Voice of News Anchor: "A panel of jurors has reached a verdict, deciding on new regulations for Heaven. The jurors were told that 'Sense nothing can be known of it till after someone dies, it is to be regarded in a certain way.' Thus, their decision is like in a previous case, known only by first and last name of the person."
Hanging on the wall, just beyond the foot of my bed, there were a few artifacts and some chains (about necklace diameter), as well as candle holders. The candles in the holders were all lit; individually burning with bright orange fire. On the far-right side of my room were two pictures, one hung above the other; and both pictures were attempting to depict Jesus. In both paintings the Jesus is dressed in red and blue robes, but his representations were different; being each was painted by a different artist, at different times, and using different types of paint--one in oil, one in acrylic. In one painting the Jesus figure is sitting at a table, his eyes are closed, his head is cast downward and turned to the left (his right) and is holding his right hand up in a gesture of sorts; thumb, middle, and ring finger meeting to form an O shape; pinky finger standing up alone.
My buddy, Pat, who thinks like me about religion, decided to do some sort of a "summoning challenge" as a way to prove which picture was of the real Jesus; so, we could find out which one was the imposter. The Book of Family Traditions has a chapter called "The Life-Giving Sword," stating that "In Buddhism, they speak of fundamental non-existence and fundamental existence. When people die, the existent is concealed. When people are born, the nonexistent is manifested. The reality is the same thing." We thought nothing of the ritual we were about to perform, but still took up a margin of safety.
Pat knew more about what the "summoning challenge" entailed than me, though I knew it would involve a state of trance . . . or some such thing. Pat lay down and got himself into a sleeping state--of sorts anyway--, though there was more to it that he never told me about. I can say that when the event was over, and I'd helped him sit up, I was very concerned for his mental well-being. He may never be right again!
Here's what happened, as far as from my perspective. First off, while Pat was lying there, he told me to hold an empty, light blue colored, three ring binder. The binder was known as "Old 62," and was comprised of a thick, oddly textured material; making it perfect for holding sideways (like a clam), and loud when manipulated to open and close with a clap-like action. I was sitting on my bed, facing the candles, while holding the binder and making clapping sounds with "Old 62;” while challenging the lower painting of Jesus to "get" the other picture. It is worth noting that the painting I was commanding; giving orders to it like a dog, had Jesus depicted with individuals to his left and right sides, but their irreverent. Also, Pat was waking up the demons from within his trance . . . though they could've been anything--judging from my observed speculations.
Suddenly, the candles started burning angrily; flickering in highly unusual ways and popping like flint: Contact verification! I watched the candles in disbelief, being I'd burned hundreds of them before, though nothing like what happened should occur with a piece of wax and a wick. I wondered, was Pat putting me on? So, I really started laying into this "Lord," shouting and demanding "Show me some damn proof of yourself!" I'd began treating him like an attack dog, giving the command "Sic 'em!" and making him "get" himself from in the other artists painting. Like an out-of-control dictator, scolding and harshly threatening his people, I took on a similar demeanor--the demons that Pat was fighting, now had come to attack me too, but my mode was so far in that they, thankfully, didn't keep hold of me. I scolded Jesus, barking loudly "There can only be one God!" The power and anger overcame me as I scornfully cried out one final demand, growling "Come on!" at him.
The whole ordeal had become an exercise in religious bullshit. The flames started to die down, and then they flared back up, becoming extremely violent. Apparently, the "Higher Being" chose not to burn my house down; as the flames just woofed out, and the candles themselves were completely gone; burned into nonexistence. The artifacts near where the candles had been still remained, as well as the chains being all draped along the now soot covered wall, where the fire had made its hotbed.
Seldom will I admit being afraid, let alone of a kind that makes me get out of bed, but I did have some apprehensions (feeling wise) in regard to the event while it was occurring. Pat and I had gotten through it alive, which was more like a constellation settlement. "It's finally over," was how Pat spoke of the occurrence.