Putting Spells On Papa

Let me begin by saying this;

“Rena. I love you so much. God sent you to me. I saved you. You are my life’s work. You wanted me to heal you some more. I know what I did wrong in my letter. It was too witchy. You are not possessed. There is no demon lurking in you. You suffer from extreme dissasotion. You do leave your body, and go to place where only – you can go? I found you there. And you found me – there. We are here. I felt you ground three days ago.”

This is my message to Patrice;

You regret letting me know I had a daughter. You wanted to own a granddaughter – all to yourself! That daughter, that was lost, did not want you to take it hostage, as you took her mother-to-be hostage. The daughter that is inside, wants to be Heather’s mother. And she wants to meet her grandfather. We have spiritual work to do. She will be Heir to my feminine information. You want this -because you are a witch! You are the real deal. This is why you don’t want me around my offspring. I will warn them!

I just got back from shopping. I barely made it. Rena waled with me, and I was able to see that face she wears – sometime!

Here are some members of Heather’s Healing Coven – who do not want to provoke……………..THE JANITOR!

It is hard to imagine a seventeen year old wearing a black cowboy outfit and coming on smoky stage  – just to please her mother! Patrice told Heather she lost power – to her real daddy – and her job is to get her power back, and make Mommy feel vibrant and young again. How about – powerful! My daughter looks like the man her mother – always deserved!

While in Wal-Mart I looked at the amazing creature Rena had become when she came back to bed – after talking to her boyfriend in the living room. I thought she would go back to Nebraska with him, without waking me to say goodbye. All of a sudden – I am awake! Rena has made a sheet-tent over us.

“I hate him! I hate him! He was making the sign of Satan and aiming it at me!”

As I’m going down the soda isle, I see THAT face again. This time I do not turn away. Renea is about seven. She looks like a chattering cat. She is snarling. He gold eyes are mischievous – like a space monkey. I never saw  more beautfil creature. Rena was as repulsive as she was beautiful. I was transfixed. I understood this was the face she made with her brother, under their tent, after her drunken father fucked with her mind, mentally, and physically tortued her. Now, he could not make The Beast go away.

“Rena. I love you so much. I don’t want to lose you. But, I don’t want to play anymore!”

I rolled over and turned my back to her. She did the same. I have long regret doing this. I felt I had abandoned her in her real time of need.

Heding to grab a gallon of milk, I heard;

“You cast demons out her. How many?”

I felt like fainting I was flosting off the ground. I wrestle with that demon. As I passed people, some sensed what was going on. Other made a point to say hello. I realized I was – glowing. On the way home a guard approached several times, and said hello. Then he walked with me. We had a deep talk. He asked me if I was a Christian.

When you have enough dissociations, you learn to leave you body almost at will. You can end up in a dark place, or, a place of light. I showed Rena the place of light – that I had been to. I saved her in every way.

“Yes. But I am more of a Nazarite after John the Baptist.”

I was on both Cornwell’s facebook. When Bill’s father, the ex-marine drill sergeant, gung-ho ex-Marine read some of my posts. He flew to meet Heather and her mother. They hatched a scheme. Bill’s could not conceive, and thus Bill Sr. had no Heir.

“If you get rid of that nut-job, and have Tyler be like a son to my son, I will invest in that Bar&Grill.”

Patrice gave her approval to a head of the Tea Party of Texas. Heather is a redneck devotee of Donald Trump. What is a woman like this doing on a Witchy Empowerment site?

to be continued

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dissociation_(psychology)

 

 

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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