Just What We Need, Another Preacher of Hate

I’m not sure if it was my next incarnation on this planet, or just the one I remember next, but it was in the American Southwest. I was a preacher, although I don’t remember the denomination. I had a small parish in a dusty town built of wood and adobe.  The church was made of wood like everything else. The sermons I gave at first were of repentance and taught of an angry god, filled with hate and vengeance.  It was the message that I wanted at the time.  It was also the message my parishioners wanted to hear. I would slam my fist and scream at the sinners in my view, telling them how much their actions were an abomination to god, and he cried tears of blood just looking at their wretched souls.

A short while after I settled with my congregation, I met a man who would become my spiritual counselor and God’s own agent of mercy and understanding. An old soul who had lived on earth many lifetimes named Whispering Winds. When I say that he was an old soul, I realize that we are all the same age in God’s mind, but I use those words to project that he seemed more awake than I was or anyone I had seen in that space and time. He called me by the name: One Who Goes with Beauty, and I spent many nights with him in his village learning the ways of the spirit and being guided by him. We formed a deep love and remain friends to this day. He has transcended this plane, but I can still reach him from time to time when my mind is quiet and I am at peace. It is impossible to connect with anyone unless you share the same internal vibration. And to reach Whispering Winds requires a deep meditation.

His tribe was overrun the same way my tribe was overrun many continents and life cycles before. Whispering Winds confided that his tribe had, many lifetimes and millennium ago, dominated the continents with a sophisticated and hungry society and had oppressed, enslaved and destroyed other tribes. So in his mind, it was only fair that his people would be a target of retribution. He told me that he had seen the same, angry god I carried in my heart in the men he had lived with many lifetimes before, and so he knew where our tribe was headed. He explained that there was no stopping the desires of the hungry ghost, but instead it is important to pay attention to what we desire instead and make adjustments to our inner world and let the outer world take care of itself.

Today we may want to keep that in mind when we send bombs and armies into foreign nations and destroy the lives of people that stand in our way of material desires. Like my spiritual friend, we may one day get a comeuppance.

I watched his tribe dwindle and eventually all but disappear. Towards the end, he and I spent long hours in deep meditation until one eventful night we were visited by a few members of my old tribe who helped shepherd many of Whispering Winds’ family into a higher plane of existence. I watched with tear-filled eyes as he, too, became translucent, and I felt deep loneliness with his departure.

After he was gone and his tribe had either left, died or been assimilated I changed my sermons and started to preach forgiveness and love. It was not well-received, and my parishioners became unsettled and eventually I was excommunicated. I attempted to make a trek East, but froze to death that winter in the Midwest.

I can remember feeling very alone and cold, and then suddenly my spirit lifted out of my body and I floated gently for a while and then skimmed and darted around the earth until I found my next incarnation in Russia. I didn’t realize at the time that I was not ready for another pass, and that life ended very young. I spent a lot of time in an orphanage and was shot in the back for a loaf of bread and a few coins.

Another boy in the orphanage mistakenly thought his salvation depended on some molded crust of bread I had saved and what amounted to a few pennies. I heard the bang and felt the bullet bite into my skin. I remember light dimming and felt his hands prying my own little hand open, and then I felt my pocket being molested. Then I felt nothing for a while.

Sometimes life is short and it is a blessing. That life was a good example. Scarcity is a trick the ego uses to keep us on edge and in fear. And as a little kid, surrounded by poverty and fear, being shot was not as sad as you might think. Every moment of every day was lived with the sharpness of fear, at the surface, raw and piercing. It felt like a giant screaming in my head to run, but not telling me where and then laughing when I froze in panic.

The bullet entering my lower back and exiting through my stomach allowed the tension to escape. The pain I felt was intense but it faded quickly. What I was left with was a warm blankness. Sometimes life outside a body is without consciousness. It’s a moment gap that doesn’t take any shape, color or size, and is gone before it begins. It’s what happens to atheists when they die. A wonderful feeling of nothing.

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