I grew up in Providence, RI. Survival was the rule of the concrete jungle. Paved streets full of potholes, shattered glass, and rusty barbed-wire fences were the views from my apartment window for nearly a decade. Despite its hidden dangers, I was drawn to a concrete canvas surrounded by bright lights, tall buildings, and thick smog: A city boy at heart.
At an impressionable age, my intellect never wrestled over the existence of an unseen realm, or God. I struggled with lifeless statues and repetitious prayers bred by blind submission.
Be careful what you wish for. During the summer preceding 1st grade, my parents were introduced to Divination. Her seductive influences led to an onslaught of spirit visitations, séances, and curse rituals. As the years progressed, so did my fascination with occult activity. I was imprisoned by evil, and spent countless nights sitting on the dank concrete floor of my dad’s wine cellar summoning darkness.
Love was emotional blackmail. My fear of rejection crushed any hope of finding peace. All that remained was scattered fragments of unrest, true happiness dormant by the hands of pain.
Drums helped fuse a flow of positive energy. Music was my vehicle to convey time. For years, I hid behind a curtain of vanity to mask the scars. But those short-lived illusions gave way to the power of addiction. Such morbid fascination, led to internal debates of jittery narcissism, colored hallucinations, and gruesome overdoses.
Demons were the embodiment of sinful pleasures driving me down a path of substance abuse and failed relationships. Until those synthetic lies forced me to rehab in solitary confinement. I was 180 lbs. of fury exiled from humanity. But, if the Great Author of Creation used prostitutes and murderers to tell a story, then why not an abused, angry junkie?
It was time to stop making a god out of the devil. I rejoined society with a passion to help those suffering from similar afflictions with wounded souls, like myself, that spent years wandering the halls of extinction, demonizing, and scapegoating.
Weekly prayer meetings kept me witnessing at the front lines until an unsettling matrix developed. Those entering my life were unknowingly months away from death. I crossed paths with victims of suicide, cancer, and domestic abuse. One friend died tragically at the Station Nightclub Fire in West Warwick, RI.
I never expected my dad was next.
I was quietly sitting with my dad on the porch enjoying a hot cup of coffee. He broke the silence with a random question about death. I was taken aback; shocked, but pleased he sincerely was asking about my beliefs. I felt such a mix of emotions. I responded with a tinge of sadness because I feared the inevitable. I could see he found my words comforting so I continued answering and listening. That would be our last conversation. Two days later, he died. His fatal portrait forever embedded in my mind.
Dad’s passing drove me to seek answers outside of the church. I wanted proof of an afterlife. The influx of ghost hunting shows was overwhelming and hard to ignore. And so, I went on a tangent, soaking up as much as possible on the subject. Unfortunately, my uncompromising quest for truth burned bridges on both sides of the spectrum. The secular world deemed me “too godly” and the Christian community accused me of not being “godly enough.” But I was on a mission and soon assembled my own paranormal team to investigate alleged hauntings. We produced stunning evidence of the invisible realm. We were gaining notoriety, jumping on the fast track to fames deception. I was privileged to network with long-time veterans of the Paranormal. Traveling around the world opened the door to more questions than answers. Being on television gave me the platform to give an opinion. I compare the spirit realm to the ocean. The deeper you go, the more you see what you never knew existed.
That all changed when an unseen force attacked my son following a 72-hour investigation at the Sallie House in Atchison, KS. A clear warning that I ventured too far in uncharted territory. I was fooled into believe ‘seeking the dead’ was a profitable endeavor to produce evidence in the name of science. It also raised the question as to who the true hunters were.
I never needed proof. Had I stopped and allowed myself to heal, I would have realized that the supernatural is always eager to give us a sign whether through a gentle breeze brushing our face or a creaking door. But dad’s death heavily weighed on me. Maybe helping others through the grieving process was my way of keeping his spirit alive. Deep in our psyches, we hold the fear of the dark and all that it implies in our lives. The return of light gives hope, joy, positive expectations and offers opportunity for growth and change. What we sow here on earth, I believe, we shall reap. Rest assured that death is the doorway through which we all must pass.
I spent decades swaying the realm of Abuse, Abandonment, Addiction, and Anger. They were the menacing phantoms responsible for my destructive behaviors, until I realized Satan was the drug laying my soul to waste, and God was the pain keeping me alive. The fear, which terrorized me, began when I was raped by emotion. Darkness flees as empty shadows when facing the Light of Truth. I created S.O.U.L. (Spirit Of Unconditional Love) to help combat waves of unresolved pain associated with unexplained phenomena. My goal is to help individuals rewrite their narrative by forming a new identity through Atonement, Acceptance, Affection, and Accomplishment. It is within those spheres we find our Redemption.
Our journeys are met with lessons, some tougher than others. Those we cross paths with act as mirrors of intention, infiltrating our subconscious by their emotions. Remember, hauntings are not exclusive to locations. They also reside within us.
Life is a collection of downloads. See the lie, decipher the truth, and reconstruct your path.