Last thing I learn

What is the last thing you learned?

The last thing I learned is to always be careful of my surroundings. I still have the same problems lingering over me, like a 4 PM steaming kettle orchestrating its presence on the side. I remain curious and wondering—what will I do next?

It is unpleasant for me because I am not thinking about her, yet she keeps appearing. I can feel the heat of her emotions as she looks into my phone while I type my thoughts away. I did my best to chase her away, yet she still seeks more.

My question to her is: why does she keep hovering over me? I need to find another way to erase her permanently, just as I have deleted all the others. Why is this one so difficult to remove? Is she lonely, even though all the children have their own lives now?

I know my mistake—I missed her and yearned to see her. It was always at the back of my mind: why am I in two different houses? Looking back, as that newborn baby in another mother’s arms, confused while her kids looked down with fondness, they were getting used to me.

Second past incident, as the deity holds the vel in this idol shows me the culprit who removes the yellow clad cloth inside the cloth is a lime poked with the vel. This person is the one who doesn’t respect other people’s faith and he is the one who opens other people’s faith and left it there in the small altar as they entered under suspicion into my room as I know management staying in a hostel provided by employers have no privacy too.

3rd incident, I phoned my cousin and asked why did she use black magic? She was kind of shocked and I know through my intuition tingling is true and I know she does practise these things. How long does she think she can bully a person? How long she says she will make me go to dementia as inscribed in these vivid dreams of mine? Whatever I said on the phone is true and I know deep inside me also resonate with me that all her relatives she ever knew was her own doing and she put them there by the using of black magic and not of natural disease.

Through my understanding, every obstacle I face must be broken to learn a new lesson and move on to the next, even if the emotions, pain, and suffering reach the lowest point of my own hell.

And now, I don’t think of her anymore. I feel happy by myself. I wonder: is this my gift, to sense these auras hovering around me, or is it a curse? I need to accept the reality in front of me—the possibility of knowing when danger is approaching or when something good is happening. I just need to embrace this. Not many people have these certain gifts from the land of abode. It is simply a process of touch and release. No more staring—just seeing things as they are.

I should continue with the practices given by the Isha Foundation to uncover more adventures within myself that I can continue to write about.

The last thing I learned is to detach myself from past people—they no longer exist to me. Whether friends, foes, or relatives, I no longer have a place in their lives, nor do they in mine. I am free to do whatever I want, whenever I choose.

The fourth incident that happened was the motorbiker who took a picture of my car. He appeared in a premonition next to the altar, trying to make me dizzy so that I would be forced to stop praying. It worked for a while because I fell asleep while praying.

I asked my inner self, What is happening to me? I shouldn’t be sleeping. I must get up and chant from the beginning again. I woke up, started chanting from the beginning to the end. The orchestrated person on the side was smoking weed and couldn’t do anything to stop me. He grew worried and soon faded.

The witch doctor—the guy who had put a tiny invisible bottle into my car—was defeated when I chanted in my car months ago, sending the energy back to the sender. I had forgiven him for not giving me a properly air-conditioned car, yet I was upset that he took credit for selling it to me when it wasn’t him. It was a different guy. Perhaps he was covering up his weakness. He may have driven the car from the factory to the showroom, making a pit stop to place that little bottle in the air-conditioning unit. What he didn’t realize was that I am highly sensitive to these kinds of things.

If I find out something is wrong, I will go all out to cure myself and set myself free from it.

My father, suffering from dementia, made me realize that I shouldn’t shy away from his sickness but instead accept it as part of the puzzle. I initially disagreed with this idea, but I finally spoke to him as a person. I realized he, too, hovered his presence over me when he missed me and wanted me to visit him more often.

I visited him and spoke to him, finally asking, Did you like playing chess with me?

His eyes sparkled, and a smile appeared on his face. At that moment, he said he loved the idea. He told me he doesn’t want to feel lonely and would rather spend his days with the family that loves him more than his relatives.

After visiting hours were over, I headed straight to the mall to find a chessboard. On my next visit, I will play chess with him—at least he can boggle his mind through the board rather than using premonitions on me.