Choosing to not go into the light is not the same as being unable to. It’s the unable-to that I shift when I go on an angel rescue. Angel rescues¾an innocent hopeful title for going to war. The battlefield: somewhere here. The enemy: fear.

   The unable-to is energy, created by our collective conscience. It’s the energy, an allergy that our spirits react to and we repeat the same mistakes over and over. It is, the darkness. Generations of families repeat violence, alcoholism, abuse, depression ¼ this energy remains in the auric field of the earth and is reactive on a genetic level. It causes illness. This is what I shift when healing. 

   We do not reincarnate to suffer. There is no process of balance. This concept has been created because we’ve not identified the unable-to. On a spiritual level, this energy alters our vibration. We do not choose to live with pain. We are here to live joyfully¾only that. In this moment, before you can finish reading this sentence, humanity can live peacefully¾choose to, right now.

   Gegu and Jesus have taught me the energy created from being an aggressor and a victim is equal, both are products of fear. For both to heal they each have to shift fear. Our spirits are equal. Our physical lives are separate and unique. There is no karma, we reincarnate to live, only that¾there is no judgement. Like oil on water the energy created from fear, is the lid on the pressure cooker of our collective lives, past and present.

   When I heal all I do is shift the energy of this unable-to. My divinity¾spirit, soul, essence¾forms a union with the divinity of another and together we create health. I explore generations of ancestral and past lives, and remove any restrictive energy. This is spiritual DNA, and using angels and angelic guides joy is created. This story is about the union with the collective divinity of a location.

   I enjoy meditating with Bobby. I can relax and learn from my guide and other teachers without looking after others, but not tonight. Closing my eyes the comforting image of my guide greets me and he asks me to become David. My physical body sighs and silences my heart beat, my breathing slows down and the part of my mind listening to Bobby’s guiding voice shuts down. In this state I’m still able to think at some level and I’m aware that sometimes I’ve stopped breathing. In the past I’d return from these meditations bruised and fatigued. The emotions I experienced left me nauseous and in tears.

   Stepping outside myself I turn and look back at my seated body¾I look peaceful. I’m now seeing dreamlike through David’s eyes and the graphics of the images are clear and the colours seem unnaturally bright. It’s difficult to describe, I seem to travel by blinking or refocusing, and my eye movements are birdlike.

   Tonight I’m only energy and don’t have a physical structure. I’ve a sense of having legs, strong, athletic, powerful legs, but only golden vapour trails fill the space where my body should be. The vapour shimmers and flows, a blend of molten silver and gold.

   Blink.

   Suspended in the vastness of space I begin to free fall towards earth. Gathering speed other golden super heroes fall with me. NASA would love this technology; we enter the earth’s atmosphere without overheating. God’s Xmen, stealth-angels, with state of the art guidance systems descend into Bosnia.

   Bobby’s voice intrudes. “The path will lead you to a reflective pool.”

   Blink.

   I’m moving down an alley, past broken bricks, a burnt out car body, an old teapot, a child’s doll, and a bloody decapitated hand. A shadow-wraith is stalking a small child and explodes into embers and ash when a beam of light rockets into it. Dark, grotesque limbs, red eyes, and metallic fangs, appear, disappear, swallowed, engulfed by twisting beams of light. There’s a bright flash and exotic blue eyes smile and turn away. Long blond hair teases the air, strong shoulders, and delicate curves, fine down, light revealing and protecting, and an angel dressed in flowing white is embracing the crying child.

   Blink.

   The angel is gone and I’m gliding between cheap high-rise apartments with blown out windows and shrapnel scarred acne. A curtain, radiant, white, the only bright living thing moves seductively in the dust and smoke. Gold rays race each other and pour into open windows and doorways. A straggler slides across the broken tarmac, shards of glass, reflective, razor sharp, hang suspended after being thrown skywards by the braking light-beast.

   Crack.

   A sniper’s bullet passes through me, slows, and with hummingbird precision hovers, deadly, impatient. Sunlight dances across the revolving brass and whirly winds of energy vapour spiral away. An old lady in a brown coat and torn stockings is looking for her shoe. The one she lost when the bullet massaged her clavicle and seduced her heart. Her running feet kept her turning in slow circles, destroying her only pair of stockings, until her nervous system stopped pretending to be alive. I touch her shoulder and sighing she dissolves into stars.

   Blink.

   Crouched on all fours the light-beast is staring into a cellar window. The man-lion’s chest is moving in time with the echo of my heartbeat. Broken glass falls silently around us, bouncing, spinning, lacerating the once was living ¼ an old bike, a spoon, ants feeding, swarming over ¼ something used to be alive.

   Blink.

   Hovering above the city I’m able to see golden teardrops escaping to heaven. Light beams continue to siege broken homes followed by small explosions, shades of gold, shadows resisting love.

   The air shimmers and I’m looking at the present: a man rides a bike, an old woman supports herself with a cane, washing dries on a line, the coloureds, not afraid of the whites, flap without fear in the wind. Where are the children? The scene changes again and I’m in the past: its night, and tracer bullets and exploding mortar shells excite my eyes. Welcome to a festive night of fireworks, charitably arranged by ethnic cleansing and I’ve-got-a-gun.

   Blink.

   The cellar window is dark, liquid, obsidian.

   Exhale.

   This is going to hurt. The liquid dark always leaves scars on my sanity. My legs are twitching and my bladder is full.    Bobby is talking about a crystal cave and I haven’t taken a breath in a while ¼

   Blink.

   “Papa!” Dead eyes, a falling body, pride stolen. He’s landed awkwardly with his legs twisted under him leaving behind his brains, a good chess game, and bits of bone, mastery of six languages, and a bloody signature sticky against the cellar wall. The kalashnikov bindi on his forehead looks innocent and the old Nana bathing in her own blood, onion scented, indecent, spaghetti sauce stained apron, is not offended he is staring at her open thighs.

   Breathe.

   Angst trickles into my I’ve-a-daughter-also, and my hand helpless jumps with fright. Don’t let me see what happens to the young girl ¼ no ¼

   Boots, belt buckles, rough hands, clothes torn, silver crucifix, suffocating on stale sweat, limbs stretched, nicotine stained fingers fouling innocence, choking, burning pain, an unholy scream. Silence. Bleeding from the inside. Silence, empty eyes, silence, “Papa I’m afraid,” afraid, afraid ¼ nothing ¼

   Breathe.

   Heavy dull blows, so far away, rocking, confused, cold concrete scrapes the skin from my pretty cheek. My cheek? Cold, I’m so cold, cold ¼ something heavy, rocking, rocking, I remember, afraid, a clammy crawling thing inside, afraid, I’m so afraid ¼ a light far away ¼ afraid ¼

   Breathe.

   Bobby’s sultry smooth voice is calling us back. “Turn and travel back, past the pool and towards the doorway.” My spastic legs and trembling hands plead, no Bobby I’m not finished.

   Blink.

   Shadow-wraiths, crablike, foreboding, retreat into the corners. An upturned table, one leg bent, provocative, the only evidence left from the day genocide visited. The man-lion has ghosted into the cellar and is standing beside me. Our energy is ambient and plays over the liquid shadows beyond the upturned table. Dust motes lazy in the searching light land on the off-world lunarscape that has settled on old bloodstains and terror.

   The girl is sitting cross legged, her hands cupped between naked thighs, her head is tilted forward and dark curls cover her eyes. Light teases the marbled flesh of never kissed a boy, never had the chance, and a dark serpentine thing slithers, slick, hanging in the dangerous atmosphere and winds around the girl. Parts of the girl remain visible and varicose moving black things undulate across her pale grey flesh.

   Exhale.

   It’s only energy.

   Flesh materialises where my legs should be and carved thighs, tanned bronze, flexed, knees bent, one foot sliding forward, evolving into dragons claws challenge the dark. The insidious black ripples, expands, feeds, the girl is gone, and the moving dark ebbs and flows. Creeping. Closer.

   Without resisting the liquid elastic black expands like a cancerous lung and extinguishes my light. An avalanche of absence-of-good ¼ everything is still, the black has no colour. No-black. Here my senses are frantic, and I feel ¼ nothing: nothing to see, nothing to hear, no-black. My five senses feeding on themselves in a Freudian frenzy tear at each other, demanding information to identify the threat.

   “Save me.”

   Breathe.

   All I have to do is not be afraid. This is fear and I need to be that which is not. The energy of death-by-genocide has pooled in this cellar. Short films are projected haphazardly one after the other and at times spliced together: a ditch full of corpses, a burning bus, homes invaded, children violated, gaping mouths, a face without eyes, castrated fathers, disembowelled mothers, a child floating face down in a bathtub ¼

   Black shadows swarm over my body, forcing apart my lips, probing my eyes, ears and nose. Reptilian talons and teeth snap and tear, burrow into my flesh ¼

   “Be brave. Let go.”

   I’m floating gently backwards, supported and consumed by the devouring. Cold shape changing treacle forces its way down my throat. Ignoring the feeling of drowning in mud and the alien insects burrowing into my flesh, my physical body sighs and ceases trembling. I’m the opposite of what I’m experiencing. The girl’s spirit needs to go home¾she’s been me, I’ve been her, and I can save her.

   My physical body has stopped breathing and my heart has slowed. The reflexive spasms have ceased. It feels like fluids no longer flow through my body and all sensory information has stalled. I’m no longer a part of the universe. The stillness is absolute. I’m alone ¼ I’m David.

   Blink.

   Like the rolling tsunami of destruction from a nuclear blast golden light scorches the black. Cinders every shadow in every building, penetrates into the hidden mass graves, and cleanses the air. The force of the blast has carried me into the street. Looking down to see if I’m remotely human I’m comforted to see a curly haired girl cradled in my arms. All around me men women and children are being led or carried by beautiful light beings.

   Too many crying eyes find me and gentle voices say thank you. Warm fingers stroke my bare chest and looking down the girl asks, “Will you find my Papa?” Before I can answer an old gentleman pulls her delicately from my grip. A smiling face and hazel eyes kiss my heart and fade into the light.

   The air sparkles with flashes of light and everything seems to be swaying. The buildings are translucent and angels and people are appearing and then fading into the light. Disorientated I’m drawn into the light ¼

   “No Simon, not yet.”

   Blink.

   Stumbling I fall onto my knees. I’ve landed in shallow water and I’m terrified. Strong arms help me up and startled I try to push them away. The fear has stolen my strength and the memories of the violence and pain I’ve experienced send tremors racing through me. I realise I’m naked and my genitals small and insecure make me feel more vulnerable.

The arms continue to hold me and the person is not repulsed when I vomit on myself. A soothing voice shushes me and warm water is splashed onto me. A hand turns my face into a man’s chest so I can cry with some dignity. It takes a long time to stop crying. My courage has been exposed and my heart smashed by the horror’s I’d experienced.

   “Shhh my brother. You have done it. You are safe now. You cannot stay here, it’s time to go back.”

   “I miss you Yeshua. I love you.”

   “I love you too Yehuda.”

   Breathe.