A misterious voice ~ creativenonfiction

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It is time for war. A war against the rampant armies of hell.

For some time now, my grandmother has heard the voice of God. He taught her prayers to wage war against the invisible beings responsible for all the disgrace in the world, anything unholy that is.

Religiously, we three gathered around and kneeled against the bed, bathed with the afternoon light coming from the window ahead, first asking for permission and protection. And then, we stood up, decidedly repeating the revealed words.

“We wage war against the armies of hell…” My brother said.

“... and we summon the armor of God…” I followed.

“... and the sword, that his the holy word!” My grandmother finished.

We were preparing to cleanse the house of invisible evil beings, for we suspected these to be responsible for ill will in the family. I could imagine the shadowy figures whispering to the ears of people, influencing them to commit fraud, lie, or cheat.

"Not on my watch!" I whispered.

My brother and I separated among the rooms in the house. We would go praying and repeating the revealed words through the bathrooms, hallways, and the living room with burning passion and deep love for the people we were given to protect. It was a holy mission, for it was only revealed to us, and as such it was up to us to do something about it.
We had known that some person had used witchcraft against our family, so everything wrong or bad that happened in the household or to anyone was attributed to such. (In this part of the world people resort to religious practices to solve real-life problems, and testimonies and even things I have experienced attest to these works.)

I was walking through the kitchen loudly waging sacred war, pulling my arms towards what I was facing when I realized… just a few steps ahead that room awaited.

The service room.

Years ago, my parents took a babysitter to take care of me and my brother while they worked. She was a nice, kind woman. But you know what they say… the way to hell is paved with good intentions. And so she made a voodoo altar with the hope of summoning the orishas to protect our family. What she does not know is that the Christian God is jealous, and the only one.
When my parents found out, outraged, they fired the woman, but even years ahead something still felt eerie to be around that room. To add even more to the atmosphere, it was also the room where we stored anything damaged, old, or unused.

Knowing this room was trouble, I raised my voice as I got closer. The room was dark. Light bulbs installed to no avail, for they didn't lasted but a few days. I stepped in, feeling the denser atmosphere breathing the thick air... and that’s when I heard it. A deep voice mumbling in a language I couldn’t recognize, and I don’t think I had ever heard before. I looked the crippled objects, the damaged ceiling... it was like the voice came from everywhere. Surprised, I repeated my prayers aloud, fierce conviction, and then waited for the voice to reappear. I smiled, victorious, and came back to my room where my brother and my grandmother waited.

We concluded that, since we were going room by room purging the house of invisible beings, they had gathered in the last room to vanish forever. We felt proud of ourselves, feeling we had fulfilled our sacred role and so we thanked God for His power and protection. I was almost an adult back then.

Years passed since these events. I had an existential crisis that cost me my religious worldview and so, I went to research and investigate the nature of the unknown and the mystical. I learned not all spirits are enemies, but they are like people. If you do something to them, they may get back at you. There were also evil beings that parasited people’s grief, taking energy from them to manifest themselves into the physical world.

“Oh father, I am so sorry. I ask forgiveness to anyone or anything I harmed…”

I prayed, this time to a more ample concept of God. Everything, in a word. It felt heavy in my heart the remembrance of us attacking practically anything non-Christian, and somehow I knew it was wrong. I also felt bad for that lady in our past who tried to protect us with her perception of magic.
My grandmother had died, and the sense of purpose she gave us by the voice she heard was gone with her. My brother and I separated ways as I stopped believing in the warmongery she spread among ourselves and our family members, accusing many of witchcraft without tangible proof. Still, I am sure she acted out of love and with our best interest in heart. Perhaps I would have done the same in the same circumstances.

Thinking about it, I walked through the hallway of my home barefooted. The floor was cold and the dim light from the livingroom ahead, filtered through the curtains, bathed everything in a fresh yellowed clearness... and then I heard it. It was the same deep-pitched voice I heard in the service room and I realized it was at my left, beyond the wall. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel fear or terrified when I heard it again. I even asked for forgiveness for having attacked “it” before. Whatever it said I didn’t understand, but somehow my heart felt lighter.

I decided to not let hate or any kind of warmongery in my heart, but to this day I wonder what whas that mysterious voice and what did it had to say about anything. Was it a word of advice? And why wasn't I scared when I heard it?

It's unknown. Perhaps it’s a mystery that belongs to the realms of the unseen, of the invisible, that someday I’ll explore as soon as I learn how to leave my body behind. Astral projection is called, right?

Images from pixabay