When I think about it, it makes sense that I am here. The
Lord has been guiding me all my life, training me, as it were. I
was exposed to the proper insights, saw and help enough suffering, and
felt enough love to want to be a healer. It was the Jesuits fault.
I was the outcast farm boy, sent to Catholic grade school. Intelligent. Very concerned about spirituality. Then I went to Regis. "We take boy and turn them in to men for others." That was the phrase that was repeated, over and over. I learned the meaning of service and the value of thought.
God wanted me for his service, but I did not know him. The strain between the service of God and the spirituality that I had learned almost broke me. I turned Atheistic, looking inward to find meaning. In the honest pursuit of self-knowledge, I was open to new ideas, and that's when it started.
I started getting answers when I asked them when my mind was still. I started feeling the pain of others and being able to ease them. I started being able to speak spirits. I started learning about the occult and philosophy. My studies continued in college. I majored in philosophy and theology and after a summer in Canada at a Jesuit Boys Camp, I determined to enter the service of the Order of Jesuits as a brother.
Those were some of the hardest days of my life. I worked on reservations, hospices, and schools. I watched people suffer, I held the dying in my arms. To deal with the stress, I had to shut down some of my spiritual abilities. I stopped talking to spirits, for the most part. I had to re-learn how to heal myself and others. But I made it through.
Then the Order asked me to return as a Youth Director at Regis University. I was overjoyed to be returning to my home state, and familiar territory.
The Youth group I worked with were very spiritual people. They were strong and began to tell me about disturbing dreams and feelings. We prayed together, worked together, and laughed together, and the feelings faded.
Then the worst happened. One of the members of the prayer circle was killed in a freak accident while I was at a retreat. The rumors about the death were unbelievable, accept that the feeling of evil seeped back into our dreams, and thoughts.
The circle began a bold plan. It was designed to strengthen the faith of the campus, heal the psyche of our circle, and fight the evil that was building.
God had blessed us with many strengths. We healed people, reached out to the community, and even cast out a demon.
That night, I knew that the evil spirit we had deprived of a body would seek revenge. We started to move towards the campus, but feeling the tension building in my mind, I decided to change course, going to what I though was a safe place.
The owner of our safe haven was Harold; a bit militant, a bit paranoid, but a friend. He welcomed us in, and we hurried to the basement. We had planned to hold a mass using the blessed hosts Father John had given me.
A shadow moved in the corner. And then they struck. We did not know what they were, but claws grabbed me from behind, teeth rent my flesh, and I fell. I remember hearing the blast from Harold's shotgun, and then I faded away.
A Voice heavy with echo, "Of course. He still has much to do and learn. It is unfortunate that he choose this path. . . It makes our work much more obvious. Shalom"
I awoke to the taste and smell of blood. It covered me. In a daze I left the building running back toward to campus which had been my home. I stopped at a dark public rest room to wash the blood and dirt from me, and nearly collapsed at the sight in the mirror.
Hundreds of thoughts flashed across my mind, damnation, insanity, fear, hatred, lust... Then the dream came back to me. I remembered the voice... and the final thought was hope.
I knew that I could not risk the sanity and faith of my friends, not until I understood more about what happened. I hid and wandered the streets going further downtown. That first night was terrible. Hungry but not knowing what would sate me. Finally that smell of blood caught my attention, and I followed it to a meat market, open late. I could not comprehend the idea of killing another for blood, but the raw meat satisfied me.
I hid. The next night I began searching or an explanation for what I was. I called an friend with whom I was in the seminary, and asked him if he had ever heard of anything like this. He pointed me to a mentor of his in the occult, who in turn sent me to a retreat house south of Denver. There I meet a priest to whom I reveled myself. He allowed me to stay there, until he found Padre Jesus of Clan Tremere. I meet with Padre for three nights before the gathering on Feb. 19th.
And so, It has become known to me that I entered into Unlife on January 19, 1999 the Feast of St. Canute of Denmark.
During those three nights, Padre and I discussed kindred society, theology, and tradition. It was a crash course in the necessity for me to behave myself, the penalty being 'final death.' The names he mentioned were a blur to me, the traditions barely sunk in, but the punishment forced me to concentrate. Sometimes, the thought of death is absurd to me. I have lived in God's grace, I was martyred in the service of God, and have been restored! Death holds no fear for me. I am glad for the grace of God to provide me direction less I drift off into insanity.
Padre took me to the meeting, saying the perhaps I would find some
answers there, and it was necessary to prevent my destruction.