In this post, I describe the Sri Chinmoy Burn, which resulted in my image being smeared, resulting in my having to be supervised by my parents while around my daughter even though I had done nothing wrong to her and even though she and I had been victims of parental alienation against me all her life. And it resulted in a stipulation in a new specious Court Order (between me and the mother of my child, Erin,) making it impossible for me to help my daughter with the emotional neglect she had been going through (a lot of which involved Erin causing her to have issues with me) through a legal process through the Nova Scotia Supreme Court (Family Division).
This was my karma for smearing my spiritual Master, Sri Chinmoy several times to about 10 or 15 of His disciples due to vengeful responses to discipline from Him which I felt was too humiliating.
Because of this Sri Chinmoy Burn back in 2012, I ended up making a total fool out of myself by posting publicly all over Facebook about a sickness that I thought was being deliberately started, trying to warn people of it. This and a few other reasons, including a couple close family members fueled with negative emotions against me trying to make me look much worse than I really was to several Nova Scotia Health Authority mental health professionals, resulted in a diagnosis of schizophrenia.
Part of the basis for this diagnosis was the fact that I spoke to a few psychiatrists on different occasions years prior. Most of them also concluded that I have schizophrenia, and this went into my health record.
Why Would I Ever Speak to Psychiatrists in the First Place?
First I’ll tell you how I ended up speaking to psychiatrists in the first place.
This is important because this went into my health record, and as I had gradually learned throughout the years, a psychiatrist’s version of “insight” largely involves looking into your health record to see what previous doctors had said.
The first time was in 2001 when I was in Toronto, Canada. I was very mad at Sri Chinmoy for administering “blows”, something which I will describe better in a subsequent article, so I decided that since He would not surrender to my temper tantrum, and I maliciously perceived Him as just simply humiliating me or violating me, I would go to a psychiatrist to help “prove” that this is not a mental illness, an attempt to “expose” Sri Chinmoy for doing something “bad” to me. Better yet, it was an attempt to make it appear as though Sri Chinmoy was doing something bad to me.
“The blows of my Master
I take as most beautiful flowers
Given to me by my Master.”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Seventy-Seven Thousand Service-Trees, part 20]
Through the help of some kind of letter from a psychiatrist or by somehow making one my “advocate”, I would expose to Sri Chinmoy’s disciples that Sri Chinmoy was doing something wrong and bad to me, an attempt to smear Sri Chinmoy which came from my false accusations against Him from my anger.
Sri Chinmoy was, however, doing something GOOD, including helping me with my very bad karma, which I had endured from previous bad behaviour. It was I who was adding the element of destructiveness.
But I had wrongly assumed that psychiatrists were far more intelligent than they actually are. I thought there would have to be certain symptoms I would have to have in order for my experience to be considered a mental illness and that I would be able to show that I don’t have this illness by being able to show that I don’t have these symptoms.
In fact, in order to try to convince the psychiatrists to talk to me, I originally wanted to make them think I was mentally ill. I told them I have “being” in my consciousness. Which would definitely give off a false impression as to what I was actually experiencing.
Sri Chinmoy is not a “being” in my consciousness. It is an experience of oneness with my higher self. There is no separation.
“The Master is the disciple’s own higher reality,”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Sri Chinmoy speaks, part 1]
“But I am not a different person; I am the most illumined part of your own existence.”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: The Master’s inner life]
So, right off the bat I was causing the psychiatrists to think I have a mental illness, and they believed it.
I subsequently tried to help them understand how it is not a mental illness, after my spiteful intentions seeped away, but they couldn’t see how it could be anything else.
That was fine (seemingly); I could just forget about them. They were not going to “force” me to go on medication.
On a different occasion later that year, I went to a different psychiatrist at a different hospital in Toronto. He concluded that I didn’t need medication. He told me that he thinks all I need to do is stay away from drugs and alcohol. That was the only psychiatrist that came to that conclusion (that I know of) out of all that I’ve talked to (probably over 20) thus far. I’m not sure if this went into my health record.
About three years later, after graduating from a college graphic design program in Toronto, I was living with my girlfriend (Spixy) at the time back in Halifax, Nova Scotia and found myself unemployed.
I strongly felt that if I could just spend time at home studying certain software programs used in the graphic design field and make myself a better graphic designer, through studying and building up a better portfolio in (likely) non-billable ways, I would have a much, much better potential with a career in graphic design. Otherwise, I was likely to end up spending years and years as a telemarketer or in some other dead-end job despite my four years of college education.
It was for that reason that I decided to go to a psychiatrist again to convince her that I do indeed have a mental illness with the hope of using my diagnosis (and perhaps a letter from her) to be able to gain monthly disability checks from the provincial government. If I could do that, then I could stay at home studying every day and then I would be set! Yes, I was tricking them.
I met with a couple Nova Scotia Health Authority psychiatrists and asked them to retrieve my health record from my previous meetings with the psychiatrists in Toronto — the ones that concluded I have schizophrenia — with the hope of convincing them that I have a mental illness.
Yup, they were convinced, and this went into my health record like my previous meetings with psychiatrists had.
However, I had completely failed in my attempt to acquire monthly disability checks, because, where I was living with my girlfriend, Spixy, at the time, although she had a menial, pathetic job, she was making enough to support the both of us, according to the government’s protocols.
So, that achieved nothing. In fact, the medication they were giving me was causing me to faint and have panic attacks, which caused my already cynical girlfriend to be even more cynical of me.
Naturally, I discontinued meeting with these psychiatrists and discontinued taking the medication, which had done nothing but cause negative side effects, such as, in addition to the above, sluggishness.
Eventually, I decided to go back to college (in Nova Scotia). And my relationship with Spixy ended (being cynical of me definitely being one of the deal breakers for me).
My daughter was about one or two years old at the time. Spixy and I were already starting to notice behaviour problems, and Spixy (not the mother) was quick to blame me. But I knew that it wasn’t, and I will be describing in subsequent blog articles things that were going on at the mother’s (Erin’s) house, things Erin was causing our daughter to think–such as that “Mommy knows everything and Daddy knows nothing” and that our daughter should keep secrets from me, causing behaviour problems and tarnishing my daughter’s relationship with me, which, after years of struggling with this issue, I had later learned was part of my karma for smearing Sri Chinmoy years prior due to anger and deliberate fault-finding of Him after disobeying my conscience advising me to see the “blows” in a positive way as advised unbeknownst to me those days in the above aphorism by Sri Chinmoy.
I am telling you all this because I eventually, in 2012, had an inner experience, courtesy of my Inner Guide, Sri Chinmoy, which eventually resulted in a Nova Scotia Legal Aid lawyer coming up with the ill-advised decision (which I submitted to due to naiveté on my part) to put a stipulation in my and Erin’s Court Order stating that in order for me to be able to help my daughter through a legal process, I must first get a letter from a psychiatrist to show the Family Court.
It is because of this stipulation in our Court Order that I have not been able to help my daughter through a legal process with the emotional neglect (and parental alienation against me) she had been going through all her life, something which I had been trying to do since 2012.
The following is the aforementioned inner experience, which took place during the early morning hours of June 1, 2012, which I had already written for Vol. 2 of my multi-volume memoir, The Struggle Within, as well as a brief summary of the resulting mire I ended up in.
Sri Chinmoy’s Smear Against Me
In mid-2012, Sri Chinmoy had inwardly given me some messages about how some kind of illness, one that wouldn’t be an actual illness but actually just some kind of burn with the help of chemicals, will be deliberately started around late-May, early-June 2012. Naturally, I misinterpreted what He was saying, and I assumed some bad people were going to try to deliberately start this bad thing around the world, which I had even referred to to my friend, Tammy, as The Burn, and try to kill a lot of people. I assumed they were mixing some kind of chemicals and that these chemicals would burn skin. I was so fooled that Sri Chinmoy wanted me to try to help in some way that I contacted the FBI about it on their online tip form. This eventually caused me to suspect that the FBI or the CIA were suspicious of me.
Eventually, after zero sleep for about four or five days straight, I plastered publicly all over Facebook how people needed to protect themselves from this “burn”.
In some of my posts, I tried — although didn’t articulate myself well due to severe sleep deprivation — to warn parents that they need to protect their children. That prompted one family member who read my posts to call up my parents and exclaim that I appeared to be making public threats against children.
Shortly after I had done this, Sri Chinmoy inwardly revealed to me that this was His Burn against me, I was tricked and made to look bad. A different way of interpreting “burn”.
Lo and behold, the illness that was being deliberately started was me appearing sick due to a burn, a Sri Chinmoy Burn. But that didn’t quite clue in with me very well at the time.
The following experience happened shortly after this public self-defaming I had inflicted upon myself, after a four-hour sleep. I had thought my Facebook posts had gone viral and that I had become famous, a perception of reality seriously skewed by my severe sleep deprivation during those days (but perhaps it was also due to something else?).
The following was taken directly from the current draft of Vol. 2 of my multi-volume book:
Like I said earlier, at the end of May, I was having some divine thoughts and experiences, but I was not able to write all of it down or type it all to Tammy because my brain wasn’t working right from lack of sleep, I was too busy having the experiences, and my Internet connection was not working right. I wouldn’t be able to articulate most of these experiences for you by memory. But there is one I may be able to tell you about a little bit (from memory). I would love more than anything to re-live this experience (except for perhaps when I got attacked) and remember every little detail. This experience was on May 31, 2012, and the early hours of the morning of June 1, 2012. I had not slept at all for the last four or five or so consecutive days of May (and I also got very little sleep for the last two or three years especially during March, April, and May of 2012). And, by May 31, 2012, I had gone about four or five or so days straight with no sleep. However, on May 31, 2012, I did sleep finally for about four hours. After I woke up, I began to have this experience that I’m about to tell you about.
I woke up on May 31, 2012, after my four-hour sleep, and felt better after I finally had some sleep, I felt an improvement, like I was sane again. I had a meditation and then a shower and decided to go out walking around to try to find a place, such as a coffee shop, to use the Internet. My condo at the time was in Bedford, a generally upper-middle-class suburban area of Halifax, Nova Scotia, near Bedford Place Mall.
According to my out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, the CIA was not only following me but trying to trick me in any way they could. The only period that I ever had any of these kinds of out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin was during these last two or three days of May 2012, never at any other time in my life. And these thoughts not only caused me to think that there were bugs (i.e. recording devices) all around my apartment, they caused me to think that the CIA would not let me know what time it was, and none of my clocks were working right, which I thought was because the CIA had messed with every possible means or device I would normally use to find out what time it was.
In fact, these thoughts caused me to think that the CIA was using special outdoor equipment to cause me to think that it was day time when it was actually night time and night time when it was actually day time. I thought this special outdoor equipment was making the day seem like it was dark when it was actually light out and vice versa. So, I had absolutely no idea what time it was. It was dark out, but, as far as I was concerned, it was the day, because the CIA was making it seem like it was dark with their special equipment.
I took my laptop with me in a plastic reusable grocery bag and a few other things that were of no use to me, including a pair of underwear, various useless miscellaneous items, and my cell phone, which wasn’t working right. After I left my apartment, I arrived at a bench at a small park and sat down. Then I took my underwear out of the bag and threw it on the ground by the bench and left the cellphone on the bench because that is what my Inner Pilot told me to do. I thought it was kind of funny that He would tell me to take the underwear with me and then tell me to leave it by the bench, and I kind of laughed a little because He’s funny, but it felt to me that succumbing to laughter like that I was kind of losing touch or connection with the flow of my Higher Self.
I think it’s important to point out that these out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin eventually caused me to have an outer experience, which included interactions with other people. I will gradually build up to that outer experience as I explain this to you, but first I will try to explain to you an inner experience I had while walking.
After I got up off the bench, I walked over to Dooley’s, a nearby billiards bar, to try to find out what time it was. According to my out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts, everybody was cooperating with the CIA because the CIA asked them to, and so, therefore, nobody in the bar would speak to me because that is what the CIA told them to do. And I didn’t try to speak to anybody. I looked at the TV to try to find out what time it was; the news was on, and it displayed a time in the lower right corner on the screen, however, according to my out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, the CIA had somehow changed that time to a time different than it actually was. So, I still had no idea what time it was. That time on the screen was of no use to me, and I don’t remember what it said.
I left the bar and started walked behind the Atlantic Superstore, a big grocery store beside Bedford Place Mall. Since I felt the CIA were following my every move and everybody was cooperating with the CIA, i.e. all the malls and stores were closed despite the fact that it was the day time, I just started walking around pretty much aimlessly, but at the same time, in my mind, outsmarting the CIA. While walking behind the grocery store, I noticed some red tape around a pipe of some sort. My Inner Pilot told me to rip off a piece of the tape with my fingers, and I thought, why would I do that? There didn’t seem to be any point to that. But my Inner Pilot told me to do it, so I did it. And later I realized there was a very important reason as to why I was holding this little piece of red tape between my thumb and index finger.
As I walked past the back of the grocery store and towards a subdivision nearby, I began to sing (out loud) “Jesus Christ” over and over again. There were three notes to each of the three syllables of “Jesus Christ”, which I sang over and over again; it sounded like the first three notes of Hot Cross Buns, but sung cheerfully and devotedly. When one chants or sings “Jesus Christ” repeatedly devotedly or cheerfully, that is not something that tends to cause one to have delusional thoughts; that is something that helps one to feel more in tune with his true self and helps one to receive blessings from Above. While singing “Jesus Christ” and walking through the subdivision, which was probably around 1 or 2am, I felt that I was having a divine experience, and that was added to by the fact that I was holding what felt or seemed like a red flower petal between my thumb and index finger and therefore the inspiration I felt from that, which was, in literal terms, the piece of red tape.
While singing “Jesus Christ” and holding this red flower petal piece of red tape, I had numerous thoughts or experiences of which the source was my Inner Pilot. According to my thoughts and experiences from my Inner Pilot, I felt that I was soil; at the top was relatively good soil and down below was shit. And, by chanting “Jesus Christ”, I was cleaning up all the shit and the soil to improve the soil generally speaking. At one point, I felt both Guru and Mother Teresa singing “Jesus Christ” with me. Then I started repeating, “I am the soil,” and felt the sun above shine down on me, the soil. I don’t remember everything. So, I can’t tell you everything. Then I began to feel that there were two flowers in me and growing up above me, the soil. And I felt that one flower was Sri Chinmoy and the other flower was Mother Teresa and that these two flowers together were the Supreme, i.e. God. I continued to sing “Jesus Christ”, and, while singing, I had more thoughts or experiences of which the source was my Inner Pilot.
After a while, I had the divine thought (from my Inner Pilot or Guru) that long ago God decided to start playing a Game, like a little child playing with some kind of toy, and, in order to play His Game, which is His Creation, He had to Create something. He is the One, and He had to Create something additional in some way in order to play His Game, but I wasn’t quite sure what that was.
Then I began to feel that everything in my consciousness is made up of 1’s and 0’s, (It is also true that everything in a computer boils down to 1’s and 0’s) and perhaps everything in the Universe. The 1’s are Truth or God, and the 0’s, according to what Sri Chinmoy inwardly told me recently, are where the seed germinates, like soil. While having this experience, there were times when I had thoughts such as, “I am doing this,” or “I am achieving that,” i.e. preconceived thoughts, which were thoughts that were not true, i.e. ignorance, because the truth is that I didn’t really know what I was doing or what I was achieving. So, when I awakened more into realizing that I don’t know what I’m achieving or what’s happening instead of preconceived thoughts, I felt and saw a 1 was going within a 0 at that point in my consciousness where I had that little awakening; this sort of thing happened again and again. I suspect that the 0’s without a 1 within them means ignorance, but I don’t think I have realised this yet, nor has Sri Chinmoy clarified it.
While singing “Jesus Christ” over and over again, I sometimes felt that the higher part of me was singing, in which case I would feel Mother Teresa and Sri Chinmoy singing with me, and sometimes I would feel that the lowest part of me was singing, in which case I felt I sounded similar to a bunch of drunken bums who basically sounded as though they were swearing as they were trying to sing and that this lowest part of me was either matter or similar to matter. And I would go back and forth from my higher part to my lower part.
Then Guru (aka Sri Chinmoy) or my Inner Pilot began to introduce me to the Supreme. And I met the Supreme. He was like a great, great, great grandfather who is extremely pure and wise, similar to a wise and pure Native Indian great grandfather. It was as though He smoked and drank since many of His children smoke and drink. So many of His children (humanity) smoke and drink that it is as though He does it too, but He was also extremely pure and wise.
[Note: I made the following computer journal entry on June 14, 2013:]
The Supreme told me, or made me feel, that the Bengali language and the Sanskrit language are two languages that everybody should learn; they should be the universal languages. These languages complement each other and it is much easier to understand life, consciousness, and Reality, God, and Truth with these two languages. He told me that it was as though whoever wrote or created the English language was like the janitor and whoever wrote or created the Bengali and Sanskrit languages was like the professor*. He also somehow made me feel that the English language has too many words and that it is better to have a language that achieves good communication with fewer words. He somehow referred me to some animals or birds (which I couldn’t see) within the trees beside me and somehow they said, or He said through them, “We only have two.” While I met the Supreme, at the same time I also was the Supreme, not my ego, just my Self.
*You may be interested in reading what Sri Chinmoy had said about the Bengali and English languages (I found this passage from Sri Chinmoy’s writings in December 2016.)
Then I began to feel that I was a Native Indian from long ago. And I felt that I was telling my story of the experiences I had just had, i.e. first the soil and the shit, then the two flowers growing in me and up above me, then the 1’s and 0’s and the 1’s going within 0’s within my consciousness, and so forth, to other Native Indians in the same way that Native Indians would tell stories about the past while gathered around a fire of some sort. And I began to feel that I was passing this story on from generation to generation, I was going from generation to generation telling the story. And at times, we would act out the story to communicate it better. I was a Native Indian speaking a different language (out loud), a language I am not familiar with, and yet I knew what I was saying.
Then I felt as though I was Arjuna from the Mahabharata and a Native Indian at the same time. And I was like a warrior: very strong, confident, and powerful. At one point I thought that since the CIA was following me and that the whole world knew about me at this time, according to my out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have a Divine or Powerful origin, maybe I should just go live in the woods for the time being perhaps until the CIA go away. At this point, I was walking along a highway (with fast moving cars). The woods were on one side of the highway, and there was the subdivision on the other side.
Then I had a thought, as the cars zoomed past me, that, instead of going to live in the woods, perhaps I should walk to a different town nearby where the CIA probably did not have their equipment set up to make the day appear to be night. Finally, I looked over towards the subdivision and I saw a nice light at a condominium building that stood out in comparison to the mostly darkness around it. And it seemed that God made me feel that this is a good area to go to; it was nice and full of light, so why not, there must be something good about it. I felt that maybe the FBI were there in that building and that was good because I felt the FBI were good and the CIA were bad. I felt I had to get to the FBI.
But, in order to get there, I would have to cut through somebody’s property. I had to go from the highway, through the people’s property, and then to the subdivision road where the condominium building was near. I did not even remotely think that there was any problem with cutting through somebody’s property. In fact, technically, since I was some kind of Native Indian, we share the land with everybody, and, since everybody was aware of me probably watching me on television at that time doing what I was doing (according to my thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin), there was nothing abnormal about it. In addition, I wouldn’t have walked through their property if I didn’t think it was daytime instead of nighttime.
While I was in their backyard, cutting through their property, I picked up a dandelion for no reason. Then, as I walked past the side of their house, I saw in a window on the side of their house a girl or a woman looking at me; it was up above me. When I saw her, I reached out up to her and offered the dandelion-flower to her, because she is a girl and girls are feminine and delicate and deserve flowers. According to ancient Native Indian character or nature, according to my understanding, or perhaps I was reminded (even though I had no reason that I know of to have a memory of this), there was no such thing as suspicious looking strangers; strangers were not immediately seen as a threat, they were immediately welcomed with open arms, in a friendly manner. Then I kept walking, down their driveway and towards the street.
Again, I don’t remember everything, so I can only tell you part of it; I wish I could tell you more. Then a woman appeared approaching me from the driveway, asking me, “What are you doing on our property?” So, I asked, “What are you doing on MY property?” because I was a Native Indian, or Arjuna, and we own or share the entire land with all the other creatures on Mother Earth; plus, we were here first. But I had a strong accent from the foreign language that I was speaking earlier.
Then she asked me what’s in my bag again and again. And I responded again and again, “What’s in YOUR bag?” pointing or gesturing towards her vagina, and then I’d say, “That’s personal!” (She was asking me a personal question about what’s in my bag, so I was asking her a personal question.) Then her husband came out and started questioning me as well. And the wife said, “He says he doesn’t speak English.” But that wasn’t true; I didn’t say that. I can understand English perfectly well, I just had a strong accent. The husband questioned me a number of times and, at that time, I started to get slightly nervous.
While I was getting a little nervous, the wife started to become more hostile to me for a number of seconds, most likely because she could pick up on the fact that I was getting nervous. Then she said, “I heard him talking earlier. I think there’s someone else back there.” (While I was trespassing through their property, I was still talking out loud in the foreign language, so it must’ve sounded to her that I was talking to an accomplice, and so that is why she said that.) So, the husband left us and went to the back of their house to check for the other person that didn’t exist. But, when the wife said, “I heard him talking earlier,” the Supreme gave me the thought of the real way, or the better way, to interpret what she was talking about: According to the Supreme’s thought, she was referring to the fact that I was talking a certain way earlier, more confidently, more in tune with my Higher Self. And the Supreme’s thought caused me to completely snap out of my slight nervousness.
Then the wife insisted that I give her my bag. And I said “no”. So, she grabbed it from me and wouldn’t give it back. I wanted it back and was quite serious about it even though there wasn’t much in it of any value to me. (I had taken out my laptop earlier and left it on the side of the highway because my Inner Pilot advised me to.) But she wouldn’t give it to me. So, then I told her to keep the bag, and started to walk away. My wallet was in the bag, but it was not of any importance to me anymore. I saw her take it out of the bag and hold it up in the air, and she seemed a little taken aback that I did not care about that at all.
Then I decided that, although she could have the bag, I wanted the little ball that was in it. It was Abigail’s (my daughter), which she had since she was very young. I asked for that back; I said, “Give me my ball back.” I wanted it because it was Abigail’s so, therefore, it had some sentimental value to me. But she wouldn’t give that to me either.
I then sat down on the curb and began to cry, but it almost immediately became very clear to me that this was just a pretend cry. I even thought that perhaps it will seem obvious to this lady that I am not really crying. It was then that I realized, on what seemed like a lower level, that all I’m doing here is tricking people. But I had to continue to go along with it, otherwise I’d lose touch with the Supreme.
After my short cry, I then walked away and crumpled up and threw away the dandelion-flower I had offered her earlier because I was disappointed in her and felt she was no longer deserving of it.
Never did I suspect that they had any justification to suspect me. I thought that they were probably working for the CIA and were just trying to get me in trouble for something when I didn’t do anything.
This was around three or four in the morning; the reason I know this is because the sun came up a few hours later.
I would also like to point out that I was wearing a white t-shirt and flip-flops at the time. It would be kind of strange to try to rob somebody at night while wearing what I was wearing.
I walked down the street a little bit, and there was a porta potty for construction workers that the Supreme told me to go into. So, I went in. He told me to sit down on the toilet seat (for which the cover was down) because He had something to say to me. I hesitated, but He insisted. So, I sat down. Then the Supreme spoke to me. He said: “Now listen. I need you to be tough. Be strong here, okay? This is very important.” I did not know why He said that to me. I felt like I was already being strong. I thought maybe CNN was going to try to interview me really soon and I had to be very confident during the interview. But I was wrong; that’s not what happened.
I left the porta potty and walked through a sort of empty lot or construction area to take a shortcut to get to the condominium building where the nice bright light was. While I was walking through that empty lot or construction area, I saw a taxi cab drop off the passenger of the cab at the condominium entrance. The cab driver looked at me suspiciously, and I suspected that he was a CIA boss trying to prevent me from being able to go into this building where the FBI was and exactly where the CIA did not want me to go. I had a thought that this guy he dropped off, who also looked at me, was to prevent me from being able to go into the building, to lock it somehow. And I had the thought—an out-of-touch-with-reality thought that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin—that I was outsmarting the CIA and that the CIA were getting upset with me.
I picked up a little piece of paper-garbage, which was a small wrapper of some sort, while walking through this empty lot or construction area and walked towards the cab driver (towards the condominium entrance area) to give it to him as his tip. I walked straight to the cab driver, who was looking at me suspiciously, and I said, “Call the police. Someone just stole my bag!” And I said, “Here is your tip,” as I gave him the little piece of garbage, because the truth is, I knew he wasn’t really going to call the police, so he didn’t deserve a very good tip.
By this time, I was right at the entrance of the building, and a Halifax Regional Police car pulls up; then a policeman approaches me right before I can try to enter into the building.
And I thought to myself, there is no way that this is a real police car and that that is an actual police officer; it is laughable, it is obvious that this is the CIA disguised as Halifax Regional Police officers; it was an out-of-touch-with-reality thought that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin. And I was sure of it; it was laughable to me. I even thought that they must know that I know that they aren’t real police officers since it was so obvious to me.
As far as I was concerned, I was just minding my own damn business and all of a sudden this Halifax Regional Police vehicle approached. They didn’t put their police lights on or anything. The “supposed” police officer that approached me told me he wants to talk to me about something. I recall backing up a little and moving away from him because he was invading my personal space. He then attempted to grab my wrist to presumably somehow get my arm in a locked position behind my back. That didn’t work because I didn’t like that, so I got my arm free, ‘cause I know a little Tae Kwon Do.
He didn’t mention one single word to me about why he was trying to grab my arm. I was not told I was under arrest; I was not told I was being arrested for something; I was not told to place my hands on the vehicle with my legs separated so that he could search me; there was no call for backup, nor did any other police vehicle arrive at the scene (according to my memory); and, this police officer was, for some reason, wearing a pair of leather gloves.
The police officer who approached me and tried to grab my arm, who was wearing gloves, started talking to me a little or asking me some things. But I do not remember what he said. I only remember some of the things that, according to my intuition, or you can call it my out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, or you can call it my thoughts from God or my Self, whatever you want to call it, he implicitly communicated to me when he said things or asked me things. I only remember some of the implicit communication according to my special thoughts.
I felt he was implying some things to me by the way that he was looking at me, the things he was saying, and the way that he was saying them. First of all, the police officer seemed very strange to me.
He didn’t behave like a normal police officer, and the gloves that he was wearing looked like they really didn’t belong at all. I will try to tell you as much as I can remember. It seemed to me the gloves were there for a suspicious purpose. The police officer didn’t seem too sure about himself. He didn’t seem like he was very interested in talking with me. He seemed almost passive, or perhaps even slightly nervous. He didn’t seem very strong or assertive in his approach. He tried to approach me again saying something like, “I just want to talk to you about something,” and I backed away. Then I walked towards the entrance of the condo building. And I tried to open the door to the foyer, but it was locked, which is very strange because in order for visitors to get into the building they need to be able to go into the foyer so that they can press the buttons to the various units.
Before my short conversation with him, I asked him if he would like to join the FBI with me (explicitly). And he said yes (implicitly). It was very strange that the front door to that building was locked. And there were some boxes on the floor within the foyer. When I glanced at the boxes and tried to figure out what they were or why they were there, the police officer looked very uncomfortable with the fact that I was doing that (according to me) and tried to distract my attention away from them.
When I was standing at the front door, which had a glass entrance, there began, according to my thoughts from God or my Self, or you can call them my out-of-touch-with-reality thoughts that seemed to have some kind of Divine or Powerful origin, what seemed to me implicit communication between me and this particular police officer, or who, according to me, was someone trying to work for the CIA. I don’t remember the exact words that were said, but the following is the implicit communication according to my special thoughts of which I strongly recall.
First of all, the police officer looked like he had tears in his eyes. I saw in his eyes that he had to kill me, and he was very disturbed about this; he had to follow orders to kill me and he really didn’t want to because he thought it was wrong; I was an innocent person; he not only liked me, he loved me, because he already knew who I was, i.e. very spiritual; he didn’t want to kill me so bad that it showed deeply in his eyes and it appeared as though there were tears beginning to weld up in his eyes.
Then he said a few things, of which the words I do not recall, but, once again, I only remember what was implicitly communicated to me according to my special thoughts. He told me that he had to kill me and he wanted some kind of reassurance from me that he would not be successful at this. And so, I reassured him that no, I would not be killed. (Because I knew that my Guru would protect me and he would not allow that to happen.) Then he had a different thing to say: he was going to get killed if he didn’t kill me. So, he looked for reassurance from me again on whether he would get killed. And, so, I reassured him again, that no, he also would not get killed. I knew, that if I said that, I was confident enough that Guru would back up my promise. And this was the reason he was so emotional or nervous or uncomfortable.
Anyway, shortly after our implicit communication, or what I thought was implicit communication, a second police officer approached me from behind and began to assist the first police officer with putting me in handcuffs behind my back. Virtually nothing was said, according to my memory, about the reason why I was being put into handcuffs or what was going on. However, the first police officer did say, as they were in the midst of beginning to put the handcuffs on me, “I think there’s going to be a fight,” before I even made any slightest effort to fight against them (and, according to me, I never gave him any reason to believe that I would put up a fight prior to that; I didn’t even know he had the intention to put me in handcuffs). To me, according to my special thoughts, he just implicitly communicated to me that I need to fight this to help me win it (i.e. to survive their attempt to kill me). So, after he said that, I started to fight with all my might.
During the initial struggle, I almost took off one of the first police officer’s leather gloves (the second one wasn’t wearing gloves), and he became very nervous about that as I was about to do it and momentarily ceased from struggling to get my wrists into the handcuffs to put his glove back on properly. I thought that was kind of odd.
Also, during my initial struggle with them, or shortly after they got the handcuffs on me, they asked me if I was doing any drugs that evening. And, since I thought they were working for the CIA, and I thought that they wanted me to look bad instead of like a wise or intuitive spiritual person who was outsmarting them, and I thought that our voices were being recorded somehow and broadcasted over live television, according to my special thoughts, I said that I took four hits of acid (which wasn’t true). A few minutes later they tried to reconfirm that with me, and I thought to myself that maybe four hits of acid wasn’t bad enough, so this time I said 14.
They eventually got me into handcuffs, which were very tight around my wrists, cutting off my circulation, behind my back, with me lying face down on the pavement, and proceeded to simply sit on me for one and a half hours or so so that I could not move away. I yelled and screamed for somebody to help me and tried to get them off of me the entire time. I was hoping that somebody in the building would hear me. I thought I was fighting for my life.
While I was yelling for help and struggling to get them off of me, I thought numerous times about what the Supreme told me earlier, about how He needs me to be tough and strong and that it’s very important, and I thought that this experience that I was having now must have been what He was talking about, and I wasn’t quite sure what He meant, but it helped to completely convince me that they were trying to kill me and that I was fighting for my life. I thought that my attempt to get them off of me and break my hands free from the cuffs and my fight against them trying to kill me was my being strong according to the Supreme’s advice earlier.
At one point, the first police officer said, “He’s pretty strong.” And I could tell by the tone of his voice (or thought I could) that he was happy that I was strong, he was nervous but felt good that they were failing at killing me. In other words, despite cutting off my circulation for so long, I was still not losing consciousness. I had to repeat certain things over and over again to help me to not lose consciousness such as: “I will not give up” repeated over and over again; I felt myself beginning to lose consciousness several times. (But I do not know if that was because they were cutting off my circulation or if it was because I was so low on sleep or a combination of both.)
As far as I was concerned, they were doing everything they could to cut off my circulation so that I would eventually lose consciousness and then eventually die, and I was doing everything I could to stay conscious or to get somebody to help me.
Eventually, an ambulance arrived. I did not hear anybody radio for an ambulance. The ambulance attendees waited nearby for a few minutes. By the time the ambulance attendees came to me to help me, I was not very conscious; I was quite out of it. In fact, I think I lost consciousness a number of times and then came back. They put me in the ambulance and took me to the hospital. I don’t remember much of their attempt to help me or the ambulance ride to the hospital, but I was still technically conscious for a lot of the trip. I do remember demanding over and over again for the police officers, who joined us in the ambulance for the trip, to loosen the cuffs. They eventually only loosened one cuff, but wouldn’t loosen the other, despite my repeated demands for them to loosen it, and I thought they wouldn’t loosen it because they wanted me to die. They took me to the QEII Health Sciences Centre, operated by the Nova Scotia Health Authority, in downtown Halifax.
After talking to some doctors and psychiatrists at the hospital, they decided to admit me, involuntarily — pursuant to s. 68 of the Involuntary Psychiatric Treatment Act (S.N.S. 2005, c.42) — to the Abbie J Lane Memorial building, 7th floor; a mental health clinic.
Some of the doctors at the hospital suspected that I must be suicidal to take 14 hits of acid. Although, truth be known, it would be very unlikely for one to die from an overdose of LSD. But I suppose that was one of the reasons I was admitted. My guess is, they were not sure whether I took any acid, since I told the doctors I didn’t, but, since it still seemed like there was something wrong with me regardless due to the fact that I felt the CIA were trying to kill me and so forth, they decided to admit me. Although I had some customized perceptions, I was actually infused with and nourished by the Supreme’s Spirit at the time, and felt really good, very positive. There was one particular female psychiatrist, I recall, that really seemed impressed with me and moved by my story, which I was able to recollect a lot more back then.
It is interesting that this Sri Chinmoy “smear”, probably the most significant experience of my life thus far, took place the same year as the beginning of new age of my life as well as the year the Golden Age began.
The Result of This Sri Chinmoy “Smear”
My psychiatrist on the 7th floor of Abbie Lane, partially/largely after looking into my health record as I had later learned at a Review Board hearing, diagnosed me with schizophrenia. I was forced to take antipsychotic medication, namely Olanzapine. My psychiatrist thought that by my taking the medication I would eventually “get it”.
I ended up staying at the Abbie Lane mental health clinic for about two months. I was able to discharge myself in late July due to a decision by the Review Board on July 13, 2012, which set aside the Declaration of Involuntary Status and made me a voluntary patient. Because they spoke their views about me during the Review Board hearing, I had learned, as I had already strongly suspected, my parents were speaking negatively about me to the mental health professionals, trying to make them think that I was mentally ill. My father did the speaking for both my parents during this hearing and, among other things, he pointed out how I had been (supposedly) making threats against children on Facebook, trying to use that to imply that I was mentally ill. Unfortunately, my parents were offended and upset with me due to my behaviour within the last year or two and particularly from one incident a couple of months prior, my last relapse prior to my detainment at Abbie Lane. With fueled up negative emotions towards me, my parents made me look like I was much worse than I really was. Despite that, the Review Board felt that I should be made a voluntary patient, with no evidence showing otherwise.
But due to the fact that I was forced to stay at Abbie Lane, I wasn’t able to make it to a June 11, 2012 court hearing on varying my and Erin’s original 2005 Court Order, something Erin was trying to do to try to preemptively and deceptively prevent herself from losing against me in the Family Court. Erin deceived the Family Court that I was completely out of control and an abusive father, and, in my absence, a Variation Order was established which stated that Erin shall have sole custody and my access to my child was suspended until further order of the court.
I was advised by a mental health professional at the hospital that the proper process would be for me to meet regularly with an outpatient psychiatrist and that I should do this if I wanted to be able to help my daughter through a legal process, which would largely involve me trying to restore my tarnished image impressed upon her as well as increase the amount of time I could spend with her (which, for the moment, was completely nil). And so that is what I began to do around August or September 2012.
Because I had been stuck in a mental health clinic and had to get an improved Court Order from the 2012 Variation Order, for some reason, as I said earlier, perhaps ultimately due to discrimination, my Nova Scotia Legal Aid family matter lawyer, whom I’ll simply call Susan, felt it would be best to put a stipulation in our new Court Order (which I didn’t even know was being created and which she subsequently signed on my behalf without my knowledge and approval) that I needed to get a letter from a psychiatrist for me to be able to forward, before I could effectively make any future application to the Family Court. In the meantime, Erin would have sole custody (which apparently I agreed to by Susan signing the Order on my behalf — something I wouldn’t in my wildest dreams do) and I would have to be supervised by my parents for each of my daughter’s visits with me which would now be about 80% less frequent (from about 24% of the time to about 4% of the time). Since early 2013, my daughter has been spending far more time with her step-dad — an ex-con convicted for tying up and robbing an older couple — whom Erin taught to call ‘Dad’. My daughter has mostly no idea that there is something wrong with what has been going on. Because of the way Erin treated her since birth, which included brainwashing her to keep secrets from me (and her teachers) about Erin’s relationship with her now step-dad while he was in prison, she has no ability whatsoever to differentiate between decisions she can make herself and those that are the responsibility of her mother’s.
Since late 2012 until early 2018, I met with Nova Scotia Health Authority outpatient psychiatrists, mainly Dr. Nelson, and took the prescribed medication for the sole purpose of trying to help my daughter through the Family Court. But due to this stipulation, no matter what kind of letter I could get, since I had a diagnosis of schizophrenia, there was nothing I could do to move forward. That is putting it very simply; I’m trying to simplify this story for this blog article. As you may or may not know, though, proving emotional neglect, for example, is a very difficult thing to do and would require someone to really pile through evidence, something I couldn’t get anybody to do. To this day, I need to be supervised by my parents due to the fact that Erin is deceitfully and maliciously not cooperating with making any agreement outside of court, something, which is absolutely counterproductive to improving my daughter’s mental health and is hurtful both to me emotionally and to the relationship between my daughter and me. It is not only another example of parental alienation as emotional abuse — both to me and my daughter — it is something which has impaired my daughter’s faith in me and thus my ability to help her well. All of which is my karma for smearing Sri Chinmoy years ago to some of His disciples.
What I Learned After Looking At the Police Report
After I got out of the Abbie Lane mental health clinic, I asked the Halifax Regional Police department for the police report on the incident where I got detained on June 1, 2012. After I received it and read it, although it was laced with suspicion and some statements that weren’t true, one which claimed I supposedly appeared to be trying to break into a car, it seemed legit, and I realized they must have been actually police officers and the people whose property I cut across indeed called the police. The police report did not offer any justification as to why they attacked me and put me in handcuffs, however, the bottom line is they thought I was on drugs.
It did mention that I was the one that made the cuffs so tight that they were cutting off my blood circulation due to the fact that I was struggling to break free from them. Apparently, according to the police report, if you struggle with handcuffs, you can make them tighter. And it did say that they prevented me from getting up, by sitting on top of me, because they thought I might get hurt or that I might hurt one of them otherwise.
So, in other words, the Supreme tricked me. It was a Great Big Trick from God (but it took until sometime in 2015 for that to fully dawn on me). Indeed, though, that was the Supreme saving me from my crack addiction mentality problem. He helped me to be able to live in a complete sanctuary with very helpful, kind, compassionate people. Although I didn’t have any money to use while I was living there, it played a major role in helping me to snap out of my crack addiction problem (which I had had for the last 1.5 years) by giving me a place to live with such helpful people, plenty of tasty food, and proper sleep.
[In 2015, I stumbled upon the following passage from Sri Chinmoy’s writings. It remains the only example I’ve found in His writings that could indicate that God might “trick” on occasion:]
“When God wants Light to prevail on earth, it means that He has taken responsibility. Right now, we do not know the outcome of the battle. He is playing with a football, kicking it to this side and that side. Here is the goal post. He is pretending to kick the ball, pass the ball through. But instead of doing this, He changes His play, and using His left foot, He kicks the ball. There He secures His goal, His object.”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Earth’s cry meets Heaven’s smile, part 3]
[There is also this passage from Sri Chinmoy’s writings that I found in 2019:]
“I have realised my error. I shall no longer stay with ignorance. Ignorance has understood its folly. It will no longer stay in me. I say to ignorance: ‘You have tortured me.’ Ignorance says to me: ‘You have fooled me.'”
~ Sri Chinmoy [Source: Meditations: food for the soul]
They did not mention in the police report that I was yelling that I thought they were trying to kill me and that they didn’t say anything to reassure me. This report was a good indication that, clearly, in a police report, you do not necessarily get the right facts; you tend to get things that are not true or suspicion as though suspicion creates a picture of the truth. According to their police report, they were suspicious I was on drugs before I even told them I had taken drugs. Nevertheless, had I not fought with them and told them I had taken 14 hits of acid, they probably would not have taken me to the hospital.