Stone Arrowhead of the Mayan Warriors
-Important Note: At this time of my life, I aggressively pursued understanding of every aspect of dreaming. I was about to enter into the very darkest months of my life because of it. At the time, I suspected nothing. Due to arrogance, I considered others who refused the things I read, studied, and occasionally attempted to be just ignorant, brainwashed, and uncreative.
This story is included for those who currently work with demonic forces. Though it looks real, and is real, darkness controls it all. Eckankar, yoga, srini-whatever, eastern interpretation techniques (translated to English by Carl Gustav Jung), and New Age dream dictionaries are snares laid out by the Kingdom of Satan.
In 1996, a good botanist friend of mine invited me to join him on a trip to the Yucatan, in southern Mexico. I flew from Philadelphia to Cancun, one day ahead of my friend Gregory, and a friend of Gregory’s, John. Gregory and John brought with them a list of traditional healers working in the Yucatan. Most were locals. However, one was a Spanish woman. She worked in Mexico for a while, and had remained to study traditional medicine.
The other, main, objective, was to locate some land Gregory bought. It had been ancient Mayan land, and he bought the land from a man who was himself the last descendant of a long line of Mayan healers, and had no children.
Traveling to the Mayan Lands
En route to the land, we had a lengthy philosophical conversation about the nature of time. Reviewing our map several times, we had marked the half way point of the six-hour trip. Just as we passed that point, I said, “Alright, if time-space is flexible, as I say, as we round the next turn, the destination village will be there, even though it should be 90 minutes away.” We went around a long curve. Three minutes later, at the far end, we read a sign with the name of the village. “No way,” Gregory said, “this can’t be the right village.” It was the right village. I was laughing so hard. “It must be a mistake,” said one of them. “This map must be wrong.”
We estimated the trip out to be six hours. It took less than four. The return trip, however, took six hours across the dry, red ground. This matched exactly the representation on the map. Gregory and John never acknowledged the incongruity. However, they dropped their side of the time-space reality conversation.
The town consisted of thatch roof huts. One home had electricity run to it. The cables looked out of place and drooped between poles to the last pole at a sagging, cob-web encrusted hut. Most of the villages we passed through had at least one Coca Cola icebox beneath the only sign therein. The sign, of course, said, “Coca Cola” in large white letters set onto the trademark red background. The signs stood out dominantly in the all-earth-tones villages. This town lacked even the icebox and sputtering generator of the others.
Gregory brought seeds suited for the climate. We began to till the ground for planting. As the sun went up, and we continued working, the locals came out to watch the gringos working in the noon-day sun. They advised us that this is unwise, and we ought to rest instead. Our schedule dictated otherwise. John, who spoke Spanish best of all of us, and who had learned some Maya language prior to the visit, quickly became popular. “Juan Gringo” one of the children called him. Gregory and I took to it immediately, as did the villagers.
Sleeping on Sacred Mayan Grounds
That night, we decided to forego our tents and sleep on the ground. That night, I dreamed I was standing before some giant men. They announced themselves as the ones who blessed all the ancient Mayan warriors of old. They said they accepted me and would bless me to be a mighty warrior. “As proof,” one of the center giants said loudly, “When you wake, dig under where your head is lying now as you sleep. There, you will find a stone arrowhead.”
Juan Gringo and Gregory laughed. “We dug all day yesterday, and found nothing like an arrowhead,” they said. “And, arrowheads are made of obsidian, not stone.” When the old Mayan healer arrived the next morning to tour us across Gregory’s land, Juan Gringo asked about the dream. The Mayan healer was dumbfounded. Juan translated: “Yes, this land is the place where Mayan warriors traveled to meet the gods. They all wanted to be great. But, very few were chosen. This is a great honor. However, only Mayans can be chosen. This is most unusual.
Gregory and John were obviously stunned, but also very curious. We asked about stone arrowheads. The Mayan confirmed that Mayan hunters used stone arrowheads. There is no obsidian in southern Mexico.
The Stone Arrowhead
We went and located the imprint I left from the previous night. The area beneath my head imprint was sand. I fished around a few seconds and came up with a stone arrowhead.
Curse Brought Home
Pagan artifacts become rights of entry for demons. I took that arrowhead home with me. Because of the books I had chosen to read, my lack of discernment, and my arrogant discounting of those more knowledgeable than me, I considered it a “power item”. I took it home as a trophy.
Three and a half years later, I my life was completely ruined. I lost everything: my relationships, my businesses, all my money, my car, my bike, and even the good reputation I enjoyed in Philadelphia.
Conclusion:
Dreaming is no joke. The supernatural is very real. The “giants” who gave me their “blessing” laid a curse on me. Because I accepted it, and prized it, demons had an open door into my life. They worked their leverage and brought me to ruin.
The demonic is clever, coordinated, and patient. They will work you deeper and deeper into their ways. Slowly and patiently, they will wait until they have great power. Then, they will destroy you. Keep all pagan items, all drug items, anything from false religions and etcetera, out of your house.
Salvation:
In the darkest of the days that followed, Jesus spoke to me in a dream. He showed me a horizontal timeline. Another line curved up high, crested, then curved down, crossing the horizontal line. It went deep, deep, deep into increasing blackness. This line represented my happiness. Above the line meant happiness. Below the line meant stress, challenges, and depression.
Jesus stood there. He pushed the sleeve on his right hand up his arm. Then he reached down into the black gunk. His arm went in up to the top of his bicep. Pulling out his arm, he came up with a man the size of his hand- me. He began to clean off me thick, black, oily gunk. As he cleaned, a voice said into my right ear, “Very few come back from such deep darkness. Very, very few.” Then, to encourage me, the voice said, “These are the darkest days of your life. Never again will your life be so hard.”
