Here!

By Christopher Godoy

Two visions, one truth. The clash of two worlds—the world of duality, politics, deceit, and death, and the world of the enlightened mind humanity longs for. A magical trip through a pack of misfits, strange and unique each in their own way, but centered on the only condition that puts an end to conflict: forgiveness. More than a pack, a clan that found a hidden shortcut and are on the quick path to hear the words the world awaits; what is false is false, and what is true has never changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Godoy
• Release date: Apr 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370691609

Book preview

HERE!

by Cristopher Godoy

Copyright © Statement

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording, photocopying, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

The story is a work of fiction; all characters, plots, and scenes are a product of the author’s imagination, and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

The spiritual insights in this story are inspired by the A Course in Miracles workbook, exercises, and teacher’s manual. The Course in Miracles Society (CIMS) is an international group of students and teachers organized to discover, authenticate, and propagate the divine teachings of A Course in Miracles. If you would like to support any of the activities of CIMS in any way, please contact [e-mail] or visit http//jcim.net.

The new visionaries, the new world leaders, the true thinkers are Here! Those who know where to look smile in reverence, and wait patiently as things heal. For those who still linger in confusion, these minds are easy to spot. They are imperfect beings and divine in no apparent human sense; but all are centered on peace. They all travel light, with no past and no future, in one direction, toward the eternal, the complete and the infinite. They bring one message and one vision that circumscribes everything—LOVE. The essence of change, the root of consciousness.

A matter of infinite potential.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1- The Bull And The Crazy Nun

CHAPTER 2- A Needle In the Desert

CHAPTER 3- It Begins

CHAPTER 4- The Crybaby

CHAPTER 5- El Diablo

CHAPTER 6- A Good Deal

CHAPTER 7- The Plan

CHAPTER 8- The Descending God

CHAPTER 9- Justified Attack

CHAPTER 10- Two Drunk Cookies

CHAPTER 11- El Grito de Dolores

CHAPTER 12- Consolidated Power

CHAPTER 13- Cocaine and Tequila

CHAPTER 14- The Ambassadors Room

CHAPTER 15- Tell Me the Truth

CHAPTER 16- A Pack of Hungry Hyenas

CHAPTER 17- Let’s Talk About Death

CHAPTER 18- Viva Mexico!

CHAPTER 19- God Help Me

CHAPTER 20- Hell

CHAPTER 21- Ordene General

CHAPTER 22- A Road Going Nowhere

CHAPTER 23- The Golden Angel

CHAPTER 24- Twists Of Fate

CHAPTER 25- Cash or Credit

CHAPTER 26- Murphy’s Law

CHAPTER 27- The Desert

CHAPTER 28- A Pack Of Misfits

CHAPTER 29-Insurrection

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PROLOGUE

A safe house in the Mexican Chihuahuan Desert, 1993

The safe house bore the feeling of an ancient Egyptian burial site for the corpse of a person whose soul would live eternally in a parallel universe. A wave of fresh air began to flood the enclosed room as the full weight of Lucas’s body violently swung the heavy door open. An infinite door. The air inside was dry; the scent of confinement lingered in the dark space as he stumbled in, soaked in blood. What felt like ancient peace sealing the room was instantly shattered as the weight of the madness from the outside world shot into the room along with Lucas.

The house was simple. A fireplace topped with saints, idols, and melted candle residue divided the space into a kitchen and a dining area. A round, rustic wooden table with eight chairs dominated the area, which, on that day, sat empty, a temporary status. A thin layer of gray dust that shimmered like volcanic ash coated the entire space. There were few windows and one interior door that opened into another room that was used as a sleeping quarters for traveling migrants aiming to penetrate the US-Mexico border.

The dry logs in the fireplace blazed into life, as if eager to subdue the dark shadows in the room. The glow emanated by the burning fire revealed the shock that masked Lucas’s sharp Mexican features. Characteristics that had cost him his life. The idea that Sebastian, his only child, could soon become an orphan suddenly became a terrifying possibility.

After fueling the fire, Lucas allowed the muscles in his abdomen to gently cradle his back as he lay down on the cool cement floor. With the tension in his muscles finally easing, Lucas’s mind flooded with memories of slamming his foot on the brake of a semi, swerving out of control with a full load of cargo that was impossible to stop.

Lucas gasped, then closed his eyes and exhaled. His chest simultaneously popped with gushing fluids and blood as air was released through his shirt, revealing a small puncture in the middle of his chest. A reflexive shiver raced down his spine, produced by the blood pooling between his back and the floor. What was a small entrance wound on his chest was a massive two-inch exit hole through his back.

Struggling to swallow, Lucas cleared his throat hard.

God, what happened?

Impatiently, he continued to survey the room as his mind battled for answers.

Why is this happening? What’s going to become of Sebastian?

Lucas’s vision focused suddenly, and centered on a spark released from the fireplace with a loud pop. It looked like a meteoroid racing through the atmosphere, accelerating as the force of gravity kicked in. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, while raising his index finger to touch the ember. He felt a fiery sensation in his finger, through his hand, and past his heart, exploding into his eyes. His closed eyelids suddenly shot open as he processed the divorce between his body and his mind. Lucas was stunned by the expanding awareness of his mind as his body slowly died and the smallness of his identity faded in the horizon.

Though he did not encounter any deceased family members coming from another realm to welcome him, and despite the lack of the expected tunnel of light, the fresh feeling of release discharged his mind of all of the hardships of the body. He felt unshackled, like a slave unchained from a whipping pole.

God, I feel light!

If I’m going to die, this is a good place!

Sebastian! Lucas called at the top of his voice, but in a serene tone.

His mind, unbound by the laws of time and space, entered a state of rapid expansion. The confinement in his mind parted like a curtain to reveal a whole new world. As his perception through bodily senses began to slowly fade, a river of ancient knowledge raced through Lucas. His thoughts radiated with a sense of safety as he realized that regardless of the mortal attack on his body, his mind remained unharmed. He no longer felt a need to defend himself. As his defenselessness grew, so did his peace. The beginning of the end: direct access to unconscious knowledge without understanding how the knowledge was acquired.

Like a master photographer swiftly zooming in on a target, Lucas’s eyes locked on an open drawer. He sighed in recognition and stood awkwardly, the physical pain etched on his face.

He gathered his strength, drawing in a slow but healing breath, and sat at the rustic table with a purpose. He retrieved a dull pencil and a faded notepad from the drawer in front of him. The blank paper appeared eager to soak up his writing, like dry soil under a cloud of magical rain.

His senses slowly kicked into life, and they began to magnify infinitely. Blood continued to relentlessly drip from his back and chest. He wasn’t sure if he was still alive or in the middle of a near-death experience. He was still Lucas, but he wasn’t. The involuntary action of being aware of his true self.

In a higher state of consciousness, he intuitively penetrated a vision bestowed from far beyond, from a place of eternal peace. The first words Lucas could grasp gushed from deep in his mind. He began to write. Sebastian, one day you will look back on this fragment of time with a new light. Until then, you will hear this same message a hundred times and in a hundred ways. When you place your belief in it, you will multiply your miracles by millions. These are the words that speak of truth and will make the world’s nightmares vanish. Your vision will bring healing to many, and nothing feared will endure . . .

Lucas had been a good man, body, individual—you know, that shadow projected by the erroneous mind. In many ways, he had lived his life on the edge of discovering the meaning of the words he offered Sebastian. Memories again scurried through his mind as he was caught between two worlds, reality and illusion.

He had never hurt anyone, but had an explosive temper, dangerous, like an intersection without a stop sign. Ire had triggered a series of events leading to the gaping hole in his chest, and consequently, the steady exiting of his body’s vital fluids through the massive hole in his back. The red liquid would soon become a permanent dark stain on the cement floor, the burn-marks left behind by the light that got away.

Lucas hid and preserved fear, like a corpse in an ancient tomb guarding a room full of treasures that could be of no value to a dead man. A dense wave of anxiety often carried him through sleepless nights, washing him ashore in the morning to the ever-changing threats and twists of fate the world offered. The fleeting bittersweet relationships and so-called gifts, only to tear them away. It was a merciless attack; peace of mind was impossible.

The ways of the world kept his defense mechanisms on high alert, which often gave way to antagonism. His anger, honestly provoked, and righteous in the name of self-preservation, opened the door for a justified attack. Lucas’s body held his mind in a constant state of fear, if only to verify its own survival, keeping him in a clouded and consumed state.

Fear became his natural mechanism of defense. He could not dominate fear because, as its maker, Lucas believed in it. He lived his life shackled to the illusions of the past and the future.

After his wife’s sudden death, Lucas was left feeling impotent and confused. His brain’s sympathetic nerves often triggered into signaling his adrenaline glands to discharge a diverse bundle of chemicals. Stress hormones would then prompt his liver to deliver more blood sugar, shooting through his body as an explosion of energy that would rock his mind and impair his judgment. This problem caused both his delusional mind and his body a great deal of strain. As his mind was incapable of controlling his body’s fear, his mind was trapped into doing what it did not wish to do. Flooded with rage, Lucas became fuel for a wildfire burning out of control.

Lucas’s temper had blistered like the mid-afternoon desert sun when he found himself in a heated argument with a vigilante. They crossed paths somewhere between then and eternity at the edge of the US-Mexico border in the state of Arizona; an arid zone infertile to life, setting Lucas’s final tragedy in motion. At first, it sounded as if a firecracker had exploded next to his ear. He felt no pain, but it had startled him. Realizing he had been shot, his brain sent a flash of panic traveling at light speed from his chest to his mind.

Any thoughts of reaction stopped as quickly as they rushed into his brain. He could only think of making it to the shelter, which would keep his final moment in time. After a six-hour walk, he stumbled through the door he had crafted with his own hands, death a step behind, ruthless and inflexible. The sign that had, only seconds ago, hung peacefully, now jolted violently out of place, taking on an ironic meaning. It read, WELCOME. WE’VE BEEN EXPECTING YOU! She, a powerful and gentle force welcomed him through the door, not to help him remember, but to help him forget.

The sign had been a gift from Laura, his late wife of twenty years; like the sign and the infinite door, her heart and his beat as one. Her absence had crippled Lucas into a bitter solitude, as the roots that nourished his body began to dry up. He missed everything, even the sound of her silence. His life had suddenly been snatched away, left to linger in a picture hanging on the wall, a distant memory that he could no longer grasp at times. Everything he did and everywhere he went brought memories of her; the warmth he felt lying next to her would never abandon him. But her face faded; it was simply too painful for Lucas to hold on to. In that eternal moment of now and within that gentle force, Lucas understood it was time to let go.

Lucas gasped for air as he released the memories scurrying through his mind. With added strain, he continued to write to Sebastian. His breathing became shallow and quick, his vital organs suffered from the lack of blood, and his pulse weakened as his body prepared to go into shock before the ultimate, complete shutdown. He closed his eyes in an effort to allow the material world to vanish. Sebastian, this is the hardest moment of my life, and the most important. Pay attention and remember these words. They are being given through me, but are for you.

Son, don’t dwell in your body or make it your home. The body appears to be everything but, in reality, is of no value. Freedom will never come if you see yourself as a body. To look there is to look where it cannot be found.

The body traps freedom; the mind can only be made free when it no longer sees itself as the body or asks the body for protection. Fear cannot enter such a mind; therefore, you will also be incapable of attack. Ask yourself how a mind can be physically attacked. Walk the world in your defenselessness and innocence. That will set you free!

Subconscious information the conscious intellect could not perceive had been communicated.

From the distant corner of an erroneous and delusional thought system, the Ego, the maker of the universe, the illusionary one, reared. The one where blind creatures wither and die. On that day, its voice, as erratic as ever, sensed a threat as it contemplated Lucas’s death. The Ego did what it does best, cast judgment and made threats. The universe of guilt and fear.

"Ha-ha-ha! Wasting your time. Sebastian is a loser; that’s how I created him. His only mission is to fail. I’ll let him entertain me for a while. Then I will make sure he fulfills his purpose, though not before he brings the rebels here, where they will die. Just like you, Coyote!"

* * * * *

Four months later. Veracruz, Mexico.

Sebastian lingered in a state of divine innocence as he appeared frozen in time; his fixed green eyes shimmered like a piece of marble that contained the universe. His chin quivered as rivers of salty tears streamed onto Lucas’s letter; temporary tears destined to become an infinite flow of inflexible light. Truth placed in his hands, but at an arm’s length away. In that impossible universe, the one where time and death had made a home, a veiled force inside Sebastian pointed him in another direction, toward the Eternal.

From birth to three years of age, a child’s brain undergoes an amazing period of development, producing more than seven hundred neural connections per second. It’s difficult for children to grasp the difference between reality and make-believe; they believe that their parents can still read their minds. The brain continues to develop through life. The years of adolescence, from eleven to nineteen years, are another critical stage where a huge leap of development happens. Scientists have found that a second surge of neuronal budding happens right before puberty that will affect the rest of a child’s life.

Thirteen-year-old Sebastian would not remember most of the events of that tragic night. Trauma would mark and fog his mind for many years. But his brain, in a critical phase of development, assimilated the words delivered by Lucas, leaving a spark that would ripen into potential for Sebastian to tap into and change the world.

Sebastian sat in a room in Mision La Verdad, an orphanage run by Catholic nuns. His caretaker, Madre Valentina, quietly observed him. She could not decipher what could be going through his mind as he slowly absorbed every word on his father’s letter. He was but a thirteen-year-old boy, but somehow, hidden behind those magnificent eyes, a greater presence appeared to be listening and craving Lucas’s final words.

Sebastian, in defense you will only find attack. It is the darkest form of hope and will come at the highest price. You have no idea the devastation it has brought me. It sabotaged the holy peace of God. If you allow its hold on you, it will cloud your mind and turn you into its slave. It will trick you into forgetting your natural state of existence and your birthright.

Defensiveness is a sign of weakness, but in defenselessness, you will stand strong because it acknowledges a power so great that attack can only be madness. You must walk through and beyond this dream with stillness: it will give you the strength to meet and complete your purpose. You will be mightily protected when following this path.

Sebastian, you are but a boy now; as you grow into a man, value these words and be true to them. As knowledge grows in you, so will the power of your mind. You will change the world and all the minds that search for Truth. The body does not have the power to enslave you.

Carry freedom as your gift to all who are bound, helpless, and fearful. Find the voice God has given you, and let Love open the door to your heart. I love you. I will always be with you.

Lucas had signed the letter with the dull pencil, with all the grace of a painter laying the first stroke of his brush on a blank canvas.

Lucas’s body, in coming to an eerie rest, attested to the duality in the gifts of the body: life had entered by grace, and if not for his final words, its exit had been ungraceful. The legacy of Lucas’s body seemed to be pain, tragedy, and ugliness. His mouth remained open, as did his lifeless eyes. His lips turned bluish-green; his body lay tense on a puddle of congealed blood. The corpse found in the safe house three months later was not an appealing sight to behold.

"Ha-ha-ha! That’s what bodies called men do; attack and defend!"

His mind, however, was finally released, as quietness and stillness had subdued the voice inside his head. Lucas finally stepped out of the messy body of thoughts, erratic behavior, and out-of-control temper that had defined him as Lucas el Coyote. His mind now dwelled in peace beyond human perception or comprehension.

Because of that virtuous voice, the Ego, the master illusionist intercepted, it fixed on the shack in the desert, that sterile place in the illusionary mind. The words had produced fear because they brought light and truth and were given to the Ego’s eternal enemy, the quieted mind; a crazy nun and a band of infinite misfits. The king of darkness delved into fear as its creator, the Ego, could not separate from his toy. The insurrection would be crushed in the shack—where it began, it would also end, along with the misfits. In the meantime, the Ego would reign through chaos because drama made the illusion seem so real, in that strange universe, the kingdom of death and fear. Chaos was the order of the day, and so it began? . . . No, so it was to continue, here and there and everywhere.

"Hey, Lucas, are you okay, pal? Ha-ha-ha! You look a little pale. Don’t feel sad; you never had a chance! Hasta la vista, sucker. Now, on to Junior!"

CHAPTER 1- The Bull And The Crazy Nun

The Chihuahuan Desert, the day before the Insurrection, early 2018.

Creation remains unaffected; the delusional mind is the only observer of the illusion.

The blue Jeep Grand Wagoneer appeared tan under the full moon’s light. Joselito hit the windshield wipers to sweep away the layer of dust hindering his sight; he narrowed his eyes, straining as he maneuvered around rocks and through the rough desert terrain. The beams of light on the solitary vehicle that bounced around under the vast desert night made it look like a submarine exploring the bottom of the ocean. His breath quickened as his eyes settled on a deep crack where the limestone had been eroded. The man next to him appeared tired, but still held a gun pointed at Joselito’s head.

Instinct kicked in as the man yawned and Joselito saw what may turn out to be his only chance. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and plowed through the cracked terrain; the sudden impact propelled his captor forward, off balance.

It all happened in seconds. Joselito’s quick movements were as natural as a reflexive cough. With his left hand, he grabbed the barrel of the Glock .40-caliber pistol and slammed it up toward the ceiling, and with his right, he made a vicious strike at the man’s wrist. His head had already moved into position, landing a snapping head-butt to the center of the man’s face. The man, taken by surprise but not physically outmatched, managed to grab Joselito in the groin with his right hand and throw himself back, driving his shoulder into the steering wheel and causing the jeep to swerve, spin one hundred eighty degrees, and finally choke to a dramatic stop.

Joselito wrapped his powerful arm around the man’s neck as he flipped on top of him. Using the weight of his own body, he began to choke the life out of the man. Joselito could hear him gasping for air as his feet kicked the passenger door in sheer desperation.

Seconds before losing consciousness, the man managed to pull the lever on the driver’s door, releasing the heavy latch. With all of his remaining strength, the man pushed with his legs against the passenger-side door, thrusting both men out of the Jeep, where they landed with a dry thud on the desert sand. The man quickly rolled away, coughing and pulling oxygen through his battered throat in deep, loud breaths. Joselito snapped to his feet, ready to attack. The man made his way to his feet much more slowly, without removing his fixed gaze for a second.

The two men locked eyes as the first light of dawn broke the night’s dark shadows over the sterile ground of the Chihuahuan Desert. Both knew it was now going to be a fight to the death. Joselito tore his shirt off, revealing a tattoo of a raging bull that completely covered his muscular chest. The muscles in his abdomen tightened like knots on a rope as Joselito kicked desert sand back with the bottom of his bare foot, his signature move before a fight.

The man jerked his head from side to side, popping the bones of his neck back into place. He cursed himself for allowing Joselito to catch him in the split second that he had let his guard down. As he lowered his balled right fist, he felt a solid bulge in the lower pocket of his cargo pants. He grinned; it was over.

Bad move, Bull! I wasn’t sure whether to kill you or not. I guess every man has the right to choose his destiny. You chose unwisely, buddy. Too bad. I was starting to like you; we have a lot in common! the man said to Joselito. "We’ll see, pinche Colombiano! Say hi to God for me!" Joselito answered through gritted teeth.

Joselito was in no mood to engage in more small talk. He had been kidnapped, forced to drive for hours through the desert, and trapped in the middle of a gun fight. His beloved car was dirty, too, and he had to be at the gym at five in the morning. The nightmare was all but over now. The man was fit and fought dirty, but he was no match for Joselito’s training and technique.

Before the man could utter another word, Joselito slid forward with a sweeping kick and took the man’s legs out from underneath him. Like a bull attacking a red cape, Joselito was on top of him within seconds, pushing his right knee into the back of the man’s head, driving the man’s face into the dirt. He took the man’s right arm, kept it stiff by bending the wrist, and then popped the shoulder from its socket.

The man screamed as he heard the indubitable sound of his joint dislocating, his face suddenly changing into something vicious and deadly. With his remaining good arm, he hastily reached into the pocket of his cargo pants and drew his other .40-caliber pistol, a bullet already chambered—just point and shoot. He lifted it above his own head and fired a shot, blowing Joselito’s kneecap off like shrapnel from a grenade. The blast echoed through the man’s skull, leaving him with a sharp pain that darted through his ear, the ringing sound relentless and irritating. Meanwhile, Joselito, now crippled for life, was as devastated as if it were a murderous blow to the heart.

Joselito rolled around in the dirt, holding his leg and screaming in pain. His leg had a hole that looked like a predator had bitten off a chunk and spat it out. His shattered kneecap lay bloodied on the desert sand. In the darkness, it looked like dog vomit with bones and blood. Joselito never saw the shot coming.

The man stood like a mountain climber who had just conquered the summit of Mount Everest. He popped his jaw in an effort to relieve the ringing in his ear; his left arm hung like a lyre pendulum on a grandfather clock. He slowly inched toward Joselito with his gun pointed at the center of Joselito’s face.

Like I was saying, mate, we have a lot of things in common, but there is one big difference that sets us far apart. His finger tightened around the trigger.

You are a trained fighter, but I, I’m a natural-born killer.

Providence.

* * * * *

At the same time in Veracruz, Mexico.

Only the eternal is true; nothing else exists.

The cast-iron hinges, bearing the weight of the ancient mahogany door like the burden of humanity’s guilt, emitted a sharp squeaking sound, which split the heavy morning air like a lighthouse foghorn.

As the door slowly opened, a band of morning light eagerly slid in to embrace a short, stocky figure, who shimmered like a coin at the bottom of a wishing well. Stretching and yawning under a bright light of suspended particles, she slowly made her way out of the dark room. Like an artist driven by an unseen creative force, ready to sculpt human nature into splendor, Madre Valentina prepared for battle, chaos having reached a boiling point, and insurrection looming, unstoppable.

From the distant corner of a lonely and delusional mind, the Ego observed her.

"Morning, you silly, decrepit nun! Ready to give it another shot today? Ha-ha-ha! You could at least put on some makeup before you go out to scare children. Ha-ha-ha!"

Veracruz was named by the Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes, who landed on the town’s soft, white, sandy beach on Good Friday, which, in Spain, is also known as the Vera Cruz, or True Cross. Cortes is credited with driving a stake into the same land that is now home to Mision la Verdad, or Mission Truth.

The warm ocean breeze instantly caressed Madre Valentina’s face as she stepped, barefoot, into the corridor. In a slow walk, she marched across the rustic, sun-dried brick floor of the aging Spanish Colonial building that housed Mision la Verdad: her masterpiece.

At eighty-three, Madre Valentina Godoy still held her hefty five-foot-tall body upright and strong as an oak. Her penetrating eyes, often red and watery, as if she had recently cried, became light blue, soulful abysses under the sun, making the redness fade away. Courage and a good sense of humor were the virtues that best defined her; she was fearlessly happy. The creases of resilience on her face softened when she smiled. Her gleaming, white teeth and long, silver hair paired with her eyes to radiate a holy aura of light that captivated anyone who saw her.

Valentina cried and laughed often; she felt too much and too deeply. Her tender heart and the peaceful calm she radiated did not interfere with the nature of her character. She lived in a state of unconditional Love, and through Love, she had found the power of forgiveness.

With her thoughts and words in perfect alignment, she had constructed her life on a solid foundation. Her work and mission, built on the same rock, would define the destiny of all those touched by her unconditional Love.

She was not a messenger; she was a life coach. She held all of the necessary criteria to be a teacher of God. In writing thousands of pages of controversial, refreshing spiritual writings, she often risked the wrath of her own ordinance, as well as that of organized religion. Despite being repeatedly judged as a rogue nun, one who was impossible to control, she never compromised her faith. Madre Valentina, comfortable in her own skin, chose to remain true to her character, and the Holy Spirit was the divine inspiration that ran through the unoccupied spaces of her mind. She would never bow down to the idols of death: fear and sadness. Negotiation with the Ego, an impossible matter.

Clearing her mind of all judgment, she released the meaning of everything she had labeled, letting go of the past and making room for the present. Her humble observance had allowed knowledge to return to her mind.

With knowledge flooding her mind, she had acquired a vision of Truth; unity became her natural state of being.

Madre Valentina Godoy’s life was governed by one law: The Law of Love, the only law that exists within certainty. Truth, a matter of science. Her thoughts were simple and straightforward, comprising an imminent threat to the Ego. She inspired her students to delve into their souls and pursue the divine spark that would awaken their sleeping minds and change the world. Her doctrine was to rock the foundation of the religious thought of her order:

Through the human eye, you judge amiss because you understand not what you are, what you judge, or whom you condemn. The Ego is the relentless voice in your head that distorts truth, as it dreams the impossible.

––"Ha-ha-ha! You will never quiet me, silly nun. I made you, and I own you!"

Every day at five a.m., Madre Valentina Godoy prayed for humanity, bringing to light the shades of judgment and condemnation that fuel madness, distort consciousness, and turn vision into illusions and knowledge into perception.

As the material world offers nothing but defeat and always ends in pain, loss, and death, she chose to invest in Love, and not in the short-lived trinkets that the world offered. Forgiveness ended conflict and opened the door to the real world, where duality and illusions disappear. Madre Valentina Godoy understood that she had no need to defend anything; she need only stand fearless in her faith and the Law of Love. On that particular day, she prayed for a sign, not alone in the company of her two guardian angels, Omar and Salvador,––Providence.

"Ha-ha-ha! Are you kidding? Look at those outfits! Goodness. White cloaks? Ask Batman to help you dress, Sister. Please! Did someone forget to mention that today is not Halloween? Ha-ha-ha! . . . and the misfits, elephant boy and the extraterrestrial, got you in my sight.."

CHAPTER 2- A Needle In the Desert

At five a.m. Madre Valentina Godoy prayed:

"Thank you, Father, for your plan to awaken me from the dream of Hell I have woven. Today, I ask for a sign, though I know the key is in my hand, and I have reached the door where the end of the dream lies. Let creation be as You would have it. Let me awaken to Truth, where illusion will disappear in Your light, and the memory of my Creator will return to me as my mind is freed of error.

"Brother, forgive me, as I forgive you, and let all conflict end. I come to release you, as you release me, so we may go home; so, will the world come with us."

Present. Day of Insurrection, Chihuahuan Desert, Mexico

The border between Mexico and the United States unfolds 1,989 miles from the Gulf of Mexico, following the natural course of what migrants call El Rio Bravo de el Norte, splitting extensive sections of deserts before reaching the Pacific Ocean. The border traverses the Chihuahuan Desert (with an area of 139,000 square miles) and the Sonoran Desert (with an area of 100,000 square miles). Throughout the vast distance are thickly guarded barriers that transform nature’s scenic setting into what looks like a concentration camp. Massive twelve-foot steel plates edged with rows of razor ribbon and barbed wire define the barrier, but they do not reveal which side of the wall fosters the prison. The US Border Patrol controls less than 600 of the 1,989 miles with surveillance equipment, armored vehicles, and close to 20,000 men. The area between the barriers is called No Man’s Land.

Through the 1,989 miles, there are also highly vulnerable crossing points with only a fence and a sign that says BORDER, located in some of the most inhospitable deserts on the planet, more deserving of being called No Man’s Land.

Needle concealed the blue Grand Jeep Wagoneer by parking on the north side of a tall, skinny, yellowish-green rock formation that would provide cover from drones and aerial surveillance. He knew that he was still in for a long hike to the border. After driving through the night, Needle had survived the draining fight that almost cost him his life. In army fatigue cargo pants and with no shirt, he exited the driver’s side door of the Wagoneer, immediately stretching the sore muscles on his bluish-purple, tattooed back and torso. His broken ribs and dislocated left arm still released bolts of electricity that made his body feel stiff. Quietly, he closed the door, while forming a mental picture of the surroundings through his bloodshot eyes.

Apart from the spot where he had parked the SUV, it was wide-open terrain. He could see for miles in all directions, his eyes searching for movement. Fatigue from driving and an adrenaline high from anticipating what lay ahead slowly