I am writing this post while listening to Neil Young's song Ambulance Blues. Got it on repeat. This is not the kind of post you can write in silence.
I realized this morning that the two most important experiences of my life were trips to heaven and hell.
In March 1993 - just before my twenty-fourth birthday - I tried chaos magic. I didn't know what it was, but I found out. It screwed me up for about a week. I had demonic nightmares, uncontrollable shakes. I had to go to bed clutching the Bhagavad-gita in one hand and the Bible in the other.
One Sunday night in the autumn of 1998, after four days of soul pain, I was totally wiped out. My personality had disintegrated. I didn't exist any more. But then God touched me. For about five minutes it felt like my head was on fire. Then everything was restored. I got my personality back.
What does this mean - in relation to my writing?
It means I know what lies beyond, the so-called unknown. If I can reveal that in my blog, then that is something worthwhile, isn't it? I can justify my existence.
Money is only a way. There are many ways. I've chosen money.
I will not be afraid. I refuse to be afraid.
Everything is going to be all right.
