The Story of My Death

This is the story of the day I died. It was not my first death, nor would it be my last, but it was the one that stands out from the crowd as the first time I saw the face of my Angel.  

Let me preface it by telling you about the first time I heard her voice. I was two years old.

In my Grandmother's old Victorian, 6 bedroom house, there was a narrow doorway on one side of the dining room. I was standing on the thick, navy blue carpet, the smell of Murphy's Oil soap clogging my nose. The massive oaken dining table and matching chairs had been polished just that morning. The table was behind me as I faced the slender door that led to the attic stairs.

The door was painted white, but had been neglected, the leaded paint cracked and peeling. At least once a week, someone complained that it needed to be touched up, but nobody wanted to touch it. My heart hammered as I stood there, contemplating turning the tarnished brass knob. I didn't want to go up there.   

To my right there was a huge bay-style picture window with a comfy seat for reading or napping in. Through the Queen Anne's lace panels that waved in the breeze, the big Lincoln Lilac bush could be seen, waving and dancing in the late September air. The last few clusters of glorious summer flowers clung on for dear life. I tried hard to smell the lilacs from where I stood, but the smell of the furniture polish masked it. 

Still I stood, rooted by fear. The wool carpet scratched at my bare feet. I wanted more than anything to to sit in the window seat, but I had to go upstairs. I dawdled until a voice from the kitchen hollered out, 'Right NOW, Angel Marie!' Tears filled my eyes. 

There was a ghost in the attic. It was the ghost of a man who was not yet dead, his spirit as it wandered the large airy space and wailed. It was my Grandfather's uncle. He had Alzheimer's disease, and was locked inside of a body that would no longer cooperate.  

Day after day, he sat in the tall rocking chair, his back to the lace-curtained windows, facing the door at the top of the staircase. The room was as long and wide as the house, with no walls to separate the space. There were wooden pillars that supported the gabled roof, placed every few feet. The floor was dark, glossy, slippery hardwood.  

While Uncle Will sat in his chair, his spirit wandered the room. I could see it clearly, and it spoke to me at times, telling me tales of a life poorly lived. It was full of regret and sorrow.  

Uncle Will had not been a kind man. He had been abusive and cruel. But, now that he was rendered 'safe' by his illness, I had been forced to go up the stairs and visit him for a while every day.  

Some days, he was more lucid. This was one of those days.  

I had no idea of what he'd done in his life. Nobody had spoken about it. At least, not until after this particular event.  

I summoned up my courage and turned the stiff doorknob, and made my way up the narrow stairs. I closed the door behind me and took a big gulp of air to stop myself from throwing up. The stairs were covered with powder and tiny chunks of chalky white residue. I could see the wooden lath at irregular intervals where the plaster had fallen off.

The journey up into the attic smelled like plaster and lime, and there was only one light, a bare bulb that hung high above. My hands began to sweat in terror as I forced myself up the steep stairs. They popped and creaked as I ascended, the sound echoing in this weird between-space.  

When I reached the landing at the top of the staircase, I could hear his quiet moaning, like half spoken words, through the door. I opened it and stepped through. I went in, shutting the door behind me. I felt like I was underwater, everything seemed slightly unreal, and I couldn't get any air.  

As I entered the room, something flung me hard onto the floor. So hard that the light spun around me like a whirlpool and then went dark. I stood beside myself, seeing my body lying on the floor. Then, a voice said to me, 'Get up, Little Angel'. And I reached down and touched my hand, and was pulled back into my body. I screamed and cried and my Mother came to get me.  

She punished me for lying, when I told her about the push and the voice. I sat in the corner for hours, going over it in my head. I knew I had told the truth.  

Flash forward eight years. I was ten. My life had not been easy. My father had left a few years ago, and my Mom was an out of control addict and alcoholic that liked to bring dangerous men home. She didn't have a type, except that they were all cruel. I was beaten and assaulted repeatedly by men who wanted to hurt me, and by ones who believed that they were doing 'God's work', helping me somehow with their hard fists and pointed boots.  

I learned that good and evil are equally capable of cruelty.  

I had been through many things that nobody should ever suffer. In the worst moments, I had learned to step out of my body, pulling myself completely away from what was happening in the physical realm. In these times, I spoke with the voice of my Angel. She brought me great kindness and comfort.  

One October day, just a few days after my 10th birthday, I was playing at a neighbor's house. I wasn't supposed to go outside while Mom was at the bar (she managed it, and drank half of the profits), but I couldn't stand being locked inside, I was lonely and bored. I had to be home before 10 pm, when my sister would return from her babysitter's house for bed. It was my job to make sure that she got enough sleep and got up for school in the morning.

It was a quiet country neighborhood, lined with pre-fab houses of the kind that my father had called 'cracker boxes'. The fall air was cool, and smelled like dried leaves and chimney smoke. It was after eight pm, the streetlights illuminating the gravelly road with puddles of golden light. The road was old, the tarmac had frozen and thawed so many times that there were wide cracks forming a kind of webbed pattern, and the top layer of tar-covered gravel had come loose.

I knew how to ride a bike, but didn't have one of my own, as my mother was convinced that they were dangerous death traps. I was riding my friend's bike in the quiet cul-de-sac, around and around. Then my friend dared me to cross the main road, ride two blocks, and come back.  

I was thrilled, I had never known such freedom. I felt like I was flying, like I was in a place where nobody could touch me. I went those two blocks and back twice, and on my way back to the cul-de-sac after the third time, I heard a horrible screaming noise, saw a flash of light, and felt myself separate from the bike. I felt weightless for a moment, and then felt the crushing pain of landing on the ground, the loose gravel sliding under my skin as the tarmac dragged at me.  

I heard a loud crack as my head hit the ground. And then the world around me was blue. I was someplace where there was no pain, no fear. My heart leaped in my chest! Home! I was home! This was the place that I'd been seeking, the place that I tried to reach when I couldn't stand being inside of my body. And, before me, stood a beautiful figure.  

Hovering before me in the cool, blue air, was a light. It had rays coming off of it in every direction, and I felt more than saw eyes blinking in them. When I stared hard into the center of the light, I saw something vaguely humanoid. Surrounded by the moving rays of light that bent and flexed like wings, a human shaped being smiled at me.

When she spoke, I realized that I was seeing my Angel for the first time. She was a being of pure light energy, in shades of gold and blue. She reached out to me and pulled me to her, surrounding me with her light. In this place, I was given a choice.  

'Little Angel', she said, kindness and love washing over me palpably, 'You chose a very hard path for yourself.' 

'I didn't choose any of this,' I sobbed. 

'You chose to be born. We needed a mighty warrior on Earth, and you volunteered. You knew that it would not be easy.' 

'It's never easy', I continued to cry, all of the pain and horror of my life flooding out of me like a dark cloud, dissipating in the gentle light.  

'No, it's not. We are so sorry for this pain that you endure.' 

'We?' I looked around and to my surprise, there were many hundred beings much like this one in a wide hall, all of them pouring a gentle violet light over me.   

'We are the souls of Ascended Beings. We were all once human. Some of us have lived many lives, and now we rest here in this place.' 

'Is this Heaven?'  

I was met with gentle amusement. 'Some people call it that. Others call it by different names. This is Elysium, the source of the energy that your soul is made of. And when you die, your soul comes back to this place. You don't have to stay, you can be reborn. Some have even returned to the physical realm to wander in spirit form, inspiring and comforting Humanity.' 

I was astounded, astonished, amazed. I stood in the realization that I was in Heaven, and surrounded by Angels. 'What happens if I stay?' 

'You will rejoin us here, and you will remember everything. Your work will be left unfinished, and you will be aware of exactly what you failed to accomplish in this lifetime. But there will be no more pain and cruelty, those things and the people that bring them are not allowed to come here.' 

From a great distance, I heard my mother crying. 'I need to go to her', I said.  

'You will always remember this moment. We will always be with you. When things get bad, and they will get very, very bad, you can always take refuge here.' 

I nodded, 'What is my work?' I begged.  

'You must share this experience with others. Many will not believe you, but as you get older you will come to the people who can clearly understand. You will be our prophet.' 

I was taken into the glory and shown beautiful images of what could happen if I managed to survive the world long enough to do my work. It was beautiful. I was determined to go back and help to make the changes necessary to guide the souls, of all who would learn, to this perfect place.  

I awoke the next day, screaming out from the crushing pain of a broken skull. I had burns on my chest from where they had used paddles to resuscitate me when my heart had stopped. My left arm and two ribs had been broken, and the right side of my head remained swollen for weeks. My whole right side was covered in 'road rash'. I still have a little dip in my skull where piece of gravel had embedded.  

I told everyone who would listen about this experience. That led to a lot of horror. I was beaten, tortured, exorcised, locked up and medicated. I have never faltered in my truth. I carry it forward, regardless of how the world cowers from it.  

And I sit here, in my navy blue pajamas. They are too big for me, I've lost a large amount of weight since I bought them. My skin is pale and my eyes are weary. The room that I am in is crawling with roaches, I have lost everything and now I sit in old, broken government housing in the deep south. I am typing this on my old, hand me down laptop, as it sits precariously on a broken TV tray. My stomach growls because there's little food in the house. And still, I persist.  

This is the complete story of how I became a prophet. And, it is one part of the good news that I bring to you. You can learn to see Angels, too. I can show you how.