Backfire

This .gif seen on Ace overnight thread by Misanthropic Humanitarian reminded me of something similar. At Ace it is a link titled "ouch."

Wish I knew what the guy threw his firecracker into.

A long time ago most likely in my mid 20's or possibly early 30's I went through a metaphysical phase that lasted a long time. I read all of the books in that category at the bookstore nearest my work. No idle brag. I read all of the books on the shelves in that section. That's what led to Urantia. The big fat book of thin pages with type from from margin to margin and no relief with photos, with content the size of the Bible except more difficult of comprehension.  It was the last book to read in the section. The one I kept putting off. Some of the books had meditation exercises, others had exercises for lowering your brainwaves to induce psychic events, for creating out-of-body experiences, and others for simple prayer. It included weird books by celebrities, and alien abductions.

One time during that book-reading and psychic exercise doing period I had a very good friend who over time had become a major asshole. 

And I mean major.

I knew what his problems were. He told me. But he also had problems that he didn't tell. He had personal problems that he didn't fully understand himself. He is a complex personality. I must say, an incredibly strong personality. Magnetic, actually. Positively so, I watched this in amazement more than just a few times. He exudes power and that's a magnetically attractive trait. It radiates from himself invisibly such that people are actually physically attracted to him, and within minutes people gather around him. You can see this by his simple entry into a room filled with people. Not particularly attractive, and with no power-walk, no stomping in, nothing noticeable behaviorally, he nonetheless attracts people to himself. Over and over I've seen people gravitate to him. They want his success to rub onto themselves, without even knowing what that success might be. They want his approval. The whole thing operates on a subliminal psychic level. It's amazing to behold.

And then, he's become  a giant impossible asshole.

One night, in a different house, in a different part of town, I was laying on my back on my bed and opened a psychic line to channel positive energy his way. It went along the lines of "here's some positive energy to help you stop being such a gigantic asshole." Mentally, I lobbed the energy as a soft serve and it instantly rebounded back as hard return, powerfully rejected, as a tennis ball, so hard it literally, physically knocked me so that I rolled sideways on the bed. Pow, right in my physical body.

The guy gives psychic events no credence whatsoever. To him dreams are all bogus crap, and intuition doesn't exist, he is fully materially-focused. He would deny all that I'm saying, yet I marveled at his invisible psychic defenses. His psychic wall is impenetrable. 

And that forced me to recall in one of the books that you cannot pray for someone who doesn't want or doesn't accept your prayer. You must have their permission first. People must want our psychic energy for it to be accepted, or else it just flat doesn't work. Not ever. My whole approach was wrong. His psyche rejected my psyche's premise, that he needs help. He didn't want my psychic help BLAM! There's your psychic assistance returned harshly and with tremendous impatience. Even though in real life he denies that psychic barrier even exists.

Then, years later I'm in hospital intensive care, and it doesn't look good. All kinds of people are coming into my room. St. Joseph's, a Catholic hospital. Religious stuff all over the place. A group of men and women entered my room. They introduced themselves as a prayer group and they asked me if I would care to accept a group prayer for my healing. 

This is like 7th Day Adventists appearing at your door.

I'm laying there as prisoner with tubes into both arms, electric wires all over, even a tube in my dick to a bag, I must lay there in torture without moving, I cannot turn to a side, as I do, and miserably, I'm rocking a hemorrhoid the size of Montana, this was the worst moments of my life, so I'm thinking, what the heck, "Sure." 

They were so sweet.

Going room to room like that. Hanging out at the hospital, entering the rooms of the worst cases. Doing the thing that they do. 

And just like the books said, they asked my permission. 

It was easy to see how they might enter a room of a person who actually wants to die. And what kind of group prayer would that be? 

Then, that night, the singularly most impressive event occurred that superseded everything else that occurred during that previous period of study and daily exercises, and since. It was awe-inspiring. It was life-changing. The direction of my physical health came to a Y and changed directions sharply. That night, spirits surrounded me in great numbers, I could see them collecting, crowding around me, piling up in all directions outward such they could not possibly fit in the room. It was a class headed by a master and I am the subject of demonstration. The master is infusing me with healing information in amounts too great for me to assimilate, I don't understand what he is communicating, too much, too fast, too intensely for me to take in, I cannot follow instructions, I cannot keep up. I despair. 

"I can not follow you! I'll forget all of this. I cannot comprehend it all." 

"You don't have to. Relax. We're talking to your body directly. We're communicating with your organs. Your mind needn't be concerned. We're instructing your cells how to heal." 

"Oh." 

The observers appeared merely to watch this. It's their area of interest. The ones most intensely interested organized automatically to be nearest the master. They assisted this cellular instruction. The rest, packed by the thousands merely watched, a vast concourse of celestial intelligences watching this being done to me. It was an event. A spiritual concert. 

Through the long night they collected, they came and went at the edges, finally they began to dissipate, peeling off from the outer edges. Suddenly only the master and a few remained. Then the master is gone. Then only a few remnant hanging on spirits.  "Why are you guys even here?" 

"We're here because you invited us." 

"I did?" 

"Yes, you did. When you said 'yes' to the prayer group. They called for us." 

Now there's only a few with me. 

Now they're all gone.

I hear someone approaching. I cannot see them but I hear them enter the room.

"You're a human, aren't you." 

*laughs* "Yes, I am a human. How did you figure that out?" 

"Because you're the only one around here who has footsteps." 

That ridiculous remark caused the nurse to take to me. I amused her. I'm interesting to her. I'm different. We hit it off very well. The best of all the nurses to date.

I told her what had just happened that was so incredibly mind-blowing to me, that so reaffirmed spiritual reality for me.

"There really was a doctor here last night. A surgeon. And he really did have a team of assistants. The room really was filled with people. And you were a difficult case."

"Why?" 

"Your lung biopsy was scheduled for tomorrow, but since you were taken to ICU they decided to go ahead and do it last night. You wouldn't shut up. You talked the whole way through. The surgeon told us he's never had anyone talk so much as you under anesthesia. He told you to be quiet multiple times but you just kept right on talking. He had to give up putting the equipment through your mouth and go through your nasal passage instead." 

"Goddamnit!"

"What?" 

"I had the most extraordinary psychic experience that proves to me firsthand spiritual reality, and you medical guys dismiss it because it overlaps so precisely what occurred in this thick heavy slow physical reality. My intense brilliant experience dismissed poof just like that. Now, no one will believe me. It's purely personal."

"Well, you know, the actual physical reality that occurred last night is intense and brilliant itself." 

"I know that. Brilliant as all that medical advancement is, the clunky thick hardness of it is still the shadow of the super-real spiritual reality that talks directly to my physical cells. And in this world, all that greater more real than physical reality is dismissed as effects of anesthesia. Typical. It's why scientific-minded never have satisfactory proof of spiritual reality."

She gave me a book that she bought herself. One that helped her understand things like this. A book intended to express we're on the same plane here. It is a Catholic hospital after all.

I read the book in five minutes. Disappointed. It was so far below the level of what had just happened. Yet as token of understanding, it meant the world to me. I've struck it up with a lot of nurses, and she's the only nurse who's ever done anything like that.