Of God’s SoS

The beautiful summer I have enjoyed a stretch til now since March. When my vision of a scowling chief in full regalia, a long draping war bonnet of eagle feathers marking his regal position as leader appeared to me. Arms raised above his head and seeming there but not – a transparency staring deeply into my eyes. I distinctly heard “Son of Satan”, though I didn’t detect his lips moving. Then a tale began being channeled to me, and the ominous figure faded off, replaced with dark figres floating in a line, one after another abve me. They flew near the ceiling, darkened indistinguishable from each other, like blackened burlap bags, moving frm the east wall across the room departing to the West. They had returned from a hallowed huntng ground God did save for them. From the land of the setting moon and sun they did cme. I was reassured of their presence, for my room filled with a musky smoke smell of a century old campfire. Why i wasn’t at all surprised or upset is a long story, that, if i’m successful, will not be here to finish. On that first weekend of March, an angel of God began showing me a story of which I am the key component, and he lived in my thoughts only and has never reappeared in physical form since the title given me. By Monday I was aware of what had just transpired in my dimly lit room. And, as always the case, when testifying to a revelation, I quickly assumed the title Outcast as well. I dO testify a glimpse of Heaven given me, and a dire warning of doom closing in on our nation. A body, but more importantly of soul, I since then and unto death, am to be our nation’s lost conscience. I am God’s children’s Ghost Dancers Son of Satan. If I must remain in exile of all to keep them safe from the evil I am destined to attract, it will be done. I have made a vow to God and am compelled to serve as the second son sending you a message much as the first son, Jesus, though in Satan’s name. The angel shaman chief looked through my eyes for one day in Madison [spoke thru me] to see what we have made from the land we stole frm his kind, and he reported to God our Father what his children on Earth have done to his Eden, and how we have so direly lost the path to his Kingdom. I didn’t realize Chief Bigfoot in me until I entered the barber shop, our first stop. I had seen two hawks soaring a mile above me while walking the short distance to the busstop, but decided to spruce up at the barber shop just across the road. By now the Chief had told me we were related. He, my grandfather. And as we entered the doorway of the barber, I stopped, and declared to the ever present and complying barber, “Make me look like one of you.” That was my cue – it was WE, not I, on this excursion. I sat on the chair and spoke of the story given me, when out blurted the Chief: “I have come to where a nation calls its Heart, and I have found none.” I spoke of being hurt by cars and the barber told me to use the bike paths available. And again Chief commented in a speech not heard by either me or Bill [barbr] as he calmly cut my hair: “We must ALL find another path than that of the Horse-with-No-Soul.” As i left, Bill asked how my story ends, and I used a word I now only use in regards to my soul. I replied, “I fear it is not good.” Thirty years a barber, he will always remember us.