Believe me, when you’ve been traded like a slave, taken away from the land of your birth; raped, beaten and humiliated in every way from the age of 4… prayer means shit to you. So, what I’m about to share here is the true account of interesting facts that have had the power to transform my mind from an angry, vengeful demon into a beautiful, humble, friendly, supportive and benevolent angel. Impossible? Not quite…
From the bank of memories:
Before I was snatched from my home, one of the earliest memories I have is one of a naked man hanging from a cross. My parents who later in life I discovered were actually my grandparents, used to go every day to the church around the corner from our home. I can still remember the feeling of solemnity that place had and a life-size Christ welcoming all guests. Back then, the representation was so real to my child’s eyes, I could almost see tears of blood running down his cheeks, chest, knees and feet; the pain and the desolation of someone left alone to die.
I remember staring at every wound, every muscle, every tiny detail of the the humiliated man who in pain was still asked to hear my prayers. In all honesty, I just couldn’t. I don’t remember ever saying anything neither in my mind or out-loud. I had nothing to ask, I had everything I could possibly want.
On the day of my abduction, the moment when I registered pain consciously for the first time, was a shock. My mind couldn’t compute anything. I had no idea what was going on. One day I was happy, the next, I was inside a car having the top of my head hammered in one single blow and asked not to move and say nothing to anyone. I remember how inside my head I could see white, my eyes blurred but I couldn’t cry. We just sat in the back of the car in silence; my older brother was next to me. Even more scared than I was. The lights of his eyes were lost and he begged me without words to not move and do as I was told.
Did I pray on those moments? Fuck no, at least I don’t remember. There was no time to pray. God? what god? God for what or for whom? From that day onwards I was scared twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. After Abduction-Day, I hardly saw my brother again, although I knew that only a small wall stood between us during the nine years we lived caged. If not hundred percent in the body, we definitely felt caged in our minds.
The first time I remember praying was about 7 years into my new life of horror. The man of the family saw the birth of his firstborn son five years after my abduction. He, had a son and therefore I, a new baby brother… sort of. The little rascal was pretty but quite a devil as well. As he grew up, he knew how to manipulate every situation to make me do whatever he wanted. Bring him milk, toys, play with him, do as I was told. I couldn’t say no, or he would cry and I’d get beaten. This little child had everything I didn’t have, and over the years I resented that big time. Toys in Christmas and birthdays, freedom to watch TV, play or have friends. Nothing, I had nothing; just a bunch of fears and moments that went from healing my wounds, to be beaten and hurt again. A never ending cycle that fuelled the most powerful anger and resentment inside my heart. However, one day I wanted something especial… No, it wasn’t to go back to the loving arms of my family. At that point I could hardly remember them, I used to think that they could find me if they wanted to, and if they haven’t…. well, they didn’t want me back. No, I didn’t want toys or cakes, or freedom or love. I simply wanted a violin. – Ha! You didn’t expect that… did you?
Yes, a young boy with nothing in the world wanted a violin out of the blue. Of course, I had no Santa to whom to write a letter. So, I called god…
For months, maybe years I prayed every night my heart out to my god asking for a violin. I even knew where I wanted that violin to appear; inside the closet. And so, every night I’d pray and ask for my violin and every morning I’d wake up before everyone else and very quietly, hugely quietly I’d get up and search inside the closet for my beautiful god-given violin. And every morning the violin was not there, and every morning I got angrier. However, at night I’d give god another chance and with all my heart pray for my violin to appear during the day. It never did. Obviously.
I couldn’t believe how god didn’t grant me my wish when clearly I had the right to ask for anything. Specially after noncompliance of my new life. Never, not once I asked why me? Never I asked to have a different life, a painless happy life. Not once, I asked for my mother’s embrace or my fathers protection, and still, this “benevolent” god cannot do something as simple as appear a fucking violin in my closet in the middle of the night? I was gutted, I waited years… Years! to have one single wish, and not even that I got. God could go and fuck himself. I’m telling you that.
I hope by now you realise that if there is someone on this planet conditioned to NOT believe in god and prayer is me. So how did that all change?
It was 2012 and I was ready to die. I was tired and very sad. Nothing in life could bring hope or love into my heart. Up to that point I had tried everything, taking every opportunity to escape the reality of this world. Suicide? No, that didn’t work either, but in November 11, 2011 something wonderful happened: I began to die quietly, smoothly and painless. It truly was a gift from god and I welcomed it with a joyful open heart. In less than 3 months, I was in a coma with pneumonia and swine-flu.
Little did I know, I was not as alone as I always thought.
My mother, my real birth mom finally appeared.
Destroyed by guilt and sadness, she saw her child dying on hospital bed. Out of her reach, he lied apparently unconscious inside the infectious disease ward.
Doctors gave her no hope and asked for her permission to disconnect me the machine that kept me alive. She did not comply. Instead, she raised heaven and hell (mainly online and through social media) pouring her heart out to the world. She asked for prayers to save my life, and she got them. As a well known public figure, specially within the Latin world, she had the power and opportunity to reach out and be heard. As a Kundalini yoga and spiritual teacher she knew the way. In days, chains of prayer began forming across the globe. From the Mayan peninsula, La Tierra del Fuego to India and Europe, people joined in one single voice to pray for a woman’s child finally found.
In the meantime, whilst in coma…
I was awake and fully conscious of my existence, somewhere else, not here though. Still, with past and present experience, just not inside my body. On day nine of my time in coma, I had crossed already three dimensions. Call it 3 Stages of a Dream if you’d like. I’m just going to ask you when was the last time you had Choice within one of your dreams? – I had choice within that, whatever or where ever it was, and it was been acknowledged by whatever is that I am.
In those moments of dream-like quality I was presented with many choices, and at some point, after a long arduous journey, I had in front of me The Ultimate Choice. Are you staying or are you not?
In the last stage of my journey, a line appeared in front of me and behind it there were tall flames. Tens, hundreds of them, can’t say, but a lot. White spectrums of Beings standing next to each other, and everyone was there because of me. I couldn’t see faces or feet but I could recognise presence and a sense of familiarity. I could feel their love and how much they care. It was the most blissful moment of my entire recorded life. If forty years of pain had as reward only seconds of that blissful time, makes it all worth it.
Without hesitation I approached the dividing line. Two figures from the other side came forward as they extended their hands to me. Then, I saw my grand-parents. The two figures that brought me up with love and discipline for four years, and whom forever will be the loving pillars of my life. They, who died many years ago were now right in front of me welcoming me into a painless-loving reality. And yes, I chose to cross the line and join them.
However, out of nowhere, in that precise moment a tiny light came rushing from behind. This tiny light totally disturbed the essence of the pristine moment I was experiencing, distracting me and somehow stopping me from crossing-over. In my determination to continue moving forward, I saw more lights, all coming from behind but from every direction this time, and all having the same intention: Going back. But I was going no where. At that point I was certain only of one thing, I was done with my life! – But the tiny lights didn’t falter. A moment of total silence made everything rumble. And a familiar voice said: STOP RESISTING AND LET GO. YOUR PREVIOUS FORTY YEARS ARE DIFFERENT FROM YOUR NEXT FORTY YEARS. NOW ENJOY YOUR LIFE AND SHARE YOUR EXPERIENCE.
No thought was given, no time existed. Next thing I know, I’m waking up inside my body, inside the hospital with nurses holding my head ready to disconnect me from the machine that kept me alive.
Few days after I witness the pouring of prayers and attention my mother got on Facebook and other social media. I received visits, emails, gifts coming from everywhere asking how I was. It truly was a miracle I survived. Doctors were never able to explain how the hell I woke up having 95% of my lungs damaged by pneumonia, Having a count of 11 out of 600-1200 CD4 cells in my body with what doctors called full blown AIDS, plus swine flu. So…
WHAT IS PRAYER?
Prayer for me is the certainty that my words are meaningful and important, the ability of my mind to recognise its inability to understand everything, and my hearts ability to love and forgive.
- Many pray out of fear: “please help me”
- Many pray out of pain: “please heal me”
- But very few pray out of love: “I’m sorry, please forgive me, I love you. Thank you”
I can tell you something now. Everything, absolutely is possible. Believe me, I know.
I am sorry
Please forgive me
I love you.
LoveAlways x 333
PS: Finally, I got my violin last year. A Happy Bunny I Am. – Happy Easter 🙂