The sun catches the gold you are using to paint the backdrop of a new series of artworks you dreamed up last week. They dropped into your mind one Sunday. Manifestations of powerful priestesses displayed on canvases in streaks of abstract form.
Painting is quite new for you, but as soon as you put paint to paper, the power of playing with the color breezed such a warm, rich golden feeling of love into you, that you wanted to keep catching it with your heart and your brush.
You bought paints, canvas, and brushes and set up in the corner of your Victorian high ceilinged lounge. You’d painted it a deep teal color just a few months back and that’s when the feeling first entered you.
You went on to paint every room in the house until you ran out of things to paint. Then suddenly it struck you, that you could keep the inspired, magical feeling alive, by painting on Canvases.
It was like doing a moving meditation. Bringing the thoughts in your head and transmuting them to colors on the page.
You decided to paint in abstract, not just because you didn’t think that you were capable of painting true images, but because you have secret stories to tell, stories that are not ready to be told.
You slip into fantasy, the mellow amber incense and hypnotic meditate chants you’d put on the laptop earlier, propelling you into otherworldly visions of artists, artistry and the dangerous stories, of anger, abuse and treachery.
Art holds truths you think. We never really know what lies beneath the artist’s strokes. Not until they tell us the real truths behind what they have conjured if they ever do.
Imagine if we were to find out the truths between some of the worlds most mysterious art you think, maybe the world would fall over, as we know it.
And so as many other artists before you, you had decided to put your pain into the art, where you could hang it on the walls, as a message, an understanding, a secret daily support, as to what is really going on. The true face of evil, that you cannot expose to the world.
You hear the door click. Talk of the devil you think. You pull yourself together and turn the music right down quickly. You know he gets mad about your spiritual leanings, your lover.
Secretly you think he’s scared of it. He did once accuse you of being in a cult, even though you were only going to yoga classes in a local gym.
He walks in, a cheeky smile on his face, plops down on the sofa and says “I’m knackered.”
This makes you feel queasy. Knackered is not a good word for him. This means tired and tired often means the nasty will resurrect itself like a malignant wasp. Stinging everything it comes across in its wake.
It doesn’t really matter what it is of what you have done, it will be attacked, judged, belittled and it will be wrong, so wrong. It’s like a spiral. It starts small, with one petty thing, then a demonic rage takes over as if possessed.
The spirals get bigger and bigger and it feels like a tornado, violently ready to take out anything in its path. You can’t even run, as you are so hooked within the swirling rage. It just hits you over and over, as you get pounded through the tornado’s wake of his rage.
He’s not like he hits you think, but the words that come out of his mouth come heavy with so much violence and malice, that you feel them seep into your very being and extract your life as if you are a tiny fly and he a lion.
You must think quickly before the attack comes. How can you please him, so the anger does not resurrect? You are begging your own self in fear. Oh my god, you start to panic, you can’t go through this again. Your chest gets tighter and tighter and you fell the movement of panic rise up.
Only two minutes ago you were in heaven, painting in rapture, now everything feels black and very unsafe.
He’s staring at his phone; you are just standing there, praying silently.
He looks at you and his phone, which has just pinged and says
“I’m going out, we need garlic”. I need to make sure you don’t kiss those guys at work” and then laughs.
For some reason, he thinks he’s really funny. He jumps up off the sofa, not looking the least bit knackered that he professed to be just five minutes ago, turns to you and says.
“Right I’m going out to get garlic, why don’t you stay here and work on your stupid paintings. It seems to amuse you somehow. Enjoy it, because once we have finished with wall space, then your painting time is done. No one is going to buy these. Unless of course, you think you can make a career out of it”, he adds sarcastically.
You wait; you know the evil laugh is coming, disguised as a joke. Why does he always laugh at others, and especially at others misfortune you think? It’s such an odd behavior. He looks so ugly when he does it, his whole face changes somehow.
As the poisonous venom of words slips off his tongue, you notice a pile of black seeds on the floor. The more he speaks, the bigger the pile grows. Some of these seeds move towards you.
They are about the size of pumpkin seeds and the same shape, but black. A matt black. Two piles, one by him and one by you. He has not noticed you think.
He spins around; as if performing some fancy dance moves and says “I’m outta here”
He walks out with a swagger. The seeds were next to him follow him out of the door.
You thank god, that he left. Peace to paint. The warmth starts to come back and the shaky unsafe panic subsides. You know the longer you have the paintbrush in your hand, the safer you will feel.
It’s as if there’s a sacred light energy that transmits through the brush, filling you up with love.
You reach for your laptop, turn the mantras back on, relight the amber incense that strangely had gone out and push a huge sigh out. That feels better you think.
The air permeates with whirls of fragrant smoke and you feel yourself vibrating with an inner dance.
It’s back you think, the moving magic. You gaze into the distance at nothing. Something is forming within the smoke. Some kind of vision. Are your eyes tricking you?
The swirls are getting bigger and bigger and forming huge spirals. There’s not one, but two and their form is getting stronger and stronger and bigger and bigger. They are now bigger than your head. It’s hypnotic to watch. You see a face forming, it’s not a human face, it looks like a sheep. Ohhhh it’s a ram., you think.
He steps towards you, he’s taller than you. It’s a rams head on a man’s body.
He speaks, rather poshly “I am here to talk about the seeds”.
You are so stunned you say nothing. Nothing really shocks you much anymore. Years of abuse have seen to that, a therapist once told you.
He looks at your feet. You notice that there are more seeds now, and they are coming in through a gap in the window in quite large numbers.
They are piling up. There must be enough to fill a shoebox now, you think.
“Look out of the window,” he says.
You look out gingerly, eyes poking out above the sash window blinds, that you added to keep out the prying eyes from the street.
“What do you see? Tell me in detail, “ he says
“I see my boyfriend standing in the street talking to a woman”, you say
I don’t know her you think, but judging by his face and his weird dancing stance he’s flirting. You get a stab in your stomach.
“Do you not see the seeds”, the Ram Man says?
“Oh my god, there are loads of them and they are stretching right down the street, there must be thousands of them”, you say.
You note how they are flowing from him, towards you, in waves as he talks, sometimes they are flying out of his mouth in huge swarms like bees, other times, they are calmer, but it’s pretty consistent.
He gestures with his head, back to the house several times. You hope he does not turn you think, or there will be an almighty row for spying on him.
“What’s happening”? You say to the Ram Man
“He’s grooming her”. That’s one method of how abusers entrap people. He’s building her up, by putting you down. Every word of belittlement, judgment, criticism that comes out of his mouth, turns into a seed.
“A black seed, a malignant seed. You see how the seeds are flowing to you in torrents that rise up more powerfully. That’s when he adds in a powerful curse word to emphasize.”
‘The words he says hold so much power, that he can create these seeds, which flow to you, as the belittlements are about you. You are accepting them, so they stay with you.”
“What he does not know is that the black seeds form within him too. The more he belittles, judges and criticizes the bigger hole he creates in his soul, and the more he feels like it needs to be filled, so he finds ways to sow more black seeds.”
“It fills the empty feeling in him for a bit, but not long. The gaps in the soul are hungry. It’s all unconscious, but it’s very clearly the devil’s work, as you can see quite clearly”. said the ram.
“He’s a very ancient form your lover, I can see his ancestry. Many thousands of years old. But not sophisticated at all. He’s been waiting to be caught for a long time with his idiocy. These malignants as we call them were possessed many many centuries ago, and they unwittingly send the malignancy down the family line.”
“Sometimes they are cured, and then the seeds leave them, but as they are constantly creating seeds and sending them to others, the seeds are always multiplying. If you receive them, and embody them, the same happens to you.”
“The entire world population is a malignant. No one escapes it, just that some are significantly more demonic than others.”
You look at him dumbfounded. A half Man half Ram turns up and tells you that your boyfriends is possessed by the devil and he emits thousands of seeds that are flowing out of him and to you.
“What about my seeds”, you say? Am I emitting them to others? This terrifies you more than anything.
“Well, you are also from a family line centuries old that possessed the bad seeds. Plus you are fraternizing with people like him. Like I said everyone has the bad seeds. You can choose to keep emitting them and casting dark seed spells on others or you can choose another way.”
Over time if you work really hard, you will have almost no bad seeds and your soul will become whole again. But this takes a lot of work.
“Your soul has already chosen another way for you, so he says. But you still have the choice. “ You are in charge of what words you speak, so it’s up to you”.
“It’s no accident that you have attracted such beings of extreme demonic possession. Not that it’s that easy to avoid them; you must have met several already he says. I would not be surprised if your whole life has not been filled with malignants”
He paused, and then continued, in a hushed undertone.
“No one attracts beings of such might by accident. Your soul has ripened and you are ready to take on the forces. But it’s your choice, as I said. “
“There are thousands of years of history for me to explain to you, but you have been given a job. Which is why I am here.”
The request is that you paint and create. The more painting the better, and then imbue your paintings with these incantations.
“I refuse to accept the abuse, belittlements and malignant judgments”
“I refuse to accept the abuse, belittlements and malignant judgments”
“I refuse to accept the abuse, belittlements and malignant judgments”
“Say them now, three times, while painting, out loud”, he instructs.
You do as he says, feeling a little stupid.
“Now you have created a force field around you.”
Look out of the window and tell me what you see.
You look out and at the same time, you hear a lot of squeaking behind you. You feel something furry on your foot and out of the window you see rats surround your lover. Not that many, but at least 20.
You spin around and there are just as many in your living room. Without even thinking you jump on the sofa.
The Ram Man laughs not unkindly.
Lady, you need to get used to the rats, as you will be seeing a lot more of them. Now run to the back door and tell them to leave and they will.
I don’t have time to explain everything today, but when you say the incantations, the seeds get birthed into rats. They become physical. You can see them, and so can everyone else.
As scared as you are of them, you should be happy that they did not enter your body. They are the seeds that have been killed so to speak, so they cannot proliferate within you, for you to pass on to another.
Each rat is a physical manifestation of a curse, a belittlement, a put-down, a criticism that has come out of the mouth of a malignant.
You with your incantation transmuted the energy, so the seed became a rat. There are many many people like you all over the world painting art, writing poetry, stories, and creating music.
When they put this art into the world and refuse to accept the poisonous venom of the maligants, the seeds transmute to rats.
“So this is why there are so many rats in London,” you say?
“Yes, that’s why especially in certain areas of great artistry, there are many rats. Soho, London is full of rats, just as it was full of great artists that lived and spent a lot of time there. They received many insults, and many never become famous until after their deaths, like William Blake. But they stood strong, and refused to accept the judgments from the malignant”.
“Do you not remember the great plague of London? That was a tribe of artists that stood up strongly to the criticism of the people. A big group together. They are immortalized on the side of a building just off Carnaby Street. It happened on the same street that William Blake was born. Broadwick Street, right in front of his house. That made a group pact.”
“But rats still breed and breed?” You say. “Why are the seeds not just killed?”.
“That my lady is a very long and tale, but in it’s the essence, it’s a reminder to your tribe, to keep resisting the powers of the malignant fears and venom. That’s why there are so many rats in Soho, as it’s a daily reminder for all the artists that dwell and work there”.
There are many many of you now walking on the earth. You get woken up at different times. All we request of you is that you keep resisting the malignants and keep creating your art.
You are playing a part in moving the world from fear to love, do not underestimate that.
Image: Taken in Bali on Hannoman Street, Ubud, Bali. The name Aloka is a Hindu girls name, and according to what I found online means powerful transmitter of light. This fits almost too perfectly with this story. Almost so much so that I think it was fate that I saw it and took the photo just this week.