I will quickly conclude my previous series of post with a final statement regarding the case of sexual assault on a minor female student at a San Antonio high school. I have turned the case over to the San Antonio Police Department, the District Attorney, with information copies to the State Attorney General, the Department of Education, and the Justice Department. I have done all I feel I could do other than picket in front of the school demanding justice. If the department and agencies mentioned take no action, then there is no justice for children in the State of Texas.
Now on the my effort of joining so many others in raising awareness of growing domestic abuse and violence against women. I posted a status update on my current work entitled Letters. I wrote that while I am surprisingly ahead of schedule with the initial draft, I feel confident that the release date will definitely be this summer. However, I also noted that the work took an equally surprising turn. On drafting the first segment, the work took on a life of its own and in little over thirty days, the first draft of the complete work is essentially done.
One of the twist which just seemed to work into the draft was the inclusion of the occult. Events recorded throughout history, events involving the church, could not be left out.
In my previous post I explained that I would be offending, upsetting, angering many; I was not just speaking of the living, for I have no fear of the living. After posting my last entry, my suspicions were confirmed.
In that I “draft” not on a laptop, but in my mind, as I work in the yard, wash clothes, or stroll through a palengke, yesterday, I drafted as I walked through a public cemetery in Oas, Albay. I was with Dhes, her father, and a young girl named Helen. The cemetery is classic Spanish Catholic with all the ornamentation and architectural highlights. The “rich” families have their mausoleums; the poor a hand scribbled name on a stone. As we strolled, looking for family names, a shadow caught the corner of Helen’s eye; then, movement within a open encasement which had been mysteriously burned out.
Needless to say, the girl was upset. She ran to Dhes, who also felt that tingling down the spine typically reported on such an experience. As we left the area, some rocks were tossed in that same vicinity. Now, before I proceed with the continuation of this event, I want to ask you one question. Have you ever slept, enjoying a dream, only to be awoken by someone? Then, no matter how hard you try, you cannot return to the dream you were enjoying so much. Well, last night, after our cemetery experience, I fell into a deep sleep, and as I have been for the past couple of weeks, my dream took me home to 1109 S. Hackberry Street. Each dream is very vivid; I walk down the hallway; I stand in the back room, my room, and in my mother’s room. I’m often in the kitchen, looking through the dining room, into the living room. While I can hear others, I can see no one. Last night dream began in much the same way, only this time there were others; the people who presented were not family, rather strangers dress in odd clothing, one man in an old military uniform. They were upset with me; they were accusing me of bringing an entity down on them. I stood my ground, and replied to their accusations that I was in control not the entity. I then began to condemn an obvious, yet unseen presence. One of those present warned me with a finger pointed towards the ceiling. There furniture was affixed to the ceiling and on my condemnation once again of the entity, the furniture fell onto the floor.
Now, the dream was so real, I next awake to Dhes shaking me, awakening me front my violent encounter with the entity. She tells me I’m yelling at something, someone. I’m freezing, which is not typical on a Philippine summer night. So, covering up, I fall back into my sleep and open my eyes again in my mother’s house. This time, three of us are sitting in the living room. We are served food and drink by a girl I do not know. Just as she serves us, she disappears into the house. One of the men with me becomes disoriented and we have to help him out of the house. As we attempt to lead the man through the front door and onto the porch, the entry way is illuminated. Again, I condemn the entity present and again Dhes is shaking me awake.
This time, we get up and walk down the stairs to the restroom. She is asking as to why I am yelling in my sleep so much, asking about my dream, but I cannot answer. Again, we fall asleep, and again my eyes open within my mother’s house. I stand alone in the hallway. The house is dark and cold, but quiet.
I understand the dreams. I know the entity I am confronting there. I know it well, and moreso, I know why the encounters. I know that probably the presence in the cemetery in the Philippines was linked to the house in San Antonio, Texas. And I know, it’s all coming to a head with the publication of Letters.