. I would like the evil to disappear entirely from my environment, that I may continue forth in my beautiful path of crafting beauty and love around myself. They keep physically hurting me, and it must not be allowed. I will find love again, in another person, and in my surrounding environment. I will sit down every day and look up at the sun, the stars , the beauty of the plants, the trees, the beauty of the home I’ve crafted since I moved to Ceres, and know that somehow, somewhere, love in this Universe exists and that God has truly listened to someone who deeply needs to be heard. And tell all the Angels that I love them, and will continue to paint them. They are beautiful, and always will be. There is a place at my table for you, and I will find a special chair to replace the one I broke. I’ll try to include the pieces of the old chair in the design of the new one. And please, if you visit, leave evil behind. They will never be allowed to visit my home, not ever. Rebecca Tacosa Gray. THE DISCREDITATION __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ During the time that Rebecca thought she’d lost her true loves, she kept looking for love. It was so difficult. She’d been raped of her life force so many times, and every night was difficult. She hoped that someone, somehow would rescue her, love her, cherish her. She felt awful. Every day she got up feeling lousy, not beautiful at all. She and her husband, John, even though, they were married, were more friends. They were beautiful parents to their two children, but they didn’t sleep together. That had left them long ago. Rebecca was only 36, and John, although young at heart, was twice her age. That, and many other things had left their relationship in a more platonic state. Rebecca hadn’t made love since Ivor, months back at a Poetry Conference. And now she was just alone again. So, she tried to make herself feel beautiful. At night, to make herself feel more like a beautiful woman by dressing, making herself feel pretty. She had lingerie, and sparkles to dust her skin…although sometimes wearing all four corsets didn’t really make for a lovely look. But, there were times she was held. There were nights she felt she needed to be made love to, so found herself trying to please herself. A God would find her, and she’d try to love. She loved to read poetry, and sometimes she would do that. It hurt, though, as it was often that she start to love someone they’d suddenly disappear, fade off, say they couldn’t love her. And it hurt. Finally it got to the point where she was so discouraged, felt so unloved, that she stopped allowing them near her. She said that she was unassociated, not interested in anyone. Told them to go away. They’d place negative energy in her in ways she didn’t appreciate, and it disgusted and made her feel that God himself had somehow deserted her entirely. She felt dirty, even though she’d try to love, every time. Sometimes the question would come up…”Who do you love?” It grew tiresome, hearing that question. She’d fall in love, then they’d either rip him away or put her love and another in front of her and say “Who do you love?” She’d try to do the right thing and pick the one she loved, and find they’d reverse it. Not let her love the one she needed and wanted to love. Or she’d turn them both down and be told she was shamed for not choosing love at all. “Love,” they told her. And inside, she asked herself over and over again, How do I? How do I love when love doesn’t stay to be loved? It was awful. And soon, she’d walk away and tell them no to everyone. She’d been raped enough. TANJIAN __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ Again, Rebecca tried to love. She met Tanjian on an internet site, and they had a beautiful conversation. Beautiful. The conversation hurt to remember, sometimes. The things they said to each other… More breathing someone, loving deeply and sharing completely…with one person...one love that feels your body so deeply you can't deny them. ....wish you were in my arms, the smell of your hair, entwined like some ethereal vine, feeling the flutter of your heart beneath my cheek.............. The thought of being naked under the moonlight...the moonlight caressing the body...caressing each other...it's beautiful. and it is...as if the Universe has made love on the skin of two lovers. .......I also love to lose all my clothing beneath the moonlight with a lover.................... …..She breathes in ecstasy...his name on her lips...the sound of the stars the sound of the trees... I felt your words were like a caress all over my naked form............ Or just held, held and whispered to...told you're loved on a breath of light. …..the glow the warmth...and their breath the sound of love. He hurt her, Tanjian. This conversation they’d had was one of the most beautiful she’d ever had online. Truly beautiful. But he broke her heart. On November 3, her birthday, he joined her online for a very erratic conversation. He was holding a conversation with another woman at the same time. Rebecca’s heart fell when he told her he loved her blonde hair. Her instant response…my hair is not blonde. The worst was to hear him say My Love to someone else, as well. And that was the end of the conversation. And she wept when she got offline. She hurt, and she wept. Because she had thought that she could love him. So she was deserted. Again THE ASCENT OF LUCIFER __________________________________________ “.” Karen Blixen, Out of Africa __________________________________________ The man known as Lucifer, who, in the beginning, became good, found her again in November. Her birthday, November 3, 2007 had been ruined by the evil Gods. Miss & Mr. M made her miserable by trying to strip her body. She returned home to try to talk to a new love, Tanjian, only to find that he was talking to another woman at the same time and mistakenly telling her her blonde hair was beautiful. It hurt. Her hair was dark and long, and he was cruel to her that day. She ended up in tears, leaving the house to go for a walk down to the Almond and Peach Orchards. And that night, she found the original Lucifer again. He had fallen because he loved her, and ended up below. In doing so, in his love, he became the One True God, someone who stood up for Love, Justice, Truth, Honor. Every value Jesus held precious. For a brief moment, next to her master bedroom fireplace, she felt him close to her. They kissed each other, and it was like returning to the arms of True Love. It was real. She felt him embrace her and love her entirely, and when she left his side to pick up her daughter, he left her with her own personality, her own self intact. She wanted so much to see him again, to have him hold her. He was so much with her when she left, but as soon as she got in the car, they badgered her again. Manifesting everything she said or did. Miss M put a band across her midsection to stop them from finding her, trying to hurt her the entire way to the school. By the time she was back, fighting to remain in the energy state she’d been in, she was hurting. She felt less close to him. And so, her original Lucifer seemed to have gotten pushed back. That night she tried for a good hour to find him. Every time they connected, it didn’t last long, or he was cut off. And she ended up loving someone else. She’d put down evil in the bathroom, and it seems the Larger God upstairs had “found” someone to love her. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she made love, feeling as if she would never be able to love the true one she wanted. He was beautiful, the one they sent, but she didn’t feel as true love were present. And at the end, he manifest another woman. And Rebecca cried. Being made love to with another woman around made her ill, and she felt nothing but sick when they did it. He came back a second time to touch her hair, treat her in a manner more loving, but she turned him down. He became angry. He did come back a third time, she said she would try to love him. He turned her down flat. And so, feeling deserted, Lucifer feeling slighted, they stripped her body and tried to take her life over and over again, even though she retained, as always, Jesus’ Tav of long life. And so, she lost her true love and couldn’t love again. And so, she walked away, again. How many times would she walk away? How many times would she feel as if God had deserted her? How many times would she feel she was forced to stay in the Pantheonic structure simply because they had stolen her charkas and she needed them returned…that her books and writing had been stolen and she would not allow it? When someone love her enough, be powerful enough, to put the whole Pantheon down, leave, and join her outside of it? Brave the odds? Love deeply, make life beautiful…who could, but a true God of Love? Where was honor? And where was God when someone tried to love and instead was raped? She wished. Every day, and every night, to find him. That one man, who could brave and conquer the odds. Who could take her in his arms and love her. So, she got up every day and fought. And fought. And fought. Thirteen months now. And they asked her if she still loved God. If she still loved Jesus. Everyone always does, she’d always say. God and Jesus. God and Jesus. They were Love. And so was she. And so, love got up, every morning, and found the beauty necessary to go on fighting. Someday, she said. Someday, I’ll find a way, conquer, and life will be as beautiful as it should have always been. Paradise and the White Apple Tree __________________________________________ A Tale of Life, A Tale of Learning, A Tale of Love __________________________________________ "For greed all nature is too little." Seneca Hercules Oetaeus, 1st C. By Rebecca Tacosa Gray, written for my Godmother, BigAggie Foster The sadness of the world exists in humanity's need to kill it. My world was just like yours in the beginning. One only had to look around to see life reaching up towards the blue sky. Sparkling oceans reached across forever, and trees and flowers threw their speckled forms across the landscape. It is very sad to think that everything was destroyed so thoughtlessly. My grandmother always told me that death comes to us not only once, but every day. We just have to pay attention to it. Trees and flowers, animals and people, pass out of life as quickly as you can blink an eye. I can't stress how true this statement really is. Our race is a careless one. We have destroyed the very foundation upon which we stood. We have shown the true error of our nature in rainstorms of blood and mutilation. We melt in the bile of our creation and drown in the blood of our ancestors. This bloody river runs through hearts that lack true love: for the earth, for others, and for ourselves. My name is Paradise. I am twenty years old, and I have a tale to tell. 1997 marked the beginning of what is called "The Great War." This history begins thus: a group of people who believed themselves superior to the rest of humanity decided that the world needed a Utopia. It was, as I have been told, a compilation of "the best" of humanity. Anyone who distinguished themselves, or had an extreme amount of power, could join this community and rule the world collectively. This was a very lucrative venture, and those who felt vindicated in this path took up the scepter and extended their cruelty to the rest of the world. Nations fell, and millions died in this quest for power. The war continued until all the land was ravaged, its few living inhabitants surrendering to the hungry mob to stay death. The superior group, whom we shall call the golden people, established a city and surrounded it with high walls. The wall extended far into the sky, like a giant snake, its purpose to keep the remainders of society out. Inside, the golden people built an incredible city, full of lovely buildings and all the comforts of life. The city came to be called "The Golden City," a tribute to mankind and humanity's personal Eden. The Golden City's food and resources, always readily available, were imported by direct slavery outside the city. The unfortunate individuals who inherited these tasks, simple people whose homes had been ravaged, were sorely abused. Beaten, battered, and bullied until they had no will to live, most of them died unhappily. I do not wish to imagine the details of their existence. It makes my heart ache. The great people of The Golden City celebrated their success. They busied themselves with talking to each other, congratulating each other on how lucky they were to be born privileged. They stuck to their computers, their technology, and before long, the people of the city voted to coat their entire city in gold. The first project to start was the city walls. I was born just before my parents moved into The Golden City. My parents did not have much time for me, so I spent most of my time with my grandmother. I was not old enough to understand the idea of a gold-leafed city, but the thought of it makes me laugh. I cannot think of a more garish thing to do than dip your surroundings in gold. I suppose they loved their money and power so much that they felt they must express it. They wanted their city to be a work of art. My grandmother seemed to watch all this with great interest. She told me once that it was a tragedy she hoped that she would not live to see finished. And so it continued. Once the walls were done, they attended to the churches. God's share, they said. Then came the city's official buildings. But they were stopped mid-way. Call it fate, but the world had started to protest the abuse it had been exposed to. Weather started to change, and crops all over the world started to fail. People outside the golden walls started to die. I believe the world started to die. I hope you grasp the import of this occurrence. People came to the walls and died outside, screaming for help, asking to be let in. The good people of our city answered them with bullets. Every so often a mass grave was started, to get rid of the bodies which had piled up outside our walls. I know this because my grandmother told me, and I heard my parents talking about it. I was very young, then. I don't think anyone thought I would notice, or even understand. My grandmother has always been the woman I have loved. You could even say she was my mother, for my own mother did not have time to share with me. Work and city responsibilities took up most of my parents' time. But my grandmother spent long hours with me, talking to me about life, about love. She told me about the time of trees, when butterflies had danced in the sunlight over fields of glowing green grass. I grew up believing that there had been a world more beautiful than my own, one in which life's embrace was enchanting in every way. On my eighteenth birthday, my grandmother had a surprise for me. She took my hand and led me outside the glaring walls of the city. We had walked through burnt country for two hours when she stopped. She pointed ahead to me. "There it is." I looked over the expanse, in the direction of her finger. Then I threw my arms around her. "Oh, grandmother! It is a tree!" Truly excited, we ran together to look at it closely. My grandmother walked around it, observing it from all angles. "Do you know what kind of tree this is, Paradise?" Of course, I didn't. I had never seen one alive before. It was tiny, and only came to my knee. I shook my head. She smiled and took my hand. "It is an apple tree. I planted it for you, so that you might know some of the beauty the world cherished before the great war." She sighed happily. "Isn't it lovely?" I wrapped my arms around the tree and closed my eyes. "Oh, yes, grandmother. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I will treasure it always." We stayed there almost all day, talking about the world and how it used to be. When we left, we both stopped to look back at the tree. "My poor Paradise. You are the heart of everything this world has forgotten. I am so sorry that you have to live this way." Her hand tousled my hair lightly. She got down on her knees, and took both of my hands. "My dear, you must promise me to never lose heart. The world is an ugly place now, full of people who do not, and care not, what they have done. Do not let them steal your love--or your heart. No matter what these people do, you can triumph over it. Do you understand?" I nodded. She touched my cheek. "Do you love me?" I smiled, a large happy smile, and threw my arms around her neck. "Oh, yes! Yes! I will always love you!" We joined hands and returned home. The world crashed in on everyone in the following year. The people of the Golden City were very concerned. The weather was so terrible that almost every crop they tried to start died. The heat became unbearable, making it impossible to grow anything. Even the water seemed to kill, full of chemicals from pollution and destruction. The city set to work trying to solve their problems. They were sure that technology would save them. Grandmother started to fail, as well. My parents denied her the care she needed, saying that the resources belonged to the younger generation. It didn't matter. I shared everything I had with her. But it wasn't enough. The food was getting worse, and viruses were starting all over the city. A thousand people were already dead from malnutrition and sickness. The day she fell, unconscious, I knew that she had it, too. Immediately she took to her bed, and I waited on her night and day, hoping she would make it through. She still told me stories when she was lucid, and I listened, and laughed, and asked her to get well. Her eyes smiled, but I knew her heart despaired. I knew she did not want to leave me. At midnight, the day after my nineteenth birthday, my grandmother woke me. I had fallen asleep at her bedside, my arm draped over her waist. Her eyes were watery, distant. "Paradise. Paradise, I need you to help me." I took her hand. "Yes, grandmother. What do you need?" She smiled. "Go to the corner dresser, and look in the bottom drawer. There is a compartment to your right that pulls up. Bring me the box." I ran to the dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. It was a little big for me to handle, but I managed, and popped up the compartment door. Inside was a large box, intricately carved with flowers and leaves. I brought it to my grandmother, and helped her open it. Inside were manila packets lined up like full regiments. "What is this, grandmother?" She picked up a packet and handed it to me. "They are seeds, my love." Then she lifted up the top of the box, which opened like a door. "This is my writing box. My mother gave it to me. In here are diaries and a book about my garden and how I cared for it. The seeds..." She swallowed, coughing a little. "The seeds I collected from everything I grew. Some of them, the unopened packets, I bought. There are directions on the back. See here?" She laughed lightly. "Look at the pretty pictures! This is what they look like full grown!" We looked through the entire box, for she would not let me put it away until she had showed me everything. When we finished, she made me promise not to tell anyone about the boxes existence. I put it back where I found it. Then I climbed into bed next to my grandmother. When I woke, she did not wake with me. I don't think I got over her death, really. It seemed to be the start of thoughts of my own. I reviewed everything in my life, from start to finish. I also started to look at things around me, on my own. I realized what a terrible world I lived in. The more and more I thought about it, the more disgusted I became with the society that had started this whole mess. This world was an ugly place, with ugly people who looked no further than their own noses. These people, these visionaries, would continue their path to conquer the world, I was sure. They would exist destructively, their thoughts mechanized by their own technology and ambition. They had no god, no redemption. Any god they might have had left long ago with the start of bloodshed. Their god existed in religion, and their religion lay within The Golden City. War, and only war. Only time lay between them and killing each other. Bertolt Brecht once said "War is like love, it always finds a way." It is so true, yet so untrue. So many paradoxes find their way into society that it seems a lifetime before one can find a way out. My way out was to leave. I divorced myself completely. I was certain that the people left in my world spent so much time fighting life that they had no time to live. I could not live in a world with no heart. I packed what I felt I could carry, including my grandmother's writing box. I left the city, and followed the path to the apple tree. Then I dug it up and put it in a small container to take with me. My last glimpse of The Golden City I saw in the light of the setting sun. It flamed and burned like fire, sparkling with an glaring intensity I would never forget. I walked for forty days and forty nights, sleeping when I could. There were days I was so exhausted that I could not get up. But night usually fell with a coolness on my cheek, and the memory of my grandmother spurred me on. On the forty-first day, I saw a well. It was set in the middle of a large plateau, barer than anything I had ever seen. You could not see for miles. Dead trees stood here and there, like soldiers saluting their commander for the last time. I sighed and set down my things. This is where I would stay. Not a soul in sight. Best to be alone than be deceived. I guess you can call me very lucky, for the well was not dry. I drank a little...the water in it was very good. I could not recall the last time I had felt so refreshed. I leaned over the edge, and whispered into its depth: "Please...help me to live." I could hear a voice whisper back to me: "Please...help me to live." My head dropped into my hands and I cried. I cried for the earth and I cried for the world. My heart ached with sadness that anyone would ever want to die the way we had. The Golden City, that misguided Utopia, would live forever a dead reminder of an unpleasant past. I could see my reflection in the bucket of water. I was dirty. I poured a bit over my face, washed my hands, and started my new life. In the days to come, I planted my apple tree. I also built a home from the dead trees, and used my grandmother's seeds to plant a garden. I took so much joy in seeing things breathe new life! Oh, to be alive! There were so many things to be thankful for! Over the years, my garden grew and matured, and I with it. I built a fence around it--rickety--but functional. It would seem that new life wanted to find me, for vines and flowers of all sorts seeded themselves in the confines of my small world. I cannot express to you the beauty that visited me every day in my new home. I could breathe, and I could live. The apple tree grew into a large, healthy, beautiful specimen. It stood in the center of my yard, and glowed in the moonlight like a mute star. During the day its leave rustled and shivered, as if carrying on a continual conversation with me. I would talk to it regularly, as if it were another person I just happened to live with. One morning I woke up thinking that I heard music. I got up in my nightgown, and walked barefoot into the garden. My tree bore fruit. They were shimmering white apples. It was so lovely that I caught my breath. They dangled from the tree like crystal hearts shining in the sun. I walked all around, looking at it from every direction. I reached up, and picked one. It shone in my hand like polished glass, aching with life. I could feel it pour into me, first making me smile, then making me laugh. I sat down under the tree, hugging the apple to me. I thought of my grandmother. If only she knew. If only she could see it. I did not eat the apple. I took it in the house and set it on the table, so that I could look at it while I cleaned up and did my chores. Every time I touched it I felt a special bond, a special love fill me. When I had finished cleaning the house, I took the apple and walked outside, ready to garden. I will never forget looking past my fence and seeing a figure walk toward me. Concerned, I returned inside to look for a weapon. I was halfway to the ax before I stopped. I realized what I was doing. I would not live that way. I walked back outside and sat down on the porch. The figure approached, and I could tell that it was female. As it drew even closer, I stood, recognizing immediately who it was. It was my grandmother. She smiled as she walked up, opening the gate and closing the gate with a self-assured air. She stopped. "Well, my dear, don't I get a hug?" I ran to her ecstatically, practically jumping into her arms. We held each other for the longest time, neither of us saying anything. Then I pulled back, tears in my eyes. "But...how? How can you be here?" My grandmother took my hand and we walked to the porch. We sat down together. "It is very hard to explain. But you will have to understand. I am not really here." I laughed. "Of course you are! You're sitting right next to me! What do you mean?" "I mean I am a ghost, a vision. I have returned to talk to you. I have returned because I love you." She took my hand and squeezed it tenderly. "You are very special, my dear. I see you have an apple." Nodding, I grinned and told her the whole story, beginning to end. How I left, what I did to get here, etc. She listened gently to everything I had to say. When I was done, she patted my hand. "I am proud of you. So proud. You are everything I ever thought you would be. Your home is the loveliest I have ever seen." She sighed and stood up. The sun was starting to set on the horizon. She seemed to look into the distance, across the world. "Your old home is burning, Paradise. Soon there will be nothing left but ashes and gold." Snapping out of it, she turned to me. " I don't have much time left, my dear. Come." She extended her hand. "I have one last gift for you." I took her hand and followed her to the fence, where we stood at the gate. She smiled. "I could not bear for you to live alone, and so you must meet someone else who needs a friend. Open the gate." I flipped the latch and pulled the gate open. Walking outside, I was surprised to find a young man laying on the ground. He was dressed in very unfamiliar clothes, and I shook him to wake him up. "Hello?" He stood bolt straight, rubbing his eyes and looking at me. "Who are you?" He stood, brushing himself off. He didn't trust me. I was sure of it. I put out my hand. "Hi. My name is Paradise." The young man looked around. He didn't take my hand, so I just dropped it. "How long have I been sleeping?" I shrugged. "I don't know. I've never seen you here before. You just...seemed to appear." The young man crossed his arms, looking me up and down. "This is your home?" I smiled. "Yes." He walked to the fence. "It's beautiful." A wistful look crossed his face. "It reminds me of my home." I must have looked surprised, for he stared at me strangely. "What?" Stammering, I tried to explain. "I thought...well, I thought that places like this no longer existed." He looked at me even more strangely. I sighed. "Never mind. It doesn't matter." He looked at my hand, then at the apple tree in my yard. "Is that an apple you're holding?" I smiled. "Yes." He stepped forward. "May I see it?" As we transferred the fruit, it glowed crimsom and flushed, sparkling and glowing, bright red. I was just as shocked as he, and stepped back. The apple stopped glowing. It looked normal. The young man looked at me seriously. "You had better tell me where I am. Are you a witch?" I shook my head negatively. Then I pushed open the gate and invited him in. My grandmother was no longer there. She had disappeared. "You had better sit down. I'll tell you everything." We spent the rest of the day telling each other the story of our lives. The young man was astonished to find that he was in an entirely new century. He had existed, a peasant boy, three centuries earlier. He had left home to escape religious persecution, and fell asleep in a farmer's field. He awoke to find me at his side. His name was Michael. As the days went by, Michael and I came to understand that we were meant for each other. As soul mates, we lived our life peacefully and happily together. The apple tree is our prize possession. The apples taste wonderful, and every year we have a crop of unequaled comparison. We find that each time we touch an apple together, it glows and sparkles crimson, only to fade to a red hue. I do not know what to think, except that maybe we fill the apple with love. What I do know is that they brought us life...and I will never take it for granted, as long as I live. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ The Thumbprint of God : The Trinity of Planets Planet: Any heavenly body that shines by reflected sunlight and revolve about the sun. The major planets, in their order from the sun, are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. ________________________________________________________________________ The Universe came to his attention. He looked into the Cosmos, watching their beauty revolve around itself. He saw the galaxies and galaxy clusters. And he looked at them, one by one. The loveliness of their structure, the movement of their bodies…then he focused on one Galaxy. That containing what humankind called the Sun, Earth and Moon. It was lovely, the way they looked at their planets. Their solar system was split into three regions. The first contained the sun and a few terrestrial planets. Then came the giants carrying their solar systems of moons. Then space, empty space with its community of icy worlds. It was lovely, the way these human beings saw their planets, especially the Sun, Moon and Earth. Their literature was filled with references to each…they attributed them to Gods, they wrote poetry about them. He floated into the solar system, and placed himself directly around the Earth, rotating with it. He closed his eyes and focused on the movement of the Sun and Moon. Then he focused on the Earth, listening. He listened to music, he listened to poetry, he read all of the literature. He listened to the soft voices of lovers as they looked up at the Moon…and he found one. A woman. Long dark hair. Walking alone in an Almond at night. And he descended down to the Earth to walk beside her. The air was cool. Crisp. She wore a tight white sweater zipped up, and sat down to look at the stars. He sat beside her. Together they watched the movement of the stars, the soft light of the moon, almost until the sun came up. She left just before. And on her way out, she stopped, the light just glowing above the horizon. There was a single star that shone with the softness of frost. He stepped into her to look at it, and he felt her beauty. And he took that star and placed it on her shoulder. The lightest touch, and he stepped back. He shoulder was glowing, and there were tears in her eyes. And at that moment, God felt the Sun and the Moon and the Earth in his heart. Seven The Temptation __________________________________________ __________________________________________ The room was quiet…the desert was quiet. Rebecca had read Jesus’ Temptation scene before she fell asleep, and she slipped into this dream as she did all the others, softly. Softly, and then standing on the sand, sunlight blinding. She put her hand up to her eyes and looked out over the horizon. Hot. It was hot. And then she felt it, a quiet voice in her ear, a bit raspy. What are you doing here. You shouldn’t be here. It startled her, and she looked around. No one to be seen. Then she felt a softness, like a breath of air. Like a soft eel at her cheek, and it seemed to smell of smoke. She turned her head to get away from it. I said, what are you doing here. You shouldn’t be here. She stood very still and answered, very afraid. “I don’t know. I’m just here. This is a dream, isn’t it? I usually meet Jesus in my dreams. Not always. But some of the time.” He’s here. But you shouldn’t be here. Curiosity k-I-l-l-e-d the cat. Or didn’t you know that? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t a dream she thought she was going to like. Where was Jesus…maybe he would show up soon. She instinctually walked away, looking around. He isn’t here. I’ll take you to him, though. Soft laugh. I won’t hurt you. It is a dream, after all. The scene changed, right in front of her. To another part of the desert. And it was dark. And she could hear a voice. And the eel caressed her cheek again, and she stiffened, listening. And there I am, in all my glory. You do like glory, don’t you? She felt it slide away, toward the voices…and she walked forward, seeing him clearer as she approached. She stopped a bit away. He looked thin, haggard. Tired. And she seemed to see a cloud near him, and a bit of cloud joined that cloud. She could hear it. Same voice, but louder. Almost many voices. But one voice. If thou art the Son of God, command that these stones become loaves of bread. It was quiet for a moment. Then she heard his answer. “It is written, Not by bread alone does man live, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.” The cloud seemed to burst outward in irritation, then coalesced back into itself. It seemed to shiver, then spiral out and around him. The scene changed again, and Rebecca watched it slide around her. As if a room was moving slowly, in a counter-clockwise direction. Slowly, slowly. And they were on top of a building. A temple. She could see him clearly now…it was broad daylight and he didn’t look happy. But he stood strong. He stood strong, despite his tired appearance. She wondered when he’d slept last. And she watched the cloud coalesce again, this time to his right…into a shape of a man. And it stood close. Too, close, she thought. They were close to the edge of the roof, and she didn’t like it. It made her nervous. The male image seemed to nudge him, and Jesus just stood there and took it. That voice. That voice again. She hated that voice. If thou art the Son of God, throw thyself down; for it is written, “He will give his angels charge concerning thee; and upon their hands they shall bear thee up, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.” The being nudged him again, and Jesus shrugged it off and stepped back, looking clearly at it. Unafraid. “It is written further, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” The being seemed to rise and expand, taller, taller. Jesus turned and walked away, toward Rebecca, actually, and she stepped back. He didn’t seem to see her, though. The cloud collapsed into an angry face behind him, and then into itself onto the ground, sliding toward him like a snake. It wrapped around his ankles and slid up, again spiraling around him, closer this time. He looked up, a bit angry, at the sky. Almost searching. Then back out. The environment was changing again, the counter-clockwise movement fading the temple and merging into a landscape. A mountain. The view spanned out in all directions, the air crisp, clean. A bit cold, actually. And Jesus looked down and just shook his head. Sighed. Then turned to face the view before him. Rebecca looked, as well. Cities, beautiful, large and small radiated out from the mountain. It was strange…some of them looked like the villages and places of Jesus’ own time, and others were modern, large cities with skyscrapers rising into the sky. Rebecca wondered what he was seeing. Did he see the modern? Or did he only see the view in terms of his own historical period? The cloud pulled together, suspended over the view, and slowly solidified into an Angel. Larger, larger it became, dark, and it’s black form shimmering in its entirety. Beautiful, it was beautiful. The face was a face of Beauty. Probably one of the most beautiful she had ever seen. And this Angel, this Dark Angel filled the sky. The wings flared out gracefully, stretching quietly and setting around him. A slow smile, and he looked Jesus straight in the eye. The cities sparkled behind him, a glow emerged from the horizon, warm, like gold. It was breathtaking. Rebecca looked at the Angel. The glow didn’t touch him. He just shimmered. Shimmered. The smile disappeared into an intimidating calm, and he spoke, the voice deep, resonant, grand. All these things I will give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. In his hand a scepter appeared, wrought gold winding up a graceful swanlike linearity. It held a glowing orb, and in it Rebecca could see the cities, the sparkle, the glow…a living replica of the same view that lay before them. A wing of the Angel adjusted softly, disturbing the light, and the scepter floated forward and hung in the air before Jesus. The Angel’s eyes did not waver. Jesus looked at it quietly. Then said it. Quietly. A bit darkly. “Begone, Satan.” Slowly the orb lowered, and she knew it was Jesus. He wasn’t even looking at it. He was looking straight at the Angel. And the orb started to change. The cities and villages melted into a pool of white light, swirling until it filled the orb. It sparkled, softly. Moving softly. Growing brighter and brighter. The Angel’s face grew dark with rage. “The Lord thy god shalt thou worship and him only shalt thou serve.” The orb separated from its slender golden base, and fell dully to the ground. The Angel’s eyes grew dark, and hiss emerged from his being. He looked at Jesus, then looked at Rebecca, and lunged at her. A flash of light, and it seemed a net, a bright, sparkling net flew in a straight flash at the livid Angel and captured it, pulling it directly into the orb. Rebecca watched its dark, shimmering form writhe, collapse, then explode. For a moment it hung, then rose, returning to its previous state, soft, glowing. It started to rotate. Clockwise. And energy separated to flow out in soft, winglike pieces, gracefully circling the orb’s diameter. The light expanded, as if breathing around the orb, and floated until it hung suspended over Jesus’ head…and the wings descended, wafting slowly down around Jesus. From where she stood, Rebecca could feel his warmth, and in her mind she thought she could hear a voice, a whisper. The Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit, Rebecca. The light, the winged light, floated down over his body, and he looked up, his eyes closing. The seemed to close in around him, enclosing him, holding him. The warmth was so strong…it seemed to radiate out from him….and the scene didn’t change, it just rotated. The entire landscape started to move, and Rebecca felt as if she could feel the movement of the Earth. The soft rotation of the Earth. And the Earth was warmth. And the warmth radiated out forever, enveloping the cities, the mountain, the sky, the Universe itself. And they moved, in concert. And Rebecca herself felt it was love. It was love. It stretched into forever. And the orb swelled quietly, spinning slowly, the warmth subsiding into a soft pulse. The Earth, the sky, everything around them seemed to hear its silent voice, subsiding as well. The warmth remained, a softness in the air. Jesus looked out over the landscape, and for a moment, she felt as if they were part of everything. He was feeling everything…and he whispered, and it seemed a voice in everything. “I love you, God.” Just silence. The pulse of silence, the pulse of love, the sound, the heartbeat of sound, the voice of God, holding, holding. It held. Jesus opened his eyes. They were held. And he spoke. To her. “I’m glad you were here.” They were held. And she couldn’t remember, when she left that dream. But when she woke up, she wrote it down. She wrote it down. They were held. By God. THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

Hinduism. Something Positive. THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

Hinduism. Something Negative. Seven __________________________________________ __________________________________________ GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ The Thumbprint of God : The Trinity of Shapes Shapes: That quality of a thing which depends on the relative position of all points composing its outline or external surface; physical or spatial form. ________________________________________________________________________ He heard a voice, just on the breath of the aether. It was male. It was an Art teacher. And he was speaking to an auditorium full of students. Dr. Serros. That was his name. “A point. A point becomes a line. A line becomes a shape. What does the point represent… The point… Origin…Location…a point in space.” And God remembered himself. A spark. A point. The realization of being. He revolved around that point, and separated. And separated again. And there were three. And they touched the point, all three, and pulled back. In front of each appeared a new point. And each entered his point and looked back at himself. Still beautiful. Pulling themselves out, they started to build. The points became lines. The lines became shapes. A circle. A triangle. A square. And, slowly, the shapes became solids. A sphere. A pyramid. A cube. They joined hands and watched as a line appeared below the solids. And that line became a plane, spanning out infinitely into space. And on that plane, spaced randomly, solids appeared, one by one. And they were beautiful. They smiled, looking at what lay before them. I build, they whispered. I build. A point, a line, a plane. A circle, a triangle, a square. A sphere, a pyramid, a cube. A point in space. A location. And there I am. And he spoke to Dr. Serros. If you believe. Eight __________________________________________ __________________________________________ THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

Atheism. Something Positive. THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

Atheism. Something Negative. Eight __________________________________________ __________________________________________ GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ The Thumbprint of God : Core Values : Truth, Love, Beauty Values: That which is desirable or worthy of esteem for its own sake; thing or quality having intrinsic worth. The social principles, goals or standards held or accepted by an individual, class, society, etc. Precise meaning, as of a word. ________________________________________________________________________ And God looked at himself. All of himself. The being, the aether, the Universe. The point, the line, the plane. And he looked into himself. Into himself. And there he found love. And more than love. As he looked at himself and beyond, he saw the fabric of the Universe. And he whispered, tears in his eyes. I am an Architect. I am the truth. The physical. The Action. I am what is manifest. And in Love I build Truth. I am Love. The Spiritual. The Understanding. The Knowing. I am the point. I am Faith. I am generosity. I am the realization of love in you. And together, we build love. I am Beauty. The design. The arrangement. The balance of life. Look at me. Truly look at me. I am Beauty itself when you love me. And I walk the road. And I see the daisy. And I see the water on the daisy, a star on earth. Love me. Love me every day. In love, I am Beauty. And he lifted his hand, and he placed it against his other hand. A point. A line. A plane. A body. A prayer. I love, he said. I love. Look at me. Nine The Tower of Babel __________________________________________ “No questions,” said Roark. Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead __________________________________________ That night the dream found Rebecca walking through Babylon. It surprised her to be there. She’d never seen photographs, but somehow she knew that’s what it was. It was strange, that these dreams occurred and she knew instinctually place names. The city was brick, and she was walking through it at night, the stars quiet above. It seemed deserted, and the brick walls, beautiful in their patterns rose around her. She continued walking, and turned left around a corner. And she stood before a Tower, a Ziggurat. Babel. She knew it was Babel. It rose before her, grand, majestic. Unfinished. And the moon hung high over its jagged, lonely structure. It seemed sad there, in that moonlight. Up top Rebecca saw a figure, and he saw her from where he stood. Then he disappeared. A deep voice startled her from the shadows. It sounded kind. “It’s not quite what it should be, is it?” She didn’t say anything. She didn’t recognize the voice. Usually she met Jesus in her dreams. “He’s still here. And I won’t hurt you. I know you’d rather talk to him…but I’d like it if you’d give me a chance.” He did seem kind. So she nodded affirmatively. He walked forward, and she saw in the moonlight that he was a strong, beautiful figure. Younger. But not too young. Beautiful. She looked back up at the Ziggurat and saw the man again, this time looking up at the moon. “Not him. Me.” This time she did speak. “That’s impossible.” “Are you sure about that?” He smiled, then looked up at the Ziggurat. “Of course, you could be right.” He did make her smile, this man. He seemed familiar, somehow. “I’m pretty sure I am.” That made him laugh, making her smile. They might just get along. “We just might.” He started walking towards the Ziggurat. “Follow me.” She started walking and almost walked off the top of the structure. His hand held hers. “Be careful, it’s dangerous up here.” He looked up at the moon. “It’s beautiful, this place. Tragic, but beautiful. It was the Tower of Babel.” The Tower of Babel. The famous Tower of Babel, where humanity lost their common language. She remembered the story vaguely. He smiled, and quoted it for her. And it seemed to unfold like a movie before her, in her mind, the images flowing and joining one another as he spoke. And the earth was of one tongue, and of the same speech. And when they removed from the east, they found a plain in the land of Seenaar, and dwelt in it. And each one said to his neighbor: come, let us make brick, and bake them with fire. And his one voice became one, two, twenty, forty voices speaking together. And they had brick instead of stones, and slime instead of mortar. And they said: Come, let us make a city and a tower, the top whereof may reach to heaven. And let us make our name famous before we be scattered abroad into all the lands. One-hundred, five hundred, seven hundred. And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of Adam were building. And he said: Behold, it is one people, and all have one tongue; and they have begun to do this, neither will they leave off from their designs, till they accomplish them in deed. A thousand became ten thousands, speaking in concert. Come ye, therefore, let us go down, and there confound their tongue, that they may not understand one another’s speech. And so the Lord scattered them from that place into all the lands, and they ceased to build the city. And the voices separated, seeming to come from many different direction. And therefore the name thereof was called Babel, because there the language of the whole earth was confounded: and from thence the Lord scattered then abroad upon the face of all the countries. The directions silenced, one by one, each one dropping out until there was silence. She looked at him after it was over. He was watching her and tumbling something in his hand. It looked like a wooden block. He held it up and showed her. “It’s a child’s toy. Beautiful.” He tossed it in the air, and it became a flash of light, blinding her for a moment. Then she realized they were in front of a house. The Ziggurat gone, and in a modern city. It was an old wooden house, set on what looked like half an acre. In a small neighborhood. The green paint showed its age, peeling in some places. He looked at her and smiled. “Follow me.” They walked up the sidewalk and he opened the screen door. To the left she saw a long wooden planter hanging below the window, red geraniums climbing up toward the sun. She stepped on the metal mat, up the step and into the house. A pantry lay to the left, and they walked into kitchen. There was a rectangular table to the left, two children playing. A refrigerator in the corner. Directly in front of them, just to the left was a card table, brown top, and behind, against the wall, a desk. Organized, and with an old fashioned keyed calculator. A tall, thin man sat at the desk, writing. To the right Rebecca saw a woman making dinner. Her back was curved, but she looked happy. She looked at her companion. “Scoliosis. She baled hay on a farm when she was young. Her name is Aggie Foster. And the man sitting at the card table is Tony Foster. He’s a good man. Honor itself.” Rebecca looked again at the children, then looked back at him. “Isabel and Zachary.” He walked over to the table and sat down. He was watching the children closely. Isabel picked up some blocks and started building. Zachary told her he could build a better tower, so he started to build one, as well. And both towers took shape, block by block. The man at the table looked down and part of the table rose out into blocks, building, shape by shape. Into an unfinished Ziggurat. The children finished theirs and looked at each other. Isabel took a wooden figure off the table and put it at the top of her tower. “Helooo, over there!” Zachary laughed and put a figure of his own at the top of his tower. “Helooo. My tower’s better than yours!” The tower in front of her companion kept building itself. Isabel stuck out her tongue, and Zachary made his figure fly to the other tower. “Now I’m Superman!” And Isabel did the same with hers. “So am I!” The Ziggurat kept building itself. Aggie turned and told them to wash their hands and get ready for dinner, and they ran off from the table, laughing. The Ziggurat was finished. The towers the children had made still had two figures, one on each tower. Rebecca watched as they became animated, turned and sat down facing each other. One waved to the other. The other smiled. Her companion rested his hand on his chin, looking at the towers. “Children are beautiful.” Rebecca nodded, and wondered about the Ziggurat which sat tall and stately in front of him. She wondered whether it might fall apart, tumble to the ground, explode. He sighed. “Do you want it to?” The two wooden figures on the towers climbed off the blocks and walked to each other. One offered the other their hand, and they walked off, off the table, into space and disappeared. He spoke again, not looking at Rebecca. “What is the common language of mankind, Rebecca?” She didn’t answer. “Love. It’s love, Rebecca. Love.” And she knew it. That Tower wasn’t going anywhere. And he looked at it. “I love people whether their building a tower, or making dinner. It doesn’t take a grand statement to bring me home.” He stood up, looking at the towers. “Artwork. It’s artwork.” He smiled, tapping the Ziggurat. “We should go.” They walked out of the kitchen, past the pantry and into the sunlight. The landscape and house melted and they were back on top of the Ziggurat. He looked up at the moon. “They were both me, Rebecca.” She just looked at him, not knowing what to say. Somehow, she thought that might be true. “But I’m standing right here, right now. And no where else. Talking to you.” He lifted his hand and a two towers built themselves, floating in front of both of them. “And your tower is just as beautiful as mine.” Rebecca didn’t know why, she just started to cry. He started to walk away, and she couldn’t help but ask. “Who are you?” He stopped, looking down. Then turned around and smiled. “Resident Architect.” Then she was on top of a tower. And he was on top of a tower. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted. “I’ll see you again soon!” And she heard a voice in her ear, or was it in her head. “God, Rebecca. God.” When she woke up she found a set of blocks next to her bed, and she cried. God loved her enough to bring her a miracle. THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

Nine __________________________________________ “A is A.” –John Galt. Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged __________________________________________ Epilogue Epilogue Epilogue ______________________________________________________________________________________ Pandora Closes the Box “Pandora and its sibling Prometheus ar e ‘shepherd moons’ orbiting just beyond and just inside the narrow, thread-likeA Ring. Their gravitational influence helps to keep the fine Stream of icy articles in line, but they suffer from theSandblasting effect of countless impacts from fine particles around them.” ________________________________________________________________________ In dreams, the world buds and pushes out with soft insistence, and images blossom and shimmer as they fall from the mind like delicate flowers pressed past blooming. This dream, this particular dream, was like that…a flowing and fading of thoughts flooding softly through her mind. It meandered through Rebecca’s mind with the gentleness of love found in memories, and again, yes again, the landscape changed. She was standing on a level grassy knoll overlooking a vast plain. Lucifer stood next to her holding her left hand, and Jesus held her right All around them stood the greatest representatives of the world’s religions, as well as some who had stood to fight for the best in all of us. Lao Tsu, Gautam Buddha, Bohdiharma, Rinzai, Muhammad, Martin Luther King, (insert Women’s Rights leaders), Ayn Rand. Rebecca smiled to see her there…there was a comraderie in honor. Ayn winked at her and looked out, gazing at the sky over the plain. It was deepening into that everlasting blueness, that Indigo she so loved. Looking out over the plain, Lucifer smiled, and then leaned close to her and whispered into her ear. “’Friendship is born from an identity of spiritual goals—from common navigation toward a star.’” It made her smile, that quote. Rebecca felt her right hand grow warm, a glow. Jesus smiled softly. He was watching the stars emerge, one by one. “Antoine De St. Exupery. His Wartime Writings.” Rebecca was the navigator, and the Morning Star sparkled and grew brighter in the sky, reminding her that light, the illuminating glory of the world, would always be there to provide true direction…that of love. Looking around, she realized both men had disappeared. They were gone. And she looked at the Morning Star. It glowed blue, then lightened to white, then turned Peach, growing larger and brighter than she’d ever seen. It flamed, fiery, moving, growing. Larger. Larger. Then it exploded, exploded into a star of light. Light everywhere, light on the plain, light in the sky, light in her eyes. And she watched it happened, a form, emerging from light, a chiseled form. An Angel. Huge, his wings flaming and softly billowing out as he descended in the sky. It was God. It had to be God. She watched him draw near, her being warming, and she felt hands. Hands draw her face close. And he kissed her. If there was a kiss, this was a true kiss, soft and light. A kiss that said You are beloved. It lifted her up, and told her everything. That God was Love. Truly Love. Then he set her down. The love rose and fell in her heart with a softness, with an ache she had never known, and for a moment, just a moment, she felt she had wings. She looked up, and knew he was going to leave. “Please don’t tell me you’re leaving now. I know this is just a dream…but it feels like an ending, not a beginning.” And he smiled. And she heard him, soft inside her. “It’s not an ending, Rebecca. There is no end to love.” He touched her face softly. “I am your true patron. I am the one who will stand by you and love you always.” And the light flamed, and he glowed, and she felt him around her, with her. She sparkled, and for a moment, felt the Universe spread out before her…the love echoing out into forever. She closed her eyes, feeling it within her…and fell asleep. The dream…her dream…the dream…the love… When she woke up, she smiled. She had fallen asleep at the computer. On the screen was a quote, and a message. “If I know a song of Africa, of the Giraffe, and the African moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields, and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with the color that I have had on? Or will the children invent a game in which mine is? Or will the full moon throw a shadow of the gravel of the drive that was like me? Or will the Eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?” --Karen Blixen, Out of Africa…………………………………….. I love you Always.--God.

THE FACE OF GOD : GOOD

“For twelve years, you have been asking: Who is John Galt? This is John Galt speaking. I am the man who loves his life. I am the man who does not sacrifice his love or his values. I am the man who has deprived you of victims and thus has destroyed your world, and if you wish to know why you are perishing—you who dread knowledge—I am the man who will now tell you.” --John Galt, Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. “I don’t believe in sacrifice.” –Rebecca Tacosa Gray “Bones sinking like stones, all that we’ve fought for. Homes, places we’ve grown, all of us have done before. We live in a beautiful world.”—Coldplay “You’re in Control is there anywhere you want to go. You’re in control is there anything you want to know. The future’s for discovering the space in which we travel in.”—Coldplay We live in a beautiful world. We all have responsibilities, large or small, and we need to remember that we are what makes us beautiful. We have so many choices, and every small choice, if made with love, makes a difference in this world. These small choices transform us, these small choices make us wise, and these small choices make us good. These small choices transform our environment into the Paradise it should be, an Eden crafted of Love. Please remember how important you are. In your knowledge, in the crafting of your own soul, is a Universe so lovely that it defies explanation. This Universe, the Universe you have made of yourself is unique, and every revolution around yourself brings you closer to the beauty of God. You are an architect, you are the foundation of that which reaches out to God. We are all separate beings, but we are interconnected, and that connection starts with love. One night, if you are outside, look up at the night sky and feel this Universe we live in. Feel the weight of Being embracing the Earth like a shelf, the stars gently hovering, and you touching them, touching life. This is your birthright. This beauty is your birthright. It is natural beauty, as you are natural beauty. You’re in control. Make your world beautiful.

THE THUMBPRINT OF GOD: YOU ARE UNIQUE

"Each system, from atom to galaxy, is a whole. That means that it is not reducible to its components. Its distinctive nature and capacities derive from the interactive relationships between its parts. This interplay is synergistic, generating emergent properties and new possibilities, which are not predictable from the character of the separate parts--just as the wetness of water could not be predicted from oxygen and hydrogen before they combined, or just as the tensile strength of steel far exceeds the combined strengths of iron and nickel." -Joanna Macey I've been thinking lately about the nature of uniqueness. As human beings, we are wonderfully complex functioning systems, almost biological galaxies within ourselves. Think about it. We have our distinctive components, ranging from cells and neurons that constitute part of the makeup of our full systems to our distinct biological parts (heart, bones and all the major organs, etc). What fascinates me most is the continual fact that we are unique within ourselves. In my opinion, our personal originality seems to lie in the fact that our entire existence is truly synergistic. The interplay of our biological makeup is truly affected and dependent on the emergent properties and new possibilities handed to us both by our cultural upbringing and our healthful tendencies. It's amazing, isn't it? One change--one small decision--has the capacity to determine a huge portion of our inner and outer lives. We are dependent upon our choices, especially in relation to our experiences. Which brings me to the thought I have been having constantly as of late. We are truly responsible for our own thought processes. I know that the concept of synergy is true. I recongnize and acknowledge that we are truly interconnected with everyone and everything. But if we make our decisions in full awareness--with true consideration of the facts, our spirituality, and our psychological needs--we finally take true control of our biological "ship." As Captains of our bodies and our lives, we have the ability to determine what part we might play in the synergistic whole of our personal societal universes. I think it does, truly, always come back to the Ancient Greek aphorism "KNOW THYSELF," inscribed in the lintel at the entrance of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. A statement truly worth considering. And fitting, as well, to be inscribed where it is. Apollo. God of the Sun. Illumination. Light. Clarity. Truth. God of the intellect, the arts, prophecy, healing and medicine. Believe it. Intellect reveals if one truly chooses to use it. So. Who are we really? I ask myself that every day. Do I really know myself? Do I really know what I am capable of, synergistically both within myself and society? Do I understand my spirituality, life and decisions in terms of true intellectual understanding? Probably not. But I will continue to post that maxim across the lintel of my own forehead in the hopes that one day it will sink into my frontal lobe and show me the reality of me. And there it is again. Glowing, fading, and then apparent again...blazing and flickering softly across this radiant brow... KNOW THYSELF. Say it. Say it over and over again. You are synergy itself. Know it. Live it. Make a difference.

THE FACE OF SATAN : EVIL

“Then I saw what was wrong with the world I saw what destroyed men and nations, and where the battle for life had to fought. I saw that the enemy was an inverted morality—and that my sanction was its only power. I saw that evil was impotent—that evil was the irrational, the blind, the anti-real—and that the only weapon of its triumph was the willingness of the good to serve it…I saw that there comes a point, in the defeat of any man of virtue, when his own consent is needed for evil to win—and that no manner of injury done to him by others can succeed if he chooses to withhold his consent. I saw that I could put an end to your outrages by pronouncing a single word in my mind The word was ‘No.’”—John Galt, Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. Write about the nature of Evil, that when one commits an evil deed knowingly, they wear the face of Satan. And yes, this is copyrighted. GOD ______________________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ God was never bored. And God sat upstairs and watched a young woman on Earth change, a young woman named Rebecca. Change so deeply that he wondered if he recognized her as the young woman who looked up at an altar in the morning and asked, Good morning, God, and all the Angels. How are you? But she was lovely, still. She had grown strong, she had fought evil, true evil, month after month after month. Did he still love her? Yes. God loved everyone, and this particular one had fought to remain a beautiful little human being with a beautiful Universal Gift. And now she was at war, writing a book. For Love, she said. He’d heard her conversation in her car…she was very angry, fighting evil. And Rebecca was fighting for the One True God. God perfected. He was Justice, Truth, Honor, Trust, Love… she stood for love. Rebecca stood for love. And she faced her oppressors down with a steely glare. I’ll tell you one thing, I am the one who cares most about this book. This book was born of my love. It was born of my pain. But I’ll tell you something. What will come of it will be worth it It is my heart, my life, my love…and I have loved. I have loved through everything And that is exactly what this book is about. I have stood for love, and love has been hurt. How love itself was tortured, hurt, put through despair, deserted, betrayed, left behind, only to get back up and walk again. I’ll tell you something, love has grown strong Love has become a warrior, and is ready to fight. I am love, and always will be. I will live a full human life, until 85 or 90 years or so, and I will be love. No matter what. I will stay strong, no matter what. Love endures, no matter what, and I will endure. And I will be loved, and I will stay a strong and beautiful soul. That I know. And there it was, the warrior human, the lovely one, fighting and fighting and fighting. How long she would fight, he didn’t know. But he looked down at her, and listened to her, just quietly, as she sat at home, her mind finding his…the walls seemed to fade, and it began again…the journey into the heart of the Universe. The ache started in the pit of her stomach, a soft calling, and God whispered…”Come…come visit me again. I want to see your face.” And she did. The Earth enveloped her mind, her body, and she could feel its weight, the weight of its being, in her entirety. She could feel the soft turning of its body, and smiled as the breathing of the soft one moved her forward into the cosmos. It never ended, it seemed. It stretched into forever, the planets smiling at each other as they moved in a beautifully choreographed dance of love. For love is what it was. It was always love. Then she broke the reverie, looking down at her paper, looking down at her pen. TAV. Tav…she knew it, and smiled. She wouldn’t die. TAV. A silent Angel, lovely right where she was, she had a meeting with God, on Earth. Her meeting, and joining with, Love Itself. No longer silent, she stood and looked up. “Do you trust me?” He smiled. She smiled. She didn’t need an answer. Her pen, her Parker Pen, glimmered in the light, and her voice was quiet as she looked up. “I trust myself.” And she sat right back down and started to write. Rebecca Tacosa Gray started to write…A is A. —John Galt, Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. She didn’t know it, but the answer was yes.

AND IN THE END, THERE WAS LOVE…

L

The letter Lamed. L is the initial letter of the Hebrew word lamed, which represents an ox goad. In Proto-Sinaitic, a scepter. To study, learn, teach, a raised arm, upward, overtaking, expansion, extension, height, arm raised in interdiction, to oppose, opposition, in the direction of, sceptor. Numeric value: 30.O The letter Ayin. An eye. To see, look, gaze, consult. O is the initial of the Hebrew letter oyin or ayin, which designates the eye and a spring or source of water. Eye, or without a pupil. Numeric value: 70. V The letter Vav. The nail. The link. The vav is firstly an oar that makes it possible to drive the ship or boat, and thus link the opposite banks of a river or two continents. It also means a burden or load Coordination, junction, meeting-point, the phallus, channel, pipe, column, finger. According to Beneviste, there is also a concept of light in the vav, meaning “visible, voice, view, illuminate, truth, shine.” Numeric Value: 6 E The letter Heh. Man at prayer. Breath. It is the sound of the breath, the original sound of prayer. Breathing, to breathe, to blow, soul, wind, life, the sign of the feminine, of direction and a question. ________________________________________________________________________ Join me in prayer. Right hand is God, Left hand is you. And we face each other, across continents, and we learn together, and we love together…and I breathe in, and I hand you the scepter, because you are love itself ARCHANGELIC PRAYERS ARCHANGELIC PRAYERS: Copyrighted by U.S. Postal Service Rebecca Tacosa Gray, 2007 Written the night of September 10, 2007, 5:48 p.m. Amended today, September 15, 2007. Original blogs enclosed. GOD: Beautiful One, Bearer of our Hearts, walk with us now as we look to Beauty. This will not be finished until God looks to True Beauty. A PRAYER TO THE ARCHANGEL ST. GABRIEL Beautiful Angel, Bearer of Truth, Lend us your ear that we may hear True God…God of Light…God of Love…God of Justice…he is your sound, that by your hand we listen. He is your tongue, that by your love we speak. Through your guidance we pick up our horns and walk forth in Honor. A whisper becomes a call, a call becomes the sound of God, the sound of God, the sound of God reigns forth in you. Thank you, Beautiful Angel. I place my ear next to yours, that you may know my Love. A PRAYER TO THE ARCHANGEL ST. MICHAEL Beautiful Angel, Truth within the Light, in your eyes we find guidance, a dagger that shines forth and puts down all evil. Lend us your vision, that we may find strength. Show us self-reliance, that we may find courage. Glow within our Hearts, that we may be like True God. In your eyes the Star of Truth directs us to Love…the Fire, the Warrior, the Sword within the Sword…Michael in our eyes…the true vision of God. A PRAYER TO THE ARCHANGEL ST. URIEL Beautiful Angel, Fire of God, you are the Sun in the Flame of Life. By God’s tongue life was born…and the taste of Love reborn. Bring fire to our blood, that our lives may know Beauty. Bring warmth to our souls, that we may walk into the arms of True God. For you are the Heart as the Heart is spoken. You are the Torch life has placed in our hands. Hold us, that our tongues may speak the language of Love, the true Heartbeat in our lives. A PRAYER TO THE ARCHANGEL ST. RAPHAEL Beautiful Angel, Craftsman of Beauty, in your hands Knowledge, Art and Healing hold us close. Touch our souls with your love, that we may know the creator in ourselves. Open the Book of True God, that we may read the pages of love within ourselves…knowing as you might know, crafting as you might craft, healing as you might heal. Touch to touch, hand to hand, heart to heart, hold us close in Prayer that we might love as you might love. THE TRINITY ______________________________________________________________________________________ A Gift of Three, From Me ________________________________________________________________________ How beautiful the Trinity is. I sat wondering why the Trinity was important. Why three? What is so important about the configuration of three? I read a beautiful article online about the Trinity. They said that the word originated in Tri, meaning three, and Unity. This Trinity, I think, hearkens back to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. To some, this means God, his Word, and his Wisdom, which I think is lovely. It is a Trinity within you. You look at God. He looks back. You speak to God. He speaks back. You find God’s wisdom in your everyday life. In Truth, Honesty, Love, Honor, and Beauty. And God’s wisdom speaks back to you. In Truth, Honesty, Love, Honor, and Beauty. God is part of you, but is not you. Which is why I think of this statement more as the Father, the One, and the Holy Spirit. God, you, and the love that you share between you that becomes a part of both of you. It is said that the word Trinity comes from Trinitas, a Latin abstract noun that means “three-ness.” Look to threeness. Look at God. Look at yourself. And decide what the relationship will be between you. I can guarantee that God is just that close. My birthday is November 3, 1970. I chose the Trinity, a set of three, to represent not only who I am and how I feel about the world, but because it is a very important Universal number. Sets of three are expressed in some of the most beautiful concepts in this Universe, both in science and spirit. And God…well, God must like three. As do I. So, to follow, three songs. For you. One : For Humanity,from God. __________________________________________ __________________________________________
Two : For Humanity, from Me. _________________________________________ Feel the Rain on Your Skin Sung by: Natasha Bedingfield Album: __________________________________________ I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your innovations
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inner visions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inner visions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
Oh, yeah, yeah Trust yourself, Love, Live and be beautiful.—Rebecca Tacosa Gray Three: For My Family, From Me __________________________________________ __________________________________________ Live, be beautiful, and know that you are loved. LOVE ______________________________________________________________________________________ Love looks us in the eye.—Rebecca Tacosa Gray ________________________________________________________________________ This book has been a long, hard write. I’ve had to battle through so many things, but the best thing about it is that I learned a lot about the nature of this current world we live in. We as human beings have a chance to know God by knowing ourselves. We have a chance to pray in an entirely new way, and I’m hoping that somehow, I’ve made this clear through my writing, my suffering, and the true love I have expressed in writing. I walked away from God when I was thirteen years old. And I never thought I’d really know him. But I know him now, and he is beautiful. His love and my love began this book, and it is a Trinity. He and I faced each other, opened a door, and placed a point of realization between us. Between us both, we built a world of love. And that world, that love between he and I is exceedingly personal. Beautiful. God walked into my home and held me close. When I started this book, I went through a spiritual experience that put me through much pain. Many of the events you’ve read about in this novel were personally experienced by me. My family watched me suffer. I have cried, I have hurt. And I have visited and revisited God over and over again. Through it all, I have learned one thing. That love always sees me through. For those of you who have been through pain, true pain like I have, my heart goes out to you. I truly know what it’s like to try to love and be hurt. If you are in families that hurt, relationships that hurt, please try to look for love and beauty wherever you can. Whatever the case, you are always surrounded by love. God places love everywhere for you, if you look for it. In the sky, in the trees, in the flowers. In the gentle sparkle of a sidewalk on a sunny day. These are our gentle beauties. A small cracked cup, filled with tea and wayward flower. Small things. I know it sounds trite, but beauty, any beauty, lifts you when you are hurt. Walk through the pain, and just tell yourself, I’ll love again, and you will. Love is just that beautiful. I think what I really want to tell you that it’s possible to know God on a truly personal level. He is truly beautiful. And God loves you so. He loves you so. And he needs to be loved, just like you. Just like me. In our world, we have placed a barrier between us and true love. I once asked God whether he was ever lonely. And the answer was Yes. And I think what he’s truly asking is that we take down the barriers that make us see him as someone far away. Just someone to pray to, supplicate, revere. I think what we have forgotten is that he is the shoulder we can cry on. He is the one who can walk into our house and just say Hello, no masses required. He is the one whose arms are just a step away. God is someone just like you and I. The only difference, his being is so vast, so vast, that he sometimes gets overlooked in the run of grand history. Look at him. Cherish him. God needs to be loved as much as you do. I know it’s hard to see him through the barrage of science, religion, and imposed personal beliefs, but remember this. The magic of Science is also the magic of God manifest. Religion is a path, not a requirement. God will stand right next to you, and I do mean right next to you, if you ask him to. He is there. Just look up into that night sky and close your eyes…feel the Universe…feel him breathing. Talk to him and he will be there. God is real. And so are you. Please try to look at him on your own terms. If you feel a soft warmth float in around you, you’ll know. You’ll know you’ve walked into the arms of shared love… Then neither Being nor Not-Being was Nor atmosphere, nor firmament, nor what is beyond. What did it encompass? Where? In whose protection? --The Rig Veda (c. 1200 B.C.) In yours. Right now. If you so choose. Look at him. He loves you. Rebecca Tacosa Gray, November 10, 2007, 11:17 p.m.

MY MOVEMENT FOR LOVE

RebeccaTacosaGray — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 17:00:23 CDT

THE CHURCH OF LOVE: http://www.achurchoflove.com/

UN UNIVERS DES ANGES: http://ununiversdesanges.wetpaint.com/

MICHAPEDIA: http://michapedia.wetpaint.com/

UN UNIVERS DE L'ANGE: http://universdelange.blogspot.com/

L'EPEE D'UN ANGE: http://epeedunange.blogspot.com/

THOUGHTS ON CHANGE

RebeccaTacosaGray — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 16:54:22 CDT

JESUS, THE BEAUTIFUL ONE.

I'm including this page for one reason and one reason only. That Jesus, the original Jesus,
is special to me. There are reasons why...when I was thirteen years old I left the Catholic
Faith. My church, St. Anthony's, was very small, and they were trying to raise an enormous
amount of money to buy an organ. Not a necessary purchase, as we already had a very
beautiful grand piano. I was heartbroken, as the church demanded that people contribute
every week. My mother had also been penalized by our Catholic School for not attending
a function...$ 150.00, even though she had to work just to keep us in Catholic School. My
sister, brother and I ended up being pulled from St. Anthony's to attend public schools. I
remember standing outside of St. Anthony's and weeping, saying that I would never come
back, that I didn't believe they were truly there for people. And it's true. I left and never
came back...I didn't even consider God until last November. And last November, I had a
special, truly special, experience. I had a dream in which my Guardian Angel, huge,
beautiful, descended and kissed me. He lifted me up and carried me over the country,
a patchwork of beauty, to a large and still lake, around which there were thousands upon
thousands of cocoons. I realized they were all Angels. My beautiful Angel, and I knew he
was someone special, tucked me under his right wing and we fell asleep together. When I
woke up, I was next to the lake, alone. This dream started a path of spiritual discovery,
some good, some truly negative...but the good, the good was this. I started a relationship
with Jesus, True Jesus...and in this relationship I came face to face with his history,
some of which is difficult to navigate through. However, in looking at his life, at what he
truly did, I want to tell you this. He is a true Hero to me. Looking directly at his actions,
this is what I saw: Truth, Justice, Honor, Charity, Love, Compassion, Faith. And in this,
in this lies my true respect for Jesus Christ, as it embodies the will and power to want to
change people for the better. As for his crucifixion, it was a travesty against mankind, a
source of immense pain, and, athough I believe it should be understood, recognized and
respected, I believe that it is time to heal the wounds of a man hurt deeply by the people
of his time. We are not guilty. We are told we are guilty from the time we are born, and
we are not. What we are is capable, capable of holding that cross without honoring
torture and death. We are capable of looking at it, knowing the deep significance of his
pain, and doing something quite different...showing him how much we love him by doing
what should be done...love one another as we love ourselves. If we truly love Jesus we
need to love. And that is how I truly feel. His tenets, the Honor code he lived by, is
vitally important, and a true source of inspiration for us all. Please recognize the true
weight of it. Celebrate charity by giving, Celebrate love by loving. Celebrate Justice by
having the courage to stop crimes, and Celebrate Honor by crafting your life, yourself,
with beauty, attention and care. Celebrate Compassion by recognizing that all faiths,
all philosophies are beautiful and important, as they speak to our unique beauty. By
realizing that judgement of others is unnacceptable. To view them is one thing, to
condemn them for their beliefs is not only shortsighted, but leaves out something
vital...the beauty of true and understanding love. When you face someone in equality,
without passing judgement, you are standing in a space of love. You care about who
they are just as much as you care about yourself, and that is true loving behavior. And
this is what love really means...that you know and care enough about this world and
others to play a vital, truly vital role in making large and small differences in your every
day life. Jesus is important to me, special to me for his actions. I want to heal him, not
continue to lift him up onto that cross for one more day of suffering, and I'm hoping that
others who cherish his Faith understand what I mean. No one likes to be hurt. Please
understand the psychological significance of healing Jesus Christ, the Beautiful One,
a hero to me, and always, a hero to a legion of beautiful people who have built his
Faith to be one of the most precious on Earth. For those who are interested, I've built
a beautiful site to cherish him. Please visit, I would be honored if you would. To Jesus...
you are beloved to me. You always will be...Rebecca Tacosa Gray

BEYOND PARADISE

RebeccaTacosaGray — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 16:52:42 CDT

Copyright Sunday, September 2, 2007, 4:01 P.M. California time. UBI AMOR IBI ANIMA.

Everything is under full copyright, Ó Rebecca Tacosa Gray, U.S. Postal Service, most written by hand

ISBN: 978-0-9796372-7-8
ALL PARTS OF THS BOOK UNDER FULL U.S. COPYRIGHT.
NO PART MAY BE COPIED OR REPRODUCED.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
THE CROSS ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “And so, my friends,” the voice was saying, “the lesson to be learned from our tragic struggle is the lesson of unity.”—Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

That night Indila Tacosa Gray had a dream. She was half asleep reading the bible, trying to figure out what the real point of it was. Sometimes God was a vengeful God. Sometimes it was a forgiving God. Sometimes a loving God. Too many faces to count. Why did she care? The only real section she felt pertinent was Jesus’ contribution to the world, sans crucifixion. She hated the crucifixion. She hated sacrifices. Why did she keep returning to it over and over again? She wished she could talk to him, ask him why. Why a celebration of death was necessary. As she thought about this particular moment in history she drifted off to sleep. Then she started to dream. In her mind the landscape changed, and suddenly there she was. And there he was. Nailed to the cross. She stood on the curve of a hill…at least that was the way she imagined it. The cross, stark, on a gentle hill. A vague landscape spanned out behind it until it’s earthly miles melted into a quietly insistent changing sky. Was this what it really looked like that day? Probably not. She really had no idea. She wondered, her damned insecurity nagging her acutely. Why she had to see him this way at this moment? And it happened again. Did she fly? Did she materialize? Did she walk up to him? She didn’t really know. All she knew was that she stood at the foot of the cross looking up. He looked down at her. They looked at each other. It was strange. She had never really seen him this way, literally, in her mind. What do you ask someone who’s hanging on a cross like this? Too many thoughts…What do I really need to know? And the answer came to her, quiet and sure. “Why must there always be sacrifice?” she asked. He smiled. “Humanity must have something to believe in. The world must have a reason to live. It was a sacrifice, Rebecca.” Did he really believe that? Did he really like the fact that he was tortured and put to death for millions of people to love? Humanity. All of us. The people who murdered him and the modern society we were now…and we were still murdering him, by celebrating his torture. The more she looked at that cross the sicker it made her. Did the wood carry the weight of his pain? It was awful. She looked back up at him. “I don’t like that cross very much.” He smiled, not a happy smile, but a smile. “Neither do I..” She continued. “Will they really remember all that you stood for? Will they really understand everything you said? Everything you did? Will they really remember the true meaning of love?” They thought it at the same time. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe it was only her mind playing tricks on her. Does anyone really know the true meaning of love? “I don’t know. Rebecca, I don’t know the answer to that question. At least, I didn’t know the answer to that question then.” “But God knows everything.” “God does know everything. But I am not God. I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” The smile he was giving her right now wasn’t right, and she knew it. He was about to laugh. “Alright then. I’ll give you another answer. God knows everything. And nothing.” What the hell did that mean? More to think about. Always more to think about. He was watching her again, and it was making her uncomfortable. All from that damned cross. Why didn’t he just get down to talk to her? Silence…and she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She should leave now. Get back to normal life. She turned to go. “Why are you ashamed to look at me?” Now that was a question. She wasn’t looking at him, was she? She refused to see his body. Refused to see the nails. Refused to check and see if there was any blood. Refused to see if there was a gash from a sword plunged into his ribcage. Rebecca never liked to see anyone suffer. She looked away, sometimes wondering if there was anything, really, to see. Who and what was God, anyway? This was endless, wasn’t it? Constant query into the actual truth of things. Did she really want to think about this right now? No, she didn’t. So she looked off into the nondescript landscape. Nondescript. It made her want to laugh. She didn’t even really know what the true area of the crucifixion really looked like. “Judea.” Is that what he just said? She didn’t know even that. What did the horizon really look like that day? Was it bleak? Was it cloudy? Did the wind howl and curl restlessly around the cross while he cried? Did the earth cry with him? Or did he really cry…Did he actually cry? Did you cry? It was an echo inside of her. “Yes. I cried. Rebecca I wept. I bled. I asked to be saved again and again. It never came. I suffered. I truly suffered. But I suffered for a reason. And that reason is you. I suffered for the chance of love to come knocking at everyone’s door.” He stopped. She wasn’t listening to him. “Why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you look at me? Why are you so ashamed of me? I want to know why.” Do I really have to answer this? She wanted to walk away. She wanted to walk away right this second. Why was the goddamned landscape so quiet? “Yes, you really have to answer this. Answer the question. Do it. Answer the question, or I’ll be hanging here all day long.” Fine. “I’m ashamed of what I feel about this particular moment in history. I hate it. I don’t want you hanging up there forever. I want you down off of that cross right now. I want you to stand up and walk among us (Not literally, she thought) without the possibility of being crucified. I want love to walk among us unimpeded by the evil of guilt.” “And you don’t like guilt.” “No, I don’t.” Stop asking me so many damned questions! This was starting to get annoying. “I don’t know. I really don’t. All I can tell you is what I know. Guilt destroys. Young children are told before they’re even of age that someone’s died for their sins.” She looked at him accusingly. “Are you willing to tell me that most human beings have sinned before they’ve even really started to live? I’d really like to know.” He truly looked concerned at this. “I think you’re forgetting that I didn’t ask to be crucified.” It struck her to her heart. It was cruel. One who didn’t want to be crucified…and she should weep at this. She knew she should. She wanted to. “I don’t know.” Her answer was quiet. “It just feels like true denial of beauty. Denial of the gifts the universe offers us every day. Denial of what the life we were given really could be. Denial of what love really is.” “And what is love, Rebecca?” “I don’t know.” “Yes, I think you do.” “God is love.” “Is he really?” “That’s what everyone says.” “Well, is God love?” Oh, hell, I don’t know, she thought. If he isn’t, he damned well should be. And she had another answer. “We’re all love. The earth is love. Everything is love, viewed properly. Love is recognizing beauty in everything. Love is love.” He paused, looking quietly at her before continuing right through her thought. “Rebecca, why are you here? Why are you here in front of this cross talking to me?” She wanted to scream. To beat him right down off that cross, because it reminded her, yet again, of that same issue: “Why do we need a fucking sacrifice to understand love?” She looked up and finally met his gaze. “Do you want people to know you or not? Do you really want them to remember who you were and what you stood for? Or do you want the world to continue to ignore the fact that love is what really mattered in all that you taught? My mother said it herself. Love others as you would love yourself. Love the Lord God with all your heart, mind, body and soul. Don’t you want anyone to really know what it means?” Did they already? Maybe they did and she just didn’t know it. He looked down at her, his eyes full of tears. “This is hard for me, Rebecca, it really is. It tells me how much you really care. How much you, specifically, truly want to understand me and all I stood for. In terms of everything you know about the world. It means everything to me.” Time to go back home. It really was time to go back home. Now she really was going to stop listening to him. She turned to leave. He floated down, off the cross, to cut her off and stand in front of her politely. “Don’t forget about me. You know what I stand for. Now stand up and fight for it.” Then she woke up. She was sweating, and didn’t understand why it had felt real.

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WALKING ON WATER _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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In this dream, Rebecca sat next to a sea. It wasn’t calm. More a tossed, restless ocean, letting the wind blow its crests into jagged peaks. She wondered why. In some ways she felt it was nature’s way of letting her know it was distressed, upset by the state of the world. She watched the choppy surface of the water, and wondered at a tiny boat rocking to and fro haphazardly in the distance. Why it was out there in this kind of weather she didn’t know. It was a bad day to be sailing, and she shook her head, hoping they’d be alright out there. To her surprise, as she watched it struggle to navigate itself, one of its seamen stepped out of the small craft and started walking across the water toward her with intentful purpose. For a while she couldn’t tell who it was, but realized as he drew closer he was Jesus himself. That’s quite a feat, she thought. She sat up straight and brushed the hair out of her eyes. It was annoying, this wind. He was smiling, she saw, and didn’t seem bothered at all by the irritant weather. As he touched the ground he brushed his hair back confidently. “It’s unusually windy today.” Turning quickly to face the ocean of water, he put out his hands and it calmed immediately. As miracles went, it was pretty fantastic. It reminded Rebecca of the lake she had been left next to by her Guardian Angel, smooth as glass. She smiled. “I guess you really do walk on water, amongst other things.” Jesus laughed. “All in a day’s work. But I only try to do it when it’s necessary anymore.” “Trying to impress me?” He looked at her with that disapproving look. “Maybe. Or maybe trying to make a point.” “I think I already know how powerful you are.” “That’s not what I mean, and I think you know that.” He sighed and walked over to sit next to her. “Actually, I saw you from the boat and thought you might like some company.” “That’s nice of you.” She looked out at the water. Another dream with Jesus in it. It was interesting meeting him again. “Or divine providence. We seem destined to meet.” Not on purpose, she thought. Jesus continued on as if he hadn’t read her mind, but from his reaction to her she knew he had. “I hear you’re talking to a colleague of mine.” That left her uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. Were they enemies? “Actually, no. We’re not.” Dammit! Why does he always read my mind? It irritated her. She talked back, with the bravado she knew she really didn’t have. “Yes, actually, I am. He brings up interesting points about you, you know. Well, maybe not about you. But about the bible.” “Really.” She looked at him bravely. “Yes. Really.” It didn’t seem to phase him. “And? Let me guess. You have questions.” “Yes, I do.” “Alright, shoot.” That made her laugh. Instantly a negative image ran through her mind. It wasn’t as if she was carrying a gun. Jesus smiled. She could tell he was reading her damned mind again. “You might as well be, you know. You ask a lot of questions I’m not sure I like to answer. But go ahead. Ask. It’s a beautiful day out here. I’m up for a debate.” She smiled and looked down. “I’ve been reading the Bible a bit lately. You seem to have quite a personality. There are times where I just can’t figure you out.” “I’m a complex kind of guy. But since we’re on the subject, what bothers you?” She turned and faced him, rearranging herself cross legged in front of him. “Alright. In the Bible it says: “Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For he who would save his life will lose it; but he who loves his life for my sake will find it. For what does it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, but suffer the loss of his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his own soul?” It sounds suspiciously like sacrifice. Again. In her head she thought, Why the hell do I remember all this verbatim? “It’s a dream, Rebecca. Wondrous things happen in dreams. And I understand that you hate sacrifice. But aren’t you leaving something out of that passage? It ends, “For the Son of Man is to come with his Angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will render to everyone according to his conduct. Amen I say to you, there are some of those standing here who will not taste death, till they have seen the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.” He leaned in to her, smiling. “St. Matthew, 12:27.” She frowned. “I don’t particular like that part of the passage much. Isn’t it a little harsh? Render everyone according to his conduct. Tasting death only after the ‘Son of Man…’” He interrupted her. “That’s me, you know.” She jumped right back at him. “I know it, dammit. But I’m trying to figure out why you are the judge of anyone.” “Don’t you think people should know the difference between right and wrong?” “Yes, I do. But don’t you think they should be able to think for themselves? Following a host of Angels and harkening after an almighty judge doesn’t really do it for me. No offense, but we are capable of thinking for ourselves.” He was going to start talking again but she jumped right back on him. “And you’re ignoring the beginning of that passage. Why should anyone have to deny himself and take up a cross? One crucifixion’s enough. We should be recognizing how beautiful life really is. Why should we deny ourselves everything in order to find life. And why does it have to be through you?” He didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “If you’re going to attack everything I do this conversation is not going to end up pretty. I’ve taken enough beating as it is.” She looked down, ashamed, then sighed and turned back to face the ocean. “I’m sorry. I just think life’s already here. An eternal judge means power, control, to me. Denial means sacrifice. And the loss of your soul…well, it all sounds a bit harsh.” He took her hand, and held it tightly. “Rebecca, look at me. This passage is meant to bring hope. Your view of it is a little different than I’d like to have it read.” She pulled her hand back. She wasn’t liking this conversation much. That felt like a slap in the face. A light one, but a slap, nonetheless Time for a change of subject. The boat was still out there, continuing its gentle rocking motion on the glossy surface. The light looked like a diamond floating. A sea of diamonds, actually. Beautiful…beautiful, Rebecca thought. She looked at him. He was looking at the ocean, as well, smiling softly. “Do you think the world is beautiful?” “Yes, I do.” She smiled, and continued on. “Sometimes I look at things in this world, anything. The patterns in a leaf, an old shoe lying on the side of the road, a battered penny…and I see beauty.” She lifted her hand to show him. “I see the gentle curve of the leaf, the way the shoelaces intertwine into a wave on the cement, the sparkle of the beaten ridges on the copper.” She looked out at the boat. “Just now—“ “I know. You saw a field of diamonds on the water.” “Yes.” This time she didn’t mind that he read her mind. He turned to look at her “It’s lovely, Rebecca, it is, what you see in the world. But do you see the beauty in people…this world isn’t just about objects. Look. There are people out on that boat. People bearing love. For you. For others. She was quiet. “I know.” She felt a little sad. “But do they see the diamonds on the water.” He was still smiling. “I did.” He looked back out, then back to her. “I did, Rebecca” He touched his heart. “And right here. In you.” He went on “There’s sense to what you say, though. I do understand exactly what you mean.” She turned. “I suppose in my view, the world isn’t just about objects. The beauty in people lies in their ability to recognize beauty itself. In the world itself. In the things we love, large or small. That is the beauty in people. He understood her, then. “Yes, I do.” He touched her hand. “And for once, we agree on something.” She smiled back. Maybe they would be friends after all. She laughed. “I’m surprised , you know.” “At?” “Well, I figured you’d be the ‘renounce everything and follow me” type.” She touched his hand. “Don’t take that personally. It just…makes me happy that you see the loveliness in the beauty of objects. The way people view their belongings.” “Well, that’s debatable, though, don’t you think? Are they really belongings? Do you really own them? Do they really belong to you? What was that old saying? ‘None of us are owners here, we’re all just passing through.’” She looked out at the water. “I happen to think that’s a lousy statement.” He didn’t say anything. Not a word. She continued on. “We’re not just ‘passing through’. Complete denial of the beauty set before us is ‘passing through.’ It’s overlooking the beauty of this world.” She paused “Anyway, I’m not talking about mere object collection, amassing wealth, or anything like that. It’s exactly as I said before. The way people look at the world. The way they look at their belongings. I happen to think those belongings will love them back. Again, I suppose that’s exactly why I dislike the statement ‘deny one’s self and take up his cross How long do you want people to follow you by crucifying themselves?” “I took up that cross for love, Rebecca. Don’t demean me this way.” Whatever, she thought. Sacrifice. She hated it “No. You look at me. Right now. Right now. “ And she did. “Love, Rebecca. Love. I loved mankind so much I put my life on the line. You’re asking a lot of questions right now, and that I don’t mind. But you keep your perspective straight. At that moment in time, at that very moment, I loved you. All of you.” He had tears in his eyes. “And I gave up my life for you I didn’t want to, but I did.” He grabbed her hand. “Hold me. Touch me. Do you feel this? Skin. My skin. My face. My bones. A man. A human. Like you.” And he looked her straight in the eyes. “I don’t expect you to go out and crucify yourself. I don’t. But don’t you dare push my soul, the value of who I was and what I stood for, into the background I stood for love, Rebecca Love.” And he pushed her hand away, disgusted “And I hate fighting with you I respect your questions. I really do.” She wanted to cry. Here they were again, back to arguing. She did respect him…didn’t he know that already? He stood up, brushing off his clothes. He looked out over the ocean, still sparkling like a field of diamonds. “I do love you, Rebecca. I really do. It’s hard to walk around what happened to get to love. But you have to see it. See what it was I’m aiming for. Love.” She was looking down, and a tear fell on her knee. “I know…but so am I.” It was quiet “So am I.” “I know you are. We all are.” He smiled…or was it an attempt at a smile. “I should go now.” She didn’t look up. “I know.” “Enjoy your day. It is beautiful today, you know.’ And he started back across the water. She saw his friends standing, waiting for him. He turned around halfway to look at her, lifted his hand, and up floated a sparkle of light off the surface of the water. Bright. Beautiful. A diamond It glowed, brighter, brighter, into a star…a small star, floating on his hand. And he touched it to his heart. It melted into his heart A flash of light blinded her and the dream was gone, and she was awake. And she still wanted to cry.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ THE TEMPTATION _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The room was quiet…the desert was quiet. Rebecca had read Jesus’ Temptation scene before she fell asleep, and she slipped into this dream as she did all the others, softly. Softly, and then standing on the sand, sunlight blinding. She put her hand up to her eyes and looked out over the horizon. Hot. It was hot. And then she felt it, a quiet voice in her ear, a bit raspy. What are you doing here. You shouldn’t be here. It startled her, and she looked around. No one to be seen. Then she felt a softness, like a breath of air. Like a soft eel at her cheek, and it seemed to smell of smoke. She turned her head to get away from it. I said, what are you doing here. You shouldn’t be here. She stood very still and answered, very afraid. “I don’t know. I’m just here. This is a dream, isn’t it? I usually meet Jesus in my dreams. Not always. But some of the time.” He’s here. But you shouldn’t be here. Curiosity k-I-l-l-e-d the cat. Or didn’t you know that? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t a dream she thought she was going to like. Where was Jesus…maybe he would show up soon. She instinctually walked away, looking around. He isn’t here. I’ll take you to him, though. Soft laugh. I won’t hurt you. It is a dream, after all. The scene changed, right in front of her. To another part of the desert. And it was dark. And she could hear a voice. And the eel caressed her cheek again, and she stiffened, listening. And there I am, in all my glory. You do like glory, don’t you? She felt it slide away, toward the voices…and she walked forward, seeing him clearer as she approached. She stopped a bit away. He looked thin, haggard. Tired. And she seemed to see a cloud near him, and a bit of cloud joined that cloud. She could hear it. Same voice, but louder. Almost many voices. But one voice. If thou art the Son of God, command that these stones become loaves of bread. It was quiet for a moment. Then she heard his answer. “It is written, Not by bread alone does man live, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.” The cloud seemed to burst outward in irritation, then coalesced back into itself. It seemed to shiver, then spiral out and around him. The scene changed again, and Rebecca watched it slide around her. As if a room was moving slowly, in a counter-clockwise direction. Slowly, slowly. And they were on top of a building. A temple. She could see him clearly now…it was broad daylight and he didn’t look happy. But he stood strong. He stood strong, despite his tired appearance. She wondered when he’d slept last. And she watched the cloud coalesce again, this time to his right…into a shape of a man. And it stood close. Too, close, she thought. They were close to the edge of the roof, and she didn’t like it. It made her nervous. The male image seemed to nudge him, and Jesus just stood there and took it. That voice. That voice again. She hated that voice. If thou art the Son of God, throw thyself down; for it is written, “He will give his angels charge concerning thee; and upon their hands they shall bear thee up, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.” The being nudged him again, and Jesus shrugged it off and stepped back, looking clearly at it. Unafraid. “It is written further, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” The being seemed to rise and expand, taller, taller. Jesus turned and walked away, toward Rebecca, actually, and she stepped back. He didn’t seem to see her, though. The cloud collapsed into an angry face behind him, and then into itself onto the ground, sliding toward him like a snake. It wrapped around his ankles and slid up, again spiraling around him, closer this time. He looked up, a bit angry, at the sky. Almost searching. Then back out. The environment was changing again, the counter-clockwise movement fading the temple and merging into a landscape. A mountain. The view spanned out in all directions, the air crisp, clean. A bit cold, actually. And Jesus looked down and just shook his head. Sighed. Then turned to face the view before him. Rebecca looked, as well. Cities, beautiful, large and small radiated out from the mountain. It was strange…some of them looked like the villages and places of Jesus’ own time, and others were modern, large cities with skyscrapers rising into the sky. Rebecca wondered what he was seeing. Did he see the modern? Or did he only see the view in terms of his own historical period? The cloud pulled together, suspended over the view, and slowly solidified into an Angel. Larger, larger it became, dark, and it’s black form shimmering in its entirety. Beautiful, it was beautiful. The face was a face of Beauty. Probably one of the most beautiful she had ever seen. And this Angel, this Dark Angel filled the sky. The wings flared out gracefully, stretching quietly and setting around him. A slow smile, and he looked Jesus straight in the eye. The cities sparkled behind him, a glow emerged from the horizon, warm, like gold. It was breathtaking. Rebecca looked at the Angel. The glow didn’t touch him. He just shimmered. Shimmered. The smile disappeared into an intimidating calm, and he spoke, the voice deep, resonant, grand. All these things I will give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. In his hand a scepter appeared, wrought gold winding up a graceful swanlike linearity. It held a glowing orb, and in it Rebecca could see the cities, the sparkle, the glow…a living replica of the same view that lay before them. A wing of the Angel adjusted softly, disturbing the light, and the scepter floated forward and hung in the air before Jesus. The Angel’s eyes did not waver. Jesus looked at it quietly. Then said it. Quietly. A bit darkly. “Begone, Satan.” Slowly the orb lowered, and she knew it was Jesus. He wasn’t even looking at it. He was looking straight at the Angel. And the orb started to change. The cities and villages melted into a pool of white light, swirling until it filled the orb. It sparkled, softly. Moving softly. Growing brighter and brighter. The Angel’s face grew dark with rage. “The Lord thy god shalt thou worship and him only shalt thou serve.” The orb separated from its slender golden base, and fell dully to the ground. The Angel’s eyes grew dark, and hiss emerged from his being. He looked at Jesus, then looked at Rebecca, and lunged at her. A flash of light, and it seemed a net, a bright, sparkling net flew in a straight flash at the livid Angel and captured it, pulling it directly into the orb. Rebecca watched its dark, shimmering form writhe, collapse, then explode. For a moment it hung, then rose, returning to its previous state, soft, glowing. It started to rotate. Clockwise. And energy separated to flow out in soft, winglike pieces, gracefully circling the orb’s diameter. The light expanded, as if breathing around the orb, and floated until it hung suspended over Jesus’ head…and the wings descended, wafting slowly down around Jesus. From where she stood, Rebecca could feel his warmth, and in her mind she thought she could hear a voice, a whisper. The Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit, Rebecca. The light, the winged light, floated down over his body, and he looked up, his eyes closing. The seemed to close in around him, enclosing him, holding him. The warmth was so strong…it seemed to radiate out from him….and the scene didn’t change, it just rotated. The entire landscape started to move, and Rebecca felt as if she could feel the movement of the Earth. The soft rotation of the Earth. And the Earth was warmth. And the warmth radiated out forever, enveloping the cities, the mountain, the sky, the Universe itself. And they moved, in concert. And Rebecca herself felt it was love. It was love. It stretched into forever. And the orb swelled quietly, spinning slowly, the warmth subsiding into a soft pulse. The Earth, the sky, everything around them seemed to hear its silent voice, subsiding as well. The warmth remained, a softness in the air. Jesus looked out over the landscape, and for a moment, she felt as if they were part of everything. He was feeling everything…and he whispered, and it seemed a voice in everything. “I love you, God.” Just silence. The pulse of silence, the pulse of love, the sound, the heartbeat of sound, the voice of God, holding, holding. It held. Jesus opened his eyes. They were held. And he spoke. To her. “I’m glad you were here.” They were held. And she couldn’t remember, when she left that dream. But when she woke up, she wrote it down. She wrote it down. They were held. By God.

THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST

RebeccaTacosaGray — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 04:53:26 CDT

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HONOR, ABOVE ALL.

RebeccaTacosaGray — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 04:52:18 CDT

HONOR. ABOVE ALL.

A CHILDREN’S TALE WRITTEN BY REBECCA TACOSA GRAY

THIS WORK IS PROTECTED BY FULL U.S. COPYRIGHT. NO PART MAY BE COPIED OR REPRODUCED.--REBECCA TACOSA GRAY

THIS BOOK IS ABOUT JESUS

This book is dedicated to a man. Not a God, a man, who lived long ago and showed humankind the weight of love by upholding an honorable belief system. Truth. Love. Justice. Charity. True Beauty. To the parents that read this book, and to the children that read this book, know this. Jesus, the man, the beautiful man, lived to show you how beautiful you really are. You are not just any human being, you are a person with a range of love, talents, and choices to call on. And it is your responsibility to do so. So please remember that you have one real goal in life, to be the Best within You. I know that others take the names of certain people throughout history. There have been some who have likened me to Jesus, and it is not true. Not true at all. Jesus is not me. Not me at all. And never will be. He protects me, I wear a TAV on my forehead gifted by him early on in the year of 2006. I am, and always will be, Rebecca Tacosa Gray, the Human Being, the California Girl, the Original…and there are those who know what that means. And to Jesus…my love and respect, as always. And it is mine and mine alone. No M’s. I am the other one, and you know it. The Original One…and I written this because I care about and love you..and you know why. Your history is beloved, and always will be. No Sacrifice. Only Love.

Copyright February 28, 2008 8:47 P.M., Rebecca Tacosa Gray AKA Sterling Parker
CALIFORNIA. The Tiger Lily. The Warrior. I never give up.

30% OF THIS BOOK IS DONATED TO CHARITY

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It was his birthday. He was nine years old today. He got up, went to the breakfast room, and found a small package waiting for him…a package from his Uncle. Beside it was a note from his father.

“Your Uncle sent this to you for your birthday. He said it was special.”

The boy grinned, opening up the package. Inside was a long narrow box, tan, rounded top, gold hinge on the front. The top had a raised surface pattern, beautiful, and it said “HONOR, ABOVE ALL.”

He opened the box. Inside were five clear glass spheres, engraved. Each had one word on them. TRUTH. HONOR. JUSTICE. CHARITY. LOVE. The boy picked each one of them up and looked at them. They were beautiful. He wasn’t quite sure what they were for, but they were beautiful. He’d ask his Uncle the next time he saw him. He put them back in the box and set the box next to his bed.

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That night, after a fantastic birthday party with all of his friends, the boy went to bed happy. He smiled when he saw the box, and picked it up and opened it to look at the spheres. They were all glowing. They were glowing with a soft light, and radiating warmth. He put his hands close to them, and could feel it, the heaviness of the warmth, and, for some reason the boy couldn’t fathom, it felt like love. Like love. He picked up the sphere that said “TRUTH.” A flash of light, and the bedroom was gone. And he was somewhere else. It was a room, all white, with an older man sitting at a desk perusing something. It looked like a glass pane, but images were moving continually across its surface. The man didn’t even look at him.

“Sit down, if you like, and take a look.”

The boy sat down next to the man and looked at the pane. It was a little girl, about eight years old, stealing candy from a grocery store. There was light around her, and the energy changed as she did it. The man laughed.

“Well, would you look at that. That girl just changed her karma. And not for the better.” He turned and looked at the boy. So, you’re here to learn about Truth. Well. Take a look.”

The boy watched as the girl got caught, and the store owner asked her whether she had stolen. She told the truth, and gave him back the candy, ashamed. Her aura changed once again, a glow of white as she told the truth. The store owner chastised her and sent her on her way. The man turned and looked at him.

“Every time someone does something negative the aura changes, the Karmic record is changed. And with truth, beauty emerges. That girl just took some of her beauty back, telling the truth. Every time you tell the truth a bit of beauty lives in you. Remember that.”

“I’ll try, Sir.”

The man smiled kindly. “May I see that sphere of yours?” The boy gave it to him. The man looked at it closely, and as he looked at it, it started to glow, brighter, brighter. The boy heard a voice in his mind. “The Truth. Clear and simple.”

A flash, and the boy was back home, still holding the sphere. He put it back, and picked up the other spheres, but nothing happened. He closed the box and lay down. Truth, he thought, as he started to fall asleep. Truth and beauty.

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The next night, the boy opened the box again to find his spheres glowing with love just as they had the night before. This time, he picked up the one labeled HONOR. A flash, and he was elsewhere. He was in a great hall, round. The floor was thick, clear, and the walls spanned into the sky, never ending, it seemed. All over the walls were thick, framed squares. Softly glowing, they were a bit like computer screens, each with a soft tinge of color. Their carved frames were unique. He could see text within them. A man walked in, fairly tall, well built. His clothing was sharp, modern, and he carried a clear glass sword on his left side. He looked at the boy kindly. The boy could tell this man was strong, serious.

“Welcome to the Hall of Honor. My name is Aric.”

The boy shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Come and take a look at the pride and joy of the Universe. The Hall of Honor represents the best within all of us.”
They walked together to look at the framed squares on the walls. The boy was amazed, seeing them close up. They were utterly beautiful. Aric touched one, a heavy frame, intricately carved.

“A man of honor. Read about him.”

The boy did. The man had been construction worker in New York. At the top, his name. Just below, his profession. The screen had a tinge of a warmer, deep blue. It didn’t look deep, it just felt deep, as if the boy could actually feel the character of the person the man had been. Underneath his name, text flashed slowly. The boy read it. The man, his name was Brice, had saved someone from falling off a building. He had saved someone’s life. The screen flashed, showing his other actions of honor. Some large some small. Aric smiled and looked at him.

“Stand still for a moment.”

The floor started to move, upwards. It stopped, it seemed, with a smile from Aric.

“The floor of the Hall of Honor moves up and down, that all frames may be viewed. You try it. Look at one of the frames up above.”

The boy chose one that he thought he might like to see, and the floor started to move. As he got closer to the frame, the floor stopped. The frame was more feminine. A woman’s honor. The boy was impressed. Aric showed him around a bit more, sharing some of the honor of the Universe with him, then moved the floor right back down to bottom position. Aric walked the boy to one large frame over the door. “HONOR, ABOVE ALL,” it said. And Aric touched the boy’s shoulder. A flash of light, and the boy could hear Aric’s voice echoing in his mind as he was returned home…“Honor is completely dependent on the Action.” Back in his bed, the boy put the sphere away, thinking about his own life, his own honor. Honor, above all.

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It was getting exciting to the boy. He went through the third day wondering what he might learn from the spheres tonight. And tonight, it was Justice. He picked up the sphere, the flash, and he was there. It was a large room, glowing clear bottom, and a half dome roof. The roof gleamed, sparkling with what looked like stars, although the boy knew they were not stars. In the center of the room was a circle, engraved with scales. Blind Justice, the boy thought. A man leaned against the wall comfortably, well dressed, in white. He smiled.
“Are you afraid of truth, boy?” He walked over. “And Truth is not blind, by the way. Far from it.” The man walked into the central circle, the sparkling in the dome grew bright. “This room is Justice.” He walked out of the circle and over to the boy. “When souls must be weighed, they enter here.” The boy watched as it seemed a body materialized , like light, into the circle. A few stars fell from the ceiling, disappearing into the air. The light of the body flashed a color, and then disappeared.
“The color determines the weight of their soul. They are then sent to proper placement. “ He looked pointedly at the boy. “There is no Hell, by the way. Old concept. Outdated, and completely inappropriate. We call it the Place of Reformation, now. Truly heinous souls are incarcerated, but pushed towards reform. Counsel. Moving towards love. True Justice. But love.”
He turned and looked at the boy.
“So…are you afraid of Truth?”
The boy just looked at him. He thought he was. He thought he just might be. The man smiled and crossed his arms. Walk into the circle. Nothing will happen to you, that I promise. The boy walked into the circle, and looked up. The stars just stayed exactly as they were. And the boy looked at the man, who was still smiling.
“You’re not ready to be judged yet. But you will be, someday. Know that. Justice does not lie.” A flash, and the boy was home. And he felt just a little sick. He would be judged someday, and it would be his honor at stake. He whispered it to himself, possibly trying to reassure himself. “I am not afraid of Truth.”

__________________

The boy picked up the fourth sphere the next night. It was CHARITY. It glowed with intense warmth, and instead of a flash, the environment changed slowly. A large room, four walls, and in the center, a box. On the box was a form, changing, beautiful, radiating intense warmth. The wings fanned out like soft flames, billowing behind it, and the form continued to change, moving softly. The entire room felt like love. Angels smiled, talking in groups. Clear, glowing Hearts fell from the ceiling, sparkling as they fell, and he watched as Angels broke conversations to catch them, proceed to the central Angel, and disappear. At that moment, the central Angel glowed deeply and a form emerged. Female. And it moved to the boy. He could see its form, feel its form, a deep warmth. The parts of the body seemed to be floating, wafting, soft light, floating. And it settled around him, and he felt love. He could feel the voice, floating in him, around him, beautiful, reassuring… calm, kind.

“This is the room for Charity, the true beauty of love…a gift of caring from one soul to another. The flame of our hearts gather as we give to one another. We look at each other. We truly see each other. And we say it. I love.”

And images floated through his mind…the Angels, happy, catching the shimmering hearts, true acts of charity. The Angels carrying love to each, both giver and receiver…the birth of love every time someone gave, shimmering in the air…the hearts, the love…and soft, the boy fell asleep. In the morning, he woke up feeling beautiful. He put the sphere back in its place, still warm, then he went to hug his mother and father.

__________________

The fifth night the boy came home and had a wonderful dinner. He was excited. Charity had changed the way he saw the world, and tonight, the sphere would show him Love. He climbed into bed and pulled up his covers around him. He picked up the box off his side table and held it for a moment. He had learned so much in the past few days. And tonight…LOVE. He opened the box and looked at it. All of the spheres were glowing, glowing deeply. And the fifth, the fifth radiated light. It had a slight greenish glow to it. He picked it up and looked at it, and it started to glow so deeply…he could feel the warmth all around him. And his room became his room, but not his room. Because there was something in his room. And it felt like the Universe. And he saw something else. A woman, on another bed, and she had long dark hair and was holding an atom. Instinctively, he knew she was in California. Next to her was a God…glowing, he was glowing white, almost as if he was the matter of stars itself. And there was a change, and he saw it span out from the girl on the bed. The cosmos, the planets, the feel of the Universe moving…it was love. The Universe was love. And the boy wanted to weep. The Universe itself was love. And he watched as the entirety of the vision compact, shrink and fit itself into his sphere until it was just the universe. The love radiated from the sphere and he looked at it, and looked at it, and pictures started to emerge…a family having a party, a husband kissing a wife, a couple taking a walk in the country, a dog jumping to catch a ball…the boy smiled. The pictures stopped, and the orb just glowed, as if waiting. The box, sitting on his bed with the other orbs, glowed brighter, one by one. And he watched each one light with the same greenish glow, one by one. TRUTH. HONOR. JUSTICE. CHARITY. And the boy knew just what to do. He set the sphere of LOVE down into the box. And closed it. And read the top.

HONOR. ABOVE ALL.

And he thought. I am not afraid of Truth. Not at all.

THE COMFORT QUILT

RebeccaTacosaGray — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 04:29:05 CDT

THE COMFORT QUILT

“What value has compassion that does not take its object in its arms?”

Antoine Saint-Exupery The Wisdom of the Sands, 1948

UNDER FULL U.S. COPYRIGHT. NO PART MAY BE COPIED OR REPRODUCED-REBECCA TACOSA GRAY

The woman walked into St. Anthony’s Church, carrying a colorful little bundle in a thick plastic bag and a thin book. A children’s book. Next to the center aisle, she stopped at the octagonal marble fountain and crossed herself with holy water and continued into the church, looking at the cross on the left side. It used to hang in the center, but they had changed the church dramatically in later years to a more modern look. It was beautiful. She stopped in the cross aisle looking at Jesus on the Cross, and then turned and walked left to a marble bench on the opposite side. It was lovely, and a carved Jesus sat on the right, hand light on the bench, looking as if he was ready to have a conversation with anyone who happened to sit next to him. The woman sat down, placed the book between her and Jesus, and quietly put the bag on her lap, touching it softly. She sat for a while, looking at the cross. Tears ran down her face. She opened the bag and pulled out a quilt, a very beautiful, although a bit tattered, quilt. It looked as if it had been used many times, and the squares, like all quilts, held their special fabrics. She touched one in particular, and traced the pattern of planes, cars. Her voice started out low, soft. “This square was part of my son, Carl’s, first pajama set when he was three. I remember him running through the house at night and into his Daddy’s arms. There was always a jump and a hug, side to side.” She touched another, close by. Checks, Dark blue, little green pinstripes. “This,” her tears became thicker, “was part of William’s set. A little older, I think. I can’t remember, now. But he always demanded these pajamas. I think they were mostly comfort for him. I have a little blanket in the same colors, put away. He used to lay in bed, holding the blanket, while we read…” Her voice trailed off. She touched the book between them. “This book.” She looked up. “I know you suffered. I try to remember that when I have to remember every day that both my boys are gone. They were both lost. At war. In Afghanistan. One hit by artillery fire…my other...” She could barely speak. “A land mine.” She put her head down into her hands and cried. She cried her heart out. Then she felt a hand on her back, and voice, speaking. “Full Moon, by Brian Wilcox and Lawrence David. Illustrated by Brian Wilcox.” She sat up. Tears still wet on her cheeks. It was Jesus. No longer a statue, but a man, sitting next to her, reading her a book. A book she had used to read to her baby boys. “For my birthday, Grandma sent me a crystal globe of the city where she lives. “If you look carefully, maybe you can see me,” she wrote. I looked, but I couldn’t find her. Before going to bed, I made a wish that I’d get to visit Grandma real soon. Late that night, I found a full moon glowing in a starry sky. I whipped back my fishing rod and cast it to the moon. “To Grandma’s!” I shouted. The moon lifted me high, carrying me off to that magical city beyond the mountains, prairies and rivers.” And the story continued, the boy visiting cities and parks. Flying Cowboys polished stars, and tightrope walkers balanced on wires between buildings, every place he visited asking if anyone had seen his Grandma. Always, it was a no, and the moon lifted him high and away to the next magical place. . The woman just looked at Jesus’ face, so wrapped up in the story. Every line lit up for her, and her tears continued, even through the smiles that found her throughout. Finally, the boy reached Harbor Island, and the Statue of Liberty. The boys were always so excited when this happened. ‘“Happy Birthday!” my new friends cheered. Music played, animals sang, and everyone danced under the stars. And there, riding on the back of an African Elephant, was Grandma. “Please Moon, can you stop?” I asked. “Please, let’s stay for my party.” And the moon stood still in the sky and let me down. I gave Grandma a hug, a kiss, and a big, wide smile. I thanked her for the gift. And the swell party.” She started weeping again. “Grandma held me tight and kissed the top of my head. “Happy Birthday,” she whispered in my ear. “Have a good night’s rest.” She gave me a wink and a blink, and I quickly fell asleep.” His hand took hers, and held it. Just held it, and shut the book and told the rest without reading it. “The next morning I woke in my bed. I took my special gift and gave it a shake. The stars twinkled inside. And when I carefully peered into that crystal globe, sure enough, there was Grandma riding over the magical city on the back of an African elephant.” She threw herself into his arms and cried. And he just held her. “It’s alright. It’s alright to cry. They love you.” He waited, holding her, letting her tears fall until her sobs quieted. She sat back up and just looked at him. He touched her face. “They truly love you. Please don’t suffer. It hurts me to see you suffer. But they’re beautiful still, and they love you.” She nodded. And for the next hour or so, they talked. She, about her baby boys, and he, about his life. About pain, about the trials of suffering. About the pain of knowing, knowing that one’s son’s, one’s son, had hurt…had died. And they talked of love. The hurt of and the healing of love…and how love walked beyond life just to find love again. And she found it, that day, in her little church, on a bench, next to Jesus. Love. No one ever knew this happened. But the next day, a Sunday, saw Jesus, smiling, his marble body wrapped in a colorful quilt. And it was part of him, now, tucked into the marble in such a way that it could not be removed. For Jesus, whom I still, and will always, love. You are beloved.

TALES OF JESUS

RebeccaTacosaGray — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 03:46:42 CDT

ALL OF THE WRITING INCLUDED IN THIS SECTION IS UNDER FULL U.S. COPYRIGHT, REBECCA TACOSA GRAY, 2006.

I wrote the following sets of tales about Jesus little by little. Beyond Paradise is a beautiful novel I wrote about God, Jesus, and one woman's fight (mine, as a matter of fact) against evil. I hope you enjoy the excerpts I've included here. The Comfort Quilt I chose to write simply because I thought it would be lovely to see Jesus comfort someone in a Church. It is part of a book of fairy tales I've written called Under the Silver Pear Tree. The last, Honor, Above All, is a short tale I wrote specifically for children, meant to introduce them'to morality and the strongest tenets displayed by Jesus in his teachings. I hope you enjoy all of my writing, they are heartfelt, mine and mine alone, and were written because Jesus is special to me...Rebecca Tacosa Gray

THE BEAUTIFUL ONE

RebeccaTacosaGray — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 03:29:33 CDT

One of the things we forget about Jesus Christ is that he walked beside us, a human being, living with and talking to other human beings. We tend to think of him only as a God, and not as the beautiful, truly beautiful, living person who inspired generations with the weight of his actions. What is it we should know best about Jesus?

LOVE. TRUTH. BEAUTY. JUSTICE. CHARITY. COMPASSION. ABOVE ALL, LOVE.......LOVE.

This is why I've built this beautiful site, to celebrate the beauty of his life. I've thought long and hard about the subject of his crucifixion, in terms of the impact it's had on our world today. It's such a difficult subject...his suffering was uncalled for. It hurts me in the farthest reaches of my heart that it ever happened. But what I'll say is this...I believe it's time to heal him. I thought about whether Jesus, were he here right now, in front of you, in front of me, would outright look at both of us and say out loud "I died for you." We'd look at each other and burst into tears if that happened. However, I doubt he'd do that. Somehow, I think he'd sit down and tell us, "I love you so much. I want to live every day. So lets make a plan to heal this Earth, and celebrate everything I meant to celebrate. We need to get everyone to love." It was the purpose of his life, to bring all of us closer to God, to help us to learn to look at ourselves, and to tell us that we should love.
In a ministry, as I believe, and as I am ministering now, one should always keep in mind the beauty of the people before them. And this is what I'll tell you. Do as he said...go forth and love. Love others deeply, and love yourself just as deeply. It is about your life, your love, your future. Every day is one step towards beauty. Every day you love, you take Jesus down off that cross and heal his wounds. Stop thinking of his pain, think of what it means to heal him, by loving others, by loving God, with all of your heart, mind and soul...Rebecca Tacosa Gray