Anthony Owens (XII)

 

Anthony was experiencing all the symptoms of bipolar mania, full-blown psychosis and appeared to be what most mental health professionals would label as ‘psychotic’, but he wasn’t.  

He sensed all those things that lunatics often report—the radio in his room seemed to be a part of him. He could actually see thin, electromagnetic waves enter his studio apartment and disappear into the antenna on his clock radio. When he waved his hand, he caused the music that was being pumped from the small speakers of the radio to fade in and out. He was controlling the energy in the radio waves. He was a part of the music too. The songs were written for him. Everything was for him and he was everything. The entire world was created on his behalf. Those tunes on the radio– he wrote them. He knew exactly what Janet Jackson was singing about. How nice it was for her to write that song for him personally.

 

His Ajna Chackra was exposed like a tit at the Superbowl. Della King did it to him. She was the one who showed him the light, although he didn’t even remember her at that moment. He had no idea what was happening to him. He was simply riding the waves of heavenly bliss and was enjoying every moment of it. The birthing process of all prophets is the same. It starts out in bliss. The initial heat of Kundalini fire is soothing and it gently strokes the senses of all the body’s nerves. What follows is far from heavenly.

 

The fire is carried deep within our souls. We all have the flame. It’s hidden there for a purpose. Rarely does the spirit of the ancient one take root and begin the process of transforming the individual. It chooses where and when it wishes to grow. When it does, life becomes an inferno for the spirit that has been exposed to the fire.  The flame must be ignited by something sacred. Anthony’s day of refinement was at hand. He simply thought he was stoned. He couldn’t turn off the thoughts of his mind. That was when he started to become frightened—those thoughts were everywhere now and they were not really his own. The fear feeds the flames. His thoughts were racing uncontrollably. He was thinking about so much. There was so much to digest. He was determined to work it all out in his head.

 

For his entire life, Anthony’s soul was like that of a pinecone on a Sequoia tree. In forests of
California and the
Pacific Northwest, the kings of all trees tower above all other vegetative competitors. It takes a forest fire to open its cones for new offspring to form. Modern scientists were baffled as to why the ancient trees stopped reproducing for a period in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. For a while it seemed like the trees were gay. They stopped using their A-sexual mating devices. Forest rangers were doing everything they could to protect the beloved trees, yet they simply stopped reproducing. When forest fires broke out, the trees were protected from the flames with every resource the government had available. Eventually, someone deducted that forest fires, typically started by lightening strikes, were a natural part of the eco-system. Fire fighters were taking away the very spark that led to new life in those ancient trees— FIRE, just as modern psychiatry often extinguishes the life in the most endangered of all our species.

 

Della lit Anthony’s Kundalini flame like a bolt of lightning in an August thunderstorm striking the dry timbers of decaying pine needles. Her 15 minute psychic reading with him was all that she needed to start a new sapling of the Devine within Anthony’s Soul. Sure he was stoned and under a simple form of Voodoo hypnosis, but it was Della’s own gift of being able to dig deep inside, root around and fertilize the very essence of the flame that is life itself that awoke the sleeping prophet of our day.

 

Della had never encountered another prophet or prophetess with such strong internal energy. She felt it flood her body when she put her hands on his forehead. He frightened her.

 

The bath Anthony had taken did nothing to sooth his racing thoughts or to stop the energy that was consuming his rationality. The paranoia induced from smoking Della’s Hydro had him rolling in a world that he was not spiritually prepared for. Yes, it was what many would call psychosis, but to Anthony it was the beginning of a new life, a new world and a new consciousness. He was born again.

 

“This hand is as black as your face.” He kept hearing that deep voice from the distance screaming at him… “This hand is as black as your face.”

 

He had to get out of the house. It was so hot inside that little room. The voice was everywhere now and getting louder. He felt his spirit slipping away from him.

 

All his hope had suddenly vanished and Anthony had never really believed in God. Now that he was the burning bush, he had to learn to believe in himself.