Tag Archives: living story

Nathan’s Public Journal | III

Thursday, 12/17/2020

Laura burns with a different color than the other women I see. Her heart burns with that same intense deep red, but where there is a fiery orange for the other women… Laura has a gorgeous purple similar to that of WarCof. “Why”, I say to WarCof, but then everything unfreezes and WarCof is disappeared, gone. Everything returned as though nothing happened, but something remained…


Okay, the bigger font is our story. I still have the date at the top of our journal post to indicate the present time. The military time (Time ####—) I used in the previous journal entry NPJ | II was to log the actual time I was writing that day to describe my events of that day—that actually occurred, other than the fantasy aspect of the narration—I’m using for the beginning of our story. And to prevent any confusion between fiction or nonfiction; I’m using this smaller font as my true nonfictional self (Hi, my name is Nathan), where as now, the…

bigger font

…has evolved into our story line, which includes fiction with the nonfiction. The fiction, of course, involves: WarCof and these now supernatural affects/abilities to our characters that describe our eternal realm that surrounds us, and is truly about us. This story is describing a very present and real taste of immortality, but also told from a very real dying and human perspective, of which the meaning is revealed as the story continues. Okay, now back to the story—where Nathan is still at NorthPark Center with Laura having a mental breakdown…


My head is spinning, I’m dizzy. I could hear the muffled tone of Laura’s concerned voice, “Honey, are you okay?” But it was like waking up from a vivid dream, processing what I’d just dreamt. But in this case witnessed, thinking—did that just really happen, is this really happening—do I really have these new abilities, what is going on?

I feel this pain in my head gradually increasing as I look at Laura; her body is transparent by this deep pulsating dark red, the color moves with each beat—thu-dump, thu-dump, thu-dump—of her heart, causing a ripple like effect; the light is as constant as her pulse, like it’s alive or something; as the light moves outward from her heart to the shape of her body, that dark red transitions to light red at her frame; then right at the exterior of her frame, the colors converge into this fiery purple, giving off this orb like glow that extends out into her surrounding space. It’s magnificent…

“‘AHH!’ ‘OU!’ ‘SSS-GAWW!'” It’s painful to look at her for too long.

Laura’s tone becomes desperate, “Honeyyyy, talk to me, what’s wrong?” “EMMMM—my head … hurts. Might be a migraine?”, I lie.

We’re on the second floor of the shopping center, a railing is close by; the center of the mall opens up from floor to ceiling, revealing the two dividing floors where escaladers are strategically stationed at select locations for consumers to ascend and descend between the floors.

I stumble to the railing, catching myself, while hearing Laura’s elevated tone, “Honey!? … Honey!?? Do you need to sit down!? Are you okay!?”

We are not far from the food court, and the place is packed with all kinds of humans! The light shining from each person gives off an extraordinary combination of colors, especially as they get closer to the orbs of other people. It’s fascinating!

While I’m on the railing, I can see the first floor where people are walking under us oblivious to who’s looking from above.

I try my best to keep my composure; I have one hand on my face squeezing my head with my index finger and thumb, while the other hand is holding myself up on this rail—with the help of Laura, of course.

I close my eyes, shake my head violently, blink rapidly, and several times. I’m trying to adapt to this changing condition and new ability of my sight to these colors of light; I don’t understand it—obviously—it’s not making any sense, why would it?

I mumble… “WarCof” … “What! Who?”, Laura asked. “Oh uh— nothing”, I say quickly, while thinking to myself; how do I know his name?

I could feel Laura’s arm squeeze tighter; she had wrapped it around me to prevent the worst possible outcome, going over the rail when I’d stumbled over to it; she is trying to hold me up—deeply concerned that I’m about to pass-out or something, “Come on honey, let’s go.”

She motions to that bench, that bench where the kid was above—frozen mid air—now, available.

I’m catching glimpses of peoples’ attention drawing on us now, and I can feel Laura’s anxiety spiking. People walking by us are slowing down.

Aware of what’s happening; I try to adapt immediately to fake a normal composure, but I can feel myself changing, and it’s extremely painful with each step. My brain is throbbing, and the vibration of my steps—intensifies the pain.

It felt like eternity, but finally, a place to sit.

The bystanders are curious, I can feel them. I tell Laura, “I don’t feel so good.” Laura wanted to call the police, but I’d noticed already, several were close by, acting aloof, while Laura was still waiting on my answers after so many unanswered frantic questions. “No, no! I’m okay, I’m okay!” I said.

I’m obviously not okay, but attempting to explain the nature of my condition would land me in a Psych ward.

“Let’s go home.” I say to Laura. “Okay, babae kissies”, she says ever so sweetly. So I muster the strength to get up, and hopefully, walk normal—which might look like I was either drugged or drunk to onlookers watching our every move. I mean it does, indeed, look weird seeing a grown man leaning on a cute little Mexican woman for support.

But then again, looking around, the other men with Hispanic ladies are doing the same thing. I guess I’m not the only husband getting la chancla at home, one guy even used Morse code to signal an S.O.S. from the light of his phone in his pocket and also—”these women are crazy, man, help me”—I signaled back—dude, mine knows that signal, are you trying to get us killed—his eyes got massive, face full of fear, and then we smiled facetiously as we moved along.

As soon as Laura and I make it back to our decked-out four door 2035 hovering Toyota Corolla LE that counters the gravitation pull… or rather, the momentum of the earths rotational force around the sun influx of our Milky Way galaxy’s trajectory into dark matter and energy—Laura pops’ the trunk, throws me in saying, “I saw the Morse code.”, and pulls out this chancla I’d never seen before.


The End.


Okay, not really, but once inside our normal gas engine vehicle, I passed out cold—dead asleep. I hardly remember getting out of the car to find our bed once we’d arrived home, and thankfully, I didn’t have work until Thursday 12/17/2020.


Two days later—today.


I’d slept for nearly two days, woke up feeling like it was any other day, and just in time to get ready for work.

I could hear Laura downstairs in the kitchen, probably preparing me something to eat now, and a meal for later. I quickly get dressed in my security uniform and go downstairs. BOOM! I hit the door at the end of our staircase as soon as I see Laura. There she is in all her fiery red purple glow as she stands in the kitchen stunned and confused by my display.

It all came back to me, and I remember the WarCof encounter and the sound of his voice.

Thinking to myself What do these colors mean? as I make my way to Laura, still somewhat confused. “Something’s going on with you?”, she says. “Me, naww, I’m alright, much better now that I’ve slept.” I kiss her, but could tell that Laura wasn’t buying it, and time didn’t allow for further investigation.

I ate fast, grabbed my meal and supplies for work, and said, “Thank you, Love, I love you.” Laura walks me to the door, watches me like some creeper as I walk to the car. Just kidding, she always beholds me with great wonder and enthusiasm as I strut to the car like I’m the king of the world because she’s watching.

I put my things in the back seat, just behind the drivers side, and as soon as I get in the car—WarCof.

WarCof appears in the passenger side seat in all his amazing glory scaring the death, literally, out of me, “How did yo—” “Drive!”

I put the car in gear and head north from south Dallas. “What is going on?” I ask with subtle fear and intense hope, “You know the scriptures, and where it speaks of what this experience is…” “No, no I don’t, and how do I know your name? WarCof.” “Don’t worry about driving.” There was a brief silence. “…What!?” “I know where your occupation is—so don’t worry about driving.” This was weird, I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I kept silent.

I continued to drive in disbelief of his instruction. I didn’t say another word, but for some reason, his company remained with me in the passenger seat. So we just sat there, in silence, the whole way to my job site in the metroplex of Dallas TX. Once I’d arrived onsite, clocked in for duty, WarCof was still at my side—or at least, within proximity of my sight. His presence was powerful, nothing like anything to compare from an earthly description.

I stationed myself at the security desk after making a patrol of the site, checking the high priority areas inside the high-rise office building first, then the integrity of the garage and building structure next. The cleaning services were about to arrive, and would need access into certain tenants’ offices with a red dot on their door handle indicating ‘authorized personal only’.

When the cleaning crew arrived, the majority are ladies, and they’re attractive. As soon as I saw them coming into the building to collect their keys for access, their bodies burned with that red and fiery orange color that orbed around their physique, but there was something different. I could see a light brownish glow that came from their brain. This color was new, or… I didn’t recognize it before. As they would get closer and closer to the security desk, that brownish color intensified to it’s darkest form.

After issuing them their keys, WarCof appears next to me and asks, “Why do you see that color?”


Okay, we’ll get to there in a our next journal entry (NPJ | IV). Until then, be thinking about this scripture: For in the case of those who have once been enlightened and have tasted of the heavenly gift and have been made partakers of the Holy Spirit, 5 and have tasted the good word of God and the powers of the age to come, 6 and then have fallen away, it is impossible to renew them again to repentance, since they again crucify to themselves the Son of God and put Him to open shame.

THE TASTE OF IMMORTALITY