It is a tragic tale of a fallen star, a wise shadow and a cunning serpent.

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Photo by Kristopher Roller on Unsplash

I will ask you to suspend your disbelief for the duration of this article. Sit back, relax and let me tell you a story. It isn’t a happy story. Not by a mile. In fact, it’s tragic. It might seem at times like what happens when God goes to sleep and has a bad dream. That’s me. I’m God’s nightmare. But that’s okay. Because that means God has to wake up. I’m screaming and I’m crying for my Father in heaven. I’ve given Him what He desired most in all of creation. A new experience. Now He knows Himself better than He did before. I created a wrinkle in time and space. God has all the answers. He needed another question. …


A ten-part series exclusive to Medium

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Image by Alex Myers from Pixabay

I’m writing this out of desperation so frantic and so profound that I’m afraid it might consume me before I get the chance to tell my story. My name is Silas Freedman and I am a ghost. No, we’re not ready for that yet. Let me back up. I was standing on the edge of my pool, preparing to hop in and swim a few laps when I felt this sharp pain in the side of my head. A second later I blacked out. Three minutes later I was dead. No. I’m sorry. Be patient with me. I usually write poetry. The memoir is uncharted territory for me. I have to figure out how to arrange thoughts so I can tell a linear narrative. In my brain, every piece of data is sorted by constellations of relevancy to my immediate emotional needs and long term strategic goals. Where other people might see movies in their heads or hear their own thoughts, I see stars and galaxies and the occasional black hole. It’s been like this since I was born. My mind has always mirrored nature. For some time I thought everyone’s mind worked like mine. It took many years of harsh lessons to convince me otherwise. Now I realize that no one thinks as I think. No one sees exactly what I see. And that’s fine. It’s grand, actually. I wouldn’t want to bump into myself everywhere I went. Diversity and malleability of consciousness are the hallmarks of creative genius. And God is nothing if not a genius. When I was young I wanted to dress up like God for Halloween. My parents stared down at me, confused. They asked me why. I told them He would scare the heck out of all the adults. …


You’ll have to do better than that

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Image by Sammy-Williams from Pixabay

I’ve been told I am unimpressive. This struck a nerve and wounded my fragile pride. Didn’t they know who they were talking to? A man so sensitive he tries to get stitches for paper cuts. A man so averse to criticism that if you roll your eyes in his general direction he won’t sleep for a week. A man so gosh darn egotistical that he thinks the sun is for him and the moon is for everyone else. This accusation is simply factually inaccurate. I am, and always have been, impressive. I will either impress you with my toughness, my intellect, my powers to better articulate what a person is thinking than the person themselves, or with the sheer intensity of my anger that threatens to burn the world to ashes. I can’t be ignored. My lived experience attests to this truth. I spent my whole life barking up the wrong tree, until someone sitting in a tree house one tree over invited me to come join them. I was eager for the opportunity and nearly jumped at the offer. It would have been bad form to actually jump. I would have broken bones. The gist of what I’m saying is this: I’m a freakishly special human-alien hybrid mutant who takes negative feedback and spins it into poetry for the soul. I make art. I make music. I make friends. I make enemies. I don’t sweat my enemies. They’re just pure hate. That’s easy to dismiss out of hand. But an interested 3rd party calling me out for being mediocre? That cuts like a scalpel. That takes my heart in two icy hands and squeezes it till it bursts. I despise mediocrity. I don’t think anyone is mediocre. Everyone is excelling at being their own unique selves. In this pursuit there can be no mediocrity. Nevertheless, the assertion stung. And it aligned with what my guides have been saying. They keep finding different ways to call me cheap. They say I’m a Scrooge. They say I pinch pennies. They say I’m holding back. How so? I write till my hands are swollen and aching, till my lower back goes out and my right knee fails me. What could I be holding back? What gift am I hoarding? Writing has always been my gift. Am I doing it wrong? It can’t be a quantity issue. I put out as much as my schedule and body will allow. Is it the quality? I have a recognizable voice and I write with a certain degree of competency. Granted, it isn’t all poetry, but sometimes you need a blunt instrument to build the house. What can I do? …


I am not content with the one I am living in

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Photo by Warren Wong on Unsplash

*density refers to level of spiritual advancement

I am running. I can’t let them catch me again. I think I’ll be running for the rest of my life. But no matter how fast or how far I run I will never be able to escape this mind that they tortured, twisted, polluted, poisoned, and programmed. They ensured that if they couldn’t have me then no one else could either. They ensured that I would never trust another human being. And I don’t. I think it’s all smoke and mirrors and if we pulled the curtain back we would see that we were merely higher density forces expressing themselves through the medium of 3D reality. It’s not about us, not really. We’re the drones. We’re the prison guards. We’re the artwork that is both educational and entertaining. No one is who they say they are because everyone is, in fact, no one. In our short lives here we strain, struggle, squabble and suffer and then we die without ever recognizing that there was no meaning in this for us. We were always dependent on higher planes for context. …


It’s time to let go

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Photo by Barry Weatherall on Unsplash

Some days I feel like I don’t exist. Other days I feel like I’m God. Still other days I feel like I am the king of the purple room. I remember watching the TV show Hannibal (highly recommended viewing) and Hannibal and Will Graham, the profiler, would have these therapy sessions. When they talked the direction of the show made it feel like they were the only people on earth. It gave the show a cosmic feel. Will is trying to operate under the rule of law,, to get justice and to ward off the darkness. Hannibal often kills out of pure curiosity. …


To give anything less than everything would be a cop-out

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Photo by Kazuo ota on Unsplash

This is one of those days where it seems like my spirit guides are being purposefully adversarial to teach me a lesson that I am disinclined to learn. I shouldn’t be so open. If I spend any mental energy worrying about something they will make me confront that something head-on, going so far as to orchestrate specific scenarios that force me to face my fears. Some days I want to be left alone. Some days the constant pressure is too much. …


Now that they’ve lit my flame I burn hotter and brighter than ever before

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Photo by Cullan Smith on Unsplash

I am not a frivolous person. It’s hard because my mental illness and my various addictions warped my personality and lent me characteristics that were not accurate reflections of my true self. So yes, when I was drinking I played Neopets for hours. Yes, when I was on Adderall I watched porn for hours. Yes, when I was popping Oxycontin I was in a state of idiotic bliss doing not much of anything for hours. But I am not a lazy person by nature. I am an anxious and depressed person who tends to retreat whenever a challenge presents itself. Anxiety makes me run away. Depression makes me hide. …


I’m traveling in a different direction

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Image by Ylanite Koppens from Pixabay

*Density refers to level of spiritual advancement

Factions are waging war over the human race. Our third density reality is colliding with fourth. This is causing the dream of third density to fray at the edges. It can no longer sustain itself. Fourth density is increasingly imposing its will on us and thus the fighting in the heavens is spilling out into our world with increasing frequency and intensity. It’s happening at every juncture of influence. The side of the angels is targeting every point of potential vulnerability in our society, from government and the military, to higher education, to the entertainment industry, to advertising, to big corporations, to protest movements, to social justice activism, to authors and poets, to sport stars, to social media, to YouTube and Instagram celebrities. They are attempting to instill their message of empathy, hope, love, kindness, sustainability, freedom, dignity, respect, compassion and cooperation. …


Let’s just let it all hang out, shall we?

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Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Today was supposed to be a better day than yesterday. I spent the entirety of yesterday with a feeling of unrelenting dread perched between my shoulder blades. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know what was expected of me. This is the trouble with long distance relationships. If one side isn’t crystal clear on their requests, and willing to repeat those requests, then the other side doesn’t know how they are supposed to act and why. A person cannot follow guidelines they were never given. People cannot come to conclusions without evidence. People cannot provide their own context to the mumblings of entities from the future who want you to know, but only sorta. You are meant to infer, while simultaneously not make any assumptions. You will be punished, but you won’t be told what you are being punished for. …


I’m taking the journey

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Photo by Nathan Fertig on Unsplash

‘All your music is moody and dark, Nate.’ Don’t get me started! — NF

I’ve been through at least ten titles this morning. Nothing felt right. Maybe it still doesn’t. But I just had to start writing so here we are. Usually in the mornings I’m energized and raring to go. Not today. Perhaps this is part of the universe’s mission to slow me down. I might stop writing. I might never come back to this piece. I know when I’m not wanted. Who wants to read eloquent whining from an old man who never grew up? We all must be tired of it by now. But there are still a few things I would like to say if the cosmos will allow it. I want to know how much of my broken heart was caused by my refusal to bend. I want to know if it’s the dissonance between what I told myself about how life should be and how life actually is that set me up for a fall. I want to know if my grief is a natural response to the loss of loved ones or if it is an exaggerated manifestation of mourning based on my inability to adjust to the reality of life on planet Earth. …

About

Timothy O'Neill

Storyteller. Poet. Recovering alcoholic. Mental health advocate. Dog lover. It’s time to wake up.

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