We Do Not Wrestle with Flesh and Blood: The true story of a man's death and resurrection

By B.R. Smith

This remarkable true story relates the conflicts of a young man seeking truth and freedom in central London in the early 2000s. Set against a fast-paced dialogue between wildly diverse cultures—American, English, and Russian—it tells how the subtle deceptions of evil can eventually destroy a life.

When Benjamin leaves small town Texas for college in London, he seeks only one kind of salvation: freedom from the crushing boredom of a safe life lived within the margins, and its predictable nine-to-five future. Daring to ask if there was more to existence than a report card and a resume, he sets out to join Alex, the son of a Russian oligarch, at a prestigious English business school.

The plan seems simple--Make powerful friends, and then make a ton of money. And from effortless power and money, freedom would follow. Somehow.

We Do Not Wrestle with Flesh and Blood is a witty but profound spiritual testimony about what goes wrong. Preyed upon by one of Alex’s sycophantic friends, Benjamin’s ambitions deteriorate into a haze of drugs and alcohol. The crisis brings him to a traumatic death experience, and a choice that will have eternal consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.R. Smith
• Release date: Jul 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452413563

B.R. Smith

Benjamin has spent much of his adult life living in Croatia, Hungary, Switzerland, Germany, and the UK, writing, studying, and sharing his truth to a young, receptive European audience. He writes because he wants to share with the world the fullness of spiritual truth that has been hidden by religion.

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This is a work of nonfiction.

Copyright © 2011 by B. R Smith Books

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Smith, B.R.

We Do Not Wrestle with Flesh and Blood: The true story of a man’s death and resurrection

Published by B.R. Smith Books

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-0-9838007-0-5

Printed in the United States of America

Cover design by Celemoe Design. All rights reserved.

Http://www.celemoe.com

To my fantastic parents, who never gave up on me.

We do not wrestle with flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

—Paul the Apostle of Jesus Christ

Chapter 1

I spent my teenage years in a community that was living a bastardized version of Christianity that followed closely to the teachings of humanism. My family took me to church every week, much to my objection. Most of the time we arrived after a screaming fit. I hated church, everything about it—the passive crowds listening to one man preach the same sermons over and over again with no visible results. It was a joke to me. I felt that you would have to be a complete moron to want to go to church every Sunday and just sit there passively for the better part of an hour and a half, listening to the same guy speak every single week. To me it was insanity and a boring form of it at that.

After I had tried to believe in Jesus a couple of times and nothing happened I decided that I wanted to live life in the fast lane: to be popular and to have the hot girl under my arm, along with all the money and the power. I wanted to live life to the extreme. Most of all, I wanted out of this little subculture I lived in and I wanted nothing to do with this ineffective Church.

I learned from the Church what I didn’t want and I learned from MTV and Hollywood what I did want. The Church showed me what Hell on Earth could be and MTV and Hollywood showed me what heaven on earth could be. This was evident in my high school. All the popular kids were the biggest churchgoers but also some of the biggest party animals in the school. I lived in an MTV Christian reality show. I always believed that the Church should be loving but some of the meanest kids in school were the most churched. I couldn’t stand my peers in the local high school.

After years and years in this subculture and frustration after frustration, I decided that I had to get the hell out of Dodge. I was done with all the Christian nonsense and the small-minded people I had grown up with. So, I began to speak to my parents about changing schools. They were all for it; they felt sorry for me because I was so unhappy and wanted me to receive the best education I could get. So they said I could go anywhere I wanted.

We went through all our options in the area. Initially I only looked in the area and quickly realized that nearly every school was private and had some sort of Christian affiliation. These schools were the last places on Earth I wanted to spend the rest of my high school career. Being inundated socially with a bunch of religious nuts and hypocrites didn’t suit me at all. I wanted to get as far away from Texas and all the people in it as possible.

I mulled my options and decided that nothing in Texas would suffice. I decided to think big, as big as I could. Now, I had been to Europe the previous summer and the first place I had visited was Switzerland. I recalled the euphoria I felt in that country. The crisp air was like nothing I had ever experienced in America, the mountains covered with greenery and glaciers jutting up into the sky and all the little chalets dotting the green, cow-filled pastures. I loved everything about Switzerland.

More than anything, I desired to be a part of the European lifestyle: the trance music, the architecture, the beers in vending machines, all the smoky cafes, the lack of urban sprawl and at least one of those cute German girls riding around on bicycles for a girlfriend. To me, Europe was Heaven on Earth. I had felt more alive than any other time in my life, when I had visited.

The most marvellous country in the world to me was Switzerland—it had enchanted my soul. So, I began to wonder if they had any boarding schools there. My mother informed me that they most certainly did and that they were among the best in the world and that some of the most powerful people in the world went to school there. This caught my ear and I began to see how I could get to where I wanted. So with the approval of my parents I prepared to embark the following August.

For the entirety of the summer I lived in a mental fantasyland. I could hardly wait to get there. I could hardly bear to stay in Texas any longer. My heart longed for the mountains and the freedom they brought to my soul. I was almost out of my little Christian subculture and I made up in my mind that I would never return. I would stay in Europe and make my life there. I would make friends with the most powerful people on Earth and make millions and hopefully be elevated to some form of world leader. I would pull myself out of my little frog pond and evolve into a powerful man. I would never be like those Bible-thumping, nine-to-fiver hypocrites that I knew all to well. I was done with the Church, I was done with Texas, and I was done with small thinking. I would be free. Truly free.

And so I arrived in Switzerland and started school. It was nothing like what I had expected. Everything I had grown up around and had known was foreign to the people I encountered in that school. I was constantly getting in trouble for not being politically correct and began to grow incredibly homesick under the load of school work and culture shock I was experiencing. It was all too alien to me and not nearly as easy as I had believed it would be, and so, being a weak-willed teen, I collapsed internally under all the pressure—but only after September 11.

The day the planes flew into the towers I decided to go home, but later in the evening it was confirmed that I would be going home anyway. Long story short, I got drunk along with everyone else on the mountain and ended up knocking out some Canadian kid who was talking a whole lot of smack and wouldn’t sell me one of his one hundred packages of instant noodles because I was American. It was poor timing on his part.

The school didn’t like this so much and suggested I voluntarily leave because from a disciplinarian standpoint, I was hanging by a thin string. This only made my decision final and so I left. I was sick of all the popular propaganda the school was promoting, and was sick of being called a bigot for not agreeing with their views on what to say and how to behave in the new globalist society that was forming.

I arrived home shortly after that, a very hung-over young man. I flew from Geneva to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Mexico City (where I vomited in the Hilton’s interior flower pots for not giving me a room amid all the travel chaos) and then onto Nuevo Laredo where I walked across the border. I then went back to school at the local high school.

Quickly, I realized the error of my return.

The remainder of the year I was in utter internal misery. It was the same dynamic as always. I was forced by my parents to go to church on another lame Sunday and the people were exactly as I had left them. During this year I drank a lot out of sheer frustration. I felt like I had utterly failed in Switzerland and that my chances to become rich and powerful had faded. So for the remainder of the school year I pondered how I could get another shot at becoming a big deal.

I realized pretty quickly what I had to do. I had to get back to Switzerland and try again. All the globalist propaganda I had been inundated with in Switzerland began to look pretty pleasant, not to mention my soul’s need for the mountains. I asked my parents if I could go back to school there. They were all for it and wanted me to live up to my potential and decided to give me another shot. So, I hopped on a plane and returned.

This time around in Switzerland, I made sure I wouldn’t capitulate to emotion. I would see it through to the end. I continually told myself I would climb the social ladder and wouldn’t stop until I hit the big time. So I made friends with a bunch of rich Russians and had a blast going to the best clubs in Geneva with them. I was riding high and doing well, at least socially. My grades were of little concern to me.

#

This social climbing involved drinking, a lot of drinking. But if there was one thing I was really good at, it was drinking and holding my own. So, to no one’s surprise, all my best friends were Russians.

One Russian in particular stood out to me. His name was Alex. Alex was the son of a Russian oligarch, and a lot like me. He didn’t buy into the school’s propaganda and he was a real man’s man. He was brusque yet had a kind heart. He was always concerned with everyone else’s best interests. I liked him almost immediately and loved him the second I heard that his dad drove a Bugatti prototype.

The problem with trying to elevate oneself via drinking in a Swiss boarding school lay in their three strikes policy. Within three months I had almost struck out; and then I got mononucleosis. I yawned and decided to go home. I arrived in America, but maintained in my mind that I had accomplished what I set out to do. I had met and established relationships with powerful people. I had done that and felt that I had done it well. I knew that these relationships wouldn’t fade if I could just make it back to Europe soon.

During the next nine months I finished two years of high school and maintained my relationships with all the Russians I had met via telephone. In particular I made sure to keep in contact with Alex. Alex informed me that he would be going to university in London the coming fall at Regents College, so I applied and was accepted to their foundational business program. My parents were reluctant to send me because of my past failures, but nevertheless I persuaded them to send me to London. They told me this was my last chance and that I had better make it count.

I was going to make it count. I was going to go all the way, and I wasn’t coming back to the States until I achieved my heart’s desire. This is the story that radically changed my life.

Chapter 2

I peered out the window of the plane and looked at the tip of Greenland in wonderment. I am so happy to get the hell outta there. Man, I hate that place. I’ll never go back if I can avoid it. I’m finally free from that hellhole and all those small-minded people. I’ll never have to listen to another redneck accent again or go to church, for that matter. I took a deep breath. Don’t screw this up, Ben. Don’t screw this up. This is your last shot, man. Your folks won’t keep financing your little adventures forever. Just don’t break down emotionally under pressure like you did before. No getting homesick or getting overwhelmed by culture shock.

I was going to make millions of dollars with Alex. We were going to have a blast—go clubbing, meet hot Euro chicks, and get a place together. For the first time in my life, things were going to go how I wanted them to.

The plane touched down in London. I passed through customs and then headed to the Four Seasons on Gloucester Place, which was close to my new college. London was like nothing I had ever experienced. It was an ancient, huge, and busy city. There were pubs at every corner of every street, a lot of culture, and an air of freedom in the wind. I loved it. The first day, I soaked it all in and went to a bunch of traditional pubs to enjoy my new drinking freedom, while intermittently heading back to the hotel and trying to ring Alex to see where he was. Every time I called it went to his voicemail.

Where the hell is he? I shouted after the seventh or eighth call.

What a nightmare! What if he doesn’t come? He is notorious for changing his plans at the last minute! Shit, I really hope he picks up soon! The day passed and rolled into the next afternoon. I began to call him every thirty minutes or so for the better part of the next day in a near panic. I hope I can get hold of Him. Fuck. I hope he answers. It just rang. Fuck me, nothing. I’ll call again in five minutes… No, I’ll call now. I impatiently dialed Alex’s number again. It began to ring then clicked

Alio, he said.

Hey Alex, it’s Ben. My voice cracked slightly with nervous excitement.

Hey, man, are you in London yet? he said in his thick Russian accent.

Yeah, man, I’m at the Four Seasons at Gloucester Place. It’s not the proper Four Seasons—it’s just named that—but call me back if we get disconnected for some reason.

Ok. Good, good.

Where are you, dude?

I’m in London at the Grosvenor Hotel with Ivan.

Shit. What the hell is Ivan doing here? I just wanted to hang out with Alex today, by myself. Oh well, just brush it off. You never know. It might be fun to have someone else around from Switzerland. I was just relieved to know Alex was in London.

Sweet, man, where is that?

Just tell the taxi driver we’re at the Grosvenor Hotel. He’ll know where it is.

Ok, I’ll be over there in a little bit.

Ok. Good, good.

I’ll call you when I get there.

Good, good.

Ok, I’ll call you…

Click.

Alex? I paused. Alex?

Shit. He hung up. I kinda dragged that out a little. I never have the Fung Shui I want in conversation, dammit! I always sound so damn needy on the phone! Hell, I am needy. I looked around the hotel room with slight disorientation, then shook myself back to sense.

Ok, let’s go, I said as I clapped my hands together.

I walked out of the hotel room and down the narrow staircases towards the hotel’s lobby. John, the owner, greeted me there.

Would you like me to hail you a cab?

That would be awesome, I said, relieved I didn’t have to fool with it.

I waited on the sidewalk outside the hotel as traffic roared down Gloucester Place. Fuck. I can’t believe I am in London. I pulled out a cigarette, gave it a light and took a drag. By the time I exhaled John had waved down a taxi for me.

Thanks, John, I said.

You’re most welcome, he replied kindly as the black cab came to a sudden stop next to the curbside.

Most welcome! Man, people here are friendly!

I grinned and looked at the taxi driver.

Can I smoke? I held my cigarette in the air for him to see.

Yeah sure, hop in, he said in a Cockney accent.

One more reason I love Europe. I can smoke in a taxi.

I climbed into the cab, cigarette in hand, smirk on face.

Where to? the cabbie asked.

The Grosvenor Hotel.

No sooner had I said this then, wroom, the cabbie had put his foot full force on the accelerator. It made a loud noise but had no getup.

Ha, I chuckled. What a piece of shit.

I rolled down the window and a cool breeze rushed into the cabin. The sky was framed against the yellow, white, and red brick buildings of Gloucester Place. It looked like nothing I had ever seen before. The clouds were low-lying and floated gently across the deepest bluest sky I had ever seen. I felt alive. This is a new page in my life. Now I have a shot at actually living a bigger life. I will live a bigger life. I’ll meet all the right people here and make millions. I’ve set myself up for success. Fuck Texas—I’m never going back. This place is far better. Besides that, now I can live however I want. I shook from excitement at the notion of absolute freedom.

About ten minutes passed and I saw the Grosvenor Hotel ballroom entrance. Holy crap, looks nice, real nice!

Damn, I wish I had as much money as him. In time, Ben, in time.

The cabbie took a left and went down a narrow street and then took another left into the hotel’s rear parking lot.

This is definitely the place, I said with enthusiasm.

In front of the hotel were parked numerous Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Rolls Royces.

Holy crap. This is badass!

Yeah, it’s the Grosvenor, he said matter-of-factly and grinned.

I paid the man and then walked slowly alongside all the cars of my dreams. Man, this is fucking badass. This was what I wanted. All of this, plus some hot girls on the side and a bottle of Dom.

I walked through the rotating door and into the luxurious marble lobby towards the concierge desk.

Hi, could you please call Alex N. for me?

Certainly, sir. What’s your name?

I smiled. Shit, I am no sir. I leaned up casually on the counter.

Benjamin Smith.

He checked his computer, mumbled some numbers to himself, then picked up his phone and dialed for Alex. It rang for a bit.

Yes, Mr. N., there is a Mr. Benjamin Smith here to see you… Ok, yes, I’ll tell him.

He hung up the