The Book of Daniel and the Mystery of the Resurrection Machine

by Holloway, Daniel;

  I knew in that moment that I was going to somehow wind up in front of that same broken-down house that I’d seen a year before, and the next two turns produced exactly that. My heart sank as I recognized the street and, at a distance, the same house. Unlike the last time, however, the sidewalk was now devoid of people, nor were there any cars along the curb.

  As I slowly rolled down the street, I noticed that several of the homes were now boarded and vacant. It appeared as though they’d been condemned or perhaps were slotted to be removed for new construction. Seeing no signs of occupancy, I at first chose to keep driving, still slowly idling past the rows of empty and dilapidated houses.

  After passing the old house, however, I simply stopped in the middle of the road. With no traffic, and no one behind me, I ground that same old clunker of a truck in reverse and backed up till I was squarely in front of the step upon which that little girl sat only one year before. There I paused and starred for a moment before finally shutting off the engine…now reliving that horrid moment in full reflection. Oh how my imagination wandered in wonder of what had happened, where she had gone or her fate…

  Now, I can’t exactly explain what happened next, yet I know full well what I saw. After a few minutes of pondering and perhaps even an unspoken prayer, I continued on my way. After making another couple of right-hand turns, I emerged onto a larger and somewhat nicer street. It was lined with small businesses of all different sorts. After driving only a block or so on that street, I found myself passing what appeared to be a children’s home. I didn’t actually see the name of the place, however simply because something greater caught my eye.

  Just to my right, walking down the sidewalk in the same direction as I was driving, was a woman. She looked to be perhaps in her late 30s or early 40s. She was well dressed and not bad looking, smiling as she trucked along. In her left hand she held something as she walked, something that I thought perhaps I recognized.

  What she held was the hand of a little girl, perhaps about six years old now, happily skipping alongside the woman as they went. The child was also well dressed, a stranger I suppose, yet somehow familiar. Surely this wasn’t the same tattered being that I saw the year before. Her hair was combed and she was clean. She had energy and life. She had a caretaker who was happy with her as well.

  Surely I had it all wrong. Surely this was someone else and I had again misjudged the situation. But then, just as they were about to enter the front door of that building, I stopped again, smack dab in the middle of the road and looked to see what I could see. I couldn’t help myself; I had to know if this was a mirage or maybe something else.

  The little girl also stopped in that moment as well, ironically, instinctively, resisting only slightly upon the tug of the woman with whom she walked. She then paused for a short moment as if to follow an internal ticking of the brain, a feeling of something within; she looked at the sidewalk under her feet. Then, as if by some supernatural instinct, a bond that we now both felt, the little girl turned and looked up and looked me directly in the eyes and smiled…

  It was her. I couldn’t believe it but it was her. I froze in shock as my eyes looked and locked onto hers, my daughter, not by birth or genetics, but by the spirit of God within us, a kinship forged in the fires of God’s kiln. The miracle of this was overwhelming and my eyes immediately welled at the fantastic sight I was seeing. Then, playfully, she tilted her head oh so slightly in curiosity of the same. It was then that she raised her free hand and squeezed a few clasping waves as only a child can do. She too knew; I don’t know how, but somehow she knew.

  And just like that, she was gone into the building and out of sight. But I had seen all that I needed to see and all that I would ever need to see to believe in the power and love of God. This was the lesson that I needed to learn: that all the greatest revelations in the world are for naught, without knowing first the heart of the God who gives them.

  Unfortunately I feel that our modern world has made us complacent in this respect. In this day, men have become lovers of pleasure more than lovers of the truth that leads to the highest reward of all. We shun the greater work before us just to feel good for the moment. We desire a god that brings comfort. Yet in this we forfeit real salvation with much less ado than I did that day during the storm.

  I think in that moment a year before, while on that road at the back of the farm, unbeknownst to me at the time, I made God blush. I had no idea that my rebellious response was exactly the reaction He’d desired all along. The storm that day was not the wrath of God but rather the calling of the spirit of the storm that was in me. It wasn’t God that was the problem after all but instead my perception of God that let me down. In the end, I didn’t curse God that day, but the false image of God that I so wrongly had built in my mind.

  God is the master of getting what He wants. No doubt He is also the master of knowing how to get blood from a turnip too, and he did exactly that in me. He pulled from within exactly what He needed me to see: the next step of operating the real power of the cross. It was not a lack of faith as some would say, but the very manifestation of God’s love that had emerged: the laying down of your life for another. In the end, God didn’t take my hope, but rather allowed me to forfeit it in trade for her hopelessness. This is how it works.

  Before this, God’s power and love were separate from my understanding; I was, till then, on the outside looking in on the subject. But now this deity was on the inside as me; God in my form working a very real and personal power; looking inside that little girls, little life; and more important than healing her body, was the healing of her soul and her hope. Now God had birthed the real miracle of His love in my person, and I did the exact same thing to her. I had rebelled, not out of ignorance or disrespect, but against the false god that society and religion had given me.

  In the end I did exactly as a child of God, my own little person, was supposed to do: I lived my own Romans 9:3, becoming accursed from all that I had in this world that another might live. Yet the hope I lost was in fact the burden of that young child, the burden that she had carried for God only knows, how long. Gladly I took that burden that she might live in hope, and now, -she did. From the very moment I looked into her sweet, sweet, beautiful eyes only a year before, the power of this world lost its grip on her, a transfer of energy, an exchange of situation and circumstance.

  We see this in the story of Christ: that one lay down his life and salvation for the lowly and the meek. That is the job of every angel, every drop of God within us. As a result, the great nothing could not hold her, and it could not hold me. In the end, what God really took from me was my illusion of who and what He is.

  Only one choice, however, and only one of the gods I have mentioned can actually give you salvation, the passcode to heaven that we all seek. It is not about the longevity or condition of the body, but the eternity of the spirit within. Thus as that spirit becomes us, we trade it to those we find while here; we give the Element of God that lives within to that which needs it.

  The problem of bitterness toward God that many people today have is in fact our own misunderstanding of the divine nature. Educated societies have a grand misconception of the divine, much of which is the result of millennia-old religious imagery. These base perceptions were of course necessary at the time in that early cultures needed something on their level of comprehension as a moral guide and focal point. Simplistic religious beliefs allowed people then and now to cope and to hope in an otherwise brutal world.

  Unfortunately, however, while our education standards typically increase over time, our spiritual knowledge is often still stagnant. God does sit on a majestic throne, within your hearts and minds. Thus it is we who can articulate the power of the God-Element. We must let go of our dogmas and instead let the power of God do its work through our experience. So ultimately I wish to tell you the story of transformation: that the miracle of something greater does exist within our own inner being.

  It is not a flu
ke or a fantasy that I bring you, but the fact of a long-lost element of which the ancients knew and of which we are about to rediscover in full. It is real; it works perfectly; it can and does bring visible change. It is the tool by which we ourselves repair and are repaired in God in this world.

  Are there still people fighting a dog over a rotten carcass just to get their next meal somewhere in the world? Is there suffering, horrible abuses and handicaps around the world, every moment of every day? Of course, and there always will be in the dimension in which we now find ourselves. But that isn’t, rather, the body isn’t and never was the real issue, was it? The point is that the person of God be awakened to function as it was always intended within this fallen world.

  Feed not the body of the flesh and consider yourself an angel, but give of yourself, of your spirit, as food for those who are starving spiritually. This is where love surpasses even faith. This is where the saying comes true:

  “When that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away”.

  Thus Love is the connective tissue between ourselves and the world around us. But there is no love like God’s love. Nothing else is so profound and so powerful and so deep.

  The logical mind desperately tries to stifle this process of understanding. I had underestimated the divine plan. Once again I failed to see that God was preparing and purifying me for my job. Yes; my job is the same as yours; to function within the love of God and to renew the conveyor belt of salvation.

  I use the name of Christ to identify the spirit that I know to be true and real. What is important, however, is not a specific name, but rather to correctly identify the spirit of which I speak. God forbid we get hung up on the specifics of religious names and terminologies, but instead to identify the person of God and His workings within us. If one could neither see, hear, read nor be taught, they could still identify a given spirit within, without name. Thus I don’t care what name you use to identify the love of God, so long as you understand the nature of that spirit correctly.

  That person gives of itself instead of taking. It loves instead of hating. It forgives instead of crucifying. It does so in an understanding of its purpose in the grand scheme of the dimensions. It is not needy but full of the knowledge of God and works the power of God in everything it does.

  Yet there was another purpose for me: to bring you the mysteries of the universe and God—but not only to bring them, but to remove the veil which had in fact made them a mystery. It was this episode with the frail, abused little girl that finally brought me closer to my own personal graduation on this journey. This is when I finally began to grasp that my life here on Earth was as it must be. It was through this event and others that I was allowed to carry this message to you and the ancient mystery that will be revealed by the end of this book.

  It is knowing when to fight and when to concede that wins a deeper relationship with God. God will always win, yet knowing when to stand for the truth at all costs, even at the expense of salvation, will win you His respect as a father to a trusted son. In the end, He wants you to know the depths of His love; in the end this is what must birth forth from your inner being.

  The wisdom of the ancient science cost me much; it cost me who I was before. Not all at once, but in steady and deliberate steps I lost who I had once been. That small, frail child in that Louisville ghetto was only one of many such strides in my life by which I came to wisdom and understanding. Her contribution in the revelations that you will see is, in fact, immeasurable. Everything costs something. God bless her soul, for she paid dearly for the things you are about to discover.

  The hell that she suffered and that I suffered with her was, I say, worth it. The statement is true that death is only the beginning. In fact, death and taxes are not the only sure things, but life from death, that is what you can count on. I brought life to that little girl and, thankfully, through the power of the real God within, she brought life to me as well. What unfathomable energy is it through which a tortured and innocent child could unknowingly save the soul of a man such as myself? But she did…

  Ascending the Portal

  I am without variation and form.

  I am present everywhere as the underlying of everything,

  and behind all senses.

  I attach to nothing, neither am I freed from anything.

  I am the pure bliss of consciousness; I am.

  Make no mistake…I am.

  Over the course of the next two years, the visions would continue, always new, always intriguing, every night, and often during the day. It became a routine of sorts that I grew to love. Often I pondered what lay in store for the morrow, what new image would appear and perhaps some new understanding. Yet in that, things began to settle and the profound in itself became routine. Things calmed somewhat, perhaps a bit too calm for the almighty.

  I went to bed on that night just like any other, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, reviewing the events of the day and contemplating those of the next. After a few minutes I began to doze. As I did, I felt my body lighten and my mind begin to loosen. I’m sure you know the feeling—those moments between wake and sleep. It was a feeling of freedom, and as I faded into the world of dreams, I pleasantly began to float just above the bed.

  Wow, I can remember thinking. This is nice; this is gonna be a good one!

  My spirit lifted through the ceiling and roof of the house, ever increasing in speed as it went. Seldom, if ever were my dreams so vivid, so detailed and so meticulous. I could plainly see the lake and dam, the trees from above and increasingly the entire farm. It was surreal yet so real that I couldn’t deny the experience. In a mere wisp, however, I was sped away to a place high within the clouds. I gasped at the feeling of speed, even in my slumber, the miracle of flight—amazing. Once there far above the earth, I looked downward through a hole, many thousands of feet below. Even at that range, however, I could still see my log home, now but as a tiny speck.

  Stillness ensued for the next several moments as I hung suspended amongst the heavens. What a wonderful vision. I thought, as even within the dream I pondered the realness of what was happening. Though I could not feel the touch of the wind, I could hear its rushing and even see the clouds as they passed through and around my position. I felt secure in flight, oddly now disconnected from the cabin, as though I lapsed in memory. I had forgotten who I was in that moment and was amazed how comfortable and normal this experience felt.

  Suddenly, however, a beautiful light radiated from behind and above my field of view. Its rays shined past me, a soothing energy wave, mostly white in color yet mixed with faint hues of emerald and sardine stone. The light was familiar, yet I knew-not how, yet so unlike the light of the sun or moon. As my being slowly turned to see the source of these rays, I noticed that within them were sparkles that gently floated outward from a source.

  The flickers were quiet in presence yet somehow alive, as if containing a mind. I saw in them a design, a structure, that was completely unaffected by the wind. The sparkles were within the same space as was I, within the clouds, yet completely untouched by the physics and weather through which it dwelt.

  I marveled at this visage to which I was drawn. I could literally feel the light pulling me toward it, my focus still slowly rotating to see what was sure to be special. It’s hard to describe, but I felt so at ease, as though I was somehow going home, not back to the cabin, but to some long-forgotten place that I could not consciously recall. My turning continued however, until at the very moment the light came into view, just as I was being pulled through, a brief, fleeting glimpse of an unbelievably overpowering brightness and then—all was still and total blackness.

  In the next fraction of a second, I was violently vacuumed back inside my body. There I lay in bed within the cabin, now wide awake, my eyes opened in amazement of what had just occurred. Within my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was dead or dying. But as I lay there now petrified, I heard a voice, an undeniable voic
e, and a powerful echo within: I literally heard the words

  “You will not be allowed to remember what you have seen”.

  Shock ensued as I stared at the ceiling, unsure whether or not to move. Holy s…! I thought. That was by far the most real dream I’ve ever had. What was that light? What just happened? I lay there and pondered for at least ten minutes, not quite sure what to think about the realism of the experience.

  Finally however, I got out of bed, went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. As I drank, sitting upon the counter top, I tried to convince myself that this was just a dream, a night vision of my mind and nothing more. Doubt however, was winning against my better reasoning and logic. I mean, the light—it was so-real, and the voice—I really heard that …didn’t I?

  Why of all things would I see something really great and then not be allowed to remember it? That makes no sense. And who in their wildest imagination sees the layers of the ceiling and roof as they pass through them in a dream? That’s not normal dream-material, or at least it wasn’t for me.

  I rationalized that dreams are sometimes just that way, that maybe it was the result of events that my mind had somehow contorted and arranged. I suppose that’s very possible; our mind can manipulate things, right? Our worries, fears or thoughts can be twisted into an illogical combination of results. I humored that at least it was a fun dream instead of a nightmare, though the voice at the end still seemed a little too real to be a mere illusion of my sleep.

  That said, I had the strongest of suspicion that this was, somehow, more than just a dream. It felt real and even more than just a really good dream. It actually felt, well, kind of, -supernatural. All my thoughts gravitated towards the light which drew me in. What was it? I wanted to know and so that event played on a continual loop within my mind.

  Great, I thought, so now I’m batting-zero for sanity. Let’s face it, two years prior I was made a complete fool in front of multiple witnesses while babbling about some nebulous little old man, after which I began to draw a bunch of circles, maps and grids, and now, a magic-carpet ride to nowhere and of which I had no recollection. That’s just great, by all means, sign me up for the nut house… Thanks, Universe! So this is what it feels like to lose your mind! Why me, and why are these things never clear?