the beginning of Wacko Wizard’s neverending story

I suppose the beginning of my neverending story started a long, long time ago, in a universe far, far away.

It may have no scientific ending, either.

I don’t know much about Joseph Campbell mentioned by Psycho Psychic in her post about the beginning of her neverending story, other than I am left-handed, and I saw his “Hero’s Journey” film maybe in 1987.

If I understand Campbell’s left hand path, then I ended up going down it full bore, whole hog, after plenty of struggling to shed my early rich, white, prominent Southern Baptist family programming, beliefs and worrying what other people thought about me. I came to think there is much truth in the saying: Once you destroy your reputation you can be free.

I take some credit for that evolution, which more than a few other people viewed as devolution; but most of the credit I have to give to a band of angels that came after me, which came into plain view in early January 1987, in my 45th year, which I described at the bottom of this website’s home page.

I laugh, when I hear someone say that visitation by angels was my subjective experience. Or, I imagined it. Or, I made it up.

It was as objective and real as hitting my thumb with a hammer. As being hit in the balls by a line drive when I was 11 playing scrub baseball before school started. As my choking nearly to death on my first communion wine after my mother had forced me to take Confirmation classes. As my first-born dying of sudden infant death syndrome when I was 25.

As objective and real as my being told in my sleep in early January 1991, “With respect to St. John of the Cross, you haven’t seen anything yet,” and then I was covered in pure, raw, black Evil, and I went to gagging and trying to escape it, and I woke up gagging and trying to escape it, and I was terrified, and my ego was inflated sky high.

As objective and real as the heavens and their beauties and hell and its uglies inside and outside me then having their way with me,  which, along with being stood in front of a mirror for long periods of time, changed my perspective of just about everything.

I learned everything is interconnected. There is no separation between human events and spirit events. As above, so below. As below, so above.

I learned a dream or vision, or being visited and touched and moved and shaken and traumatized and uplifted by supernatural beings, or by ETs, is as objective and real as having an automobile wreck. That nobody else has your dream or vision or experience does not make it subjective or imaginary.

If you don’t believe me, ask Joseph Campbell – Heh.

Enough babbling. What’s important is what happens and how we respond to it.

Contact us and/or submit for publication reports of your own personal experiences with ETs and UFOs, ghosts, Angels, dreams, visions, psychic experiences, past lives, synchronicity, guidance from Angels or invisible friends, and more:

anomalousinvestigations@gmail.com

a·nom·a·lous
/əˈnämələs/
adjective
  1. deviating from what is standard, normal, or expected.
    “an anomalous situation”
    synonyms: abnormalatypicalnontypicalirregularaberrantexceptionalfreakfreakishoddbizarrepeculiarunusual, out of the ordinary, inconsistentincongruousdeviant, deviating, divergenteccentric;

6 thoughts on “the beginning of Wacko Wizard’s neverending story”

  1. It is what it is. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it. Enjoyed your story. Keep it up. Hang in there. I had a really bad headache before I read your story. Well hell it went away thank goodness.

  2. A very dear friend made a site for writers years back, his name online was “starbadger”, the handle he made for me was Elisabethrush but I’m afraid it’s now gone, due to disuse. I do wish I were impelled to write regularly and have started doing so at least privately for practice.
    But then again, “What’s important is what happens and how we respond to it.”

    1. You have plenty to say that challenges the mainstream and here’s hoping you rush in here from time to time, what was that poem? Oh, yeah.

      Only fools rush in
      where angels fear to tread,
      But if there were no fools,
      Who’d lead the angels?

  3. Elizabeth, I can relate to your situation. Currently, most of my writing is private, contained within my various journals. There was a time when I edited and published three hard copy newsletters, and co-edited another. My various muses have gone quiet due to my failure to invite them in. I’m hoping this blog will nudge them awake again.

    I would enjoy seeing some of your writings, here or anywhere else, as well.

    1. Psycho Psychic – I sent your comment to Elizabeth by secret courier, to make sure she got it.

      HER REPLY:

      I have not gotten notifications but then again, I am terrible at checking email.

      In predictable borderline fashion, I lose or toss my things, often. I find it disconcerting to come across some earlier writing from a place of higher wisdom, recognizing that the dust of the world is dulling me, despite my efforts to remain keen.

      I do however have one thing from my time writing at Richard Larratt’s behest.

      Pigs in mud
      All want the security of the well fed pig.
      Horror at the baseness unrecognized.
      A lifetime spent in shirt stuffing.
      And pen comparison.
      Is truth more palatable when honeyed?
      Is a stark soulscape less so with the eyes of Monet?
      May my affectations always be known and understood

      MY REPLY TO ELIZABETH:

      Out Fucking Standing – encore!

      ELIZABETH’S REPLY:

      My daughter’s moving to Seattle on the 15th. Homeschooled and as cloistered a home as a nunnery, she’s but a babe and what’s to be done of it but try to distract myself. I might be relied upon for a cohesive thought or friendly exchange, truly, once she is settled and so too, MOM. God I will miss her like a limb.

      I’m happy, delighted, pleased as possible. It’s just Hellish.

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