Don’t let them write your life for you.

Every now and then Yeshua (Jesus) allows me a view into what his life was really like during his time. He makes comments about how the doctrines and practices shape the belief system of how people perceive his life. Though in fact he does not recognize his life as it is written. He has voiced this complaint to me many times.

Today he lead me out on the internet in a search for the high points in his life as written in the bible and search for parallels in other religions. I was amazed at the results.

Yeshua said, “ They rewrote my life to fit into a particular pattern that would be acceptable to the people. More familiar to the people. There has been criteria that ‘Saviors’ and ‘Messiahs’ have been made to fit into whether it was true or not.  One or two items on the list might actually be true about the person, including me, but the rest of it was borrowed from this criteria list.”

He went on to say, “My life as depicted is not my life. Some of the miracles are intact that are about the healings and exorcisms. Some of the teachings are intact although not complete. Many of these things have been changed or embellished.”

He then stopped talking for a moment and took both my hands and leaned his face down to mine and said, “Write your stories of your life experiences while you are still living. Publish them and get enough copies of it out to the people. Do not let them do to you what they did to me.  Do not let them rewrite who you are and what you did in your life. You need to break the belief pattern, the ‘Savior’ and ‘Messiah’ pattern.”

Then he stressed. “ You need to be remembered as Mother wishes you to be remembered, not how man wishes to create your life for you.”

I looked back at him and stated, “ Well, the pattern breaking has already started off on the right foot then,” I paused as he looked at me and then I continued, “ I am not male.”




Watch out! An Angel is driving.

Having conversations with my angels and other guardian spirits is not unusual for me, but the other day one stepped into body while I was driving. He was one of my more familiar angels and he liked driving the car with me.

He said, “ I have a story to tell you today.”

“Ok. Go ahead,” I responded while feeling his energy both through me and around me. He was definitely driving today.

“Those like myself help to guide people through their lives. Sometimes it is like when you drive your car. Except in our realm we are the drivers. We have a hold of the steering wheel. We try and guide people thru their life. We help them out and keep them on their path during this time.” He paused for a moment and then went on as I listened.

“Some people have strong egos or are influenced by other people. These are the people who at times need us to grab a hold of the steering wheel firmly to straighten them out.  Sometimes, they fight it so hard that they cause themselves to crash into a wall. A few of them we are able to divert away from the wall before they crash. Others are allowed to crash because they are so set in their path of destruction, it is the only way they are able to change direction and head in the right direction.”

I interrupted here. “What if they do not change direction?”

“Then they are allowed to back up and go forward again and again into that wall until they either get tired, get stuck or get other help by asking for it,” he said. “Sometimes it takes what you call a tow truck to pick them up and move them. That would be a whole group of us.”

I could feel him grin and then suddenly get serious again.

“ Some people we can steer through life using both hands, but a much lighter grip. They pay attention a bit better than others. Some only need to be guided with one hand, but those who bring us great joy and who communicate with us only need one finger on the steering wheel to guide them,” He concluded.

About that time I arrived at my destination and parked the car. I thought about what had been said for a moment and knew he was waiting for the question.

“Which one am I?” I asked.

“You have been all of them. You have improved as time has gone on. It is as it should be.” With this he let go of the steering wheel and the energy of his presence faded. The lesson was over.


Pure Karma

In a shadowy room the morning sunshine was trying to break through the cracks between a pair of badly hung blankets draped over a curtain rod. The room was in disarray. The closet was overloaded with clothing so much that it looked like it had vomited the contents out across the floor. The room smelled of a musky body odor from the clothes that were in need of laundering. Mixed in was the smell of incense meant to hide the stench.

The sound of two people snoring emanated from the bed. One snorted in the middle of a snore so loud that she woke herself up. Slowly emerging from under the blankets she yawned and then groaned. Even the action of yawning hurt her head. She sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes just holding her head in her hands and trying to get her bearings enough to stand up.

A rush of nausea and a bursting bladder sent her into a sudden lurch for the bathroom. Pulling down her underwear and plopping her butt down on the toilet gave her bladder permission to let forth a steady stream of urine.

She grabbed the trashcan next to the toilet and vomited loudly into it finishing with a couple of dry heaves and a loud belch. Grabbing the toilet paper she pulled off a large wad and wiped her mouth and threw it in the trashcan. With another wad of toilet paper she wiped the urine from her underside, got up and kicked off her underwear tossing it with her foot into a pile of dirty laundry on the floor of the bathroom.

The person in the bed was still snoring and oblivious to what had occurred in the bathroom. Satisfied, she closed the bathroom door and picked up a toothbrush and toothpaste. Squeezing a stripe of paste on her toothbrush she shoved it in her mouth and cleaned her teeth. The ritual ended with a spit in the sink and a swish and spit of water tinged slightly with blood.

Sniffing her armpits she then took off her tank top and reached into the shower and turned on the water. She ran a quick brush through her hair and stepped into the refreshing water.

In the bedroom the occupant of the bed got up and looked at the alarm clock.

“Shit!” he grumbled and got up and quickly found his clothes. Stumbling around he managed to get dressed. Near the door was an open purse. He went over to it. Looking first to the bathroom door he could hear the water of the shower running. He rifled through the purse and pulled out a wallet. There was a twenty and a few one-dollar bills in it. He snatched the money and threw the wallet down next to the purse and ran out the door slamming it behind him.

The slam of the door reverberated through the thin walls of the apartment.

“Sam?” The woman yelled from the shower. No answer. She shut off the shower and grabbed the tattered robe off the back of the door and ran out into the bedroom. A quick scan told her Sam was no longer here. She quickly moved toward the entry door and noticed her purse was on its side and the open wallet next to it. She looked in the wallet. Empty.

“Son of a bitch!” She said under her breath.

She opened the front door to an empty hallway. Slamming the door she ran to the bedroom and threw open the sliding door while grabbing a flowerpot with a dead unidentifiable plant in it.

Down on the street below was Sam just getting into a cab.

“Sam!” she screamed at him. He looked up and quickly moved into the cab.

“You thief! Don’t ever come back here!” with those words she flung the flowerpot at him. It smashed into the street as the cab rushed away.

Across the street a group of teenagers in jeans and t-shirts start catcalling and wolf whistling at her. She suddenly realized her robe was opened. She brazenly looked at the boys and grabbed both sides of her robe and flashed them. She then closed her robe, flipped a birdie at them and went back inside her apartment slamming the sliding door shut.

One of the blankets had fallen off the curtain rod and sunlight streamed across the floor and hit a shiny silver object. She went over and picked it up. A smile came over her face and then a chuckle. It was Sam’s new iPhone.  She pulled the back off and removed the battery.

“Don’t need you to using a GPS program to locate this baby.” She said to herself.

Walking back over to her purse she dug around and found her phone and made a call.

“Hey, how you been? I need to sell a new iPhone. Can you move it for me? Sure, see you in an hour. Bye.” With that she closed her own flip phone and put it back in her purse. Crossing over to the kitchen she located a zip baggy and sealed the iPhone in it and took it back to her purse and threw it in.

“Karma is a bitch,” she yelled out loud. “Pure karma.”

With that said, she headed back to the bedroom in search of something that would be clean enough to wear.


He said, “…and then, of course, it jams up the process if a person exhibits doubt in any form. Doubt causes hesitation. Hesitation takes up precious response time because time continues to tick and move forward, even though the person is momentarily frozen, because they are unable to make a critical decision. This inability to make a decision leaves them wide open and incredibly vulnerable for attack.”

Then he continued, “This is a major display of weakness that can be taken advantage of by those who are watching for just a moment of opportunity. It only takes a millisecond for those who would take advantage of that opening to launch a precise and deadly blow and bring down the entire project.”

His verbal instructions were stern and quite serious. He looked at the faces of his audience to make sure he had their full and undivided attention.

“Focus,” he said, “Focus is vital. You must pour every part of your being into this project. All else that is going on in your life is nothing, but a mere distraction. You must remain in the moment, here and now. Do not allow yourself to be swayed. Stay in the zone.”

Pausing for a moment he noticed a person checking their smartphone. He walked over and lightly smacked that person on the side of the head to get his attention. The person quickly put their phone back in their pocket and turned various shades of red.

“Case in point,” He continued pointing to the embarrassed smartphone user. “This person became very distracted and just left himself open to attack. He just wasted precious time that will never be recovered. It made him a weak link. It allowed me to take advantage of the situation and to get the upper hand and strike out for the attack. Now this person is in a state of embarrassment and doubt as to whether he will have enough focus to stay on track with this project. I am afraid I will have to dismiss you from this project. The door is over there. Thank you for your time.”

The smart phone user gathered himself and left the room in shame.

The speaker again looked out at his audience. They were now all focused. He had control of their attention. No one else wished to be made example of. Leaning over he tapped the first balanced domino.


Chosen Martyr

The first time I studied the Gifts of Spirit, as laid out in the biblical terms, I saw one that I did not want. That gift was the Gift of the Martyr. As time went by Spirit started having me teach classes on this very subject of the Gifts of Spirit. Each time I taught it I would stop at that particular Gift of the Martyr again.

About the third time I ran the class I could feel a Spiritual Presence. I knew this Presence was that of Source, our Creator, who at that time always introduced Herself as to me Mother, the feminine essence of Source and She was now waiting for me to make a decision. Having Mother personally waiting meant something more was expected of me rather than my refusal to accept this particular gift. In the past, in this lifetime, I had said I would accept all gifts that would be given me, but not this one. Now I was being faced with a decision.

“All My gifts are worthy. Why do not you accept this one as well?” my Source asked.

Having it put to me that way, I choose to accept this gift with the commitment of my heart and my soul. Instantly, upon doing so I could feel the energy of Mother flowing down on me as if I were standing beneath a gentle waterfall. The receiving of the gift lasted for several seconds and then Mother’s loving touch ended.

I went on about my work with Spirit for some time after that. Receiving messages from my own past lives on occasion, some who had died as martyrs and many more who did not die this manner, but were willing to take the gift of martyrdom, if necessary, as I understood it.

Recently, I had a vision given to me by Spirit. I only spoke about part of it on my radio show and withheld the other half of which I will speak of here.

I was walking beneath a great arched gate made of massive stones that were rough and yet perfectly fit together without the need of a mortar to hold them. The stones glistened with dampness as moss and mold clung to it.  Small flowering plants of several types I had not seen before grew from within the cracks between the stone. Many bore thorns. Beautiful and yet they could be deadly if handled without respect.

Just as I passed under the gate into a stone courtyard I felt drops of moisture hitting me. I wiped away a few drops that hit me on the arm and noticed it was red and sticky. I smelled it and it smelled of blood. I backed into the courtyard so I would no longer be hit with the drops and looked up. Foolish me, as I looked up my mouth was open and I was hit in the mouth with a drop of blood. I spit it out and cringed. On my belt was a set of binoculars and I pulled them from my waist with one hand to look skyward and determine what it was that was losing blood from such heights. There affixed to a hook near the top of a massive stonewall under which the gateway ran were the disembodied bearded, long haired heads of men who had the unfortunate end to their life by beheading.

I lower the binoculars dropped them to the ground and felt in my arms a small baby stirring. I looked at this child and noticed there were drops of blood upon its face as well.

I knew that this was a significant vision and called out to Source for it’s meaning.

“My child,” She answered, “ you have been a martyr in many lifetimes and so you shall be in this life. There is more meaning to this Gift than what people think. Not only is the Gift sometimes meant that one is to die for a reason of belief, but the most important meaning of being a martyr is to spend one’s life in service of Me. It does not always mean one is put to physical death, but brought into a rich Spiritual life while still living and bring others into that life as well.  The child represents the future generations who also will take up this life.”

With that said, the child disappeared and I turned to walk across the courtyard to a group of men and women sitting on benches around an old wooden rough hewn table. They were dressed in the robes of the ancient ones, from a time long ago. The men had long beards and the both the men and women appeared to be common people. No fancy decorations or jewelry were evident.

One man spoke to me as I approached them.

“It is good to see you again,” he said.

I did not specifically recognize either him or anyone else although there was the feeling of familiarity was about them.

I could feel Yeshua’s presence within me. “Yeshua,” I asked, “ are these people from your time and do you know them?”

Yeshua whispered, “They are from our time and yes, we know them”

There the vision ended.