The Sacred and Mystic I

By Fred Miller Jr.

These thoughts that were transformed into words are to stimulate minds and thoughts toward "conscience." The human species is a dual being. The human body is flesh, tissue, and bone. It is astronomical in its design, its energy is microparticle, and it is identified and classified as the mind, soul, and spirit, the "I."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644240878

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Sacred and Mystic I

Fred Miller Jr.

Copyright © 2019 Fred Miller Jr.

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2019

ISBN 978-1-64424-086-1 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64424-088-5 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64424-087-8 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It has been said and written by humans’ own calculation and admission that humankind use only 10 percent of our thinking and reasoning capacity. That means that there is 90 percent of our minds that is left undeveloped, unexplored, and unknown. We, as human beings, live in a mental atmosphere of mental and physical repetition.

In religious theology, it is taught that in the beginning, it was the word. That is incorrect; in the beginning, it was all thought. Thought is transformed into sound that we identified and classified as the word. Thoughts of and from the Creator, or God, are transformed into microscopic elements and substance of pure energy, identified and classified as intelligence and defined as entity. Anything that is of the Creator and from the Creator does not require size in order to be endowed with unlimited potential and power.

Iwas a single-parent child with one brother. I was born at 11:30 p.m. on January 1, 1942. My father played no role in my growing-up and learning process.

I was told that my father was an abusive-minded man when he was young. Being unsupervised and undisciplined as a child himself and not being able to read or write, he became a heavy drinker. I went without seeing my father until I was a father, and my children should know their grandfather. Thirty years had passed. I saw him on a more regular basis after that.

My mother, being the second of eleven, never had the opportunity to experience a real childhood. She was too busy washing, cleaning, and changing diapers. Plus she had to pick and chop cotton and help do all the other chores required on a farm. She was doing all this from the time she was eight years old. By the time my mother was seventeen, she was married with two children. To earn a living, my mother and father hired out to pick and chop cotton for white families who own the real large farmers. My brother and I would be taken to my grandparents in the morning and picked up in the evening.

As I said, my father was a drinker and abusive. I was four years old when my mother decided she had had enough. My mother had a strong will and determination; she left me and my brother with our grandparents and went to Memphis to find a job.

After a short period, she moved to St. Louis, Missouri. In 1950, she came for me and my brother; four years had passed, and we left Arkansas behind.

As an eight-year-old, I was sad and mad at my mother for what she was doing by making me leave all the things I had come to know and love. When I got to St. Louis, Missouri, I was in awe and scared at the same time. Everything was bricks and concrete where we lived; there were no trees and no grass. The air was different, and everything looked unclean and appeared close in like a maze. But the main thing that won me over was that there were children everywhere, so there was always someone to play with.

I was nine years old when I thought my mother wanted to kill me and my brother. Mother was employed as a domestic, cleaning the house of a Jewish family, so her income was very minimal. We lived in a two-room apartment, and the apartment had no bathroom, the toilet was outside, and we took our baths in a large washtub; there were no built-in closets in those apartments. So my mother bought this beautiful piece of furniture known as a chiffonier for hanging our clothes in. One day my brother and I, with three of our friends, decided we were going to play hide-and-seek in two rooms. While we were playing hide-and-seek, I came up with the idea that I would hide in the chiffonier, and that was the start for everybody to try to hide in the chiffonier. We tore the bottom out and broke the center post, and the hinges on the doors were hanging loose. Since I was the one with the bright idea to start hiding in the chiffonier, it was up to me to fix it. I took a hammer and some old nails and broken pieces of wood from an old orange crate and tried to nail everything back together. Man, you talk about a bad idea and mistake.

I think that willow trees are some of the most beautiful and elegant trees, but I used to hate them suckers. At forty years old, I still got hard feelings about this tree.

Where I lived in Arkansas, they were plentiful, so for all mothers, the willow switch was their weapon of choice for their children when they had to issue out a little love. Well, my mother introduced me and my brother to a whole new experience—the extension cord. When my mother got home and saw what we had done and what I had done, thinking that I was fitting the chiffonier, she did something she had never done before; she asked me and my brother to take off our clothes. I was nine years old, and that was the first time I experienced panic and didn’t know what panic was. My brother and I got the opportunity to experience some real hide-and-seek. Because my brother was a year older, I think that was why he got to be dinner and I was dessert. Mother got this extension cord, and before I knew it, she was swinging it at my bother, and she wasn’t particular about where it landed; I had never seen that before.

My brother was running all around the two-room apartment, and he was ducking, dodging, and hiding anyplace he could. And I was doing everything I could to stay out of the way. It was a strange scene, seeing my brother running around in his underwear; every time my brother got hit, he would say, We won’t do it no more. Now I was watching all this and knew that I was next; by then, fear and panic were running through me.

You know, when you’re eight years old and you’re watching this woman who looks like your mother chasing you around the kitchen table and chairs, over and under the bed, whenever my brother would try to hide behind me, I got lit up with that extension cord. That extension cord was a unique and deadly thing; it didn’t break like that willow switch when it came in contact with something solid. Hiding behind something didn’t mean anything; when my mother swung that extension cord, it would like wrap around anything and still hit some part of your body.

My brother’s name is Theopolis, but we called him Jake. When we got older, we talked about that day and that ass whooping, and we both laughed. He feels he got the worst of our mother’s love that day. Well, that’s a little different; he didn’t have to witness what I witnessed. When our mother came home from work, she was dressed up and looking really nice as always. But as she chased my brother around those two rooms of furniture, trying to catch him so she could whip him, she started looking wilder and wilder.

Her hair started to come undone, and she started sweating; her blouse was coming undone, and she was breathing kind of hard. By the time she got to me, her hair was completely undone and wild looking; her blouse had come completely out of her skirt, and some of the buttons had come undone. After a while, she was really sweating, and the veins in her forehead and her eyes popped out, woo-hoo!

Breathing pretty heavy? Mother is no longer just angry; she’s pissed off because Jake had made her chase him around all the furniture and the apartment for over ten minutes. I paid for that. I know that it was my mother who walked through the door, but this wasn’t her chasing me because it was like I was running for my life.

I made some moves that day that I didn’t know I had. Actually, it really wasn’t quite as bad as it sounds; we both had a number of welts on us, but I had more, and it scared the hell out of me. It let me know that my mother—who is five feet, three inches tall—was five feet, three inches of nightmare and terror and not to tampered with.

When I was ten, I got a Job working in this Italian family’s grocery store, delivering groceries. After a while, I was treated like family. The Italians owned some land that was somewhere in the Ozarks with an old shack on it. They would go there on some Sundays just to mess around and shoot their guns, and every now and then, they would take me with them. I would get