Continuation of Saint Lawrence 1 3-19-25
Instead, disease comes from lack of hard physical labor, the lack of religious ceremony and devotion, and the lack of seeking God by seeking out secluded natural shrines, waterfalls, for instance.
In conclusion: Brooke Medicine Eagle is given a message from an Indian Spirit being. The message is that mankind has become too aggressive and analytical. This imbalance is endangering the earth. Mankind needs to become more receptive, nurturing and allowing. Man needs to learn the art of meditation.
Another shaman states “unless we remember quickly what our lives are about, unless we celebrate through ceremony and prayer, we will again face destruction, but this time by fire.
The sage instructs us to “go to the sea and make offerings. Take a candle, chocolate and money. offer these things to the sea. Pray for her. Tune yourself to her, she will give you heart”.
According to Maria Sabina, healer, Catholicism and shamanism are one entity. The mushrooms she used for the power to heal and guide were said to be gifts from God. However others renounced shamanism to become more fundamentally Christian.
Nevertheless, why do we not visit the ocean, with offerings of a candle, money and chocolate in hand? And perhaps we could bless the mountains, the sun and the air as well.
BREAKTHROUGHS written on 6-15-91 about an acid trip in 1974
I lay on the frozen and snow covered road. My body was writhing in inexpressible pain. My mind too was submerged in the horrors of eternal hell. For the first time I could see what the ancients had always professed. I could see the eternal struggle of good against evil. Just as the brothers had promised of lsd, I saw God.
I saw not, however, a presence of bliss and joy. Instead, I viewed God from the far side of a giant chasm, unapproachable. I lay immersed in the suffering of eternal death, caught in the struggles of an unending hell. My mind was completely opened, some would say blown. I learned the truth of the eternal reality of good against evil. God versus the devil. This was the first breakthrough.
I desired more knowledge about the forces of good and evil. I wanted deeper insights about the specific nature of these eternal opposites. I decided to ‘hit the road’, to leave town, to let life be my teacher. Before I left home, I learned some basic meditative techniques. Using Acid while traveling, the “Spirit” showed me a more advanced form of meditation. Through the mystical power of lsd, I learned a form of meditation common among mystics. This technique involved study of the mind while focusing on the breath. I used these techniques as a homing device, to guide me to my spiritual goals.
I had joined a carnival, and visited Tennessee, Virginia, and North Carolina. After a couple of months as a carnie, I left the show, and headed for the ocean. My inner mind wanted me to get out on the water. So I that I could hear the voice of God. Finding a way, hitching, to Swansboro, North Carolina, I found a place to stay. In nearby Morehead City, I took a job cleaning fish in a dockside market.
On the way home from work, about 10:00 o’clock pm. I stopped at a nearby Baptist church. It was after dark. The doors were open. I went in and looked around. It was dark inside. I found the altar, and knelt there. Above was a huge picture of Jesus. For the first time since early childhood, I prayed. “God, if you hear prayers, and Jesus, if you are the Son of God, will you let me know? Then, with my eyes adjusting to the dark, I found the piano. I sat on the bench, and struggled to begin a hymn of praise.
Just then, the door opened, and the lights flashed on. Someone was walking up behind me. I did not flinch, but opened the hymnbook. Struggling, I attempted to play a song. The minister began to softly sing along.
After the minister and I talked for awhile, I left, and headed back to where I was staying. I promised I would be there for Sunday school the next morning. I didn’t have a car or much cash, so I had to walk or hitch everywhere. This night I was hitching home.
My ride took me too far. I had to backtrack to where I was staying. As I walked on the sandy shoulder of the road, a car veered towards me, and just missed. Then a second car just missed. A third car connected. According to North Carolina State Police, I travelled about fifty yards on the hood of the car before hitting the ground. I lay broken and bleeding in a shallow ditch on the side of the road.
It’s hard to describe how facing death changes a person. Ones limitations are transcended. Before this rendezvous with death was complete, I found room in my heart and soul for faith in God. My travels led to faith in God.
Back home again in Buffalo, my leg was in a cast, and my body was mending. I began to formally study yoga, and Eastern style meditation. I would check myself and my progress by occasionally entering another reality with the use of marijuana. At this time I was capable of six hours of meditation without a break. Six hours is ok, but not good enough.
My friend Billy, Judy my sister, and I were conversing in the living room one night. After awhile we smoked some grass. We all took a few puffs. Bill began teaching Judy on a prophetic level. This sort of thing can happen, even with soft drugs like marijuana.
As Bill spoke I penetrated the mystical realm. Judy understood. My thoughts Bill spoke to Judy. Bill followed the silver chord of prophecy until his consciousness entered my mind. I was deep in spiritual space. I let him enter deeply the inmost recesses of my thoughts. When he realized we were in complete, perfect, telepathic communication, he panicked. He screamed, he cried. “God is real”, he exclaimed through his tears. “Oh my God, God is real”. Shortly thereafter Billy became a Christian. This was a breakthrough for me, in that I helped another break through. Meditation was used with marijuana.
About the time of this incident with Billy, I began to experiment with fasting. I started a carpet cleaning business as well. I labored for breakthroughs, fasting, doing hard labor, and meditating as I worked. Several times I pushed myself to the point of death.
Collapsing catatonic over the gates of death, I felt I could do even great miracles, like resurrections, if I only could have come to my feet, and begun to serve.
About a year later, I located two monasteries in Southern New York State. I visited them as often as possible. I received instruction on an even deeper form of prayer. This style of prayer facilitated the achievement of very deep states. It was an advancement of what I learned on acid.
A few weeks later I visited a Catholic chapel. I knelt before the monstrance. A monstrance is an especially sacred object of the Catholic faith. Kneeling and praying, my spirit entered God. Soon a class of little children entered and sat in the pews behind me.
The Spirit of God was passing through me, and into the world, as if I were a window. I knelt, barely moving, until the children left. I was a literal conduit between Heaven and Earth, and was obliged to pray as perfectly as possible until the children were gone.
Over the years I was in and out of psych. hospitals. Often I was overmedicated. But every time I would quit taking the meds, another episode of overwhelming supernatural manifestations would occur. I have always, since my conversion, prayed as much as possible. However, there have been times of greater strength and focus.
Anyhow, I had been chipping away at the metaphorical mountain for a few years. At this point I was in the business and in school. There was a black boy in my writing class. We happened to begin a conversation after class one day. He invited me to visit his church the next Sunday morning.
I had been up all night with a sick man I’d taken under my wing.
Nevertheless, in church on Sunday morning, the black congregation was soulfully chanting. The Spirit began to wash over me in gentle rhythmical waves. I heard a voice in my inner mind say “Scream, scream as loud as you can”. I let forth my loudest yell, but it did not come out as a loud yell. The scream came out in perfect harmony, and perfect counterpoint to the soulful chanting of the congregation.
As I chanted, waves of cleansing joy began to crash over me. Huge waves, one after another. Purifying, mighty, full of joy. They almost knocked me off my feet. This was the most profound and powerful joy I’d ever felt.
In a few moments of song, I’d felt transformed. The church was filled with joyful power. The children and the women surrounded me as the service ended. Greatness, heroism, was upon me, if only for a few moments. There were times when I pushed myself to the very limits of human endurance. And then pushed even farther. +
Originally written 6-16-91 6-16-91
I remember on two occasions that prayer increased my body’s internal pressures until I felt like an overinflated hot water bottle. One of these times I was on a hellish high security ward. My nostrils burst forth in profuse bleeding. My clothes and the floor were soaked in blood. This was a personal purge. I crossed the stone prison walls with blood, claiming the unit unto God, and unto myself.
And another time, after months of extreme spiritual and physical discipline, the same purge of bloodletting occurred.
One time, when I was full of power, I was walking in a rock garden on hospital grounds. As I was treading upon skull size stones, one stone asked “who is that?” Another stone answered, “its Michael”.
Apparitions could be considered breakthroughs as well. On several times I have heard my name called when no one was around. These voices called me to attention, out of daydreams.
There were, however two times when I made meaningful contact with the spirit world. More accurately, two times when the spirit world contacted me. The first time I was greeting the sunrise after I had been up praying all night.
I had been steadily building a natural high for the entire psych. hospital community. After hours of prayer, every day for months, the hospital was buzzing like a psychic bee hive. I had successfully carried the entire community of 2,500 people to a place of painless and joyful activity
As the sun rose, a spirit came to me. I could not see her, but I sense her and hear her voice. Her name was Anne. She told me to escape the hospital and travel to Texas. Carrying a hymnbook and a star chart, I escaped the hospital. And catching a ride to Watertown, I realized that I had elevated the entire region to a high psychic place.
I found a place to hide and rest in a farmer’s field, letting the rarified energies drain from my body. I discerned an escape to Texas was not easily done.
I went to a farmhouse, and knocked on the door. How do you explain to someone that you’re an escapee from a mental hospital? They made me a coffee, and gave me a cigarette, and called the State Police.
The State Police took me to their barracks. And sitting me in a back room began to ask me questions. They asked whose authority I was under. I answered “Anne, a spirit”. An officer in plain clothes guarded the room with a rifle.
It was 1985 or 1986. There was a two way radio in one of the rooms, behind the desk. My energy and focus were global at this point in time. They said they were in touch with Washington, and asked me about fifty questions, transcribing each answer.
They asked me if President Regan should be executed. Of course I said “no”. And then they asked me what type of weapon I would like to carry. +
This episode continues now with my imprisonment on another ward. 026. I was doing my best to be a good prisoner. I would labor all day. I was an empathic sponge, absorbing the uncleanness and disease of all around me. I was at the end of my natural limitations. And suffering greatly. I wanted to die, but death would not come. As I lay exhausted on a couch, I witnessed my second apparition.
There was a cloud around me. A gray cloud. A voice came out of the cloud, and said, “Michael, you are a war hero”. I asked the apparition if it were a mere imagination. Then a hand appeared from the cloud and switched on a nearby radio. I was sent to security, 007 again.
And then on E-ward, I was given permission to go on walks. I went for a walk down by the river. Under a weeping willow I fell on my knees and began to cry. Crying deeply and painfully was purifying, but there was still a long, long way to go. I absorbed disease, in massive amounts, from all the people around me. Both inmates and staff. This took me to the brink of dying again. As I lay in bed, full of disease, a bedside nurse took my hand, and literally pulled me through.
In the O.T. shop I worked intensively. I painted my version of the Phoenix Bird, rising from its own ashes.
I was sent back to 007. As I lay in bed in the wee hours of the night, my chest opened like a trap door over hell. All the impurities that had taken residence in my body dropped down through my lungs into hell. There was a loud slamming of doors, as the gates of hell opened and slammed closed. This same thing happened the next night.
An axiom. When a righteous person is incarcerated, manifestations will occur.
At this point I was sent back to E-Ward. I entered the smoker and took a breath. The atmosphere had been purified. Almost nothing caught on my first inhalation. The other inmates were relieved. There were now friendships and conversations where there was confusion and pain.
I am attempting to bring this story together to the climactic breakthroughs on 007. I have to say that I am proud of what I accomplished there. It was an exorcism of both my soul and the world.
Sex magic or “sex in the spirit” is a great power at Saint Lawrence psych. center. I didn’t want to get involved in that, but I had no choice. The medicines, the food, the confinement, the other inmates and staff prevail.
In the morning, we wound be given fresh clothes. I was passed a pair of light blue nylon underwear. The next evening I was overcome with an excruciating, unending painful desire. It felt like snakes writhing within. I tried to shed the desire through self pleasure, but the desire only increased. As the days passed, I realized that I was making conscious psychic contact with the ladies whom I held in mind. I was still in prayer for hours each day.
I told Doctor Sue That I felt I needed to perform a miracle. She asked if becoming psychic through sex in the spirit weren’t enough. “No” I said, “I need a more profound miracle” That night, I lay on my bed praying for Sue. As I held her in prayer, her spirit passed through my body and soul. A warm rush of energy passed through me. In the language of Saint Lawrence psych center this phenomenon is called “Halua”. It becomes the vehicle through which true psychic gifts can be cultivated and ultimately achieved. It opens the mind. Sharon Law, a female inmate spoke the word “Halua” to me, as we passed in the hallway.
I was careful to journalize my experiences at Saint Lawrence religiously. This journal stands as assurance of future successes. Finally being able to share this story is a breakthrough.
Part II Ward 007
I had been on Ward 007 for about six weeks. The entire community was in a state of disease. The air and water seemed defiled. The food was poor, almost decayed.
I felt I had received a spirituals message to give up cigarettes. However, I did not think that I had the willpower to do so. Nevertheless I was under conviction to quit.
Against the leading, as I lit up, a bolt of lightning hit, knocking out the electricity. +
Ward007 was a high and powerful hellhole. Sometimes the others, staff and clients, loved me. Sometimes they hated and condemned me.
I had quit smoking. The next goal I set for myself was to regain control over my rampant sexuality. We are created with a much stronger sex drive than what the simple math of reproduction requires. I challenge any man or woman to put a total lockdown on their libido. I knew that if I were to succeed here that a super human willpower would have to be invoked.
I knew that my will and focus were taxed by the medications. And that calling down the discipline of complete control would require me to cease taking the psychotropic mediations. Understand that medications are a law in the psych system. And refusing them is held to be a criminal offense. Disobedience is sometimes necessary. Medications were blocking the path.
Medication free, I began a rigorous self training program. I would arise at 5:00 am., and pray for two and half hours. Then breakfast. Then ward work. Ward work was scrubbing floors, vacuuming, cleaning sinks and toilets, and collecting garbage. I did the work of three men, each day. After chores, I would set myself to prayer. I would pray and study scripture each day until supper. After supper, I would pray until bedtime. I was careful to document each day in letters home. I journalized completely all but the most horrible experiences. And the most horrible I still remember
I began to fast on 007. I would go without food for three days at a time. I begin to gain control. I had successfully held in my seed for over a month. At that point a beautiful lady, whom I did not know, entered the prisonlike room where I was on my knees, deep in prayer. It was a dark room. Cold, red stone walls, cockroaches and centipedes, damp and chilly. Blood stains on the walls.
I did not look up to look at her. Her voice was that of an angel. She said, “Eighteen Point White Buck”. “It’s sex magic”.
The internal sexual pressure was immense. As I lay in bed that night, I began counting all the ladies I knew and felt love for. When I counted the eighteenth, I had a spontaneous orgasm, without touching myself. The spirit over us called this a “snap vex”. Humorous, I know. It was said to be part of the process of sexual healing.
Let me digress. psych hospitals are very psychic places. Spirits abide there. Some holy, and some unholy.
I had two or three more spontaneous orgasms. One of the ward workers was a spiritualist. She said this was a necessary healing, and dissolving of the ego structures.
Anyway, I was able to reign in my sexual expressions until they dragged me into a courtroom, and had a judge pass a mandate that I was to be on medications. Invoking great powers through disobediences and sacrifice, incredible breakthroughs occurred.
I learned that sometimes a man must fight. Another roommate entered my room In the middle of the night. It was said he was a vampire. I was asleep in bed. As I opened my eyes he was hovering over me, about to bite my throat. I screamed, but the staff were asleep.
He bowed, and exited, walking backwards. I would deal with him in the morning.
The inmates were rousted at 7:00 am. Showers, and then we were lined up for medications and cigarettes. I waited for him to inhale, and then I punched him in the face and knocked him off his feet. Timing is everything. His back was on the floor, his feet attempting uncoordinated kicks. And then staff jumped in.
I was not living this through for my personal salvation alone. I was interceding for all those in institutions, for my nation, and for peace on earth. +
Today, as I type this into the blog, my words and my presence are an important force for reason and order, a force for peace and well being. And I need help, financial assistance, so that I can continue to write and post. So that I can continue to carry the banner of hope. And keep a home where I am safe and free to continue on.
Michael McLean
P.O. Box 62
Waterport, N.Y. 14571
585-416-5067
Then came the healings. Ward mates who needed weeks for restoration would recover in hours. Patients admitted after midnight were released before dawn. My psychic powers climaxed in an incredible way. My inner thoughts were discussed on the radio. The television played episodes of my life. It was broadcast, “CIA psychic bridges gap between church and state”.
I did not have to speak my teachings, they were broadcast loud and clear.
I t was the end of an eternity, and I alone was bearing the torch of life. If I failed, it would be the end of life as we know it. If I succeeded, it would be the beginning of a new and more perfect world. I was caught in a limbo between two worlds. Sinless empowerment was needed. Not fame, not wealth, but someone pure and strong to carry the flame.
I was immersed in this unreal reality for six months, twenty four hours a day.
I began to sit up at night. To pray. At three am. I would rise for an hour of karate and prayer. I would listen and speak without using ears or mouth.
Another wade mate, a friend, asked for my unused notebook. All night long I could hear him rustling papers. In the morning he gave the book back and thanked me for sharing the beautiful stories. Stories never written, but shared nonetheless. It was for powers such as these that I was thought to be an angel from Hell.
So don’t desire psychic powers, because they always come with trouble. I’ve been there, and done it, so that you don’t have to. I just need you to pray for peace and justice upon our lands.
I began to abate my cleaning duties, to attend more dutifully to prayer. As I pray, lights began to flicker on the walls. Daily, they grew brighter and brighter. One morning they burst in through the walls, and down through the ceiling. The staff panicked and ran down the hall. The other inmates were beside themselves. The lights continued for days.
Every evening, and only in the evening, the foundations under the old stone building would quake and rumble. One could hear huge boulders colliding, One staff doctor said to me, “to you we pay no attention, we listen only to the rolling bones”.
In this warp of reality I applied myself against corrupt authority. The chains of sin were broken, and I was free to wage war against dangerous social structures. Present and future.
I was public enemy number one. +
The walls of the unit were cut stone, red stone. As the voices said the stone walls were crying, blue fluid started seeping from the stone walls.
And so it went. There was TV in the dayroom. We would pull for our favorite teams. My family sent money. I had staff buy ice cream, and party foods. Everyone got into it. They bought steaks and brought in a grill. My hard ass guards had their wives make. We celebrated Christmas.
I received a huge package of gifts from home. And I shared with everyone. The atmosphere was at times rarefied with joy and positive energy. We were controlling the air waves. And people seemed to be walking through solid walls and steel doors.
Sometimes it was Hell. Especially when we had to deal with someone that was psychic, evil and dangerous. The tough, but good side of my staff, and a core group of inmates fell together as a team, and created a cell of brilliant light. We found our way into a safe and guarded land of peace, and raised the banner of the Promised Land.
I took a blanket, and donned it as a ceremonial robe. Then marching through the unit I proclaimed the victory of the Force of Good. Christmas 1986. And now, in 2025, I feel the victory of that moment.
I salute my guards, the guardians on my unit. I salute my doctors. I salute my righteous ward-mates. The ones that stood behind me, and the ones that wanted me destroyed. From Hell, we brought down the celebrations of Paradise. We found the promise of a more perfect world.
I didn’t have to preach a lot. There were psychic conversations and games. People walking through walls.
At night, the other inmates would tell stories in there snoring. This is how I got the words for “The Story of the Swamp”. It’s a story about the animals in the Louisiana bayou. I think it’s in these transcriptions already.
It takes strength to relate this story. A few days ago, I kept a twenty four hour vigil. I think the strength to tell this story comes from that day of prayer.
Recently, I began taking a new medication. This med is showing me things I never knew. It is a breakthrough, invented by the discoverers of l.s.d.
Retelling this tale is a breakthrough. Many questions have been answered. Life is a battle of good and evil. We all have to play, whether we want to or not.
One question yet to ponder. What is the difference between the sage and the psychotic, the fool and the saint, the seer and the insane?
This was written in1991, about an incarceration in 1985, 86, and 87.
It is being transcribed into the blog in April 2025.
Remember as you read this that it is about psychosis,
from inside the experience.
As I begin this essay entitled “classified information”, the setting must be described. I spent eight or nine months on the high security ward of Saint Lawrence State Psychiatric Center in Ogdensburg, New York.
Beginning in 1974, I began the study psychic and para-psychological phenomenae. I did not know, at the time I began this adventuresome course that it would lead through some dark and dangerous passages. Having gone far beyond the experiences of an ordinary life, I can say with certain knowledge an infinite ocean of experience lays beyond the ordinary realm.
And, that the barriers that lie between a human mind and the realm of mystical power are the devices of educated, but still small minded men.
It is a sad commentary that the powers that guide the masses today are controlled by the media and the dollar. How virtuous our leaders are is a topic for speculation. The power of the courts and medical science, together, are brought down on one who would ascend.
For example, I began a life of fasting. Then abstinence from water. Then I began a vow of silence. And began to deny sleep. And hallucinations began. Followed by erratic behaviors. And a body and mind full of fear.
Add into the mix hearing both heavenly and demonic voices. And you have schizophrenia. And an admission into the psych ward.
The wards are a dangerous place. Deep in psychoses there is no concrete reality. On one side there are witnesses and physical evidence. On the other side of the line things have been perished from reality. There is no difference between psychosis and a mystical state. Reality is in a fluid state.
I entered a fluid state. A causel or precreative state, and did battle against evils yet to come. This could be one aspect of intercession. A successful psychic episode strikes horror and desolation from its place in reality.
It is in achieving a state of fluid reality, which I call fusion, that psychosis benefits the world. The material of reality is melted, and reformed into something better.
Some in mental illness, it is apparent to me, have taken upon themselves the illness and infirmity of the world. A wise and fortunate man would leave some trace behind to validate their story.+
II.
So I am going to discourse more on what my psychic, or psychotic episode was about. It was the end of the world, and I was there all alone. My mission was to disarm the coming “great tribulation” before it arrived. The “great tribulation” is a prophesied time of great trouble that comes before the millennium of global peace.
Joeseph Mengele was in the throes of death. His dying prayer was to strike the power of God’s saints from history. He was one of the primary executioners of the Jewish people in Germany in world war two. He was empowered by the murder of millions of souls. His death chant was to bring down destruction on the civilizations of the modern world. To eliminate all inclinations of holiness. Thus the primary antagonist of this waking nightmare was the evil Joseph Mengele.
In the setting of this story, I am for reasons had to explain, locked away in a psychiatric prison.
I had been imbued with psychic powers, with which I was charged to wage war. The lot of destroying the great curse fell to me. The shadows of darkness fell all around me. If I survived, the course of civilization would continue. If I refused to fight this war, or perished in the attempt, a reign of unprecedented horror would befall mankind. Whether this scenario was reality or not didn’t matter. My eyes, ears, nose, taste, touch, inner mind and logical mind interpreted this whole situation as real.
And this is the reality of mental illness. One lives in a reality and performs a role that most normal people can hardly imagine. I went into the future to combat evils that want to manifest today. In carrying this light and fighting this curse, I was able to glimpse the horrors in place in the mental hospitals of New York State. True, or somewhat true. These facts have never been discussed. Hence the name of this essay is “classified information”.
This is both reality and illusion, in the uncertain seas of the war between good and evil, past and present, blindness and seeing.+
It was October, 1986. I was an inmate on Ward 007. High Security. I had been in this lock up for about three months. I’d been refusing medications for about a month. Refusing meds is considered criminal behavior in state hospitals. For this crime I became the object of derision, the staff and doctors unleashed condemnation upon me. I was sure that I was going to be ok, that the stars had pre ordained what was to befall me.
I was sitting at a large wooden table with another inmate. A staff nurse walked by. Most all the staff was trained as guards. 007’s inmates were dangerous. There was a beige metal box on the wall. About three feet by three feet, by eighteen inches deep. A green light bulb was mounted on this metal box. This light was always on. The other inmate asked what the device was. The nurse said quietly, “the green light tells us the ‘assault terminator’ is operable. It took me only a quick moment to ascertain what an assault terminator is. My heart leapt into my mouth. This hospital had mass execution machinery in place.
I got involved in magic. White magic. I couldn’t help it. The spirits alone forced me into a homosexual act. Sex magic. This was a difficult passage. And then out on a supervised evening walk I found some mushrooms. Magic mushrooms. That sealed the deal. I became a pixie. We went back in time, and forward in time, and sent our spirits across the constellations.
We cleared a safe path into the future, and compounded our ability to wage war, if need be. I prayed with a map of the constellations, and a hymn book from the chapel. We sent our spirits across the Heavens, and mingled with the gods.
I literally fused my spirit with a magical entity. For the first days the staff scowled at me. But by day three, I had become “little Michael, the poor boy who became a pixie”. I mingled magic with invocations, timing my pranks, and calling down buzzings and resonations.
I was able to go deep. The entire building would rumble as I arose from my meditations. I laid down a spell that caught up all in its excitement. For moments, at least, we ascended our purgatory. +
Man, I really worked at being a pixie. And revolution. And barraging Heaven while damning evil.
However, after several months this all became tiresome. And back on 007, I left my pixism behind. Now they began to talk about me as if I were mentally retarded. Perhaps I had suffered brain damage from the medications and the disease. I was privy to comments and conversations one ordinarily would not hear. I think you’ll find this an interesting piece of unauthorized undercover work.
What I am saying is that this piece is simultaneously real and unreal. I entered and integrated the mythical realm. I had done rites and rituals, prompted by the spirit, without knowing exactly what power I was invoking. But now I was seeing into things, and seeing through things.
Again, I witnessed psychic communication, healings and manifestations. But the most important thing was the prayer for a just peace on earth.
And now, forty years later, we stand again on the brink of great tribulation. Again, we must damn evil and barrage Heaven with our prayers.
The word spoken was that the hospital was equipped with execution devices. Electric chairs, to kill one person at a time. Assault terminators to take out the whole patient population. To control the uncontrollable. Be they good or evil.
Assault terminators were something I labored to strike from reality. I did not just pray that they would be removed, I prayed that they would never have had existed.
Anyhow, I had been identified as a powerful evil. One night, between midnight and dawn, I was keeping the night watch. As I sat in prayer, I could hear the guards outside my cell. I heard the sound of metal on metal. The sound of a wrench opening a valve. As gas hissed through the pipes, they spoke to me “stay in your room, or we’ll kill you with these wrenches.
My eyes started to burn, as I pressed into my invocation. My prayer ended with the rising sun. Later that morning, maintenance workers came and climbed up into the ceiling. They cut out and removed pipes. As the left, they said, “we were never here”. +
+However, I attempted to leave a vestige of this evil in reality. That the assault terminator on a ward at Elmira State Hospital would continue to exist in reality. In one of the showers there is a double set of spigots. One spigot bears hot and cold water. The second set of spigots is for toxic gas.
Having discovered that spiritual battle is the core of reality, I have given myself to this war. The root of the problems is not the doctors and judges. It is the dark powers that have blinded them.
If one is destined to be a warrior, an adversary will be found for you. My field of battle has been the mind and the mental hospitals. The misunderstandings and the injustices are gargantuan. And there are too few knowing advocates. What happens on the wards affects the outside world. Prayers are not contained by prison walls.
I was walking through a suburban neighborhood at night. As I passed an ancient and empty dark house, on a large unkempt lot, I saw a brown bag on the walk. I picked up bag, and tried to remove the contents, but the smell was ripe and putrid. It felt as if a ham was in the bag. I realized it wasn’t a ham, but a human head. I threw the package, and my soiled gloves into the unmown growth. As I threw the head, a loud witch’s cackle came from the dark and empty house. This was an omen of horrors to come. My battlefield was the psychic realm. The evils overcome were of the entire world.
I suspect that until drugs made the treatment of mental illness inexpensive and easy, the mentally ill were methodically executed. Execution, though secretive, was deemed necessary to control the uncontrollable insane.
Let me explain. I was staying in the Lafayette Hotel in downtown Buffalo. I snuck up on to the roof. I found up there what looked like six partially disassembled electric chairs. Six electric chairs, three in each of two jail like cages, that unlocked only from the outside. Adjacent to the electric chairs was a glass enclosed switch house.
Here my paranoia went rampant.+