The Spirit Sought Me: Or Case Of Mistaken Identity?

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I couldn’t just die here, I thought. How could my children wake up and not be able to wake me? It would be inexplicable.

[Beyond Our Realm]

What you are reading is a true story.  It is frightening, it is surreal, and it is unbelievable but believe me when I say it happened to me.

At a very un-Godly hour of about 3.00 am, on October 20th 2008, I was awoken by what felt like a thumb and fore finger squeezing at my throat, choking me, cutting off air supply, and aggressively killing me.  I was literally paralyzed with fear. 

I tried to scream and I am reminding by Michael Jackson’s Thriller when he sings--terror takes the sound before you make it.  I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I could turn my head from side to side but that was just about it.  I could not move the rest of my body.  My hands were being firmly held down at my sides.  I knew that someone or something was holding me down, but who or what?

This was not a dream. I was fully awake. My eyes were open and my mind was clear and attentive to the unfolding horror.  I turned to my then 2 year old daughter, Alyssa to make sure she was alright. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. I listened out for my then 14 year old daughter, Sascha, on the top of the bunk bed.  She was loudly snoring, although I knew that came morning she would moan about being so tired and not having slept a wink.

My daughters were fine. Whoever it is, or whatever it was had only come for me, thank goodness.  I had no fear for myself, only concern for my daughters.

I started to question whether I had been particularly bad recently to warrant this very unwelcome visit. I could think of nothing. Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity, after all I was not in my own room that night, and someone else, a relative, had been sleeping on that bed just the night before. This thought comforted me, for want of a better word, because I would not wish this experience on anyone.

So what do I do?  Do I simply lay here and allow myself to be killed off like some temporary secretary in a typing pool?  After all, I couldn’t fight back.  Even if I could move I couldn’t see whoever it was or whatever it was in their murderous quest, desperate to end my life.  It was a very unfair duel.

I couldn’t just die here, I thought.  How could my children wake up and not be able to wake me?  It would be inexplicable.  It would be one of those mysteries that no one would be able to explain unless there were visible signs of strangulation on my neck. Then who gets the blame?  My daughters?  Their daddy in the next room?  What about DNA?  I am sure the coroner would have recorded an open verdict.  All the while, the grip remained in place. My whole life flashed before my eyes.  My mind now a jumble of thoughts, memories and expectations.

Sascha and I have regular discussions on religion, often agreeing to disagree. 

I have always been a believer, whereas the older Sascha has gotten, the more questions she has; there is too much suffering in this world, why would God allow it?  If Christianity believes that the only way to God and eternal life is through Jesus Christ then what about Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism to name but a few? Is their faith wrong? Will they be condemned to eternal fires of hell? 

Questions which I fail to adequately answer.

“I want to believe,” insists Sascha “but I have too many unanswered questions.” 

She adds that science has the benefit of observation and experiment, so the proof is right there before you. On rare occasions my teenage daughter and I agree; but my faith keeps me true otherwise this elaborate plan would not make any sense. You are born, you live, you die and that’s it? I believe that Jesus lived; that he died on the cross for my sins; and, I believe that Jesus lives. Is this blind faith?

I think not, because as I lay strangled in bed, I summoned the only name that I knew could save me.  I thought Jesus, Jesus, Jesus and the grip reluctantly loosened and left as suddenly as it had awoken me. 

This is a true account. It took me over a year to acknowledge that it happened to me.  I was too frightened to even think about it, let alone talk about it.  What if they heard me and came back?

I wished it had been a dream.  I am a bundle of nerves as I write, engulfed by shivers and sudden cold.  But I also believe in the power of prayer.


 

Please post your comments directly or submit them to Milton@blackstarnews.com

“Speaking Truth To Empower.”


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