“God” had shown me a world of such mouth watering freedom and unreserved opportunity. There were no rules and no limits and it was beautiful to me.
Choosing my words carefully, I wrote:
I wonder about my friend, Debbie. She’s a Christian and she lives her whole life according to the rules in the Bible. Would she be better off without them, God? Is she ruining her life with all of those restrictions?
“God” came back quickly.
Yes, she is ruining her life. It is a shame because she truly loves Me
I knew it was the truth. Debbie did love God with all of her heart. If anything, I was sure of that much.
I was so captivated by “God”, so entranced by “His” presence and charmed by “His” words that I didn’t see what had just happened. It was as if my common sense had been switched off and my reason temporarily disconnected.
After three nights of written conversations, which now filled half the pages of my notebook, “God” had repeatedly declared that all people had the freedom to do whatever they wanted with their lives, without consequence. No one would be punished, for every human experience was needful to construct Who We Really Are. “God” delighted in watching mankind make the decisions that shaped their eternal lives. In essence, “He” watched “His” creation create itself.
Now, “God” was telling me that Debbie—supposedly free to do anything she pleased—was making a terrible mistake and was wasting her life in choosing Jesus Christ and following the Christian faith. Coupled with the blasting of the Apostle Paul, it should have been obvious that “God” had a clear objection to Christianity.
My suspicions should have been aroused and alarm bells should have been ringing, but I never put the pieces together. My excitement was too great and zeal blinded me to what was right in front of my eyes. I never doubted for a single moment that my companion, with whom I shared this fabulous, miraculous, divine dialogue, was any other than God, the Maker of everything. I swallowed “His” every word obediently and believed what “He” said immediately. Some of “God’s” remarks were surprising, even shocking – certainly the revelation that I had lived 734 past lives was staggering – but I never questioned their authenticity. Whatever confusion there was, no matter the scale of my initial astonishment, I always put it down to my lack of understanding when confronted with the mind of the Almighty. Now another new truth had been undeniably set out before me:
“God” was anti-Christian.
If I had only looked a little more carefully I would have noticed it. As it was, this newest revelation went undetected.
Another night of conversation drew to a close and, deliriously happy to have “God” in my life – to have a real understanding of “Him”, as opposed to the pleasure-strangling bonds of religion – I shut my eyes and waited for the wonderful dreams that would surely come.
Chapter Twelve : Fear and Torment
As a wave of delight carried me gently towards sleep, a frightening voice, full of rage, screamed at me from the darkness.
I’M THE DEVIL!
Wrenched wide awake, I opened my eyes in a burst of panic. The blackness of the room seemed to come alive and descend upon me with hatred.
I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!
Fear crushed me in its grip. I pulled the bed covers tight around my neck, scared to even breathe too loud. A familiar voice trailed softly into my confused mind. Without the aid of any pen or paper, I plainly heard “God” speaking to me.
Don’t be afraid. I’m here with you
My heart was hammering. The bedroom was suffocating and my head pounded. Again, a demonic voice roared from the shadows.
I HATE YOU!
I’M THE DEVIL!
Terrified, I managed to whisper, “What is that, God?” The kind voice of the spirit answered right away:
Don’t be afraid. There is no such thing as the devil. The voice that you can hear is only the voice of your FEAR
I had no idea what “He” meant but before I could say a word, something evil and full of fury screamed:
I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!
I’M THE DEVIL!
THE DEVIL!
Help me, God! I didn’t even say it out loud. My head swam with thoughts of my own destruction. I was afraid to reach for the light switch, sure that the talons of demonic beasts were waiting, ready to snatch me and drag me to a fiery hell if I but moved a muscle. I anticipated their claws upon my flesh at any moment. As the sudden, frightening realisation of my demise rolled over me, in my mind I clearly heard:
Be calm. Your subconscious mind wants to reject Me. It is your FEAR
“I don’t understand.”
People are raised with the belief that I am a God who punishes the wicked and sends them to hell. When I tell you there is no punishment and no hell, your mind is unwilling to accept it.
Your subconscious manifests itself as “the devil,” creating a fear that attempts to fight Me
Then, suddenly:
I HATE YOU!
“How do I stop it?” I breathed.
Evil spat back at me.
YOU CAN’T STOP ME! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!
Horrifying images of my death flashed through my mind; I couldn’t shut them out. The memory of a long forgotten nightmare from years ago came flooding back, in which I was hacked to pieces in my bedroom by a sadistic knife-man. The darkness brimmed with murder. The torment would not relent in its assault on my brain.
I’M THE DEVIL! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!
The words boomed in my ears. My heart thundered so hard and my chest felt so tight, I struggled to draw breath. “God” spoke again:
Keep calm, Peter
But then, my ears rang with:
I’M THE DEVIL! I HATE YOU!
“How do I stop that voice?” I whimpered desperately, my eyes filling with tears. The terror was dizzying.
Know Who You Really Are
What does that mean? Scared and confused by the onslaught of evil and an unending barrage of dark curses and threats, I didn’t understand at all what “God” was saying. Before I could ask, as malevolent voices blasted me from all sides, “God” explained further.
Know who I am by remembering who I am not: I will not punish you or send you to hell – there is no hell. When you do this you shall Re-Member Who You Really Are. There is no devil - only your FEAR.
Know Who You Are
It all seemed so vague, but I trusted “God”. “He” had given countless assurances over the course of our conference that both satan and hell were nonexistent. They were purely the imaginations of man, conjured by the human fear of believing the truth about God. “He” had graciously given me the freedom to think, speak and behave however I liked and I could not let this FEAR in my mind now steal the precious gift of “God”. Bracing myself against the mental attack, I called out in the darkness of my room: “There is no hell! There is no devil! I can overcome my FEAR because I know Who God Is! There is no devil!” For many arduous minutes that was all I repeated.
“There is no devil - only my FEAR!”
Slowly, the terrifying voice of FEAR grew quiet. It was a long, painful fight against an enemy in my own mind. Every time it seemed like victory was won and my exhausted eyes began to close, I heard the same voice, now coming in a low and menacing whisper in my ears.
I’m the devil...and I’m going to kill you
“There is no such thing as the devil!” I said defiantly. This went on for more than two hours. By now it was so late my body was racked with fatigue and I longed for sleep to overwhelm me.
At long last, with only a short time until dawn, I slept. The torture had ended, though only briefly. My battle was far from over. As awareness of the room faded into unconsciousness, the soft, caring voice of “God” floated through my thoughts, carrying me along into much needed rest.
Do not be afraid. I am here with you
As I lay sleeping, satan – the tormentor – watched me from the shadows, no do
ubt pleased with his nights work.
Chapter Thirteen : Trust Me
Not having to start work until the afternoon meant that I could sleep in on Monday. I was in no hurry to get up after the encounter with FEAR, but the lie-in didn’t help. I awoke with aching muscles and a throbbing head. My stomach churned and I felt drained and weak. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, catching myself more than once in a blank daydream like state.
From the moment I pulled myself out of bed, “God” spoke to me almost non-stop. “His” charming, subtle voice was now so recognizable I couldn’t mistake it.
You can beat your FEAR
Remember Who You Are
Also:
Know that I am with you
Do not be afraid
Believe in Me
On and on without end. “His” reassurances were a great source of encouragement at first. Who else but God could help me overcome FEAR? Now, after several hours of the voice returning constantly, I was finding it hard to focus on anything else. Happy as I was to have “God” “Himself” as my friend, the incessant whispering in my head was becoming a strain.
I longed for even a few minutes peace but “God” kept talking.
I am always with you
Do not be afraid
Trust Me
When I first heard “God’s” voice, a whole new dimension in my relationship with “Him” had opened up. A new world of extraordinary possibilities materialised. I had considered writing the account of these incredible experiences into a book of my own. Think of what these amazing teachings could do for others, I thought to myself. Perhaps I could one day travel the world and share “God’s” remarkable message, bringing hope to the lives of many and doing for them what the American’s book had done for me.
The sudden, violent attack of FEAR changed everything.
What had been so exciting and such an adventure in the beginning had now taken a more sinister turn. The fantasy of becoming an international prophet of this new spirituality was shattered with the realisation that knowing “God” came with a terrible burden. My pale, drawn skin and the dark circles under my eyes were testimony to the late night ordeal suffered at the hands of FEAR. It was an ordeal I knew for certain I would have to suffer again. “God” urged me not to worry and promised “He” was with me to help. Deep down I knew it wasn’t going to be so easy to defeat FEAR. How do you conquer an enemy in your own subconscious mind?
And that was another thing: “God” told me that FEAR was no more than a rejection of “Him” in my own thoughts, a part of me afraid to believe in “His” absolute goodness. But that cruel and wicked voice had not sounded like me; it definitely felt as though I had come under attack mentally, spiritually, even physically from an external force – one of undiluted hatred and evil. I had not merely sensed it, but felt it; the clamour of it upon my skin, pressing me, constricting me, invading me. The terror was real, as if fear had taken on tangible form and smothered me with itself. I couldn’t remember ever being so scared. Could some hidden sector of my own brain really turn against me with such devastating effect? Could my own mind so aggressively cause injury to itself?
Dragging myself off the bus in the town centre and starting the fifteen-minute walk to St. Anne’s, I resolved not to let the issue of FEAR dominate me. Instead, I determined to think only positively. I had a relationship with “God”—me, Peter Hockley, once unbeliever and mocker, now firmly in the camp of the devout. Not only, but I was also gifted to know “God” as He Really Is: without the cold chains of pleasure-stealing, joy-sapping religion. I didn’t send prayers up to the clouds like my dear friend Debbie and her deluded Christian family. My “God” spoke back.
Life had been irreversibly changed; there was absolutely no way I could go back from this, nor did I intend to. Though the future ultimately remained a mystery, after the experiences of the weekend, I knew I could never return to my old life of ignorance. A distinct line had been drawn, separating my twenty-one years into two clear parts. There was before the letter to “God” and after. But why did “God” have to be on my mind all the time? Was there no possibility of even a moments silence from “Him”? I needed time to come to terms with this new life and these new revelations.
While I made my way to the college, “God” still talked.
You don’t have to fear. Trust Me
I tried thinking about something altogether unconnected to the past three days but it was useless. I couldn’t make my thoughts go anywhere but the notepad and the spiralling words that filled its pages. As I walked through the streets, the swirling letters floated across my vision. My temples throbbed.
You have got to trust Me, Peter
Gradually, what was at first unusual and wonderful was changing into something overbearing and almost suffocating. I needed a minute alone, to breath, so that my brain, heavy and tired, could rest. What could I do though? How could I tell “God” to stop? I didn’t dare say it aloud and I didn’t even want to think it in case “He” heard. I had no option but to endure the ceaseless chatter in my head.
I wondered if everyone who genuinely knew “God” experienced this perpetual voice. Was this the mark of a true prophet? His burden – both a blessing and a curse?
The thought was broken up by another voice, not “God” this time but a young homeless man who sat on the pavement ahead, begging. There was always someone on that road every day, near the same spot – though not always the same person – asking for change. The young man, who looked to be in his twenties, was wrapped in an old blanket and hugged it tight against the December cold.
Why don’t you give him something?
That definitely came from “God”. I knew for certain it wasn’t me. Usually, I cared very little about the homeless. That’s life, I used to think. It’s their problem, not mine. I couldn’t recall a single instance when I had given money to those living on the street. I passed by them as if they were not even there.
Slow down and give him something
He looks like he needs it
Without thinking, my legs slowed and I came to a stop right next to the man. My hand was already in my pocket before he even looked up and spoke in a soulless, flat groan. “Spare any change, please?” Out came my hand from my pocket and with it a £2 coin. When I saw what was in my palm I hesitated for a second, hoping the man wouldn’t notice if I reached back in my pocket for a smaller coin.
Give him that one. He needs it, Peter
Shame struck me at my tightfistedness. With the best smile I could muster I handed over the £2 and moved on quickly, hearing a sincere cry over my shoulder. “Thanks, Mate!”
Well done
That was a kind thing you did for that man
“God” was right. I had never given anything before – never cared before – but now I felt invigorated. I was so glad that it had been the £2 coin as well and not something smaller.
And if it wasn’t for “God” I never would have done it
“Thank you, God!” I said out loud.
You’re welcome
There was a new spring in my step as I continued on my way to work. Overjoyed once more to have “God” in my life, my confidence in “Him” was renewed. As I walked into St. Anne’s College, I didn’t even notice that I wasn’t complaining about “God” anymore.
Chapter Fourteen : The Confession
The kitchen at St. Anne’s was always hectic when I started the afternoon shift. The lunch hour was drawing to a close and the atmosphere was filled with sound. Vast extractor fans hummed as they sucked hot air and steam from burning stoves and colossal ovens. Food scraps were scraped noisily from dozens of plates and chefs, anxious to get away, crashed filthy pots and pans into the wash-up bay, where the giant dishwasher blasted crockery and cutlery clean. A cacophony of voices talked over one another. Young waiters and waitresses gossiped while they worked and the chefs, the pressure off and with the end now clearly in sight, relaxed and swapped coarse jokes and laughed loudly,
while the conversations of over a hundred students in the dining hall came through the open door.
Slotting myself into the busy stream of activity, I barely noticed the hustle and hubbub. The trivial nature of my job contrasted sharply with the adventure of a relationship with “God”. Surrounded by my blind and ignorant co-workers, I no longer objected to the spirit-visitor’s constant voice in my thoughts – I was thirstier than ever for more of “Him”. I had only just arrived at work and I was already watching the clock, which couldn’t move fast enough for me. I was desperate to be back in my bedroom with the notepad and pen.
I am always here
Trust Me
At 2 o’clock the chefs disappeared one by one. They would return at 5pm to prepare the evening meal. The three-hour period of relative quiet in the afternoon was what I enjoyed most. No heat, sweat or pressure and no running about with cooks yelling orders—just another colleague and I with enough cleaning and prep-work to keep us occupied. Besides the two of us, only a skeleton crew of waiting staff and their supervisors passed through, moving between the kitchen and the dining hall.
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