Battling Angels: . . . It Begins

By Matthew Stafford

What if?
Satans project to enslave humanity was born when that one little question was asked. If successful, bloodthirsty demons numbering in the millions will escape hell by possessing the bodies of humans, while those not possessed are doomed into slavery and forced to commit vile acts of depravity.
Lilith, Satans emissary on earth, uses her beauty and insidious power to mesmerize and stimulate forbidden desires in men and women to ensure the success of Satans plan. Gods angels must tackle devastating odds as their newest angel, a twenty-year-old from North Carolina, trained by his heavenly mentor and lover, must survive many efforts to destroy him. Only then will his destiny be realizedthat of becoming the most powerful Archangel everand working with his earthly companions to save humanity from Satans plan of domination.
Will humanitys lust for forbidden desires and the formidable powers of the horrific demons beat Gods own powerful and courageous Battling Angels?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514431603

Matthew Stafford

Over the last twelve years Matthew has worked with startups, venture capital and angel investors, governments, NGOs and large corporations to create and capture value. Matthew is a Co-founder of 9others, a global entrepreneurs' network, and an active angel investor. 9others was established in 2011 and is now a global network of 5,000 entrepreneurs in 45+ cities who meet over dinner to help each other solve the challenges of business and life. To date Matthew has invested in 23 startups, most of which have been sourced from the 9others network, and has achieved 2 exits. He has invested in and negotiated investment transactions from £15k to £50m. He studied Computer Science at Durham University and has an MBA from Imperial College Business School. Matthew lives with his wife, daughter and son in Hertfordshire, UK, where he enjoys reading biographies, watching Formula 1 and training for ultra-marathons.

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Copyright © 2015 by Matt Stafford.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015919976

ISBN:   Hardcover     978-1-5144-3162-7

             Softcover        978-1-5144-3161-0

             eBook            978-1-5144-3160-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/03/2015

Xlibris

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Contents

Dedication

Crucifixion: The Pain

My Awakening

It Begins

Satan vs. God (And Where Do Demons Come From?)

A New Life, A New Home

The Training

Eblis and Don

Papa and the Team

Jamal Takes a Trip

Don Gets Comfortable and the TANK is Born

Jamal in Vegas

Satan’s Plan

The Team’s New Toy

The Team on the Hunt

Jamal and Suzy

The Team in Charlotte

Lilith and Jeff Fall in Love

The Team and Jamal

Lilith Prepares

Duke Sends the Demons Home … to Hell

Lilith Reveals the Plan

Delta’s in Trouble

Jamal Joins the Team and the Attack

Delta Escapes and Is Recaptured

Take Down the Schoolhouse

All’s Well That Ends Well

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my family. My wonderful wife Christina who is always there with a loving word, her smiling eyes, and a note of encouragement, along with my two amazing daughters Heather and Nicole of whom I am so proud. They all continually amaze me with their constant love and motivation. And to my incredible friends Bob and Pat Myers, who have been an infinite source of love and support for us all. They’ve all lived with the never-ending pain of my disability and have been a boundless source of inspiration, love, and encouragement.

Above all, I dedicate my book to the one source of love and inspiration always with me during the hard, painful moments and the seemingly rare moments without pain, our sweet Lord and Savior, God.

I thank all of you, for without your love, understanding, and constant inspiration, I could not have completed this series of books. God bless you all!

And for the many of you that have read my book and so graciously offered their tremendous praise, I thank you for the support of my efforts.

CRUCIFIXION: THE PAIN

A quiet moment passes. I move my head ever so slowly. Oww! I try to think back, asking myself, what’s happened? It’s dark, like being submerged in a pool of black ink. I reach up, feeling my head. My hand fills with a large flap of skin that’s been ripped from my forehead to expose the white of my skull. God, it hurts. I’m covered with my own warm blood; it’s everywhere and pooling on the floor. It’s so dark.

Waving my hand before my eyes, seeing nothing but blackness, I suddenly realize, I’m blind … Oh my God, I’m blind! And my head, it hurts so bad, pounding like a thousand base drums. I’m hurting, confused, trying to remember, but the terrible pain creates a block! Trying to understand recent events, I suddenly think, Project … The Project where millions will die … it’s up to me. Only I can stop the project.

Lying there, I wonder, How? How does a kid in his early twenties from Greensboro, North Carolina, have the fate of millions depend on him? Slowly … so very slowly, even the darkness gives way as I slip into a coma, with my last thoughts being, I must stop the project, or we all will die!

* * *

The path that led me to my precarious situation started with me driving down East Market Street in Greensboro, North Carolina. I was sixteen, driving down the road listening to my favorite golden oldies when I heard the word Stop. I looked around but didn’t see anyone. Again I heard Stop. Well, I wasn’t sure if I was going crazy, but I decided to stop. Of course I’m not going to stop in the middle of the road, so I continued forty or fifty yards down the road and pulled over. I looked behind my seat to see if anyone was hiding back there, but I saw no one. I was looking out the window of the passenger seat listening to cars speeding past me when I saw this shimmering effect over the passenger seat, like the haze you see rising from an asphalt road when it’s extremely hot. Then a bright light appeared. It became brighter and brighter, to the point where I could barely keep my eyes open. All at once, the light started flashing, and then in seconds, the light was gone. Instead, right before my eyes appeared a man.

My eyes were bulging, and my mouth was wide open in shock, and I started to shake, fearful of what I was experiencing. I was wondering, Am I going crazy? Am I really seeing this? And then for no reason, I started to cry. Like a person mourning the death of a loved one, I was crying. I was overwhelmed by this strong feeling of sorrow. Tears cascaded down my face as I cried.

I sat there, staring at this man sitting before me in my car, and I asked, Who are you?

He smiled at me and said, I’m so sorry, but it’s time. The mystery man had dirty long blond hair, bright piercing blues eyes, and a thin brown beard; and he was wearing a long flowing white robe. The strangest thing about him was the sword he strapped to a belt. I could see only a small part of the blade, but what I could see reflected the sunlight with a fierce brightness, as though the metal was solid silver. He looked at me with this gentle, loving smile as though he was looking down at his own child.

Again, I blinked my eyes in shock, trying to make sense of what was happening. What do you mean it’s time? Time for what? I asked.

He said, I’m truly sorry, Grant, but it’s time.

You’ve said that, what’s it time for? I asked.

Time for your baptism, he answered.

What? My baptism? Are you insane? What in the world are you talking about? I asked, "Mister, can you please explain what you’re talking about? Am I losing my mind? Who are you? Why is this happening? I am … I don’t understand. What’s happening to me? Who are you?"

Frankly, by now, I was not making much sense. It was difficult to maintain a coherent thought. I tried to think rationally, but this dude appeared from thin air and told me I was going to be baptized. He smiled at me and said, I’m the one to baptize you, Grant, to bring you into a state of grace to bring fourth your abilities, for I am the Guardian. Prepare yourself, son, for this will not be pleasant. It takes terrible pain to clear the path for your abilities.

I was very confused, but the mention of pain registered loud and clear, and I realized I was scared to death!

I panicked and jumped out of my car to escape, and immediately, I heard a horn blaring at me. I looked over and saw a car swerving to the other lane to keep from hitting me. I completely forgot I was sitting along a busy road. I jumped back in my car and looked down into the window and saw him patiently sitting there. I didn’t know what to do. I thought, I can’t just walk away. Where would I go? Who would I tell? Who would ever believe me? I could see it now: Excuse me, can you help me? A man just appeared in my car telling me I was to be baptized. Yeah right. I could see them taking me away now. But frankly, I was scared to get back into my car. I opened the door and asked again, Who are you?

He looked at me, lifted his hand, and said, Come, my son, it’s time.

Before I knew what I was doing, I sat back in my car as though a hand was pulling me inside. I tried to open the door and get back out, but I felt restrained and couldn’t move. I just looked at this guy who was smiling at me while I tried to understand what was happening. Then he said again, I am sorry, my son. Prepare yourself … for it is time.

All of a sudden, I became lightheaded and dizzy. I felt as though I was falling. Farther and farther, deeper and deeper I fell. It was dark, but I could see the walls surrounding me, passing by me as I fell. While falling, I recognized the wall was made of rocks, like I was falling down an old-fashioned well. Suddenly I stopped, and I was sitting on the ground. Surrounding me were buildings crudely constructed with stone and bricks made from straw and mud. As my vision cleared, I sat there dumbfounded because along with the buildings right in front me stood what I assumed were honest-to-God real Roman soldiers. They looked exactly as described in the history books—wearing short tunics, leather leg protectors, swords within leather scabbards, and helmets, and each one carried a metal-tipped spear.

They walked up to me, shouting angrily. I didn’t understand a word they said, but it was quite obvious they, for whatever reason, did not like me. They stood me up and tied my hands roughly behind my back. They kept piercing the back of my legs and back with the sharp tip of their spears, forcing me to walk down a stone-top road. I tried to make some sense of the situation when we finally arrived at what I assumed must have been the town market. As if things were not already bizarre, I heard a woman’s voice in my head telling me, Don’t worry, Grant. Take heart. This has all been planned. This is required to bring forth your skills. All have walked this path that fight for God. And now you too must walk the path. You too must be baptized with pain. Prepare yourself.

I thought I was scared before, but now my body was shaking with naked fear. I was thinking, prepare myself for what? What skills? Fight for God? What pain? I was thinking, begging, Someone please wake me from this terrible nightmare!

Then I saw the man who had been sitting in my car. He whispered something to a soldier and then walked up to me and whispered into my ear, This is as was planned from the beginning and now shall come to pass. You must pay for their sins, my son, so they may be forgiven. Prepare your body and your mind for the pain that follows.

In those next seconds, I realized without a doubt and in no uncertain terms that I was in serious trouble. I had no idea why this was happening to me, but it was real. I had been told several times to prepare myself for pain. How was I to do that? I questioned myself. And what pain? I felt certain they weren’t talking about a stubbed toe.

Then I was taken to a group of men all shouting at me and pointing up toward a hilltop off to the side. Not until that moment did I notice the people up on the hill. Oh my God. Was I seeing this clearly? Were those people tied up there on a cross? I couldn’t see them moving, but I started to get very scared. Were they going to do this to me? Take me up there with those other people and tie me to a cross? How long would I have to be tied up there? How long had they been up there? They weren’t really going to put me up there, were they? I hadn’t done anything. All these ideas went speeding through my mind as I stared up at those poor people on the crosses.

Hey, please don’t … don’t put me up there, I begged. Are you going to put me up there? I asked. They just kept talking while pointing at the people tied to a cross on the hilltop. About this time, the soldiers started marching me up toward the hill. I was terrified. I kept asking the soldiers, Why are you doing this? What have I done? How long are you going to leave me up there?

They didn’t seem to hear me. They just kept poking me with those damn spears, cutting into my back. As scared as I felt, I kept walking toward the hill. I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough because one of the soldiers pulled out a whip. Before I could say anything, I felt the whip slashing across my back. I screamed in pain as the whip tore through my clothes and splayed the skin from my back. For a moment, I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and couldn’t speak. I just screamed and cried. But I finally stood and started moving again because that sadistic beast kept whipping me. It felt as though I walked for hours to reach that hilltop. I could feel the blood flowing freely down my back to my legs. It was such a painful struggle to place one foot in front of the other, just hoping not to fall. I was hurting so bad my vision became blurred.

It seemed to take days, but I finally reached the top of the hill. That’s when I noticed, off to the side, pieces of wood to be used to make the cross. Alongside the wood were long metal stakes and wooden mallets. Metal stakes? Suddenly I looked up to the people on the cross and realized they weren’t tied up there. Those poor souls had been nailed up there. And I was next!

As my future became terribly clear, I panicked as I searched, hoping to find a way to escape this horror. I was screaming, You can’t do this to me! I struggled in vain to free myself from the ropes. I didn’t do anything. Let me go. Help! Please, someone help me! Oh God, I thought, please let this be a nightmare. Let me wake up and find myself in my bed … Don’t let them do this to me. Please, God, I can’t handle this. Let me go home, I begged. Please stop! Let me go home!

I fell to me knees crying. Then off to the side, I saw the man from my car once again. He walked up to me and placed his hand gently on my shoulder. He had tears falling down his cheeks. He said, Just as the Son was crucified, so you shall be. You must become an instrument of God, my son. And as Jesus did, so must you experience His pain so you may offer hope to others.

A sense of calm slowly began to invade my mind. He continued, "You must understand the life of Jesus—how and why He came to us. You must accept His resolve for you to evolve. To become what you were born to be. To become what you were destined to become."

I felt as though I was experiencing a flashback. I felt as though I went back … back to the time when Jesus was betrayed and paid the ultimate price.

The intricate aspects of His life somehow crystallized to become part of my memory. The knowledge and comprehension of why He was born, why He was to teach people of God’s love, and why He must painfully die in order to offer humanity a chance for salvation. There I was, sitting in my blue box-shaped 1965 Rambler on the side of Market Street in Greensboro, North Carolina, learning the intimate aspects, the details concerning the life of Jesus, the Son of God. A million emotions, thoughts, and ideas were speeding through my mind as I experienced a This is your life flashback, seeing all the things and the people and the places Jesus saw. It felt that I was there walking in the footprints of our Savior, Jesus. I became aware of the reasons for His coming, His plans, and His Love for all humanity. All of this was happening in moments like those in a movie being played fast forward.

Then everything slowed down, and I felt the chill of death pulling at every fiber of my soul. It was so real and terrifying, so much so that I wondered if I would actually die sitting there in my car. The fear of death became overpowering. The wonderful experience of teaching people of God’s love transformed into a feeling of terrible pain and suffering. First, I felt the emotional pain of being abandoned by my friends, and then, the physical pain of a thorny crown being pushed into my scalp. Inexplicably, I too had a real ring of thorns on my own head, and I could feel the trickle of blood dripping down my face. As I stood on the hilltop, I looked around at the people, wishing someone could help me, searching for any sign of compassion. But no help came. Instead, the real pain of my destiny came and took shape.

Here, on top of the hill, they laid me on my back on top of this wooden beam. They stretched out my arms and tied them to another beam that crossed the one I was laid on. They steadied my hands and placed a sharp stake to my wrist. I struggled, trying to free myself. I knew I had to do this, but I still struggled to be free. I pulled my arms with all my strength to pull free from their grasp. I heard the loud whack, and I felt the blinding pain of that long spike being driven through my wrist into the beam of wood. I felt the warm blood spurting from my wrist as I noticed drops of my blood had sprayed into the soldier’s face. I could hear all those people laughing and shouting for more. Then they stepped over my body, knelt down to grab my other arm, and proceeded to do the exact same thing. Again, whack, and I cried to be taken from this place.

I lay there crying, sobbing, wanting them to stop this injustice. But I knew that however terrible, this painful experience must continue. This mind-wrenching, painful, unjust event must reach its own conclusion if I was to fulfill my destiny, my reason for living. What was the reason? What could justify this torture? I didn’t know, but the pain had to reach its end.

Then the soldiers went to my feet. I was having a hard time thinking straight. The pain, the overwhelming pain was all I could think of. They started driving the iron stakes through my feet. Whack. I realized I had not started to understand pain until those stakes started inching though my feet. Every time they pounded the head of the stake, a fresh new reason to beg for death slammed into my consciousness. The pain, the pain!

Every now and then, the guard would look up toward me and a give a wink, and the next swing of his mallet would miss the stake and hit my ankles or my feet. By the time he was finished, I doubted if I had any bones in my feet or ankles that were not shattered. The soldiers then lifted the cross to finalize my crucifixion. I hung there on the cross as people tossed mud and sewage at me. I saw the man who had talked to me in my car; he stood there weeping. A few others knelt down and appeared to be praying. At times, a few, too few, would shout at the soldiers, indicating their outrage. Their indignation lasted only moments as the soldiers replied by whipping anyone who displayed righteous anger.

Amazingly, one of the soldiers standing there looked as if he felt remorse as drops of my blood fell onto his face. It was obvious this man did not condone the actions of his fellow soldiers. I looked at him and begged, Please, sir, some water?

He took his bloody spear and stuck a sponge to the end of it. He soaked it in a cup and then lifted the sponge to my mouth. It tasted sour, like vinegar—not very good, but it was wet. In those days, this was considered a poor man’s wine. I looked down and thanked him for his mercy. This Roman soldier then pushed his spear into my side. With a sharp push of his spear, I felt a blinding pain shoot through my body as warm blood poured from my side. Before I realized what he was doing, he went to my other side and once again stabbed me up through my kidneys. A new level of pain attacked my brain as this soldier slid the blade away from my body.

I wept, wishing the pain would go away, trying to understand the actions of this soldier. First he showed mercy, giving me something to wet my lips; and then he stabbed me. Then over to the side, I saw another man being crucified. I heard him begging the soldier to show him the same mercy shown to me. The understanding slowly invaded my mind as I finally realized the soldier stabbed me to expedite my death. The only true mercy he could show me was to help me die quickly. By this time, however, I realized I had to accept the pain of crucifixion, just as Jesus Christ understood His reasons to be on the cross.

But let me tell you, knowing I had to be on these lousy beams of wood with four stakes driven into my wrists and feet was quite different from actually feeling every painful moment of those long stakes being hammered through my body inch by painful inch. A big difference. And I was still confused as to exactly why I of all people must accept this mind-wrenching pain. Suddenly, like a bucket of ice water being poured on my head, I was shocked to hear this tapping sound off to my side. Tap … tap … tap."

I opened my eyes, and you could have knocked me over with a feather. Standing there in his shiny blue uniform was a policeman knocking on my window with the back of his nine-inch flashlight. I heard him yell, Everything OK, buddy? Do you need help? I just sat there with this blank, pained expression on my face. He shouted, Roll down the window please. I need to see your license and car registration.

Wow! What the hell was going on! I was completely befuddled. I looked at my wrists and off to the side of my car, so entrenched in the crucifixion that I expected to see blood and gore splattered everywhere inside my car. My painful experience had been so realistic. But of course, there was nothing there. I shook my head to try to get a handle on what happened. I looked at the policeman and asked, What’s the problem, Officer?

He looked at me and yelled, What’s your problem, pal? Could you step out of the car please? I need you to step back to my patrol car.

I was having a great difficulty orientating myself to the present. What just happened? I asked myself. I got my license and car registration and stumbled back to sit in the officer’s patrol car. I looked at his name badge and said, Hello, Officer Bledsoe. He took my license and entered the information into his computer to check my name for warrants. He actually had me take a field sobriety test. He kept me in his patrol car for thirty minutes, asking questions while I assured him I was fine. He finally gave me permission to leave. I got out of his patrol car, went up to my trusty Rambler, and opened the door and sat down inside.

Out of nowhere, I heard off to my side, Wow, that was weird!

I turned toward the voice, but there was no one there. Once I regained my senses, all the pain and the terror I just experienced came rushing back. I checked my feet and wrists to see if there were holes in them. I was shocked, not because there were no wounds, but instead because there on my wrists were actual scars. Scars from where they had hammered the spikes through my wrists. They looked a little red, as though they had just healed over. I checked my feet to discover the same scars were also there. And the terrible pain was still causing a sense of disorientation.

A little farther up the road was Moses Cone Memorial Hospital. I decided to head there to see if I could get something for the pain, when off to my side, I heard, Wow, that was weird! And I actually heard someone giggling. Now beads of sweat had popped up on my forehead and soon started dripping down my head. I was scared—scared to death it might start all over.

Looking around, I tried to get a handle on what was happening. Who is there? I yelled. What do you want? I was hurting—hurting bad; and some joker seemed to be playing with my pain. And it hurt! I needed some answers.

Surprisingly enough, I received an answer. Not much of one, but an answer: this bodiless voice said, I will soon be with you. Look for me—Delta. I will be your mentor.

What! I yelled. Delta will be what?

Unfortunately, that was it. After everything I had been through, my final bodiless voice left me with, That was weird and that Delta was to be my mentor." All I could think was, Boy this really sucks.

I decided to forget the hospital and slowly drove home.

That night I didn’t tell anyone of my ordeal. Who would have believed such a wild story anyway? If not for the red scars, I wouldn’t have believed it ever occurred. I was exhausted and was still feeling a lot of pain. I lay in bed and examined the areas where my wounds had been inflected. I still couldn’t comprehend why these things had happened and what they meant, if anything. I decided to put it behind me for the time being and get some rest. After lying awake in pain, I finally slept. I had second thoughts about not stopping at the hospital, but it was not like they gave narcotics to anyone who was just stopping by. And telling them I was just crucified in my Rambler a few miles down the road would quickly get me a one-way ticket to the local booby hatch. For thirteen hours I slept. Unfortunately, I could not claim my sleep was pain free.

The next day, when I finally woke up, I lay there and looked out at the beautiful sun-filled day, wondering if I had dreamed the whole ordeal. The pain still echoed through my body, as if to reinforce the fresh scars as proof that what happened was no dream. I took a shower and examined my body. My back still showed signs of my skin having been flayed by the whip. I had a few puncture wounds on my forehead from the crown of thorns I was forced to wear. My wrists and my feet had red whelps from the iron stakes that had been used to nail me to the cross. It felt that if I pushed the area of the wound, I might actually see the hole through my wrist and my feet, and I had several red slashes from the spear that had been driven into my body to cause my final death.

The excruciating pain was still fresh in my thoughts. I was completely befuddled as to why I had to experience such a terribly painful event. I remembered the words: I needed to experience the pain to clear the way for my abilities. What were they talking about? I didn’t feel any special ability. I just felt the pain still present from my baptism. What was supposed to happen now? I didn’t know where to go or whom to talk to. My parents had ignored me most of my life. If I went to them with this wild story, they would probably have me put in a mental institution. They would take whatever action necessary to limit their involvement. I had two older sisters and an older brother. They also looked at me as the pariah of the family and completely ignored me. Only my grandfather, Papa, had shown me love and respect over the years, so I decided to go see him. I wasn’t sure what I would to say, but I needed to talk to someone.

I got back into my trusty Rambler to go see Papa. As I reached the bottom of our driveway, I saw this beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous girl standing there. She looked to be around twenty years old. She had long blonde hair, a knockout body straight out of Penthouse magazine, and a face so beautiful she would stop traffic. She was dressed in clothing one would wear to exercise. As I began to pull out of traffic, I stopped and stared at this beautiful woman. She just stood there and smiled at me. She started moving her hands in a circular motion, indicating I should role down my window.

Frankly, I was at a loss for words, for never had I seen a woman with such beauty. I just stared at her as I rolled down my window. I asked her, By any chance, are you the Delta I was told to expect?

She answered, Hi, Grant, yes, I’m Delta, and we have much to discuss. As soon as I heard the name Delta, my plans to see Papa was replaced by my overpowering need to talk to this beautiful lady. I said, I don’t understand what has been happening to me. Can you please explain what is going on?

Yes, Grant, it is time for you to learn of your future. But first, you must understand why you were baptized and what it means. she answered. Then without her lifting a finger, my car door opened. She got inside my car and said, This will take some time. Please, let’s go someplace we can spend a few hours and not be interrupted by anyone.

I decided to go back to my house, knowing there was no one home. We could be alone for several hours. We went back and sat down on the sofa in the garden room. She reached toward my head. I jumped back and asked, Hold on, Delta. I’ve had enough surprises to last a lifetime. What are you planning to do?

Grant, she said, I know you have had a tough time, but I ask you, please trust me for just a few moments. If you let me touch your forehead, I can relay what is happening to you in seconds what will take me hours to explain verbally. Please just trust me for a moment.

I don’t know if her beauty was having any influence on my decision. I mean, she was beautiful, and I was a sixteen-year-old boy with raging hormones. Who wants to look weak in front of a beautiful girl? So call me stupid, but I decided to take the chance. I told her, OK, but first, tell me if I’m going to have to experience any more pain like yesterday.

She smiled warmly and said, No, Grant, this will not be painful. You will just become aware of things happening. Just let me touch your forehead, and you will soon understand.

OK, I said, let’s get at it.

She reached over and placed her hand on my forehead. All at once, I felt as though my head was like a dry sponge, absorbing gallons of water in seconds. But instead of water, knowledge was being poured into my head. In seconds, I understood the reason for all my pain and what was expected of me in the future. When people ask me about this experience in later years, I would refer to this as my awakening. It might sound a little overdramatic, but it was pretty serious stuff.

MY AWAKENING

After all these years have passed, I still have difficulty explaining how I understood or how I came to have this knowledge. No one actually talked to me or explained sentiments or ideas to me. I just became aware