Thirty Years Beyond the Veil

This month brings the thirtieth anniversary of my first connection with my spirit guide Jake.

I wasn't yet twenty-one. I was struggling in my spiritual life, reeling from disillusion as a born-again Christian in a church run by celebrities--Detroit's affluent. In college debt, wearing shoes with holes in them, driving a car that barely turned over on spring mornings, I never hesitated to put money in the offering plate. Never hesitated to tithe. Never hesitated to contribute to the building fund.

But when the pastor's birthday came along and the congregation filled the chapel beyond capacity for a special birthday service, I stood in shock and confusion when the head deacon presented the pastor with the keys to a brand new Jaguar. "We can't have our pastor driving around, looking raggedy, can we?" The congregation whooped and hollered as if Jesus himself had returned for the special occasion.

I, however, didn't share in the enthusiasm. Pastor was already driving a Cadillac that was quite stylish and far from "raggedy." Yet here in church, we had single mothers filling the pews alongside the elderly, disabled, and quite a few cash-strapped college kids like myself. But pastor--a family man--needed that Jag.

I drove home that evening angry at myself. I chastised myself for not being able to celebrate in pastor's...success? Good fortune? Blessing? Certainly, I wasn't envious. Was I? After all, I didn't want a Jaguar. I'd never been materialistic like that. Luxury cars, designer items, status symbols never called to me, and they certainly didn't impress me. Since childhood, I wanted more than things. I wanted experiences. I longed for engagement with spirit, with the esoteric.

I was seeking apotheosis, transcendence, and in that, a righteous fury burned in my breast as I knew I had just beheld a most gluttonous act right there at the altar before God. I had witnessed our church leaders unabashedly normalizing their avarice, flaunting it in front of church members who were struggling to keep their heat on during the brutal Detroit winters. This was opulence and superfluity in the guise of divine blessings of abundance and prosperity--all for me, none for thee. Such a gross ritual of incognizance and insensitivity, lacking all or any traces of humility.

And that just didn't sit right in my soul, to say the least.

---

​A few weeks after this internal battle, a friend invited me out for an evening of fun. The evening was unexpectedly cut short when I emotionally broke down in such an uncontrollable, inconsolable manner that the manager of the establishment we had been visiting approached me and asked if I required medical attention. Truly, it was the most crushing, most humiliating experience I'd ever had. There I was, sobbing, heaving, and wailing in public as if I'd just learned of the death of a loved one. Years of emotions and yearning for a closeness to God, a closeness to Heaven. Years of seeking and asking, praying and begging--all of it seemingly mocked by the very persons in whom I'd placed my unwavering trust and looked to for edification. The disappointment and despondency all crested in that moment and swept me away.

That very night, Jake arrived in a dream.

I was standing outside a candlelit storefront. It was raining, and the condensation on the window gave the candles inside an ethereal glow. Entering the store, I was enshrouded in darkness. Dancing shadows accompanied me through aisles of fantastical jigsaw puzzles, shimmering crystals, golden timepieces, and glowing neon novelties--it was the early nineties, after all. I made it to the back of the store, where every eighties kid knows that's where the poster rack is always displayed. I began flipping through the huge 24 x 36 pages--rock band posters, the ubiquitous beach babe posters, black light posters, movie posters.

And then Jake.

He stood on the poster as if his hands were bound before him, though they were below the frame, so I couldn't see for certain. Crow black hair fell into his face and fell upon his bare, burnished shoulders. He shuddered and gazed up at me as the poster came to life. I could feel heat pouring off the image. I could see the candle flames in the store reflected back on the poster's shiny surface, glinting in the sweat on his chest.

"You don't want this," he spoke in a pained, hushed tone.

I sat up in bed, waking from the dream. You don't want this. What did that even mean? And who was this demon coming to tempt me?

Remember, I hadn't yet walked away from the church.

I was terrified, and it would take Jake the better part of a decade to knock down my walls and prove to me his purpose. He would help me break free of the bonds of this material world. He would help remove the scales from my eyes that blinded me to the truth of our existence.

Still, it took seemingly forever for me to decipher that dream of Jake, which was but the first of many over the decades. But now, after thirty years, I know that he was warning me of all the fear, the darkness, and torment I put myself through in the church. The constant nightmares. The hand wringing. The all-night prayer sessions that left me physically spent and mentally exhausted. The guilt and self-flagellation.

All my life, I had been prone to punishing myself for the slightest things, a product of having a religious father who demanded perfection in his only daughter.

When Jake arrived, I had been struggling in college, ironically because of my relationship with my father. He had been ailing, suffering from dementia, and I was internalizing the constant verbal and emotional abuse. I didn't know this monster I shared a home with. He had stolen the father I loved away and was now wearing his face. And so little was understood about dementia in those days, that my mother and I were both defenseless against him. It was pure hell.

You don't want this. Jake was right, I didn't. I had to break free of the indoctrination, the spiritual coercion, and the fear. After proving to me time and time again that he was indeed real and not some imagined specter or symptom of mental decline, he would introduce me to Archangel Cassiel, who would introduce me to Archangel Gabriel, who would introduce me to Archangel Michael, and then Archangels  Sandalphon and Metatron, and then Archangel Uriel and on up the line.

Thirty years of ups and downs, of leaps forwards and steps backwards. Thirty years of moments when I was absolutely certain only to realize I was utterly clueless. Thirty years of reconciling the human and the divine. Thirty years of progress while yet realizing there's still so much farther to go. With Jake, I have run the gamut of experiences and to him I shall always be grateful. 

I have no idea where my journey with Jake goes from here. I may be psychic, but I can't see everything--no psychic can. What I do know, however, is that I will continue to do my humble best with what strength I have and whatever grace the Creator provides. According to Jake and the archangels, it's all Heaven ever asks of us.