“But when you see it [depression] as something that’s uniquely beautiful, just as beautiful as joy…the sad parts of life are just as beautiful as the happy parts of life, if not more, in my opinion.”
-Justin Taylor Phillips
Fiction. Based on a True Weeping.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Jesus cried alongside Mary and Martha, mourning over Lazarus knowing that moments later Lazarus will be resurrected (John 11:5). For though Jesus wept because Mary and Martha wept. He was sad because they were sad.
Compassion is coming together in the passion for a common consciousness. Mary and Martha did not know that Lazarus will be resurrected after his death. For them, they were grieving because they thought his presence is permanently removed, and in the turmoil of loving and losing Lazarus and as beings designed to love, they were both broken down and broken apart. That depth of pain is why Jesus wept with Mary and Martha over Lazarus.
“No! I don’t want to go back! He’s going to torture me,” the girl was crying. Angelie was watching a YouTube video of an exorcism. The girl was crying, but it was really the daemon that was inside her that was saying it.
“Leave her now!” the priest puts the cross on her forehead. “Go back to the abyss!”
“No, please. He’s going to hurt me. I’m scared,” she says.
Angelie started crying. Not for the girl being possessed, but for the daemon itself. To exist in a disembodied state and to be in totally controlled by satan. To suffer an existence without love and to continue to go on meaningless assignments.
Angelie is sad. She weeps for the fallen ones.
“Qanon,” Josie says to Angelie, “Follow Qanon.”
“Who built the Titanic?”
“Who were the people who died?”
“They were people who were against the federal reserve.”
“And what happened after the ship was sunk?”
“The Federal Reserve was born.”
Angelie is in the process of introducing Cypto Queen with Crypto King. They were eating at Sage, the same place where she fell in love with B.
Remnants of his ghost still attaches onto her. But today, Angelie is immune. Her focus is in the process of learning how to tokenize The Love Story Journals. Crypto Queen will be speaking on the panel opening day for the three day Crypto conference.
She is wary because she knows, like guns, it is people behind the guns to kill or save, and so, like crypto, it is not the currency, but the heart behind the currency.
Tribal monitoring is not the answer.
Angelie hears Holy Spirit communicate with her. She is learning how to keep her mouth shut when the Holy Ghost tells her truths and her immediate instinct is to blurt it out to the world because of the weight and value of its golden truths.
“Have you heard of the difference between zero sum and non zero-sum game?” She asks Josie.
“I’ve heard of zero sum…” Josie picks up her fork. Her wavy red hair shines like a blazing fire under the California sun. It is Wednesday, and Josie and Angelie had just finished the symposium at USC about how blockchain works.
Angelie asks Karan Motwani, key crypto speaker for Starbucks, two relevant questions for her organization:
“Can a non-profit use blockchain?”
“Can one build a social contract first then iteratively ICO later should the system designed work?”
It’s a beautiful start, thought Angelie. She is grateful that Josie and her had kept in touch since the Nem.io Crypto conference.
“Game theory is simply this,” Josie says while she was eating her Burrito and Angelie was eating her Soul Bowl, “The players in a contained environment monitor each other. Should one player become corrupt, the other players will either alienate, monitor, or make attempts to modify the corrupt player to ensure equilibrium in the environment.”
“Isn’t that still a form of mind control?”
“Control for power.”
“It’s still operating in a zero sum, right?” Angelie asks, “like if one player does something bad, it would mean at the cost or sacrifice of another person.”
“Yes, I guess you can say that.”
“So, what God does in real time is that He plays in a non-zero-sum game. Meaning, if life in this reality were in a chess game, each player can only see the next move based on the players in its environment, but God can see the chess game in three dimensions–middle earth, as above, and so below. So there is another way to play the game in this matrix. It’s operating on miracles. When the player submit his or her will to God, God will move the player in such a way that that all players in its nodal network will experience a benefit. There will be no sacrifices in the non-zero-sum game because the player has allowed God to take over and move the chess pieces.”
Josie stops chewing and stares at Angelie for a brief moment.
“Josie, can we plant the seed of the Holy Spirit inside the crypto mainframe?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, how was the Death Star destroyed?”
“I didn’t really remember.”
“Do you remember that it was Luke, the Son of Darth Vader, who had access to the inside of the Star?”
“You destroy it from the inside?”
Whyhea calls Angelie to plant the seed of love in the heart of darkness.
Johnny Apple Seed
“My father is an emulator.”
“My grandfather is an emulator.”
“We are the monarchs,” Angelie tells Josie. “It’s not like the men in the emulators write their names and relatives in blood to sacrifice them, or maybe some do. But most don’t. Most people just turn a blind eye, perhaps in the form of neglect, as they go about life blindly, thinking they are getting somewhere when they have not the humility to listen for spiritual instructions or pay attention to signs, symbols, and sound thinking.”
They are in Josie’s apartment now. Josie had told her of a strange incident that happened not too long ago, where an emulator had accosted her in her own home. It started simple. She was carrying groceries to her apartment when a man offered to help her with it. When inside, he started telling her the most top secret and private information, as if he had known all along who she is. Josie had been going down the rabbit hole in research and it had finally caught up to her. Perhaps he was part of Anonymous, perhaps he was part of the Emulatarians, or both.
Something really similar had happened to Angelie. It was at the Starbucks next to Sage some 18 months ago. The man was wearing all black, had a blond pony tail that gracefully laid behind him, and he was watching her. She knew he was targeting her. It was some kind of operative. So she just stared right back at him. Rather uncomfortably, without any fear, but with love and adoration. It was a technique she had learned at Milestone. It was also the mirroring technique revealed in 1 Corinthians 13, verse 12. She kept staring and then finally smiled. She told him to come to him and he followed orders. “Where are you from?” she had asked him.
“Italy,” he told her. He looked like a biker and assassin. Probably both. He had asked her out on a date, taken her to an Italian restaurant, but not before gifting her with red roses. Her favorite kind of flower. It was the color of her roots.
During her third psychosis, she remembered being given the choice, like Kanye did, to join or to walk away. She knew that if she had taken Roxy to Dr. Dolittle for the surgery, that Roxy would not have made it out alive. He was part of the Emulatarians. Prior to her surgery, she had given the rose that the biker assassin had given to her. She saw a man prior to Roxy’s surgery watching her. She went directly to him and had offered the Rose that she was offered. The man refused. He was looking at the Rose, afraid of what its consequences would mean.
When she was at the veterans office, she had told Dr. Dolittle that she did not want Roxy to have the surgery. She said it in such a way that he understood that she was refusing their invitation. “Okay, then I can just take it directly off by popping it,” he had told her. It was Roxy’s pimple that looked like a tumor. He said it was an outgrowth of skin–perhaps a benign tumor, he had said. Angelie heard from Holy Spirit that it is the spells that define the substance. “I believe, Doctor, that you can just take it off without surgery from my understanding?”
The doctor had paused and considered. “Yes. I will be right back. It will take a few minutes.” Sure enough, ten minutes later Roxy was freed from the pimple outgrowth and Angelie had taken the Rose back home. Though the Emulatarians already knew where Angelie was staying, there was a powerful insulation of God’s holy wall of fire that Mel Novak had given her. He told her to read it every evening and morning–it is the armor of God, when she is out doing God’s work.
“Don’t ever go to Milestone,” she tells Josie while they were drinking Tumeric Chai tea, “It’s a cult.”
Angelie remembers attending the funeral of a friend who had taken the “leadership course” at METT that paralleled her “leadership course” at Milestone. They were both under a suicide spell because the high order priest and priestesses had played the zero sum game of control when people began to see with Jesus’ eyes the magick for what magick is. The only reason why she was not in a coffin was because there was a Bible next to her when the spell had began. Frankie had jumped off a building. It was the suicide spell and someone in the order had drawn his name as the sacrifice.
“It’s not a game,” she remembers Rylie saying to her on their date.
She knew through spiritual eyes that Rylie was a targeted for recruitment. She knew that he came from The Green Rites bloodlines and he had the power to break the curse when he receives the Good News of the miracles. He had once upon a time ago asked her if she would pray for him because he said that he was sure he was going to hell.
“You’re not going to hell,” she had corrected him, “I will pray for you to go to heaven. Jesus is faithful and true. You are going to heaven.”
The Samoan told the room of Drinker’s Den that he was a Blood that hung out with Crips who became the “other” in jail so he can stay away from the politics of identity. He began seeing himself as a spirit in a body when he was going through his recovery.
“The moment of miracle was when I was in Indio. I was helping a man going through delirium tremors. He was convulsing and I was trying to feed him as he had not eaten for days. His teeth began chattering, and next you know he threw up all over me. I was shocked, and I said, ‘damn,’ and then I said, ‘damn,’ again. The first damn was when he threw up on me. The second damn was the sudden realization that I could finally see me now. For the longest time, I couldn’t see the incomprehensible demoralization that the Big Book was talking about. When this man threw up, it hit me. I was able to finally see me. This is the miracle I have in my sobriety.”
He said in the panel meeting that the whole time he was searching for an identity out there, when it was inside and with him all along.
Angelie weeps for the man who thinks he is not good enough to experience the hope of salvation and deliverance. She weeps for the man who chooses the femme fatale who keeps him sedated and asleep rather than the one who is designed to activate, encourage, and transform his belief in himself and his relationship with God. Angelie weeps because she chooses to keep breaking her heart open.
Rock, paper, scissors.
Water shapes rock.
Water rusts scissors.
Water melts paper.
Rock, paper, scissors.
Water always wins.