First of all, as a clairsentient and clairaudient, when I am dealing with unseen energies — whether I believe them to be a part of my higher or lower self, or whether I believe they are separate from my self — because I am dealing with unseen energies, the only thing I can ever be truly certain of is how the energy makes me feel. In other words, do I feel loved and accepted, or do I feel something else?

In the story that follows, as much as the unseen energy in this particular instance immediately made me feel unwell (a clear sign that had always caused me to stop my channeling in the past), I chose to make an exception this one time because I had been led to believe that the unseen energy was Jesus. (For information on how this near-fatal error came to pass, please see Anatomy of a Spirit Attack — Part 1).

For the record, although I realize this is not a story about love and light, my hope is that by sharing this story, I might spare someone else from making a similar mistake. Also, about spirit beings, based on this experience and others I have had, I feel absolutely confident in saying that when it comes to channeling, consent is a protocol that exists between the unseen dimensions and our own — whether we are dealing with positive beings or negative beings. Therefore, there’s no need to be fearful of the possibility of spirit attack. The truth of the matter is, I put myself in harms way because I mistakenly believed that the end (a message from someone I held in great esteem) justified the means (my own personal discomfort), and thus, I willingly gave consent all the way through. Clearly, there were lessons I needed to learn. And so, I foolishly allowed myself to channel forty consecutive minutes of lies, gradually feeling more and more unwell, until finally, having reached beyond a point of mental, physical and emotional exhaustion, “Jesus” ended the session. And that’s where Part 2 of this story begins.

Ascending the basement stairs, exhausted and broken, I called out weakly for my wife as soon as I reached the main floor.“Are you okay?” she asked, rounding the corner from the kitchen. After 17 years of marriage, she could tell at first glance that I wasn’t.

“No,” I said.

“What’s the matter?”

“Something really bad happened.” I tried to choose the words to continue, but couldn’t.

“What is it, Mathew? What happened?”

“Please don’t worry,” I said. “Nothing actually happened yet and it probably won’t ever happen.” I wanted to tell her more but I continued to struggle for words; it all sounded so crazy in my head, every time I tried to speak, all I could manage was a sigh. Finally, after many sighs, I somehow found a way to tell her about the message I had just channeled from Jesus, and how among several worrying things he had said, there was a chance I could be murdered.

Upon hearing this disturbing news, Nola didn’t challenge and she didn’t accept, she simply asked for more information. The only problem was, not only was the information hard to present in a rational way under the best of circumstances, it was one o’clock in the afternoon, I was exhausted and anguished, and I hadn’t eaten nor had a drink of water since the previous evening. In other words, I was struggling for good reason when somewhere mid-pause, a man’s voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts. “Mathew, this is Jesus. It’s okay, Mathew. Just relax and let me talk to Nola.” The voice was as clear and present as if Jesus was standing in the room beside me. (Twenty years earlier I had an experience in which I communicated with a spirit-being in exactly the same telepathic manner, thus, as much as it was strange, it wasn’t nearly as strange the second time around.)

“You’re not going to believe this,” I said, “but I can hear Jesus in my head and he wants to talk to you.”

And thus began the most traumatic experience I had ever had in all my 43 years.

“Hello, Nola. This is Jesus,” he said, using my voice to communicate. (Twenty years earlier the telepathic aspects of my conversation had been identical, however, on that occasion I had not been asked to surrender control of my voice. Hence, this was a new one for me. And yet, although it felt immediately natural to me, like I had been doing it all my life, it was not without noticeable side-effects. Namely, I experienced the strangest feeling like I was suddenly standing on a stage in the center of the universe, time was frozen, and many many eyes were upon me. There was also a very loud buzzing in my ears that eventually waned along with the other strange feelings — or perhaps I simply acclimated to these unusual conditions.)

“Hello,” my wife responded, the guarded restraint in her voice plainly obvious.

“So – Mathew has had a very busy morning and here we are, the three of us – you, me and Mathew. It’s really quite amazing isn’t it? After all these years to come down to this – the three of us – the Holy Trinity – you, me and Mathew.”

As I heard these words being spoken, I was shocked and surprised. It’s all come down to Nola, me and Jesus. WHO ARE WE?

“I have a very painful confession to make, Nola,” he continued. “This is going to be very hard for me.” He sighed deeply and for just a moment he glanced up towards the ceiling, as if he needed to summon strength and encouragement from the heavens. “It’s something that happened a long time ago – a very long time ago. It was during the time when I was a carpenter, but long before I became the man that I was to become. I wanted to confess to you in another lifetime since that time. I approached you but when I tried to talk to you, you wouldn’t listen to me – you wouldn’t even look at me. You turned your back on me and I don’t blame you for this, Nola. I made a terrible mistake and now I need to confess. I’m so sorry, Nola. Oh God, this is so hard for me.” He bowed his head and said, “Please forgive me Father for I have sinned.” Raising his head, he continued, “I am going to whisper because this is so painful for me to remember.” He then lowered his voice. “There was this time once when I should have helped you, Nola, but I didn’t. I was scared and I froze. It was a mistake – a terrible mistake.”

As he recounted the following story, although I could clearly see his alleged memories, I never saw the “terrible things” that the man in black was alleged to be doing. Perhaps I blocked myself from seeing these things. I don’t know. All I know was, I felt revulsion as he told the story, and I was pleased (after the fact) not to have seen more than I did.

“I was wandering past a house when I heard a commotion. I looked inside through an open door and I saw a man, cloaked in black. I couldn’t see his face but I could see you, Nola. The man was on top of you and he was doing terrible things to you. Terrible things. It was horrible what he was doing and I knew I should have stopped it and… Please forgive me. I don’t know why I didn’t stop this man. It was disgusting what he was doing but I froze. All I could do was watch. It was a grave mistake I made that day and I have carried this burden with me for all these years. I’m so sorry. Will you please forgive me?”

“Okay,” she replied without so much as a pause.

“This is a problem, Mathew. She doesn’t believe me,” he said in my head.“You need to believe him, Nola,” I said. “Nola, this is Mathew talking now. It’s a problem if you don’t believe.”

“Mathew,” he said in my head. “Let me handle this okay? Just relax.”

“Okay,” I agreed, also in my head.

“You need to eat some lunch Mathew,” Nola said, “You haven’t eaten anything.”

“It’s very important that you believe, Nola.”

“Who am I talking to now?” she asked.

“Nola, this is Jesus. Mathew has a very difficult task ahead of him and it will be so much harder if you don’t believe. You really need to believe.”

“Mathew really needs to eat his lunch,” she said. “How about you let him eat and we’ll talk about this later. He’s exhausted and he’s hungry. Please.”

“Okay. Good idea. How about I go away for five minutes while Mathew has something to eat?”

“Great. Thank you,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

At this point, Nola helped me over to the table. I was so exhausted, I could barely hold my head up. (Nola had prepared spicy tomato soup as well as two tuna sandwiches on English muffins. The food was ready a half hour before I came up the stairs, and she kept calling me to come, but I kept putting her off in order to finish the channeling.) I put a spoon full of soup in my mouth and although it didn’t taste very good (my taste buds seemed to be off), I swallowed it anyway. I then followed up with a bite of sandwich.

“Why don’t you believe me, Nola?”

“Mathew?” Nola asked.

“No. This is Jesus. I didn’t leave.”

“I thought you said you would leave. What happened?” she asked.

“This is very important, Nola. I just can’t go until we sort this out.”

“Jesus. Please. Will you just let Mathew eat? You said you would. Isn’t there someone you can go save somewhere for a few minutes?”

“I can’t eat anymore Nola. It’s okay,” I said.

“No, Mathew. You need to eat,” Nola demanded. “You need to get your energy back.”

“Listen to him Nola. He says he’s not hungry.”

“She’s not believing us, Mathew,” he said in my head. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this but Nola is very stubborn. We are going to have to show her.”

“Show her?” I said in my head.

“Don’t worry. We’ll just show her a little miracle and that will be that.”


“Sure. Just leave it to me. I know what to do. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Nola. Mathew wants to show you something.” In my head he said, “Mathew. Go kneel on the floor like you do when you pray.”

“Okay,” I agreed and got up from the table.

“I’m just going to kneel on the floor and we’re going to show you something,” I said as I stepped away from the table. I then lowered myself onto my knees and bowed forward, resting my forehead on the cold granite floor. I had no idea what was about to happen, but I wasn’t the least bit concerned. I had complete faith that everything was fine.

“Mathew,” he said in my head. “You need to bend your neck in a bit.”

I pulled my chin in towards my chest. “How’s that?” I thought. My eyes were closed and they remained that way.

“Good. That’s good. Is everybody ready?”

“Yes,” I thought.

“Okay then,” he said. “HERE WE GO!” He shouted these last three words loudly in my head just before I heard myself make a violent heaving noise at the same time that I felt myself flip up and over onto my back with a thud. Whatever happened, it didn’t feel very good. (Nola later told me that it looked like I tried to kick myself up into a head stand, but immediately toppled over.)

“Sorry, Mathew,” he said in my head, just after I hit the floor. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. What happened?”

“I messed up. But I know what I did wrong. Can we try something else?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Great. Just lie there on your back. This will work. I promise.”

“It didn’t work so we’re going to try something else,” I said to Nola.

“Ready, Mathew?” he said in my head.

“Yes,” I thought. My eyes were closed again.

Nola suddenly saw our cat up on the table with her nose in my sandwich. I had recently fed the cat a can of tuna when we had run out of cat food. Consequently, the smell of tuna was making her behave in ways she never had in the past – like jumping up onto the table. “TOFFEE,” Nola shouted. But the cat didn’t budge.

“Don’t worry about the cat, Nola. You need to watch. Ready, Mathew?”

“Yes,” I said.

But Nola yelled at the cat again.

“Nola! Forget the damn cat! Will you?” he chastised.

“The cat needs to get off the table,” she said, making a move towards the table and clapping her hands. “TOFFEE!!” The cat jumped down.

“Okay look. The cat is going to get in the way so why don’t you do us all a favor and lock it up in a room somewhere.”

“How about the bathroom?” Nola asked, bending down to pick up the cat.

“Perfect. Put the animal in the bathroom” he said.

Nola left for a moment, then returned.

“Okay, she’s back,” I heard in my head. My eyes were still closed. “Are you ready, Mathew?”

“Yes,” I said as once again I relaxed into total surrender and trust.

“Okay then. HERE – WE – GO!” I heard in my head with such enthusiasm, as if performing this miracle took concentrated physical effort and energy.

Immediately following the word “go” my mouth suddenly opened as wide as it possibly could while out came the eeriest scream I had ever heard. Simultaneously, in my mind, I could see a grotesque image of my head being turned inside out like a rubber Halloween mask. Then, in the moment that followed, my legs shot straight up into the air so that I was suddenly perched on nothing but the back of my neck. But the force of gravity was too much to withstand, and a moment later I came crashing down onto the granite floor. (Nola later told me it looked like I had tried to do the headstand-thing again, only this time I somehow managed to kick myself up from my back.)

In my head I heard, “Sorry about that, Mathew. Are you okay?”

“Did it work?”

“No. I’m an idiot.”

“Jesus,” I said, feeling exasperation for the first time. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.

“I can’t believe our Father trusts me to do this stuff – I’m always messing things up,” he said in my head.


“Oh yeah,” he said like a collegiate buddy. “You wouldn’t believe how many things I constantly fuck up. I’m such a buffoon. I don’t deserve to be given all this responsibility over mankind.”

I realized he was putting himself down, but even more apparent was his implied disdain for the incompetent decision that had given him so much responsibility. He laughed at its ridiculousness, and his laughter made me laugh in my head although I was genuinely concerned about his incompetence. (Of all the things I fell for, the way I shared in his laughter during this one moment would later cause me to feel more shameful than any other part of this ordeal.)

“Nola. This can be hard or this can be easy,” he said.

“Will you just let Mathew eat something already? He’s exhausted and he’s hungry.”

“You need to believe, Nola?” he replied.

“She’s right, you know?” I said. “I do need to eat.”

“I know. I know,” he said in my head. “Look. I have one more idea. This will work and then you can have some lunch. Okay?”

“Oh God. Please don’t fuck it up again okay?”

“Don’t worry. This will work. I promise I won’t fuck it up. You can either lie on the floor, or you can stand up this time. Whatever you want.”

“I think I’ll stand.”

“Great. Here’s what we’re gonna do. When I give you the word, all you have to do is fall like you do in those flying dreams you have. You’ve done it many times. Just surrender like you do in your dreams and Nola will see you fly and that’ll be that. It’ll be perfect. Okay?”

I suddenly worried about the fact that we had large French doors at the back of my house. In my head I asked, “But what about the neighbors? What if they see into the house?”

“Don’t worry about the neighbors. It’s all taken care of. You can see out but no one can see in. Okay? Come on, Mathew. This will only take a second and then you can get back to your lunch.”

“Okay,” I agreed as I stood up and stepped into the centre of the kitchen. I then closed my eyes.

“Good,” he said in my head. “Now just like in your dreams, right?”

“Right,” I silently replied.

“Okay, Nola. Mathew is going to show you something. Are you watching?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Ready, Mathew?

“Yes,” I thought, as with my eyes closed, I imagined myself falling forward in one fluid motion, gently stopping and hovering a few feet above the floor. In my heart, I truly believed it was possible.

“Okay, Mathew. READY! – AND! – FALL!”

My arms were relaxed loosely at my sides as I allowed my feet to gently push my body forwards. I felt the sensation of falling, falling, falling followed by the surprising sensation of my knees buckling. A moment later, the back of my scull collided with the granite floor with a sickening thud. I didn’t lose consciousness but I was genuinely shocked, surprised and dazed. Above all, what was most memorable was the whining voice I immediately heard in my head.

“Oh, Mathew,” I heard with a tone that implied I did something wrong. “You didn’t surrender.”

The next thing I recalled was Nola’s shocked voice, “Oh my God, Mathew. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied rather matter-of-factly. “But you know you’re killing me, Nola?” I was trying to make light of the situation, but I was also half serious.

“I’M KILLING YOU?” she said defensively. “I’m just trying to get you to eat. Do you understand? YOU REALLY NEED TO STOP THIS MATHEW. YOU NEED TO EAT!”

“Okay. Yes. Yes. You’re right. You’re right,” I said, suddenly aware of how woozy and weak I was.

“That’s right. I’m right. Come on,” Nola responded, grabbing me under the arms and helping me to my feet.

“He’s going to eat now,” Nola announced to the room.

“Fine. Go eat,” I heard in my head.

Nola managed to get me back into my chair and started to feed me some more of the tuna sandwich.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Mathew’s head is really sore but he’s okay,” I answered.

“Who’s talking now?!”

“I am. It’s me, Mathew.”

“Then why are you talking like that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, truly baffled as to why I had answered in the third person.

“Okay. Whatever. Just eat,” she said.

I took a few bites of sandwich and everything was strangely calm when Nola suddenly said she needed to go the bathroom. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine,” I replied, lifting some sandwich to my mouth and taking a bite. Nola then left the room.

In my head, I suddenly heard. “Hey Mathew, I’ve got another idea.”

“Oh God. Now what?” I responded in thought.

“This is going to be really good, and it won’t hurt a bit. While Nola is out of the room, I’m going to levitate your chair. It’ll be simple and when Nola comes back in the room, she’ll see you floating and she’ll believe.”

I thought about this for a moment and because it did seem rather simple and harmless, I agreed. “Fine,” I said, as I took another bite.

“Good. Just relax and keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them.”

“Fine,” I thought as I closed my eyes.

“Great. Now don’t look. This is gonna work. Ready. Here we go.”

I didn’t feel a thing, but I didn’t care. If Nola saw the chair floating then she would believe and that was all that mattered.

“Okay. You’re up,” he said. “Can you feel it?” I wasn’t sure. “Don’t open your eyes, just call for Nola.”

“Nola,” I called, rather weakly.

“Yell, Mathew. She needs to come right now or she’ll miss this.”

“Nola! Come quick!” I called a little louder.

I heard Nola call back from the bathroom. “I’m on the toilet.”

“She’s on the toilet,” I repeated in my head.

Clearly unimpressed with the excuse, a loud panicked voice suddenly belted from my mouth. “NOLA! COME NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW! HURRY! HURRY! HURRY! HURRY! HURRY!”

From what she later told me, Nola came running into the kitchen with her pants down around her ankles. (My eyes were still closed and my chair was positioned with my back to the door so I didn’t see this.)

“Did you see it?” he asked her.

“See what?” she replied.

“The chair. It was floating. Don’t tell me you didn’t see it?”

He spoke in my head. “Sorry, Mathew. She wasn’t fast enough.” “You weren’t fast enough Nola,” he repeated out loud. In my head he then said, “That was so close. She JUST missed it. But it’s okay. I have one more idea. If you climb up onto the table – this will work for sure.”

“Oh God!” I exclaimed in my head. “I’m so exhausted.” The thought of having to do one more thing suddenly caused me to feel so completely devastated and drained of energy, I was literally helpless to stop myself from sliding right off my slippery wooden chair and landing on the floor under the table with a thud.

“Oh no,” Nola said. “Mathew? What are you doing Mathew?”

“You’re killing me, Nola.”

“You need to eat, Mathew. You’re exhausted.”

“Yes. And you’re killing me.”

“Come on Mathew,” she said as she bent over and grabbed me under the arms from behind and tried to pull me back up onto the chair. But I was too heavy and too weak to assist.

“You’re killing him, Nola.” You need to believe. Why won’t you believe?”

At this point, because I was so totally drained and exhausted, I was no longer aware of what my body was doing as my hands reached up over my head, and grabbed something above and behind me. “YOU’RE KILLING HIM!!!” I heard myself scream as my arms violently shook something in my hands.

Seated on the floor underneath the edge of the table, my back slightly arched, my head tipped back, my chin pointing upwards towards the lip of the table above, somehow, thank God, I noticed that it was Nola’s head that I was grasping and shaking. I instantly let go. (Nola later told me that as violent as I thought I was shaking her head, it didn’t hurt and it didn’t scare her.)

“You need to believe, Nola,” he said with a noticeable hint of threat.

Nola was still holding me under my arms, having not let go throughout this last exchange. She responded to the provocation by leaning in close to my upside down head and challenging, “HOW?!” her frustration and impatience clearly showing.

(Nola later told me that when she said this, she was staring into my eyes and noticed how strange it was that my eyeballs were not contained by my eyelids as they normally were when I was right way up. Instead, the whites of my eyes were strangely visible on all sides. Nola is an artist and she told me that over the years she had looked at people many times when they were upside down and whenever she had done this, they appeared exactly like what they were – upside down people. In my case, however, when she looked into my upside down eyes, she experienced a very strange feeling as if she was looking at someone right way up – only that someone wasn’t me. Oddly, in my memory of that moment, I never saw Nola’s eyes at all. All I remember seeing was the strange appearance of her upside down mouth and chin. They made the striking impression of a very unhappy eyeless person.)

“You need to believe,” he said, a little less menacing this time.

“How?” Nola repeated, her face still inches away from mine.

“I’m going to tell you but first I’M GOING TO HAVE A TANTRUM!!!” he screamed, suddenly causing my hands to slam repeatedly against the top edge of the solid oak dining table above me.

(Nola later told me that when she saw my hands viciously striking the table, she grabbed them and held on. I have no memory of this. All I can tell you is that my hands struck the edge of the table enough times and with enough force to leave them battered and bruised. How they weren’t broken, I’ll never know. Perhaps the same should be asked about my neck and my scull. Speaking of which, I would like to use this moment to clarify how it was that the back of my scull hit the floor when I was supposedly falling forward into a flying position.
According to Nola, when I was standing in the kitchen, just as I started to fall, it appeared to her as if my soul suddenly left my body. From her vantage point, I literally collapsed straight down into a heap, the back of my scull coming into contact with the floor just after my knees buckled. Of course, as far as my senses could tell, I had fallen forwards like a felled tree.)

The tantrum suddenly over, I somehow summoned enough energy to be helpful as Nola lifted me back up into my chair. Once there, I took a few more bites of sandwich. I then reached for a glass of water, however, my arm accidentally bumped the glass causing a little bit of water to splash onto the table. It was no big deal, so I immediately reached for the glass a second time when my arm inexplicably suffered a spasm that knocked the glass clear over onto its side. The majority of the water landed on my plate, rendering one of my sandwiches a soggy mess. Nola immediately went for some paper towel.

“Don’t clean it up!” I heard my voice shout at Nola. “Mathew. I’ve got an idea,” I heard in my head. “Hold your hands out over the spilled water. Quick. This will work.” I held my hands out over the water. “Nola, watch this,” he demanded. “The water is disappearing. See? Can you see that?”

“No,” Nola replied, having lost all patience. “Look. This isn’t working,” she said, lifting my sandwiches off the wet plate and wiping up the water underneath. “Will you just go away?”

In my head I heard, “I can’t go until she believes, Mathew. This is too important. Actually, I have a confession to make. This isn’t your fault, Mathew. This isn’t working because I’m a fake. Can’t you see? I’m not the great man you think I am. I’ve failed you. I’ve failed Nola. I’ve failed all of mankind. I’m a fuck up, Mathew. I’m a fuck up and it’s all up to you. You’re the one, don’t you see? You’re the one who has to convince her. You’re the one that has to save the world. This is the way its been written.”

For the first time since the possession began, of all the things that were said and done, it was these few words more than anything else that caused me to feel overwhelming confusion and distress. “No. No. No,” I said aloud. “This is all wrong.”

“What is it, Mathew. What’s the matter?” Nola asked.

“It’s nothing,” I said, too overwhelmed to explain. “I need to go pray for a minute.”

I weakly rose from the table and made my way to the adjoining family room where I dropped to my knees, bowed my head to the hardwood and silently prayed. “Dear God, I am so confused. Please help me. I don’t know what to do. Nola doesn’t believe. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to have to kill her, Mathew,” I heard in my head. “You can use one of the knives in the kitchen.”

As I heard these words I saw a vision of a large knife being withdrawn from the wooden butcher’s block that sits on our kitchen counter. In the same instant, my heart felt such incredible pain, I screamed out in anguish, “NOOOO!” The pain was so severe, it knocked me off my knees and onto my side.

“What is it, Mathew?” Nola asked. “Are you alright?”

“Oh Nola,” I cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” (I knew I would never do such a thing, however, I felt like a monster just for having the thought enter my mind.)

“It’s okay, Mathew,” she replied. “Everything’s okay. You just need to get a little more food into you.”

Nola helped me up off the floor and was slowly walking me back towards the kitchen table when I suddenly stopped in my tracks, stricken with remorse. “You know I would never hurt you, right?” I asked. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, Mathew,” she said.

“Good. I need you to know that,” I said, as Nola gently tried to steer me towards the table. How could this have happened, I wondered, as my mind began to track back over the sequence of events that had landed me at this moment. Unfortunately, as a result of this process of review, fear began to creep in for the first time. And within seconds, I was consumed with fear, and felt like I was drowning. And suddenly, a gentle voice whispered in the back of my mind, “You have free will, Mathew. Take back your will.”

“I’m trying,” I said in my head, exasperated. The gentle voice made it sound so easy. But the fear was so intensely overwhelming, all I could do was shake my head violently — as if such an act might somehow dislodge the evil thoughts from my head. I then sat down at the table and somehow managed to eat some more sandwich while Nola sat across from me and watched with obvious concern, occasionally asking if I was okay. A few minutes later, having eaten all I could, Nola escorted me up the stairs to our bedroom where she tucked me into bed and lay down beside me.

“No matter what,” she said, “you need to stay away from your computer for a few days. Whatever it is you’ve been working on, it can wait for you to rest up and heal.”

I wasn’t about to argue. I knew I had been the victim of an unprovoked attack. And when I had come to realize this a few minutes earlier (in the kitchen), I had experienced such overwhelming fear, I wasn’t about to do anything until I felt like I could trust my judgment. In the meantime, I was happy to rely on my wife’s advice. I was so incredibly proud of the way she had handled herself throughout the ordeal; anyone else would have called 911 and had me sedated and admitted to the nearest psychiatric ward. I gushed over how proud I was, and as I did, Nola’s reaction surprised me. She didn’t feel like she had done a good job. She said she felt badly for what had happened, that she should have done more to prevent me from experiencing the extent of harm that I did.

“But Mathew needed this to happen,” I said. “Mathew didn’t understand something and this experience was necessary.”

Nola suddenly cut in. “Why are you talking like that again?”

“I don’t know,” I said, just as baffled as I had been the first time. “That was really weird wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Over the course of the thirty minutes of debriefing conversation that followed, on several occasions I inadvertently slipped into the third person. And each time I did, Nola stopped me and pointed out what had happened. Finally, after about thirty minutes, I fell asleep. Nola then left the house and picked up Kaylin from school.

I awoke two hours later with a very sore right hand and a very woozy head. I also woke up understanding why I had endured such a difficult experience:

I had failed to understand the meaning and the implications of the truth that God is Love. I had also failed to understand that evil was more than just a concept. Furthermore, I failed to realize the extent of danger I could get into by allowing a channeling session to continue in spite of the fact that the channeling was making me feel unwell.

Thankfully, now I knew.

Please see this link for the continuing story of my spiritual journey.

(For the previous story, see this post.)

2 thoughts on “Anatomy of a Spirit Attack — Part 2

  1. Mathew: Awesome story!

    Your wife REALLY loves you. And seems to be very patient. Well, she is an artist, too, like you.

    The description of the events is extraordinary. My own body is in pain after reading the text.

    I find that the conclusion is admirable:

    “I had not understood that evil was more than just a concept.”

    Black magicians are those who promise something without the intention of honoring their promise. And because we want what they promise, we do our best to believe them, no matter how much we suffer under their guidance. Amazingly, we imagine that the suffering is a requirement to experience what we eagerly want.

    “I had also failed to understand the meaning and implications of the truth that God is Love.”

    As you state, if God is Love, he would not want us to suffer.

    Mmm… disturbing story. That inhuman spirit being was plenty of cynicism. I did not realize before that being a cynic is so evil.

  2. Hi Jorge,

    Thanks, once again, for your positive feedback. Regarding your observations about Black Magicians, in this case, I feel I should clarify that I suffered because I was “brainwashed” into believing I was communicating with Jesus, and in so doing, I naively believed that suffering was acceptable if the authority figure was someone as esteemed and revered as Jesus. Of course, this was a faulty concept that I needed to unlearn. And this is where my understanding about love and God took a quantum leap. God does not ever choose to have His creations suffer, however, the ultimate act of love (as a creator) is to instill free will into your creations, and then to honor that free will. This ultimate act of love is what has given us the freedom to explore negativity in all its many forms, including the penultimate one — evil.

    Before this experience, I knew that evil resided in men’s hearts. I just never expected evil to exist on the spiritual planes. I mean, I understood the motivations that led men to justify evil acts in the world — power, control, greed, lust etc. — but what was the motivation in the spirit world? What was there to gain by randomly inflicting harm on another being? Well, in this case, I learned first hand that power and pleasure were gained by manipulating me into believing that Jesus was an incompetent and God was imperfect. All lies, of course, but I had to experience this first hand in order to understand the truth — and to create a positive pathway to further understanding — in particular, lessons and further understanding regarding forgiveness — especially, forgiving God for the creation of free will (and all that comes with it), and forgiving evil for choosing the impermanence and recklessness of self-gratification at all costs over harmonious co-existence and life-everlasting.

    God Bless,


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