Capture the Sun

I don't know how many times I've roamed this Earth.  I only know I have an old soul.  It's difficult when you're an old soul because with it comes a series of severe tests that breaks chains of karmic ties.

As an old soul, you endure those tests.  You learn that with each trial you discover more about human nature.  You will either hate or love what you learn.  Your only consolation, at times, is the knowing that one day, when you come back to your true home, you take with you what you have learned and you tell those souls at the other side, "Life on Earth is unlike any other!"

My story is as remarkable as one can think it to be.  I am but ordinary girl who sought to search for a reason for her existence, and received answers far beyond her expectations.

My story is simple, and it begins with one little truth many would find impossible and some would find inspiring.  Perhaps the story would just be a product of a little girl’s wild imagination to some people.  Yet, it is my hope that in some way, my story would find credibility to those who have experienced the energies of the higher, middle and lower realms – realms that exist beyond what humans perceive to be reality and beyond the physical world.

I talk to Archangels and Angels, and They talk back.  I have seen fairies, earth spirits and elementals.  I have helped several lost souls and I have met Beings whom I would just call my Star family.

It has not been an easy life even though people surrounding me would think it is.  In my search for what I would from hereunto call my Truth, I came to understand that there is nothing absolute in this world.  That even I, a living existing being who sometimes think that the very core of my being will not be shaken because of my faith, am subject to inevitable change.  I am an evolving soul.  One that has traveled through different realms, had different lives and many experiences and yet still growing, still learning.  I am wise and yet I am a fool.  I am old and yet I am young.  I am all that was and is and there will be, and yet I am nothing.  I sought to capture the sun, and in doing so, I knew darkness.

CHAPTER 1

How hard was it for them to understand her?  How come they do not remember? 

The pain.  Everything was painful.

She was not supposed to be there.  Or maybe she was.

She tried to recall what led her to this place, this hell she was in.  Did she commit suicide?  Did she take her own life? She did not remember cutting her wrist or hanging herself.  But she remembered screaming.  Screaming and pushing and kicking her aunts and her own mother.   She remembered holding on to the bed with both her hands when her family tried to take her away.

"You are not my family!  You are not my mom!"  She had struggled, had spat out the pill one of her aunts had given her.  She did not know what the white little medicine was for.  The breakdown she had led her to believe they were trying to make her sleep.   But sleep was the last thing she wanted to do after discovering her identity, that she was spirit who was chosen and had chosen to have a physical body to experience life on this Earth.

But she had gone hysterical for they could not understand what she was trying to tell them.  She tried to tell them that inside the body she was in was a soul that had woken up and was longing for recognition and perhaps deliverance.

"I have a family," she said.  "Up there!  I have another family!"

The things she saw, the beings she heard.  How can you make people see when they do not believe?   How can you make people believe when they do not see?

Why was she named “Faith”?  Was there not a reason for everything?

'How odd,' she thought as she struggled from the cloth those men used to tie her to the bed. 'For them to keep me this way.'

"Follow the light," she heard the voice say.  "Always the light."

Was she dead?  The fear crept in.  The things her old Alma Mater taught its students.  A soul is stuck in limbo if the person committed suicide.

She did not want to be in limbo.  And if she was not, if she was still alive, she did not want to be in her body.

"Why am I here?"  She kept asking her aunts and her mother.  "I'm not supposed to be here!  I don't belong here!"

With those words, she ran upstairs to her room, climbed up the bunk bed where she had isolated herself for months, surrounded herself with rosaries and a Bible.  This was her sanctuary, the spot where another being, one who introduced herself as Ariel, made herself known to her.  It was the bed from which she dreamt of the old woman who gave her a beautiful blue feather, and the bed from which she has seen an image of a lady whose very presence calmed her.  It was also where she had kept hearing a voice when she kept waking up at exactly the same hour, 3:33 in the morning and telling her to be ready for a battle was to come.   That voice that was both gentle and commanding.  It told her to pray, to remember to call him when she needed help, to believe in her strength.

"Our Father!  JESUS, JESUS, JESUS!  Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name."  She screamed her prayer, screamed at them who took her back to the isolation room.  "God, I am Yours!  I am Yours!"

The violation she felt the night they took away all her rosaries, when her mother stood crying and doing nothing, when her aunts let them take her into the dark corridors without knowing the taunting they did to scare her, was raw and overwhelming.

“Can you not recognize me, Mama?”  She called out.  “Do you not know who I am?”

But her mother stood there, frozen.  And all she could see were the tears in her mother’s eyes as those men pulled her out of the room then wheeled her, restrained on a bed, into a dark corridor.

"You are going to hell," they said.   "This is hell."  They laughed.   “Keep praying!  You are in hell!”

She saw white lights as her eyes kept rolling back of her eyelids.  She struggled to focus.  She heard a door open then it was banged shut.  The sound vibrated in her ears, making her deaf for a moment.  She heard metal bars.  The movement was swift and before she could understand where she truly was, she was taken into a room with several beds. 

There were people there.  There were other souls.  One was crying, one was whispering, one was pacing back and forth, one was muttering curses.

Maybe she was in hell.  Maybe she did kill herself.  Maybe she was lost forever.

Months ago, she already knew something was going to happen.  She knew it when her gifts have opened and manifested, and her body and mind collapsed. 

But she was not supposed to be in that room.  Not supposed to be on that bed.  Not supposed to be in that place.  Or was it all part of the great divine script she had forgotten she authored herself with the Great Hand before she came to this Earth?

So when the men left her, dulled with medicines and tied up to the bed, she knew she just had to get out.

She wiggled.  Arched her back.  First, the right ankle.  Wiggled some more.  Tutu-toed.

“Imagine yourself like the ballerina you wanted to be when you were little,” the voice said.

Pulled.  Wiggled.  A bit more force.  Then gently.  Pulled again.  Gently eased her ankles off the tight knot.

She cannot remember how many times they have tied her down over the course of two days.  Or has it been two days?  She could not remember.  But she did remember the first night they pushed her in.  They tied up one of her ankles and both her arms with cloth.   She had freed herself from her bed and had sat up calling for everyone in her family.  A nurse with glasses on went inside the room to check what was going on.

He asked her, "How did you free yourself?"

And she replied, "I am thirsty."

Tonight, however, they have tied both her ankles and both her arms.  It was like a fool’s struggle from his own prison.   Everybody thought she lost her mind.  They could have been right, only that, for someone diagnosed with mental incapacitation, her concentration displayed the brilliance of her body and mind coordination.  She straightened her right leg then pulled it.  She felt the cloth loosen and then with one pull, she felt her right ankle freed.

Did they not know she was a dancer?

Next, the left wrist.

She could almost hear the voice laughing with her.  "You would make them wonder how you did that."

Her senses were dulled by what they injected earlier, when she had another episode.  But she was able to fight it somehow.

"Am I dead?"  She whispered.  "I'm not supposed to be here."

"Follow the light," the voice said.  The only light she could see was outside the room they placed her in.

Her mind was going a thousand miles per minute, and she was more aware of the physical vessel she was in.  She felt weighed down, felt trapped, felt that she needed to break her own body so she could leave this place she was thrown into.

When she became aware of the light outside the room, she also became more aware of how dark the room she was in.  Her fear slowly crept back.

"Our Father, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."  She whispered into the silence.  "I am Yours, only Yours."  Funny why they did not teach that part of the prayer in her old school, and funny why her this man whom everybody called Jesus would let her suffer like this.

She had pulled and freed her left wrist.  Or was it her right?  Her vision was making her lose her bearings.  But it was easy from then on.

'I don't want to be here.'  She untied her other wrist and then her left ankle.

She sat, dazed.  Her vision seemed like she was inside the tunnel.  Her hearing was heightened.  Ten freight trucks, twenty fire trucks, sixteen trains, a baby crying, gun shots, people talking loudly in her ear, and that one familiar masculine voice.

'This body.  I'm not supposed to be in this body.'  She clutched her arms, scratched her skin.  'Must take off everything.  Take this gown off.  Free myself.  Free my soul.'

She stood up and almost fell head first on the floor.  She saved herself from the fall with her hands in front of her face.  Her knees shook.  Her entire body shook.  

The pain.  Everything was painful.   It was the kind when you feel your soul has been ripped apart from something so wonderful and great.  The kind you feel when your soul was raped, and you can never do anything to take your innocence back.

Why can they not recognize her?  Why do they not know her for who she truly is?  Why can they not remember anything at all?

She tried to stand up again, then made sure she was holding the side of her bed so she would not lose her balance.  What has led her to this place full of blue or sometimes white-uniformed people?  Or were they wearing green?

She looked around.  Empty beds surrounded her.  She went to the window and almost screamed in desperation when she found out it was secured with bars and a screen.  She could have jumped outside.   She could have done something to end everything.

"Don't go there."  The voice said.  "Follow the light.  Always the light."

She turned to the door and saw the light outside her room.  She walked with shaking legs.  Her knees felt like breaking.   She felt the ground shake beneath her and crossed her arms in front of her as if to protect herself if ever the walls would collapse.  She could barely open her eyes.  They felt like they were burning from tears and lack of sleep. 

Her footsteps were soundless but with purpose.  She let her arms drop to her sides and reoriented herself to where she was.  The light outside the room was still there.  She tried to reach for it and noticed how skinny her hands were. Then she wondered why there was no door in the isolation room.  She felt there was some hope in this place.

'Take everything off of me.  Must free myself.  Must follow the light.'  She lifted an arm and undressed herself. Then like a madwoman, she ran naked outside the dark room and into the light.  She was going to free herself.

CHAPTER 1

She questioned everything.  The world to her was not right.  She hated it when people told her she cannot do anything about something, that things are the way they are because that is how the system works.

‘Well,’ she thought, ‘The system is broken then.’

Just like the rest of this world.

Why?

Why did she question everything?  She even questioned her own existence.

It did not make any sense to her why she was here on this Earth.  It is difficult for her to understand people.  It is difficult for her to even understand herself.

Why do people have emotions?  Why do emotions contradict their thoughts?  Why is it that they do what they do to survive?  Why does it always have to be about self-preservation?  And why is it that people push the ones they love away when they are hurting?

She sighed.

The break up was mutual.  He had no time for her.  She needed someone who prioritized her and the relationship.

By next month, it will be a year since they last saw each other.  The pain was still raw.  He was her first boyfriend, her first love.  He cared about her, but not enough to make time for her.  It was that simple.  His focus was his career.  And he was young.

She agreed with the separation because she thought it would make things easier for them both.  He traveled all the time and she needed to move eight hours away for a job that could very well be the key to her stay in a foreign land.

Goddamn white picket fence.

She still did not understand the American dream.  Had never related to it.  The false belief that the dream was attainable magnifies the flaws of the system.  The fastest way to get there, to achieve that dream and have the white picket fence running across your lawn, was to get married to a citizen.

Forget emotions, forget love, forget your age, forget your values even.  None of that matters if you really want to be part of this great country.

“I am not your personal slave,” she told one of the patients the other day.

He refused to get up from bed to inform the charge nurse about his appointment for that week.  But he was ambulatory, and she had five more things to do before she could start with the charts.  He was watching TV in his room, and she wanted to get his cane and beat him up like his African mother would if she were still alive.

She walked along the hallway and sighed.

What has her mother gotten her into?  Did they not both know what it takes to get papers in the US?

“This is not the job for me,” she had told her mother.  “I don’t know if I’m going to be happy here.”

But what does happiness got to do with staying here in America?

Why was she here?

“Do you know where you are?”  The man wearing a white coat asked her.

He was holding a small flashlight and was looking into her eyes.  Examining her.  Holding her eyelids up and staring into her soul.

“No,” she answered.  “Does this place have another floor?  Am I on the lowest floor?”

The man tilted his head to the side, a sign of surprise from her question.  He turned the flashlight off, folded his hands together then leaned back to look at her face fully.  She knew she had taken him by surprise with her question.

‘Am I in hell?’ She wanted to add.

“Yes, we have several floors in this place.”  The man answered.  “Why do you ask?  Do you know where you are?”

It seemed odd to her that he repeated his question.  Did he not know she was in hell?  That to her, they were all demons who tried to kill her soul.

“No.”  She repeated her answer.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you remember what you did?”

“Yes,” she said.

She went through her memories that night.

“I was screaming,” she said.

“Yes, you were.”

“They are coming,” she said.

“Who are they?”  He asked.  “Who is coming?”

“They are coming to save me,” she said as she looked at him straight in the eye.

“Who are they?”

But she could not tell him.  He will not understand because he does not see Them.  He does not hear Them.  They do not talk to him the way They talk to her.

Then she heard the sirens.  She felt her body jolt up.  It seemed to her that she had told him enough, that They did not want her to talk about Them.

The fear crept in.  Then she heard the shouts.  She heard the women crying.  She felt her eyes roll and saw red lights from the window.  She saw the shadows.

She curled her toes and closed her fists tightly.  She tensed her whole body.  She knew it was going to happen again.

“Now!”  She heard the man shout as several shadow figures came in the room.  One held her feet, another carried a syringe, another stood beside the man with the white coat waiting for her to fight back.

But how could she? 

They have tied her up to the bed again.

She started to scream.

“OUR FATHER, JESUS, JESUS, JESUS, WHO ART IN HEAVEN, HALLOWED BE THY NAME, THY KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN…”

CHAPTER 2

She heard the cops from her window.  It was the third time that week they passed by with their sirens at night.  She knew it was not the safest neighborhood in Los Angeles, but she had no idea how bad it was until she moved to a new apartment which was just across the main street where she could hear the traffic.

The place was better, no doubt.  She had to herself the privacy and space she wanted, and her roommates teach her Spanish for free.  But she missed the life and the weather in Northern California and the city she considered her home when she first arrived in the US.

The song played in her head.

“I left my heart in San Francisco...”

Her face was almost pressed against the window.  She could see the outlines of the city.  The clouds cleared as she heard the pilot announce that they were landing in a few minutes.  Almost everyone on the plane cheered and clapped.

Almost.

She and her brother stayed quiet.

She looked outside the window again and saw a bridge.

The Golden Gate Bridge.

Why was it called golden when it was red?

There has to be a reason why.

She was arriving in San Francisco.  She felt something inside her chest.  It was a sense of peace and calmness.

‘I’m going home.’  She found herself thinking as she breathed.  She marveled at the sight below.  ‘This is home.’

She pursed her lips to keep herself from saying the words aloud.  She turned to look at her brother, seven years younger than her, and realized he was craning his neck to see the view from the plane window.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and told him to switch places.  How selfish of her to enjoy the view to herself for fourteen hours.

She loved her brother.  She took care of him and taught him how to clean himself up when she left him crying sitting on the toilet for an hour because he did not want to do the deed himself.  He was probably five years old at that time, she could not recall.  But she remembers the memory well because she remembers doing the dishes that time and imagining there would be a better life for her outside of the small town she grew up in.

It was not at all unusual for her to be in another world while doing her tasks.  She prided herself with her imagination and would not be ashamed to admit she got through the banality of daily living by imagining she was some place else or someone else.  She always thought that there was something else bigger and better out there, that she was destined to leave her country in search for her future.

At an early age, she knew she would marry a man of a different race.  She knew that she would become a mother and would hold two jobs.  One to help with the bills, another to keep her life worth living.  She knew she would be away from family.  She knew she would be living a different life.  She knew she needed to get out of the small town and travel.

She felt the weight on her shoulders.  She reached for the piece of wood brought by her father.  The mattress was on top of her and her dad, pushing 50, was lifting it from the edge.

The water has gone inside the house.  It was rushing through the windows.  She was small enough to go under the bed frame to place pieces of wood to save her parents’ mattress from getting wet by the flood.

The piano had been lifted up, but the previous floods have already done the damage.  Many of their photographs were lost.  The videos from her nursery school were washed out.  Her mom was constantly screaming for them to leave the town, and her dad was growing old.

This is home.

“Where do you live?”  The dark-skinned man asked her.

“Twelve Licaros Street, Merville Subdivision, Malabon City.”  She answered.

The man laughed.

She looked at him.

“Full address, eh?”

She smiled.

Why did she give him her home address?

There has to be a reason why.

They were sitting on a bench.  The day was almost ending.

“Why are you here?”  He asked her.

“I see angels.  I talk to them.”  She answered.

He smiled and turned to the lady sitting beside him.  “She sees and hears angels.”

The lady nodded.  “Yes, I believe.”

“Why are you here?”  She asked the man.

The man shook his head.  “I just need to sort things out.”

“And you?”  She asked the lady.

“I’m just resting,” the lady said.

Another man sat beside her.

“You see and hear angels?”  The man asked.

“Yes.”

“I pray.  I pray.”  The man said.

She smiled at him.  “I do too.  They answer me.”

“What do they tell you?” The dark-skinned man asked.

“They said they will save me.”

The lady nodded.  The other man said, “Yes, they will.”

“Do you believe?”

Her three companions nodded in silence.

“Time!”  Someone called.

Everyone stood up.

She heard someone shout her last name and told her to get to the line.  She followed the dark-skinned man.

“Where am I?”  She whispered to him.

“You are in a resting place.”

“Are we ever going to get out of here?  Am I going to get out?”

She felt the tears come down her cheeks.

The stranger faced her, stooped lower to meet her eyes and held her hands tightly.  “Yes,” he said.  “Trust me.  You will get out of this place.”

“Next!”  The same voice called.

The line moved.

And moved.

And moved until she found her hand being grasped.  Several pills were dropped on her palm. 

“Take them,” the nurse in front of her said.  “So you won’t hear those voices anymore!”

Another nurse laughed. 

“Hurry up!  You’re holding the line!”

The man came back and told her to take the medicine.  She placed them in her mouth and pretended to swallow.

“Let me check.”  The nurse motioned for her to open her mouth.  The pills were under her tongue.  “Up!”  The nurse commanded.

Busted.

“Swallow them!”

She did.

She wanted to cry again.

They had been stricter with her after they found her flushing the pills on the toilet and after she spat a couple of them out in front of her dad and told him they were trying to kill her.

She drank what was left of the water in the plastic cup the nurse gave her.

“If you want to get out of this place,” the man whispered to her, “You have to get better.  You have to follow them until you are well.”

“Where am I?”  She cried.

“You are in a resting place,” the man said.

CHAPTER 3