After discharging myself from a psychiatric ward in January of 2019 (an interesting way to see in the new year!) I was placed in temporary accommodation. I had lost everything, after sending all my belongings on a container to the Gambia where I was meant to be setting up a Retreat Home.
Everything I’d been working towards for the last 15 years lay in ruins, including my reputation. People assumed I tried to kill myself because I owed people money, even though I did my best to explain it was another psychic attack. To be fair, unless you’ve experienced one it would be hard to understand or empathize. But I did NOT try to commit suicide of free will: I woke up that morning with an overwhelming urge to kill myself, because the suggestion had been planted in my subconscious while I slept, which is what a psychic attack is.
Thank goodness my overdose didn’t work, so after spending a week in hospital on a drip to cleanse my liver, I was taken to a psychiatric ward for ‘observation’. They couldn’t find anything wrong with me, but because they didn’t have a box to tick for ‘psychic attack’ they wanted to label me as ‘psychotic’. They offered me drugs in return for help with getting accommodation, but I refused.
So after discharging myself I went straight to the housing, who put me in temporary accommodation while they assessed my case. I was still a mess psychologically, because that was the worst attack I’d ever suffered. I knew it would take a long time to recover.
I was placed in a studio flat, and went straight to work to heal my mind. My sister Janet brought my suitcase which I’d discarded but the police had recovered. In it, I had a book called ‘The Power of the Subconscious Mind’. I was led to read it, but was arguing with my Self because “None of this stuff has worked for me!” Nevertheless, I spent the first weekend studying the book, writing notes, and getting my mind back on track.
Then, I was reMINDed about some seeds I had in the suitcase; in 2009 I’d painted a flower which I thought was an Orchid, but later found out it was a Morning Glory flower! Apparently, the seeds of this flower are supposed to have the same effect as LSD, but naturally.
As I had intended to incorporate plant medicines into my work, I’d bought them to plant behind the Retreat Home. While I was in recovery, one evening I was led to soak the seeds overnight, then mix them with some mashed banana and eat them, which I did when I woke up at 4am. After about half an hour, I started purging (I was also led to blindfold myself). After I finished throwing up, I went back to sleep. I didn’t wake up until 7pm that evening.
Although I didn’t see any psychedelic effects, it did seem to reset my brain. It was as if all the suggestions that had been previously planted in my subconscious were erased, and I could now think clearly. I started getting ‘downloads’ again, and also began implementing some things I’d been meaning to do for years, such as turning my novel into a film script. I also set up the Soul Purpose Tribe, it was as if my brain was exploding with ideas!
Over the following months, I learned about herbs for protection and began making my own herbal body butters, aura sprays, and taking weekly salt baths. Having been raised in ‘the faith’, I didn’t know I needed to protect myself from spiritual and psychic attacks!
I also began working with some medicine women, which helped with ancestral healing. I know there were people in ‘the community’ who were saying I shouldn’t be drinking Ayahuasca, but I’m glad I stayed focused on my healing and not what people were saying about me.
While turning my novel into a film script (with the help of my friend Errol Mcglashan who helped me edit the First Edition), a lot of the dialogue changed, and I even wrote some new scenes! So I decided to revise the book to match the film script, before starting the process of recording the audiobook. I knew this would enable me to reach many more people with the ancestral messages I’d received (46,000 words were channelled).
Through my research, I discovered that many descendants of enslaved Africans won’t read a book because their ancestors were forbidden to read and write. Many of us are still carrying the trauma our ancestors suffered in our DNA. I may have enslaved Africans in my lineage, but through the work I’ve been doing with plant medicines, I discovered my true heritage is ROYALTY. I also discovered that plant medicines are a fast-track to repairing the damage to our DNA – no wonder they’ve been made illegal! It’s funny how PLANTS that heal have been made illegal, while big pharma drugs, cigarettes, white sugar, and alcohol are deemed ok to use by our governments. Well I decided to take my healing into my own hands, and use the plants Mother Nature has provided, whether approved or not.
I’m still on the self-healing journey, but doing much better. This is one of the new scenes I re-wrote which isn’t in any of the previous Editions:
While they’re waiting for their food to arrive, Suzanne pops the question she had been waiting to ask face-to-face;
“So Charles, why don’t you go to church?”
A bit taken aback, he pauses before replying;
“Well I used to, but I kinda grew out of it.”
“What do you mean you ‘grew out of it’?”
“I got to a point where I just couldn’t keep ignoring the facts.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes, go on!”
“Well, when I was a boy my father was my greatest influence; I spent the first 10 years of my life being raised in his village in Ghana. My mother often took me and my two sisters to church with her, but religion didn’t play a key role in our household. My father made sure I learned about all the black heroes who had dedicated their lives to liberating Black people from white oppression, like Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, and Kwame Nkrumah. Having strong Black male figures in my life meant I didn’t have to look to a white man to save me.”
“I don’t look to a white man to save me either!” Suzanne butts in.
“Are you sure? When you think of Jesus, what colour is he?”
“I don’t see any colour,” she replies flippantly.
Charles asks Suzanne to close her eyes, before saying the name ‘Jesus’.
“Now tell me, what do you see?”
Suzanne opens her eyes and stares at him blankly.
“Hey, I’m not saying I don’t believe in Jesus…” Charles assures her;
“…It’s just that I have a problem with the white image they portray.”
“Does it matter what colour he was?” she asks defensively.
“Of course it does! This ‘white saviour’ image that’s been forced on our people has caused major damage to our people’s psyche. Now it’s like we can’t do anything without the white man! Even our African leaders rely on him for things they should’ve been able to do for themselves. That’s why Africa, our Motherland is in such a mess.”
“Wait, how did we get talking about Africa when the question was ‘why don’t you go to church’?”
Charles takes a deep breath before replying;
“Suzanne, I’d rather not fall out with you over religion.”
“I just want to know why you don’t go to church, that’s all.”
He sighs deeply again.
“Okay. So I grew up with a Pan-Africanist father, and a Christian mother. My father died when I was 10, and my mother returned to England where they first met. She carried on taking us to church with her, but I never forgot the stories my father told me, about how religion was used to steal the wealth of Africa.”
Suzanne laughs sarcastically.
“How was religion used to steal the wealth of Africa?”
Charles re-tells the story his father had told him, of how European missionaries arrived in Africa in the early 1800’s with thousands of bibles, claiming to ‘spread the gospel’. In truth, their mission was to use religion to mentally enslave those natives who had escaped the Transatlantic Slave Trade. They were forced to believe their African spirituality was evil, and that they needed to be saved. In the 1600’s, Christianity had been whipped into enslaved Africans who didn’t accept it willingly, but there were still plenty of Africans who practiced their own spirituality. In order for their plan to succeed, Europeans had to convince Africans that they needed a white saviour, and that they shouldn’t desire earthly treasures. This would make it easy for them to usurp the wealth-creating resources of their land. By tricking Africans into believing that they should live a humble life on earth, and wait until they get to heaven to receive ‘riches untold’, they were able to walk away laughing with their gold, diamonds, oil, and other natural resources. Charles recalls an African proverb his father used to say:
“THEY had the bible and WE had the land,
Now WE have the bible and THEY have the land!”
He went on to explain how the economies of the Dutch, Portugese, French, British and the United States of America were all built on the backs of enslaved Africans and by raping his Motherland, under the banner of Christianity.
“Surely Christianity isn’t that bad, lots of people benefit from having something to believe in,” Suzanne defends her faith.
“Maybe, but your ancestors suffered and died because of it. They were lynched on trees, and now you’re expected to forget about them and worship a white saviour who hung on a wooden cross for you instead! You were stripped of your identity and told you have a new identity ‘in Christ’. Where did your surname come from?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well it’s not African, so how did you get it?”
“It’s my family name.”
“No, it’s a slave-trader’s name. Your ancestor’s names, language, culture, spirituality, their very identity was stripped from them. They were branded, bought and sold like cattle. You should learn your history Suzanne. You’re a displaced African, you should find your roots.”
Suzanne sighs wistfully;
“I saw the film ‘Roots’ once, but I never identified with any of those people as being my ancestors…my mother never mentioned anything about coming from Africa – she’s a proud West Indian.”
“Well, where exactly is ‘West India’?” Charles asks, looking bemused.
“What’s your surname?” she responds defiantly.
“Ankrah. My Ghanaian name is Kwame.”
“Oh, I thought you were West Indian like me – you don’t look African!”
“I’ll take that as an insult…is it that I look West Indian, or that you look African?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you – you should be proud to be African.”
“I am proud to be African! I can trace my ancestry as far back as ten generations on my father’s side. But my mother, who’s from Barbados, can only trace her lineage as far back as her great-great grandparents. Where are your parents from?”
“They’re both from Jamaica.”
“Do you know where they’re from originally?”
“That’s as far as I know.”
“Maybe you could try and trace your ancestry?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start!”
“Well, perhaps you could start by visiting Ghana with me. Most of the enslaved Africans were transported from there. They’re your ancestors.”
Suzanne laughs sarcastically.
“Me? Go to Africa? I don’t think so!”
“Well for one, I don’t like the idea of sleeping in a mud hut – and all those flies!”
“You watch too much ‘tell-lie-vision’, it’s not like that in real life – they only show those images to put you off going back home, to your Motherland.”
“Africa’s not my home, I’m Jamaican.”
Charles sighs deeply. Placing his hand over hers on the table he says;
“It’s a shame to see how disconnected the descendants of enslaved Africans are from their ancestral roots. If you want, I can help you find your way back home.”
Pre-order Your Paperback and get the Audiobook FREE!
When you pre-order your personally signed paperback in my Indiegogo campaign before 1st May 2021 you’ll get the audiobook on a USB FREE, so you can listen and read at the same time! Your pre-order will enable me to print 1,000 copies with my artwork in full colour, so you can benefit from the colour therapy in them while you read!
In my next blog post, I’ll share my her-story which led to me writing Journey of a Sister, starting with my childhood programming. If you’d like to get an email notification each time I post a new ARTicle, ‘follow’ this blog!
Guidance and PROTECTION!
In your service,