Two Little Miracle Caves
There seems to be more reader interest in how God has saved me from the torturing of me by Americans, than in how God has punished Americans for torturing me.
Indeed, my having documented on this site, in advance, the death of Reverend Kyle Lake of the University Baptist Church of Waco, Texas, has increased the level of harassment I undergo at the supermarket in Atascadero, California. These Americans, they dance to the tune their masters play.
It is obvious it was not I who took the life of Reverend Lake, God took his life; and before God took it God told me about it; and before God took it I passed the news on to you. That's my job; I am God's raggedy assed journalist.
If you are one of those people who are offended by my telling you of the death of Reverend Lake before it took place, put things into perspective and bear in mind I am telling you about the death of our Earth less than 60 years before it takes place. That means I am telling you about your death, the death of your children, and your grandchildren, and all your progeny, forever.
That said, since we have a few days before God's next expected punishment of America for enslaving and torturing God's One True Telepath, the punishment encoded in this work as "Severing the Paw", I thought I might tell you about more Little Miracles I have experienced.
Today I will tell about two similar Little Miracles in which my life was saved by my being shown caves to shelter in during wilderness storms that otherwise almost certainly would have killed me.
It is important to these stories that in each case I was in that jeopardy because of the torture of me by American citizens.
The first is less impressive than the second in terms of its miraculous aspect, but very important in my having been put into danger by fundamental Christian minister and his son.
(I must say, fundamentalist Christians have been wicked to me since the day God gave me the gift of audible mental telepathy; I do not know why but I think it may be a quirk in their dogma.)
As I have told you, I have over the years taken a number of deep-wilderness backpacking trips of four weeks or more to recuperate from America's torture-enslavement of me.
In this particular case I had hiked to a favorite lake where I would often spend the first several days of my adventure, gradually relaxing my battered brain, browning myself on the green grass in the hot summer sun, drinking sweet brown tea, and swimming a little. Kicking back, as the phrase has it.
Near the entrance of the trail to this lake was a small fundamentalist church; it could have been Baptist, I do not recall; and the day after I got to the lake the minister of that church and his teenage son arrived, and after introducing themselves they immediately began the cowardly American torture-cough, the torture Americans most love above all the other tortures.
By the end of their first day at the lake the two "Christians" had struck me perhaps 100 times with false coughs, which by that point after thousands of Americans had struck me with hundreds of thousands of false coughs, each cough was excruciating.
(Americans know this coughing torture causes me great pain, that is one reason they like it; another reason being I am helpless and cannot strike back. Cowardly people, these Americans.)
Being the experienced torture victim I was by that time, I knew these two "Christians" would torture me all night long, and all the next day, and all the next night, until either I or they left the lake; and my stomach was already approaching its bleeding state after that first day.
So, while I would normally not pack up and leave a camp toward evening I did so, figuring at least I would find a quiet place to sleep. However, after some arduous hiking and cliff-climbing with an 80-pound pack on my back, a sleet storm came up about an hour before sunset and within minutes I was drenched and cold.
While I was familiar with that route, having taken it perhaps twice before, I had never before seen the cave I found myself in front of that evening; and thanks to having packed thermal underwear in sealed plastic bags I spared a hard experience with hypothermia.
I do not consider this a true Little Miracle because there was no supra-normal event, as in the case of the dollar bill coming out of thin air in the recent entry entitled "100 Pennies from Heaven", but sometimes the guidance of God is very subtle so I have put it on my list of Little Miracles because that cave saved my life.
A true Little Miracle took place in the second incident involving a cave. That is, something way, way out of the ordinary took place.
I had been harassed and hounded day and night for about three months in my apartment in San Francisco, and here I mean minute-by-minute, constantly for some three months with all my neighbors harassing me in coordinated tandem.
I was beginning to hallucinate from abuse and lack of sleep, and my job as a word processor at Standard Oil allowed me only three errors a day, and I was being harassed on the job by my co-workers, the lead torturer being the office manager, a black fundamentalist "Christian" with Christian items on his desk to show all how good a Christian he was.
So, even though it was September and too late to hike in the California Sierras, I decided I'd better do so or die of accumulated damage from the torture.
I hurriedly packed my pack and hitched a ride to the point on the Pacific Crest Trail where it passes near the famed Donner Pass, where snowed-in pioneers practiced cannibalism to live through the winter of 1846.
Punchy as I was after so much intense torture my illogical plan was to hike south fast, to outpace the weather for several hundred miles to where the Pacific Crest Trail passes close to Palm Springs; and there, having regained my health, hopefully find work and live through the winter.
As it happened, two days into the hike I ran into a huge winter storm, with freezing rain and then sleet, and the next day, as it happened, wet snow. To my tortured brain it seemed too late to turn back, and nothing awaited me in civilization but more torture anyway.
Digging into my hastily packed backpack I found that in my battered mental state I had packed no foul weather gear, not a rain coat, not a tent, and not even a plastic tarp with which to build a lean-to. I was by that time an experienced backpacker and had I not been tortured to the point of death I would never have made such a mistake.
So, I thought about my options; I wondered how I might stay alive through the night. I don't pray in the usual sense, but I figured God would help me out without my asking.
I was looking at my map to see if there was a ranch nearby, or an abandoned cabin from yesteryear, and on the map a genuine hallucination took place. In white letters on the green map the words "Virgil's Cave" appeared, and then quickly disappeared, never to be seen again.
As you may know, my name is Virgil.
Trusting in God as I do, I picked up my pack and headed toward the place on my map that hallucination had marked; and there, as you have probably guessed from what I have said, I found a cave.
I spent a hour or two bringing in firewood, and sat out the storm warm and snug for two or three days.
These are the stories of the Two Little Miracle Caves.
Indeed, my having documented on this site, in advance, the death of Reverend Kyle Lake of the University Baptist Church of Waco, Texas, has increased the level of harassment I undergo at the supermarket in Atascadero, California. These Americans, they dance to the tune their masters play.
It is obvious it was not I who took the life of Reverend Lake, God took his life; and before God took it God told me about it; and before God took it I passed the news on to you. That's my job; I am God's raggedy assed journalist.
If you are one of those people who are offended by my telling you of the death of Reverend Lake before it took place, put things into perspective and bear in mind I am telling you about the death of our Earth less than 60 years before it takes place. That means I am telling you about your death, the death of your children, and your grandchildren, and all your progeny, forever.
That said, since we have a few days before God's next expected punishment of America for enslaving and torturing God's One True Telepath, the punishment encoded in this work as "Severing the Paw", I thought I might tell you about more Little Miracles I have experienced.
Today I will tell about two similar Little Miracles in which my life was saved by my being shown caves to shelter in during wilderness storms that otherwise almost certainly would have killed me.
It is important to these stories that in each case I was in that jeopardy because of the torture of me by American citizens.
The first is less impressive than the second in terms of its miraculous aspect, but very important in my having been put into danger by fundamental Christian minister and his son.
(I must say, fundamentalist Christians have been wicked to me since the day God gave me the gift of audible mental telepathy; I do not know why but I think it may be a quirk in their dogma.)
As I have told you, I have over the years taken a number of deep-wilderness backpacking trips of four weeks or more to recuperate from America's torture-enslavement of me.
In this particular case I had hiked to a favorite lake where I would often spend the first several days of my adventure, gradually relaxing my battered brain, browning myself on the green grass in the hot summer sun, drinking sweet brown tea, and swimming a little. Kicking back, as the phrase has it.
Near the entrance of the trail to this lake was a small fundamentalist church; it could have been Baptist, I do not recall; and the day after I got to the lake the minister of that church and his teenage son arrived, and after introducing themselves they immediately began the cowardly American torture-cough, the torture Americans most love above all the other tortures.
By the end of their first day at the lake the two "Christians" had struck me perhaps 100 times with false coughs, which by that point after thousands of Americans had struck me with hundreds of thousands of false coughs, each cough was excruciating.
(Americans know this coughing torture causes me great pain, that is one reason they like it; another reason being I am helpless and cannot strike back. Cowardly people, these Americans.)
Being the experienced torture victim I was by that time, I knew these two "Christians" would torture me all night long, and all the next day, and all the next night, until either I or they left the lake; and my stomach was already approaching its bleeding state after that first day.
So, while I would normally not pack up and leave a camp toward evening I did so, figuring at least I would find a quiet place to sleep. However, after some arduous hiking and cliff-climbing with an 80-pound pack on my back, a sleet storm came up about an hour before sunset and within minutes I was drenched and cold.
While I was familiar with that route, having taken it perhaps twice before, I had never before seen the cave I found myself in front of that evening; and thanks to having packed thermal underwear in sealed plastic bags I spared a hard experience with hypothermia.
I do not consider this a true Little Miracle because there was no supra-normal event, as in the case of the dollar bill coming out of thin air in the recent entry entitled "100 Pennies from Heaven", but sometimes the guidance of God is very subtle so I have put it on my list of Little Miracles because that cave saved my life.
A true Little Miracle took place in the second incident involving a cave. That is, something way, way out of the ordinary took place.
I had been harassed and hounded day and night for about three months in my apartment in San Francisco, and here I mean minute-by-minute, constantly for some three months with all my neighbors harassing me in coordinated tandem.
I was beginning to hallucinate from abuse and lack of sleep, and my job as a word processor at Standard Oil allowed me only three errors a day, and I was being harassed on the job by my co-workers, the lead torturer being the office manager, a black fundamentalist "Christian" with Christian items on his desk to show all how good a Christian he was.
So, even though it was September and too late to hike in the California Sierras, I decided I'd better do so or die of accumulated damage from the torture.
I hurriedly packed my pack and hitched a ride to the point on the Pacific Crest Trail where it passes near the famed Donner Pass, where snowed-in pioneers practiced cannibalism to live through the winter of 1846.
Punchy as I was after so much intense torture my illogical plan was to hike south fast, to outpace the weather for several hundred miles to where the Pacific Crest Trail passes close to Palm Springs; and there, having regained my health, hopefully find work and live through the winter.
As it happened, two days into the hike I ran into a huge winter storm, with freezing rain and then sleet, and the next day, as it happened, wet snow. To my tortured brain it seemed too late to turn back, and nothing awaited me in civilization but more torture anyway.
Digging into my hastily packed backpack I found that in my battered mental state I had packed no foul weather gear, not a rain coat, not a tent, and not even a plastic tarp with which to build a lean-to. I was by that time an experienced backpacker and had I not been tortured to the point of death I would never have made such a mistake.
So, I thought about my options; I wondered how I might stay alive through the night. I don't pray in the usual sense, but I figured God would help me out without my asking.
I was looking at my map to see if there was a ranch nearby, or an abandoned cabin from yesteryear, and on the map a genuine hallucination took place. In white letters on the green map the words "Virgil's Cave" appeared, and then quickly disappeared, never to be seen again.
As you may know, my name is Virgil.
Trusting in God as I do, I picked up my pack and headed toward the place on my map that hallucination had marked; and there, as you have probably guessed from what I have said, I found a cave.
I spent a hour or two bringing in firewood, and sat out the storm warm and snug for two or three days.
These are the stories of the Two Little Miracle Caves.
posted by Virgil Kret at 6:06 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home