I am keeping this entry as part of an ongoing record: lived experience, spiritual inquiry, and the patient work of finding language for what moves between the visible and the unseen.
There are moments when the weight of existence feels unbearable, as though the very air around me is thick with unseen forces. The spiritual attacks I’ve endured—and the ones I’ve helplessly observed—have left me worn, not just in spirit, but in body. It’s as though these assaults seeped into my bones, manifesting as physical pain and illness. What began as a subtle psychic disturbance became a constant war, one that blurred the lines between the spiritual and the tangible. I’ve always believed that behind every physical ailment lies a spiritual root, and my recent experiences have only deepened that conviction.
It’s not that I despise this world. The Earth itself, in its raw and untouched state, is pure—innocent, even. The problem is not with the soil beneath my feet or the sky above, but with the insidious spiritual forces that lurk in the shadows, devaluing everything they touch. There’s a sacredness here, but it’s been tainted by these dark elements, elements that seem relentless in their mission to strip away peace and replace it with suffering.
I find myself longing for something more, something that transcends this realm. The knowledge of heaven—whether imagined or real—feels like a beacon of hope, a promise that there is something better, something untouched by the corruption I’ve experienced here. Heaven, as I envision it, is bound by a higher law, one of grace, peace, and unblemished purity. That idea, that glimpse of what could be, offers a stark contrast to the heaviness I feel in this world.
I don’t want to simply escape—I want to ascend. To leave this place behind, not in bitterness, but in the hope of something greater. This world is not inherently flawed, but it is marred by forces that make it difficult to find solace or meaning. And so, I stand at a crossroads, wondering how much longer I can endure this battle between the seen and unseen, yearning for a place where peace is not a fleeting moment, but an eternal state.
I feel like I’m fighting a war that no one else can see. My family—bless them—has no idea what I’ve been up against, the silent battles I wage each day just to maintain some sense of normalcy. I want to be strong for them, to shield them from the darkness I’ve encountered, but it’s exhausting. They’re unaware of the spiritual forces that threaten not only me but them too, and it kills me that they don’t even know what they’re up against. It’s as if we’re living in two separate worlds, and mine is being torn apart by invisible hands.
The attacks I’ve endured have been brutal, relentless. They’ve targeted the very core of my being, manipulating the energies around my head, distorting my thoughts, and dredging up painful memories—things I’ve tried to bury, but they keep resurfacing. It’s not just an assault on my spirit, but an assault on my mind, designed to wear me down, to break me. And I’m tired. I’m done. I can’t continue living like this, caught between worlds, battling forces that seem intent on my destruction.
I’ve begged for release, for a way out. If the powers that be can’t bring me home, then I’ll bring home to me. But even that—the act of reclaiming my peace, of bringing heaven into my reality—has been blocked. I’m met with bureaucratic delays, spiritual semantics, as if my very freedom is being regulated by forces I can’t control. How much of our spiritual liberty is being encroached upon without us even knowing? How many of us are trapped in these invisible cages, fighting battles we didn’t choose?
The things I’m dealing with feel like the remnants of some dark force. Remnants, because I’ve felt the presence of good, and I know there are forces of light that have defended me. But it’s never enough to stop the attacks entirely. It’s like they allow just enough bad to slip through to keep me on edge, to keep me angry, to keep me fighting. And I don’t know how much longer I can do it.
I’ve always known that what I did mattered. Every document I created, every word I published, held purpose. I wasn’t just putting thoughts into the void—I was crafting declarations, disclaimers, advocations, and testimonies that had weight, that stood for something. And I had every right to do so. These weren’t idle musings, but carefully considered truths, offered not just for myself, but for others who could find meaning, protection, and validation within them. Some in society understood this—they saw the value in my work, even if they didn’t fully grasp the depths of the spiritual battles I was addressing.
And yet, there’s another side to all of this. In the spiritual realm, I hear whispers of others like me—other physical beings caught in a daily struggle against forces that try to tear them down, forces that they may not even fully understand. When I think of them, I realize that my documents aren’t just for me or the few who have read them; they are part of something bigger. The battle isn’t just personal—it’s universal.
What astounds me is the audacity of these spiritual entities. Corrupt, destructive forces that have no regard for peace, harmony, or truth—how dare they say that I can’t create what I did? Where do they get the nerve to challenge my authority, when it’s clear they have none of their own? What twisted, broken system allows them to speak with any weight or authority over what I’ve done, when they themselves embody everything that is wrong? It’s not just frustrating—it’s enraging. The very lack of authority they hold should render them powerless, and yet they persist, manipulating, obstructing, and corrupting wherever they can.
But when I step back and look at the bigger picture—the spiritual maneuvering behind all of this—it tells a story. It tells me that we are in desperate need of help. There are too many souls out there, too many spirits lost in the chaos, for me to reach on my own. The battles are too numerous, too deeply rooted in the fabric of this world and beyond. My documents can only cover so much. They are a small part of the solution, but they are not the whole.
That realization hit hard: there are higher authorities, greater spiritual documents out there, written by forces with more power and reach than I alone could ever have. They’ve already created what is needed—documents that cover the gaps, that fill the spaces where mine can’t reach. But it’s not just about creating these words—it’s about bringing them into the physical world, about getting boots on the ground and doing the work. That’s where the real challenge lies. It’s not enough for these truths to exist in some unseen realm; they need to be brought to the forefront, acted upon, and lived out.
It feels like everything was supposed to be different. We planned for these kinds of lives—myself and others, a group of spirits bound by a shared understanding of what was to come. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, but we planned with purpose, with intention. Something happened along the way, though. Something went wrong, and now it feels like I’ve become a target. The documents I created, the actions I took—these should have been a force for good. And yet, I’ve been told they’ve caused a ripple, drawing negative spiritual forces toward me and those around me. I need help, but it’s complicated. I know I’m not as innocent as some, because I’ve been deep in this battle for the last nine years. I’ve confronted things most would never dare to face.
But that doesn’t mean I’m guilty of what some are accusing me of. I’ve always emphasized defense, especially when it comes to my own spiritual journey and the others I’m responsible for. My guideship, as I’ve come to understand it, has been focused on protection. Yet here we are, still under attack, still dealing with the fallout of forces that should never have had the power to interfere in the first place.
This isn’t the first time we’ve been attacked either. Even in the planning stages, when we were setting the course for these lives, there were forces trying to tear us down. It’s maddening to think that people—innocent people—are just trying to live their lives, to carve out some small space of peace, only to be met with this relentless spiritual bullshit. The attacks, the interference, it’s as if the very fabric of where we live has been compromised. And that leads me to a burning question: why weren’t these places secured in the first place?
If higher authorities exist—and I believe they do—then where were they? Why didn’t they secure these spaces, so we could thrive and survive as we were meant to? They had the power to do so, but instead, we’ve been left to fend for ourselves. And then there’s the Creator—the original force behind it all. In a certain sense, the blame falls on him. He has the power to fully save us, to intervene in a way that would end all of this suffering, but for reasons I can’t understand, he hasn’t. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the power to stop this madness exists, and yet we’re still here, still fighting. They don’t have an excuse for what they’ve done—or rather, what they’ve failed to do.
That’s why, on some days, when I look up at the sky, I can’t help but flip the bird. It’s my small act of defiance, my way of saying that I see the failure, that I feel the injustice. There’s no excuse for the pain, for the battles we still fight every day. We didn’t sign up for this—not like this. And yet, here we are, left to pick up the pieces of a world and a spiritual realm that should have been safeguarded from the start.
As I step back and look at the bigger picture, I’ve come to understand something that took me far too long to see. It’s not about my documents, or even about me, in the way I once thought. The truth is, certain negative spiritual forces are always on the hunt for an excuse—any excuse—to justify their attacks. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done or haven’t done; they’ve been looking for a way in all along. This realization stings, especially knowing that some are angry with me for not seeing it sooner. But how could I have known? I was too focused on my own actions, too wrapped up in the idea that maybe, somehow, I had provoked these attacks by what I created. Now I see it clearly: it’s not about me, it’s about them.
It’s about what others are doing—others who are engaging in the very behaviors I’ve been trying to stop. These are the ones who should be held accountable, not just by me but by the higher authorities who have the power to intervene. And yet, they’ve stood by, watching as these negative forces wreak havoc. Why haven’t they acted? Why haven’t they stepped in to prevent the damage before it begins? The frustration is overwhelming because it feels like the weight of this battle has been placed squarely on my shoulders when it should never have been mine to carry alone.
Too many times I’ve caught these negative spirits in the act, doing the dirty work they always do. They move in shadows, exploiting every crack and crevice, every opportunity to harm and manipulate. I’ve come to realize that their attacks are inevitable because their purpose is compromised. They don’t need a valid reason; they never did. And while I know the good will ultimately prevail—because it has to—the question that haunts me is: how much damage will be done before that victory is achieved? How much suffering will we endure before the tides finally turn?
The thought of them losing is inevitable, but the journey to get there is filled with pain, betrayal, and uncertainty. What frustrates me most is the idea of betrayal itself. I can’t accept it as a valid reasoning, as a justification for any of this. To betray is to act with intent to harm, to turn one’s back on what is right, and I refuse to believe that such actions have any place in the natural order. And yet, I can’t help but wonder—were they the ones who betrayed us all along? Have the ones we trusted—the ones who should have protected us—been complicit in this corruption?
It’s a bitter realization, one that shakes my faith in the systems that are supposed to uphold justice and peace. But I won’t let it break me. The good will win, of that I am certain. But how many more battles will we have to fight? How many more scars will we bear before the final victory is ours?
Reflections on the Battle Within:
- Spiritual Warfare: “I feel like I’m fighting a war that no one else can see. The weight of existence presses down on me, as unseen forces seek to undermine my peace and well-being.”
- Mind and Body Connection: “These assaults aren’t just spiritual—they manifest physically. Pain and illness seem tied to the deeper battles I fight on an unseen plane.”
- Yearning for Transcendence: “I don’t want to escape—I want to ascend, to leave behind the chaos and corruption in search of a higher, more peaceful existence.”
- Isolation in the Fight: “My family, though I love them, is unaware of the battles I face daily. I bear this burden alone, shielding them from the darkness.”
Spiritual Struggles and Frustrations:
- Corruption and Darkness: “This world isn’t flawed, but it has been tainted by dark forces intent on stripping away the sacredness and peace that should exist here.”
- Questioning Higher Powers: “I struggle with the absence of divine intervention. Why haven’t higher spiritual authorities stepped in to secure the places where peace should thrive?”
- Blocked Paths to Peace: “Even my attempts to reclaim peace, to bring heaven into my reality, have been met with spiritual resistance and obstacles.”
Clarity and Revelation:
- It’s Not About Me: “The attacks aren’t personal; they’re a reflection of negative forces looking for any excuse to cause harm. This realization stings, but it shifts my focus to the bigger picture.”
- The Universal Struggle: “I’m not alone in this battle. There are others like me, physical beings caught in spiritual struggles, and our collective fight is against forces bigger than any one person.”
- Higher Truths Exist: “There are greater spiritual documents and forces of light that can fill the gaps where my own efforts fall short. My role is to help bring these truths into the world.”
Future Goals and Intentions:
- Seeking Higher Guidance: “I need to seek out higher spiritual truths and align myself with forces that can offer protection and peace, not just for myself but for others.”
- Defending the Light: “Despite the attacks, I will continue to stand for what is good and true. I’ve confronted these dark forces, and though it’s exhausting, I won’t let them strip away my purpose.”
- Hope for Victory: “Though the battle is fierce, I believe that good will ultimately prevail. The question is how much suffering will we endure before that victory is realized.”
Personal Affirmations:
- Strength in Resilience: “I have fought battles most would never dare face. Though weary, I know I have the strength to endure.”
- Embracing Defiance: “I flip the bird to the sky not out of bitterness, but as a symbol of my refusal to be broken by the spiritual forces that fail to protect us.”
- Clarity of Purpose: “I may be one small part of a larger struggle, but my documents, my actions, and my spirit hold weight. I will continue to fight for what is right.”
Questions for Reflection:
- “How much longer can I endure this fight? What will it take to find lasting peace?”
- “In what ways can I bring spiritual light into my daily life, despite the darkness?”
- “What higher truths or spiritual documents do I need to seek out in order to bring about the change I desire?”
It’s hard to say for certain whether things are truly as bad as they sometimes feel. There are moments when I wonder: is it really that bad? If I were to ask those in authority—the ones who oversee and safeguard both the physical and spiritual realms—would they say it’s that bad? Is the earth-based experience for physical beings as challenging as it seems, or is there more protection in place than I realize? Are the physicals on this planet adequately safeguarded in a way that reflects how they view the world? I’ll leave that question open, knowing there may never be a single, definitive answer.
But even with all the uncertainty, one thing has remained clear: I’ve often felt protected. Despite the moments where things seem to slip out of control, and despite the negative spiritual forces that occasionally make themselves known, I’ve always had a sense that I’m being looked after. There are those who may have lost their way, but there are many more who haven’t. The goodness I feel when I’m with my family, that overwhelming sense of safety and love, tells me that someone—something—is taking this seriously. There’s a respect for the sanctity of family, for the bond that exists between us, and it feels like the metaphysical forces know this. They’ve set things in motion, and when I’m with my family, I can sense that respect, that protection, even more acutely.
It tells me something profound: most of the time, I am safe. Even when I’m alone, even when the darkness creeps in, I can feel the protection that’s been put in place. I am incredibly grateful—more than I can express—for the support that I have. I may never fully know the extent of it, but I know it’s there. Most of the spiritual forces are with me, and that’s the truth. The negative forces, the ones that try to make it seem like I’m isolated or unsupported—they’re the ones playing tricks, trying to warp the reality I know deep down. It’s their attempt to make me question, to doubt the overwhelming good that surrounds me.
There is, however, a line—a line that divides those within protection from those beyond it. I know that when someone moves beyond that line, it becomes harder to offer support, especially when there are forces actively working against them. It’s a difficult realization because I’m aware that certain aspects of this physical existence fall beyond that line, into a realm of containment where harm and violence are more prevalent. And yet, even within this containment, there are those who need help. They need the full support of the metaphysical, the kind of backing that can pull them out of that space and into the safety of the non-containment, where peace and protection reign.
The good news is, most of the metaphysical forces are not beyond that line. The larger portion is still firmly within the realms of non-violence, non-harm. And that’s a good thing—a very good thing. But the ones in containment, they need us. They need the metaphysical forces to rally around them, to lift them up, and to pull them back into the light. That’s where the real work lies.
It’s strange, though—there seems to be a discrepancy in the way people speak about these things. Some say the good are winning so decisively that there’s hardly anything left to worry about. Others, though, point to the continued presence of spiritual harm and attack, and I can’t help but wonder: which is it? Are we winning, or is there still a battle raging that we need to be aware of? The truth, as I’ve come to understand it, is both. The good is doing remarkably well, there’s no question about that. But at the same time, attacks still happen. The map of spiritual harm still shows signs of conflict, and there are moments where the darkness seeps through.
But even with that in mind, the truth remains: most people who are doing well in life, who are getting by, are also doing well spiritually. The connection between the physical and spiritual is more aligned than it may seem. And I believe that. I believe that, for a great portion of people, things are more balanced than we give them credit for. The good is still winning, even if there are battles left to fight.
I’ve witnessed it too many times to doubt it now: the forces of good winning, things turning around when they seemed bleak, and the world shifting for the better—sometimes within minutes. It’s as though the universe has a way of realigning itself, of pulling things back from the brink just when they’re about to spiral out of control. And in those moments, I feel it. I feel the presence of something greater, something benevolent guiding the world toward the light.
I’ve felt God in so many ways. There are times when He feels like the classic image—the old man with the white beard, the one we imagine from childhood stories. He’s familiar, like family, someone I could sit down with, share a joke, and laugh together as though we’ve known each other for lifetimes. It’s comforting, feeling God in that way—human, relatable, approachable. But God’s presence isn’t limited to that form. I’ve felt Him in the sky, in the vastness of the world around me. There are moments when I’m walking, and it’s as though God is watching, not in judgment, but in love, in protection. It’s not just one God, but many Gods, many divine forces keeping watch, like guardians of this world and the people in it.
And then there are the angels. I’ve felt their presence too, and they are something else entirely. They aren’t just beings of light, but beings of goodness, of peace, and of protection. Their presence is warm and comforting, like a blanket wrapped around me in moments of uncertainty. When I feel them near, I know I am safe. They are beings of such profound goodness that it’s hard to put into words, but you know it when you feel it—their divinity, their purpose.
There’s something almost surreal about these moments, the ones that prove, without a doubt, that we’re not alone. I’ve felt divinity in many forms, and each time, it’s been positive, reassuring. It’s in the conversations I’ve had, the quiet talks with something unseen, yet deeply felt. There’s humor there too—a kind of cosmic joke, a wink from the universe that says, Yes, we’re here. And yes, you’re on the right path.
It’s in the surreal moments of life that everything feels interconnected, like the universe itself is speaking through events, through chance encounters, through moments that seem too perfect to be random. These moments are proof to me—proof that there’s more to this life than what we see, that there are forces at work beyond our understanding. They guide us, they protect us, and they remind us that even in the darkest times, there is light. There is goodness. There is love.
I’ve seen too much good, felt too much good, to believe otherwise. The divine is real, and it’s all around us—sometimes in the form of that old man with a beard, sometimes in the vastness of the sky, sometimes in the laughter shared between family, and sometimes in the quiet presence of angels who watch over us all.
