“What Happened That Night” Fiction. Based on a Second Attempt.

“What Happened That Night”

Fiction. Based on a Second Suicide Attempt.

“It was like angels were…with her.” -Tim Ringgold

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.

That night, the mind was numb, the body was cold, and I knew I was in trouble. I was dropped off at my apartment in Santa Monica, by a Milestone colleague, an aspiring actress whose focus was about fame and Minnie Mouse money. I was wavering between two extremes—total mania—trying to prove to Dee, the actress, that I’m somebody and with utter depression and feelings of worthlessness. The emotions were rapid, in extreme highs and lows in intervals between five to ten minutes. I told her about my idea of the documentary journal, how I founded my non-profit, and all the cool musicians I’ve met when all she wanted to do was communicate to her boyfriend that she would be coming home late. Her cell phone battery died and my charger was in the car, in the Milestone parking lot in Culver City.

Little Bunny Foo Foo

When I was five, I read Little Bunny Foo Foo.

Who is bopping me on the head? I’m a field mouse and who keeps bobbing me? Or am I the bunny bopping the field mice on the head? 

And is the white witch going to turn me into a goon? It was apparent. Somebody had put a hit on me, or else this spell wouldn’t be cast…again.

Regardless, I was practicing magick in a mages school with one eye open and one eye shut.

It showed up in the form of a “transformational and educational program” that will deliver results. 

What do you want? Money? Relationships? Your dream job? They will unlock the esoteric secrets that were once only given to the elites and you should feel special because when you pay a low sum of $2,000, which is considered a superduper deal, you will discover how to transform your life into the life you’ve always wanted. 

I had taken the courses and after spending all my credit cards on it, after countless hours of “training” in an isolated room so that I may get willingly brainwashed into working for them for free, I was beginning to catch on to them. It came in the form of discernment through the Holy Spirit and it came down to their punchline: Life is empty and meaningless and it is empty and meaningless that it is empty and meaningless, and we create the meaning. 

That is simply a false religion. 

I started looking at the fruits of those who have been in the program for awhile. 

They are robotic, willful obeyers of the program, and they have given their lives over to it completely, at the cost of what? The girl I met who had enrolled around the same time I had enrolled in this program with was shot within the first month. The man of faith who enrolled all the way up to the Leadership program had lost his mother somewhere in that miasma. The man who invited me actively practiced sex magic and hypnotism, and the more I was in this program, the more I was running into witches, mages, and high-order priestesses with the same philosophy of being and becoming your own gods.

It was self-will run riot when we create the meaning. The idea is that out of the chaos, we create the order. The left-hand path is in becoming our own gods, and the rabbit hole of being open and aware of what others are doing helps us get activated, but being activated is just the first part, the second part is choosing a side, and the third part is getting spiritually rooted, strengthened, and built up from that root. 

I was still at a place of choosing a side, now that my eyes are opened, knowing Good and Evil. 

Left hand or right hand?

The left-hand path was my inheritance–Ancestor worship, the multiple deities–tons of choices with the opportunity of becoming my own god is tempting because it offers promises of power beyond what I currently have. 

The right-hand path is the salvation through Jesus Christ; it is the acceptance that most of us are being deceived by fallen angels whose objective is to harness our souls like the naive oysters in the tale of the Walrus and the Carpenter. I did not like the idea that I was foolish or being deceived, I did not like the idea that we are living in a world of sin, that the devil only has three objectives for us–to steal our joy, to kill our mission, and to destroy our souls (by harnessing it for himself).

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. -Job 10:10 KJV

This idea is a lot more negative and I had initially rejected this idea. How can evil call itself good? Through lies it could. But then again, an ego-death happened that helped me accept this ugly truth. The one I loved the most could be the most deceiving, hurtful, and manipulative—and that’s when I have accepted evil for evil. Evil comes through people, weaving through the shadows, hidden and insidious, pervasive like the air, in that it is like a live virus that operates in all of our vessels, lying dormant.

 

That is why Dr. Jordan Peterson stated that we are all capable of being the Nazi. He’s right. I’ve seen it in my own best friend—if he is capable of throwing me under the bus by calling me crazy to cover up his infidelity, then he is capable of selling me off to gain personal riches and capable of putting a hit on me just so he can be rich and famous. This is not a man you want to have kids with, and that is the worst version of himself.  And I fell in love with him which means that I am just as capable of doing all that to somebody else. I am an exact mirror of his lower version in this simulation.

The reality is that Jesus is only Spirit that can break such powerful strongholds and deliver me through the second hit against my life. Evil operates through spells and magick, and by now I had already known quite a few practicing wiccans and witches who show up in the guise of well-intentioned humans for humanity, but at the end it is the willful blindness to our own follies, a rigorous inventory of our own inadequacies, it is the realization that we are all the “underground men” as quoted in Peterson’s Book, 12 Rules for Life. With this self-awareness, I can only begin to conceptualize the “we are all one” process of the individual war within. Given the circumstances, we are all capable of doing monstrous things to each other in the name of fame, reputation, fortune, and self-vainglory.

I looked into the root of Milestone and discovered that it was a pyramid scheme without the dot on the top. That was when I realized that Milestone is run by high-level wizards and witches who have created themselves to be high-level corporate entities that are up to “great” things in this world. The first clue was when the documentary filmmaker, Jonesy,  had told me point blank, “It’s a cult,” when I told her that I was in the Milestone program. 

She had produced a documentary on cults.

The Milestone technique was simple enough: 

Through deep listening, listen for the desires of other people’s heart, the way satyre knew how to listen for the desires of the heart. Then stand for that possibility by speaking into existence through the mirroring technique of repeating back that which is possible for them. That’s the hook. Gain their trust so that you can offer them a sinker. The sinker is the one that is quite insidious. This one is the big ask. It’s when you have effectively gotten the fish to willfully open its mouth and have its own flesh pierced by the metal hook.

This is the sinker: 

Join Milestone. 

And your wish will be fulfilled. 

Wishes

You were peddling wishes for satyre and the spell I was under the delusion that I was helping them, the same way the nurses and doctors were deluded into thinking they were helping me when they injected the Haldol substance into my body. The Haldol is what had me masturbating and running around the hallway in the hospital that second 51/50. That and perhaps a possession from a stronghold through sex magick, without even realizing that it’s called sex magick. We call it promiscuity or just “hooking up” and “having fun.” Whatever you call it, however you want to package the product, and the product is still the same—it’s sex magick opening up portals to daemonic possessions and influences that cause the person to go astray from his respective narrow path. 

The people I chose to surround myself with treated sex like it was a sport and love like it was an abstract painting, something to be admired from far away and discussed like it was a keynote presentation. Promiscuity is expressing love because we are now capable of manipulating its meaning since we created it, so the human touch, making love with multiple people and their multiples, until we spread “the love,” is but another way for all of us to create the hive mind, to spin the web of lies upon lies, until you become the field mouse or the Bunny Foo Foo waiting to get your head bopped or waiting to get turned into a goon. I thought I was doing everybody else a favor by being in their lives, “enrolling” them into a possibility of their dreams like I was some kind of wishmaster, some magician, pulling tricks out of a hat, and then vaingloriously walking around thinking I’m serving my higher purpose here.

“You look at a person’s fruits,” one close pastor told me. 

“Don’t just believe the first thing you hear. Look at the fruits of their labor.”

It was my psychologist who told me the confidential records of what happened that evening. 

“You were running around naked and masturbating.” 

This was when they had already taken me to the ER. I don’t remember that, but I do remember I was on my period. I do remember that I had requested that my roommate call 911. 

The urgency to kill myself was an emergency.

You think perhaps it was your roommate who had put a hex on you, but it really could have been anybody. He looks friendly but you quickly realize that somewhere inside, he had compromised, perhaps sold a few friends out in an attempt to get to the top of the pyramid. He was already aspiring to become famous–a model perhaps. His roommate that stayed in the apartment, had confessed that he was drugged at a party and woke up naked in a strange man’s house in Hollywood. These drug parties were so common. 

It was GHB. 

At least he did not wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a phone that says “Call 911” because he’s missing an organ. Make no mistake it’s a pyramid scheme. California is currently hot, as someone had already said to me on the inside. And it is the overtake of such. My roommate was taking a shower when I had put the penny in my throat. And then a razor cover. I didn’t want to swallow the razor itself because it would have been too painful. 

Dying is the most cowardly and courageous act. 

Figuring out how to die and then going through with the pain of dying are two different worlds. And when I had both the penny and the razor in my throat, I laid down on the bed, hoping to just pass on through asphyxiation.

The air was thin and my breath was thinning. I started imagining that I was a fish, a tadpole perhaps, or perhaps it wasn’t an imagination–perhaps I was already moving onto the next form–a reincarnation? A downgrade? And as colors became white and my heart was beating at intervals of every other second, it suddenly occurred to me–what if this was the hex?

What if it was the spellings of all the Milestone folks that’s causing this spell to take a stronghold on me? These magick influences that are remotely controlled by high-level priest and priestesses? They call themselves Masons, Luciferians, Satanists, who study Crowley, Pike, and other “Light-bearers”? To the human being, they think they are just playing Tarot cards, Ouija boards, and childish games, but on a supernatural realm, this is being played out in a different dimension. It could be because I had already caught onto Elsa, the high-level witch, perhaps a 33rd degree, who shows up as a Milestone Leader—a high performing leader of integrity is the setup. 

And the more I started listening for her intentions behind her cause in the matter, the more I realized she was creating a spell for the room. It is mass hypnotism in action. And my deep listening of her caused her to notice that I was interfering since she couldn’t help but notice that I was listening into her rather than doing what I was told to do—to listen for a group of people I was assigned to listen for. To pay attention to details of human beings who were being transfixed by the spell and that would be my target. 

It’s all a game for the Milestone cult. 

But I was listening to her and standing for her salvation in the sidelines.  I had learned their techniques and I realize that most of their techniques are just the laws of compassion and true humility—to be completely in their space, space, and mindset. Now integrating the parts that are of God, and fighting for the Right hand team, knowing the strategies, manipulation tactics, and hypnotic mind tricks of the enemy gives you an extra advantage in the spiritual war of souls. 

For the occultists, it is about numbers, and it is being played out like it was some kind of video game being played out, and it was all empty and meaningless, so we create the meaning, like mirrors facing each other.  It creates a house of illusions—a trap, a lie that creates more lies, into one big lie, spoiling and festering. 

No wonder the French government banned them. 

They had caught on. 

Too many deaths, suicides, and sacrifices. Before I had finally left, I had overheard that one of my classmates, a Christian minister who was using the skills of listening, humility and compassion–tools the Milestone uses, had gone through a tragedy. His mother had died and many sympathies around, but somewhere in my heart, I knew that something is amiss. 

This beast system was designed to crush the souls of God’s people. Being at Milestone was like being on Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island. It may be fun initially to play and frolic, but the end game is always to turn the children into jackasses for slavitude.

They came after your loved ones if they couldn’t get to you, and if you don’t obey, then you’re their next target.

But the Good News is that a faithful believer has more power than the most malicious power of the dark arts, because the believer has the blood of the Savior’s grace upon them, covered by the blood of the sacrificed lamb, thereby nullifying the spell of the source-er.

The good news behind this is this:

16 For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. 

-John 3:16

and the testimony of John Ramirez.

Jesus delivered. 

He is the Good Shepherd, and when the spiritual battle started, Jesus stayed faithful and true.

I came out of the spell as soon as that voice shouted at me, it’s a trick! It’s a spell! Wake up! 

I got up and started heading to the bathroom. I knocked on the door. My roommate was still taking a shower. I knocked and knocked until finally, the sound of the shower stopped.

“Yes?”

“Remmy, I think I’m trying to kill myself.”

“What? Hold on.”

A few moments later, he gets out and opens the door, “What’s going on?”

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think I’m trying to kill myself right now. I need you to watch me. I have a penny and a razor cover in my throat.”

He went to the living room and just sat on the living room table. He was shocked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Can you call my friend German?” I said.

“Yeah, what’s his number?”

“It’s in my phone.” I gave him the phone and he started calling. And then while that is happening, I looked at the bathtub. It looked so tempting. Pictures of myself in the bathtub soaked in my own blood. 

Romantic death was the seduction.

“Get me out of here, Remmy,” I left the bathroom.

“What do you want me to do?” was Remmy’s reply.

“Call 911,” I replied.

Magick and Wishes

Magick is operated through wishes and wishes are self-will run riot. The truism is true: Be careful what you wish for, because you may just will it into existence. 

Rumpelstiltskin would say, “All Magick has a Price.”

Milestone reveals that we are all meaning making machines in the matrix. It’s all one big joke and punchline. And while what they reveal is 99% of the truth, they leave out the 1% that makes all the difference in the world for us—in the world of empty and meaningless, there is actually one true meaning.

The true meaning

 

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

The true meaning is love. The true meaning is God. The true meaning is our purpose existing here to serve God by mastering Love as defined through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, by walking his talk, and yes, we are living in the matrix, ruled by the principalities of free will among humans, angels, and fallen angels in one big dance battle.

The dot on the top of the pyramid is meaning.

Any pyramid that doesn’t have a point is empty and meaningless.

Because the pyramid doesn’t have a point. 

Milestone left that out, and so I was creating spells and casting them like some self-proclaimed producer, operating at high levels of  possibility with a higher rate of integrity through a false weapon of humility, in the name of spiritual growth, in the name of saving their lives, in the name of fulfilling wishes for myself. 

And all of it was empty and meaningless.

I had hit a wall of existence. That morning, I had a very close conversation with an attractive man I had met in Philadelphia who gave me the world of his experience going on the Ayahuasca journey in Peru so that he may encounter Mother Aya, the original spirit of Fallen Eve and the Ying side of the Force.

“I found myself scared to let go and I was sinking into a bottomless pit of hell. The gravity was heavier and heavier like I was Atlas holding the world on my shoulders. The Shamen was there telling me to let go, let go, and I kept holding onto whatever it was. The great snake came out from my mouth, swirled around and stared straight at me.  I was horrified, glorified, and paralyzed, and it was so beautiful, awesome and frightening, all at the same time. The Shamen told me about compassion. Let go of the judgment, he said to me, and when I got that it was my identity on this earth that I was holding onto and that identity is an illusion in itself, that was when I began floating out of the confines of the room where I was having the tea ceremony. And from there, it was like a magic carpet ride but without the carpet. I was flying like Peter Pan but with lightning speed, riding that dragon on the roller coaster across the galaxy. I felt this beautiful ray of light—pure love and goodness surrounding me wherever I went. 

And this voice, Mother Aya’s voice, coaxing me that everything was going to be alright, that I’m in the right place, and this is where I came from, where I will be going, and where I am destined.”

The share excited me. I wanted to go back to the kingdom from whence I came, not in this fleshly human body bag reduced to pain, suffering, and living. There was a level of impatience I had felt, a tinge of jealousy that he gotten a peek into what it was like back home, rather than still live out this mission on prison planet. I knew I wanted to visit and meet mother Aya, but I also knew that I could probably one-up my friend by just having the courage to stop breathing so I can take my permanent Ayahuasca journey out of this matrix. 

I was so excited to leave already. 

Skip this mission and just go. 

There was a part of me that felt isolated once again. Somehow, enough was never good enough–it’s not good enough to be a human being with human complexities like mine, and I felt once again like I was made wrong, and the rumors of my strangeness were floating around. There were already rumors circulating that I wasn’t all there.

It was then, I knew something was wrong. I was under, yet again, another unholy spell through an unholy alliance of operatives in the deep state or hidden societies/clubs. Perhaps it was my name on a death note, or perhaps it showed up in a form of a Tarot Card. Whatever it was, my name was greenlit by hits from the wizards, witches, and wiccans and they expected the daemon castings to make it happen for them. 

It was magick.

Zero-sum sacrifice.

Little did they know that I was already taking the techniques of the Christian word and applying it to spiritual warfare.

melnovak – after ministry warfare prayers

Ephesians 6:12

No weapons formed against me shall prosper.

I am rooted in Christ Jesus. 

A Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing.

“I was?” I vaguely remember how I ended up at the hospital, my second suicide attempt, and my three day suicide hold at Mission Community Hospital.

“Well it says here in your file,” he looks at the computer screen, “you were running around the hallway naked and masturbating.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” I say embarrassed.

What I do recall was being held down by multiple people, handcuffed, and tied back.

What I do recall was looking at the security—a Black security and a Mexican security and seeing the ugliness of their sins. Knowing that I can play with their minds. I was bleeding out—I was on my rag—but it didn’t matter when I started sticking my finger inside playing with myself while looking at them—know that they are both getting turned on—knowing that they are useless, pieces of shits, getting turned on by the demon that had possessed me.

Shortly after I was baptized, a Black and Red dream came to me. It was a black barn that looked like an obelisk corporate building with sharpened dark glass exteriror, so nobody can look inside, yet you were able to go inside, because you had the exclusive VIP access, straight to the top. Inside this building, I smelled death, tired groans, and occasional screams from tortured men, and the walls, the floodlights, the sight of hanging body parts, all red—all blood red. Somewhere in the middle, sat a calm old granny on a granny chair. She looked at me and told me it was my turn to take over her throne—to emasculate these men—I saw men caged screaming for dear life, I saw men’s body parts, strung from the ceiling top, like some classroom project, and I felt the power that satan wanted to give me.

Red. Blood. 

Masturbating in front of two men with black uniforms. 

Red. black. red. black. Dreams.

I only remember bits.

In my second psychosis, at the hospital, I saw bits that stuck:

I saw a Los Angeles Milestone leader having intercourse with the woman who was leading our seminars. They were on an alter doing it, even though he was like a father to her. But since they created the meaning, they made it mean something completely different than what it actually is–committing fornication in the act of worshipping physical pleasure to praise the Baphomet daemonic energy, making it to mean all love.

Then, I saw that I was indeed in the matrix. 

There were scientists hacking the codes to get me to stay alive. It was a whole team of scientists saving my life from a different dimension. Then, I saw all my friends coming in and out of the ER room where I stayed. There was Santana smiling at me, there was Dee and Grace, Pappi, German, and all those who cared about me, my sister, my parents, my friends who came in and out and said to me, “This is it, and it is perfect. This is not a test. Fight.”

And so I got up. My breathing was still thin. The objects were still stuck in my throat somewhere. And there was a whiteboard and it had the name “Angel” on it. 

“Angel” with two wings on it, in purple marker.

I fix my gaze at Angel and I keep staring. I know I have a penny and a razor cover in my throat. I think I’m dying because my consciousness keeps on fading, so some voice tells me to concentrate on the name, “Angel.” 

It’s an angel—he, she, or it is counseling me.

Read the words out loud. Say it with integrity.

“Angel,” I shout.

I look to my right—there were many faces walking across the door outside—a Mexican—he’s Santana, I realized, even though he wasn’t, but his spirit was. Then I saw a woman, she’s someone I know too, even though her face was different. 

I saw my mother, my father, my friends, passing by. 

One of the attendants said to me, “Get it together. This is it.”

That’s when I knew. I had to fight. 

It was like the many nights when a presence would freeze me and suffocate me during my sleep. I had to fight it. Or else I die. And not just any death. It would be a trial and the devil will argue for my ultimate death—he wanted my soul and wanted me to detached from God’s presence. The devil would argue that I had killed myself out of hopelessness, but I have already believed that Jesus is my lord and savior. I knew I would be delivered because God’s Love is stronger than all. 

Yet, somehow, it didn’t get to that. 

The good angels were coaching me while I was still in and out of consciousness. 

It wasn’t going to go that far.

The angels did this by reminding me of all the people I will make a difference for—I don’t recall how I got in the ambulance. What I do recall was while I was there, there was white light. A feeling of intense love. Concentric circles. I was floating on air. I felt so much love— the light was pouring on me. To my right was German and to my left was Malachi. They were both looking at me while I was laid on the gurney of the ambulance. White light surrounded them. Their faces were lit up. 

Then, a horrible feeling came across me. 

What if I was a sacrifice? 

What if I died so somebody else could get money from it? German would produce a film and D&B would dedicate a song that would be a hit.

So is this how the satanic music industry works? People pity but they also get famous off of other people’s deaths. Names are written in secrecy in death notes for magicians to work magick. It’s a zero-sum game.

Focus, the angel said to me. Focus on the love.

The satanic sacrifice did not happen, I remind myself. I am here being gurneyed into the ambulance because my roommate did call 911 and he did stay by my side, even when the temptation was strong in him to run. The reality is that my roommate stayed. And German showed up at the E.R. though he was not allowed to see me. And if Malachi knew, he would have also shown up as well. 

But it doesn’t have to get to that. Focus on God and God’s goodness.

It was the two ladies in the ambulance—I overheard one of the girls say that they can patch it in as an assault. Did I assault one of them? I don’t even remember how I got in the ambulance. 

Looking back, it was probably a possession.

I remember inside the ER, I was fighting for my life because the two pieces—the penny and the razor blade cover, were still inside my throat:

Below the word, “Angel,” were two other names, which I also vehemently repeated. Next to the whiteboard, was the “How are you feeling today” poster that had the yellow happy faces. I read all the emotions starting from the top to down. I did this several times and by the third time, I was screaming at the top of my lungs, the people came back but right before that happened, whatever was stuck in my throat was now passing through.

I was breathing again.

I realize at that moment, at all times, Heaven and hell are watching—playing tug of war for my soul—again and again, and again. 

The last time I had experienced the presence of spiritual tug of war was in 2013.

This time, it was in 2015.

It was never about the money–it was about harvesting souls. 

If we all knew what the point of living is–love and relationships–there would be more potlucks, more safe spaces to share our most intimate stories, give more hugs, cry on people’s shoulders, and allow the tears to wash away the pain that we’ve kept hidden in our hardened hearts.

Buddha is sitting still in the present moment so we can understand how every second that passes is a moment of choice. We are the star of the show. 

I am the star of the show—yet, if I choose to be arrogant about it, I lose. 

If I choose to be grateful, humble, and happy about it, I win.

And when I was institutionalized, I found grace in the people who were there with me–the patients were just as human, just as deserving of love, of the kingdom, of spiritual presence and essence as I was. They were just like me. I couldn’t look away. They had taken away any electronics, and I heard the stories of those who have gone through unbearable pain, witnessed things that most people would cave in the pressure of seeing.

Where is my root? 

I had to completely surrender. 

No more creating my own possibilities.

Surrender and allow God to shape me so that I can learn how to co-create with God. The weight of Being is a lot less when we can Trust God to bear it for us. 

Jesus has bore the cross already. Give it to Him.

Let go and let God. 

Love and Blessings, 

 

Angelie

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