It was a warm rising spring in 1962, months before the Cuban missile crisis and a year following the Bay of Pigs invasion. A short happy four year-old walked down a street in Havana holding his parent’s hands on the way to a favored park not far from home. His feet often lifted off the ground and swung blissfully from his parent’s tall firm arms, enjoying moments of young innocence in an unforgiving negative world to his unawareness. It was a time of grave fear for war drew near, but the child sensed none of it living in a world of concocted trust and cheer. Instead, he dreamed of someday becoming a famous concert pianist and reaching far into the alluring mantle of stars beckoning his enamored soul. He wanted to learn about so many things, and creation was one of them, but he would soon take off on a journey of times long past, not really knowing why or whence.
To the left, a huge ornate building stood chillingly imposing across the street. Its bells rang an echoing monotonous tune that shuddered the heart’s deepest foundations. People crowded to this place from all directions drawn magnetically by the deadening sounds of reverberating steel. Men well groomed, ladies with scarf covering their hairs, children driven forth to purpose not yet clear to them. Then it was that my father turned to me and said, “This is the house of God. You will start coming here.”
When I heard these words, something immediately triggered unbearable panic. I twisted and jumped frantically trying to free myself from my parents and run desperately away, and cried out in helpless torrents several times with every ounce of strength my bosom could afford me, “This is the house of the devil! Don’t bring me here!”
Those heading toward the building stopped to witness my presumed “possessed” state and shook their heads sadly. Obviously, I knew something they did not, for I suffered a memory from past times that would not rest—I was reliving. God, devil, church, they were new terms for me in this life, but their essence surfaced from prior times, for Spanish had been a language I once used in previous learning journeys. So it was that I was forced into the religious system and my hatred swelled accordingly with the passage of time. But a beam of love kept me company for I was to learn truths beyond what this earth could provide.
I wondered where life came from and why I felt the personage I did since crib days. Life just couldn’t vanish into nothing, or come from nothing. Same with creation itself, there was something else beyond the physical, but I could not quite touch it yet. Then, when I was five, I saw a cigar-shaped mother ship and that changed everything—I knew. I began to search, devoured every book and magazine I could find. I sought the fountainhead and life on other worlds with an appetite that leaves the word “insane” far in milieu. At age thirteen, I finally stood up to those controlling my life and said—no! The moment I let go, I realized the light was there waiting for me.
Years later, I had an answer to that childhood reaction and recognized a life-long obsession to change or teach people away from religious beliefs—revenge thrived in me, not love. Lifetimes in Spain, Italy, and Mexico had involved both church and flames. I’ve met those responsible, some repeating the past while others implementing opposite activities, no different than I. Hatred and fears blinded me in this life to the point of inhibiting mental coherence, enhancing escape, and drowning in tears—it’s what I lived for. I was therefore a very disturbed man, consumed by my own destructive agenda.
I now understand that everyone chooses a path in their infinite quest for love, and there’s no one right way over another. What do I know of such infinite personal development plans but to interfere? School is in session and I’m not the teacher but a student. It’s the old self, the survivalist wanting to keep a foothold in this dimension, that I must focus on and know for it is the hidden purpose behind will that so righteously seems sound all too often. Herein is my renewed commitment to not interfere but serve as the light so advises. Though I falter, I shall learn, get up again, and move forward for legacy is the past and love is the future. Love is forgiving, considerate, selfless, and patient, the herald of soulic freedom and the monumental foundation of tranquility—love, oh how sweet it is.
Submitted by: Roberto Gaetan on 12/14/2014
Tagged with: Voice of Venus